Runelight

by Joanne Harris

  Of course we’ll do what ye say, hen.

  You’re the Rider o’ Carnage.

  ‘Then take me to the Firefolk!’ Maggie said, and she and Sleipnir rose above the city streets like St Sepulchre’s Fire, and vanished into the early mist that was rising from the World’s End road.

  They caught up with the Firefolk some thirty miles from the city. Their colours, filtered by the mist, flared up into the rosy sky. For a long time Maggie did nothing but watch as Lucky’s Pocket Pan-daemonium Circus drew closer along the World’s End road, the three little red-painted caravans moving along at a steady pace, three wolves bringing up the rear, a sharp-eyed hawk observing the road.

  That was their Watchman, she already knew. The first thing she would have to do was to hide herself from his piercing gaze. That mist would do it, she told herself; if only it were thicker …

  She murmured a cantrip of Isa.

  A chill seemed to descend from the clouds. The thin bright gilding on the horizon faded to a tarnished grey. The hawk seemed to sense a change in the air and flew down onto one of the wagons, where it resumed the Aspect of Heimdall, huddled under a wolfskin cloak.

  Now Maggie cast the rune Bjarkán and looked through its lens at the enemy. They were already so close, she thought. Closer even than she’d feared. How had they managed to get there in time? How much did they already know?

  ‘This had better work,’ she said, ‘or they’ll be in the city by nightfall.’

  Hughie crawk-ed. It’s the only way.

  Once more Maggie looked down at the Firefolk through the rune Bjarkán. They looked so harmless, so helpless now, with their little caravans. From one of the wagons she could hear the lilting sound of Bragi’s guitar, a scatter of bright little notes in the grey, and a sudden sadness came over her, a fleeting desire to join the group in spite of the discord she sensed within …

  No, she had not had a change of heart. She still rejected her ancestry with every drop of her demon blood, but something inside her mourned the choice she had to make – the family she had made with Adam, or the family she had never even met.

  No one chooses their family, Maggie Rede told herself. Hers was wicked through and through; a nest of thieves and murderers. She’d read all about them in her books; she knew their crimes, their betrayals.

  And there they were at last, she thought. Completely at her mercy. It would be easy to ride them down, to cut them all to pieces – and yet she could not do it.

  She was, after all, a mother now. A mother should not be a murderer. And how could she explain to her son that she’d killed their people as they slept?

  And yet, when they reached the city gates …

  Pucker-lips, a-pucker-lips, all fall down. Maggie knew what that meant. It meant the Apocalypse, the End of the Worlds, the second Tribulation; all the things she’d once desired, and which now she rejected with all her heart. The Rider whose name was Carnage wanted nothing more than to see her child born into a world at peace, and to live with her husband, quietly, away from the noise of the Universal City.

  It seemed at first glance impossible. The Rider of Carnage was fated to ride as soon as the Firefolk entered the gates. But if she joined forces with the gods, the Whisperer would kill Adam. And if she stood against them, then she would be forced to destroy the Old Man, at which point the Æsir would take their revenge, with Adam once more as their target.

  She had not forgotten the vision that the Old Man had shown her: the picture of herself, with her child, wearing a widow’s black bergha. Whichever choice Maggie made would put Adam in the line of fire …

  Unless the gods never reached those gates …

  And now at last, thanks to those birds and their rhyme, Maggie had a plan so simple that she wondered why she’d never thought of it before. She barely had to do anything. Just a series of glamours, and Adam and their child would be safe.

  Maggie whispered a cantrip of Raedo – Reid kveda rossom vaesta – and fingered the rune with her left hand.

  See the Cradle rocking

  High above the town …

  Beneath her, a ghostly filament unfurled across the landscape.

  Down come the Firefolk

  To bring the baby down.

  Once more Maggie whispered a cantrip – this time a version of Bjarkán – and made the sign with her fingers. The mist began to thicken. Slowly at first, then creeping out of fissures in the stony ground; from rivers and streamlets and cracks in the road, until it became a white cloud that lay softly over the land like snow, making ghosts of everything, so that even the three red caravans looked grey and mournful and lost.

  Good.

  All the way to Hel’s gate

  Firefolk are bound …

  And now, with a click of her fingers, Maggie reversed the Journeyman rune, and began to draw the silver skeins of mist through the circle of finger and thumb. As she did so, she began to sing another cantrip of Raedo:

  Rad byth on recyde, rinca gehwylcum …

  Below her, the white cloud thickened and churned. Marsh-lights flickered at its heart. The ravens shuttled busily through the mist, tracing a scrawl of runelight, while Sleipnir, in his fiery Aspect, spanned the sky like St Sepulchre’s Fire, his long legs reaching from horizon to horizon.

  The result was like a cat’s cradle of light in every imaginable colour, from which a column of mist was spun like pale wool on a spindle.

  All the way to Hel’s gate

  Firefolk are bound …

  And on the road to World’s End, the Firefolk vanished into the cloud, and Sleipnir’s eight legs spun spidery webs, and Odin’s Mind and Spirit swooped with ever-increasing frenzy, and sun and moon and stars went out, as Maggie Rede went riding.

  MADDY HAD WAITED till first light for Perth to come down from the penthouse roof. Even then, it was a measure of her belief in her new friend that it took her till after breakfast to understand that he wouldn’t be back.

  She had found herself a place to wait at the window of a coffee shop. There, she had breakfast – bacon and eggs and a pot of strong World’s End coffee – and kept watch over the penthouse. But as the sun rose over St Sepulchre’s Gate and the city returned to life, Maddy began to realize that something must have gone terribly wrong. Perth should have been back hours ago; and, watching now through the rune Bjarkán, Maddy could see his signature slashed across the building’s façade, along with some splashes of runelight that told an eloquent story.

  Climbing up the fire escape that ran around the back of the building, Maddy took a closer look. There had been a struggle, she saw. Perth had fought with her sister. Perth’s rose-red signature was clear, and Maggie’s was unmistakable. But what was that third signature-trail, and why did it seem so familiar?

  Could it be the Old Man?

  And was the Old Man the Whisperer?

  Until now she had been certain it was. And yet those colours were somehow wrong. The Whisperer’s trail had been harsh and bright, like lightning in a bottle. But this was something different – different and unmistakable – those splashes of runelight, kingfisher-blue, and that trace in the air of Raedo, reversed …

  One-Eye?

  Odin?

  Could it be? Maddy could barely believe it. And yet her old friend’s signature was scrawled across the rooftops. Raedo, reversed, in his colours. Which meant that the being he had called the Old Man, the thing he had ordered her to find, was none other than his own self, embodied, like the Whisperer, in that piece of volcanic rock.

  Maddy’s head was spinning now. She sat down on the fire escape. Why had Odin not told her the truth? Why had he misled her? Where was Perth, and why had he run? Was he hurt? Was he lying low? Or had he simply turned his coat, and delivered One-Eye into enemy hands?

  Maddy sat for a long time, trying to make sense of it all. She had none of Perth’s climbing skills. Impossible to follow his path across those perilous rooftops. But the Old Man’s signature, she hoped, should be possible to find, especially
now the trail was fresh; and so she returned to Examiners’ Walk to search for traces of her friend.

  It was no simple task, she found. The Universal City was always thick with signatures, and even a trail like Odin’s or Perth’s could easily be lost in the crowd. Hours passed: not a trace of the pair. Maddy grew tired, disheartened and cold. She had walked around in circles for hours without picking up so much as a broken cantrip. Noon struck in Cathedral Square. Still no sign of her vanished friends. According to Ethel’s prophecy, she had less than twenty-four hours to go before Ragnarók and the End of the Worlds, by which time she needed to find Perth, retrieve the Old Man, ride the Black Horse of Treachery and find out why her sister was marrying Adam Scattergood …

  Face it, she thought. It’s impossible. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed everyone.

  At lunch time she bought flatbread and sour herrings from one of the stalls in St Sepulchre’s Square, and sat down by the fountain to eat them. As she did so, her eye was drawn by something pinned to a notice board nearby.

  This board was a public display space usually taken up by wedding announcements, market times, lost dogs, property auctions, Court rulings and Cleansings. Normally Maddy would not have paid very much attention to these, but this time a sign at the top of the board caught her eye. The sign read:

  SLAVE AUCTION THIS SUNDAY AT 8.00

  UNIVERSITY MAIN QUAD

  Below was a list detailing some of the auction’s highlights, including: a matched set of four nineteen-year-old Outlands dancers; a cook specializing in Ridings food; two bodyguards with knowledge of edged weapons and hand-to-hand combat; any number of house slaves, body slaves and ordinary labourers; seven common criminals … and, right at the bottom, a short addition, just six words, hand written below the print:

  Unidentified runaway. Suitable for galley work.

  Maddy felt her throat contract. No. It wasn’t possible. There must be dozens of runaways in the Universal City. Why should she be so certain that those six words referred to her friend? And yet she was sure of it. Perth was her man.

  What had happened? Had he been caught climbing on the rooftops? Had he meant to come back after all? And what about the Old Man? Had it been found by the lawmen, or had Perth managed to hide it?

  ‘So, ye’ll have seen the notice, then,’ said a familiar voice at her back.

  Maddy turned. It was Hughie, in human Aspect, lounging on the rim of the fountain, while Mandy, in raven form, was perching on the head of one of the stone serpents that adorned it.

  ‘You!’ said Maddy.

  Kaik, said the bird.

  Maddy glanced around the square. It was busy, as always on Saturdays, but no one seemed to notice them. Ragged, disreputable folk were in abundance in the city, and anyone looking at Hughie would just assume he was an Outlander trader; dark, exotic, dangerous.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, lowering her voice to a hiss.

  Hughie flashed his perfect teeth. ‘You might seem more pleased tae see us,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ said Maddy. ‘And why’s that? You send me here on a wild-goose chase; you don’t give me any of the facts; you leave me on my own for a week without so much as a single word; and then you turn up as if nothing had happened—’

  ‘Oh, but it has,’ Hughie said. ‘We’ve seen plenty of action. Haven’t we, Mand?’

  Mandy crawk-ed mournfully, though whether this was in agreement or in protest at the absence of cake, Maddy could not be certain.

  ‘All right. What’s your news?’ Maddy said. ‘Be quick. I have to find my friend.’

  ‘Ye do?’ said Hughie. ‘Well, we can help ye there. Your friend’s in the city roundhouse. More germane tae the point, hen—’

  ‘Yes, he took the Old Man.’ Maddy glared at Hughie. ‘Who just happens to be Odin. Which no one saw fit to tell me …’

  Hughie shrugged. ‘Orders, hen. He didn’ae want us tae tell ye.’

  ‘Why not? Doesn’t he trust me?’

  ‘Ach, ye know the General.’ Hughie gave his salesman’s smile. ‘He disn’ae trust hisself half the time.’

  Maddy took a deep breath. When – if ever – she saw him again, she’d have a few words with the General – on the subject of trust, and other things. For the moment …

  ‘What about my friends?’

  ‘Riding fast towards World’s End. Thirty easy miles to go – ye’ll see them in the morning.’

  Maddy gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank gods for that. I was starting to think I’d have to fight all of Chaos without them.’ She grinned, feeling suddenly giddy, and threw her arms around Hughie’s neck. ‘Thank you. Thank you for coming back! I was so worried I’d done the wrong thing. But now things are coming together at last. Odin’s giving orders again. The others managed to make it in time. Now all we need is to rescue Perth.’

  ‘Perth?’ said Hughie.

  ‘Yes, of course. You saw the notice, didn’t you? They’ll send him to the galleys. And if he knows where the General is—’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Hughie said.

  But Maddy’s mind was racing ahead, already making rescue plans. Alone, she knew she had no chance. The roundhouse was nothing like the tiny lock-up in Malbry village. The Order had always prided itself on its prison’s security. She could not attack it on her own. But with the World Serpent on her side, and with Odin’s Mind and Spirit—

  ‘Wait. Wait!’ Hughie said, putting his hand on Maddy’s arm. On top of the fountain, Mandy flapped her wings and crawk-ed.

  ‘I don’t have time to wait!’ Maddy said. ‘Perth’s my friend. You think I’d just abandon him?’

  ‘And your sister? Will ye abandon her?’

  Maddy paused. ‘My sister?

  ‘Aye,’ said Hughie. ‘I thought ye’d seen it. There – up there …’ And he pointed towards the parchment sheet that covered half the notice board. Maddy looked up and saw a long list, written in heavily gilded script:

  WEDDINGS

  THIS SUNDAY:

  8.00: Maggie Rede, to Adam Goodwin

  8.15: Priscilla Page, to Franklin Bard

  8.30: Jennet Price, to Owen Marchant

  And so on, at fifteen-minute intervals, until five o’clock, which was when the evening service began. Weddings were lucrative business in the Universal City, and that fifteen-minute cathedral ceremony could cost as much as five hundred crowns – the price of a coach-and-four, or the rent of a penthouse suite for a month.

  She shook her head impatiently. ‘I know about that already,’ she said. ‘What matters now is saving Perth.’

  Hughie frowned. ‘No. Your friend can look after himself. What matters now is your sister and this wedding that she’s planned. That ceremony must not take place. No matter what ye have tae do.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘The Auld Man. Who do ye think?’

  By now Maddy had forgotten all about keeping her voice down. ‘To Hel with the Old Man!’ she cried. ‘I’m sick of following orders! Sick of being kept in the dark! Sick of prophecies! Sick of dreams! Sick of fish-eating horses and cake-eating birds! So you’d better tell me what’s going on, because otherwise I shall wring your neck!’

  Hughie waited patiently until Maddy had run out of breath.

  ‘Feeling better, hen?’ he said.

  Maddy found that, actually, she was.

  ‘Then listen to me. Listen to him. This is what he wants you to do.’

  And Hughie explained the General’s plan, while Maddy listened in silence, her face growing paler and paler.

  Suddenly the Saturday crowds seemed to her like an army of distant ghosts; the bright dome of the cathedral like a tarnished shield in the sun. Nothing felt real to her any more. Her head felt like a Fair Day balloon; her heart was a drumbeat that filled the Worlds.

  ‘And this is what he wants?’ she said, when Hughie at last fell silent.

  ‘Aye,’ said Hughie.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He disn’ae need ye to unde
rstand. He simply needs ye to do as he says. Will ye, Maddy? Do as he says? Will ye trust him, Maggie?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Hughie gave a sigh of relief. ‘Shiny.’

  Maddy almost laughed. If asked for suitable words to describe the current dreadful state of affairs, shiny would not have made the list.

  She looked at Hughie hopefully. ‘But he must have another plan? Since when did the General not have a plan?’

  Hughie shrugged. ‘This is the plan. Beyond that, there’s nothing. If this wedding goes ahead, then we lose everything: Asgard; your sister; the future of the Firefolk. And there’s no one else to stop it but you, and only one way to do it.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s no other way?’

  ‘The General was verra clear. If ye want to save the Worlds, you have to kill Adam Goodwin.’

  AS CRAZY NAN had already found, in Dream, time has no meaning. Seconds can stretch into minutes, to hours; hours can pass in the blink of an eye. Maggie, on Sleipnir, had no idea how much time remained to her; but as she skimmed the islets of Dream for traces of her quarry, she could feel the weight of Worlds gathering like thunderclouds; a surge of something about to break that filled the air around her with barbed little notes of static.

  So far it had gone better than Maggie had expected. But dealing with the Firefolk had been the easy part of the plan. Now came the second throw of the dice: her move against the Whisperer.

  Maggie had known from the start that this would be the hardest task of all. The Whisperer was already alert to every suspicious movement; and Maggie knew that if she failed, Adam would be its target. She needed the Old Man; and for that, she needed to track down the man who had stolen it from the penthouse. Her brief encounter with Perth had left her filled with curiosity. He looked like an everyday scally; a rooftop sneak-thief of the kind that World’s End had in abundance. But his glam was one of the new runes, and he knew her sister.

  Whoever he was, Maggie thought, he was proving hard to find. She’d searched through Dream for what seemed like hours without so much as a sign of the thief, or of what he’d stolen. Was he shielding the Old Man? Did he know she was hunting him?