Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  “Please, Marina,” he whispered again.

  The water dripped.

  It flashed in the light.

  It scalded the back of his neck.

  He roared, fell back and hit the ends of his chains. The terrible clash bashed through the cave, deafening Marina—warmth drained out of her face.

  Gasps tore through him—his eyes widened sightlessly. He writhed again…

  His brow twisted and tears streamed down his temples. He

  released a strangled, helpless sob that tore Marina lengthwise.

  Shakily, Marina reached into her pocket and withdrew the Wishstones. With quivering fingers, she picked out the red one, and put the others back. She crept forward, across the slippy rocks, toward Loki’s left side. Sweat and blood gleamed on his skin and his lips. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, and halfway looked up at her.

  “I want you to know, before I do this,” Marina said slowly, evenly.

  “That I hate you.”

  His lower lip twitched.

  “Fair enough,” he muttered, his voice watery.

  “You swear you’ll help me,” Marina said, squeezing the Wishstone. He nodded, sighing.

  “You have my word.”

  Marina hesitated. Clenched her teeth. Held the Wishstone out over him, half wondering if it would work…

  “Let him go,” she ordered.

  Snap!

  White light flashed.

  The manacles cracked loose of Loki’s ankles and broke off of his wrists.

  “Gaahhhh…” Loki choked, his arms going limp. Blood dripped from his fingers.

  Marina pulled her hand back. For a moment, Loki just lay there, eyes closed, catching his breath. Then, slowly, he rolled over onto his side and forced himself into a sitting position. He scooted away from where the water would fall, then tried to get to his feet. He started up, then lost his balance and had to reach out and catch himself on a low rock. Marina watched him. He closed his eyes again, sweat dripping from his black hair. He grimaced, pushed himself off, and finally stood on his own. He cleared his throat.

  “All right, then.” He lifted his left hand and tried to snap his fingers. They slipped across each other—and shook. He huffed tiredly. “Oh, fine.” He muttered. Glanced up at Marina. “Thank you.” And he clapped his hands.

  He was gone.

  No flash, no sound.

  He was just gone.

  Marina’s mouth fell open.

  She spun around, searching the reaches of the cave.

  Nothing. No one. It was completely empty, except for the whispering waters.

  Her gut twisted.

  And then…

  A faraway, lonesome, trailing howl.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, ” Marina hissed, stumbling through the darkness, further into the cave, hugging herself tightly. “Sure. You have a master’s degree in Norse myth. Sure, you’ve memorized the Edda. Couldn’t remember Loki plays tricks on people? You’re a genius.”

  She’d fled from the mouth of the cave and left it far behind, delving deeper into the chasm. Now, she followed the cavern’s winding path by feel, occasionally reaching out to touch the cold, moist wall, her feet splishing through the thin stream. Every few paces, she would pause, and listen for the wolves.

  She hadn’t heard anything for several minutes.

  Didn’t mean anything.

  She swallowed, her brow tensing. Her legs ached, and her entire left side panged with deep, painful spasms. She had to rest soon.

  She pressed on for fifty more feet, and then the cave walls started to feel drier to the touch. She stepped to the right, out of the stream…

  And blundered into a small, raised alcove. She sighed, quivering, sank down and sat on the floor, her back to the wall. She wrapped her right arm around her knees and bent her head, curling up into a ball. For a long while, she just concentrated on breathing in…out…in…out…

  Bird.

  Bird…

  She gasped, and lifted her head. Stared straight out, into the pitch blackness. She couldn’t see anything at all. Her heart pounded.

  “What…” Her voice caught in her throat. “What am I going to do?”

  Silence answered.

  An ache tingled across her head and centered in the middle of her forehead. She winced, the back of her throat stinging.

  She could freeze to death. And she had no idea where she was. She could be in Norway. Or Siberia. Or Romania. Or about a mile from her backyard—she had no clue. No way to know, and no way to find out. She hadn’t been thinking of a particular place when she’d used the Wishstone—but did that matter? Did it decide where to take her, or was its job merely to get her away?

  But why had it brought her to Loki? Of all places? Was it drawn to other uses of magic? Or other pieces of Asgard, wherever they might be?

  And Bird…

  Bird…

  Her heart hurt. So did her head. It felt like her very bone was cracking. She reached up, swallowing tightly, and rubbed her forehead.

  A powerful light suddenly swelled across her vision.

  She sat up straight.

  Froze.

  Blinded. Blinded by sheer, radiant sun-like light. She blinked, trying to focus…

  A mountain.

  A distant, black, steep, double-peaked, snow-covered mountain rose up in front of her, surrounded by pines—and a deep cave penetrated the rock between the two peaks. Her vision swooped forward, straight into the throat of that cave…

  And in its depths, there suddenly flashed a golden, multi-faceted stone.

  It blazed across her mind.

  And then—

  She saw Bird. Lying on a slab of stone, robed in white, his hands folded on his chest. He looked peaceful.

  No.

  He looked dead.

  But—

  In the back of Marina’s mind, that gold stone abruptly flashed…

  And Bird’s blue eyes flew open.

  Marina jerked.

  She stared ahead, at blackness.

  The cave.

  The stream softly gurgled just inches from her boots.

  She shot to her feet.

  Frantically, she caught herself against the wall. Started breathing so hard and so fast that her vision blinked in and out.

  “I…” she tried, rasping. “I have to…I…” She started forward, splashing into the stream. Halted. Shook herself hard, to clear her head. Then, she shuffled toward the cave entrance again as quickly as she could, impatiently trailing her right hand against the wall.

  Minutes later, she passed the moonlit room where Loki had lain. She paused.

  No chains hung from the ceiling. No shackles lay on the floor. An eerie chill swept over her skin. She kept going.

  Finally, she broke out of the cave and stepped out into the stark, snowy, forested night. The stream widened and rushed. She couldn’t feel her feet.

  Marina folded her arms, hopping across the stream again and searching between the branches, trying to find the stars. If she could just discern a few constellations, she might be able to figure out where exactly she was…

  A shiver shook her. Her teeth rattled. Thin, gray clouds had begun to wash across the moon, and the frozen leaves obstructed so much of the sky. She had to find a more open space, so she could see. She turned around, peering through the darkness. The land upstream slanted fairly steeply, like a foothill. Maybe, if she followed the stream up, she might run across a better vantage point. And from there, she might also be able to see the lights of a town, or even just a house.

  Which she would have to find. Soon.

  She closed her numb fingers and started up.

  Marina trudged through knee-deep snow, the lunar light filtering down between the thin, leaning pines, creating dark and light crisscross patterns all around her. She trembled constantly, sucking in her breath in short, painful gasps. She couldn’t feel her feet or legs up to her thighs, and she had no sense in her arms up to h
er elbows—except for the jagged pain that constantly needled up and down her left side. She knew it had to be about four in the morning…

  Which meant that dawn was still too far away.

  Up, up a steep, uneven hill, stumbling through snow-bound underbrush, trying desperately not to fall down. If she ever did fall…

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, knocking that thought aside. She just had to get to that ridge up there. She could see the moon shining onto the snow…

  Finally, she dragged herself to the border of the light, and crossed into it. She turned, her jaw chattering so hard she feared she might bite herself…

  And gazed out, from the side of a low mountain, on a silent, rolling black forest. It stretched on as far as she could see in every direction. Not a single light blinked—no light at all, except for the cold moon, and the icy stars. Nothing moved. Not even the wind.

  Marina let out a gasp through chapped lips, tears springing to her eyes. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the stones, then put two of them back, keeping the green one. She squeezed it against her heart and closed her eyes.

  “Get…” she stammered. “Get me out of here. Get me out of here…”

  Nothing happened.

  She blinked her frozen eyelashes and opened her eyes. Pried open her palm and stared down at the emerald stone.

  “Come on,” she rasped. “Come on, get me out of here!”

  Still nothing.

  “Handy little things, those Wishstones.”

  The voice rang out through the winter.

  Marina whirled around, her heart slamming into her ribs.

  High above her, perched at the edge of a cliff…

  Hel.

  Moonlight gleamed against her hair. Night slid from her robes and oozed down the mountain. Her eye flamed red, and she grinned at Marina.

  “Too bad they each only work once.”

  Marina spun and leaped down the hill, throwing herself back into the darkness. But the next instant, she heard Hel cackle—

  And dozens of wolves, in chorus, howled in fiendish delight. She heard them spill down the incline, billow through the snow, and give chase at full throttle.

  She couldn’t make her legs move! She lurched forward, tugging in sharp breaths that cut through her lungs, plowing through the snow, pumping her arms—

  Her foot caught.

  She yelped—slammed into the ground.

  She plunged into the icy, stinging fluff, face-first, then rolled. Then—

  Her hip crashed into a tree. She let out a strangled cry, trying to claw her way to her feet, shaking the snow out of her face. She slipped into a standing position—

  Jaws snapped behind her. She leaped back—her shoulder hit the tree—

  She looked straight into the teeth of that huge, black wolf.

  It heaved a thunderous snarl that vibrated its whole, muscular body. Its frosted hackles stood on end, its ears flattened to its skull—spit dripped from its fangs. And its eyes lit like the fires of hell.

  Marina screamed, and threw her arms up over her face.

  FLASH!

  Lightning exploded in front of her.

  The wolf keened sharply and leaped backward, stumbling. Marina’s eyes dazzled—for an instant, she couldn’t see anything—

  And then…

  A tall, lean, black-clad figure materialized right there. He faced the wolf, his hands up, palms out.

  He clapped his hands.

  Light burst from them like a concussion, striking the wolf and knocking it back. It fell into the snow, wildly shaking its head.

  The stranger spun on his heel, and found Marina.

  High-collared, woolen, winter garb, short cape and silver belt; white, handsome, angular face; dark, curly hair, hawk-like eyebrows and piercing gray eyes. He reached out toward her.

  “Your hand please, Twig.”

  “Wha—” Marina tried. “Loki?”

  “Your hand, woman!” he barked.

  A legion of wolves suddenly burst through a snowdrift, clashing their teeth together, lunging toward them—

  Marina grabbed his hand.

  A hot, flaring thrill shot down her arm and down into her chest. All at once, she felt like she weighed nothing.

  Loki whirled her around, pulled her to him and leaped down the hill. Marina followed him—their feet flew over the snow, hardly leaving a trace. The wolves screamed after them, barreling between the trees with the swiftness of phantasms.

  A wolf darted in, snapping at Loki’s right leg. Loki slapped the air with his right hand—blue sparks sprang from his fingertips and bit into the wolf’s face. The wolf veered and struck a tree. The others barked and shrieked. Loki squeezed down on Marina’s hand.

  They wove through the forest, kicking up clouds of snow in their wake, skidding down the steep hill. Loki shoved her toward the left, they took a sharp turn…

  “Oh, no!” Marina cried.

  “Hold tight!” Loki said.

  And they raced full-tilt toward a cliff.

  Before Marina could even form a thought, Loki had thrown her over the edge.

  For one horrifying, heart-stopping instant, she hung in the icy, thin air over a thousand foot drop.

  Then—

  He caught her.

  Wrapped his arms all around her—and his cape enveloped them.

  Chills submerged her.

  She grabbed his collar, gritted her teeth and ducked her head.

  They fell.

  Her heart leaped into her throat and her stomach flipped. Wind howled past them. They plummeted toward the ground like a stone. Marina couldn’t breathe. She braced herself to impact and die—

  They slowed.

  Tilted. Turned upright.

  Marina opened her eyes.

  They drew to a quiet halt.

  Her feet sank down into the snow. So did his.

  She sucked in a hard breath and pulled sharply back, out of his grasp. His cape fluttered loose of her. Panicked, she glanced all around…

  They stood at the bottom of a narrow, sheer-sided ravine. The moon gazed indifferently down on them from far overhead, creating a slice of pale light that cut jaggedly across this small, thin space.

  Loki stood in front of her, half in black shadow, hard and striking. He glanced around them, too, as if gauging the cliff wall.

  “What…What…” Marina tried, her lips trembling again.

  “Sh,” Loki muttered, his breath a vapor. “They are still up there.”

  Marina looked up, straining her hearing…

  The low whuffling of a dozen noses sniffing disturbed the snow far overhead. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned back to Loki. He crept away from her, toward the southern cliff wall, eyeing it. He assessed a slight recess no wider than ten feet, then nodded once.

  He brought his left hand up to his lips, rubbed his fingers together, then blew on them.

  Gold and red sparks bloomed on his fingertips. He flicked them toward the ground.

  They leaped off, and struck the snow. Marina watched, entranced.

  The sparks took root, and from them blossomed wooden sticks—they grew straight up with astonishing speed, creaking and whispering and broadening as they did. Soon, they reached out to each other, tangled and entwined, to form four knotted, branchy walls. Up and up they climbed, perhaps ten feet, but only five feet wide. The walls thickened, the gaps closed.

  Then…

  A window pushed through, and opened—

  Only for shutters to materialize, and slap across it. Another window did the same, then two more above them. A door opening yawned into existence in the middle, and then the door itself clapped it shut. The walls leaned, and wound together at the top in a sharp peak. A chimney sprouted like a mushroom, and wooden shingles spilled down the slant of the roof.

  Dozens of grotesque and ugly wooden faces then poked out of every angle and post, blinking their eyes open and sticking out their tongues. Smoke sputtered and then sighed from t
he chimney—but it didn’t trail upward very far before disappearing. An iron goblin’s face shoved out through the center of the door and spat out a circular knocker, then gripped it in its teeth, glaring out at the two of them.

  Marina gaped at it all.

  A perfect Norse playhouse, from nothing.

  “Come inside,” Loki sighed, glancing back at Marina. “You look half dead.”

  He strode forward, rubbed the goblin’s nose…

  And the door eased open. Light spilled out. Loki pushed the door aside and stepped in.

  “We…” Marina started. “Will we both fit?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Clouds rolled across the moon. Marina bit her lip. She couldn’t feel it. Wincing, she stepped forward, slogging through the snow again…

  Then slipped through the gap between the post and the door.

  “Shut that, will you,” Loki ordered. “It’s far too cold.”

  Marina couldn’t say anything. She could only faintly push on the door to close it. It latched easily.

  She stood on a fur rug, in an entryway that was only four feet deep. Straight ahead of her, hugging a wall, climbed an extremely narrow set of worn wooden stairs—almost straight up—accompanied by a gnarled banister. To her left, only a foot away, waited a closed, five-foot-high door, carved with the image of a spindly kitchen witch sweeping up a pile of spiders. To Marina’s right, through a four-foot-by-six-foot opening, she glimpsed a dark, pocket-sized library, every wall packed to the throat with dusty, beaten leather books. The far wall in the library held a low, stumpy stone fireplace where more ugly faces protruded, and a lively fire burned in the hearth. A short-legged, high-backed chair sat on either side of the fireplace. The stuffing was falling out of both of them. A woven rug covered the floor, and red, tapestry-like curtains obscured the front window. Loki stood in front of the fireplace, which only came up to his waist. He rested his graceful hand on the mantel and leaned his weight against it, lowering his head.

  Marina couldn’t conjure a single question. Everything in here seemed impossibly close and jammed together—but it was all still infinitely bigger than it should have been. The outside of the house was tiny, appearing barely big enough for the two of them to stand inside together, and yet…

  Loki cleared his throat.