Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

“Ha,” Marina ducked her head away again. “Um…All right, so it’s a piece of clothing, but not made of anything that clothes are made of.”

  “I don’t know what trick you’re trying—I’m not giving you any hints,” Loki sighed.

  “I don’t need hints,” Marina lifted her chin.

  “Mhm. Of course,” Loki grunted.

  “I don’t,” Marina answered. She reached up and pushed her hair out of her face. “It’s a piece of clothing that only heroes wear. And you become a hero by fighting and winning. So…men who fight wear armor. But armor is in pieces. It’s not one thing, like…” Her mind lit up. “Like chain mail.”

  “Brilliant,” Loki said flatly. “Though I don’t know why you’re allowed to do so much talking.”

  “I’m allowed,” she countered. “I started the game.”

  “So you devise the rules?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” she moved even closer to him, leaning in. “My turn.”

  “Oh, you have another one?” he raised his eyebrows.

  “I do.”

  “Let’s have it, then.”

  Marina let the blanket fall off her shoulders as she straightened up again.

  “My head is forged with the hammer

  Hurt with sharp tools, smoothed by files

  I take in my mouth what is set before me

  When girded with rings I am forced to strike,

  Hard against hard, pierced from behind.

  Must draw forth what protects at midnight

  The heart’s delight of my own lord.

  Sometimes I turn backwards my beak

  When, protector of treasure, my lord wishes

  To hold the leavings of those had driven

  From life by battle-craft, for his own desire.”

  “The rings give it away,” Loki whispered. “And treasure. It’s a key.”

  “These are too easy for you,” Marina sighed, shaking her head.

  “All right, I’ll give you an easy one,” Loki grimaced, shifting under his covers until he lay partway on his left side, facing her. His eyes opened, completely colorless and silvery now, the auburn vanishing from his hair as it blackened to raven.

  “I was alive but said nothing, even so I die,” he said,

  his brow knotted.

  “Back I came before I was. Everyone plunders me,

  Keeps me confined, and shears my head

  Bites my bare body, breaks my arms

  No man I bite, unless he bites me;

  Many there are who do bite me.”

  Marina went cold down to her bones and stared back at him. She swallowed hard, her eyebrows drawing together.

  Then, his lips weakly curved, and his aspect softened.

  “Come now, Twig,” he murmured. “It’s an onion. Nothing to be frightened about.”

  She gulped again, and his ghostly mirth faded.

  “Lady Marina.”

  Marina twitched, and blinked the water from her eyes. She turned around, and saw Bestemor bloom into being next to the kitchen door.

  “Yes?” Marina managed through her tense throat.

  “There is a potion in the kitchen cupboard, in a brown bottle,” Bestemor creaked, smiling. “It will ease his pain, and help him to sleep.”

  “Oh. Oh, all right,” Marina nodded, gingerly extracting herself from the blanket and getting to her feet. She padded across the thick rugs, pushed through the witchy door, and peered through the dim kitchen toward the cabinets. She rifled through a few of them before she found a tall brown bottle in a far corner. She grabbed it and bit the cork, pulling it out with a pop. She set the cork down on the mantel.

  “How much do I give him?” she called into the air. Bestemor obligingly appeared in a cabinet door.

  “After what has happened to him, he may drink all of it if he wishes,” Bestemor chuckled. “It cannot do him any harm.”

  Marina nodded, and Bestemor melted away. Making sure she held the bottle securely, Marina turned and left the kitchen, and went back into the library.

  “This is for you,” she said. Loki glanced at the bottle, then partially sat up, pulling his good arm from beneath the blankets and holding out his hand. Marina knelt back down on her blanket and gave it to him.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, and took three generous gulps. He lowered the bottle, swallowed thickly and licked his lips, making a slight wince.

  “Always has a sour aftertaste,” he remarked, setting it on the floor. “I suppose it should, considering it’s made of batwing and fish scales.”

  Marina frowned sharply. Loki caught her eye, then snorted and smirked a little.

  “Do you always believe everything people tell you?” He shifted, and lay gingerly back down on his pillow.

  “Yes,” Marina answered, lifting her chin. “Until someone gives me reason not to.”

  “You know, Twig…” Loki sighed, gazing at her softly. “I haven’t told you a lie yet.”

  Marina lifted an eyebrow.

  “Not even about batwing and fish scales?”

  He smirked.

  “I wish.”

  Marina’s mouth tightened, and she glanced down at her hands in her lap.

  “Would you like me to stay here with you?”

  “And what, if I may be so bold, do you plan to do if the hounds of Hel come barging through the door?” Loki asked flatly. Marina bit the inside of her lip, nodded once, and stood up.

  “All right,” she said. “Goodnight, then.” She turned and started toward the stairs.

  “Marina.”

  She stopped, and glanced over her shoulder to see Loki had almost sat up again, his eyes bright. His brow tightened.

  “That isn’t…quite what I meant.”

  She said nothing. Just watched him. He swallowed, and turned his head.

  “But…I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable in a bed.” He looked briefly at her. “Goodnight.”

  She studied him for another moment, then found herself smiling just a little.

  “Goodnight, Loki.” And she climbed the stairs up toward her bedroom.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The soft hum of a crackling fire lulled Marina awake. She took a deep breath and slowly blinked her eyes open to find her chamber filled with morning light. She groaned and stretched, shifting under her covers and realizing she had not moved since she had put on a new nightgown, crawled beneath the burying comforter and lost consciousness deep last night.

  Slowly she sat up, pulling her left arm in, and running her other hand through her hair. Carefully, she slipped out of bed and walked across the rug toward the frosted window. She pushed the curtain further aside and squeakily rubbed her hand against the frost that coated the pane. The chill bit her fingertips. In a moment, she could see out into a pine forest, draped in snow, and sparkling with edges of gold. It had to be close to midmorning.

  “Bestemor?” she called, still peering out into the still, wintry wood.

  A creak sounded from the hearth.

  “Yes, Lady Marina?”

  “What is Loki doing this morning?”

  “He is sleeping,” Bestemor replied. “He fell asleep soon after he drank the draught you gave him, and hasn’t wakened since.”

  “Mm,” Marina said quietly. “I’d imagine we’re not traveling today.”

  “I should hope not!” Bestemor cried. “Not after what happened to all of us!”

  Marina turned around, and regarded Bestemor with furrowed brow.

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t ask about you last night,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  Bestemor scrunched her mouth, then twisted it sideways.

  “A bit splintered, I think, but still sound,” she finally decided. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before!”

  Marina only nodded, then started toward the wardrobe.

  “I think I’ll take a bath, then,” she said.

  “All right, very good, dear,” Bestemor said. “I’ll
see if there some cold things in the larder you can have to break your fast.” And with that, she melted away and was gone.

  Marina, much refreshed, wearing a deep red, fleecy gown, trousers and boots, her hair braided back, crept down the stairs, listening. However, no sound issued from the sitting room except the drowsy sputter of the fire. She reached the bottom of the steps and eased around to look…

  The blankets lay folded on the seat of one of the armchairs. She stood up straight, listening…

  A slight clatter beyond the witchy door. She turned and pushed slowly through…

  Loki stood by the stove, stirring a steaming pot. He held his right arm bent close to him, and worked with his left, frowning into the cloud that rose up from the boiling. Marina hesitated there, her hand on the door. He looked pale, his hair still very dark, with dark circles under his eyes.

  “You’re standing up,” she remarked. He glanced over at her. For a moment, his eyes flashed a deep green, before returning to gray.

  “Only just.” The edge of his mouth quirked up as he returned to stirring. The spoon clacked against the metal edges of the pot. Marina took a deep breath, and frowned.

  “What is that?” she wondered, stepping in and letting the door shut behind her. “It smells like…gunpowder.” She ventured closer, trying to see in. “It isn’t…breakfast?”

  He snorted tiredly, that crooked smile returning for just a moment.

  “Only if you’d like to be poisoned. Or turned invisible—I’m not sure which it would do to you at the moment.”

  Just then, Marina noticed a different sound accompanying the clank of the spoon and the pan: a tiny jingling, down at the bottom. She lifted her attention, and studied Loki’s pale features, an idea sparking in the back of her mind.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Be a love and get in the left hand cupboard for me,” he asked instead, nodding toward it. “Get the two blue bottles and the one yellow one, and bring them here.”

  Marina frowned again, but maneuvered around the table and went to the cupboard. She opened it, and found several colorful bottles up high, filled with various cloudy mixtures.

  “Two blue and one yellow?” she asked.

  “Mhm,” he said absently. Biting her lip, she reached up with her right hand and plucked each one down, then tucked two of them against her chest with her bad arm, and picked up the last one and carried them over.

  “You can set the two blue ones on the table,” Loki instructed. “Let me have that yellow one.” He held out his right hand. Marina awkwardly bent and set the blue ones down with a clatter, then set the yellow one in his palm.

  “Are you sure…?” she winced. He gripped the cork with his left-hand fingers.

  “Yes, I—ah!” he tugged, and suddenly hissed through his teeth—and almost dropped the bottle. Marina lunged and snatched it, catching his fingers in hers as well.

  “Aha…Well…Hm,” Loki said shakily, letting her have the bottle. He pulled his hurt arm against his chest, he clenched his jaw and he squeezed his eyes shut. The remaining color washed out of his face.

  “Do you need to sit down?” Marina asked, stepping closer to him.

  “That…might be a good idea,” he murmured. Marina quickly set the bottle down on the table, then shoved the bench over behind him. It scraped loudly against the floor. Carefully, Loki sat down, letting out a tight sigh. Marina waited, watching him. For several moments, he did nothing but breathe—she counted as his shoulders tensely rose and fell.

  “Should I go that draught for you?” Marina asked quietly. “Is it by the fireplace?”

  “No, I drank it all last night,” Loki muttered.

  “Oh.” Marina shifted, her brow knotting. “What can I do?”

  His head came up, and he looked at her. His eyebrows drew together, and a brilliant blue colored his eyes—and remained. He swallowed.

  “Can you help me finish this?” he asked quietly.

  “Is it more draught?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “It’s…I’m fixing your Wishstones.”

  Marina blinked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve spent them and they’ve stopped working, yes?”

  “Yes,” Marina nodded. “Hel said they each only work once.”

  He smiled—a little tiredly, but that soft blue shone in his eyes.

  “Well, luckily for you, I’m something of a magician.” He shifted in his seat, tensed, then released a low breath. “Open the yellow bottle.”

  Marina picked it up, then lifted it to her mouth to bite off the cork—

  “No-no-no!” Loki’s left hand darted out and grabbed her wrist. She jerked, narrowly catching the bottle—her eyes flew to his.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “On no account should you put that near your mouth,” he gasped. “You’d be dead before you could swallow.”

  Marina’s face flushed and her heart started to hammer—but she ironed out her expression and lifted her chin.

  “Well then, how…” She cleared her throat and regathered herself. “How am I supposed to open it?”

  “Here,” he let go of her and held out his hand. “I’ll hold the bottle and you pull out the cork.”

  She handed it to him. He gripped it, and she dug her fingernails into the cork. With a swift pop, the cork came loose. An acrid scent, like burnt hair, rose into the air.

  “Now,” Loki sighed. “Pour all of it into the pot—keep it low so it doesn’t splash. It will eat your skin.”

  Marina held the bottle carefully, the hot steam flowing up around her hand, and lowered it as far as the heat would allow. She tipped the bottle, and let the strange, greenish liquid pour out into the mixture, hissing and gargling when it hit, turning the potion an angry red color

  “What is it?” Marina glanced at him.

  “Dragon spit,” he answered.

  “Hm,” Marina wrinkled her nose. “Remind me never to get bitten.”

  “That would be ideal,” Loki remarked. “Now, pour half of this blue bottle in.” He lifted it to her. She put the empty yellow bottle on the table and took the blue bottle from him. She gave him a sideways look.

  “Open it however you like,” Loki shrugged one shoulder. “It’s extract of dandelion.”

  Hiding her own smile, Marina bit off the cork, and poured half of the clear liquid in, just as he had instructed. It instantly calmed the red color, turning it to a placid gold.

  “All right,” she sighed, setting that bottle down too and looking to him.

  “Stir it, and wait a few minutes,” Loki said. She picked up the handle of the wooden spoon and did so, watching the liquid inside froth and foam, listening to the jingle of the stones on the bottom…

  “Now pour just a fourth of this last one in,” Loki said. Marina put down her spoon, took up the bottle and waited. Loki looked at the bottle, frowned, and canted his head.

  “It’s aconite, but it should be fine.” He gravely met her eyes. “Unless…you’re a werewolf.”

  “Ha. You’ve found out my secret,” Marina tossed her head and looked away. Loki almost chuckled.

  “Well—that changes things, madam.”

  She bit back a laugh, turned so he wouldn’t see, then bit off the cork and poured exactly a fourth of that mixture in. The potion transformed to a pleasing, creamy yellow. Silence fell—and all at once it felt strange. She lifted her head to find him studying her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Why do you do that?” he asked, that earnest blue back again.

  “Do what?” She uneasily reached for the spoon again.

  “Hide your face,” he said, his voice quiet. “When what you really want to do is laugh.”

  Pain slid down Marina’s throat, and she turned back to the potion. She lifted her left shoulder, and it remained there, tense.

  “It’s better not to,” she whispered. “Allowing yourself to be…silly and happy…is a risk. Too much of a risk.” She
fell quiet, waiting for him to comment.

  But he didn’t. She could just feel him listening. She pulled her left arm tight to herself, and released the words into the quiet.

  “The only one who’s made me feel close to that is Bird.”

  She heard Loki take a breath, and slowly let it out.

  “Well…” he ventured. “He made everyone love him.” Loki slowly rose to his feet, neared the pot across from her and leaned down into the steam. He closed his eyes.

  “Lysta,” he hissed.

  The pot shook.

  The water suddenly shrank and dissolved and disappeared…

  Leaving two brilliantly-colored stones shining on the clean bottom of the pot.

  Loki opened his eyes and looked at Marina.

  “My gift is certainly not to make everyone love me,” he said. “But it is my gift to make everyone laugh.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Whether she wants to or not.”

  Marina stared back at him, mouth tight.

  “Now!” Loki briskly straightened up. “I feel like getting drunk. Want to join me?”

  Marina snorted, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  His eyes sparked with vibrant green, and he leaned toward her, grinning.

  “I will win, Twig,” he challenged. “Count upon it.”

  She instantly sobered her face, lowered her hand and lifted her chin.

  “No, you won’t,” she retorted. “And you’re not getting drunk, either.”

  “Tosh,” he waved her off. “You’re no fun.”

  “You already knew that.”

  “We…have to do something about that,” he grunted, sitting back down.

  “You’re not fit to do anything,” she reminded him. “Except to go back out there and lie down.”

  “I have to make more draught…”

  “I can do that. Bestemor can help me. Now go.”

  Loki gave her a wry, indignant look, rose to his feet, and headed toward the door.

  But halfway there, he slowed, reached out and put his hand to the table, and his shoulders sagged.

  Marina immediately went to him, her knee knocking against the bench, and took hold of his arm.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her faintly, looking paler than ever. “Just give me a moment.”