Mara and the Firebringer (Mara und der Feuerbringer)

MARA AND THE FIREBEARER

Inside this mountain lies an ancient demigod tied to a stone.

And every time he screams, this happens...

So it would be really good if he stays right where he is.

And that, as chance would have it, is my problem. My name is Mara Lorbeer.

I'm 15years old and I've just learnt I'm supposed to save the world.

But I am as good in world-saving as a penguin is in beach volleyball.

Until recently I thought my biggestproblem

was my mother...

Cute!

- It itches! - No way!

It's moon wool.

From sheep that were sheared during a waning moon.

Cool. It's already stopped itching.

See?

Look,

all your friends think it's cool.

Sure!

All of my thousand friends.

Invite them over. I'll bake patchouli cookies, we'll make a circle of light...

And I can change schools...

- Or leave the country. - And please...

Don't daydream in class!

How many times do I have to tell you that they aren't dreams? They are...

short images or...

What else can they be?

I don't know.

But I do. It's puberty.

But don't worry, Pumpkin, you'll grow out of it. Nosey-nosey.

Bye!

- Don't call me... - Pumpkin? Why not? It suits you.

Leave me alone, Larissa!

Did I say you could leave?

Give it back.

- Go on, cry! - Larissa always picked out those

who wanted to attract the least attention.

Must be some kind of talent. Unfortunately it's the only one she has.

Take it off and you're dead.

Scram!

Nodded off again?

That's what they looked like, my daydreams.

It'd been going on since I was twelve.

Five or six times a day I dreamt some people from the Middle Ages ran over me.

Being defeated by Napoleon was highly traumatic for the Germans.

One of the reactions to this trauma was to withdraw

into a romanticised, old-worldly Teutonic jingoism.

We find it in the fine arts, in paintings...

and also in colossal statues

like the Hermann Monument in Detmold, as seen on your handouts.

- How was it today? - Crappy. - See? Want a bite?

Come on, we should hurry, if we want to be on time for the...

Tree Talking Seminar?

Dear Wiccas of the Au.

I'm so glad you have gathered here today to take part in my workshop.

I would ask each of you

to choose a tree you want to talk to by sheer intuition.

And then we'll establish contact

with the Old Ones.

Mum!

- I've just noticed something. - Yes?

I think trees...

can't really talk.

I was almost ready!

- Yes, these are Mum's Wiccas of the Au. - Now I can start all over again!

Ifyou think that's gaga,

try the Light Breathing Workshop,

where Mum and her wacky wenches hop through the meadow, trying to breathe in

a piece of the sun. It could only be more embarrassing,

if they were naked, which is why I'm really afraid of the summer.

- Did the tree fight back? - Mrs Lorbeer!

What is it?

This was the last time you dragged me along to your witches.

Witches? Mara, how many times do I have to tell you?

The Wiccas of the Au are a society of strong, wise women who know the world.

Mum, your Wiccas are a club of soft-headed old biddies

- who can't handle the world, so they build their own. - Your Dad could've said that.

- He did. That's why he's in Canada now. - No, he's in Canada

because he can't handle the world and, unlike me, he refuses to grow.

Before I grow into you, I'd travel much further than Canada!

- You're confused. Puberty is... - Mum!

Puberty or not, there's one thing I'm certain of...

plants do not talk.

I wouldn't put it like that.

- What? - What?

What did you just say? - Nothing. - - Nothing.

Like I said. - What? - What what?

Who are you talking to?

To the... twig?

Very funny.

I'm going home.

I'll just stay a minute because of... puberty stuff...

May be a good idea.

See you.

OK.

Did you really talk, or is it a silly question?

It is a silly question.

Oh God, it really talks!

A headset.

Well, Mara Lorbeer, don't worry, you're not mad,

- but I have a message for you. - A message?

- From whom? - I don't know. All I know is, at sunrise.

I suddenly realized what I had to do. Now pay attention,

this is about you Mara. You are a Spákona.

A what?

A Spákona!

You don't happen to know what it is?

That makes two of us!

But that's how they told me to say it: You are a Spákona!

Whatever it is, you're one of those! Congrats. Or condolences. Or both.

In any case, remember: Spákona!

- I'll write it down. - Great idea. Now on to

the important part of the message: put your fingers on my leaves.

- Why? What happens then? - Not the foggiest idea!

Figures.

I do wonder what would've happened, if I hadn't taken the twig from Mum's hair.

But I suppose something else would've spoken to me.

I'd rather have a talking twig than a talking dog turd.

More than 2000 years ago there was a fight

between two brothers, now turned enemies:

Thor, the God of Thunder, against the deceitful Loki.

The hammer thrower won and locked up Loki in a cave at the end of time and space,

to suffer forever.

Mara, no, wait! My time's running out!

- No, make it stop. I don't want that! - Dear me. - Slow down, Miss.

- What's got into her? - Terrible thing this puberty.

Hello.

But how... I was...?

You'd be the first creature that managed to flee from itself.

Please...

But I...

I can't do it. - You won't learn anything by running away.

Please, I just want to be normal.

- Mara! - But...

I left my tree for this. Please!

Mara...

Damn it!

Thank you.

Come, Mara, Spákona, little Völva,

take a plunge into time and see what happened in the old days.

- I'm going mad. - In the prison beyond the five worlds...

- Completely mad. - There he was!

- Even my fingers have gone mad. - Forever in bonds.

The wily, jealous, double-tongued enemy of the gods, Loki!

The poison of the snake caused him unbearable pain

to torment immortal Loki for eternity.

But his faithful wife Sigyn had herself locked into the cave with him

to relieve his pain with her magic bowl.

Loki's still down there! He's been brooding on revenge for centuries.

But something's going to happen

that will make him so angry he'll break his bonds. All may end in flames!

No! What's happening to you? Are you dying, or... withering? Not yet!

Go across time and space. Judge wisely. Do what you have to.

Only you stand between us and the...

What?

No, I couldn't hear you. What did you say? Anorak?

Hey, hello?

No...

It wasn't until much later that I found out who had sent me the twig.

But I'll come to that later. For now my brain was buzzing.

This thunder guy threw Loki into the water a thousand years ago,

flattened him with his hammer and locked him in a cave.

And now I'm supposed to see to it that this guy didn't free himself?

Then there was something about "Anorak"? And what was that word...?

Spákona.

At least better than Pumpkin.

What am I?

Oh man!

Spákona: old Nordic for little seeress?

Nordic myths... What...?

And you know about this stuff?

Jakob Grimm, dead for ages.

Karl Simrock, mega dead.

Dead... Dead and a Nazi!

Professor Weissinger, expert on Nordic- Germanic mythology, Munich University!

The guy's right here!

- Hello? - Mara, Pumpkin,

I just wanted to say I'm not angry and I've come up with something for you.

For me?

- What? - You'll see.

- Catch you later. - OK. See you then.

And Mum? Mum?

Sorry about earlier...

Only then did I realize

that I had no idea how to find a single professor at a huge university.

Butjust this once, the problem took care of itself.

Do you know the feeling someone's staring at you behind your back?

With an eye as big as a house?

I do.

Hey, you all right?

Do you understand me, young lady? - Yes. - I've got some towels. - Thanks. There.

- Is everything all right? - Yes.

Thank you.

Right, people, please make some room. You heard, everything's all right.

Thank you. Thanks for the towels. You'll get them back later. Wet. Promise.

Thank you.

- Were you looking for something? - Well...

- I was really looking for you. - I rarely hang about in fountains.

Reinhold Weissinger. I'm a professor at this university for...

Nordic-Germanic mythology.

Do I know you?