Conflicting Hearts
The next morning, I arose full of newfound determination to put that restless night of
dreams behind me. It was becoming dangerous for me to linger here, I was starting to
become too attached to these mortals, something I had never allowed to happen, not even
when I lived in ancient Rome. Then I'd had casual acquaintances and colleagues, but no one
I could call a friend. Out here though it was different. I genuinely liked Marco, Esmerelda,
and the rest of the Flynns. I even liked Matthew and as for his daughter, well she stirred
feelings in me that were best left alone.
I knew I should just tell Belle it was time to get the spear and leave, forget about
confronting her faithless man and just return to Asgard. That would have been the sensible
thing to do. Yet I found myself reluctant to do so. The spear wasn't going anywhere, in fact
it was quite securely bound inside of its wood and iron chest. I had managed to slip inside
the paychest wagon one day and examined the chest with my magical Sight, discovering that
Leif had taken the precaution of casting wards of protection and dampening on the chest,
muffling the aura Gungnir radiated. That was precisely what I'd have done if I'd taken the
spear and wanted to hide it and mitigate its influence on mortals. The only reason I was able
to sense it was because I knew what I was looking for.
Leif must be close by, probably in the shape of some animal or other, but when I
attempted to look for a trace of his mage sigil, I couldn't find it. He had learned his lessons
too well, I though with a soft curse. We'd been with the circus for almost three weeks and
in all that time he'd not shown himself once. I decided to give it a month, then I was going
to break the wards on the chest and take Gungnir and return to Asgard. A week or more
wouldn't hurt anything, I reasoned. I'd finish this round of shows then regretfully give
Matthew my resignation. I could have just up and disappeared, the way I'd done before, but
again I found myself strangely reluctant to play the circus folk for fools. They had treated me
decently, accepting my persona as Sigurdson at face value. They had appreciated me for my
medical skills and my expertise in sleight of hand. With the exception of Boswell, the
drunken sot, and Tims, who I was sure was skimming money, I enjoyed the company of my
fellow performers more than I'd ever thought possible. So much so that I wished it would
never end.
It was a fool's wish, a child's dream, wishing for that, I scolded myself sternly. I
knew better, I was far too old and cynical to wish for something so fleeting as true friendship
with people not of my kind. Yet a part of me wished that I did not need to play this elaborate
charade, that I could cast aside the mask and reveal my true self.
And then I'd be burned for a witch or locked up in an asylum, I reminded myself with
a sneer. For who believed in the existence of Norse gods or immortals anymore? Hell, no
one believed in magic anymore, not even when I practiced it right under their noses.
Except maybe Esmerelda. The Rom had always been more attuned to the arcane than
the rest of mortals. Still, I doubted whether even she would believe me if I told her the truth.
In this case, lies were more believable.
Nothing good lasts forever, Loki. I reminded myself ruthlessly. You know that, you
learned it long ago, it's the story of your life. Indeed the single thing in my life that had
lasted was my love for my daughter and hers for me. That and perhaps my friendship with
Baldur and Odin. Three relationships, in all of my long life, that had lasted. They had always
been enough before.
Yet now I found myself wanting more.
I opened the door of my wagon and stepped outside, yawning in the crisp morning air.
The circus wagons always halted some distance from the town proper, to avoid frightening
the townsfolk with our odd array of animals and also to give us some privacy to practice our
routines without being interrupted continuously with questions. Belle was not in her bed and
I assumed she'd gone to have breakfast in the Flynn's vardo.
I walked over to pet Heror, who was picketed near the wagon. The stallion buried his
nose in my shirt, whickering me a good morning. "It's a beautiful morning, Loki." Heror
snuffled. "Shall we go for a ride later?"
"Yes. I'd like that, my friend," I whispered softly in Norse. "Maybe after breakfast."
"I've already eaten. Belle fed us," the black horse told me.
"Well, I haven't and I'm hungry." I stroked his thick forelock once more, then turned
towards the Flynn's vardo. Before I'd gone two steps, I heard someone call my name.
"Loki! Wait, please."
I turned, for it was Marissa calling me. She was wearing her spangled bareback rider
costume, so I knew she'd been practicing her routine. It was a one piece suit of bright blue
with a ruffled red and white skirt and the ends of the sleeves had small ruffles of white lace
as well. Her dark hair was tied up behind her head in a neat bun and her feet were encased
in soft leather slippers that had chalk rubbed into the soles to give her better purchase on her
horse's back.
"What's wrong, Marissa?" I asked, noting the worried expression in her large eyes.
"It's Rocket. I think he's pulled a tendon or something. I was working with him this
morning and just as I finished my double flip he went off stride."
"Did you check his hooves? Maybe he needs new shoes or something."
"That was the first thing I did. But he had no stones and his shoes were just resized
last week. And the ground in the arena is smooth, so he couldn't trip."
"Was he limping that you noticed?" I queried, following her back to where she'd left
her mount tied inside the tent where she practiced her maneuvers.
"Not really. But I could feel he wasn't moving right. He was favoring his right hoof
slightly." Marissa reported.
I didn't bother to question her veracity, a bareback rider knows her mount intimately,
she has to in order to perform the kinds of dangerous stunts she does. When we reached the
arena, I could see that Marissa's diagnosis had been correct, the silver gelding was favoring
his right front leg slightly, not putting his full weight on it.
I murmured softly to him, asking permission in horse language to examine him.
Rocket agreed, and I picked up his hoof, examining it closely for cracks. I probed the frog
gently, noting with relief that there was no swelling there.
"Where's it hurt?" I asked softly, pitching my voice so that only the horse could hear
me.
"Not my hoof. It's higher up, a tendon, I think," Rocket nickered helpfully.
I felt expertly, my long fingers probing lightly. "You're right, Marissa," I sighed,
gently setting the silver horse's leg down. "He's pulled a tendon. It's not all that bad, but
there's some swelling and I don't think you should ride him in your next performance."
"Are you sure, Loki?" she asked, her face showing plainly her dismay. "Won't it heal
if I poultice it?"
"Sure, but not in time for your routine tomorrow night."
"Damn!" she muttered, biting her lip.
"Don't you have a spare mount?"
"Yes, but Smoke's not smooth gaited enough for my new trick. And I've been
working on it for the past three weeks, I'd hate to have to leave it out now." She stroked
Rocket, who nuzzled her. "Poor boy. All those hours of practice ruined."
"I'm sorry," the gelding whinnied, though only I understood him.
Marissa scratched his ears and murmured softly to him. "Not your fault. Guess I'll
just have to make do. Too bad we don't have any other horses capable of doing a flying
change."
"Heror can do a flying change," I blurted out before I could think better of it. A flying
change is a horseman's term for a horse who can switch leads from his right to left forefoot
in mid air, at the moment when all four feet are off the ground. It requires a delicate sense
of balance and grace to perform and not all horses can master it.
Heror, being both an immortal steed and part Arab, could do flying changes in his
sleep.
Hope bloomed anew in Marissa's lovely eyes. "Would you mind if I borrowed him,
Loki? Just for the one performance?"
I hesitated. Heror was not a horse that could be ridden by just anyone, he was
temperamental and inclined to bouts of sulking with anyone but me. "I'd say yes, but he can
be touchy."
"Why don't you let me try him out a bit?" she pleaded. "I've ridden horses who are
touchy before and if I think he won't suit, well then I'll use Smoke. Give me an hour, okay?"
I nodded, unable to resist that wide-eyed stare. "Very well. But don't blame me if
he tries to knock you off." I warned, then I went to get my stallion.
On the way back to the arena, I lectured the big horse quite thoroughly in manners and
deportment and told him that if he behaved badly and made Marissa get hurt, I'd take a stick
to him for real.
"All right already, I get the picture!" he snapped irritably. "I'll be careful with the
woman you love, magician."
"Thanks," I sighed, then stopped dead. "What do you mean, the woman I love?"
Heror snorted. "Exactly what I said. Did you think I wouldn't notice? What do you
take me for, a jackass?"
"You're being ridiculous. I'm not in love with Marissa."
"No? When's the last time you threatened me with a thrashing for real? I'll tell you
when. It was when Belle was still a baby and just walking."
"So?"
"So . . . you only mean it when it's someone you care for. Someone who you can't
bear to see hurt. Like your daughter. Or the woman you love," Heror pointed out smugly,
flicking his long tail.
"I am NOT in love with Marissa!"
"Who are you trying to convince, magician—me or yourself?"
"Oh, shut up, Heror!" I growled. "And mind what I told you."
The stallion snickered, and I ground my teeth at his insolence. In love with Marissa
indeed! The whole idea was—was preposterous. She was a mortal and not for the likes of
me. I was old enough to know better. The union between a mortal and immortal brought only
pain and sorrow. To the immortal, who must watch the mortal partner grow old and die, and
the mortal who must look upon the immortal partner and envy the eternal youth and beauty
given so unstintingly. Such a pairing was doomed from the beginning, fated to end in hearts
broken and torn apart.
Never had I known a different ending to such a match, not in all my centuries.
Mortals were for light dalliance for a night or two, but an immortal did not give his heart to
one. My Greco-Roman cousins knew well the cost of such folly, their myths were full of
such cautionary tales. As were my own people's.
And yet . . . even knowing what I did, I could not help but be entranced by Marissa
Turner's graceful figure atop Heror, balancing easily upon one foot, then her hands, then
soaring skyward in one breathless magnificent leap, spinning once, twice, thrice and landing
lightly upon my stallion's back.
Light as thistledown, graceful as a swan upon the wing, I though then. Such perfect
economy of motion, her whole body was in harmony with my horse, so much so that anyone
seeing her would assume they'd been partners forever and not merely for a few minutes. Her
performance took my breath away, and not just because of her mastery of acrobatics and
daring aerial maneuvers on the back of a cantering horse.
She was not a conventional beauty, indeed I'd seen far prettier maids in Asgard,
including the shrewish Glut. Even gentle Sigyn was fairer than this slender girl. But there
was a light in her eyes that brought a glow to her tanned cheeks and her lean muscled body
put me in mind of a cat, sleek with the pride of its power, though she lacked the generous
curves of my immortal acquaintances. Her face was too pixyish for true beauty and her nose
a shade too aquiline.
But it was those very imperfections that drew me to her.
Nor was it her physical charms alone that caught my eye. She was as fearless and
free-spirited as I myself was, doing a thing which most men would not dare and maybe two
women in a thousand would even contemplate. Circus performers of her caliber were as rare
as pearls in a mountain stream. Her joy in her routine shown in every line of her body, it
sparkled through her like fine wine, apparent to all who knew what to look for. She loved
what she did, I soon realized. Bareback riding was to her what magic was to me.
Life itself.
Heror sensed this as well. At first he had performed satisfactorily enough, mostly out
of pride in his abilities and the promise I had extracted. But as Marissa's routine had gone
on, I saw his attitude for the young woman shift from tolerance to something even more
profound—respect. Few people ever earned Heror's respect, immortal or mortal. That
Marissa had done so spoke volumes, and it did not have to do with her skill alone. Rather it
was her willingness to communicate with her mount, and feel what he did that earned my
temperamental mount's approval. One horsewoman in a thousand possesses the necessary
empathy to bond with her mount, and one in three thousand is willing to follow that impulse
and actually form a bond. Marissa belonged to the latter group.
By the end of the hour she'd won over my great stallion completely.
She had also, all unknowingly, won a part of my heart as well.
She halted before me, sitting on Heror's back easily, her face flushed with joy.
"Oh, Loki! That was the most magnificent performance I've ever had. Are you sure
he's never been trained for this kind of thing? Because he took to it like he'd been doing it
for his whole life." She stroked Heror delightedly. "Well done, my handsome wonderful
boy."
Heror preened at her sweet praise like a peacock, arching his neck and flaring his tail
as if her were on parade, the vain thing!
"He's always been a quick study," I told her, smiling. That's what it's like to ride an
immortal horse, little swan, I longed to say. What a pity I could never tell her the truth, I
lamented. For surely she alone among mortals would appreciate Heror's true origins.
"It was almost like—like magic," she said with a soft chuckle.
I raised an eyebrow. "And do you believe in magic then, Miss Turner?"
"Of course. I was raised by a gypsy woman, Mr. Sigurdson," she tossed back calmly.
"And all the Rom know that magic is part and parcel of the universe, like the air above us and
the earth below. God gave us magic even as he did all else."
I bowed to her with a flourish. "Indeed, He did. And you may have the use of my
stallion with pleasure tomorrow night, Miss Turner. I hope that performance renders the
audience as speechless as this one did me."
She grinned at me, not a calculated grin such as a girl might give to a prospective
suitor, but an unfeigned smile of delight such as one might give a good friend. "Thank you.
I'm glad to see you know how to appreciate effort and hard work. Most people who come
to see us perform think it all comes easy to us. But they're wrong. I spend hours a day
practicing, especially now, when I'm doing a new trick for the first time."
"Your dedication to your art does you credit, Marissa. How long have you been a
bareback rider?"
She paused to consider. "I started learning how to do stunts when I was about Hawk's
age, I think. But I could ride before I could walk."
"And did you ever fall off and break a bone like our young daredevil?"
"No, though I've sprained wrists and ankles more than I can count. And once I
dislocated my shoulder. That's part of the risk you take when you do what I do. But I'm
careful, which is why I've not injured myself too badly. When I was Hawk's age, I'd have
never tried a double backwards somersault off my mount without a spotter. Not until I'd
mastered a single and landed safely from it over a hundred times. Hawk was lucky all he
broke was his arm. He could have broken his neck or his spine."
"True."
"My profession isn't for the faint-hearted or the foolish. The one will get you killed
just as well as the other," Marissa said wisely.
"And the fact that you might be seriously injured doesn't frighten you?"
"Oh it does. But I don't let it cripple me, otherwise I'd never be able to ride out and
perform in the ring." She smiled dreamily. "I've been performing for fourteen years now and
I love it just as much now as I ever did then. There's nothing like it. Nothing. And with a
horse like your Heror under me . . .not even my Rocket can read me so well. I've never
known a stallion to be so intuitive."
"He's a special horse," I agreed, stroking his nose. "Sometimes he seems almost
human."
"A fitting mount for a magician then," she teased. "I once knew a man who taught
his horse how to add and subtract and write with his hoof. I wonder if you could teach Heror
that? Might be a new addition to your magic act, Loki."
Heror snorted sharply. "I'm a horse, not a performing dog!"
I patted him, soothing his ruffled dignity. "I don't think he'd take to that, Marissa.
He's too proud to be put on display like that, though I've no doubt he could learn that trick.
He's smarter than your average horse."
"Too blasted right I am!" my temperamental stallion interjected, tossing his head up
and down.
"Easy, fellow," Marissa said. "No need to get insulted, chief. It was just an idea."
She fed him a carrot, and he then forgave her. Food as a bribe always works wonders on
Heror's bruised pride.
"You've got a way with horses," I commented approvingly.
She nodded. "Yes, it's why I became a bareback rider."
"I'm surprised your father allowed it, seeing as you're his only child."
"And a woman besides," she added, her mouth twitching into a smile at the words I'd
deliberately left unsaid. "At first he objected to it most strenuously. Told me girls didn't risk
their pretty necks doing flips off a horse. Said I should stick to dancing like my mother. But
dancing never stirred me quite the way riding a horse did. When I rode a horse it felt like I
could fly sometimes. But when I danced all I felt was the earth beneath my feet. Esmerelda
understood though. She was the one who at last persuaded my father to teach me some tricks.
After that, Dad gave in, once he saw I was serious and how much I loved it. Performing
tricks off the back of a horse is one of my two great talents."
"What's the other one?" I inquired curiously.
She blushed and looked away, making me wonder if it was kissing. Then I shook my
head, annoyed at myself. She did not strike me at all as a seductress. There was a certain air
about a woman of that type that Marissa lacked. No, despite her twenty-four years, I'd wager
my boots she was a maiden still. I waited patiently for her reply. It was then that I felt a
familiar prickle run down my spine. It was the same feeling I got when I came into contact
with another mage, only it was coming from the woman next to me.
I sucked in a breath, then gazed at her with my Mage Sight.
And Saw, to my everlasting shock, a shimmering thread of Power running through
her. Marissa Turner had Talent in her. Not the full-blown Talent of a true magician, such
as myself or Belle, but a strong bent for one particular skill. She was what the Vanir mages
called a wilding, a person born with a specific gift of magery and no more.
"I can find lost objects," she admitted after a few minutes. "Now I know that doesn't
sound like much, but I can find almost anything. No matter how long its been missing or
whatever. It's almost like . . ."
"Magic?" I finished softly. "I'm a magician, I believe in that sort of thing."
"Yes, but your kind of magic is tricks and illusion, sir," she said, then flushed. "No
offense meant, Loki. This is, well, its more like I can feel where something is and go to it.
I've always been able to do it. My dad made me promise not tell too many folks about it.
Said they might think I was a witch or something."
I snorted. "People are stupid. They fear what they don't understand. I once knew a
man back in Norway who was a diviner—he could find water under the ground using a stick
and a feeling similar to yours. He made himself a bunch of money doing it too and nobody
ever called him a warlock. Your Gift of finding comes from the same place as your gift of
riding, Marissa. It comes from God, not the devil." I said firmly.
"Oh? And how do you know that?" she asked impishly.
"Because the devil wouldn't care about finding a misplaced shoe or a missing lead
shank," I answered, guessing correctly that she'd only used her Gift to find ordinary mundane
things, not treasures and such. It was a good thing no one else knew about this unusual
ability, for some unscrupulous person might well have tried to use her to find buried treasure
for his own ends. "Does it work on people as well?"
"No. Only objects. I tried to use it to find a little boy who got lost once. But no
matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a fix on where he was. They found him eventually
anyhow, asleep under a cottonwood, so I didn't feel as guilty as I might have otherwise.
Esmerelda told me once that not all talents work the way you want them to."
"She is a wise woman," I said approvingly.
"I know. Some folks think she's a witch, cause she tells fortunes sometimes, but we
know better. Most of what she tells folks is simply plain old common sense. There's nothing
magical about half her advice. Though she did tell me that once in awhile she has flashes of
what might be, but those are so rare she can count on both hands the times that's happened."
Marissa said fondly. "She practically raised me after my Ma died. I couldn't have asked for
a more decent or compassionate mother, Loki. Pa was miserable after she died, he barely
noticed I was there. Esmerelda, she took me into her vardo and I lived with the Flynns until
my father was well enough to remember he had a life and a child waiting for him again. They
practically ran the show while Pa was grieving, if not for them, we'd of been broke, since
none of the others had the initiative to continue. Pa says he can never repay the Flynns for
what they did for us and Marco says that there is no talk of debts between brothers."
"Marco is a rare one too, for he's as honest as the day is long."
"And a damn sight better than the thieving Gypsy the rest of the world says he is,"
Marissa put in softly. "Once, a woman came up to me not long after my Ma had died and
asked me if I wouldn't like it better someplace else, where I didn't have to travel so much.
She said it wasn't fitting for a little girl to be gallivanting all over the country in the company
of ne'er do wells and my pa ought to send me off to some fancy boarding school back east
where I could have a decent home and a proper education."
"Oh? And what did you tell her?"
"I said that my pa had taught me never to talk to strangers and good day," Marissa
answered, her blue eyes twinkling impishly. "That wasn't what I wanted to say, of course,
but Esmerelda had taught me to always be polite, even when people were rude and said nasty
things to me about my friends. She said, rudeness only reveals the ignorance of the person
acting that way, not the one whom it's directed at and as such it will reflect back upon the
source. Until then I'd never thought much about how I was raised and where I lived, I never
knew that there were people who looked down upon me because I lived out of the back of a
wagon, travelling all over. That was all I'd ever known. When I told pa about what the
woman had said, he asked me if I wanted to try doing what she'd said, going away to school
and living in one place for longer than a month or two the way other folks did. I said no. I
said I was happy just the way I was and I didn't need a fancy school to get an education and
as long as I was with my family, I didn't care what town or city I was in. Home is where the
heart is, Loki, and mine has always been with my family. Besides, I've a bit of the gypsy in
me as well, and I love seeing new places and people. I don't know how I'd be staying in one
place and seeing the same things day after day, know what I mean?"
I nodded, touched that she would share such thoughts with me. "Most settled folks
find such a life as you and I lead a rootless one, without the comforts of a home or land to call
your own. They have yet to appreciate the beauty of travel. Every day brings something new
and the promise of a future full of surprises."
"You understand then," she smiled. "Shall we put Heror on a lead and let him graze
while we have breakfast? I can smell Esmerelda's hotcakes and sausages from here."
"Yes. My stomach's growling like a grizzly." I took Heror's lead and we walked back
towards where I'd placed my wagon. "Belle's probably over there already."
"Do you ever miss your home, Loki?"
I shook my head. "Not really. Too many memories there. I needed to get away for
awhile. So did Belle. A certain young man had broken her heart and she didn't want to be
reminded of him, so she was quite eager to catch a ship to America."
"I can understand that. My first infatuation was with a boy in Boston, but his family
would never have considered me suitable, they were old-blooded Brahmins and I was little
better than street trash as far as they were concerned. And he didn't have the guts to defy his
father for me, so I was better off without him. But I cried for days. I was all of sixteen and
convinced he was Prince Charming. But Maura, who was like a big sister to me, told me that
a real prince, one who truly loved me, would have followed me to the ends of the earth, and
to hell with propriety. When you love someone, she said, he fills up your whole being. He
is like the earth, the sky, like your very heartbeat. Living without him is like being half-alive.
Well, when I started to forget what he looked like some two weeks later, I realized she was
right and he wasn't my one true love." She flushed suddenly. "I can't believe I told you that.
You must think me a silly romantic fool."
"Not at all," I said swiftly. "I gave my daughter much the same advice, though she's
still pining after him. Maybe it's different if it comes from a woman."
"If you think it would help, I could try and talk with her," she offered. "She might
feel less awkward with me."
"I'd appreciate it. She used to come and tell me just about everything, but now . . ."
I sighed. "There are times I wish her mother was around." Which was true, because though
I tried, there are some things a woman understands better than a man, no matter how old or
open minded he is.
"You must have loved her very much," Marissa murmured.
I found I couldn't reply, though normally I have a facile tongue when it comes to
lying. Yet this time my throat closed up and words would not come. I could not play the
hypocrite and say yes when I'd never known a love such as she had described, not ever in all
of my centuries. Not even Sigyn had been to me what Marissa had so innocently said was
true love. So to avoid the lie which stuck in my throat, I turned away and focused upon the
horizon, allowing her to draw her own conclusions from my silence.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, Loki!" she cried after a moment. "Please forgive me, that was rude
and insensitive."
I turned back and saw she was blushing, utterly embarrassed by her boldness in
pursuing such a topic of conversation. I found that the blush only made her look more
charming. "No, that's all right," I hastened to reassure her. "My wife's been dead a long
time and I've become resigned to that fact long ago." At least as resigned as you could be to
someone who didn't even exist, I thought impertinently, and fought to keep from grinning.
"Truly?" she eyed me up and down. "Then why . . ." she broke off, coloring a
becoming rose. "Never mind. It's none of my business."
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing I should be saying."
I couldn't resist teasing her. "Were you, perhaps, going to ask me why I haven't
married again? I assure you, you're not the first woman to ask me that, Miss Turner."
She looked away. "And what did you tell them?"
"The same thing I'm going to tell you. I will marry again if I ever find a woman who
can love me and my daughter with all of her heart. I will settle for nothing less," I stated
firmly. To my utter shock, I realized I meant those words. Of course, I knew that would
never happen, for I'd never met a woman I was willing to trust with my heart and my soul,
two things which I felt necessary to a good relationship. And now there was Bella, and any
woman I courted had to accept her as well or it would be over. I wanted no parallel of the
wicked stepmother and Cinderella in my household.
"My father felt the same as you did, sir. Which was why he never remarried. Now
though, I'm wondering if he might not consider another wife, seeing as I'm far past the age
where a stepmother would have much influence on me," she admitted with a mischievous
grin.
"Ah, a dyed in the wool rebel, are you?"
"And then some," she laughed and I found myself laughing with her.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so at ease with a woman. Marissa seemed
to touch in me a chord of sweetness and innocence I'd thought lost long ago. Indeed, I was
almost regretful that I could not tell her the truth, even though I knew she would never
believe me. Even if, by some miracle she did believe me, what good would it do? For she
was mortal and nothing good would ever come of my falling in love with her. Or so I told
my foolish heart, hoping to crush the slender thread of attraction I felt once and for all. But
my heart was more stubborn than I anticipated, and refused to be silenced.
I followed Marissa up the stairs to the Flynn's vardo, steadfastly ignoring the way her
slender legs moved beneath her short skirt, making my mouth go dry with longing.