Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  “Once upon a time,” he said. “In a land faraway, a starving tinker traveled the narrow, rocky road between one village and another. He had found no work in the last village, nor the one before, because a great famine clutched the kingdom, and no one could pay a tinker—though there were plenty of broken hinges and windows and chairs and buggy wheels. And so he walked, carrying nothing but his tools, his large cooking pot—long bereft—and the clothes on his back. He knew that if he did not find food soon, he would die.”

  Marina watched him, listening, her stirring hand falling still. Loki tapped the faucet again and the water stopped hissing. He pulled the cutting board out of the water, took up a towel and began drying it.

  “As the tinker approached a village, a small stream joined the road on which he walked. As he listened to the flow of it, to him it sounded as if it were simmering. And he got an idea. So, he went down to the stream and filled his cooking pot with water, and dropped a nail into the bottom of it. Then, he carried it into the center of town.” Loki finished drying the cutting board, opened a lower cupboard and slid it inside. He shut the cupboard door, stood up and opened another, glancing through its contents. “There, he built a fire, and stood up his small spit and hung the pot from it. He started stirring the water, humming happily to himself. Soon, villagers passing through the square became curious, and asked him what it was he was doing. ‘I am making nail soup,’ he answered. ‘Which is the finest meal one could ever wish for! Miraculous and filling! Though, it will not be quite as delicious as it could be, as I am still missing a few things.’ ‘Such as?’ Asked the butcher.’ ‘Oh, a bone of any kind, to add just a little more heartiness.’ ‘I can spare a bone,’ answered the butcher. ‘If I can have a taste of the soup when it is finished!’ ‘Certainly!’ said the tinker. And so the butcher hurried off, then brought back a ham bone and dropped it in the pot. More people walked by, and inquired as to what was going on. Both the tinker and the butcher told them about the fantastic soup—but the tinker said it still would not be quite as good as it could be without a vegetable or two. ‘I have one last carrot,’ said an old lady. ‘I have two potatoes,’ said a young wife. ‘I have some dried basil and parsley,’ said a gardener.” Loki fished out two small jars, opened their lids and set the lids on the counter, then brought the jars over to Marina. He set one jar down, then took a pinch out of the other. The scent of parsley sparked up. He tossed three pinches into the pot. Then, he picked up the other jar and threw several pinches of basil into it. Marina watched him as he stood just close to her. She stayed very still. He set the basil jar down, then held out his hand to her, studying the boiling water. Marina carefully handed the spoon over to him. He began to stir.

  “Word soon spread throughout the village,” he went on. “That if you brought an ingredient for this miraculous nail soup, no matter how small, then you would get to taste it. Soon, the pot was full to the brim with good things, and all the people gathered around with their empty bowls, their mouths watering at the smell. At last, the concoction was finished, a ladle provided, and everyone, including the starving tinker—was helped to a steaming bowlful of this miraculous nail soup.”

  Marina studied Loki’s angular face, half hid in shadow, half touched by the flamelight from the candles.

  “It was a trick,” Marina mused.

  His bright gray eyes flicked up to hers—and remained, gazing at her. He barely lifted his right eyebrow, quietly earnest.

  “Not all tricks are evil, Twig,” he murmured.

  Marina’s throat closed. She didn’t answer. She only gazed back up at him, captured.

  He shifted, taking a quick breath.

  “Why don’t you set the table,” he suggested. “Bowls and cups are in the cupboard, spoons in the drawer.”

  Marina nodded, stepped back from him and walked around the other side of the table, then opened the cupboards.

  “I’m surprised we’re using spoons,” she remarked quietly.

  “This isn’t Bilskirnir,” Loki replied. “We’re civilized, here.”

  Marina suppressed a smile, and pulled out the utensils. She held her left arm snugly against her chest as she set the table. Then Loki brought the pot over and set it down on the table, and ladled the stew out into both bowls. He took the cups back to the stove and ladled cider into each of them. Then, he sat down. Marina sat down across from him.

  Together, they ate in silence, their wooden spoons clacking against the wooden bowls. The stew was rich and divine, and the spiced hot cider filled all of her senses, trailing down her throat like liquid Christmas. She ate everything, only now realizing how famished she was—and by the time she was finished, her whole body felt warm and drowsy.

  “Best get to bed,” Loki advised, picking up his dishes. “We’re to start out early tomorrow. I don’t like the idea of staying in one place any longer than we have to.”

  Marina frowned sleepily, knowing there was something she ought to say…

  “I’ll help wash.”

  “No, go to bed,” he ordered. So she nodded, slowly got up, and headed to the door.

  “Goodnight,” she said absently. He didn’t answer—but she felt his attention follow her. She left the kitchen, climbed the stairs, and, full and tired, entered her room.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “What’s this, then?”

  Marina wore her nightgown and socks now, and had just climbed into the sinking warmth of her bed when Bestemor’s face appeared in the mantel.

  “What’s what?” Marina yawned, pulling the covers up over herself.

  “What is troubling you?” Bestemor asked. “With your left arm?”

  “Oh,” Marina reflexively smiled—it became a wince. “I…hurt it. Several years ago. Now I can’t move my fingers or my wrist very well. My elbow sometimes doesn’t…either…”

  Bestemor frowned.

  “And it cannot be fixed?”

  “No,” Marina shook her head. “It’s actually been fixed as much as it can be.”

  “Oh, tosh,” Bestemor countered. “You ought to have Loki see it.”

  Marina gritted her teeth and stared at Bestemor.

  “No,” she said flatly.

  “Why not?” Bestemor wondered. “He knows all sorts of things. He can—”

  “He’s killed someone,” Marina bit out, vivid pain suddenly swelling through her and clawing the inside of her throat.

  How? How had she let that fade to the back of her mind?

  Bestemor watched her softly. And smiled.

  “He is a good boy, Lady Marina,” she said quietly. “You’ll see.”

  “What in the world would make you believe that?” Marina shot back. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “I know what you said,” Bestemor replied calmly. “But I also know a great deal more about it than you do.”

  “Then tell me,” Marina urged.

  “I cannot,” Bestemor said.

  “Why not?”

  She smiled quietly again.

  “Because it is not my secret to tell.”

  Marina looked away from her.

  “Get sleep, Lady Marina,” Bestemor advised. “You have a long journey tomorrow.”

  Marina ignored her. The fire flickered. And when she glanced back, Bestemor’s face had disappeared.

  “Where are we? Exactly?” Marina asked, hushed. Loki stood very still several paces ahead of her. He studied the sky through the thin, crowded trees.

  “The Caribou Mountains,” Loki answered, keeping his voice low. Marina’s eyes widened.

  “We’re in Canada?”

  He nodded, still looking around.

  “We’re heading north, toward that double-peaked mountain. If we keep up this pace,” his eyes narrowed. “We should be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

  He fell silent. But he didn’t start walking again. Marina took a breath and held it. She listened.

  “What?” she finally murmured. “What is it?”

  “Not sure,” he w
hispered. “A feeling.”

  He pulled off his gloves and put them in his pockets, and, still studying the woods, he rubbed his palms together.

  Light shimmered between his hands, like the reflection of moonlight on water.

  Then…

  An elegant mahogany longbow bloomed in his grasp, alongside a leather quiver of silver arrows. He quickly looped the quiver’s strap over his shoulders, and held the strung bow in his right hand.

  A chill ran down Marina’s spine.

  He glanced back at her.

  “Come on.”

  Marina’s whole body ached, and her right arm spasmed with fatigue. She eased through the door of Festning, leaving the freezing darkness outside, and sighed, leaning back against the doorframe.

  It had to be past midnight. The moon had come out, lighting a silvery path in front of them, so Loki had insisted that they press on. At the beginning of the day, he’d cast the spell again that made them both light enough to walk on the snow—but Marina estimated that they’d walked close to twenty or twenty-five miles.

  Loki took off his quiver, rested his bow against the wall and pulled off his coat. He winced as the sleeves passed his wrists, then hung the coat up.

  “I’ll put the rest of the nail soup on the fire,” he muttered, shoving against the witch door.

  It opened to the larder.

  Loki heaved a sigh and let it fall shut.

  “Kjøkken,” he snapped.

  Marina watched him. That word meant “kitchen.”

  He pushed on the door again…

  And there it was. Candles and lamps flared to life, to reveal the kitchen instead. Loki strode in, leaving the door open. Marina wearily pulled off her coat and hung it up, then trailed into the kitchen after him, so sore and beaten she couldn’t even summon any more surprise.

  Marina’s eyes jerked open. She stared at the dark ceiling.

  Her heart hammered so hard she could feel every single rib.

  Icy sweat coated her body. She clenched her right hand around her covers and gritted her teeth as terrible pain raced all up and down her left side.

  Light blazed—fire roared in the hearth.

  She gasped and pushed the covers out of the way. Bestemor’s face emerged on the mantel.

  “Lady Marina!” Bestemor called sharply. “You must go down and help him!”

  “What?” Marina rasped, forcing back another wave of pain.

  “Hurry, hurry!” Bestemor cried. “He needs you!”

  Marina pushed her covers off herself and slid out onto the floor, fighting back the stiff cramping that threatened to lock her up.

  “Put on the shoes in the trunk!” Bestemor ordered. “And wrap up in the long coat!”

  Marina pried open the lid and found the shoes Bestemor meant—she was able, with a little struggle, to tug them on. Then, she wrapped herself in the ankle-length brown housecoat lying there and tied the sash.

  “Hurry! Oh, hurry!” Bestemor pleaded. Marina stumbled toward the door and pulled it open, stepped out onto the landing…

  Froze.

  Festning was dark. And silent.

  And the front door hung open.

  Snow spilled over the threshold. Snow and moonlight.

  And voices.

  “Don’t, little brother. It doesn’t have to come to this at all,” a man’s voice—deep, rich, sophisticated yet quietly pleading, crawled through the night up toward her. “You know what we want and you know you can’t just keep running and expect to lose us.”

  “We aren’t having this conversation, Fen,” another voice—Loki’s—replied evenly. “Not after what the two of you did to him.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” the first voice—“Fen”…Fenris!—countered. “We were nowhere near when it happened. That was you.”

  Marina crept forward, setting her arm against the right wall and stepping down onto the furthest right-hand side of the first stair, praying, praying…

  It didn’t squeak. She stepped down onto the next stair. And the next, and the next…

  “Do not play with me, Fen,” Loki spat—but his voice shook. “I’m not some Aesir courtier whose brains you can twist in whatever direction you feel like. I know precisely what happened. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “Of course not,” Fenris replied gently. “Don’t be ridiculous. But…” he paused. “I also know you have no proof of what you say.”

  Marina sneaked into the library, edged up to the window and pushed the thick curtain just an inch aside.

  Out there, in the pool of moonlight that filled the little clearing in the woods, stood two tall, lean men. One was clearly Loki, wearing his same black winter garb, his back to the house, his arms folded.

  Facing him—an even taller man in a high-collared, rugged, patched, knee-length, fur-lined coat. He had windblown, curly chestnut hair; high, prominent cheekbones and strong, stern features; a set mouth, frowning brow and bright, piercing eyes.

  “I mean to find proof,” Loki shot back at him.

  “I know,” Fenris answered, gazing at him in an open, almost sad way. “But what do you think that will solve?”

  “I will show it to them,” Loki said deliberately, leaning toward him. “I’ll show them the truth about what happened, not the lies they’ve been led to believe.”

  Fenris raised his eyebrows.

  “And who led them to these lies?” he wondered. “You know Hel and I did not. We fled Asgard when you were captured. The Aesir brought you to trial and convicted you all on their own. These precious friends of yours. The ones you chose over your own family.”

  Loki stared at him. Said nothing.

  Fenris took a step toward him. Then another.

  Marina tensed, watching…

  Fenris stopped in front of Loki. Reached out with his right hand and lightly gripped Loki’s elbow…

  And lifted his left hand, and laid it affectionately against the side of Loki’s head. He dipped his own head, to meet Loki’s eyes, and softly smiled.

  “You are my brother,” he said quietly. “You live next to my heart. Look at what has happened, here. The Aesir have abandoned you—but I have come to bring you home.”

  Loki took a quaking breath. Fenris lowered his hand to rest on Loki’s shoulder.

  “I never wished this upon you. But now that it has happened, I hope you can finally see the truth.”

  “No,” Loki shook his head. “I don’t.”

  Fenris took fistfuls of Loki’s coat.

  “They are not like us, Loki!” he cried, shaking him once. “The three of us are savage elves, born to roam the wilds and live as we please—not in fashioned palaces and fortresses, playing with manners and niceties. They cannot understand us, they cannot know us. And look! They’ve more than proven that to you! Forget Asgard and their fickle affections.” Fenris searched Loki’s face earnestly. “Come with me. And give the girl to Hel.”

  Marina’s whole body went cold. She backed away from the window.

  “And how would that solve anything?” Loki demanded. “How would that clear my name?”

  “Clear your name? Whatever for? You’re free!” Fenris laughed. “We three could live in this realm, or any realm at all besides Asgard. Odin hardly holds sway over the entire universe. We’re tricky and clever. It’s more than possible.”

  Marina’s right hand closed around a cold fire iron. She gritted her teeth.

  “And what would Hel do to her?” Loki asked slowly. Marina watched Fenris through the little gap in the curtains.

  He shook his head, releasing his hold on Loki.

  “That can’t matter to you. Bring her out, be done with it, and Hel and I will stop pestering you. We can move on, you, Hel and I, as a pack again.” He held out his hand, palm up. His eyebrows drew together. “We need you, Loki. Please tell me that you’ll come.”

  Marina picked up the heavy iron. Spread out her stance and waited, her heart thundering.

  Waited.

  “No.”


  She blinked.

  Had he said—

  Fenris looked at Loki, startled. He slowly lowered his hand.

  “I told you, Fen,” a female voice sliced through the darkness. “There wasn’t a point to this errand. You’re wasting your time.”

  Fenris glanced to his left.

  And Hel, in all her nightmarish majesty, caught in the silver light, swept out of the forest and straight toward her brothers. She fixed Loki with a severe, terrible look.

  “Listen,” she snapped. “I’m tired of all this dancing around. Are you just doing this to be irritating?”

  “I’m doing it to clear my name of murder,” Loki snapped back.

  “Well, you can’t,” Hel retorted. “You know why? Because you’re guilty. You did it. Everyone knows that. You know that. The Aesir don’t believe your fairy story, but the good news for you is that Fen and I don’t care either way. So bring out the little stick and I’ll break her neck and all this stupidity can finally be over with. I’ll buy you a round of drinks in Fort McMurray. Come on.”

  “A prince died,” Loki murmured.

  “I never cared if he was alive or dead,” Hel waved it off. “Why should I? I was never good enough for anyone in Asgard—so I don’t keep myself awake worrying about their opinions.”

  “Bring her out, Loki,” Fenris advised.

  “I will not,” Loki snarled—and tears suddenly choked his voice. “You know what she has, and that it could ruin you. I’ll not give that up, not now. Especially if all you’re going to do is kill her.”

  “All right, fine,” Hel said. “I’m done here.”

  She slapped Loki.

  He staggered back, his hand flying to his face.

  Marina saw drops of blood hit the snow.

  Hel shook herself, fast, like a dog shaking off water…

  And white hair swept across her whole body. She swelled with muscle, her arms and legs lengthened, her hands and feet became clawed paws. Her head become that of a great, savage wolf—missing one eye—and in an instant her other red eye blazed in the darkness. In an instant, she stood upon all fours and lunged at Loki.