Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  She worked her mouth, couldn’t make any sound. She squeezed her eyes shut, quivering, and only managed to make her lips move, though no sound came out.

  “Loki.”

  He let out a breath in a gust, leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. In the same movement, he pushed his forefinger into her breastbone.

  “Leita…leita…leita…” he breathed, his warm mouth moving against her skin, his finger shoving painfully against her bone. “Finna…finna…finna…”

  She felt something go coursing from his mouth and his hand and into her bloodstream—a restless, searching power, flickering and winding through her limbs, centering around her bones, tracing her spine…

  Then, it sucked back out of her, retreated into his mouth—and he exhaled. More heat washed over her. His mouth softened against her, and she heard him swallow.

  “All right,” he whispered—and it sounded shaky. “Come on.” And he crawled off of her. For a moment, the daylight sky above dazzled her vision. Then, he bent over her and picked her up. He pulled her against his soggy chest and walked away with her. Wet rocks scraped and slithered beneath his boots.

  Marina’s vision still blinked in and out, and every muscle shook. She pulled her arms tight in to her chest, her stomach muscles twitching, her jaw clamped.

  Loki’s footsteps quieted as he strode into the snow, and shadows crossed them. The temperature plunged. Marina tried not to let her chattering teeth bite her tongue or cheek…

  He let go of her with one arm, lowering her feet to the ground. With his free hand he snapped his fingers and then blew on them. In seconds, Festning had sparked loose, bloomed on the ground and risen to its full height. Wasting no time, Loki picked Marina back up and pushed through the door.

  The waves of heat inside the entryway sent awful prickles all over her. Loki charged up the stairs, turned and shoved into her bedroom, then awkwardly worked the latch on the wardrobe and pulled that door open. Marina’s vision finally sharpened enough that she could see the creamy-colored wood of the bathing room, the mirror, the bathtub, the dressing table, the stacks of fuzzy towels, the soaps and thick rugs…

  “Skjønnhet,” Loki panted. “Run a bath. Not too hot.”

  Skjønnhet’s face emerged from space above the mirror, her brow knotted with concern.

  “Yes, my lord,” she answered, and immediately the tub faucet spat out steaming water. Loki immediately carried Marina over to it and set her down on a stool. He then unfastened her coat, pulled off her gloves, and tossed those heavy winter garments onto the floor. He picked her up again, and set her down in the tub, wet dress and all.

  Warm water flooded over Marina’s legs, shocking her—and instantly clearing her head. She grabbed onto the edge of the tub with her right hand, but her left she pulled in tight. In no time, the water filled the tub, soaked her clothes, and Marina’s spasms calmed. She took deep breaths as the heat melted into her muscles, and the pain subsided.

  Loki heaved a great sigh and sat down beside the tub, bracing his elbows on the edge and covering his face with his hands. Marina, her hair stuck to half of her face, heavily turned her head and looked at him.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  He sighed again, and lowered his hands, folding his arms one on top of the other. And he looked back at her. Eyes still as blue as the winter sky, dark circles around them. He’d gone so white again, his lips were grey. Grave as death, intense as lightning.

  “You made me lose my boat,” he murmured. “Do you realize how many utterly humiliating things I had to do to obtain that thing?”

  She stared at him. He raised his eyebrows.

  “I hope you appreciate my sacrifice, Twig,” he said.

  She blinked, uncertain…

  And he smiled at her.

  And all at once, his eyes flushed golden, and deepened to a rich, shimmering green—while his hair took on edges of flame, deep russet at the roots. He reached out and gently pushed her hair out of her face and behind her ear, his fingertips lingering for just a moment on her cheekbone. Then, he set his hands on the edge of the tub.

  “Skjønnhet will look after you,” he said, dragging himself to his feet. “I’ll be downstairs by the fire.”

  And she watched him go, listening as the wardrobe door latched behind him.

  Marina lay in the tub for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the dull gush of the water spilling from the faucet filling her head. Finally, after all the clenching tension had eased, the pain had passed, and a heavy weariness pulled through her whole frame, she decided to get out.

  She sat up, but her water-logged clothes now fell like lead. So she carefully undressed there in the tub, leaving the clothes behind, and stepped out and grabbed a towel. The bathroom itself felt warm as a fireside, so she didn’t resume shivering. After she had dried, she reached for a dressing gown, wrapped it around herself, and went out into the bedroom. In the trunk she found more dry underclothes, socks, soft trousers and a new green dress with long, form-fitting sleeves. She dressed in front of the burning hearth, her eyes drooping shut as she waves of heat washed over her. Finally, she stood clothed in the center of the room, her hair hanging wildly and half-toweled around her shoulders. She didn’t care.

  Sighing and pulling her arms in again, she glanced at the door. Loki had made a joke, but Marina wasn’t blind. He had looked terribly pale.

  She crossed the room in her stocking feet, opened the door and went down the pokey stairs. She stopped in the doorway of the sitting room to find Loki, wearing dry clothes, lying on his side on the rug, a handful of tools spread out beside him. The broken chair was propped up on a stack of books, and he held the detached leg in his right hand. With his other hand, he was feeling the wood of the shattered joint—exploring, almost caressing, his brow furrowed, his eyes closed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Fixing the chair,” he answered absently. She took a few steps closer.

  “I’ve never seen anybody fix a chair with his eyes closed,” she remarked.

  “I don’t fix things the way people usually do,” he answered in a murmur, his brow tightening. “In order to know what is broken, you have to touch it. You have to feel it. You have to know it. The depths, the heart of it. You have to know why it was broken, and how. What made it this way, and what its original shape was.” He opened his eyes. His hand went still. He looked at her.

  “How do you feel?”

  She shrugged.

  “I’ve felt worse.”

  He studied her a moment, then picked the tools up off the rug, and put them and the broken leg off to the side.

  “Look what I found,” he said, sitting up and then climbing to his feet. He turned to the mantel, and picked up a smooth, red wooden box. He held it out to her. She took it, frowning with interest down at the design on the top.

  “This looks like…Stormont Castle,” she realized. “In Belfast.”

  “It is,” Loki nodded. “I stayed there once. I had to get a souvenir.”

  “Is it a…” Marina began, awkwardly trying to use her stiff left hand to lift the lid…

  Loki reached out and did it for her.

  The next moment, a lively music machine began playing a lusty waltz that Marina didn’t recognize.

  “What song is that?” she asked. Loki looked at her in surprise.

  “You don’t know it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ah, I have to show you!” Loki said, taking it from her but leaving it open, so the music still played. And then, in a frank, storytelling voice, he began to sing.

  “In a neat little town they call Belfast,

  Apprenticed to trade I was bound

  Many an hour’s sweet happiness

  Have I known in that neat little town!”

  Loki put on an earnest, sad face, and leaned closer to her.

  “A sad misfortune came over me

  Which caused me to stray from the land

&nb
sp; Far away from my friends and companions

  Betrayed by the Black Velvet Band.”

  He held out his hand to her. Marina stared at it—but he just waited.

  And so she took his fingers.

  He pulled her toward him, and kept singing, as casual as anything.

  “Her eyes they shone like diamonds

  I thought her the queen of the land!

  And her hair it hung over her shoulder

  Tied up with a Black Velvet Band.”

  And the next moment, he had wrapped his hand around her waist, took up her right hand in his left, and spun her gently in a circle, right in the center of the room.

  Marina’s breath caught, and she looked up at him, inexplicably speechless.

  “I took a stroll down Broadway

  Meaning not long for to stay,” he went on.

  “When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid

  Come traipsing along the highway.”

  In an instant, Loki twirled her again, faster—her head spun. And his eyes sparked as he gave her a pointed, stunning look.

  “She was both fair and handsome

  Her neck it was just like a swan’s

  And her hair it hung over her shoulder

  Tied up with a black velvet band!”

  He urged her into a swift waltz step—and somehow, the room opened up for them. They did not trip, they didn’t hit the chairs or the mantel or the wall. The sound from the music box swelled high all around them, and Loki sang—his voice filled the world.

  “Her eyes they shone like diamonds

  I thought her the queen of the land.

  And her hair it hung over her shoulders

  Tied up with a black velvet band!”

  The music sped up—or seemed to—and flooded the sitting room. Loki kept hold of her hand and twirled her out. Her skirt bloomed out around her knees, and then he drew her back in, caught her against his chest, spun with her twice, until warm dizziness whirled all around her.

  He bent close and made a face at her—crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue—then beamed brilliantly.

  Marina, startled, let out a giggle. She reflexively tried to put her hand over her mouth, but Loki didn’t release her fingers—and instead spun her around again, and again. The room stretched bigger and bigger—her body thrummed with warmth, her hair flew wildly around her face.

  And Loki, delighted, laughed.

  Like wildfire, the ringing, unrestrained sound caught in Marina’s heart. It tickled through her chest, filled her head, and all at once she burst out laughing too.

  It cracked through her ribcage, loosening like rust upon a pipe, thrilling through her blood. It mingled with Loki’s laugh—like melody and harmony—the song from the box danced like birds all around them.

  That laugh burst something inside her. Delicious feelings flushed through her body—but all at once, her muscles went weak…

  And she suddenly realized that tears had spilled down her cheeks.

  She choked, her smile vanishing, and she tipped toward Loki’s chest, her heartbeat skyrocketing.

  Loki stopped instantly, catching her shoulders. Reflexively, she curled her right hand fingers through the front of his shirt.

  And a cry escaped her. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her face twisting, her knees going limp.

  Loki lifted her, and eased her down on the edge of the unbroken chair. Scalding tears raced down her face, dripping across her hand, and sobbing took her in seizure.

  Loki knelt down on the floor in front of her, his face lifted, his eyes fixed on her face. He leaned his chest against her knees, his careful hands resting against her sides.

  “I’m…I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Marina gasped, shaking her head. He mirrored that action, watching her, his hair going dark, his eyes sky blue. Then, he lifted his hand, and took hold of the forefinger of her useless left hand.

  And he said nothing. Just slowly pulled it toward him.

  “I…I was living in Norway with my dad.” The words spilled out of Marina’s trembling mouth, tears running down. “Excavating a Viking burial site…One day he fainted. I took him to the doctor…X-rays…said he had a brain tumor…” She swallowed convulsively.

  Loki drew her hand closer and closer to him, never taking his eyes from her. Then, he pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

  A strange, hot sensation shot through her bones and entered her veins, reaching up through her whole arm. She caught the collar of her dress in her right hand, her hair falling into her face.

  “He started treatment and it was terrible. I thought he was going to die every time,” she rasped. “He couldn’t come out with me to the site anymore…but he kept making me go…he wanted to know what I was finding…”

  Three sharp twitches shook her frame. She choked, and more tears dripped. Loki, his gaze never wavering from hers, pushed her sleeve up to her elbow. His fingertips pressed deep into her skin, slowly running across the surface, deeply feeling her bones, caressing…exploring…

  “One day he was feeling much better, he even got up and made breakfast, and he said if I went on ahead, he’d meet me there after lunch,” Marina said, her words coming in an uncontrolled rush. “So I went, and it started to rain. Our cell phones never got any service up there…Svenka came running through the storm to tell me that the ambulance had come to my house and taken my dad to the hospital…”

  She twitched again as Loki squeezed her elbow with both hands, pushing both his thumbs hard into her joint.

  Pain lanced through her arm and entire left side—sharp and raw and vivid.

  “I ran out through the rain—I had to get to my truck!” she sobbed. “I got in and started down the mountain to go find my dad, but it was raining so hard I couldn’t see, and I didn’t know that the road was washed out, and so I drove right into the middle of it, and it turned my truck over and broke my windshield and my windows and my arm went out the window and the door rolled over it, and then I landed in the middle of a stream, upside down…” She swallowed, choked again, her stomach rocked.

  Loki pulled on her arm, dragging his fingers hard into her muscles, pushing his thumbs into the tendons on the underside. Her skin flared red. Tears poured down Marina’s face, running down her neck. She clamped down on the collar of her dress.

  “I almost bled to death and drowned—my head was underwater almost up to my nose. Somebody found me…I don’t know how long…and turned the truck back over and got me out. He put me in his truck and drove me to the hospital…gah…” Marina hissed through her teeth—then let out a bound-up howl as she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “My dad was dead! I woke up in the hospital and he was dead—they told me he was dead, he’d died before I ever heard about—he died in the next room and I wasn’t there, I was upside down in a river because of some stupid Viking burial and the rain and my stupid, stupid truck—” She covered her face again, letting out a wrenching wail.

  Loki twisted her wrist. He pried open her grip, interlaced her fingers with his—and dragged them open.

  Marina arched her back away from him, gasping, her throat latching shut, hot tears filling her eyes.

  He pressed his lips to her open palm—with a heat and fervor that almost burned her skin.

  And warmth—warmth like a May morning, like intoxicating sunlight, living and rich—spread up from her fingertips, across the back of her hand and her palm, into the bones of her wrist, through her forearm and elbow, to her shoulder and then down her side, tracing her ribs, penetrating her muscles.

  And all at once…

  Everything resettled.

  She blinked, her passion calming, her breath slowing.

  Her eyebrows drew together. She blinked again, and the tears cleared from her eyes.

  And she stared down at her hand.

  It lay loosely in Loki’s palm. Her arm stretched out, her fingers open and relaxed.

  No surgery scars at her wrist. No crooked joints.

 
Perfect.

  As if nothing had ever happened.

  She gasped violently. Looked up at Loki.

  His breathing unsteadied. His gaze locked on hers. And sparkling tears ran down his face, too.

  Chills racing all through her, she dared to command her arm to move.

  It obeyed. She lifted her hand, turned it over.

  No hitch in the tendons of her wrist or elbow. No pain. No stiffness.

  She closed her fingers to a fist. Opened them again.

  Smooth. Easy. Strong.

  Her attention jerked up to Loki. Her mouth opened.

  She couldn’t speak.

  And he gave her a broken smile that glittered with tears.

  She threw her arms around his neck, clawing at him and burying her face in his collar.

  Instantly, he wrapped his arms around her too, and pulled her against him.

  Marina marveled at the feeling of her left hand threading through his hair, shudders running through her as she squeezed her eyes shut and broke into weeping again. The scent of peppermint drowned her, his warmth enveloped her. She felt him lay his hand against the back of her head, and rock her very gently side to side.

  Endlessly, they sat there, the only sound the fire crackling in the background. Finally, her heart warm and thundering, Marina drew back, her cheek brushing his, and gazed at him—just inches away.

  He stared straight back at her—breathless, his lips slightly parted. His hair had blushed almost to the tone of red wheat, his eyes emerald. Marina’s gaze flickered across his features, her arms still wrapped around his neck…

  He almost whispered something—some kind of pain touched his brow…

  His lips ghosted across hers.

  “He is here!”

  Loki twitched. He pulled back, his head coming around—

  Marina opened her eyes, her pulse thudding...

  Bestemor, alarmed, pressed her face through the wall, and yelped before she was fully visible.

  “He is here!” she hissed. “Out before my door.”

  “Who?” Loki gasped, letting Marina go and standing up.

  “Your brother.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Loki sat for just a moment, then shot to his feet and strode toward the door. Marina, swiping at her face, got up and followed as best she could, all her muscles trembling.