The afternoon light dwindled to evening, the skylights closed, and the torches lit themselves. Marina sensed Thor wash his hands, dry them, and then slowly sit back in his chair, releasing a long sigh. Marina’s attention drifted from the revelers, up the surface of the table, across the way…
And lighted upon the empty wooden chair to Thor’s right.
A chair that had been festooned with the branches of a cinnamon tree, wound in with purple hyacinth.
Her gaze hung there, seeing nothing else, as her thoughts wandered back…
A hand touched hers.
Her eyelids flickered, but she didn’t turn. She felt a warm, calloused hand gently slip underneath hers, and twine through her fingers.
Thor held her hand there under the table, softly rubbing his thumb back and forth along the back of it. Marina’s breathing unsteadied, and she didn’t dare look over at him. But she closed her grasp and returned the pressure.
“May heaven bless you for all that you have given my family, Lady Marina,” he murmured. “And may the Great Ring-Giver grant you peace, and freedom from all your sorrows.”
She swallowed, knowing she ought to speak, ought to at least look at him…
She could not. So she nodded, and lowered her gaze to her lap.
For a long time, neither of them moved nor spoke. The herald called out an announcement inviting the wedding guests to return to the table for desserts of strawberries and cream, and more wine.
Marina slipped her hand out of Thor’s, stood up, and stepped up to his side—though she could still not look at him.
“Thank you, my lord, for coming to help me when I called you,” she whispered. And Marina bent down, and pressed a kiss to the side of Thor’s head.
With that, she turned, climbed the stairs and left the mead hall, pushing through the double doors and stepping out into the night.
Owls called and night birds twittered in the trees and the shrubs. A cool breeze touched the edges of her loose hair, and the hem of her skirt. She stood in the center of the moonlit road, arms wrapped around herself, gazing into the distance at the colossal silhouette of Yggdrasil, and the myriad lamps that hung in its vast boughs. The full summer moon bathed everything in white and hoary light, turning all shadows to deep blues and violets.
A soft movement to her left. She didn’t turn, but her gaze unfocused.
“Hello, Marina,” a gentle voice emerged. “How do you suppose that rosebush is doing without you?”
Marina’s eyes clouded. Then, she reached up, and wiped away the single tear that trailed down her cheek.
Bauldr quietly stepped up beside her and paused. She could feel him studying her.
“Walk with me?” he asked.
Marina glanced over at him. Flawless and pale, nearly elvish, his earnest eyes luminescent, his curls like the feathers of a swan.
“Won’t she miss you?” she asked, with low pointedness.
Bauldr glanced down and smiled crookedly.
“No,” he said. “She knows where I am.”
Marina said nothing. He turned his back on Yggdrasil, and raised his eyebrows at her.
Slowly, she turned toward him, keeping her arms wrapped around herself. He took a step forward, and she followed suit. And soon, they were walking slowly back up the road Marina had followed in the back of a cart when she had first come to Asgard, all that time ago.
“You are different,” Bauldr remarked. “I can see it in you: that strength I only caught glimpses of before. You wear it like a crown, now.”
Marina lifted her chin, gazing out ahead of her, listening to the lonely coo of a dove nearby. Bauldr clasped his hands behind his back and walked closer to her. Occasionally, their shoulders brushed.
“I’m sure you have heard, in fairytales,” he began carefully. “Of the magical power of ‘true love’s kiss.’ Well, your myth-makers were not entirely wrong. Though it is not so much the ‘true love’ as it is the kiss that carries the power. From the mouth flows life, breath, and the purest forms of magic. Doubtlessly on your travels, you noticed that Loki often breathed into his hands, or whispered spells—and his breath was the catalyst for the change he desired. I’m sure that Eir used some of the same when she revived me. In cases of near death and terrible strain, magicians have been known to bleed magic from their mouths.”
Marina glanced over at him again, going cold with recollection. But he looked placidly straight ahead.
“Upon the lips of a powerful practitioner, Kiss Magick can be used to tremendous effect. It can discover the location of broken bones or torn muscle, seek out scars or deformities, convey secrets…and even, in very special circumstances, actual objects.”
“That’s how you gave me those visions,” Marina realized quietly. “Of where to find your tears. You kissed me on the forehead.”
Bauldr chuckled softly.
“Yes. And thankfully, it worked. I’m only a novice when it comes to Kiss Magick. Loki, being a natural healer, is the master.” He paused. “Was.”
Marina pulled her arms tighter around herself.
They walked some distance further, saying nothing—and she sensed that Bauldr was gathering his words. A low gust of wind pushed at their backs, cooling their skin, and the night birds quieted.
“The first day I met you, I saw how much pain you were in,” he murmured carefully. “How it swallowed you, crippled you, kept you up at night. I also knew that you would never tell me what it was. And that I could never fix it. But…I knew someone who could.”
Marina’s heart started beating faster.
“I put a spell on that Wishstone to take you to Loki, wherever he might be,” Bauldr went on. “I knew that your resolution and wisdom, paired with Loki’s talent and raw nerve, was the best chance that Asgard, and I, had. I was also certain…” he slowed to a stop, and faced her. Marina stopped too—but she could not lift her face to his.
“I was certain,” he pressed. “That you could reach a depth of Loki’s heart that no one has ever seen, not even here, in a thousand years. That you could heal wounds he has carried all his life, that you could give him the courage to confront the ones who have been slowly poisoning him.” Bauldr reached out, and gently took her by the elbows. “And I was certain that he would persist so stubbornly to know you, to fix you, that he would finally get inside of you and mend what was broken—what I could never mend.” He took a shaking breath. “I had no idea that you…That we would all lose him.” He swallowed. “For that, I am…desperately sorry.”
Marina’s face twisted, still unable to lift her head.
“I should also say that I am sorry that you fell in love with him,” Bauldr murmured. “And that he fell in love with you.”
Now her head came up. She stared at him, some sort of strange, thrilling panic shooting through her. He gazed back at her, smiling weakly.
“But, for a selfish reason, I cannot be sorry for that,” he said, kindly taking up her hands and squeezing them. “Because that is where your myth-makers got it right. Only love can give and receive something so potent and mercurial as my tears through Kiss Magick. And so…I am alive.” He shrugged, his eyes shining. His brow knotted and his voice unsteadied. “But, for an un-selfish reason…I cannot be sorry that you loved my friend. He has never been loved by one as true as you.” His tears fell, and glistened in the moonlight. “He waited long, his heart often broken. And he died for you, as much as he did for me.”
Marina’s own tears tumbled now, and she couldn’t look away from him.
“Carry him with you all your life, Marina Feroe,” Bauldr urged. “He gave you a gift you cannot see, but it is beyond the value of anything on earth.”
“I will,” she promised, gasping.
“And take this gift from me,” he added, reaching down to a pouch at his belt, and pulling out a vial. Inside glowed a turquoise blue liquid, the surface of which sparkled with green flame.
“What is it?” Marina asked, blinking away her tears.
&nbs
p; “It is some of the magic that Hel stole,” Bauldr said, laying it in her palm. “I want you to take it back to Midgard. I want you to stand in the middle of your garden, remove the cork and pour it out. And as you do, I want you to say lifa, lifa, lifa.”
“What will that do?” Marina asked, closing her fingers around the vial.
But Bauldr only smiled.
Just then, a low thud rippled through the earth beneath their feet. Confused, Marina turned…
To see a stone archway standing beside the road. Through it, a curtain of fog waited.
Marina stared through that gateway, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she frowned, and looked to him again.
“Now?”
Bauldr said nothing. Her gaze wandered across his features.
“Will I ever see you again?” She breathed the question so low, she thought he wouldn’t hear it. But his smile returned.
“If you wish,” he said. “As long as you wear that pendant.”
A flame of pleasure guttered in her chest for a moment.
Just a moment.
Her lip trembled again.
“Thank you.”
Bauldr grew solemn.
“No,” he shook his head—then knelt on the ground before her, took her left hand, and kissed the back of it. Then, he pressed it fervently to his forehead. “Thank you, fairest and kindest and bravest lady of Midgard.”
Pain traveled all through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Goodbye, Bird,” she rasped, squeezing his fingers hard—then letting go.
“Goodbye,” he whispered—suddenly sounding sad.
She turned, refusing to look at him—but feeling his angelic warmth touch her back. She clutched the vial to her chest, stepped off the road and into the dew-covered grass.
She swished past the little daisies, the gate looming over her.
And, before her will had a chance to break, she lowered her head and charged forward, straight into the mist.
She strode through the fog, head down, following the progress of her feet against the paving stones. She felt the vast, clouded space around her, the walls that formed the railing of the bridge…
She paused, her heart panging, and turned back.
She couldn’t see anything but a wall of mist.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she faced forward again, and continued.
On and on she walked, listening to the echoes of her footsteps. Until finally, she caught sight of another archway, and darkness beyond.
Chill air wafted out toward her. She shivered—then ground her teeth and plunged through.
Her sandaled feet sank up to her calves in snow. She instantly snapped her jaw shut as her vision swam…
And there she stood, in the dark, in the middle of the forest by her house.
“Gah!” she rasped in alarm, shivering hard and binding her arms around her chest. Her breath burst out into cloud in front of her face. She dashed forward, kicking through the snow, her feet going numb, frost needling the bare skin of her arms and neck.
She scrambled up the hill, battling to see by the shafts of moonlight that pierced through the laden branches. Finally, she achieved the height, and emerged onto her own side lawn.
She paused, puffing and shuddering, staring down at the three sets of deep footprints that led toward the darkened hulk of her house.
Thor’s. Hers. And Loki’s.
“Gaaaah…” she gasped again, her whole frame quivering violently, and she hurried out into the moon-soaked yard, where the snow glittered like spilled sugar.
In the dead center, she planted her feet squarely in two of Loki’s footprints. She pulled out the vial, popped the cork loose, and held the bottle out in front of her.
The moonlight glimmered secretively through the multi-colored liquid.
She tipped it. The liquid eased toward the opening.
And then…
Drip.
“Lifa,” Marina breathed. She tipped the bottle more, letting the potion run out in one continuous stream. “Lifa…lifa…”
It struck the snow. Let out a low, contemplative hiss…
WHOOSH.
Hot wind burst outward from her feet—and the snow shot back.
She hopped, almost spilling the potion in shock.
The snow vanished in a rolling, widening circle all around her, fleeing into the woods, disappearing from the branches, leaping off of the flowerbeds, curling away and off the roof.
Hundreds of low branches noisily heaved upward, suddenly relieved of their terrible burdens. Heat swelled against her bare legs, sending goosebumps racing up her skin. Wild crackling issued from the depths of the forest as the trees creaked and sighed and the snow jetted into the air in sparkling clouds of dust and disappeared.
“Lifa…lifa…” Marina kept muttering, only halfway realizing she was doing it as she frantically turned her head back and forth to catch what was happening—
The crushed blades of grass righted themselves and filled with strength and moisture. She could feel the lawn soften beneath her feet. All the shrubs and rose bushes lifted from their frostbitten limpness, shook themselves and stretched upward, sprouting out dozens of new leaves in an instant.
A high wind abruptly rushed through the topmost boughs, and the thin winter clouds folded and dissolved. The sky warmed, and seemed to press closer—the stars brightened like living diamonds.
“Lifa…lifa…lifa…”
The hot, teasing wind dove and swirled around her, catching her dress and tossing her hair.
And Marina gasped.
A million winking fireflies rose from the grass. They looped and swung through Marina’s yard, swimming through the velvety night, pushed to and fro by the playful breeze. And they lit the fathoms of the forest—countless glimmering yellow lights as far as she could see in all directions.
Then, a cloud of bats dashed by overhead, squeaking with delight, and sweeping down into the branches.
As if on cue, a chorus of fluttering shook the night, and a thousand birds began twittering, shrieking, sputtering and singing. Their raucous noise surrounded Marina, drowned her. Then, in harmony, innumerable grasshoppers and crickets began chirping and clicking.
A few minutes later, dew wetted her feet and soaked the hem of her dress. It beaded on her bare arms, her hair and her brow. The birdsong rose to a joyous cacophony…
And the sky lifted.
The darkness eased back from the eastern horizon.
And, as Marina stood breathless, the empty vial loose in her hand…
The dawn came.
First, it painted the edges with the softest grey, which soon bloomed into a gentle pink that spread across the sky, gradually rolling back the night and hiding the stars.
She gazed, captured by its quiet advance…
Until the sun violently broke the canvas of the heavens—pierced the violets and blues with overpowering gold and blinding white.
The leaves, the grass all illumined with greens of all shades—so many greens! Her lawn bubbled with purple and yellow flowers, the trunks of the trees pulsed with reds, auburns and chestnuts. The rose bushes throbbed, and never-ending blossoms broke from their buds in a stunning wave, spilling their gaudy blooms across the walkway and up the side of her house.
The voices of the birds rang out a riot through the morning. Swallows wove through the towering blue sky, chasing through a flock of dragonflies.
Slowly, Marina sank to the ground, and sat in the grass—grass which now stood hip high. She set the empty vial down, and wrapped her arms around her knees and tilted her face back, taking a full breath of the sweet, fresh scent that now filled the air.
Warmth coursed through her blood as she listened to the rolling, rising noises of the glorious dawn, a deep quiet in her heart. The sun rose. The sky brightened to a blue as vibrant as Bauldr’s eyes.
And, as ruby-red ladybugs crawled up her arms and onto her skirt, Marina reached down with her left hand and pressed it softly
against the ground…
Into the place where Loki’s footprint used to be.
Chapter Thirty
August
One Year Later
“Hi, Mr. Larson? This is Marina Feroe. Haha, yes, again,” Marina smiled into the phone as she kept loose hold of the steering wheel with her right hand. Sunlight flickered past her open truck window as she drove down the two-lane highway. “Listen, I really need some help at my house. The underbrush from the woods around my yard is just taking over, my rose bushes are covering my walkway, and there’s a bunch of ivy that’s worked its way through my upstairs windows and into my hall. It’s too much.”
“Well,” came the crackling reply. “Before, I wouldn’t have believed you, since me and Peter just came out there three weeks ago to clear all that out! But ever since that freak snowstorm cleared up…!”
“Yes, I know,” Marina chuckled. “It’s like living in a jungle.”
“It is!” he cried. “And I’ve been getting calls from everyone in town saying the same thing as you all spring and summer—I’ve had to hire more guys to help out. Is it all right if I send a couple of the new ones out to you? You don’t know them, but I’ve been watching them work for the past few days and they do a good job.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” she agreed. “Just tell them to hurry before I drown!”
Mr. Larson laughed.
“We’ll do our best! Thanks, Marina.”
“No, thank you,” she insisted, grinning, and hung up. She set her phone down on the passenger seat and ran her left hand through her windblown hair, then draped her arm out the window, feeling the sun glow against the side of her face.
She followed the winding road along the rocky coastline, taking deep breaths of the cool, salty air, watching the rows and rows of tall, dark pines flash by.
Eventually, she turned off, came to a parking space, and got out. The slamming of the door rang through the silence, and the wind caught her hair. She gathered up her satchel, swung it over her shoulder, and began her hike.
She wandered down a long lane flanked by thin young pines, hundreds of birds flittering around her, the sunlight dappling the ground before her. She took another deep breath and smiled. She had always loved the scent of pine.
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