Hey everyone! Sorry it took me so long to update: here is an extra-long chapter for you to make up for it! I love you guys!
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit
Everything changes, nothing perishes
-Ovid
''You cannot ignore this any longer.''
Silently, the Allfather contemplated the pile of ash on the floor for several long moments, his expression unchanging.''We have no quarrel with their kind,'' he finally said.
''They breached our walls. They are threatening your family!'' Frigga crossed her arms and glared at him sternly. ''You need to stop this. Stop pretending that you don't care.''
''I care,'' he said, in a tone that indicated he was loathe to admit it. ''But coddling them won't do any good. They need to be strong for what's coming, and Loki is strongest when he's angry, when he feels like he has something to prove.''
Frigga shook her head, seeming to disagree with this. ''Perhaps you really don't know him at all,'' she said softly.
Choosing to ignore that last statement, Odin continued,''We'll double the guard, watch all the known exits and entrances. Meanwhile, continue to help the girl develop her talents, they'll be useful. We'll keep silent about...this for the time being,'' he added, casting one last glance down to the floor.
''You don't want to tell them?'' The Queen raised an eyebrow.
Odin waved a hand dismissively.''They already know they're in danger. Best to not upset them any further until its absolutely necessary. If she was right, and more of these things come, we will be ready for them. And if it comes to war, then so be it. But not today.'' He got up from his throne.
Norway
Heid sat across from Natasha at a small table in the kitchen area of the outpost, cups of tea in front of them as the old woman began to tell the Black Widow part of an old story. ''We were always told not to linger too long in the woods, because that was their dwelling place,'' she started. ''The trees have eyes, that was what the elders used to warn us. One day, a young girl from the village disappeared. She returned a day later, but she was changed, speaking in strange tongues, eyes looking into darkness. Soon, others were lured to the trees, walking with purpose, as if they needed to find something. And when they came back, they were the same as she: changed, marked with their curse.'' Heid shook her head as she continued, ''They would spread through villages like wildfire, calling out with their ensnaring song, changing whomever they touched. We would do anything to keep them at bay, charms in the windows, bindrunes on the doors. There was even talk of burning down the forest—but none could bring themselves to go through with that. After a long struggle, and with the gods on our side, we managed to cast them out. But it was at great cost. We trapped them in an empty space, along the edges of the Void between the worlds, and that is where they remained. Lord Walters had very dark power on his side, and he managed to find them and begin the process of freeing them from their prison.''
The seer had spoken as if she'd actually been there, and something in her deep eyes had certainly seemed to be recollecting. ''By we, you're referring to your ancestors, right?'' said the Black Widow. ''This was all a story that was passed down to you?''
Heid simply smiled in reply.
''This...empty space, this prison...does it still exist?'' Natasha asked, her mind whirring. ''Could we put them back?''
The seer frowned now. ''I have no way of knowing if it would work a second time. The space has become compromised, especially after so many years.''
''Is there another...empty space that we could use?'' The assassin took a sip of her tea. It was bitter. She set the cup down, gently pushed it away from herself.
''Not like that one,'' Heid answered, shaking her head. ''The edges have all crumbled now, succumbed to the Void.''
''But how?'' Natasha almost pleaded, leaning closer. ''How did you cast them out?''
''With words. And with sheer force of will. Two of the most important tools in magic.''
The Black Widow opened her mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted when Prudence came into the room. ''Agent Romanov, there's a call for you.''
Natasha walked into one of the large labs several minutes later, looking perplexed and tired. ''I just got a call from a doctor at the clinic in Syracuse. Olivia Ebert is missing.''
''Who?'' Bruce Banner asked, glancing up from the computer where he was working.
''Olivia Ebert, she was trapped in the vortex created by the Palace of Souls. Spent over thirty years wandering in the woods, never aging.''
''Sounds like a horrible faery tale,'' the scientist commented.
''Isn't that what all of this is?'' Natasha said with a ragged shrug. ''Somebody make some damn coffee, its going to be a long day. And a dark one,'' she added, looking out the window with disdain.
Asgard, some time later
Darcy was now nearly five months pregnant, and having a problem: she could no longer zip up her jeans, at all. Not an inch. In fact, she could just barely get them over her hips. Sighing in defeat, she pulled on her yoga pants again. Soon, she was probably going to have to start wearing dresses. Unless she could create something, she realized. Concentrating, Darcy stood still and envisioned the outfit that she wanted. Comfortable, but not something that screamed 'maternity wear', which she shuddered at the idea of. That term called to mind an old photo of her mother, heavily pregnant and wearing a truly ghastly pastel-coloured romper that could only have been passable in the 80s.
She and Loki were going to see Eir in a few minutes. The Healer had said that this time they would be able to find out if she was going to have a girl or boy. The last several weeks on Asgard had flown by. And they'd been quite interesting. Darcy spent a few hours each day with Frigga, usually while Loki was working. The Queen was an excellent teacher, she could put very esoteric concepts in a way that made them seem accessible and almost easy to understand.
She'd started off the lessons by teaching Darcy the very basics of all magic, energy and intent. Energy needed to be raised, channelled and directed; intent told the energy where to go. All of the other tools were secondary to those two things. Sometimes, Frigga had explained, magic either seemed to backfire drastically or simply not work at all because the practitioner hadn't been entirely honest with him or herself about their intent. ''It is very easy for us to lie to ourselves at times,'' the Queen had told her. ''But the truth always finds its way out between the cracks, sometimes gently, sometimes explosively. We come to a point where we finally acknowledge it, and then the energy will flow appropriately. Anyone can learn tricks, Darcy, but in order to fully master magic, you must first know yourself.'' She paused and smiled, though the look held some sadness. ''That's the reason why Loki, talented though he is, still has not managed to tap into the full extent of his power.''
Darcy had nodded as she toyed with the stem of one of the plant specimens on the table in front of her. ''The thing is, he thinks that he does know himself. But the image that he sees...it's not him.''
Frigga seemed to agree with this. ''Perhaps in a way, though, he wants it to be,'' she remarked. ''He hates and loves the image of the monster, the one that he hides behind. Hates it because it is a hateful thing, but loves it also because on some level he feels safer when he is feared. However, he trusts you and loves you so because he doesn't have to hide from you, or pretend, he can simply exist. You are the balancing force in him.''
And he was the balancing force in her. Without him, she wouldn't be nearly as strong. She wouldn't know all the mysterious, fascinating and sometimes terrifying possibilities that existed in the universe. She wouldn't know herself. ''Is intent like desire?'' Darcy asked, returning to the lesson at hand. ''Lugh Retnick and the Reckoner, they would insist that everybody wants something. That's what would make the change happen.''
''Yes and no,'' the Queen replied. ''You certainly have to want something before you can set a plan in motion to get it. However, once again, sometimes people become confused as to what it is that they actually want. For example, someone might believe that they desire to be in a position of power. Yet if they were to go deeper and truly examine their motivations for seeking that power, they might find that it wasn't really that which they were desiring the whole time. Perhaps they were truly seeking...acceptance. Or acknowledgement.''
''Or love,'' added Darcy.
''Yes, or love. But if you don't know for sure, and all you feel is that want, without direction, then you can be easily misled into making the wrong choices. There is an inherent vulnerability that comes with desiring something very badly. And sometimes, other forces take advantage of that vulnerability.''
''Like what happened with Loki.''
Frigga nodded. ''And like what is happening now on Midgard. It's a terrible manipulation, one that cuts to the very core.''
The conversation made Darcy think of something. ''There's this old story back home, it's a famous cautionary tale called 'The Monkey's Paw.' This guy gets a magical severed monkey hand that grants wishes. It's disgusting, I know, but anyhow, every wish that he makes backfires horribly. Then his son dies, and the poor dude is grieving so hard that he wishes for his son to come back to life. The monkey paw grants his wish...you can probably figure out that it doesn't turn out very well.''
The Queen made a face. ''A very good cautionary tale, indeed,'' she said. ''And a good illustration of this lesson: Know what it is that you really want. Find that by knowing yourself, as well as the boundaries of nature.''
They were at the halfway point, after weeks had turned into months. Loki stood beside Darcy in the Healing Chamber, a mixture of nervousness and excitement radiating from him in waves, though outwardly he kept his expression calm. Eir got out one of her instruments, swept it over Darcy. There was a sudden sound in the room, a small steady thudding noise that echoed. ''There's the heartbeat,'' she said to them. A surprised smile lit up Darcy's face. ''Wow,'' she said, listening closely. Though he didn't tell her, Loki had already heard it. He'd been able to hear it since the first time it was detectable. Darcy's heartbeat, like rain falling onto water, and the baby's, so very soft at first, like leaves fluttering to earth. Sometimes he lay awake at night and listened to those two heartbeats, letting them lull him into a trance. It was the most beautiful, most comforting sound he'd ever heard. ''Do you want to know?'' Eir asked, a smile hovering around her lips. He looked at Darcy, who nodded, and then back to the Healer. ''Yes,'' he said.
She grinned at both of them. ''It's a girl,'' she announced. Loki smiled so widely that Darcy's heart felt squeezed. ''I knew it,'' he said proudly.
They walked back together. As they left the Healing Chambers, she slid her hand through his and held it. The simple gesture made Loki feel remarkably warm.''Well, you were right, as usual,'' Darcy said, rolling her eyes. She kept smiling stupidly, just to keep the flood of emotion dialed back. ''Did you pick out a name?'' she wondered.
He shook his head. ''Not yet. I'm still deciding. It has to be perfect.''
''Alright. I trust you,'' she replied, though lately she'd been wondering what he would choose. Hopefully not some Old Norse name that nobody back home would know how to pronounce.
''I like your clothes,'' he told her with a playful grin, plucking at the fabric of her sleeve. ''You did an excellent job, I would only suggest a few slight alterations.''
''Oh? Such as?''
A shiver of energy pulsed over her torso and Darcy looked down to see that the neckline of her shirt had been drastically lowered, and the fabric now clung to her more tightly than before. She rolled her eyes at the change. ''Ah, no, I don't think so.''
''You look lovely,'' he insisted.
''I look ridiculous, change it back please.''
He relented. ''Alright,'' Loki sighed, and then her shirt returned to its original appearance. ''Not going to let me have any fun, are you?''
''You're going to have plenty of fun, don't worry,'' retorted Darcy. Truth be told, she had been slightly distressed by the changes in her body, which were now impossible to ignore. Thankfully, though, he didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.
As they arrived at their room, she added, ''If you feel so strongly about the shirt, I'll take it off, would that be fun enough for you?''
''It's a good start,'' he answered with a smile, and then they stepped inside and closed the door.
Among a myriad of other things, Darcy had been thinking about the past a good deal. Her hours spent in the greenhouse with the plants and trees had taught her that everything had a story to tell. And it was one thing to read someone else's account of events, but quite another to see them for herself. The plants didn't lie. They didn't have an agenda. Only memories. People were more unreliable, because their accounts of events seemed to always conveniently suit their own purpose. It was like that old Kurosawa film, Rashomon. No two people ever remembered anything exactly the same way. Darcy also found herself wondering about Helen, the missing pieces of her sad life, before it ended in Paris. What had she really seen, all those years spent in that huge house, with her father endlessly dabbling in the dark arts? And also, who was Joe Haven, the man she had loved until her final moments? Darcy's only experience of him was from other people's accounts, and a face in a photograph. He was...missing, his voice absent. Yet apparently he'd played a very important role in the entire series of events, this chain reaction that was still occurring.
It was the next morning now, and Loki was already gone; he'd left grumbling about a meeting with some architect. Darcy hadn't really been able to sleep, and so she got up and sat by the window, studying one of the books on herb lore that she'd been given. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she caught a slight flutter of movement. Then she jumped as a ghostly figure appeared out of the thin gray air, her hands came down protectively around her belly and the book fell to the floor. Darcy squinted as he came into clearer view: it was Ethan Montauk, standing among the shadows, with that same grim half-smile that he'd always worn in life. ''You're dead,'' she said, stating the obvious as her heart slowed.
''In a manner of speaking,'' he replied dryly.
Darcy tried not to think of the last time she'd seen him, his lifeless body sprawled in the garden. She hated remembering that night, when the gates had opened and horror had come screaming hungrily into the world. She drew in a deep breath, the baby kicked with a flutter inside of her. ''It's ironic that you showed up. I was just thinking earlier that I wish I could talk to Joe Haven,'' she remarked. ''You wouldn't by chance know where to find him, would you?''
Ethan gave her a tired, crooked look. ''No. I haven't any idea. The dead aren't networked,'' he told her with a sigh. ''Not everything dies the same way. And much of the time, we are just as confused as you, probably more. Death doesn't really get you anywhere.''
''Helen said the same thing to me once,'' Darcy remembered.
Ethan raised his eyebrows. ''Helen?'' he echoed strangely. There was a look on his face that she couldn't quite describe. Darcy nodded slowly. ''Yeah. Helen Walters. Joe's fiancee.''
''I know who she is, how do you know her?'' he asked breathlessly.
Darcy couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. ''She's haunting my apartment in Paris.''
He blinked, looking rather startled as he digested this information. She watched the faint grey column of his throat move as he swallowed. After a moment of silence, he said, ''I had rather hoped it would just...end. But no. But no.'' Ethan sighed and cast a hesitant glance towards the window, where the light was just beginning to filter in more strongly now. ''I do miss the feel of the sun. I can't feel it anymore, can't really look at it. It doesn't look the same. Now it's cold, garish and frightening. Lucy, everything is altered. Like an old photo negative. Looking through a glass darkly, I always liked that expression, but I never completely understood it until now. That's what it's like.''
She almost felt sorry for him. There was something so intensely tragic about Ethan, it made her rather sad. ''Lucy isn't my real name,'' she confessed.
Ethan smiled. ''I know it isn't. But I think I'll keep using it all the same, if you don't mind.''
Darcy let herself smile back, just a little. ''I don't mind.'' Deciding to take advantage of this rare and unexpected opportunity, she took a deep breath and said ''Ethan, I need you to tell me who the Reckoner is. Tell me the real story. You have nothing to lose now, and you know it.'' He seemed to agree with her, because after a moment or two of contemplation, he began to answer.
''He's what they used to call a lonely ghost...I'm trying to think of a better word for what they actually are...a wight, I suppose? A very primitive and powerful spirit of the land. One of the first, possibly the first of them, one who has remained, retreating into the woods. He ventured out from time to time over the centuries, when he grew restless. He moved his Palace from place to place, collecting. He's been in America for several hundred years, but he was in many other parts of the world before that.''
''That song,'' Darcy said, suddenly recalling the vastly irritating and eerie tune that seemed to colour the walls of this mystery. ''Johnny's so long at the fair. It's significant somehow.''
Ethan nodded. ''It's a very old English folk song, found its way to the new colonies around the time of the Revolutionary war. Incidentally, this is where the Palace of Souls has been since the late 16th century. There was a debt to be collected at Roanoke, apparently, in exchange for safe passage across the sea to the 'new world'. Among other things, the Reckoner has power over the elements.''
Darcy's mouth dropped open. ''So that's what happened to them.''
He nodded again. ''They weren't his only well-known victims. Remember the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin?''
''Uh, yeah, it was that really creepy story about the guy who played a song and led all the children away into some kind of secret cave...oh god, that was him, wasn't it?'' She put her hand over her mouth as she realized this.
''Anyhow,'' Ethan continued, ''he made his way to Connecticut some years after vanishing the colony, as more and more people started to arrive in the new world and build—lots of old money there, lots of dabbling, lots of wanting to live forever. He practically had a feast. And that's where Lugh and I found him. We had to go to him; the Reckoner can travel but the Palace cannot, not anymore. It's stalled there in those woods, has been for hundreds of years.''
''So he couldn't go looking for victims anymore...you had to bring them to him.''
Ethan nodded slowly. ''And thus, Restoration was begun.''
More hidden histories. How much they still had yet to learn. ''How did you find me here?'' Darcy asked, after a moment of deep and vast silence, death and so much life in the same space, so far from home.
He looked even more tired now, the edges of his spectral aura were fraying like old cloth. ''I don't even know where 'here' is,'' he admitted. ''And really, it doesn't matter to me in the slightest anymore. Nearly every place looks the same, from my vantage point,'' he spoke grimly. ''But I thought I heard a familiar voice, and there you were.'' His outline was growing fainter now. ''It's always nice to hear a familiar voice,'' he added, and his was dropping to a whisper, then away to nothing as he vanished completely from sight.
There were tears on her face, she realised. The baby kicked again. Darcy managed to concentrate enough to create some clothes to wear, which was difficult because her mind was buzzing. One of the sleeves of her shirt was probably a little too long, but she didn't care. She hurried out of the room and down the long corridor to the hall, where she sat in front of the fire, thinking and waiting, trying to absorb warmth into her chilled bones. Several minutes later, Loki entered the room. He'd excused himself from a dull meeting with one of the builders who needed to expand his budget for renovations. The man had made absolutely no progress whatsoever and his main efforts seemed to be put forth in complaining about how everyone else in the realm was responsible for the delay.
''Are you alright?'' he asked Darcy, spotting her sitting by the fireplace. ''You look...''
''Like I've seen a ghost?'' she supplied. ''Yeah, because I did. Ethan Montauk paid me a little visit, just a few minutes ago.''
''Ethan Montauk? The gardener from Retnick's house?'' Loki's eyebrows went up.
''That's the one. It was a weird conversation. I asked him to tell me more about the Reckoner, and he said that he's a 'lonely ghost,' like in that story, but he also called him a 'wight.' Said that he's been around since the beginning of time, yadda yadda, but that he's been in America since the late 16th century. The Palace is stalled there, he can move, but it can't. He has power over the elements and makes deals with people, like a crossroads demon or something.''
''A crossroads demon?''
''Yeah, like on Supernatural. Try to keep up. Anyhow, he gives people what they want, whether it's crops or rain or a safe journey across the ocean...and then eventually he comes and collects his debt.''
''The souls.''
''Exactly. He whisks them away to his Palace, and they're never seen again. And we know why. I guess eventually he decided to stop freelancing and went into the cult business with Ethan and Retnick. They set up shop in Connecticut and they've been there ever since.''
''If only...'' Loki began. He seemed to be thinking deeply about something, Darcy could see the sudden spark of illumination behind his eyes that usually came with insight. He started to pace a bit.
''I hadn't considered it before,'' he mumbled thoughtfully, almost to himself. ''But it might work.''
''What might?'' she asked, watching him, the motion making her nearly dizzy as she followed him with her eyes.
He paused and looked at her. ''Ghosts are unreliable, almost as much as the living. We need to go back, to journey into the past. We need to see for ourselves exactly what happened on the night of that party in 1946, the night that set all of this into motion. It might be the only way to know for sure.''
''How the hell are we supposed to do that?'' Darcy demanded. ''You got a TARDIS hidden around here somewhere?''
''Remember when we did trance journeys?'' he asked. ''You traveled into my subconscious and so on?''
''Yeah. I don't think I'll ever forget it. Why? Do you think you can...trance journey back in time?'' Darcy's voice was doubtful.
''Of course I can, theoretically. It's dangerous seidhr, though, and requires a good deal of preparation.''
''I can do it!'' she blurted. It wasn't so much that she was eager to take a treacherous walk backwards through time, she just didn't want Loki to have to put himself in any danger. It didn't occur to her at the moment that she wasn't exactly in peak condition to be faring forth.
''No,'' he said, aghast, looking at her as if she were mad. ''Absolutely not. I'm going. You can help me prepare, though.''
''When do you want to do this?'' she asked. ''Soon,'' he replied. ''Ask Jane and Heimdall when it will be the new moon on Midgard. I'll go then. And I think we may need some help as well.''
The Queen of Asgard listened patiently as they explained Loki's idea to her, and then she gave a nod. ''It may work, and if it does, it will yield valuable insight. A caution, though: a journey of this magnitude won't be easy, even for you,'' she told him. Then she added, ''I almost wish Freya was here, she's so very adept at this sort of thing.''
Loki scowled at the suggestion. ''No, you don't.''
''You never even made an effort to get along with her, you were antagonistic from the beginning. And you stole her cloak,'' Frigga added.
''I borrowed it,'' was Loki's muttered response.
''Well, regardless, we're just going to have to do the best we can,'' the Queen said briskly. ''Darcy, you'll be there to assist of course and perhaps Jane as well. We'll also need certain specific plants, for incense and for a potion, also, to aid in the traveling.''
''Oooh, fun,'' murmured Darcy, remembering the journey that she'd taken in Heid's cabin, aided by a weird, hallucinogenic beverage. ''You're in for quite the trip, buddy,'' she told Loki, patting him on the back.
''You can help me with all of that, dear,'' Frigga said to her. ''It will be excellent practice for you.''
Things got set into motion quickly after that. After consulting with Jane and Heimdall, they learned that the next new moon would be occurring on Midgard in just a few days, so they needed to hurry. ''Why is the dark of the moon so important?'' Darcy asked the Queen. They were in the enormous greenhouse again, discussing the impending ritual and putting together everything that they would need.
Frigga examined the green fronds of a small plant in front of her. She squinted at it, then shook her head and set the plant aside. ''On Midgard in particular, magical workings are often done in alignment with the sky. It's yet another way of stating intent, and adding power to a ritual. The time of the new moon is a time of secrets, of hidden things.''
''How exactly is this going to work?'' Despite everything that she had seen and down, Darcy was having a rather difficult time wrapping her mind around this one. ''I mean, I understand being able to cross into different realms or whatever, but not different times.''
''You still think of time the wrong way,'' answered the Queen, smiling at her through the spindly branches of another tree. ''You think of it as a linear progression, when that is not the case. It's far more...complex than that, not nearly so orderly. But that is a long discussion for another day. For our purposes, Loki will be able to travel back in spirit form to simply observe the past. He won't be able to influence it in any way, he can only watch what happened playing as if on a screen.''
''How does he get there, though?''
''He's going to have to go into a very deep trance, much deeper than anything either of you is used to.''
''Is it dangerous?'' Darcy asked in a low voice.
''Of course it is. It's very dangerous. Now come over here,'' she motioned for Darcy to come and stand beside her.
''We're going to select specific plants to use. Stand still. Close your eyes and clear your mind,'' Frigga instructed. ''Think about what you are looking for, the purpose that it needs to serve. Now, open your eyes. Go pick the first five plants that speak to you.''
It wasn't so much that they spoke to her with a voice, or with words, they seemed to sing with a unique energy, pulsing out from their stems and leaves and thorns like an aura. It would stand out brighter than all the rest, making them glow, drawing her in. Darcy slowly collected a sample of each one of them and brought it back, setting them down on the table for the Queen to inspect. ''Hmm, very good. Some of these I wouldn't even have considered at first, but now I think they may be just right.''
''What are we going to do with them?''
''As I said, some will be for incense, some for a potion. In addition to the many medicinal qualities that plants have, they also have magical properties. You need to take good care in choosing the plants that you want to use for your rituals, make sure that they are in energetic alignment with your goal. All of the elements must work together in support of the end result that you hope to achieve.'' She gathered them together and put them into a small bag.
Darcy couldn't help the chill of anxiety that coated her skin like dew in the too-early morning. Ever since seeing Ethan, she felt haunted, too close to the world of the dead. Perhaps death gets you nowhere. Passing over that final barrier only to find that you'd gone round in a circle and become a shadow. In her mind she felt the second hand of a clock stutter, twitch helplessly, and freeze. The baby kicked again, like a metronome.''Do you think that he's going to be ok doing this? I mean, honestly?''
Frigga took a moment before answering. ''He needs to have a clear mind, and clear intent. It's arriving at the destination that's going to be tricky, he may be tested, something may try to lead him off course. Any traveler is going to attract attention, you know that. But yes, I do think that he will be fine.''
If Loki was nervous, he didn't show it outwardly. He didn't seem moody or morose the way he sometimes did, just deeply thoughtful and quiet. Almost meditative. It was the afternoon before the trance ritual that would hopefully take him into the past. This was not a trip that he wanted to be mentally unprepared for. His energy needed to be in check, both physically and emotionally, or he'd be asking for trouble. Darcy was the nervous one, she kept sitting down and standing back up, walking around and pulling books off of shelves, flipping through them and then putting them back.
''Show me the pictures you saw in Retnick's house that day,'' he told her. ''I want to know if I see any familiar faces.''
Finally stilling, Darcy closed her eyes and found it in her memory, digging it out so that he could see it as well. Old, frozen, gray. A moment caught, as if in a spider's web.
''Alright,'' he said, ''I have it.'' He memorised the images, absorbed them into his own memory.
''Are you scared?'' she asked, fidgeting. He didn't answer for a moment, then he said. ''I'm afraid...that I don't know what I'm looking for. And I need to know, or I might miss it. Some important thing might pass right by and I won't see it in time.''
It was time. They were using an unused room at the end of the hall. Torches were lit on the walls, it was slightly chilly in there so a fire was lit in the fireplace as well. Guards had been told discreetly by Frigga to monitor the door once it was closed and make sure that they were not disturbed. ''Darcy, I need you to try to be calmer,'' the Queen announced. ''Your energy is all over the place. Get it under control, dear. Remember what I taught you.''
Taking a deep breath, Darcy willed herself to relax and focus. She stuffed all of her excess worry into an imaginary box inside of her mind, which she then mentally locked. ''Ok, so, where is everybody going to be?''
The Queen swept her hand around in a circular motion to indicate an area on the cool marble floor of the room. A large rug had been lain there, so it would be more comfortable.
''Jane, sit here,'' Frigga instructed, pointing. She handed the scientist a small drum made of wood and stretched animal hide. ''When we start, I want you to keep up a steady beat with this.'' Accepting the instrument with a nod, Jane sat down on the floor and waited. She didn't seem to be outwardly unnerved or confused by anything that was going on, but a distinct, quiet curiosity lingered on her features as she scrutinised the scene, as if she were mentally taking notes.
''Now, Loki, you're going to lay here,'' she said, pointing down to the centre of the rug. He stepped forward. His feet were bare and he was clad in very light, thin clothing. The firelight illuminated his pale skin, gave him a look of haunting loveliness.
''Drink this.'' Frigga handed him a small cup. His eyes met Darcy's as he lifted it to his lips and swallowed. ''Down the rabbit hole,'' she whispered, trying to keep her energy in check, fighting the sudden urge to cry, which she chalked up to hormones. ''Now lie down,'' Frigga told him, and he sank down to the floor and stretched out, staring up at the ceiling. The drink already seemed to be having some sort of an effect, Darcy noticed, the pupils in his eyes had dilated widely.
''And Darcy, you sit here beside him. You are going to sing vardlokkurs.''
''What?'' She hadn't known that singing anything was going to be part of this. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
''A spirit-attracting song,'' the Queen answered patiently. ''It's going to help him journey.''
''How does the song go?'' she asked, fighting the urge to bite her fingernails.
''Only you know that. Each one is unique.''
Darcy huffed in slight exasperation. ''I don't know what I'm supposed to be-''
''Just begin to sing from your soul, call to the spirits,'' Frigga advised in a soft voice as she lit the incense and began to move around the room. ''It will happen naturally. Jane, start drumming once the song begins.'' Giving a nod, Jane sat with her hand poised above the drum, watching and waiting.
The incense smoke hung heavy in the air, a pungent curtain draped over the room, bathing it and changing it.
Feeling foolish and terrified, Darcy began to vocalize. Starting out with a faint, almost tuneless humming, she slowly found that the sound began to grow louder. It took on a life of its own, a song writing itself as she sang it. It was eerie, sad, it flowed all around like mist. There was now a palpable energy shift throughout the entire space. The scientist's hand came down against the instrument, over and over again, and the beating melded with the strange, otherworldly vocalisations that Darcy could scarcely recognise as her own. She watched as Loki's eyelids begin to flutter closed. He fell into the sound, slowly, as if wading into a stream, finding the current that would take him out of the world. It caught him in its grip and carried him, he felt himself being pulled away from the room. It took him a few moments before he found himself in his spirit body, before he could open his eyes and look around.
He could hear the low, haunting chants, the sound of Darcy's voice still seemed to be crawling all through him, prompting him along. Breath, drumbeat, one foot moving in front of the other. The world rushing past, a kaleidoscope of light and sound. Like the souls, yes, like the souls. He tried not to think about that. Loki began to see distinct flashes of places in front of his eyes, a landscape that shifted before finally steadying. Out in the open air, gray. Misty moors, stretching for miles, fog draping over everything and keeping it hidden. The feeling that he was in a long-lonely place, a forgotten dream. And then finally, he was in the woods. It was dark. Night. A chill crept throughout the air.
His spirit double, Loki realized as he looked down at himself, was clad in armour, the kind that he had not worn in so long. Darcy hadn't actually ever seen him in it, he realised, except when she was looking into his memories.
''Follow,'' he heard a whisper cut through the quiet. ''Follow, follow.'' So he did, feet moving over some threshold, the cold air, the crunch of leaves and snap of twigs beneath his feet and darkness, darker still, the sound of singing, the spirit voices prompting him along. Bones on the ground, dark things, hidden out of time.
''Leave your armour,'' a voice murmured through the trees. ''You will not need it.'' Slowly, piece by piece he removed it until it fell discarded to the ground, immediately turning to dust.
Then he saw her, sitting beside a tree, just a few feet away. Her face was hidden at first by the midnight blue cloak that she wore. She raised her head, looked at him. Loki staggered back a little at the sight of a very familiar face. It was Darcy, but not. Of course not. He'd know those eyes anywhere, wide and burning onyx. It was the Well.
''It's not really you,'' he said, almost to himself. He'd grown very pale, looked suddenly younger, like a lost child wandering in the woods. He hated himself for feeling so naked.
The Well smiled. ''No,'' it agreed. She cocked her head to the side, studying him.
''This troubles you.''
''Yes, it troubles me,'' he snapped. ''I don't like you...wearing her face like that.''
''It's one of the less frightening forms I can take,'' it said, in that rough, deep voice that he hated. ''I was only being considerate.''
''I doubt that,'' Loki muttered, eyes narrowing.
''What do you seek?''
''The past,'' he told her firmly. ''I need to see something that happened long ago.''
The Well reached out, rested her hand against his chest and closed her eyes, keeping it there for a minute before pulling away and nodding. ''Through me, this can be found. Many come seeking,'' she continued, holding out her hand again. Something materialized in her palm. It was an eye, he realized with revulsion, an uncomfortably familiar blue eye. It's twin was still with the Allfather. He must have traveled this way once, long ago.''Few find.''
Up above, the branches wove into the sky like antlers. While he had the Well's attention, Loki decided to ask, ''Why do you possess Darcy at times?''
''She listens. She asked a question once, and I gave her the answer she needed, an answer that saved both of your lives. She can hold me. You hollowed her out, made her a perfect channel.''
''Why do you help us?''
She smiled with her stolen face. ''I don't. You are helping me.''
He ignored this. ''You know the things we're fighting, the ones that are hunting us. How do we cast them back?''
''Why does a bird fly into a mirror?'' came her cryptic response. The Well eyed him in a way that made Loki want to be cautious. ''Hold out your arm,'' she instructed and he did so. A sharp, small green leaf appeared in her hand.
He could almost feel snow, crisp cold, the smell of fire.
She cut his skin with the jagged edge, slowly etching the shape of a rune. Blood began to trickle. She leaned down and licked it away, he winced at the feeling of her tongue on his skin. ''Go now,'' she said, seeming satisfied, releasing his arm. Thankful to be getting away from the Well, Loki walked deeper and deeper into the woods for what seemed like miles. There was nothing to see in any direction, only more trees. His arm burned irritatingly. Then above, the branch of a huge tree seemed to come alive, it reached out and wound tightly around his leg. Before Loki could even realize what was happening, he had been pulled into the air until he hung dangling upside down. He sucked in a breath. Panic and darkness everywhere, with him suspended in the middle of it. Nothing. He listened closely and realised that he'd lost Darcy's voice, couldn't hear the spirit song anymore, or the drum, he had no guide. And then, quite unpleasantly, the world began to tilt, spin, move, until there was no direction and he was dizzy and sick. He was reminded of the first few moments after falling off of the rainbow bridge. Able to contemplate only his own breathing, the crawling along the inside of his skull.
It might have been hours, or days that he hung there. Loki felt like he might be going mad, he forced himself to close his eyes and think of Darcy. This was why. She. The reason for all of this. He tried to feel her, to seek out the sound of those two heartbeats, mother and child, everything he loved. Without warning, the tree released him, and he went falling to the ground with a jolting thud. Swearing, he got up and collected himself. His head swam and his limbs ached. There was a light up ahead, now between the branches. He moved forward until he emerged from the woods and saw the Walters Estate looming ahead, all lit up. The bloody rune on his arm began to burn again and Loki found himself being pulled backward away from the scene.
Walking out of time, into a dreamlike place, a veil. Pass through. A grove of trees on the far end of the estate. Listening, aware. Fingers reaching out. The enormous house, all lit up against the dark. It was so familiar. Once again, it started in flashes before steadying: He saw Helen, inside the house, the almost frightened look on her face, the way her hand came up to nervously twist the string of pearls around her neck. Ascend the staircase, vanish from view. What had she seen? What did she know? A group of men wearing dark hooded cloaks, walking out to that grove of trees. In the window, watching, yet another familiar face. The sour-faced tour guide, he remembered her from their visit to the house. But that was impossible. She looked exactly the same. Back to the trees, the men in their robes, the moon hanging in the sky, almost completely eclipsed. They lit a small fire in the center of the circle formed by their bodies. There was something alive in the trees, something that listened. He could almost see it, shadows crawling out of the bark, slinking among the branches. Miles below ground there lay the hidden cells where the spirits moaned.
He tried to catch their faces beneath their dark hoods; thankfully the firelight lent its aid and illuminated them enough for him to see. Lord Walters, thin and and grey-haired, with a high brow and aristocratic features. Lugh Retnick, icily handsome. Several that he didn't recognize, but then beside Lugh stood a smaller man. His face finally came into view as he moved closer towards the fire and Loki recognised him. Ethan Montauk, watching warily through his one good eye.
A familiar shadowy face appeared, as he answered his summons and came walking out of the woods. The Reckoner.
The scene in the grove spun out of view and Loki was back inside the house. The party was over, servants were cleaning up. He saw Ethan again, out of his robe. Casting a nervous glance around, he darted down a rather familiar corridor, Loki recognized it from their visit to the house. At the end of the hall lay the Library of the Damned. Ethan opened the door. A rush of air seemed to come from within the room and it pushed him back, the scenery retreated and retreated until Loki was dizzy from the motion of being pulled backwards. He was outside again, moving away from the house, back into the woods. The rune on his arm was burning, he could hear the drumming, hear the spirit song, her voice calling him back. ''No,'' he whispered. ''No, I need more time, I need to see...'' His pleas were ignored and he tumbled backward, through the darkness again as the song and the drumming grew nearer and nearer, until he could smell incense and feel Darcy beside him as he returned to himself.
The drumming stopped and then Jane gave a small, startled gasp. ''What is that?'' he heard her ask in a shrill voice. She seemed disturbed by something. As he blinked to reorient himself, he heard Darcy's heart speed up. ''I don't know,'' she answered. ''It wasn't...where did it come from?''
It took him a moment to realise what had them all so bothered. He could feel something against his fingers, slick and strange to the touch. Looking down, Loki saw that in the palm of his hand he was holding an eye.