Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  Now, she, Thor and Loki had retreated inside Festning, which Loki had planted beside the oak. Thor had ducked, and shoved his way through the witchy door to find something to eat in the larder. Loki had immediately entered the hearth room, braced his right hand against the mantel and stared down into the flames. His appearance had cooled again—black hair with edges of silver, his eyes violet.

  Marina closed her fingers around the stones, a terribly unsteady sensation in her bones as she stared at his back.

  For a long moment, she just stood there, tension building in her chest and throat. Finally, she made herself step inside, and creep up to see him in profile—though she kept her distance. She gazed at his stony face, lit by the flicker of the flames, and risked a deep breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He looked at her sideways.

  And she didn’t recognize him. Hard, stark and foreign—it pierced through her heart. Loki’s mouth tightened.

  “You can’t guess?” he asked pointedly, with soft deadliness.

  Marina blinked.

  “I…”

  He quickly returned his attention to the fire.

  “You actually listened to Fenris,” he said. “And you…” He stopped, and gestured behind him toward the kitchen door without moving his head. His tone lowered to a whisper. “I trusted you.”

  Marina’s heart banged. She took half a step toward him.

  “I told you everything Fenris said,” she insisted. “But I…I worried about it—”

  “Why?” Loki snapped, his eyes returning to her and burning red. “What would make you believe any word that came out of his mouth?”

  “Because you haven’t told me anything about what really happened!” Marina countered, starting to shake. “You promised to tell me, but then you decided not to, so I’m left to my own imagination. I don’t know what to think!”

  “So you thought you’d call Thor?” Loki demanded, straightening up, one eye going grey while the other flared with scarlet, that same stark and foreign expression dominating his face. “Do you realize what could have happened?”

  “I called him because Bestemor said he would help,” Marina tried. “That he wants to believe you’re innocent, and he wants to get his brother back.”

  Loki turned toward the fire again, grinding his teeth. He fell silent. Icy goosebumps raced across Marina’s skin as she almost felt something slipping through her grasp…

  “Do you think I’m innocent?” Loki murmured.

  Marina’s mouth opened—but no words came out.

  He looked at her. Saw her face.

  And again, it was like she’d never met him.

  FLASH.

  She sat down in a chair, hard.

  Images and sensations barreled through her head, swallowing her vision, spinning her balance. She grasped the stones in a death grip as pictures coalesced and swam…

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Loki and Thor stood in front of her—Thor held a goblet in his hand. Both towering men watched her with furrowed brows and intense eyes.

  “What is it?” Thor rumbled. “What did you see?”

  “I…” Marina gasped. “I know where the next stone is.”

  “Where?” Thor asked.

  Marina glanced over at Loki, whose gaze had chilled to grey.

  “It’s at my house.”

  BOOM.

  Marina blinked over and over, again trying to clear her vision of the blinding, flickering dazzle. Thunder rolled up and back through the sky. Her feet sank down into the snow. Stillness fell.

  Finally her vision clarified, even as the footsteps of her companions crunched through the snow away from her.

  They stood beside a house. A three story wooden house with a thick-pillared porch, bric-a-brac decorating the upper windows; surrounded by snow-shrouded gardens. The building itself looked like a gingerbread house, since at least a foot of white icing stood upon its roof, window-sills and porch. The dawn touched it all with pale pinkish light—and of a sudden, it snapped from foreign to extremely familiar.

  Her hand flew to her heart.

  Loki and Thor had already started striding toward it, leaving deep swaths behind them. Marina hurried after them, the freezing air hurting her face and lips…

  And all at once, her knees went weak and she had to stop, as a deep, powerful hurt traveled all through her.

  Her roses. The ones she’d spent all that time pruning and fertilizing whilst Bird stood up on the ladder, humming that mysterious tune that had somehow thrummed through the chords of her memory…

  Tears sprang to her eyes as her glance fell upon the herb garden beside the house—or rather, where it should be. Now, a three-foot drift buried it.

  “Well, maybe crying is the wrong word. Probably ‘sweetly requesting’ would be better. I could say the same thing about the asparagus, just take the ‘sweet’ part out—asparagus get all stuffy-acting when they’re asking favors. The spearmint I just had to ignore—they’re pushy and overpowering, as you know, unless you keep them at a distance. I can personally only take them in small doses. And the dill is just plain saucy about it, and the garlic is downright loud, making a lot more fuss than is actually necessary, so you see…”

  A flash of sky-blue eyes—a halo of golden hair. A smile that stole her breath away.

  Marina squeezed her eyes shut, the frost nipping at her ears and nose.

  Absently, she heard deep footfalls thud against the wood of the front steps.

  “The door stands open,” Thor rumbled.

  Two tears rolled down Marina’s cheeks. Quickly, she opened her eyes and wiped them away with her glove.

  Both Thor and Loki stood on the porch, their stances light and taught. Slowly, Loki took his bow off his shoulder and notched an arrow to the string. Thor pulled Mjollnir from his belt, spun it once, then lowered his head.

  He and Loki exchanged a glance, then Thor turned and regarded Marina.

  “Keep right behind us, Little Thing,” he commanded. Marina nodded, pushed through the drifting snow, then climbed up the stairs behind them. Loki didn’t look at her.

  Instead, he took a low breath, set his teeth, and stepped through the snow that had drifted in the open doorway. Thor followed on his heels, and Marina trailed after, her feet lost in the rolling fog of his cape.

  The towering Aesir and Jotun moved into the entryway, silent as death. They flowed into the sitting room, casting furtive, hawk-like glances into every corner. Marina watched them, hardly breathing, as they crept through that dark, icy room into the library, where frost covered all of the books and artifacts. From there, into the kitchen, where Jack Frost coated the windows with lacy patterns, and the linoleum proved treacherously slick beneath Marina’s boots. Loki’s hands remained steady on his bow and long, wicked arrow; Mjollnir rested easily in Thor’s hand.

  Loki first, then Thor, then Marina, trailed up the stairs. The two vast men filled the small passage—more so than they had in Festning, somehow, and they investigated the empty guest bedroom, the bathroom, and Marina’s room. Marina lingered at the top of the staircase, awkwardly feeling that there simply was no room for her between the other two.

  Finally, Loki let out a low sigh, straightened up and slid his arrow back in his quiver, and put his bow on his back. Then, he pulled off his gloves, reached out with both hands and pressed them against the wall of the landing.

  “Hm,” he muttered, running his palms over the wallpaper.

  “What?” Thor wondered.

  “Did you get a sense, when we walked in here?” Loki asked him.

  “A stale one, yes,” Thor answered. “Hel has been here.”

  “Yes, but besides that,” Loki said, his brow furrowing. He met Thor’s eyes. “Doesn’t it seem a little familiar to you?”

  Thor’s eyebrows raised, and then he looked around. Something settled in his expression.

  “Yes.”

  Loki nodded, then glanced darkly down at Marina.

  �
�Things are starting to make sense, now,” he said—in a strange, cold tone. “Let’s see if we can wake him up, shall we?” And he started toward her, to go down the stairs. Alarmed, Marina hurriedly turned around, trotted down the steps and got out of his way. He swept past her, followed by Thor, and the two of them strode straight into the sitting room. Marina followed, burning with questions, yet suddenly afraid to ask any of them.

  Loki stopped in front of the fireplace, rubbed his hands together, breathed into them, and then clapped.

  Fire exploded in the fireplace.

  The front door slammed shut.

  All the lamps blinked on and burned bright.

  Marina felt heat and light race up the flue—and then flood through the whole room, along the walls, up the stairs, into the kitchen—down into the cellar, through the pipes, through the heater…

  The floor vibrated. Something like spices and licorice and gunpowder filled the air so she could taste it…

  And then…

  The very nature of the light within the room seemed to change. It deepened, richened, like ancient sunlight. And there stood Thor, with his stormy cloak, the firelight gleaming against his armor, across the intricate surface of Mjollnir, making his handsome, rugged features glow, and his eyes sparkle like sapphires. Beside him, Loki—black of midnight and white of snow, in striking contrast—hair blushing to the color of chestnut, eyes like the sea, his sharp profile seen through the feather of arrows and the string of a bow. Both men looming like mighty and terrible spirits that suddenly seemed unreal as a painting.

  Marina couldn’t speak.

  Then, Loki took a step back, and rapped his knuckles on the broad wooden mantel three times.

  “Hello,” he called. “You have visitors.”

  Marina suddenly frowned, took three steps forward—stopped—

  For a few moments, nothing happened.

  Then…

  The wood in the center of the mantel rippled. Loki took another step back, folding his arms across his chest and watching carefully.

  The wood kept swimming, pushing outward, cracking and squeaking…

  Until it formed a face.

  The face of a wizened man with a hooked nose; merry, wrinkled eyes; pointed chin, and no teeth—all the shade of deep cherry. He blinked slowly, as if trying to focus, his jaw working as he gummed thoughtfully. Finally, a line formed between his eyebrows, and he focused on the two men in front of him.

  “Loki, son of Farbauti,” he creaked—sounding unmistakably like the spit and crackle of a fire. “And Thor, son of Odin.”

  Loki leaned toward him, startled, and peered into his face.

  Then, he flashed an unguarded smile.

  “Farfar.”

  “What?” Thor cried, coming closer as well.

  “Thor, this house is Hjärta,” Loki declared.

  Thor straightened, looking around with widened eyes.

  “By Jove, it is!”

  Marina’s mouth fell open.

  The wooden man, apparently called Farfar, grinned—and indeed, he didn’t have a single tooth.

  “We wondered where you’d gone!” Loki said, straightening up. “How long ago were you planted here?”

  Farfar gummed again, squinching his eyes as he thought.

  “I should say, perhaps two hundred years, I should say,” he whistled. “Never moved since, I should say.”

  “Who brought you?” Thor asked.

  “I knew him, liten prince Bauldr,” Farfar answered, his face drooping. “I knew him.”

  Marina swallowed hard. Loki and Thor looked at each other.

  “For what purpose did he bring you?” Loki asked.

  “For certain, to guard his tears. For certain to find a guardian for them,” came the creaky reply.

  “A guardian,” Thor repeated, frowning.

  “Indeed, yes,” Farfar grinned. “There she is. Indeed, yes.” And he looked at Marina. Loki and Thor turned to face her. Her face turned hot.

  Loki’s eyes just narrowed for a moment, and then he faced Farfar again.

  “Yes, I suspected as much,” he stated. “You said ‘tears.’ Do you mean there is more than one of them here?”

  “Aye, pojke, aye,” Farfar replied.

  “Can you give them to us?” Thor asked, taking a step toward him.

  “No, pojke, no.”

  Loki and Thor glanced at each other again.

  “Why?” Loki wondered.

  “I can only give it to her,” Farfar replied. “If she be willing, that is. That is.”

  “Come here, Little Thing,” Thor beckoned—though he smiled a little when he said it. Marina, swallowing again, ventured around the couch and up beside Loki—which made her shiver—and stood in front of the wooden man. Farfar beamed at her.

  “A pretty kvinna, for sure, for sure,” he said. “Brave krigare, too. Of course, of course.”

  “May I have the tears?” Marina asked quietly.

  Farfar grinned again…

  Then opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue.

  And upon that wooden tongue sat a brilliant ruby, flashing and stunning as a drop of fire. Marina reached out and picked it up—it pulsed in her grasp.

  Farfar pulled his tongue back in and smacked his lips.

  Marina felt both Loki and Thor press closer.

  “Where’s the other one?” Loki wanted to know.

  Farfar’s eyebrows went up.

  “I cannot know, pojke, I cannot know,” he answered, his eyes going wide. “He kept it a secret from me. I cannot know.”

  “But is it here?” Thor pointed at the floor.

  “Yes, pojke, yes,” Farfar nodded. “Yes, somewhere. Yes.”

  Loki looked flatly at Marina.

  “Any ideas?”

  Marina’s head jerked up and she looked at him, then at Thor.

  “I…no,” she managed. “I didn’t even know he was here…” She gestured helplessly to Farfar.

  Silence fell. The fire sputtered. Loki sighed heavily.

  “I’m tired,” he muttered. “And I’m hungry. I’m going to make food, and then I say we should have a look at the ones we’ve got.”

  “Agreed,” Thor nodded, and followed him to the kitchen, leaving Marina behind. She watched them go…

  And when she faced the mantel again, Farfar was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marina sat on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, leaning her shoulder sideways on the couch and facing the fire. She had taken her coat and gloves off and laid them on the armchair across the way.

  The dawn bloomed against the frost-covered windows, making them glow, and filling the room with soft light. She smelled hot food cooking in the kitchen, but somehow she couldn’t make herself get her legs under her, and go into a room where he was. Not again.

  Heavy footfalls. Coming toward her. She glanced up to the right to see Thor towering over her—and smiling at her.

  “Here, Little Thing,” he said, holding a steaming bowl down to her. She blinked, then reached up and took it from him.

  “Thank you.”

  “Loki was only able to salvage some things from your larder,” he said, sitting down heavily next to her and crossing his legs. “So he’s made due with a nail soup.”

  Marina’s throat thickened and her eyes stung. All she could do was nod. Shakily, she picked up the spoon and dipped it into the rich reddish liquid, finding potatoes, canned chopped tomatoes, mushrooms, hamburger, canned corn and peas. She brought it to her mouth and tasted it. Hot, flavorful—a little salty, and delicious. It slid down her throat and warmed her whole body. She almost started crying.

  “Forgive my rough manners,” Thor spoke up, taking a sip of his own soup right out of the bowl. “But all this while I have been calling you Little Thing, which is rude.”

  Marina halfway smiled.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “But your name is Lady Marina, is it not?”

  “Just Marina,” she answered, gla
ncing over and meeting his brilliant eyes. “I don’t have a title.”

  “Yes, you do,” he countered frankly, looking into the fire. “I’ve just given it to you.”

  Marina blushed, ducked her head, and smiled again.

  Just then, a slight breath of air against the back of her neck…

  And Loki swept silently into the room cradling his own bowl of soup, and sat down a little in front of Thor. He didn’t look at her.

  But somehow, Marina couldn’t tear her eyes from him.

  He set the soup down on the rug, rubbed his hands together, breathed into them…

  And produced the silver stone. It caught the firelight and the dawn, and snapped sparkles out toward them.

  Three times he breathed onto it, then whispered,

  “Syna.”

  And he gently tossed it into the hearth.

  The flames flashed, and took on a marvelous silver hue. And, just as before, they coalesced into figures. Figures of people.

  Marina heard Thor stop breathing. And, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean forward, unblinking, and fixate on those figures.

  A tall, beautiful, middle-aged woman with long, curly hair, half of it done up and wound around an elegant circlet. She wore a sweeping gown with fitted sleeves and an ornate belt. Her lovely face was filled with distress, her eyes wide, her fingers squeezed together. She paced with short steps beside a chair—a chair where a young man sat, his expression closed and dark, his fingers draped over his mouth.

  Bauldr.

  Again, he looked exactly the way he did when last Marina saw him. Handsome, with shining hair. Yet, she could still not be sure when exactly this had happened, since Aesir seemed to change so little, no matter how much time passed…

  “Alskling, I beg of you not to worry any more,” the woman urged, her voice slightly unsteady as she faced him. “I have done everything that can possibly be done. The spell I have laid on you is unbreakable. Nothing in Asgard or anywhere else can possibly harm you.”