Sorrow and Salvation

I followed Hawk swiftly through the main camp, concern for my employer making my throat tighten. Only then did I recall that Matthew had not been among those of the circus folk to welcome us back. When I questioned Hawk about it, the young acrobat said that the circus manager had gone into town to get a last minute wagonload of supplies and been caught unprepared when the tornado had veered and hit the town. Unable to get to shelter in time, he'd been thrown right out of the wagon seat and slammed hard against the side of a building. The townsfolk had found him lying senseless after the tornado had gone and had just now brought him home.

"That gadje Boswell took one look at him and said there was nothing he could do for him and we ought to just summon a priest," Hawk said with a derisive snort. "And I told Marissa that she ought to let you examine him before she started to build a coffin yet. So she told me to fetch you quick as lightning. She said if anybody could save him, you could, Loki."

I turned to the boy. "Where is he? In his vardo?" Hawk nodded. "Run and fetch my medical satchel, please. It's hanging on a hook to the left of the door." I ordered. "Then tell Bella to come to me as soon as she can."

Hawk took off like a shot, leaving me to make my way alone to Matthew's wagon. I prayed to the Norns that Boswell had exaggerated the state of the elder Turner's injuries, but I knew that even so, Bella could mend him quicker than ever I could.

I entered the wagon without bothering to knock, finding a distraught Marissa crouched next to his bunk, her eyes red rimmed and wet from tears. She gazed at me as if I were a saint come to offer salvation and said, "Thank God Hawk found you, Loki. My father . . .he's hurt really bad and that idiot Boswell won't even examine him. I know you know some medicine and . . .magic," she whispered that last in a voice that was barely audible. "Please, if you can, help him." She bit her lip hard and I knew she was fighting back tears.

"I'll try my best, darling," I murmured, gripping her shoulder in silent commiseration. "Has he woken up at all since they brought him home?"

"Not really. He muttered something and once his eyes opened, but he closed them soon after and since then he's been asleep."

I knelt down beside the bunk, running eyes and hands over his head and his torso. I could tell even with my cursory inspection that he was in a bad way. There was a large lump alongside his head and his face was bruised and cut from his impact with the building.

There was swelling along his ribs as well and I was almost positive several were broken. With Marissa's help, I gently removed his shirt and found another six inch cut across his chest. God only knew what kind of internal injuries he'd sustained. I flicked up an eyelid, finding his pupils dilated all out of proportion, a very bad sign. His breathing was shallow and raspy.

"Can you do anything for him?"

"Well . . ." I sighed, then shook my head. "Not much, I'm afraid. He's got several ribs broken and I can mend that, but it's the head wound that really concerns me. I'm no surgeon, and if his brain was damaged when he hit that wall . . .I won't lie to you, Rissa, he might die."

"What about . . .you know?" she made a gesture with her fingers as if casting a spell.

"Aw, sweetheart, I wish I had magic enough to heal him, but my Talent's never been strong in that area. That's why I sent for Belle. She's much stronger than me in the healing arts."

Just then Hawk returned with my satchel and Belle in tow, I thanked him and told him to ask his mother to make us a pot of coffee and something to eat. He left without argument, I think he sensed how serious the situation still was. Beside me, Marissa began to pray fervently.

I opened my satchel and took out my bottle of antiseptic and Asgardian healing salve and began to work on the slash in his chest. Belle moved over next to me, darting one glance at Marissa, and muttering, "Let me get a look at his eyes, Father."

"It's all right, Belle. She knows," I told her swiftly. "Just go ahead and use your magic."

My daughter gaped at me for about fifteen seconds, then turned back to her patient, holding her hands over the motionless form of Matthew Turner. A soft blue glow gathered at the tips of her fingers and arched downward to illuminate Matthew's head and chest. Belle remained with her head bowed, concentrating on the gravely injured man for several more minutes.

I sensed before she emerged from her trance that it was no good. Her magic had knitted back the broken ribs but the damage to his brain was too much even for her skills.

"I'm sorry. I've managed to relieve the swelling on his brain somewhat, but I can't repair the damage. Maybe if I'd been there in the beginning, I could have, but it's been too long and the bleeding's too widespread. . . .I'm sorry."

Marissa lifted her head, giving my daughter a single pleading glance. "But . . .you're a healer, Loki said so. You can heal with magic, you healed Hawk's arm."

"Broken bones are different, Marissa. They're not complex and I have no difficulty mending them," Belle explained. "But head injuries like this . . .even if I were at full strength, I couldn't guarantee he'd be able to function normally ever again. The brain—it doesn't repair itself the way most organs and such do in the body. When a part of the brain is dead, it's dead forever. Magic can't heal everything, I'm afraid. The best I can do is make him comfortable, maybe wake him up so he can speak to you for a bit. After that, though . . ."

"Then there's no hope at all?"

Belle shook her head sadly. "If there were, I'd be doing my damned best to heal him. But some things are beyond even magic's touch. All I can do is make sure he's not in any pain."

"How long does he have . . .if you do what you said?"

"I can't say for sure. A few hours at worst. The best is a few days or maybe a week." Bella answered truthfully. "Gods and hells, but I wish I could do more. I truly am sorry."

Marissa reached out and squeezed her hand. "It's okay. No sense blaming yourself. Please, do what you can. I'd like to talk to him . . .just once more before . . ." her voice broke and tears streamed down her face.

I moved to comfort her, but she wiped away the tears and waved me away. I understood. She could not afford to let her emotions free reign yet. She wanted to bid her father goodbye with dignity, not weeping incoherently.

Belle had already turned back to the still form of Matthew Turner, calling on the remainder of her healing magic to free him from pain and restore consciousness to him for the last time. A soft golden glow spread from her hands, haloing Matthew in an unearthly glow for a few minutes.

An instant later it had vanished and Belle slumped against me, exhausted. "Go and rest, little one," I murmured to her, and she cast me a grateful smile and excused herself.

I could hear Matthew's breathing even out, then I saw his eyelids flicker, and suddenly his eyes were open, and the first person they saw was his beloved daughter.

"Pa? It's me, Marissa," she spoke quietly, one hand reaching out to clasp his hand.

I busied myself putting away my medicines, not wanting to intrude on this private moment.

I moved out into the main room, righting a chair that had been tipped over and seating myself on it. I had no wish to eavesdrop on their conversation and wished I dared leave, but I didn't want to leave Marissa alone to deal with her grief afterwards, and so I stayed. Since when have you been so self-sacrificing? A cynical part of my mind demanded. Why should the pain of a mortal woman matter so much to one such as you?

Since I let myself love her, I snapped back and silently bid that part of myself to shut up. Uncomfortable as I was being a silent witness to Matthew's deathbed conversation, I would have endured ten times that if it would ease his daughter's sorrow at her father's passing. I only wished I could do more for her. But the Norns had set their hand on Matthew and not even an immortal could gainsay their choice. His doom was upon him, as all those old Norse skops would say.

The two spoke quietly for a few more moments, then Marissa came out into the front room and touched my shoulder lightly. "Loki? He's asking for you."

"Me?" I was astonished. That was the last thing I'd expected. Esmerelda, Marco, but not me.

"Yes. He says there's something he needs to ask you."

I was not about to refuse the last request of a dying man, and I rose to my feet and walked over to the bunk. Matthew lay somewhat propped up by several pillows and his eyes were bright with the knowledge that he was dying. I had seen many men on the brink of death in my long life, but Matthew was one of the most serene and accepting I'd ever known.

"You wanted to tell me something, Matthew?"

"Yeah. I don't have long and I wanted to get somethings settled before I go up to Jesus." He cleared his throat. "Rissa tells me you're the one for her. Guess I can't complain too much, seeing as how I'm a performer myself. Like calls to like. But I want to make sure of a few things before I go."

"I understand."

"Do you love her?"

"I do. More than I ever thought possible."

"Good. Second thing is will you make sure she's provided for after I'm gone? She'll inherit this circus lock, stock, and barrel, but one person can't run it on their own. Will you make sure to help her, even if she don't ask you straight out? Rissa's a lot like me, she's got her pride and she don't like owing favors. But she might let you help her when she wouldn't anybody else in the show."

"Whatever she needs, I'll give her," I reassured him. "I mean to marry her, Matthew, if she'll agree. And I don't mind a wife who owns a business. I'm not the kind of man who's intimidated by a woman being independent financially."

Matthew laughed hoarsely. "Didn't figure you were, Loki. But it's good to hear you say it. Rissa's never been what you'd call a proper modest woman. They're a different breed out West, this country ain't kind to hothouse belles from back East. That kind gets broken real quick. I brought up my girl to know her own mind and then to act on it, whether or not her man agrees with her."

I smiled at him. "I knew that already, and I told her it doesn't bother me. My first wife was no mealy-mouthed shadow either."

"Third thing. Make her happy, Loki. That's my last request. She hasn't had a lot of experience with men and I want to make sure she's happy. She doesn't need to be rich, but she does need to know that you love her and care for her. I want her to have a good marriage, like mine and her mama's. That's not gonna be easy, but if you love her it's possible." He sighed softly. "Damn it all, but I really wanted to be there for the wedding. She's my only daughter and I want to see her happy and settled down."

I lowered my eyes, for what else could I say to that? Were I in his place, I'd want the same. "Is there anyone we could get to perform a wedding ceremony?"

Matthew shook his head. "Not now. Nearest preacher is in Last Chance, it'd take him least a week to get here and I know I don't have that kind of time left to me. But that's as God wills, I guess." He leaned over then and grasped my wrist. "Promise me you'll make her happy, Loki Sigurdson. Swear a solemn oath to God and then I can die in peace."

I met his eyes without flinching and said, "I swear to you by God and all I hold dear that I'll make her as happy as any woman could wish for, for as long as I live. Will that suit you, Matthew Turner?"

"It'll do. Thank you," the dying man nodded and gave me a wicked grin. "And if you ever break your word, I promise I'll come back from heaven and kick your ass good."

I laughed softly. "I just bet you would, my friend. Have no fear, I'll remember."

He sank back down onto his pillows again, his face going a shade paler than before. "That's good. Can you tell Esmerelda, Marco, and the kids to come here? I'd like to say goodbye to them."

"Of course. And I'll send Marissa back in here too." I clasped his hand one last time, sending a wave of reassurance into his mind, so that he could die peacefully. "Farewell, Matthew. You were the best employer I ever had. The Lord will have a place saved for you at His table."

"I sure hope so."

"I know so," I said firmly, then I left to get the Flynns.

They emerged from the dying man's bedside a few minutes later, grave and silent, tears running freely down their faces. Marissa took up vigil at her father's side then and stayed there until he breathed his last, some three days later. I think he lingered long enough to set his affairs in order and to reassure himself that his only child would be happy and provided for.

I made up some strong pain medicines for him so that he could slip away peacefully, and indeed, when he died, his face bore an expression of sweet serenity and peaceful repose upon it, which almost made me believe in the heaven the Christians insisted waited for them after death.

I was at his side when he breathed his last, lending silent comfort to his stricken daughter, who was beside herself with sorrow, disbelief, and anger that her father had left her so suddenly. She kept begging him not to leave her and her whispered entreaties nearly broke my heart in two.

I had seen many mortals die in my life, some most hideously, by war or famine or torture, but nothing had ever prepared me for the gut-wrenching agony of witnessing Marissa's pain and being utterly helpless to assuage it. Words were so inadequate, cold comfort to one who would face the loss of a person whom she loved and relied on, who was the only blood relation she had left. I knew no poor words of mine would ever heal the wound in her soul left by Matthew's passing. Only time could do that.

Yet I stayed by her, holding her hand, lending her support by my presence, pitiful comfort that it was. She seemed grateful for it, though she never asked me to use my magic to heal him again. She sensed, as I did, that no earthly power would hold him here, and all she could do was be with him till the end.

When at last his breath ceased, she kissed his forehead and whispered, "Be at peace, Pa. Ma's waiting for you." Then she looked at me and said, "It's over. At least he didn't suffer too long. For that, I thank you, Loki."

I swallowed sharply. "I only wish I could've done more, Rissa."

She shook her head slowly. "You did all you could. God wanted him, I guess. I just wish . . .I could've had him with me for a little bit longer." Her face crumpled then. "I'm gonna miss him so damned much!"

I gathered her in my arms then and held her while she sobbed. I held her for a long time, allowing her grief to spend itself on my shoulder, hugging her like a child, wishing I could do more than rock her and murmur meaningless lullabyes in her ear. But even an immortal is powerless in the face of mortal death, and not all of my magic could drive away her grief. There is no potion in existence that will cure a broken heart.

All I could do was be there for her, and together we wept and mourned the loss of Matthew Turner, friend and beloved father.

There were plenty of mourners at the funeral—the entire cast of the Turner's Traveling Circus and many of the nearby townsfolk who Matthew had impressed with his genial honest and good nature and his willingness to stand a few drinks down at the tavern.

We buried him beneath the shade of a pretty flowering apple tree in the cemetery. Marissa commissioned a mason to make him a headstone, but for now we had a rude marker of a wooden cross set up with his name and the dates of his birth and death. Belle and I stood a little bit away during the eulogy, performed with dramatic fervor by Marco, for we had not known him half as well as the rest of his troupe.

We trudged sadly back to our circle of wagons, Esmerelda and Rowena had prepared a funeral feast for all of us. Marissa was now being comforted by her foster mother and sister, so I hung back a little, feeling awkward, though I too was honestly distressed by Matthew's death. Bella was upset as well, I knew, because she had been unable to save him, though she said very little to me during the procession.

I picked a bit at the cornbread and hearty beef stew and dark beer that was set out inside the Flynn's vardo, but soon the depressing atmosphere was making my temples throb. I had to work at keeping my shields up, so the press of so much emotions would not overwhelm me. As soon as I was able, I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, content for the moment to nurse my grief in private near the pickets where the Flynns' Vanner horses were.

I leaned on the axle tree of the vardo, contemplating how fleeting the life of a mortal was, when there came a soft touch on my arm. "Papa?"

I turned. "What is it, Belle?"

"Did you know that Gungnir is missing?"

I nodded. "Yes. I noticed it was gone soon after I arrived back here. Why?"

"Because I know who took it," came a new voice from off to the side.

I spun around to face Leif Malasteinsson, my missing apprentice.

"So, the prodigal son returns," I commented dryly, and saw him wince with shame, which satisfied me immensely.