Loki's Little Mischief - Ch 30

Loki's Little Mischief - a Loki X OC Romance
~Chapter Thirty~ Freedom in the Wilderness

          Having somewhat revised Káta’s opinion regarding cities, and shared the many secrets of Valhalla that he had uncovered in his years alone, it soon became time for Káta to teach Loki some of that which she knew. For all that she now could tolerate the bustle of the city, nothing would ever erase the longing for the open wilderness that resided in Káta’s heart, and it was a love that she wished to share with Loki.
          Each day they rode out of the city together through the Gate of Iðavǫllr, sometimes unable to help but race each other across the plain, other times slowly walking side by side in equally companionable silence or conversation. Káta did not know the secrets of the mountains of Asgard in the same way that she knew the secrets of her mother’s orchards and its surrounds, but she knew enough of nature to be able to uncover those of its mysteries that most delighted her wherever the location might be.
          Loki was all too eager to follow Káta and learn what she had to share, and was not at all surprised to find her showing him peculiar lichens that produced tiny flowers and oddly shaped fungi that only grew in particular locations in certain weather in an astonishing array of colours he had never even known they could become. She knew where to find even the rarest of flowers and medicinal plants, and how to encourage certain things to grow in areas that before had been barren. All this and more she shared and taught him, pointing out subtle changes and indicators and what they signalled for the plants, how to enrich poor soil, and even what to sing to the plants to influence their growth. He did not have the necessary magic for such songs to take effect in the manner that they did when she or dryads sang them, for his seiðr was of quite a different type to hers, but Káta assured him that even without power the words would have some small effect.
          Slightly more of a surprise to Loki was the fact that Káta had as great an affinity with animals as she did with plants. She could walk into shady groves, which before had been still but for the rustle of wind in the leaves, and within minutes all manner of animals would emerge slowly from the undergrowth to investigate and greet her, and through her, him as well. It was an unnerving experience to be approached with such open curiosity by animals which he had always known to flee at the approach of people, and even more so to see no flicker of fear in their eyes. The trust they had in Káta, they shared with him, and it took a few moments of gentle coaxing from Káta before he was quite sure that he could trust himself to interact with them as she did without frightening them off.
          Loki found it deeply reminiscent of the first time he had met the urchins of city in his adolescence, for they had approached him without the fear or judgement in their eyes that was ever present in the countenances of adults, and only an eager curiosity to find out more about their soon-to-be new friend and the contents of his pockets. Their friendship had given him a haven of refuge and trust that he had prized through the long years of his youth and now his adulthood, and sitting in the grass having completely wild animals scurry about him as though he were one of them or part of the scenery began to extent the tiny nub of his self-confidence.
          Most astonishing of all, however, was when the animals began to bring out their young in clusters or meandering lines behind them. Káta could walk with impunity into a herd of grazing deer, the hart only raising his great antlered head to receive her greeting hand, the does and their fawns barely glancing up as they contentedly cropped the grass.
          Loki had scarcely dared to believe that they would brook his intrusion with the same calm equanimity, and yet as Káta beckoned him to follow, and he made his faltering way forwards, they accorded him the same docile response. He was still in a state of faintly stunned shock ten minutes later when they were sitting down amongst the herd, Káta with one of the fawns by her side, its head in her lap enjoying the gentle scratch she was giving it on the bony ridge where it would soon start to grow its first set of antlers while its mother gently nosed at Loki’s shoulder.

          One day they found themselves in a clearing of wild cherry trees in full fruit. They had climbed through the branches together, picking the perfectly ripened fruit, and eating as they stood amongst the boughs. They had eaten until their hands and mouths were turned purple with the juice, tossing cherries into each other’s mouths when they were in separate trees, and taking it in turns to see who could spit the stones furthest.
          Upon reaching the ground their meal had devolved into a rather silly game, Káta having discovered just how wonderful the cherry juice was as paint, instigating the set-to by reaching across and drawing on Loki’s face. Such an incursion could not be brooked without some form of retaliation, and Loki had accordingly set about on his course of retribution. The upshot of it was that both were laughing and covered in sticky purple streaks from head to foot, and Káta’s previously white dress was unrecognisable for spots and stains and purple handprints.
          “I’ll remove the marks for you,” Loki commented as he regarded his own peculiarly pigmented attire, glancing over to Káta who looked like she had been standing in a rain of wine.
          Káta smiled. “Don’t bother. There’s a pool nearby that we can clean off in.”
          The suggestion was a good one, given the heat of the day, which had in no way been lessened by their exertions, so Loki got up and followed Káta through the trees.
          Soon enough the sound of rushing water came to their ears, growing louder and louder as they advanced, and then without warning the trees opened out onto the edge of a grassy cliff.
          Káta grinned widely as she tilted her head towards the edge, and Loki peered over to see a ten foot waterfall beneath him with hundreds of tiny rainbows in its mist thundering down into a deep clear pool at the bottom, the water tumbling away down a bouldered river.
          “A pool?” he asked with amused incredulity.
          Káta grinned, and shrugged. “Well…a pool with a waterfall,” she laughed, slipping off her shoes and putting out her hand for his.
          Loki followed suit, and taking her hand, met her grin with a wild smile. They ran together hand in hand, and leapt off, flying through the mist and rainbows, their clothes streaming, Káta screaming with laughter, and Loki letting out an echoing whoop as they fell, before they plunged together into the water with a great splash, surrounded by bubbles beneath the surface.
          They barely touched the bottom, and resurfaced in near synchronisation, laughing as they trod water nearly nose to nose.
          “I think I could get used to forests,” Loki chuckled, a genuine quietness in his merry eyes.
          Káta’s smile widened, changing from laughter to affection, tenderness in her eyes. She glanced back up to where they had jumped from, and grinned. “Want to go again?”

          The business and industry of their time together had a tendency to eclipse all time spent elsewhere in the company of others. Neither Káta nor Loki could exactly account for such a phenomenon, but both felt the extra spark of jubilant energy that filled them every time they saw each other, and anticipation of their next meeting was a fidgeting thought foremost in their minds when they were absent from each other’s company.
          Their time apart did not lack activity either; for both still had claims enough on their time. For all this however, Loki determined to escape some of his usual engagements, and had not been idle with the stolen time. Ever since he had first noticed Káta’s interest in harps, his mind had begun to turn over the matter, and when he had returned her book of music to the library, he had settled on a course of action. It had taken a little while to research about construction and wood types and then of course to make it, after which it had been a question of waiting, and now he felt the time was right.
          Káta had taken them up the slopes of the mountains to race along the ridge, which had been as exhilarating as it had been dangerous, and now they were settled in a sunny clearing eating a lunch of various foraged items they had found together, while their horses took a well-earned rest. They were just finishing up their own meal, although their horses were still contentedly cropping the grass nearby, when Loki spoke.
          “I have something for you.”
          Káta glanced up from the folded leaf cup she was drinking out of, having shown Loki how to fold large leaves together to form delicate little basins when they had collected water from a spring earlier. Her eyes widened as a beautifully fashioned lap harp appeared in Loki’s hands. It was strung with bronze strings, with a proud, tall column that was smoothly finished and covered in delicate carvings.
          Loki passed the harp over, and Káta took it silently with the same expression of stunned awe, her hands sliding over the smoothly finished fine grain, tracing the patterns of the carvings, and the painted decal on the soundboard. She took in a deep breath of the distinctive scent of the wood, and smiled.
          “Walnut,” she murmured.
          A faint smile chased its way across Loki’s countenance, which was grave with his own nervousness.
          Káta leant forwards, studying the design of the carvings, and smiled as she made out images of apple trees. The decal was a rather beautiful swirling slender knotwork design with a tiny green bird on one side, high at the peak of the soundboard, and a seated female figure at the bottom on the opposite side.
          Káta glanced up at Loki. “Did you make this?” she asked softly.
          Loki nodded stiffly, the waves of his anxiety subsiding as Káta’s smile widened. Words of thanks did not need to pass between them; their eyes spoke eloquently enough.
          “How?” delighted curiosity shone in her eyes.
          “Seiðr. It was the only way to shape it out of a single solid piece of wood.”
          Káta’s eyes widened at the knowledge, and she quickly turned back to the instrument, scanning it for joins and finding that it was indeed without a single join. She smiled, half laughing. “I think I can safely say that it’s the most uncommon harp to ever exist.” Loki’s eyes danced with his smile.
          Káta turned to the harp once more, adjusting her position and settling it more comfortably against her shoulder, and set her fingers to the strings.
          The first sound that rippled through the clearing was like the musical form of water rippling across a lake at dawn.
          Loki watched, entranced by sight and sound, as Káta closed her eyes and began to sing, her fingers dancing with the strings, pouring forth so hauntingly sweet a melody that his heart might have ached had there been room amongst his happiness for it.
          With a flutter of wings, a chorus of birds burst out from the surrounding foliage, their voices joining Káta’s song as the sang on, the creatures settling in the trees and on the grass about them, one brave individual coming to perch atop the column, its feathered breast swelling with music.
          Loki watched the birds, stunned and delighted, although not able to keep his attention on them overlong when there was the vision of Káta to be observed.
          Eventually, the song finished, and Káta put out her hand for the brave little chap atop the column to hop down onto. It wittered to her for a few moments, then fluttered away over to Loki, perching on his knee, and peeping up at him with such blind audacity, that Loki could not help but laugh.
          “I like birds,” he murmured, reaching out to gently tickle the little fellow on his knee under his neck. The bird let out a sound that seemed to be its equivalent of a cat’s purr, and hopped onto his fingers. “They have so much freedom.” He lifted up his hand, and after flirting its tail, the bird fluttered off up into the sky, away with its fellows. He glanced towards Káta, and then pulled at the grass between them. “Except when they’re caged,” his expression became sorrowful for a moment, but then a dry smile came to his lips. “I used to free them from their cages when I was little. I hated seeing them behind their gilded bars, pining for the open sky. I think by the time I was seventy everyone in Valhalla had just about given up on the idea of keeping them as pets.” He laughed softly to himself and Káta smiled affectionately.
          “Well,” she said quietly, “in that case, I think we have some work to do tomorrow.”
          Loki glanced at her in question, but the only answer he received was the promise in her smile.

          The following day, Káta led Loki through the city to a large building near Mærsalr. As they neared the boundaries of the complex, Loki did not need to ask why they were there, for the calls and chirruping of the birds within were near to deafening, such were their numbers.
          His expression was dark as he turned to Káta, and she finally gave him the answer he had asked for the previous day.
          “This is the home of a bird enthusiast. I don’t know his name, but he and his wife like to keep songbirds.”
          “It’s a prison.” Loki replied shortly. He moved forwards, and before she knew what was happening both she had Loki were invisible.
          Káta remained where she was, taken aback by the sudden change, and not quite sure where all her limbs were, or, indeed, where Loki was, until his cool hand closed about hers, and drew her after him.
          Together they made their way through the estate, searching for the aviaries where the birds would be kept, led by the ever increasing volume of their discordant songs. Eventually, they came to a round, open pavilion, the gaps between its pillars hung with pale gold silk drapes. They slipped between the silks, and hidden by them, Káta found herself visible once more, as was Loki by her side.
          His grip on her hand tightened, and together they surveyed the octagonal aviary before them. It was a beautiful construction to be sure, for it was delicately crafted, the gaps in the wooden lattice carefully carved and pierced in a tessellating design of repeating knotwork, beyond which all manner of birds fluttered and perched; but Káta knew that all of its beauty was lost on Loki, whose expression of disgust was explanation enough of his feelings.
          The birds filling the aviary went beyond count, and there were more species within the eight walls than Káta had ever seen in any wild gathering – even when the dryads had sung. Some were exotically coloured and feathered, with great decorative plumes and swishing tails, whilst others were drab even without comparison to their flashy fellows, but every single one had a beautiful voice.
          Four out of the eight sides of the aviary opened, and Loki crossed to the furthest two, his face near the gaps in the latticework as he took hold of the catches. Káta moved to take a place by the others.
          “Fly free,” he whispered.
          Together they lifted the catches, which were simple enough for any person to open, but impossible for a caged bird, and pushed the doors open.
          There was a brief pause as the birds’ singing stopped, and then a great joyous chorus blasted from the incongruous flock, deafening Loki and Káta, and every single one took off in a great bass thundering of beating wings, shooting between the silk drapes and off up into the sky and free air.
          Káta was laughing with delight, and a beatific smile filled Loki’s features as they took in their escape. Káta glanced towards him, and saw a mournful yearning in his eyes that she well understood. She knew that it was the inherent freedom of birds and the sky that drew Loki towards them. He, who had felt trapped all his life, yearned for the release of his bonds. It only seemed natural that he should choose to shapeshift into the form of a bird.
          She reached across to take his hand, squeezing it with a smile as Loki turned to meet her gaze, the yearning in his eyes replaced with a very different type of longing desire, before they both turned to see the birds out of sight.