Bauldr's Tears

by Alydia Rackham

  Silence had dominated the sitting room after Thor and Loki’s weeping had abated. Then, as if by unspoken contract, they had cleared their throats, dried their tears, stepped back from each other and moved into the cloak room. There, they had noisily retrieved their armor, coats and weapons—as well as Marina’s. Loki handed them to her, and, startled, she got up and put them on, trying not to fumble.

  Now, Loki stood with Thor on the porch, having just shut the front door with a resounding thud.

  “Loka,” Loki ordered quietly, touching two fingertips to the center of the door—and Marina realized he had just put a spell around the house. No one would be able to get in. Then, the two men faced her, hopped down the steps, and began striding toward the forest.

  “Come, my lady,” Thor urged. “We do not have much time.”

  “Where are we going?” Marina asked, hurrying to keep pace with them as they moved swiftly across the side yard.

  “To Helheim,” Loki answered, looping his bow over his shoulders. “Now that we have all the stones, we need to find his body. Otherwise, all of this has just been academic nonsense.”

  “How do we get in?” Marina wondered.

  “The gate,” Thor told her.

  “The gate!” Marina repeated. “To Asgard?”

  “Same gate, different spell,” Loki replied.

  “What do we do once we’re inside?” Marina asked. “I thought there were monsters and spirits…”

  “I’ve been thinking of that,” Loki said, glancing over at Thor as they passed the first line of trees and began descending the hill. “I’m going to dress you up, vinkona.”

  Thor looked at him, alarmed.

  “What, as your bridesmaid, this time?”

  Loki smirked.

  “Almost.” He glanced down at Marina. “You’ve of course heard of Pesta.”

  “Yes,” Marina answered, confused. “She’s the Black Plague personified—an old woman in black who comes through the town and kills everyone…”

  “Mhm,” Loki nodded, and one eyebrow quirked up. “She was killed recently on Alfheimr—very quietly, by a group of three elvish assassins who have lost the ability to speak, and her body disintegrated. I only know about it because of the fairies that go back and forth between our realms.”

  “Why do you bring her up?” Thor wondered.

  “Well, what if she were to accompany me into Helheim, to visit my sister?” Loki looked over at Thor. “It would prove all of our sincerity, and I could easily hand a little Midgardian woman to her as a hostess gift.”

  “What, me as Pesta?” Thor cried.

  “Hand me to—what?” Marina interrupted.

  “We’re not going to be able to fight our way through,” Loki said quietly, weaving between the trees as they achieved the bottom of the hill, and darkness gathered around them. “It’s better to go along with what she wants until she reveals her hand. We don’t know where Bird is—and we won’t know unless she shows us.” He glanced meaningfully at the others. “I can only speak for myself, but I don’t relish the idea of tangling with wraiths, trolls, goblins, wolves and my sister all at once.”

  “Nor I,” Thor agreed, facing ahead. “Do what you will, Loki—I will play along. As long as you give me leave to crush her skull when I have the chance.”

  Loki glanced at him. Thor met his eyes. Loki’s expression turned dark.

  “With pleasure,” he growled. And Thor nodded.

  The sun set. Blackness covered them.

  “Marina,” Loki said quietly—and she heard his steps shorten. Then, his gloved hand grasped hers, and held on. She immediately returned the pressure, her wide eyes searching the darkness all around.

  After a few minutes of traipsing through the icy shadows, trusting Loki not to lead her into a tree, she felt a tall, stoic presence rise up in front of them. And then, like a match in the dark, bluish light snapped to life…

  At the crest of the archway.

  The symbol of Mjollnir glowed faintly, as if with inner lightning. By that illumination, Marina could just barely glimpse the two men with her. Loki pulled Marina closer to his side.

  “All right, Pesta,” Loki said, nodding to Thor. “Are you ready?”

  “Mhm,” Thor nodded back.

  “It’s just an illusion, not a transformation,” Loki reminded him. “When you draw Mjollnir from your belt, it’ll break.”

  “Understood,” Thor said.

  Loki took a deep preparatory breath, then another. Then, he lifted his right hand and touched it to Thor’s forehead.

  Loki closed his eyes, muttering words Marina couldn’t make out—but they hissed and slithered through the forest.

  Black wisps began swimming around Thor’s mountainous form, clinging to his cape, marking his gleaming gold armor, snagging in his wild hair.

  Loki backed up, keeping his hand aloft, even as Thor’s figure shrank and dimmed and hunched. Ragged black robes frothed over him and draped down to the ground—a deep hood swallowed his head. A splintered broom materialized in his left hand—which had turned bony and gnarled. Then, at last, a very different face peered out from the cowl.

  Luminescent green eyes, large as an owl’s. A long hooked nose and chin, both covered in warts. Hollow cheeks, skin like leather. Threads of wiry hair framing the cheekbones.

  “Well?” Thor gnashed in a high, grating voice, showing five razor-sharp teeth. “How do I look?”

  Loki opened his eyes and peered at him. Frowned.

  “Horrid,” he answered. Then, he stretched out his hand and pushed on that long, hooked nose…

  And it moved. Turned crooked, as if it had broken a century ago, and healed badly.

  “Ah, yes,” Loki said in satisfaction, withdrawing. “Much better.”

  Thor smacked his lips.

  “Not a word of this to anyone,” he rasped.

  “Any memory of that face gives me nightmares, so no,” Loki assured him, waving it off. “Not a word.”

  “Shall we go?” Thor asked, thumping his broomstick into the snow.

  “I think we ought to,” Loki murmured, gripping Marina’s hand tighter. He took another deep breath, faced the arch, and spoke. “Helheim, if you please.”

  Marina’s head came up. No magic words?

  The next moment, the space beneath the archway rippled, and fog drifted down from the Mjollnir symbol, until a curtain of mist hung from top to bottom.

  “You first,” Loki said grimly, lifting an eyebrow at Thor. Thor smacked his lips again, gathered the front of his robes in his right hand, hobbled through, and vanished.

  “Well,” Loki cleared his throat, and started forward.

  Marina didn’t move. Their hold snagged—she held onto him. He stopped, and looked back at her.

  “What?” he wondered, watching her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Loki, I’m…” she said, her heart fluttering. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

  He blinked. Said nothing. Marina jerked her head away and looked anywhere but at him.

  “I’m sorry you thought…that I thought you were guilty of willfully doing such a terrible thing.” She kept hold of his hand, feeling its long, slender strength within her fingers. “That I’ve…I’ve not trusted you sometimes, as we’ve traveled. And that now…you don’t trust me.”

  She paused, then risked lifting her face and looking up into his eyes.

  He gazed back down at her, open and quiet. But she couldn’t tell the color of his hair or eyes, for the blue light masked them.

  And he didn’t say anything. Just ran his gaze over her features, studying the depth of her eyes in return.

  Then, he drew a breath.

  “We ought to go.”

  Marina’s face heated and she nodded quickly, turning away again. Loki adjusted the way he held her hand, and pulled on her…

  And together, they stepped through the frosty curtain of mist, and into Helheim.

  A gust of warm, dry wind hit Marina’s face before she
could see anything. When the mist and darkness cleared, her lips parted…

  But she couldn’t find words.

  They stood in absolute barrenness. A white sun burned in a listless sky, covered by a thin shroud of gray clouds. Slate-colored earth crunched beneath her boots. Beaten rocks formed the rolling terrain, which culminated in craggy mountains on the horizon before them. She turned, and cast all around her…

  Black stones, and dust, as far as she could see.

  She turned to find Thor—still a withered old woman—with his mouth gapped open as he surveyed the land.

  “Loki…” he creaked. “When was the last time you came home?”

  “A long time,” Loki answered, narrowing his eyes at the mountains.

  “What?” Marina wondered. “Should it be different?”

  Loki let go of her, pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the ground, then knelt and felt the crumbly earth. He picked up sand in his hand and worked it through his fingers. His expression darkened further, and he tossed the dirt straight down.

  “You probably expected it to look like this, Marina, due to the fact that Christian translators of the holy text borrowed the word ‘hel’ to use for that realm that exists in the absence of God,” Loki explained, slow and deliberate. “However, that realm to which they refer is actually one of the spirit—complete darkness, complete lack of God himself, where dwell those who, in life, chose not to abide with him, and have died. And as you can see, one does not have to be dead to walk here.”

  “Then why is Bird here?” Marina wondered.

  “Because some people and animals have magic in their blood, and in their bones,” Loki answered, straightening up. “And when people die who house magic in their bodies, those bodies are carried to Helheim, and whoever rules Helheim is to dispose of the body properly, filtering the magic in that body back into the nine realms. It’s part of what helps flowers to grow, and birds to sing, and people to fall in love.”

  Marina’s face heated again, but Loki didn’t look at her.

  “When I lived here as a boy, Helheim was the greenest, most living place in all the realms,” Loki answered, rising up and starting to walk forward. “Like Ireland on Midgard, in the spring.” He slowed to a stop, gazing at those mountains. “I’ve heard rumors that it’s since filled with all kinds of awful creatures, and that the land has dried up. I didn’t really believe it.” His tone grew hard. “What has my sister been doing?”

  Just then, a ripping shriek cut the sky. Thor clamped down on his broom. Their heads jerked up.

  Giant wings eclipsed the sun.

  For a terrifying instant, Marina thought it was a dragon.

  Until she focused, and she realized it looked like an angel.

  A dark, awful angel.

  Loki grabbed Marina and pushed her behind him, holding on tight to her left wrist.

  The great wings folded. The figure plummeted.

  THUD.

  A giant, enfolded in black feathers, crushed its booted feet into the earth. Then, with a tornadic gust, those mighty wings flared up and back, and a towering woman stood before them. Half of her head had been shaved. The other half bore long, tattered golden hair. She wore bronze armor, with fur around the collar, and a jagged sword at her belt. She had long, black claws instead of fingernails. Her eyes burned like glowing embers, her lids blackened with khol. She stood half again taller than Loki, and her wings stretched three times her length.

  “Hello, Valkyrie,” Loki greeted her casually. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “What business do you have in this realm, Loki?” she demanded, her voice like the snarl of a tiger—and she had fangs.

  A terrible shudder raced through Marina’s whole frame.

  “I’m Loki’s guest,” Thor, in his keening old-woman’s voice, spoke up. “I was too weak to make the journey alone.”

  Valkyrie turned and saw him—and something changed in her expression.

  “Mistress Pesta?” she realized. “I thought you died in Alfheimr!”

  “Almost, my dear, almost!” Thor cackled. “But not quite. Which is why I wanted to meet Hel—I thought she would wish to rejoice with me!”

  Valkyrie gave a pleased grin. It turned Marina’s stomach.

  “And she will! Yes, she will!” Valkyrie agreed. “How did you meet Loki on Midgard?”

  “I called for him,” Thor replied, leaning on his broomstick with both hands. “Simple enough, but a little loud. Had to get his attention.”

  “Ah, so that was what all the flash and bother was about,” Valkyrie said, her wings fluttering as she looked back to Loki. “And what have you come for, besides escorting an old friend of your sister’s?” Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “And with a little piece of meat along, besides?”

  Marina swallowed hard.

  “I doubt Hel realizes it,” Loki interrupted. “She probably thinks I’m incapable of listening to her nowadays…But I did a great deal of thinking after our last meeting. And I want to talk to her about what I’ve come to realize.”

  “What, that the Aesir are nothing but philandering, arrogant weaklings after all?” Valkyrie offered, folding her arms across her chest. Loki’s expression grew sad.

  “Something like that,” he murmured.

  Valkyrie smirked.

  “All right, I’ll show you in,” she said. “You ought to take off your coats, though. Far too hot inside.”

  Loki reached up and pulled off his bow and arrows and set them down, then turned to face Marina to unbutton his coat.

  He met her eyes—gave her a pointed look.

  She gave him a miniscule nod, knowing what he meant. Earlier, before they had left her house, he had given her the Wishtones in a black velvet pouch, which she had tied firmly to her belt. In turn, she had given him all of Bauldr’s tears, and he had disappeared them. As long as she kept hold of her pouch, she needn’t worry about any other garment. Quickly, she unbuttoned her own coat and tossed it on the ground, as well as her gloves. Thor stayed as he was, absently smacking his lips.

  Loki tossed his coat down, put his bow and quiver back on and faced Valkyrie again.

  “All right, lead on,” he gestured ahead.

  Valkyrie spat on the ground. Then she clapped her hands, and stomped on the place where she had spit.

  Lightning flashed—and with a bang, a doorway leaped up out of nothing and opened up in the air…

  Into a corridor.

  “After you, Mistress Pesta; my prince,” Valkyrie purred, neatly folding her wings, stepping aside and waving toward the door. Thor immediately walked through. Loki grabbed Marina by the upper arm and shoved her out in front of him—rather roughly. Marina bit down, suddenly remembering she was supposed to be the prisoner. She felt Loki follow closely as they approached the flickering, snapping doorway…

  She gritted her teeth, braced herself, and stepped through…

  And her feet hit smooth, beaten earth. Her footfalls echoed. And she felt the temperature rise considerably—she didn’t remember being this warm since she’d stepped outside her house into the sunlight in June. She gulped, glad she’d shed her coat when she had.

  Loki bumped her from behind, and she quickened her pace, trailing after Thor’s limping form, trying not to gape at the vast hallway.

  A hundred feet up, the strangely-formed ceiling soared. Thick, twisted pillars flanked their path, marching off into the distance—pillars that looked like massive, petrified roots of incredible trees. Pitch darkness waited beyond those pillars. Eerie, winking lights peered from hollows and cracks in the roots, glowing a dull orange.

  BANG.

  Marina twisted to see that the door in the air had vanished, leaving behind a solid rock wall. Valkyrie had not followed them.

  Loki pushed Marina in the back, and she faced forward again…

  To see the corridor open up into a vast chamber.

  A craggy ceiling even higher than in the hallway, pulsing with orange and red lights. A wide, circular floor o
f black, polished marble. At the far end, directly across from them, sat a sprawling throne, over which towered a colossal obsidian statue of a young, fierce woman wearing clinging robes, daggers at her belt—and whose face bore half of a skull. Marina’s mouth fell open as her neck craned to see the height of this terrible idol…

  Until a cold, seeping sensation invaded her bones, and she pulled her attention down to the one seated on the throne.

  It was Hel.

  She wore a good deal less than she had the other times Marina had seen her. A black corset with a plunging neckline, a shredded gray skirt, bare feet; her midnight hair halfway unbound and flowing around her as if touched by an unfelt wind. Her full lips had been rouged scarlet, her skin whiter than marble, her eyes reflecting every bit of light.

  She rose to her feet, and languidly stepped down the dais—and for the first time, Marina could see what a powerful, full, serpentine, hourglass figure she had—perfection that clearly filled her with pride. The fringe of her hair had even been decoratively pulled back to show off the ghastly skull on one side of her face.

  The way she moved, the very manner in which she walked, the black flash of her gaze, made Marina feel thin, small, weak and broken.

  Hel sauntered to the center of the room and stopped, placing a hand on the curve of her hip. She raised her one eyebrow, her mouth quirking into a smile.

  “Hello, Loki,” she said quietly. “What have you brought me?”

  “An old friend of yours,” Loki answered brightly, pushing Marina out of the way. She slipped around behind him, her attention fixed on Hel.

  “Mistress Pesta!” Hel said in surprise, turning to Thor. “I was told you were killed!”

  “Fortunately, you were misinformed, my queen,” Thor grated, holding out a wrinkled right hand. Without hesitation, Hel reached out and took it, and “Pesta” managed a crooked curtsey.

  “I’m so relieved the rumors were false,” Hel said, squeezing those bony fingers. “Why did you not come back straightaway?”

  “I wanted to,” Thor replied, letting go of her hand and leaning on his broom. “But after what happened on Alfheimr, I was afraid you wouldn’t allow me past the gate unless I had…some kind of introduction.” Thor nodded toward Loki.