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Without the Darkness There Is No Light
by Riley Berg
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Chapter Four
"Security Threat or Houseguest?"
"Rose," I address the first woman.
She has brunette hair with a touch of red that shows in the light. Lean, tall, and surprisingly strong, she serves as my sparring partner and head of security. Like the other residents of this house, she is not human. She is an elemental, a fire elemental to be exact. As such, she has a unique relationship with fire that allows her to wield it—an added bonus when she needs to fight.
"I apologize for burdening you, but I have brought a security risk into the house."
Rose looks at me in alarm, though the expression is not accompanied by surprise.
I sigh. There is no gentle way to inform them of my probably foolish actions.
"Loki has come to visit."
Rose's eyes widen slightly, though it seems a gesture more questioning than shocked. Naomi and Myrtle, who stand next in the line against the wall, exchange unreadable glances and half-smiles.
"I do not want to hear any titular other than…" I pause, thinking, "Master Loki," I decide upon. "You will not accept orders from him except for those I will outline to each of you. If you are uncertain, ask me. And, to be safe, I would like you each to report your interactions with him—even those that seem benign—to Rose, who will communicate with me."
I look at each of the girls. Rose readily accepts my command, but I have to glare at Naomi and Myrtle for a moment before they nod in submission, probably because of the title "Master;" they never were fond of referring to others as less than they are. Sometimes I wonder how I convinced them to call me "lady." Skye and Crystal, the next and last two in the line, assent emotionlessly.
"Rose, you will additionally help me keep an eye on him. He is here willingly, but, as always, I do not know the full scope of his plans."
"I understand, my lady."
I turn to the next in line. "Naomi."
She is half-human, half-gnome. Standing at only one and a half meters tall, she appears even shorter next to the tall Rose. She is my housekeeper, cooking delicious meals from scratch, and keeping the house in order—with a little help from the magic-like power that she inherited from her gnome father.
"You will, of course, have to accommodate another mouth to feed. You may address any questions regarding Loki's tastes and eating habits directly to him. And prepare the Blue Room for him; I want him nearby so I can keep an eye on his mischief. Oh, and it will be three meals a day for me, starting tomorrow." Naomi looks at me in confusion; I do not usually eat so often. "You should go prepare his room now. Meet us in the entry hall when you are finished."
With a shallow curtsy and a quiet, "Yes, my lady," Naomi ventures up the stairs behind me.
"Myrtle."
Another half-human, Myrtle's mother was a dryad—a myrtle tree dryad; her father was rather lacking imagination in naming her. She is beautiful and she knows it. She loves fashion but still has a sense of style. Thus, she serves as my lady's maid, choosing my outfits, styling my hair, and trying to convince me to wear loathed cosmetics. She spends most of her time in the basement, designing and sewing my clothes, and attending to those that need repair.
"Master Loki may prefer to oversee his own wardrobe, but as we are treating him as an honored guest, you may offer your services to him. But no girlish chitchat," I finish. She has a tendency to speak too much.
Without waiting for a reply, I nod to Skye and Crystal. "Your duties should not be much affected, but I did want to want you aware of his presence." Skye and Crystal are my groundskeepers.
Skye is a nymph, and my spring, summer, and autumn groundskeeper. She always designs a beautiful garden and tenderly nourishes all the flora on my property. She has such a beautiful smile when caring for her beloved plants, especially when getting her hands dirty in the warm earth.
Crystal is the daughter of one of Gaea's four season-named daughters, Winter. She is mute, but a very good groundskeeper in the winter, when she maintains the walkways, carves beautiful ice sculptures, and builds impressive snow statues. I am sometimes envious of her gorgeous white hair.
"We best venture upstairs for introductions. Skye and Crystal, you two as well. Then you can all go about your day."
They follow me up the narrow basement stair and down the hall toward the large entry hall. It is roughly square, and open to the third floor, with dual staircases leading to the second and third floors, each spanned by balconies, everything edged with matching balustrades.
My attendants pause at the base of the stair where Naomi already waits for them, and I continue toward the parlor where I instructed Loki to wait. I do not know what to say.
Clearing my throat to catch his attention, I step into the room. He has made himself at home, with a book in hand as he sits on the window seat. I cannot contain a smile at the sight, though I wonder how any of my human books caught his attention.
"Naomi has readied your room, and the girls are outside awaiting introductions. I can give you a tour afterward if you would like."
He says nothing but answers me by placing the book on the bench and standing. He follows me into the entry hall and I introduce each of my attendants and their positions to him.
"Naomi, ready my room if you have yet to do so. The rest of you are dismissed."
A chorus of "Yes, my lady" commences their departures.
"If you would not mind," I address Loki, "I would like to begin in the kitchen."
I have not eaten since the small portion of food I took from Gaea's offerings, and the energy granted me by her potion has worn off. I am glad it is evening, so I have a suitable excuse for retiring to my room once I have shown Loki around.
I step down onto the marble floor of the kitchen. It is large and spotless. I do not bother announcing to Loki our location; he knows this is a kitchen. I wander to the fridge.
"It is equipped in a modern human manner," I explain. "Naomi will probably inquire as to your tastes and habits, so if you wish her to feed you, you best answer her honestly. There is always something to eat, though, if you do not mind hours-old bread and, as the humans call it, leftovers."
I open the refrigerator and find said leftovers, and pull a chunk from the loaf of bread on the counter that was probably baked this morning.
With a mouthful of bread, I place my chosen food in the microwave. I maintain my silence as the microwave softly hums.
"The dining room is there," I nod to a door across the kitchen as the microwave chimes its completion.
Pulling my now warm food from the contraption, I walk to the indicated door.
The dining room is dominated by a wide table, long enough to comfortably seat ten. Long buffet tables stand against two walls, with another wall being comprised almost entirely of a large multi-pane window with a view of one of the gardens. The heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains are drawn over it at the moment, though.
The fourth wall boasts a large arched entryway. It has no doors, but its width is equivalent to a double-door, and curtains that are presently tied to each side serve to provide privacy when desired.
I lead Loki out of the dining room and through the large living room, the rarely-used movie theater (that also serves as a computer or video game room, though I have never used it as such), the private gym, which I call a training room for his benefit, and my two-story library.
From the second story of the library, we exit into the main hall.
"These are guest rooms," I gesture. "The door at the end of the hall leads to the lower story of my study or studio or office, whatever you want to call it."
Leading him to said door, we walk up the stairs inside my book-lined study and reach the third floor. The upper story of my study has two doors, one to my bedchamber, and a second to the main hall. I chose the latter.
"That," I gesture to one of the three other doors in the square hall, "will be your room."
The door to the left leads also to my bedchambers and the last door is locked, the room not to be disturbed.
Leading him to his new rooms and ignoring the look of disgust that crosses his face at the blue décor, I show him the walk-in closet and extensive, human-style bathroom.
"If you have any requests regarding breakfast, you best tell Naomi tonight. The bellpull system works," I nod to a cord hanging by the fireplace. "And Myrtle has been given permission to attend to your wardrobe if you so desire. If there is nothing else, I will retire for the evening."
With a shake of his head, I am free to leave, and I waste no time in walking to my own rooms.
Placing the container that held my food on the floor outside my door for Naomi to retrieve later, I open my door and go directly to my bed.
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I sleep dreamlessly and at length. The sun beats brightly on the back of my curtains by the time I pull out of my grogginess. With a groan, I realize I fell asleep in my—the—clothes. Usually, I would use Myrtle's absence as an excuse to dress myself, and to do so with no fashion and little style, but I am weak, tired, and sore. Reaching over to the bellpull that hangs by my bed, I summon her.
"My lady?" Myrtle is clearly surprised by my call.
"Would you tell Naomi I am ready for breakfast—or whatever meal it is. What time is it?" I ask without caring about the answer. "And then I will need your help getting ready."
Myrtle is a wonderful girl, but a horrible actress. Her shock is written clearly on her face. But she does as told and returns momentarily.
By the time she stands before me, having delivered my message to Naomi, I have managed to pull myself to the edge of the bed and let my legs hang down. I offer an arm, indicating my need for help undressing. With an eyebrow raised, she complies.
She gasps. "By the gods, what happened?"
I am too tired to comment or otherwise express my disbelief at her rare almost-cuss. (She seems innocent most of the time.)
Wearily, I look down. A cluster of bruises blossoms on my chest, spreading from the dagger wound. The wound itself manifests only as a short line. There are no stitches closing it, and no bandage covering it. I wonder for a moment it I should put something on it.
"I got into a fight," I dismiss.
Myrtle understands an implied order when she hears one and remains silent on the matter, though her eyes tell me that her curiosity and worry are far from extinguished. She does not refrain, however, from bullying me into caring for my wound. I manage to negotiate her from bruise ointment, stitches and a large, thick bandage down to a simple, if slightly larger than standard, adhesive bandage.
Once she manages to outfit me in a presentable but comfortable shirt and human-beloved jeans, she anxiously follows me to the dining room, where Naomi has laid out a plentiful breakfast. A glance at the clock tells me that it has passed one o'clock in the afternoon, but I do not care. I needed the rest.
Naomi enters as I sit down. Though I am intent on my food, in my peripheral vision I see her nod, presumably to Myrtle. A soft retreat of feet sounds, announcing Myrtle's departure.
Naomi seats herself at the end of the dining table. I look up in surprise and watch her calmly pour herself some tea using the accouterments from the tray I had not earlier noticed. Though I think of my attendants more as friends than servants, they have always carefully observed propriety. I have never seen one of them at the dining table. They eat at the kitchen table or in their basement "servant's" dining room.
I look down quickly before Naomi can notice my staring. Perhaps they are concerned about me because of my admittedly horrible-looking wound. But Myrtle had no time to disseminate that information. Maybe they are wary of Loki's presence and do not want to leave me unattended for fear of what he might do.
"Where's Loki?" I ask through a mouthful of food.
Naomi stares at me for a moment, overcoming the shock of my informal address and lack of table manners.
"I do not know, my lady."
I nod, swallowing. Rose will know. It is her job to know.
"Did he take breakfast?" I glance at the clock again. "Or lunch?"
I take another bite, still ravenous. Healing from a would-be fatal wound creates quite an appetite.
"No, my lady."
"Did you inquire as to, or did he provide, his food preferences?"
"No, my lady."
"Best do so. He's invited to dinner."
"Yes, my lady."
She does not rise.
"Now."
She looks up at me in surprise. "Yes, my lady." She hesitates, but obeys.
Finally alone, I slouch in my chair and breathe out a length sigh. My hunger not yet sated, I turn my mind to the breakfast before me and finish eating in the peace of solitude.
Naomi looks disappointed as she reenters the dining room just as I stand from my chair, my hunger finally satisfied. Realizing that her disappointment might be related to her now unusable excuse to stay by my side, I do not inquire as to her expression.
"Did you enjoy the meal, my lady?"
"It was beyond satisfactory, Naomi." I pause. "I know I said three meals a day, but considering how late breakfast was, I will only require dinner."
"Yes, my lady."
"Where is Rose?"
"I believe she is in the gym, my lady."
I nod and exit the dining room, heading toward the gymnasium at the back of the house. It includes several modern human exercise machines, various self-defense training articles, and a large open area. The latter, when bare, serves as a dance studio. When pads cover the mirrors and tatami mats cover the floor, it is a sparring ring for Rose and me.
To my surprise, I find not only Rose but Loki as well. While the former breathes in a controlled and focused manner on the exercise bike, the latter uses one of the dummies for target practice.
I lean against the door jamb. "It's a good thing Gaea gave me that one," I startle both Rose and Loki. Rose spares me no more than a glance. I let my eyes fall on Loki, who has paused in his practice to look at me. "A Midgardian one would not withstand Asgardian blades for long." I push myself off the door frame with my shoulder and immediately regret it.
A look of pain crosses my face. I know this because Loki raises an eyebrow at me. And I know how to speak Loki. Or read, as it were.
"Good morning, Ástriðr," he greets, instead of mentioning my pain (and despite the hand on the clock indicating afternoon). "I never knew you were capable of sleeping so late." He turns away, toward the dummy victim of his daggers.
I snort, which also hurts, though only a little. In my own home, I was not allowed to sleep late. On Asgard, Frigga had stationed Loki in my room at nights—the reasons for which I might address later—and I was so conscious of that fact that I could not sleep late, for fear of him being seen. He was not allowed to leave until I had awoken for the day, but his presence was also to remain a secret betwixt Frigga, Loki, and myself.
"Well, I was woken early."
He pauses in his dagger-throwing practice again and turns to me with a blank expression I judge to express confusion.
"Not today," I clarify. "When…" I do not know what to say without giving too much information to Rose, whom I am sure is listening to every word we say.
"Gaea woke you early," Loki states, ice edging his voice.
I narrow my eyes. "Don't take that tone." Loki raises an eyebrow (calling attention to my hypocrisy). I hide my own surprise at the tone I took. "Gaea would not have woken me early if you had not run off without warning or explanation," I huff.
"I was not aware that I answered to Gaea," he replies evenly, turning back to his task.
"You do not," I say to his back. "But it must have occurred to you that she did not trust you. That your disappearance into her precious world would cause her concern."
"I thought nothing of the matter," he says, his back still turned to me as he throws another small dagger at the poor dummy.
I sigh. He is probably telling the truth. It rarely occurs to him to think of others, or to put himself in another's shoes, so to speak.
"It is still your fault," I grumble.
I notice Rose glance at me in surprise, but she quickly diverts her eyes and draws her face into a neutral expression. I ignore her.
"You will need to take extra care," Loki ignores my grumbling. "Sleep. Rest. Eat. Drink," he glances at Rose, who is currently not looking at us, before adding, 'Feed,' in my mind and then returning to his physical voice, "Spar, or whatever else you do these days, with caution, and not for a few days, at the least. You would have needed to be careful had you woken naturally, but early… you will need to be additionally cautious."
"Yes, mother."
He turns his head to glare at me.
Ignoring his annoyance, I inform him, "I expect you at dinner." I turn to leave, but first glance at Rose. "I will be in the library."
However painful it is to take orders from Loki, his words are not unwise, this time. I will ignore that little bit that he mouthed, but see to the others. I slept for eighteen hours and have had my fill of victuals. A nice rest in the library will do my body good, without letting my mind wander in agonizing boredom.
A book waits for me by one of the tall windows. I grab it and curl into the window-side chair, letting the daylight illuminate the pages as I immerse myself in the written adventure. Though the book is not short, I read quickly. I am almost finished when Loki interrupts me half an hour later.
"May I enter?"
I look up from my book agitated.
"I did not want to enter your precious library without your permission."
"You were here yesterday, Loki."
"Under your guidance."
"I am not you, Loki," I sigh, turning my face to the window. "You have present and continuing permission to make use of my library so long as you respect it and its contents. Though I doubt you will find anything to interest you; they are all Midgardian works."
"I think I can find something of interest to me, Ásta."
The words were spoken so softly I would not have heard them if I did not have exceptional hearing.
It is one of those times when I do not want to know what Loki is thinking. I do not look back at him, but turn to my book, listening to his footsteps as he searches for a book of his own. It does not take him long. I believe that, rather than having found something of interest, he did not care to pay attention to his choice. In the three minute it takes to finish the novel, Loki has seated himself in the armchair across from me, using the same daylight spilling through the same window to read his chosen book by.
I look up to find him reading me instead of his chosen book. Ignoring him, I stand to find another book, or a pile of them.
The afternoon passes uneventfully in the library, though I notice Rose pause by the door occasionally. I read through several books. I do not know if Loki actually reads his chosen tomes, but he at least pretends to. Dinner is blessedly silent and luxuriously large. I eat almost as much as I did at breakfast. Loki does not comment on my ability to consume Thor-sized meals. Perhaps he expects it, knowing of my wound and my early awakening from the healing-sleep. I manage to stay awake a little longer than yesterday before falling into a deep sleep just as Myrtle finishes pulling off my jeans.
I wake at eleven o'clock. I sigh. It is better than one in the afternoon. This time, I am able to sit and stand with less trouble, and dress myself, though the effort pulls at my wound, causing me to wince in pain. I eat breakfast—this time eating a portion closer to normal—and in lieu of exercising as I might usually, take a walk around my grounds. Rose joins me. After lunch, I retire to my library again, piling books by my favored seat by the window. Loki does not join me today. But I call him to dinner again. This time, he tries to make conversation. I let him, though—or perhaps because—the topics are benign and insignificant.
My attendants still hover in my peripheral vision throughout the day, watching over my carefully. But now I know Myrtle has kept her silence. It is my odd behavior—sleeping not only nightly but for long hours and eating not only three meals a day, but large ones—that worries them.
I sit in the chair in the corner of my bedroom, reading yet another book, as I wait for my body to tire sufficiently. This time, Myrtle manages to get me into pajamas before I fall asleep—a t-shirt over a camisole and flannel pants. The grandfather clock distantly chimes nine as I drift to sleep.