Runelight

by Joanne Harris

  Loki blinked. ‘You’re lecturing me about responsibility?’

  ‘That rift you opened,’ the Temptress said. ‘A rift from Death into Netherworld. For thirteen seconds that gate was open, letting Hel knows what into the Worlds. And you’re here, with that Who? Me? expression on your face, pretending it’s nothing to do with you?’

  ‘Be fair,’ said Loki. ‘I was dead—’

  ‘Being dead is no excuse. You were given a second chance, and it’s up to you to put things right. The old Order is gone. That means you’re the new Order now – you and the rest of the surviving gods. It means that it’s up to you to redress the balance – to help rebuild Asgard, to hold back Chaos, to bring stability to the Middle Worlds – and what are you doing instead? Hiding out in Nowhere-land, getting drunk, picking fights with each other, hob-nobbing with the Folk, for gods’ sakes, while all the time those ephemera are munching their way through the fabric of the Worlds—’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ Loki said. ‘Since when did you care about maintaining Order? I thought Chaos was your business.’

  Angrboda looked away and played with a wisp of her purple hair. ‘Let’s just say that in this case … I have a personal interest.’

  ‘An interest? In what?’

  ‘In the new Asgard, of course,’ said Angrboda impatiently. ‘Listen, Loki. At this rate, with the Universal City overrun, with ephemera coming out of Chaos, with the Nine Worlds so full of holes that they might as well be Ridings cheese, things will probably come to an end in another twenty years or so. But rebuild Asgard and you have a chance. A chance to regain your Aspect. To re-establish Order again. To be gods—’

  ‘What’s in it for you?’ said Loki.

  ‘The truth is,’ she said, ‘I like it here. I’ve built a niche in World Above. And if Chaos comes to the Middle Worlds—’

  ‘You mean – Chaos might not be thrilled to find out that you’ve gone totally native?’

  Angie shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘To say nothing of a new rune – and how did you get that, by the way?’

  ‘Suits me, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘That’s Wyn, the rune of high stakes and big prizes. Play your cards right, and you may even find that some of those prizes come to you.’

  ‘So – what do you want from me?’ Loki said.

  ‘Darling – I want to help you, of course. I’m willing to put all my resources at your disposal. You’ll be needing all the help you can get if you’re going to rebuild Asgard.’

  ‘Rebuild Asgard?’ Loki said. ‘But I don’t build things. That’s not me. I cheat, steal, swindle, misappropriate, sabotage, disrupt, commandeer and demolish – but build? Angie, you’ve got the wrong man. You need Thor, or Heimdall …’

  She shook her head. ‘I need you. I’ve heard there’s been a prophecy.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Loki said.

  ‘Not even a bit,’ said the Temptress. ‘I take these things very seriously. And so should you, when the enemy sends an ephemera after your hide—’

  ‘You knew Chaos was after me?’

  Angrboda shook her head. ‘This didn’t come from Chaos,’ she said. ‘Someone from the Middle Worlds pulled that creature out of Dream. Someone who clearly wants you dead …’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Loki.

  ‘Oh, we were keeping an eye on you,’ said Angie reassuringly. ‘The boys would have stopped you getting hurt.’

  ‘Well – er – thanks,’ said Loki. ‘Forgive me if I’m not entirely overwhelmed with confidence at the thought of the Wolf Brothers and Fenny-boy standing between me and extinction. Not forgetting Shorty here …’ He shot a look at Jolly, who responded at once by showing him a set of alarming yellow fangs.

  ‘Don’t call me Shorty,’ said the dwarf.

  Loki suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘You spoke of resources earlier. I’m assuming you have more up your sleeve than this little band of comedians here … Because if you haven’t, Thor and Heimdall are going to laugh themselves into a seizure, after which they’re going to play ball with my head—’

  ‘Now, Loki,’ Angie warned. ‘I hope you’re not going to be difficult. You’ll deal with us whether you like it or not – the only real choice you have is whether you want to do it the easy way or the hard way.’ Her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed menacingly, and at her side, Fenny gave a warning growl.

  Loki shrugged. ‘So what’s the deal?’

  ‘Well,’ said Angie, ‘it’s simple enough. I have something the Æsir thought lost, which they’ll need when it comes to a fight. I also have a new rune to put at their disposal. In exchange, I want guarantees …’

  Uh-oh. Here it comes, Loki thought.

  ‘First: amnesty for my people. When the Æsir get back into power, I want to be sure we’ll be left in peace. Two: the return of our rightful territories. Ironwood for Fenris. The One Sea for Jormungand. And for myself? A place in Asgard. A hall of my own amongst the gods.’ Angrboda took a step forward and playfully kissed Loki’s nose. ‘So those are my terms, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Now it’s your turn. What do you say?’

  LOKI WAS SILENT for a long time. When at last he found his voice, all the humour had gone from it. ‘You know they’ll never agree to those terms. A deal with the Witch of Ironwood? They’d never believe it wasn’t a trap. The moment I tell them I’ve spoken to you, they’ll peel me like a grape. And if you think holding me hostage will help … Well, you’d have more chance if you brought them my head – which, incidentally, they’ll probably relieve me of the minute I even mention your name …’

  Angie raised an eyebrow, and the row of studs caught the light. ‘Always so dramatic,’ she said. ‘Your folk can’t afford to turn me down. I mean, without me, what have you got? Washed-up has-beens like Heimdall and Frey. Flower children like Idun and Bragi. Recalcitrant recruits like Tyr. Besides, you haven’t heard the best part yet. If the Æsir meet my terms, then this is what I’m willing to offer them. First, an alliance with my people. Of course, I can’t answer for all of Chaos, but as far as our little group is concerned, the Gødfolk make better allies than enemies, and we want them on our side. And to show our goodwill, as well as my rune, we’re prepared to give you the Hammer of Thor the moment the treaty’s agreed.’

  Loki’s eyes widened. ‘The Hammer of Thor? Mjølnir?’

  ‘None other,’ said Angie, looking smug.

  ‘How? It was lost at Ragnarók. Swallowed by— Ah.’ He smiled. ‘I see.’

  ‘That’s right. Jormungand.’ Angie shrugged. ‘Apparently his … digestive functions take a bit longer than we’d thought.’

  ‘Ew,’ said Loki.

  The Wolf Brothers grinned.

  ‘He can’t help it,’ Fenris said. ‘Devouring things runs in the family.’

  ‘And so we retrieved it,’ Angie went on. ‘And we’re prepared to return it to its rightful owner – a gesture of good faith, if you like – as soon as the gods have given their word.’

  And at that Angie turned away and began to inspect her fingernails, which were painted purple, while Loki, who was thinking hard, tried to make sense of her plan in his mind.

  On the whole, he thought he understood. Chaos was prone to rebellions. That was the nature of its folk. He himself had thrown in his lot with their enemies when it suited him, which had earned him no friends among his own people. Now, it seemed, Angie was doing the same. But she and her renegades would not risk an open confrontation. Much better to march under some other banner; then, when the Sky Citadel was rebuilt and Order restored, they would use their alliance with the gods to protect them from the retribution of Chaos – while doing precisely as they pleased, like delinquent children wanting their freedom, yet happy to be sheltered and fed by parents too soft to turn them away.

  Yes, thought Loki, it did make sense. And yet there were things that troubled him. The first was how organized they seemed. Chaos is – well – chaotic. There are no generals in Pan-daemonium. And Angie had been no exception
, proving as volatile as Loki himself. But here she was, speaking of treaties and oaths and strategies and the rebuilding of Order and Asgard. It wasn’t the Angie he knew at all. Which led the Trickster to conclude that perhaps there was someone else behind all this.

  He knew better than to say so, however. If they had Thor’s Hammer, he thought, they needed careful handling. The hammer, Mjølnir, Thor’s Right Hand, had been one of the great treasures of the Elder Age, lost for ever, so they’d thought, in the great upheaval that the Folk liked to call Tribulation, and the Æsir knew as Ragnarók.

  Since then, the gods had barely survived. Even Maddy’s rescue attempt had resulted in only partial success. Their numbers now stood at thirteen – including a goblin and a pot-bellied pig – which was hardly the stuff of conquest, he thought. Angie’s assessment, though harsh, was not entirely unfair. The Æsir were a spent force; the Vanir scarcely better. And with Skadi gone off on her own, and Maddy the only one of them whose powers had not suffered dramatic reversals, it had seemed unlikely that the gods would ever make much of a comeback.

  But with Mjølnir, they might have a chance. The mighty hammer, carved with runes that made it indestructible, heavy enough to gouge great chasms into the mountainside, and yet able to shrink itself small enough to tuck into your shirt.

  No such weapon had been forged since the beginning of the Elder Age. Even the Tunnel Folk had lost the skill; and Loki was torn between suspicion of Angrboda and of her motives, and the simple knowledge that with Mjølnir anything might be possible: the defeat of Chaos, the rebuilding of Asgard and, with the new Sky Citadel, the return of their primary Aspects; and, with them, the power to rule the Worlds …

  ‘All right,’ he said, looking up to where Angie was now sitting on a rocky ledge above him, swinging her legs. ‘Angie, I’ll try. I’ll put your suggestion to the gods. I can’t make any promises.’

  She narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes at him. ‘You’d better be persuasive,’ she said. ‘I want my hall in Asgard.’ She turned to smile at Fenris, who had been watching Loki with open mistrust throughout the conversation. ‘And there’d better not be any treachery, either, or Fenny and the boys will be paying you another call.’

  Big H winked. ‘Believe it, dude.’

  ‘And just to ensure your complete support, I’m sending Jolly to keep you on side.’ Angie smiled at the dwarf, who was watching Loki with a look of distaste. ‘You’ll like Jolly,’ she said. ‘In fact, you’ll be inseparable. He’ll wait on you, he’ll follow you home, he’ll be your constant companion. And if you try anything – a trick, a scam, a double-cross – then you’ll be in big trouble.’

  ‘Big trouble?’ Loki scoffed. ‘So what’ll he do? Bite my knees?’

  Jolly gave him an evil look. ‘What’re you sayin’? You sayin’ I’m short?’

  ‘Who, me?’ Loki said.

  Jolly pushed back his jacket sleeves, revealing meaty forearms on which were inscribed the symbol –

  The dwarf’s fists were also unusually large for such a small person, and Loki just had time to read the words Fadir and Modir tattooed across the knuckles before the dwarf lowered his head and butted him squarely in the solar plexus, knocking all the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping on the floor.

  Jolly brought his misshapen head very close to Loki’s face. ‘Don’t call me short,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it when folk call me short.’

  ‘Right,’ said Loki.

  ‘Now stand up.’

  Loki did so with difficulty. He’d spent rather too long on the floor that day, and was beginning to feel victimized. He eyed the dwarf with cautious respect. Short he might be, Loki thought, but there was a lot of glam in the little fellow. The twin runemarks on Jolly’s arms shone out with a baleful red glow.

  From her ledge, Angrboda smiled. ‘We call it Daeg, the Thunderbolt. Packs a punch, doesn’t it?’

  Loki had to admit it did.

  And the thought that Angie had access now to two of the runes of the New Script made an even greater impact. Where had she managed to find the glam that should have belonged to the new gods? It made him very uneasy to think of Angie equipped with such things. And what would the other gods make of it? Nothing good, that was for sure. In fact, they would probably assume that he himself was somehow to blame …

  ‘I’m giving you twenty-four hours,’ Angie said. ‘That should be enough to convince the gods that they need my people on their side.’

  ‘And if they decide against?’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you can persuade them.’

  ‘And if I can’t?’

  Angie laughed, swinging her legs against the rockface. Beside her the Wolf Brothers sniggered, and Fenris snarled his amusement.

  ‘Loki,’ she said. ‘You crack me up.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Loki mirthlessly.

  ‘No, really,’ said Angrboda. ‘You’re going to need that positive outlook for when you rebuild Asgard.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m always at my most positive when I’m about to be disembowelled by my friends.’

  She gave him an indulgent look. ‘I’m sending you back to World Above. Skull and Big H will look after you. And if you need to contact me, just tell Jolly. He knows what to do.’

  The little man bared his teeth again. He was definitely a carnivore, Loki thought. Maybe even a cannibal.

  Loki sighed. ‘OK. Let’s go.’

  ‘That’s my boy,’ said Angie.

  BACK IN WHAT was left of the Universal City, Maggie Rede was dreaming again. It was a strangely powerful dream, lit with the colours of Chaos and peopled with shapes that twisted and writhed. The Folk of the Order do not dream; but Maggie was no longer entirely their child, and after reading the Good Book, the rules that had bound her for so many years had begun to unravel like windblown flax, and the dreams had come soon after …

  Now she dreamed of a man with red hair and eyes of a searing fire-green. She’d seen him before in dreams, and knew that he was somehow her enemy. But this time he was in trouble, she thought, and she grinned and clenched her fists in her sleep. She could see that his colours were very strong – demonic colours such as she’d seen depicted in the Good Book; and there were runes among them – unholy fire-runes like those she had seen in the Book of Words. The same kind of symbol shone from his arm – the ruinmark of the Firefolk.

  By his Mark shall ye know him …

  Kaen. The name of the ruinmark was Kaen. Reversed. She did not ask herself how she knew. Perhaps she’d seen it in the Book that lay open against the wall at her side. The golden key that opened it now hung on a chain around Maggie’s neck. It was her most treasured possession. She always closed the Book when she left, but when she was alone in her secret place, she liked to keep it open at the Chapter of Invocations, where the secret names of the Firefolk were written in letters of silver and gold.

  She struck out at the red-haired man, slamming him against the ground. He threw up a shield to protect himself, but the shield was weak. It would not last. Her enemy cried out in pain; venom spattered the Northlands snow.

  Good, thought Maggie in her dream. Let’s see you talk your way out of this.

  Now the man was on his knees. She could see the fear in his eyes. She couldn’t hear what he said, but knew that he was pleading for his life.

  Mercy? I don’t think so, she thought.

  Moving closer, she could see him lying helpless at her feet. Triumph bloomed in her like a rose. She could have killed him easily, but she wanted the pleasure to last a while. She wanted to see him suffer first; she wanted him to grovel and beg before she sent him to Netherworld.

  But now there came a flare of colours, and Maggie saw a figure approaching; a small but somehow ominous shape, bracketed with runelight. And yet there seemed little to justify the surge of panic Maggie felt as the figure came closer. It was only a girl, after all – a girl of about her own age. A girl with curious grey-gold eyes, hair loose around her shoulders, and one of those ruinmarks on her ext
ended palm …

  Maggie thought: She looks just like me!

  And then there was another bright flash, and the world flipped over like a leaf—

  And Maggie awoke with a loud cry, sheathed in sweat and trembling, and found herself back in the catacombs, head resting close to the open Book, over which she must have fallen asleep, and the after-image of the dream stamped against the shadows.

  But now, as she struggled to banish her fears, Maggie saw that she was no longer alone. A young man was sitting opposite her, cross-legged upon the stony floor. A young man who might have been seventeen or eighteen, but whose face bore the marks of experience. His hair was like that of the northern folk; his eyes were blue as distant ice.

  Maggie realized that as she slept, the bergha she was wearing had slipped, and, blushing, she tugged it back into place before addressing the stranger.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said sharply. ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’

  The young man smiled, and Maggie Rede felt a funny little shiver go down her back, as if a tiny feather of ice had brushed against her shoulder blades.

  ‘My name is Adam,’ the young man said. ‘And I’ve come a long way to find you.’

  THREE YEARS HAD passed since Adam Scattergood had found his way out of World Below. Little now remained of the boy who had pissed his pants on Red Horse Hill and had come close to losing his mind at the merest hint of things uncanny. Now it was he who stood his ground while other people fled in fear; and he had seen so much that was uncanny, unnatural and downright impossible that all trace of fear in him had gone, leaving him with a hatred of Seer-folk and Faërie that was nine-parts born from envy and one-part from his passenger – the whispering Presence in his mind that had been with him for the past three years.