Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  “Bauldr,” he said quietly. “I know that you and your mother have been in secret council with each other for many months now. And though I have pressed her, she has sworn she cannot tell me the subject of your deliberations. I can see that something is troubling you a great deal, weighing heavy on your spirit.” Odin stepped even nearer. “Could you not trust me enough to tell me what it is?”

  Bauldr’s gaze sharpened, and filled with sorrow. He sighed shallowly.

  “Do you know,” he whispered. “I have never ridden a horse again.”

  Odin blinked. Bauldr slowly lowered his head, and sighed again.

  “Goodnight, Father,” he said, turned, and left the king standing there, staring into his goblet, his expression broken.

  The image faded. The flames retreated and dimmed. The timbers sparked—snapped—

  And the golden stone spat out onto the hearth rug, and lay there glimmering.

  Marina pressed her quivering fingers to her mouth, trying to make herself breathe again…

  She glanced over at Loki.

  His hair had turned black as the feathers of a raven. His eyes bright as starlight; grey as a winter morning.

  And as he stared into the fire, where the image of Bauldr and Odin had just stood…

  Twin tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Marina’s lips parted, but she couldn’t summon any words. She could only shift slightly toward him, wanting to reach out, to touch him…

  His brow twisted, his nose snarled, and he swallowed, bowing his head. Abruptly, he climbed to his feet, and stood still for a moment.

  Then, without saying anything, he turned and went into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

  Marina lay on her back, tucked deep in her blankets and comforter, staring at the ceiling. The muttering fire in her hearth burnt low, casting strange shadows across the walls and curtains and carvings.

  Her heart churned and her thoughts spun around and around, but she couldn’t make sense of most of it. That stone had clearly been showing them some of Bauldr’s memories—but why? Why those? They didn’t seem to have anything to do with bringing him back to life. The only aspect they had in common was Odin, and a deep familial regret she could still feel in her bones. The sight of Bauldr, right there in front of her—but completely untouchable—burned her almost as badly as putting her hand into the flames would have.

  But…

  Loki.

  Even right now, recalling the image of his tears filled her with a cold, painful ache—and a strange, pulling desire to smash something, or fix something, or just…

  She thrashed, and rolled over onto her right side, biting the side of her cheek.

  None of this made sense. She had been awake for hours fighting with it, and it only became more muddled each time she turned it over. Her head pounded with the effort—worse than when she had stayed up all night studying for her final exams…

  She winced, the pain thudding through her skull, and she reached up and rubbed the middle of her forehead—

  FLASH.

  Bright, crystal-clear images covered her vision.

  She suddenly seemed to swoop on the wings of a crow down a narrow mountain path—one that looked familiar…

  Down, down, reeling and zagging, to the bank of a wide, frothy river. She then turned and raced downstream, skimming the icy surface, following its bends and twists and traveling miles in an instant, until a violent stretch of rapids—

  And her vision swerved to the left, and dove down a narrow path through thick woods, to a little glen where a pile of giant stones stood…

  A small opening waited, and she plunged inside, was hit by a striking, silvery glow…

  Marina jerked, threw her covers off and leaped to her feet before she knew what she was doing.

  She stood there on the rug, cold sweat breaking out all over her, her left arm pulled tight to her chest, her eyes wide as she stared at the placid flames sputtering in the fireplace in her room.

  But the memory of what she had just seen remained impossibly vivid. She knew she would be able to walk out the door this minute, and find that very spot, without any doubt.

  Panting, she pressed her right hand to her forehead. No wonder she hadn’t been able to make sense of what she and Loki had seen—there wasn’t any use trying.

  The golden stone was only the first piece of the puzzle.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Loki?” Marina, dressed, with her hair braided, hesitated on the threshold of the sitting room. Loki, who sat in the unbroken armchair to the left, a cup of tea in his hands, looked up at her through the steam. Hair dark, eyes slate-grey. He frowned as he caught her expression.

  “What?”

  “What is it that we found?” she asked carefully. “What did we see?”

  Loki sighed, lowering the cup and saucer into his lap. He reached up and rubbed his eyes.

  “I’ve been thinking about it all night,” he admitted, lowering his hand. “From what I can tell, it’s some kind of Soul-Spark or Soul-Splinter…or even a Soul-Anchor. Maybe a combination of all three of them.”

  “What are those?” Marina wondered, coming closer to him.

  “A Soul-Spark is what’s needed to wake a person up out of a sleeping spell—one that’s deep as death,” he explained. “A Soul-Splinter is a piece of your spirit that you copy and put into an object you create, to preserve its memories. Like a library, or a memorial. A Soul-Anchor latches your spirit to this world, and acts as a long rope, a lifeline if you will, to keep the entire soul from traveling all the way into the After-Realm.”

  “Why did it only show us those two memories?” Marina asked. Loki’s mouth tightened and he shook his head, his gaze wandering into the distance. Then, he dipped his head, and fingered the handle of his teacup.

  Marina steeled herself, took a deep breath and another step forward.

  “I know where another one is.”

  Loki’s head came up. Blue rippled through his hair.

  “Another one what?”

  “Another one of the stones,” she said. “I had a kind of…dream…last night. Just like the first time. And this one took me down the mountain, down a river, into a forest and then to a clearing with a stand of rocks—and there’s a silver stone inside.”

  Loki stared at her—and in that moment, a kaleidoscope of brown, gold, green and sapphire swirled through his eyes. Then, in an instant, they settled upon a steely blue, and he got to his feet.

  “We’ve no time to waste,” he announced. “Get your snow clothes—we’ve got to go.”

  With Festning folded up and dissolved, leaving not even a footprint upon the snow where it had stood all night, Marina and Loki—lifted by the snowshoe spell—left the encircling rocks and started further down the mountain. Marina led the way, images from her vision rising up constantly in her mind.

  Soon, she came across a narrow descending track, something like a deer trail, and together they followed it, the bright, sharp sunlight filling the spaces between the trees.

  “It’s a relief to be going down,” Loki commented from behind her, swinging his walking stick. “Maybe I’ll be able to breathe again soon.”

  “You’re having trouble, too?” Marina glanced back at him.

  “What, couldn’t you tell from my blue nose?” he asked indignantly.

  “Ha. Couldn’t see past my own blue nose,” Marina muttered, then tossed her head a little and offered a crooked smile. “I thought you’d be made of tougher stuff.”

  “Oh, never underestimate us Jotuns,” Loki advised. “We’re perfectly prepared to be weak at the most inopportune moments.”

  Marina glanced back at him again, catching the unmistakable thread of pain woven through his casual tone. He didn’t look at her, just carefully maneuvered around a thick, snow-laden shrubbery. Marina slowed her pace, and lingered back to walk beside him, hesitating as she formed her question.

  “Do you remember it?” she finally asked. “What happened to
Bird’s horse?”

  “I do,” Loki nodded. “He rode out to meet us on the green—Thor and me. And then Fljotur’s leg just…” Loki’s expression shrugged, and he shook his head. “It folded like paper. Bird flew through the air and landed so hard we all thought he’d broken his neck. And Fljotur just flailed and screamed to wake the dead.”

  “That’s terrible,” Marina whispered.

  “It was,” Loki said quietly. “None of us had ever been so angry. Or so...” He trailed off, and swallowed.

  Marina watched him as they walked, studying his profile.

  “What did you do?”

  “I…Well, I threw myself off my horse,” Loki said, ducking beneath a low branch. “And I ran to where he’d fallen. I could hear Thor right behind me. The palace guard had already come out, but they hadn’t reached him yet. I got down beside him, and he looked…” Loki suddenly stopped.

  Marina waited. But Loki didn’t go on. She frowned.

  “What did he look like?”

  Loki glanced over and met her eyes—and his clouded to gray.

  “Never mind,” he murmured, turning to face the path ahead. “Suffice to say…one of my least favorite moments of my life. Up…until then.”

  Marina fell silent, turning that over and over, listening to the silence that fell in the wake of his words.

  As midday approached, Marina began to sense a low sound rising through the trees—a deep rush, one that she could feel in the center of her chest.

  Water.

  They were coming upon the river. She and Loki followed the deer track down through the trees, the terrain becoming ever rockier.

  “Isn’t it odd,” Marina noted. “That we hardly ever see any animals?”

  “They were probably killed by the frost,” Loki answered—and pain needled straight through Marina’s heart. She didn’t say anything for the next two hours.

  Finally, they emerged from the line of tall pines, and found themselves upon the banks of a wide, mighty, gushing river—white foam frothing at its edges, shards of ice breaking loose and tumbling downstream, along with branches and dead leaves. It roared like a faraway battle. Loki turned to her.

  “You said we have to head downriver?”

  Marina regarded him—his tall, lean black form cut out against the sky, his skin still white as the snow, his eyes a pale blue, his black hair caught by the open breezes. She nodded.

  “All right, then,” he said, and pulled off his gloves. He waved a hand, and his walking stick disappeared. He then clapped his hands three times, then squeezed them to fists. For a moment, he just stood, his eyes closed. Then, he cupped his palms together, as if keeping a moth captive. He opened a slight gap between them, and breathed inside. Then, he turned and faced Marina.

  Startled, she saw his hair flush to auburn, his eyes glitter with emerald.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Hold out your hand,” he instructed. Marina, transfixed by the sudden change in his looks, did as he asked.

  The next moment, a soft weight rested in her palm.

  She blinked, stared…

  A little Norse longboat, the length of her hand, sat there. It had no mast or sail, but its prow curved like a dragon’s head and spat out a long tongue. The back of it also curled with a wicked tail, and circular shields had been hung upon its sides. Perfect, miniscule detail—a museum replica. Better than that. The real thing, at a thousandth of the size.

  “Oh…!” Marina gasped, captivated.

  “Now, bring it up to your mouth,” Loki instructed, stepping close to her. “And say staekka.”

  She lifted her attention, meeting his gaze—to find it filled with lively green.

  A green she almost remembered seeing before.

  Keeping her eyes upon his, she lifted the little boat toward her lips.

  “Staekka.”

  The tiny boat creaked.

  Marina jumped.

  “Now, come here. Quickly,” Loki advised, touching her shoulder. He led her over to the edge of the river, and bent down. “Set it in the water.”

  Even as Marina squatted down beside him, the boat began to swell in her grasp, lengthening and becoming heavier and heavier…

  Quickly as she could, trying not to capsize it, she set it down in the shallows.

  And the boat continued to grow.

  It stretched, its neck straining, its tail curling, until it was about five feet long.

  “Give it a push,” Loki said, and Marina shoved on its stern, urging it out of the mud and into the deeper water, just to the edge of the current. And as she rose to her feet, watching, the boat billowed out into a magnificent full-sized longboat, perhaps twenty-feet long from stem to stern. And it turned its fierce prow downstream, and began to leave without them.

  “Come,” Loki urged, holding his arms out to her.

  “What?” she arched an eyebrow.

  “Have you learned how to fly when I wasn’t looking?”

  “No…?”

  “Then come here. Unless you’d like to wade.”

  Marina stood still, feeling her face heat up. He gave her a crooked smile.

  “Don’t you trust me yet, Twig?” He held out his hands even more insistently, and raised his eyebrows. “I promise not to kiss you.”

  Her cheeks instantly burned.

  Blue glittered through Loki’s eyes, and his smile almost faded.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “All right, the boat’s leaving,” he said, stepping up to her. “Beg your pardon.”

  And he scooped her up and cradled her.

  The next moment, they lifted off the ground. Marina threw her right arm around his neck and pulled her left in close.

  They skated just over the surface of the river and easily caught up to the boat. Loki eased them down onto the wooden floor of it, and set Marina down on a bench. She thudded to her seat with a grunt, and grabbed the wooden edge. Loki then hopped over her bench, and several of the others, and made his way to the fore. He patted the dragon’s head, then peered past it.

  “Dreki will keep us on course,” Loki said, looking back over his shoulder at her. “All we have to do is hang on through the rapids.”

  Marina gasped and swiped at her eyes after an ice-cold wave leaped the side of the boat and lashed across her face. She shivered hard, then gritted her teeth, holding onto the bench as best she could. Loki still stood at the fore, seemingly untroubled, his cape gusting behind him as the boat careened wildly through the foaming currents.

  Marina had felt the snowshoe spell break as soon as Loki had picked her up—she sat as heavily as normal inside this boat as it rocked and tipped, the water roaring all around them, spray striking her face and soaking her coat.

  Her muscles shook, her left side ached, but she didn’t say anything. She knew Loki couldn’t do much better than this boat—any sort of flashy magic to protect or hurry them along could still attract Hel and Fenris. And she’d rather contend with a little damp and cold than them, any day.

  It happened before she could think.

  The boat swerved around a bend, the tail struck a rock—

  And Marina launched out of her seat.

  For half a suspended heartbeat, she hung in the air—

  Then slammed down into the water.

  Breath drove from her lungs.

  Cold slapped her chest.

  Light, dark, light, dark, all spun around her head, her hair wrapping around her face like a wet rag. She bowled end over end and then spun like a rolling pin, her hands and legs striking slick, round rocks…

  Rippling tingles of pain raced all across her skin. Agony grabbed her whole left side in its teeth and wouldn’t let go.

  And in that swirling tangle, she could almost hear the deafening, rhythmic CRASH-CRASH-CRASH of a truck tumbling down a rocky hill—the windshield shattering and spraying glass at her face—striking her head on the steering wheel—the seatbelt snapping against her neck…

  Light faded—the
bubbling roar of the water gave way to a sharp buzzing all through her skull. She choked, reflexively sucked in—

  Water filled her lungs. Her eyes went wide, but saw nothing.

  Terror darted through her chest—

  BOOM.

  She felt it in her bones—a deep, powerful THUD right next to her—

  Water gushed out and away from her—sprayed up into the air—

  A hand grabbed her left arm—bound like a vise around it—wrenched it—

  Her head broke the surface. Blurry light blinded her.

  For an instant, she lifted up and out, then slammed onto her back onto something hard and unmoving.

  Her body jolted—a gagging spasm took her throat and gut—her muscles clamped.

  She thrashed onto her side and coughed…

  Ice water spewed from her mouth and nose—she pulled in a breath that tore her lungs, then coughed and coughed again, her vision spinning, her head throbbing, her hearing dull. She curled into a ball, only vaguely aware of a heavy form lying mostly on top of her, arms braced to either side…

  Her mind spun again, clouding, as screaming pain gnawed dagger-like fangs all up and down her left side. She broke into violent shivering, almost sensing shards of glass dripping from the floor onto her head and shoulders…the seatbelt twisted around her…her left arm crushed to splinters…

  “Dad,” she rasped, her lips trembling. “Dad. My dad. I have…I have to get to my dad. Get me…Get me out of here. I need…I need to see my dad…”

  “Marina?”

  She frowned hard, unable to focus, the masculine voice muddy in her head…

  “Dad?”

  “Marina.” Hands took hold of her face and turned her. Warm hands. Thumbs wiped gently at her eyes, clearing the water. She blinked rapidly, still shaking so hard and feeling like she might throw up.

  “Marina? Alskling, can you…can you hear me?”

  No. That didn’t sound right. She blinked again…

  And managed to focus on a young man’s face just a few inches from hers. Ice-pale, piercing blue eyes; wet black hair plastered to his head and collar. He breathed raggedly, his gaze searching her. He cradled her neck as he lay on top of her—warmth radiated from his body, and it stung her skin.