A Cry in the Dark
It happened very early in the morning, before the sun had time to peek two rays
above the horizon. There was frost on the ground and the wind had a nasty bite to it even
wrapped as I was in fur and woolens. I hurried from the house to the barn, hissing the words
to a get warm quick spell between my chattering teeth. I hate the cold, absolutely hate it.
Which makes it even more idiotic that I would ever aid the frost giants against Odin and my
fellow Aesir. Because with the frost giants comes eternal winter.
The spell cut the chill of the wind long enough for me to slip inside the steamy barn
and light the lamps with my flicker spell. That's a fancy name for a light spell, a simple
focusing of will and power that I can do in my sleep. Once the lights were on, I could attend
to the task of feeding and grooming and cleaning out my animals' stalls.
The barn was one of the few places I did not use magic to aid me in chores, since I
liked working with my animals. See, I'm not truly lazy, at least not where it matters. And
lifting hay and mucking out stalls isn't easy. But it builds muscle and the work keeps me
warm.
"You're late," Heror whinnied, stamping a hoof impatiently. "Where's my oats?"
"Give me a blasted minute, you ingrate," I shot back, removing my mittens and
blowing on my fingers.
"Is it really that cold out there?" bleated Olga from her warm byre.
"Probably not. You know how he is whenever a little cold spell happens," my horse
snorted. He's a big black fellow, close to sixteen hands, with some Arab blood in him. That
makes him fast as the devil but also damned arrogant.
I shot a warning glare at him. "Excuse me? Did I just hear somebody volunteer to
spend the night in the pasture? We'll see how cold it is then, won't we?" I inquired sweetly.
Heror, being part Arab, loathes the cold nearly as much as I do. He whickered in
alarm, saying quickly, "Ah now don't get in a snit, Loki. I wasn't serious."
Olga merely snorted. She has no fear of the cold, since she's a Norwegian long-
haired goat and bred to endure cold.
"That's what I thought," I said, picking up the pitchfork and climbing into the hayloft
to throw hay down into their mangers.
While they ate, I busied myself mucking out their stalls, throwing the soiled straw
into a wheelbarrow. Here, I must admit, I cheated a bit. For I had a spell on that
wheelbarrow that transports the manure out to my compost heap. Once that was done I
spread fresh straw about, making it nice and thick so they didn't get hoof rot and such.
"Loki, am I ever going to get my oats this morning?" Heror whinnied plaintively.
"And how bout my salad?" Olga reminded me. She always got fresh carrots and
lettuce in the morning from my garden. "Blessed gods, the service we get around here!"
"Is better than any you'd get elsewhere, you carping old goat." I frowned. "Keep
your beard on, nanny."
Olga rolled her eyes at me and tried to snag my sleeve as I went by, an old trick of
hers. I twitched my sleeve out of the way and went to the bin where her salad greens were
stored. The bin had a cold spell on it to keep the greens from rotting. I took out an armful
of fresh baby carrots and shredded lettuce and rutabagas, sprinkled some brown sugar on it
and carried it to her. "Breakfast, Lady Impatience!"
She dove on it like a starving wolf.
"You're welcome," I muttered and she mumbled something around a mouthful of
lettuce that might have been a thank you.
Then I went and filled Heror's oat bucket, mixing the oats with a half a cup of sweet
molasses. I poured the sticky mess into his trough, spoke a word to clean the bucket and
refill it with cool water and began to groom the burrs and tangles out of his mane and tail.
He nuzzled me in thanks and then settled to eat while I groomed. This was our usual
ritual in the mornings. Only that morning he had more than the usual amount of burrs in his
coat and it took me extra time to get them out.
"Damn, Heror, what did you do, roll in the thistle patch?" I grumbled as I untangled
yet another burr from his tail.
"I told you to cut those hedges back," he reminded me smugly through a mouthful
of oats. "I can't help it if the pasture's full of thistles."
"You can help rolling in them," I sighed.
"Can't. My coat itches when it's growing in for winter."
I shook my head and set my hands to detangling another knot. Usually I was careful
not to pull, since Heror's thin-skinned and sensitive. But that day I was irritable and yanked
a bit too hard.
"Hey!" Heror squealed. "Damn it, Loki, that hurt!"
"Sorry. But this one's stubborn."
"You yank my tail like that one more time and I'm gonna kick your teeth out," the
stallion threatened, half cocking a hoof. "We'll see how well you smirk with your front
teeth missing."
"Stop being such a baby," I ordered, smacking him lightly on the rump. "I'm almost
done."
He swung his head about to examine his tail. "I'm surprised I still have a tail left the
way you were yanking."
I picked up his long flowing tail and stuck the end in his face. "Quit complaining
you ungrateful animal. Without me you'd look like a scrub." A scrub is a sorry excuse for
a horse, ugly and skinny and not worth anything.
Heror laid his ears back. "A scrub? I'll have you know I come from the bloodlines
of kings! I was the pride of the Sultan of Majipoor's stable."
"Yeah, I know, seeing as how I was the one who stole you from there," I said, rolling
my eyes. "Now spare me the litany, O Impeccable One, and just eat your oats."
"I will if you're done pulling my hair out," my stallion sulked.
"For now," I answered, then continued rubbing him down.
Despite what it might sound like, Heror loves his grooming sessions and so do I.
There's nothing quite as relaxing as grooming a horse.
I finished up quickly though, because Olga was whining about how full her milk bag
was and didn't I know I wasn't supposed to spend all my time with my spoiled stallion.
I took the milking pail and my stool and went to her. "Relax, nanny, I'm not going
to forget you," I chuckled, scratching her between her small horns.
"Better not. Or there goes your milk for breakfast," she warned. "And so help me,
magician, if you squeeze too hard I'll kick you into next week."
"Lady," I scowled, eyeing her hooves. Heror I trusted not to kick me, but Olga
wasn't above stomping me just for spite. "That hoof of yours comes near any part of me and
I'll walk out of here and let you milk yourself."
That knocked her attitude out of her quick enough. From what she's told me, a full
udder is quite painful after awhile. She was good as gold for me then, and I was careful not
to squeeze too hard.
One thing I will say about Olga. Ornery as she is, she gives the best thick cream and
the sweetest milk in Asgard. And the cheese an whey made from her milk was delicious.
Once a week a servant came down from Valhalla to buy some from me for the rest of the
immortals up there. For that alone I'll put up with her attitude.
I had just about filled my pail when I heard what sounded like a wail coming from
outside. "What was that?" I asked, frowning, trying to place where I'd heard that sound
before.
"What?" Olga asked, switching her tail.
"It sounded like someone screaming," I replied.
"Where? I didn't hear anything," the goat mumbled, still munching her carrots.
"How could you, you chew so loud?" came Heror's neigh.
"Not as loud as you talk, you bag of wind," Olga snorted. "Did you hear anything,
O Desert Fox?"
"Um, I thought I heard something like a cat," Heror covered for himself hastily.
"Isn't that right, Loki?"
"Something like that," I muttered, taking the pail and putting the stool back where
it belonged.
"Maybe it was just the wind," Olga said sensibly. "Sometimes that can sound like
a cat crying."
I nodded. She was probably right. It was unseasonably windy this morning. I
opened the barn door and bid my friends farewell for the morning. I would return to let
them out to graze later in the afternoon. Now I was hungry and I wanted my breakfast.
Again came that high-pitched cry, like an animal in pain. "What in the Nine Hells
. . .?" I looked about the yard but could see nothing out of the ordinary. I thought about
calling "Here kitty, kitty . . ." but feared I would sound like an idiotic mortal and so I kept
my mouth shut.
Instead I continued back up the path with my milk, gritting my teeth at the renewed
force of the wind. Tendrils of auburn hair blew into my eyes and for one moment I could
not see my own front porch. Then I reached up and brushed away the hair and saw a strange
oblong basket sitting smack in front of my door.
Oh, that explains it. One of the servants from Valhalla must have left a kitten here
as payment for last week's cheese and milk, I thought. Though that was unusual, for most
times Odin paid me with coin. Still, I'd not complain, I'd been meaning to get a cat to keep
me company.
I opened the door, putting the milk inside. Then I bent down to undo the ties on the
basket and have a look at the kitten. It squalled again. "Calm down," I said. "I'll have you
out of there in a minute you little snip."
I slipped the last leather thong free and lifted the lid of the basket, ready to catch the
kitten.
Only there was no kitten inside. There was only a bundle of rabbit skins. "Huh? Is
this some kind of joke?" I said aloud. "Where's the cat?"
The rabbit skins stirred and I peeled one back, thinking the kitten was probably
trapped beneath them. Except something grabbed my thumb as I did so and squealed. I
nearly fell over.
"Gods and hells!" I swore. "You're no cat. You're a baby!"
The baby stared up at me, beseeching me from eyes the color of cornflowers. Our
eyes met and I was lost. Then she, for it was a little girl, grinned, a grin full of sunshine and
love and the ice I'd sheathed my heart in melted like a spring thaw.
"Let's get you inside where it's warm, all right?" I asked, gently removing my finger
from her little fist. I scooped up the basket and carried it inside, slamming the door with my
foot.
Instantly, Ava appeared before me in a whirl of sparks and the aroma of baking
bread. "Oh Master, what has you got there? It looks like a little baby." She peered into the
basket and cooed in delight. "Oh, how beautiful! What are you going to do with her, sir?"
"I have no idea," I admitted.