XXXIII

From the margins of A Green and Splendid Majesty by Head Mage Tlykiri Kynse yn a Felyse, located in Asgard's library, on loan from the prestigious Ljósálfar Institute for Magickal Philosophy (L.I.M.P.) of Alfheim

For any future readers of this text - THIS AUTHOR IS A BUFFOON.

Seidr has nothing to do with the sanctity of plant life. Such a supposition is ridiculous. It is not some mystical spirit that has a care about whether or not you've sprinkled every leaf with your joyously happy tears in thanks for their sacrifice in allowing you to eat them.

It is a force that pervades all Nine Realms, borne from the shifting currents of energy, the ebb and flow of heat and light and vibration that pulses through our universe. It exists independently of our myths and misconceptions of it. It is intimately connected with the motion of celestial bodies, their spins and circuits, their push and pull. It radiates from the intensely hot centers of stars just as it does from the infinitesimal star-hearts that form the tapestry of life.

So - no. Seidr does not come from the petals of a pretty flower. Seidr is the flower, seidr is the ground the flower sprouts from, and seidr is the decomposing mass it becomes once it has been cut and carried off by some little sprite in the name of preserving beauty.

Why am I wasting time writing in the margins of this book? No one will read this but me.

I should spend my time composing my own text.

Loki's Guide to Seidr

Unconventional Seidr for the Enlightened Mage

Not Your Allfather's Seidr: A Book of Extraordinarily Destructive Spells

The Unconventional Mage's Reference Library

I rather like that last one.


XXXIV

The realm echoes through his mind. Lukas follows the currents of power, teasing them out, one by one. It is surprisingly difficult - like peering into the water of a murky, muddy delta, with freshwater meeting saltwater, dredging up silt and sand and rock until it is all a great churning mix, its component parts indivisible.

Midgard's seidr is constantly changing. Lukas tastes a tang of salt, looks deeper, and finds a thread of ocean water amidst the tumult. He traces it, feeling his way almost to its source, only to find it contaminated with river mud.

The alluvial metaphor helps him to visualize the influx of sensory information. The seidr he perceives in the earth is the river mud; the seidr emanating from stellar energy captured by the great Midgardian oceans is conceptualized as saltwater. The artificial divisions are helpful - to a point. Until he loses sight of where the thread of power began and where it leads, and is forced to concede defeat and release it back into the whole.

Lukas breathes in deeply. Discarding the image of a delta, he simply lets the ambient seidr fill his mind.

The scent of freshly overturned soil fills his nose. Each flower is laid out before him, even with his eyes firmly closed. Gentle sparks of energy, glowing against the dark, vibrating as they soak up the light of Midgard's sun, mark the location of each sprout. The tangle of plant life is laid out like a star map across the backs of his eyelids.

His meditation is most rewarding in the garden. It always has been. Once, he closed his eyes beneath the shade of an expansive apple tree, leaning up against the silver-white bark, with pale green leaves crowning the branches overhead, dappling the ground with delicate shadows.

Such trees cannot be found on Midgard. Lukas must make do.

He dives back in. Conjuring the delta in his mind's eye, Lukas examines the energy signature of the human realm as a whole, rather than picking out the parts. Chaotic and tumbling and colorful though it might be, there has to be an overlying structure. Some kind of organization. If he is to detect any fluctuations, Lukas must know how the realm feels at its base level.

There is something… dark, hidden, lurking beneath the water. An almost familiar echo, like a shout reverberating through an enormous cavern. It feels - large, and empty. Like Lukas could fall right through. Strangely devoid of the pulse of life, for such a thriving realm as this. He concentrates fiercely, but the sensation slips away.

The need to construct this sort of magical atlas has been niggling at him ever since he touched the shadow beast's skull, in the laboratory of the pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists. Actually, even before that, when he learned Raina had used the Ring. He should have sensed such powerful magic being enacted. But this need grew more urgent when he discovered the skeleton of the beast. If there are portals large and stable enough to allow such a creature to cross the boundaries of the realms, he must know of them. Lukas will not be caught off his guard.

Knowing the location of both openings is vital, that he might know what to expect to emerge, and if needed, that he might know where he can escape to at a moment's notice.

Besides, he supposes the humans could be in danger if such portals remain opened and unknown. Any protection he can offer on that score would surely be valuable in a trade.

This partnership with S.H.I.E.L.D. is looking more and more advantageous. He has Coulson's attention. And his suspicion. The agent is convinced Lukas knows more than he is saying. Now, he must ease the agent into the truth. The partial truth, of course. It wouldn't do to give him a fatal shock all at once. Better to lay a trail, slow and tantalizing, and draw Coulson along, allow him to think he has come to the conclusion Lukas wishes him to reach by the strength of his own intellect.

Once he has convinced Coulson, and Coulson his superiors, of his usefulness and potential - once he has hinted that his power and expertise extend farther than a human could dare to imagine - then he will be able to make any request and be virtually assured it will be granted. What wouldn't S.H.I.E.L.D. give him in exchange for his full cooperation? To be able to leverage the seidr of a master, with eons of accumulated knowledge, a prince of the golden realm -

A thick, furry body barrels into him, knocking him flat on his back only by virtue of his surprise.

"Pickles!" A young, high-pitched giggle grates on his ear, a few paltry feet away.

Lukas opens his eyes. Three children peer at him. Connor giggles again. "Why are you sleeping in the backyard?" Clayton asks, wiping at his nose and rubbing his hand on his shirt.

"I was not sleeping," Lukas says. "I was meditating."

Clayton stares at him blankly. "Oh. Let's play swords!"

"Yeah!" Connor pipes up.

"Maybe Lukas doesn't wanna be bothered by two little snotbuckets," their older sister interjects.

"Who you callin' a snotbucket? I saw you pick your nose at breakfast yesterday."

"Did not!"

"Yuh-huh!"

Caroline shoves her brother to the ground and kneels on his chest. "Take it back!"

Lukas despairs of ever having the precious silence and solitude needed to focus. "Fine. Go and get your training equipment. And may I remind you - we do not play swords," he adds, with palpable disgust.

All three of Roseanne's grandchildren leap to their feet, tussle forgotten. They return with four long wooden poles. Caroline tosses one to Lukas, who snatches it from the air without looking, so that he might hear their exclamations of awe.

"Remember your stance," he instructs. Pickles watches curiously, big black eyes fixed on Lukas. The children mirror him, side-face, with their feet planted shoulder-width apart and wooden poles raised in their dominant hand. Lukas himself can switch, but prefers his right for swordwork and his left for writing. Being able to alternate his grip in the midst of a bout has proven gratifyingly successful in unbalancing his opponents. Any unpredictability is an asset.

He corrects the placement of their feet, and adjusts Connor's hand upon his weapon, feeling a certain sympathy for his own swordmaster as he does so. Lukas had not been an enthusiastic pupil in this subject. Diligent enough, yes, lest he be summarily embarrassed by the younger cohort in the training yard. That happened enough in duels with his own peers. He would not let himself be shamed by some stripling guardsman.

Lukas is a fair hand with a sword, these centuries later, yet he still prefers a pair of daggers, surely to the horror of his old weathered swordmaster Ylfi. But he is more than skilled enough to instruct this motley band.

The impromptu lesson mostly consists of letting Clayton and Connor throw themselves at Lukas, waving their pikes wildly, and demonstrating exactly why that will not be effective in a true fight. Caroline is more cautious, observing Lukas with a keen eye, then attempting to mimic his movements. She shows infinitely more promise than her brothers.

Whacking Clayton sharply on the backs of his legs, he observes, "That would surely be crippling if I did not wield this poor wooden imitation of a sword. You must watch my movements, not simply concentrate on coordinating your own."

Clayton scrunches his nose up and stomps his feet. "S'not fair! You're better than me!"

"Of course my swordsmanship is superior. I have been training since I was a child."

Caroline hefts her wooden pole over her shoulder, looking at him with interest. "Really? How old were you when you started?"

"Your brother's age, perhaps," Lukas says thoughtfully.

"My age?" Clayton asks.

"No. Your younger brother."

"But I'm only eight!" Connor squeaks.

Lukas is not certain how their lifespans compare. The boy looks the right size. "Yes, well, I had received my first dagger that year, and was insistent on learning to use it."

Insistent on not being left behind.

Clayton's brown eyes light up. "Do you think Mom will -"

"No," Caroline interrupts. "Mom's not giving you a dagger for your birthday. She doesn't even know we're doing this. Neither does Gramma."

Lukas pauses. "Your grandmother… would not approve?"

Caroline snorts. "Course not. She says fighting's never the solution."

"But - your brother is nearly a man. Surely he has begun his training."

She gives him an odd look. "Clay's only turning twelve this year."

Lukas bites his tongue. Midgard is a different realm, necessarily with different customs. Perhaps the Midgardians do not provide their children with weapons. Putting the absurd notion aside to consider later, he nods. He should not display his ignorance in this matter. "I… suppose your grandmother would not approve of weapons training at this young age," he says slowly, gauging his words by Caroline's expression.

Laughing, she shakes her head. "No way. Your mom musta been pretty cool."

Lukas swallows. I don't have a mother, he wants to say. Yes, she was lenient with me, he wants to say as well. I tried to make her proud of me. I didn't know. I didn't know she wasn't mine.

He says nothing.

Connor drags the end of his pike in the dirt, carving a circle around his feet. "Was it real dangerous where you grew up?" he asks. "Is that why you hadda have a dagger?"

Clayton jumps in eagerly. "Didja have to beat a lotta people up? Didja have sword fights?"

"People in England don't carry around swords anymore. Uh - do they?" Caroline tilts her head in question.

Lukas looks between the three of them. Best to go with this explanation rather than fabricate more and be caught in a lie. "Yes… England is a very dangerous place. Children are not safe in the street without a dagger in their sheath." For all he knows, it could be true.

"Wow."

"I guess British people are always gettin' in duels," Clayton points out. "Mrs. Swanson said so in Social Studies. They all wear red coats, ya know."

"You're so dumb -"

Thankfully, Caroline is cut off by Roseanne. "Kids! Your momma will be here soon, so come on in and get your bags ready!"

His phone buzzes after the children have gone inside.

Any word on that report?

Agent Roberts. She had conveyed Coulson's request a week ago. The senior agent wants him to compile a threat assessment, he thinks she called it, on the Ring and its abilities. Captain Rogers must have taken Lukas's warning to heart.

v soon!1!

He adds one of the little yellow faces Caroline showed him. The one that sticks out its tongue. They seem to put the agent off.

The sigh is inherent in her return message. Okay… I'll keep an eye out for it.

Going to put the phone away, he's startled by another buzz. By the way - we've got a lead on Raina.

Lukas immediately dials her number.

"Hello?" she says.

"You have found Raina?"

"No, not yet. But we did figure out where she went after DC."

"Well?"

"The Big Apple."

"She went - where?" Lukas asks in bewilderment.

"You know. New York City," Roberts explains. "We tracked her there. Seems like she was off-loading a shipment of whatever was in those crates at the warehouse. Quick way to make some cash. Being a fugitive must be expensive."

"And what exactly is she peddling?" Lukas waits for the evasion.

"Just - some equipment. Lab stuff."

None of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents will tell Lukas what was recovered from the crates, abandoned by Centipede during the invasion of their base of operations. Which naturally makes him all the more determined to find out. He already knows of the Ring - what could be more important?

I can think of one thing.

"Are we about to have a rash of villainous microscopes making their way into children's classrooms?"

"It's not schoolteachers we're worried about, unfortunately." Roberts's sigh crackles over the connection. "Look. I'm gonna talk to Coulson. See if I can't convince him to bring you in on this."

Curiosity prickles at his skin. "And why would you need a lowly historian?"

"You know Raina. You've seen her operation, and you're up to date with most of what we know regarding her plans. Besides, you have good instincts. I think you could be an asset. I mean, that is your job, isn't it? To consult on things?"

"Coulson hasn't taken the badge back just yet."

"Right. But there's some things I have to clear with him before I can tell you any more."

"I await with bated breath."

"Ha-ha. This would probably involve a trip to New York. You up for that?"

Another screaming match breaks out in the kitchen. The children's shrill voices float through the opened windows.

"Yes. Most definitely."

He can hear the smile in Agent Roberts's voice. "Okay. Talk to you soon."

"Goodbye."

Lukas settles back into his spot. The earth holds onto the warmth of the day, and the grass is soft. Closing his eyes, he throws his focus back into meditation.

He has little doubt that he will soon be too occupied to familiarize himself completely with this realm's seidr. S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps nudging his plans into position. Their goals have been beautifully aligned thus far.

And I will keep it that way, as long as I deem prudent. Then, who knows? He might have the entirety of the Nine Realms open to him. Courtesy of a little blue key.