“If I may be so bold,” Aelfdane went on. “It’s no chariot, but my cart is at Your Highness’ disposal if you would rather skip the long walk to Bilskirnir.”
“Do you want to ride, Bauldr?” Thor asked Bird.
“Why not?” Bird answered, grinning up at Aelfdane. “Thank you!”
“My honor, sirs,” Aelfdane gestured to the back of his cart—then frowned at Marina. “What do we have here?”
“A guest,” Bird answered, pulling Marina around to the back. He opened the tail gate of the cart and, without a moment’s strain, lifted Marina up into the back. She quickly grabbed hold of the edge. Bird then hopped up and landed on his feet like a cat. Before Marina could object, he had picked her up under her arms and set her on a bench bolted to the inside wall of the cart.
The next moment, Thor had also leaped up, his boots thudding, his weight jostling the whole rig. He flopped down onto the floor, sat back and folded his arms.
“All set?” Aelfdane called, sitting down himself.
“Yes!” Bird told him, easing down next to Marina.
“Then we are off!” Aelfdane announced, and slapped the reins against his horses’ backs. The cart jolted, Marina caught her balance, and they rolled on ahead.
The wheels jiggered and rattled as the horses trotted along, their hooves clacking against the hardened dirt. The harnesses jingled and the boards creaked, and Bird tilted his face to the sun and closed his eyes.
Marina gazed at him for a moment, speechless. Then she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to the road behind them.
Men and women came trailing out of the waving fields on either side—all of them handsome, tall and beautifully-built, their faces ruddy, their blonde hair mussed, their clothes dirty from a hard day of work. They slung shovels, hoes, hammers, axes, rakes and scythes over their shoulders and fell in behind the cart. The small group soon grew to a crowd of dozens, and they all spoke easily to each other, laughing and talking about how much each one was going to eat and dance and drink that evening. Some of them shouted greetings up to Thor and Bird, who called back and waved at them. Sparrows burst out of the bordering shrubbery as the commotion passed, taking to the sky in startled, twittering clouds.
Then, toward the back of the crowd, a young man piped up in a strong, clear tone, singing a cheerful song in a language Marina didn’t recognize. It almost sounded like Norwegian—but not quite. In less than a moment, almost every one of those tramping behind the cart had started singing too, loudly, so that the their mixed and rowdy voices resounded across the fields. Marina glanced over at Bird. He caught her eye—and winked. She pressed a hand to her head and laughed, baffled.
Together, this troupe wound up the road, ascending a gradual hill. Marina began to taste new scents upon the air: baking bread, roasting meat, some sort of spice…
“If your guest cares to see it,” Aelfdane prompted. “It is Yggdrasil.”
“What?” Marina straightened, then turned and stared at Bird. He said nothing, just inclined his head toward the fore. Carefully, Marina stood up, just a little, so she could see past Aelfdane’s broad shoulders and fiery head…
And all the breath left her.
Upon the horizon stood a stocky, black, craggy hill, from which countless glittering fountains spilled and tumbled like silver ribbons. And upon the crown of this hill grew a tree.
A tree the size of a mountain.
Ancient, weather-bitten, gnarled and twisted, its trunk the width of a canyon, its branches stretching so high and wide that its leaves eclipsed the sun, and clouds gathered around its elbows. The sky all around it had turned to paintbrushed orange, setting off the green of the tree’s billion gold-dusted leaves. And within the trunk, Marina caught sight of a thousand twinkling lights.
“Are those…” she realized. “Are those windows? In the tree?”
“Of course!” Thor answered. “It’s the seat of our father, Odin the king.”
The cart jiggled. Marina sat down hard, her knees going weak. Even so, she could still see those heaven-reaching branches—and they stayed just where they were, no matter how many times she blinked.
“Are we going there?” she managed.
“No,” Bird replied, sighing. “Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” Thor sat up, frowning at him. “What’s so unfortunate? You are coming to my house—is it not good enough for you?”
Bird chuckled, leaned back and kicked Thor’s boot.
“I just meant that Mother and Father won’t be there with us.”
“Everyone else will be,” Thor huffed, re-settling himself. “Tyr, Freya, Eir, Bragi, Gmot, Ran, Loki—”
Marina swayed as each name hit her, going lightheaded. Neither man noticed.
“Have Hel and Fenris been uninvited?” Bird folded his own arms. “They didn’t act like they wanted to come after all.”
“Pffft,” Thor waved it off. “Fenris always gets drunk and starts fights and Hel causes problems without drinking anything. I am happy if they don’t come. I only invited them because of Loki.”
“Loki doesn’t care for their company much, either,” Bird pointed out.
“You cannot tell them that,” Thor countered. “Besides, one cannot invite just one of the Farbautisons and leave the other two out. That would start a war by itself.”
Bird chuckled and sat back again. Marina swallowed, glanced at them both, then ventured another question.
“What is everyone celebrating?”
“Some battle a long time ago,” Bird told her. “None of us remember.”
“Except it is an excuse to eat, drink, dance and stay up all night,” Thor added, closing his eyes. Bird nodded at him.
“Exactly.”
Marina watched Thor for another moment, but much of the tension had melted from his face. She bit her lip, staring at that mighty frame, then regarded Bird.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I’m not…” she murmured. “I’m not here. I can’t be.”
“And why not?” he asked, watching her.
“Because,” Marina answered. He laughed. Marina’s brow knitted.
“Look, don’t worry,” he assured her. “It’ll all make sense eventually. You’ll see.”
She didn’t answer—but then he reached out and took her right hand in his, and squeezed it. Warmth shot through her, and she answered the pressure.
“And here we are!”Aelfdane announced, pulling back on the reins. The cart rolled to a stop. “Bilskirnir! Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Aelfdane,” Thor grunted as he sat up, then slid off the back and landed heavily. He turned, and held out his arms to Marina.
“Come, little thing,” he urged. Marina’s eyebrows shot up, and her gut tensed. But she stood, shuffled toward the edge—
Thor grabbed her waist, and all at once she stood on the grass. She tipped, grabbing hold of the cart wheel. Bird hopped down next to her, grinning.
“Happy feasting!” Thor shouted, and Aelfdane waved at him, and drove off.
“Come on, come on,” Thor said, charging off the road and up between two unbelievable oak trees. A wave of sparks raced down his cloak, snapping like fireworks. “My wife will have my head.”
Together, Marina and Bird followed Thor between those same trees…
Onto a broad lane, bordered on each side by ranks of oaks—and ending in a giant mead hall.
Marina’s steps faltered.
A huge wooden hall, all carved with snarling, wide-eyed faces, knots, runes and curling dragons, loomed higher than the trees. Its guest wings, spreading from either side of the hall, stood three stories high each, lamps and candles flickering in their windows. Soldiers strolled along the rooftops, their armor and spearheads gleaming in the evening sun. The mighty front gates, painted with shimmering gold, bore the image of Yggdrasil; and a great wooden Mjollnir—a trinity knot in its center—rested above the lintel.
Three loneso
me notes from a horn burst out through the quiet evening, sending the birds in the trees fluttering. Shouts rose up from the guards. The front gates swung open.
Voices spilled out. Voices, and bustling, and hurrying feet, and the clanking of metal dishes. And the scent of honey bread. The two brothers strode right in.
Marina hesitated, reflexively pulling her left arm against herself.
“Come on,” Bird beckoned. “I need to show you to Sif.”
“Sif?” Marina croaked. Bird beckoned again, so she tried not to wince, and followed him.
Her feet met a smooth wooden floor—and, as her eyes adjusted to the slightly-dimmer light, she attempted to figure out where she stood.
A balcony with a railing—almost a catwalk—lining the perimeter of the massive hall. Directly in front of her, wide stairs led down from this balcony to the main level of the hall. Long tables and benches covered the stone floor, all set with platters and twinkling jeweled goblets, and decorated with bursting bouquets of purple and white flowers. In the very center, a roaring fire blazed in a rectangular pit. All of the pillars in the place had been wrapped in living vine that bloomed with delicate pink blossoms. Marina could smell them from here. Lilac. And far above, the roof somehow let in the light from the sky—indeed, panels had been lifted that they could easily lower if it began to rain. Brightly-clad servants darted back and forth down on that lower level, carrying trays, brooms, rags, vases, bottles and knives. They called to each other, barking orders, and their voices battered around and magnified in the wide, wooden space.
“Your Highness!” a masculine voice called, and Bird’s brother stopped halfway down the stairs. A young man wearing cream and brown darted out of one of the side doorways and onto the balcony, then leaned on the railing.
“What?” Thor demanded.
“There are not enough rooms for all the men coming,” the young man reported.
“What?” Thor said again. “Sif forced me to check the list four times before I was able to invite anyone—how did that happen?” He turned around and stomped back up the stairs, nearly shaking them loose.
“My lord, with Fenris and Loki and—”
“Forget Fenris, he’s not coming,” Thor replied, swinging around the corner and striding up to the servant. The servant blinked.
“He isn’t?”
“No, he is on Midgard.”
“Midgard? But—”
“Show me which rooms you mean,” Thor instructed. “We’ll get this sorted.”
“All right, this way…” the servant said, and the two of them vanished back through the door.
“Come on,” Bird said yet again, and Marina trailed after him down the stairs, marveling at the way his clothing still swept around him like a mist. He strode across the floor. The servants dipped into quick bows as he passed—and then those same servants followed Marina with curious glances. She ducked her head and fixed on Bird’s back.
That is, until she saw her.
A lady, standing up on the dais, arranging the flowers on the head table before the two wooden thrones.
She had to be almost as tall as Thor—curvy, muscular and elegant, with a spill of golden hair that reached all the way down to the floor. She wore a velvet, scarlet gown embroidered with gold, its sleeves flaring around her wrists. She turned and looked at Bird with long-lashed, moon-blue eyes, and her sharp, stunning features brightened. Her red mouth smiled, and she held out her pale hand to him. Marina was suddenly struck by the certainty that she had seen a Renaissance painting of this woman somewhere in Sweden.
“Bird!” the lady cried. “You’re early!”
“Really?” Bird caught up her hand and kissed it, then laughed. “All Thor would talk about was that we were late!”
The woman laughed—a lively ringing—but then her smile faded as her moon-blue gaze landed on Marina.
All at once, Marina felt like a withered weed. She gulped, and tried to look away. The lady turned back to Bird.
“Is this from Midgard?”
“Yes,” Bird answered.
“Oh, poor thing,” the lady mused. “What is this one dying from?”
Marina frowned and looked up at her, but the lady returned to arranging the flowers.
“She’s not dying,” Bird corrected. “She followed us home.”
“Aha,” the lady chuckled. “Well, I am certain your mother will not let you keep her.”
“I’m not keeping her,” Bird replied. “She’s just staying the night.”
The lady paused, then whirled and pinned him with a deadly look.
Bird rolled his eyes.
“No,” he insisted.
Marina’s mouth fell open—and then her face burned.
The lady’s eyes narrowed.
“Sif, I give you my word,” Bird said. “I only need you to find her a room with the other maidens. Just for tonight.”
Sif studied him for another moment, and then she sighed.
“Very well.” She motioned to Marina. “Come with me, little one.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Bird assured Marina, then strode off toward one of the side doors. Marina watched him go, a chill passing through her.
“Come,” Sif said, her voice harder. And Marina forced herself to follow the great lady, realizing she didn’t have much of a choice.
CHAPTER NINE
“It is very small, but this is the only room I can spare,” Sif said, pushing the door open. It squeaked. Marina had traipsed after her down a very long, wooden corridor to the very last room on the right. Now, she peered inside, trying not to stand too close to Sif’s imposing figure.
The first thing she glimpsed was a four-poster bed with beautifully-carved wood and dark green drapes. Furs covered the stone floors, a trunk sat at the foot of the bed, and off to the right, a fireplace crouched, a low fire flickering and bobbing in its throat. A wardrobe waited in the far corner.
Marina smiled.
“Good enough,” Sif decided. “You may want to change into a dress before you come to the feast. There are several in the wardrobe.” Sif lifted her chin, and looked Marina up and down. Marina shrank back an inch.
“You are coming to the feast, yes?” Sif asked, arcing a lovely eyebrow at her.
“Am I invited?” Marina wondered.
“That is probably the reason Bauldr brought you,” Sif decided flatly. “To force you to eat something. You desperately need it.” And with that, she turned and swept back down the hall.
Pausing for just a moment on the threshold, Marina shook herself, turned and entered the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Marina bit the inside of her cheek as she finally opened her door and stepped out into the corridor. She wore a loose, light-weight, sleeveless blue dress that trailed on the floor behind her. She had found a silver linked belt to wrap around her waist, and a simple clip to tie part of her hair back, but she felt strange, and knew she was under-dressed.
But now, as she hesitated in the hall, she could smell it—the food. Roasted apples and baked pears, pies, boar and toast. Her mouth watered. Swallowing, she started forward.
I’ll find him in the hall, she told herself. He won’t be hard to see…
She wore her own boots, still. The shoes in the trunk had been two sizes too big. She hoped no one noticed. Hoped no one else ran their eyes up and down her body, the way Sif had. She achieved the door, paused one more time, then stepped out onto the balcony.
The mead hall below had already filled with people. Men and women, all lavishly and comfortably dressed in loose summer garments, their fingers and wrists and ears and necks glittering with gold, silver and jewels. The women—handsome and strong—all had long, lovely blonde hair pinned up on their heads like crowns. The men—broad-shouldered and bearded—wore mixes of leather and linen. They all laughed, embraced each other, kissed cheeks and shook hands as they sipped from the sparkling goblets. The dull roar of their conversation rose to the rafters. In the far corner, a group of musician
s beat on drums, tapped their feet, and played upon flutes and fiddles. The lively tune skipped over all their heads.
Mesmerized, Marina crept toward the edge, and rested her good arm on the railing, gazing down across them all. She didn’t even notice him walk up.
“What do you think?”
She jumped, and turned to her left to see Bird right next to her, his elbows braced on the railing, too. She halfway smiled, the tension in her chest easing, then considered the crowd.
“I think it’s wonderful,” she answered.
“Do you?”
His voice sounded odd—different.
She faced him, meeting his eyes.
And his vivid, sky-bright gaze captured hers. She forgot what she was going to say.
He tilted toward her, then reached up with his left hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. But he did not draw back.
He cradled her neck with his fingers, then stepped into her, looking intently down into her eyes. Marina’s breathing picked up, her heart started to hammer.
He bent his head, tipped to the left. His nose brushed hers. He paused for just a moment, drew a deep breath…
And gently closed his lips over hers.
Marina’s eyes fluttered shut. She gasped through her nose—and instantly the smell and taste of peppermint raced through her senses.
His right hand slid slowly down, around her waist, and his arm softly wrapped all the way around her, pulling her against his chest. She gave in, melting against him. He pressed deeper, his mouth moving carefully, subtly against hers. Her head spun—she lost her balance. His thumb traced her cheekbone, sending a shiver all through her.
“All right, enough of that.”
Her mind staggered.
That voice! That voice belonged to…
His lips—his lips changed form. Softened further—warmer, more delicate. They moved against her lips again, insistently. The arm holding her strengthened. The scent of peppermint drowned her. His hand on her neck wandered down—his thumb pressed against her throat.
She forced her eyelids to open…
And she looked, stunned, into a pair of half-open, glittering emerald eyes.
Bauldr's Tears Page 7
