She glared at Ethel. ‘What’s this?’ she said.
Ethel gave her gentle smile. ‘Security, of course,’ she said. ‘In case you tried to renege on our deal.’
A cantrip, and the acorn charm turned back into Loki’s ex-wife.
‘Sweetheart, what have they done to you?’ she wailed, on seeing the Trickster. She rounded in fury on the gods, a fierce, diminutive figure with a flushed round face and blue eyes flashing like angry stars. ‘You cowards!’ she shrieked. ‘How could you? After everything he’s done for you, how could you treat the poor angel this way?’
The gods – even Heimdall – looked taken aback.
Ethel said: ‘Well done, my dear.’
The poor angel grinned and looked up at his wife. ‘I never thought I’d say this,’ he said, ‘but Sigyn, it’s great to see you.’
Hel’s mouth twisted as she focused once more on Loki. ‘I may not be able to kill him,’ she said, ‘but I can make sure he never leaves. And if the rest of you ever want to find your way back, then I suggest you give him to me.’
Sigyn drew herself up to full height. It wasn’t very impressive, but she stood fast between Hel and Loki, her face set in determination.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ said Hel.
Stubbornly Sigyn shook her head.
‘I’m warning you. Get out of my way—’
‘Not on your life,’ said Sigyn.
And now the Guardian of the Dead looked up and saw a light in the sky; a light that shone with the force of a sun. And for the second time in five hundred and three years her ancient heart leaped in surprise as something bore down on the plains of Hel; something that looked – though it couldn’t be – exactly like an old washing basket, gleaming with unearthly fire …
MAGGIE AWOKE THAT morning feeling tired and unrefreshed. That was to be expected, of course. It was, after all, her wedding day. She could expect to be feeling jittery, especially in her condition. It was also the morning of Ragnarók, and the dawn sky was apocalyptic in rose-gold and marshmallow-pink, though Maggie was naïve enough to take this as a good sign.
Maddy knew just what it meant, having been raised in the rustic North. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. There might not be many shepherds in the Universal City, but on the day of the End of the Worlds, she thought, everybody might do well to take heed of that old wives’ saying.
It had been dark when she and Perth had returned with Jorgi to the Water Rats, and by then neither of them felt much like talking. Perth was exhausted, his glam burned out, his body covered in bruises. Maddy was equally drained, her hope of avoiding the inevitable dashed by the loss of the Old Man. Only Jorgi seemed cheerful – probably at the prospect of another night’s hunting for seals – and, on arrival, promptly assumed his Serpent form and slid back into the water. Maddy did not try to stop him. The Rider of Treachery needed no horse for what she had to do the next day; although her heart sank at betraying her twin, the General had given her no choice but to murder Adam Scattergood.
That night she had tried to sleep, but sleep had never been more elusive. Guilt, grief and worry kept her awake, and by three in the morning she was so wide awake that she abandoned all hope of rest and got up to prepare for treachery.
Perth, on the other hand, was deeply asleep, and did not stir when she entered his room – not even when Maddy cast the rune Sól and, in its glow, looked at her friend. She would have welcomed his company in the task that lay ahead, but he looked so innocent as he slept, his head at a childish angle, that she was reluctant to wake him.
And so she went alone to Examiners’ Walk, as the first light of the Last Day began to colour the eastern sky, and, shivering, waited in the alleyway for Maggie to make her appearance.
Maggie too had been awake since well before first light. Even though she had never been vain, there was pleasure to be had in bathing and pampering; in the choosing of scent; in the painting of palms with ochre in the traditional designs; and finally, in the pinning of the white bergha around the head, upon which the wedding veil would lie beneath its garland of roses.
It was almost a quarter to eight.
‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ said Adam, pacing the floor of the penthouse.
Maggie turned and looked at him. Handsome in his white silk, his fair hair cut in the latest World’s End fashion, he looked just like an angel. A little pale, perhaps, she thought – though that was understandable. All young men were nervous on their wedding morning.
‘Nearly,’ she said. ‘How do I look?’
She slipped on her veil – the one she had made from the yellow silk that Adam had brought – and, placing the rose garland on her head, looked at her reflection.
Adam smiled. It was not an especially friendly smile, but Maggie, still watching her mirror-self, failed to notice its lack of warmth. She was thinking of the ceremony soon to be held at St Sepulchre’s, when she and Adam would stand before the Kissing Stone and declare their love in the ritual words of the Good Book:
My hand to your hand,
My soul to your soul,
My name to your name,
For ever, we are one.
Adam too was thinking of the words of the wedding ceremony. He had no idea why his passenger should find them so important, but in his mind the Whisperer was almost swooning with excitement. It would soon be over now. His passenger would be gone. And so Adam smiled at his bride-to-be, and said in a voice that trembled with anticipation:
‘Darling, you look ready.’
In the street below, Maddy didn’t feel ready at all. The day was going to be perfect, she thought: the red sky had veered to angelic blue; the sun was shining; there were no clouds. In just a few minutes, she told herself, the bells of St Sepulchre would ring, and Maggie Rede would say her vows of marriage to Adam Scattergood.
A wedding, even a modest one, always attracts attention, and Adam, it seemed, had spared no expense. A piper, a drummer, a flower-decked carriage, to be drawn – by none other than the Red Horse of the Last Days – to the cathedral of St Sepulchre, where the couple would be wed in front of the Kissing Stone, according to a tradition dating back over five hundred years.
A little crowd had already gathered around the wedding carriage, dancing to the piper’s tune; most were children, hands held out and clamouring for brideys – the little heart-shaped biscuits traditionally thrown to the revellers.
Maddy’s heart sank lower still. This wasn’t going to be easy. The idea of murdering a young man at his own wedding was bad enough; to do it in a crowd of children, any one of whom might be hit, was almost unthinkable. But those were the General’s orders, clear and unambiguous, and whatever chance she might have had to question his plan had been lost.
She wished that he were with her now. She didn’t want to do this alone. Everything about it felt wrong, but with so little time till the crucial event, Maddy could think of no other way of preventing her sister’s wedding.
It was already ten minutes to the hour. The bride was more than fashionably late. For a moment Maddy dared to hope that Maggie might have changed her mind, that somehow she might have realized the terrible mistake she’d made …
And then came a mighty cheer from the crowd, and the bride and groom made their appearance.
Maddy stared at them from her hiding place in the alleyway. Maggie wore a yellow veil and carried a basket of brideys; Adam was resplendent in white. The little crowd cheered as they emerged, the children clamouring for brideys, and the piper began to play a sprightly traditional tune called The Kissing Dance, which Maddy recognized at once from weddings in her own village.
She moved a little closer, out from the mouth of the alleyway. Drawn in by the trail of children, mesmerized by the vivid faces, the rosy flush on her sister’s cheek, the way she laughed and traded jokes with the folk who now lined Examiners’ Walk – some crowding the carriage, others simply waving at her – Maddy joined the little gathering, and s
he needed no truesight to tell her that this was no performance. Her sister’s happiness was real; she practically glowed with excitement.
Could Adam have changed? Maddy thought. Could it be that the mean little boy had turned into someone her sister could love? Could it be that he loved her?
No. The thought was unbearable. The only way she could do this was if Adam were a genuine threat; but the more she tried to picture it, the more she seemed to remember that distant day on Red Horse Hill, when she had flung the mindbolt and Adam had wet his pants in fear …
In a moment the procession would leave. It would have to be done soon. Done soon and done right; there would be no second chance. She moved a little closer. The wedding carriage was now no more than twenty feet away from her, and, approaching, Maddy lowered her head, as if to pick up one of the brideys that had fallen to the cobbles, and started to summon the rune Hagall.
But – a quirk of Fate, perhaps – the gesture that should have concealed her attracted Maggie’s attention. The girl froze just as she was flinging a handful of brideys into the crowd, and as Maddy glanced up instinctively, she found herself looking into a pair of grey eyes as gold-flecked and curious as her own …
For less than a second her own eyes went wide.
Startled, Maggie caught her breath.
Something passed between them – a force much greater than Aesk or Ác – that flashed across their twin consciousness. Adam, seeing Maddy there, flinched and instinctively threw up his arm. Same old Adam, Maddy thought, and started to raise the mindbolt …
But Maggie was reaching out her hand, a shy little smile on her lips. ‘Oh, Maddy, I knew you’d—’ she began.
Looking back later, Maddy knew that this had been her moment. This – this second of readiness, this ultimate test of her loyalty.
And she failed it, the rune Hagall discharging harmlessly into the ground just as Maggie saw what was happening.
‘Maggie, wait …’ Maddy said.
But Maggie was already out of reach. Her eyes, so hopeful a moment before, now blazed with betrayal and horror. She raised a fist that was suddenly bristling with runelight.
‘I thought you were different,’ she said. ‘I thought you were on my side. Turns out you were one of them, just like that thing said you were …’
And, hurling a fistful of cantrips, she urged the Red Horse of Carnage on, and drove him at a brisk trot down Examiners’ Walk, scattering the little crowd (the children still calling for brideys), the runes snapping like firecrackers all across the cobbled street, the drummer and piper running behind, the garland slipping from her head to tumble into the gutter.
The Folk all reacted in different ways.
Someone shouted: ‘Fireworks!’ Others went on dancing. Others gaped into the sky, aware that they’d seen something strange, but unable to put it into words. Some heard the voices of people long dead; some laughed, a little wildly; some wept – but then, doesn’t everyone cry at weddings?
Maggie looked back once, wild-eyed, deathly under her veil. Then both she and Adam were gone.
MADDY WATCHED AS the wedding carriage clattered away down the road. Her mind was a blur of misery. What now? She’d ruined everything. She’d failed the General and the gods. But to ask her to murder a human being, even Adam Scattergood …
Had Odin really believed she could? He was certainly capable of ruthlessness, deceit, coldness, even cruelty. But he’d always had a soft spot for the Folk, and Maddy wondered if even Death could have changed him so much from the man she knew.
Odin, I’m sorry. I let you down.
But it was too late for regrets, she knew. So many chances already lost. So many missed opportunities. And with so little time, even guilt was a luxury that would have to wait. It was too late to save Odin now. Too late to do what he’d ordered her to; but perhaps not too late to intervene.
She’d been unable to kill Adam Scattergood, but might there not be another way to divert the path of Chaos?
If only I knew where to start, she thought.
But maybe she did, she realized. Why had she not seen it before? It had been staring her in the face ever since she came to World’s End. There all along in the prophecy, like a finger pointing up at the sky:
The Cradle fell an age ago, but Fire and Folk shall raise her
In just twelve days, at End of Worlds; a gift within the—
‘Sepulchre!’ Maddy’s eyes opened wide. ‘The cathedral of Saint Sepulchre! That’s where I’m supposed to be!’
‘Aye,’ said a voice at Maddy’s back. ‘So why are ye still standing here, hen?’
Maddy turned in surprise to see Odin’s Mind and Spirit standing by the side of the road. Both were more or less in human form, though Mandy still had her raven’s wings, folded like a feather cloak over her skinny, bejewelled arms, and both were looking twitchy and tense, with ruffled feathers and shifty eyes.
Alongside them was Jorgi in Black Horse Aspect, looking especially greasy and drab in the morning sunlight. Maddy noticed that even the revellers gave the Black Horse a wide berth. Some forked signs against bad luck; some averted their gaze as they passed. And behind the Horse of Treachery stood a figure in a blue robe, his face half concealed under a hat.
‘Perth! What are you doing here?’
‘I might ask the same of ye,’ Hughie said. ‘I take it ye didn’ae heed the Auld Man’s instructions.’
Maddy shook her head. ‘No. I couldn’t do what he asked me.’
Hughie gave a derisive crawk. ‘Aye. I should have known that. Ye’ve too kind a heart to kill anyone. Still – we may have a chance yet. As long as we stop that sister of yours.’
‘Stop her from what?’ Maddy said.
Mandy craw-ed impatiently. Crawk. Ack. No time, she said.
Hughie turned to Maddy again. ‘There’s no time for explanations now. Ye’ll have tae trust me. Will ye, lass?’
Maddy nodded. ‘I’ll have to,’ she said. ‘But – if you’re Odin’s Spirit and Mind, then how come you’re still here at all? I mean – he died. Didn’t he? I found the Head. There was nothing there.’
Hughie shrugged. ‘He’s been dead before.’
‘You mean …’
‘Ach, he’ll have a plan. The General always has a plan.’
Maddy looked at him helplessly. ‘I don’t see how—’
Crawk. Crawk. No time!
‘All right.’ She looked at Jormungand. ‘I don’t suppose you’d let me ride? We have to get there as fast as we can, and I don’t think being inconspicuous is going to help at this stage …’
Jorgi gave a fishy belch. He seemed to understand, though. In a moment the Horse was gone, to be replaced by the World Serpent in his original Aspect: big and black and fearsome; his mane bristling with runelight; his eyes like portholes of black glass.
‘You’re going to ride that?’ Perth said. ‘It smells awful.’ He put out a hand. Then he took hold of Jorgi’s mane and made as if to pull himself up.
‘No, not you,’ Maddy said. ‘I mean, it could be dangerous …’
‘We’ve both seen how well you manage without me,’ Perth told her with a grin. ‘Besides, it’s a wedding, isn’t it? Purses to cut? Pockets to pick? You really think I’m the type to miss out on a little bit of free enterprise?’
Maddy shook her head. ‘No. I’ve lost too many friends. I don’t want to lose another …’
Perth grinned at her again. ‘I can look after myself,’ he said. ‘Now, will you get a grip, girl? We have a wedding to go to!’
‘WHAT IN HEL is that?’ said Thor as the object hurtled towards them. Seen through the lens of the rune Bjarkán, it looked like a flying creature – a Horse of Air, or maybe a sky-dragon – though to the naked eye its Aspect was simply that of an old woman sitting in a washing basket, a scruffy shawl over her shoulders, her hair streaming out behind. The sky in her wake wheeled and yawned like a child’s kaleidoscope, as colours that had never before been seen in Hel’s kingdom bloomed across its
horizon.
‘Hey! Yo!’ yelled Crazy Nan. ‘I made it! I made it! With help from the Folk!’
Hel observed Nan through her dead eye. She was feeling exceptionally weary. Contact with Loki often had this effect on her, and now Hel wanted nothing more than to sleep through the next five hundred years.
She gave a deep sigh – not that she needed to breathe, of course – and the whole of Hel sighed around her, rocks and stones shifting suddenly, the sandy desert of Death’s domain shrugging in tired frustration.
She turned the eye on Loki. ‘Why do these things only ever happen when you’re around?’ she demanded.
‘Just dumb luck, I guess,’ said the Trickster as Crazy Nan landed her washing basket and got out – rather shakily. On the plain of Hel, her Aspect was no longer that of a frail old crone, but of a woman in her prime, white hair to her waist, her eyes a wicked, snapping blue.
The broken rune that had once been hers now shone out a brilliant silver. Ethel recognized it at once. It was Iar, the Beaver, fourth rune of the New Script, rune of earth and water and air. Iar, the Master Builder –
She smiled. ‘It’s good to see you, Nan. Any news yet from the Old Man?’
Nan grinned. ‘You know what he’s like.’ Her gaze fell upon the Trickster. ‘So, you’re not dead?’ she said cheerily.
‘No thanks to any of you,’ Loki said. ‘Look, I hate to be a grouch, but could someone please tell me what’s going on?’
‘Don’t like being left out of the loop, eh?’ Nan’s eyes shone with mischief. ‘Well, it’s all in the prophecy. If you’d just made the effort to work it all out, instead of trying to avoid responsibility …’
Loki’s eyes widened. ‘You’re blaming me? I’m not the guilty party here. Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been chained, accused, bullied, hit, threatened, tied up, married, sold out, used as a bargaining chip with Hel and now—’
‘Oh, leave it out,’ snapped the Guardian of the Dead. ‘So on one occasion in five hundred years you turn out to be innocent.’ She turned to the little party of gods. ‘And I suppose that gives you the right to enter my kingdom and do all this?’ With her dead hand, she gestured at the sky, where the colours that had accompanied Crazy Nan’s arrival now filled the horizon with unearthly light. ‘I mean, what is that, anyway?’
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