The Lokistone

Lokistone 5

"Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone:
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.
In the black wind the stars shall die,
and still on gold here let them lie,
till the dark lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land."

-JRR Tolkien

Jane sighed. The air felt warm—in her lungs, on her face. Her whole body relaxed. Her eyelashes fluttered sleepily. She felt that she was lying on her side, a blanket half covering her. But it was daytime. Golden sunshine kissed her face.

Strong, slender fingers entwined with those of her left hand, which rested on the cushion next to her. She absently realized that the someone who held her hand was sitting beside her, his hip resting against hers. And he was humming.

It was a quiet, haunting melody—medieval and lilting. He had a deep, perfectly-pitched voice. He rubbed his thumb back and forth against the back of her hand.

She listened, half awake, as the song sank into her mind. At last, she opened her eyes.

A young man with black hair and a pale, noble face—and bright green eyes, smiled down at her, out of focus in the brilliant light.

His smile faded. His mouth and gaze turned solemn.

"Wake up, Jane," he said, in a voice that now sounded very far away.

He squeezed her hand.

Warmth and strength shot through her—jolting from the center of her chest all the way down to her fingers and her toes.

Her eyes darted open—

"Wake up."

A voice—cold and immediate, made her blink and focus.

She lay on her side in a chilly bed, in a grayish room. Weak morning light filtered in from one window. Her head came up—she squinted across toward the doorway...

Loki stood in the gap between doorframes, wearing his long coat again—all colorless and sharp; with a still, white face, his eyes fixed on her. The marks on his nose, lip and cheek still stood out.

"Get ready," he ordered quietly. "We are leaving." He turned, and left her alone.

Jane grimaced as she tried to sit up. She eventually succeeded, the covers sliding off her, exposing her to the cold room.

But somehow, that sudden warmth lingered in her chest. And when she put her feet on the floor and got up, her legs held her, and felt steadier than before.

For a moment, she stood, frowning.

Then, she felt the full force of her hollow stomach.

She shuffled over to the door and pushed it shut, then knelt by her mother's suitcase.

Jane braced herself, bit her lip, and pulled out a whole set of clothes, and the thick coat. Then, she stripped off her jacket and dirty clothes as fast as she could and put on the new, then wrapped the coat around herself. The coat hung down to her knees, buttoned up the front, and tied with a sash. The outside was soft, brown leather, the inside black fur. As soon as Jane secured a knot in the sash, deep warmth seeped into her, and she let out the first relieved sigh she'd allowed herself since she'd gotten here.

She bent, tugged her boots on, then opened the door and ventured out into the sitting room. She swallowed. She felt a little queasy—but a little better than the night before...

Okay. I can do this...

He stood by the door, waiting. She walked up to him, fighting the touch of shakiness in her knees. He glanced her up and down, then, without saying anything, opened the door.