Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  “Silence!” Thor roared. “I want to hear the story.” He pointedly turned to face Marina, and raised his eyebrows.

  “The two of them ride in Thor’s chariot over the bridge and all the way to Jotunheim,” she went on. “And when they get to the giant’s door, Thrym looks at Thor strangely. Because he…doesn’t exactly have a girlish figure.”

  Loki hid his face in his hand.

  “Of course,” Thor said, gesturing carelessly. “I hope I weigh more than a woman.”

  “Trust me, you do,” Bird muttered. Thor flicked a crumb at him.

  “Thrym says something about it,” Marina told them. “But Loki says that it’s because Aesir women are very strong and hardy—for doing housework.”

  Somebody threw a biscuit at Loki’s head. He ducked and batted it away.

  “Wait, I didn’t say that!” he cried.

  “And when they sit down to the feast,” Marina said. “Thor eats almost everything on the table. And when Thrym says something about that, Loki says that his bride hasn’t eaten for several days, because she’s been so anxious to get married to him.”

  “You stupid oaf, you can’t even control yourself for one night,” Loki chided. “We’re supposed to be in disguise. As women.”

  “How am I supposed to fight if I’m hungry?” Thor wanted to know.

  “You’re always hungry,” Bird remarked.

  “Very true,” Thor confessed, pointing at him.

  “Shut up and let her get on with it,” Loki kicked at the legs of Thor’s chair.

  “Yes, get on with it,” Thor said.

  “Another…problem,” Marina went on. “Thor’s eyes burn red when he is ready for battle.”

  “They do?” Thor frowned. Then, he sat up. “I mean, yes they do!”

  Bird laughed.

  “And…even though Loki told Thor to keep his eyes down, he does look up once at Thrym.”

  “Of course you never listen to me,” Loki muttered.

  “And so what does Loki say about that?” Thor wondered.

  “He says your eyes are red from crying, because you’ve been wanting to get married so badly. Either that, or you have a cold.”

  “That sounds fairly stupid,” Thor lifted an eyebrow at Loki. Loki shrugged.

  “I’m doing my best with what I’m given.”

  “What next?” Bird asked.

  “They are about to start the wedding ceremony when Loki reminds Thrym of their bargain, about Mjollnir.”

  “Thor’s forgotten because he’s drunk,” Loki added.

  “And so Thrym brings out the hammer and shows it to them…”

  “And I take it up, and with Mjollnir in my hand at last I call lightning down upon them all!” Thor shouted, shaking his fist in the air. “The giants fall before my might, and burn upon the instant—” He slammed his hand on the table. “And with a crack of my thunder everyone in the room is dead!”

  All the Aesir burst into cheering.

  “Everyone except me, I hope,” Loki looked at him.

  “Of course not you,” Thor scoffed. “What would I do without my bridesmaid?”

  Everyone laughed heartily, stood up and applauded. Marina ducked her head, guarding her small smile. The next moment, many courtiers got up from their seats and eagerly approached Thor to congratulate him on his imaginary victory, swallowing Marina in a swirl of activity—but not one of the towering, impressive men or women addressed her, or even acknowledged her. They stepped around her to shake hands with Thor and make their remarks, never looking at her once…

  Except Loki.

  He watched her. He did not sneer or speak. His eyebrows drew together, and firelight illuminated his sapphire eyes. Quickly, she looked away, slid down off her chair, and retreated to Bird’s side. But through the rest of the evening, Bird grew strangely distant, and so the two of them fell into uneasy silence until the master of ceremonies called everyone to the dance.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dusk had thrown its cloak over Asgard, filling the glen behind Bilskirnir with purplish shadow. Marina stepped out onto a broad back balcony overlooking the grassy clearing ringed with unlit torches. All of the Aesir, including Bird, had now trailed out of the mead hall, through a lower door and out onto the lawn. Though Bird had asked, Marina had politely refused to come with him. So he had directed her up a set of stairs to the balcony, so she could at least watch. She rested her shoulder against a wooden pillar as a cool, careless breeze touched the edges of her hair.

  The Aesir hurried out, led by Thor, Bird, and Loki. Thor grasped his shimmering cloak, pulled it off and tossed to a startled servant. Loki stripped off his long-sleeved coat, revealing a sleeveless tunic beneath, complete with dozens of long, colorful ribbons that streamed from the collar. He threw his coat off to the side—it landed under a tree. He made a gleeful remark to Thor, who laughed in response and loudly clapped his back. Bird chuckled and shook his head at them. The other Aesir gathered around and began shouting to Loki, urging him on. Marina’s brow furrowed as she observed.

  Loki held up his hands, walking backward, as if to placate them. They all fell silent, folding their arms, waiting. He stopped, took a breath…

  Lowered his hands and rubbed them together. He then brought them up to his mouth, cupped them open, and blew…

  Brilliant white, living sparks gusted from his palms and leaped into the air. He fiercely flicked his fingers, and more shot out. Everyone cheered. The sparks grew and pulsed, dipping and bobbing through the glen, lighting it up like near-day—but bathing everyone in a soft, wondrous pearly light.

  He whirled around, hopped, and clapped his hands.

  Every one of the waiting torches burst to life, throwing a merry red glow against the pearl, and filling the glen with heat.

  Marina pressed her fingers to her lips, then stayed still.

  Four men suddenly darted out of the house, holding their gleaming instruments aloft. A roar of delight launched up from the Aesir. The musicians drew to a breathless stop in the center of the glen, readied their instruments and began to play.

  The pipes and fiddles cut through the night. The drums pulsed through Marina’s chest. Wild music—beautiful, and slightly savage. A flurry of movement consumed the Aesir as they reached out and grabbed each other by the hands or arms, throwing their heads back and crowing happily as they did; and then, all bare-footed, they plunged into a twirling, dizzying dance, circling and circling around the musicians.

  Thor took hold of his wife around the waist and lifted her high in the air—she giggled like a girl. Together they led the troupe, Sif a lithe and fascinating figure—elf-like and flawless; Thor moved like a bear, chuckling all the while. Bird hopped up and perched on top of a pile of barrels, swinging his legs in rhythm, just observing and smiling, until someone tossed him a wooden flute, pointed at him—and he shrugged and started to play along.

  Loki snagged a gorgeous, slender, freckled, fire-headed woman dressed in yellow and kissed her flat on the lips straightaway. She shoved him back and laughed. He tickled her ribs. She shrieked. He then snatched up her hands and tugged on her, and soon the two of them caught up to Thor and Sif. But these two…

  Marina tilted her head, and laid the side of it against the pillar.

  These two both danced with grace and strength, never missing a step. Loki pulled the woman close to him, and their feet flew. Her dress flared out like the petals of a flower, and her burning hair came loose, flying out behind her like a flag. Loki’s ribbons flashed a rainbow all around him, his hair like a lit candle, his face shining, and together they grinned dazzlingly, winked and flirted, weaving in and out of the other couples.

  An hour had passed before Marina realized she hadn’t been watching anyone else.

  Finally, the musicians halted, gasping for breath and sagging against each other for support. All the Aesir sprang to a halt, then clapped their hands. The musicians bowed.

  A bustling sound disturbed the area beneath Marina—and the next
moment, several large barrels of mead appeared, hefted by large manservants. Every one of the Aesir’s faces lit up. All at once, everyone snatched up their mugs and shoved between each other to fill them with the frothing liquid. They drank and drank, and offered toasts, and spilled it on each other—which caused even more merriment. Loki took three full steins in his fists and hurried over to Thor and Bird. Together, the three of them drank, and chuckled about some joke Loki told. Then, Bird made a remark to Loki and raised his eyebrows pointedly—Loki gazed at him a moment, his levity vanishing…

  And all at once he reached around Bird with his left arm and pulled him in to an almost tender embrace. He closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed as he rested his head against the side of Bird’s. Bird encircled his waist with his arms. For a moment, though the dancing leaped to life all around them again, the two stayed as they were. Loki then murmured something. Thor reached over and patted Bird on the back, and Bird backed up. He offered a wan smile to Loki, then to Thor. Thor, beaming like sunshine, reached up with both hands, and rested one against the side of Bird’s head, and the other against the side of Loki’s. Loki laughed, and gripped Thor’s wrist. Thor took hold of their hair and gently shook them, then grabbed the stein out of Loki’s hand. Loki barked at him, and Thor pushed him toward the dance again. Loki made a face at him, spun around, and instantly snatched another young, beautiful woman—this time, one with blonde hair and a red dress. Together, these two turned the dance into a stunning, frenzied storm that Marina could barely track—but neither could she pull her attention away.

  Finally, the high moon smiling down on them all, the musicians screeched to another halt and fell down on their backs, panting. The Aesir hopped up and down, demanding more. Loki bent in, leaned his partner backward and kissed her obnoxiously. She batted him off. Laughing, he straightened up.

  And then, Loki looked up at Marina.

  He didn’t search for an instant. He just turned, lifted his face, and met her eyes. His smile faded, and his gaze penetrated completely down through her.

  She swallowed, and stepped back from the railing. He did not break contact.

  So she did.

  Her vision blurring, she faced the other way, found the door, and re-entered the mead hall, stumbling her way down the corridor until she found her room.

  Marina rolled over in bed for the thousandth time. Stared up at the gray ceiling. Let out a long sigh. She reached up and pressed her hand to her face, her stomach tightening.

  And her lips burned.

  She pressed her hand over her mouth and ground her teeth. Green eyes flashed in front of her memory, too close for any comfort. She pulled in a breath, and suddenly tasted peppermint—

  A hot glow started in her chest and she screwed her eyes shut.

  She sounded insane, even to herself.

  Bauldr?

  Nanna?

  Thor?

  Loki…?

  She sat up, and tossed her covers off herself. For a long moment, she just sat on the edge of her bed, tamping down the rate of her heartbeat.

  “You seek the prince?”

  Marina shot to her feet and threw herself back against the wall.

  “Who’s there?” she gasped.

  “It is I, only,” came a grating, deep voice. “Here—above the fire.”

  Marina’s whole left side shivered.

  “What…What?”

  “Come near, young one,” the voice urged. “I cannot hurt you.”

  Marina stood locked in place.

  “Come,” the voice said again—and that time, she caught sight of movement.

  And then…

  The fire in the hearth blazed to life. Light flooded the room…

  And a wooden, bearded face materialized onto the mantel, turned its wooden eyes, and looked at her.

  It smiled. Its lips creaked.

  “Come,” it said for the third time. “I mean you no harm.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Traust.” It blinked. Its eyelids clicked.

  “You…You are Traust!” she cried.

  “Yes,” he said. “And you are Marina, daughter of Aaron and Irene.”

  “How did you know that?” she asked, risking a step closer.

  “You stepped across my threshold,” it answered. “I am the heart of Bilskirnir —and I reach into the depths of each heart that enters. But worry not. I am also a secret-keeper.”

  “You…What did you ask me?” Marina wondered, shaking her head to clear it.

  “Do you seek the prince?” Traust repeated.

  “I…don’t know,” Marina confessed, taking another step closer. “I just can’t sleep.”

  “Mhum,” it said, as if it understood. “You still do not believe in where it is you stand.”

  “No,” Marina whispered. “How can I?”

  Traust considered her.

  “Ask me a question, then,” he said. “Something you have been wondering about, but dared not ask anyone…Not even the Beautiful Prince.”

  Marina crept closer, canting her head.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because you wish to know,” he countered.

  “All right,” she drew herself up. “Where is Valhalla from here?”

  “No one can reach Valhalla from here,” Traust replied.

  “They can’t?” Something inside Marina’s heart wilted.

  “No,” Traust said. “Because, despite the great legends you learned on Midgard, Valhalla is unreachable even by the All-Father, and cannot be entered by way of Asgard,” he said. He fell quiet, and Marina thought he might not say any more.

  Then he took a breath. And when he spoke, his tone was low and deliberate, each word formed to perfection, each phrase flowing and pausing and lifting like a quiet melody.

  “But the Aesir often believe they can see Valhalla, when the sun strides through the high gates and stands watch over the great seals, giving light to the grand throne room gilded in gold,” he said. “And there at the head of it waits the throne of the kings of Asgard—long-bearded fathers of mighty helms and heavy hammers, who ruled in days long sped with a quiet hand and a steady eye. The throne was hewn of a block of living gold by careful-fingered smiths, and has not stirred from its place since the age when the giants shivered the roots of the realms.” He lifted his chin, just an inch. “Beneath it lies the chamber of illustrious arms, where lives the All-Father’s staff when he is weary of battle, along with captured treasures from hundreds of wars that even he has forgotten. And in the far reaches of the chamber, in a coffin of stone, sleeps a broken sword whose name no one remembers.

  “Above the great hall, stretching higher than any mountain, reach the mighty limbs of Yggdrasil, catching daylight and starlight in their leaves as they watch the gate to the Asbru bridge as it holds its hand out to Midgard.

  “Below, near the heels of the roots, spill ten-thousand fountains of healing water, clearer than the sky and purer than snow, and they feed the gardens where bend the trees that are older than the realm. They glimpse the first of the sunrise, and witness the coming of the day as it flashes like lightning through the waiting sky.” Traust’s eyes moved, as if he were watching something very far away.

  “And when the sun falls and twilight pulls its cloak over the sky, night never truly descends,” he murmured, in a soft, rasping tone. “For a quiet light remains in the west, touching the edge of the silver water on the far side of the great tree. Sometimes, if one stands alone and listens, he can hear the sea birds sing his name, feel the surf call on the wind, and many a man will begin to wish to make sail, and meet that light where it stands.” He paused, his gaze flickered, and his wooden brow tightened. “But then a lamp will come to life in a chamber above him,” he whispered. “The scent of roasting meat and stewing lintel will reach his breath, and the strum of a lute will touch his ears. Then, someone will call his name, call him inside, to the light and the warmth.” His words quieted so Marina almost could not hear him. “
And he will forget the shine on the water, and remember the people he loves—and that he is home.”

  Marina felt her knees weaken, and her hand fluttered toward her heart. Traust considered her—and quietly smiled.

  “I know all of this, Marina daughter of Aaron,” he said. “And yet, I have never seen it. I have only read the hearts of those who have. How much more can you believe, who have seen?”

  “Why did he bring me here?” Marina whispered, staggered.

  “Ah,” Traust smiled. “And this is the true question you wished to ask.”

  Marina said nothing.

  “I cannot tell you,” Traust confessed. “You must ask him.”

  “I can’t wait till morning,” Marina gritted, shifting restlessly.

  “Then luck is with you,” Traust said. “For just moments ago, he left my walls, and I believe he stands upon the road out in front of my gates. Perhaps you should go to him now.”

  Marina stared at the wooden countenance.

  “A dressing gown hangs in the wardrobe,” Traust said. “Be certain to take it. It would not do to catch a sneeze.”

  Marina hesitated for just an instant, then felt her way to the wardrobe and opened it. Groped inside…

  Found a housecoat, tugged it out and put it on. Tied the sash tight, then stood in indecision in the middle of her floor.

  “Go,” Traust urged. “The night is waning fast.”

  Marina started toward her door, then pulled it open. Moonlight spilled in through the windows of the corridor outside. Giving one last look back at the carven face, she stepped out and wandered down the length of it, listening to the quiet.

  Something caught her eye. She stopped.

  Outside—there, through the trees. A figure in white, standing in the road.

  Just as Traust had said.

  A chill passed through her.

  She strode forward, out onto the balcony of the mead hall, turned right and found a smaller front door next to the great double doors. She opened it, and the night scents washed over her. She ventured out onto the shadowed lawn, the moon lighting her way. She clutched the collar of her robe close to her throat, her bare feet swishing through the cool, dewy grass. Bugs chirped in the trees. No wind disturbed the leaves.