She looked up at Adam and saw him transfixed. Her young heart swelled with happiness. All the doubts she’d ever had – her fears, her insecurities – vanished as she saw Adam’s face illuminated with rapture.
Of course, Adam’s joy had nothing to do with making his vows to Maggie. But something had happened, all the same; something that made him want to shout and scream and dance like a savage.
After three years of slavery the Whisperer was finally gone. Gone for ever, Adam thought. No more darkness. No more dreams …
He looked down at his new wife and almost didn’t hate her. His eyes were bright, his face was flushed, he felt reborn to perfect bliss …
Maggie kissed the Stone …
And then –
All these things happened at once:
The glass dome of St Sepulchre split right down the middle, revealing a sky that in its turn was split into halves, one dark, one bright, with Bif-rost as the dividing line, like a shield against the night.
A sound like the slamming of every door that had ever existed in the World erupted into the cathedral.
A single titanic bolt of glam shot out from the heart of the Kissing Stone, sending a ripple of runic energy to all points of the compass at once. At the same time a beam of light emerged from the carving that looked so much like a kiss …
And the Bishop, his colleagues – in fact, every living being in the place, with just one single exception – instantly collapsed to the ground, nose and ears gushing blood. The Bishop was dead in a second, along with the Confessor, the machinists, the Shriver, the cathedral’s substantial colony of rats – and, of course, Adam Scattergood, who had just enough time to remind himself to never trust an oracle before he was expelled from his body with the force of a crossbow bolt and projected towards the surging black cloud that had already swallowed half the sky, and which, with his newfound perspective, he could now identify as Dream in its most chaotic Aspect – known to the Folk as Pan-daemonium, the World of Countless Demons.
THERE’S A SAYING among the Inland Folk: Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words can never slay me. How ridiculous, Loki thought as he watched the approaching cloud. Words were far from harmless. A well-placed word can bring down a foe; a speech can take down an empire. The Trickster knew the power of words – they’d saved his life a thousand times – but he also knew that, like himself, words could be misleading. They liked to hide, to reverse themselves, to warp and turn into something else.
Take that word: Apocalypse. Passed down through generations of Folk; a word of power and mystery, the sense of it lost over the years until only the children knew what it meant, in skipping songs and playground games:
See the Cradle rocking
High above the town …
Pucker-lips, a-pucker-lips,
All fall down.
Once more Loki considered the black cloud. It wasn’t really a cloud, he knew, any more than Dream was a river, but there was a kind of comfort in being able to see it as something familiar. Its shadow, now less than a mile away, had already breached the city walls. In the shadow there was a void. The shadow eclipsed everything.
He glanced over at the parapet of the Bridge, where Æsir and Vanir waited and watched. None of them were talkative. Thor’s Hammer was at the ready; Frey stood by with his mindsword. Freyja was in her Carrion form, bat-winged and skull-headed. Even Sif was in armour. Skadi and Njörd stood side by side with Angie and her demon wolves. Ethel waited to give the word as soon as action was required. Sigyn was standing behind her, her rune Eh at the ready in the shape of a golden binding rope very like Skadi’s runewhip.
All looked tense but focused, waiting in that oppressive silence that heralds the bloodiest battles.
Only Tyr seemed uncertain. Outwardly resplendent in his Aspect as god of war, he was still Sugar-and-Sack at heart, and the red and gold of his signature was tinged with the grey of anxiety. He glanced at Loki nervously. ‘What are we waiting for?’ he said.
Loki shrugged. ‘Why ask me? I’m not in charge. If I were, I’d be running like Hel, instead of awaiting the inevitable.’
Sugar looked even more nervous. ‘You mean – you think we can’t possibly win?’
‘Sure we can.’ Loki grinned. ‘With a couple of armies, a fortress, perhaps – and maybe a flying pig or two?’
‘Oh,’ said Sugar.
‘Feel better now?’
‘Not as such.’
Ethel smiled. ‘It won’t be long now.’
‘And that’s a good thing?’ said Loki. ‘Look, you said you had a plan. In fact, you mentioned the General’s plan. So, if you have the General tucked away somewhere – which I very much doubt – now’s the time to reveal him. Otherwise, running sounds good.’
‘Too late for that,’ said Ethel. ‘Besides, I trust the General.’
‘Well, I have issues with trust,’ said Loki. ‘Especially where my life is concerned.’
Sigyn, who had followed all this with the indulgent look of a nursery nurse looking after a fractious patient, now put a hand on Loki’s arm. ‘I’ll look after you,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘Well, that’s terrific,’ said Loki. ‘Because nothing’ – he pointed at the cloud – ‘is exactly what’s coming after us. And— What in Hel is that?’
For just at that moment there came a blinding burst of light and a massive explosion that rocked the Bridge, throwing Æsir and Vanir off-balance and vaporizing the few white clouds that marked the sky under Bif-rost. Loki flung himself onto his belly with his hands over his head. Thor gave a snarl of rage and prepared to wield Mjølnir. Sugar-and-Sack was astonished to find his new, glamorous hand working by itself, mindsword at the ready.
Ethel simply smiled, and said: ‘Good.’
‘Why? What’s happening?’ Loki said. ‘Are we under attack?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not yet. But soon. Which is why, when we get the signal, we are going to have to work quickly.’
‘Doing what?’ Sugar said.
‘Building,’ said Ethel. ‘As fast as we can, because when that shadowcloud gets here, we’re going to need protection.’
At that, Loki’s eyes began to gleam. A slow smile touched his scarred lips. He looked up at the shadowcloud, now only a few dozen feet away. Soon it would be on top of them, eclipsing the light from the Sun Shield, obliterating the runelight that shone from the heart of the Kissing Stone. They might be able to hold it back for five or ten minutes, maximum. But whether that would be enough …
‘Building,’ said Sugar. ‘Building what?’
‘Asgard,’ said Loki softly, and grinned.
OUTSIDE THE CATHEDRAL, Maddy and Perth raced for cover as glass showered down over the streets like hail. Above them stood the Rainbow Bridge, the one remaining barrier between Order and Pan-daemonium. Looking over her shoulder now, Maddy could see the shadowcloud; a wall of darkness at her back, moving inexorably towards the cathedral.
Once, when she was ten years old, Maddy had seen an eclipse of the sun. Others had stayed in their houses, afraid, or had huddled together in the church as Nat Parson told them bastardized tales of demon wolves that ran through the sky. But One-Eye had explained it to her: the movements of the sun and moon, and the dance they performed together. How quickly it had moved, she thought. How quickly the moon’s shadow had raced across the valley. And how cold it had been, she remembered; how cold and strange the light had been as the sun turned to blood at midday.
The shadowcloud was not as fast. And yet she could see it approaching – moving as fast as a man can walk – towards the ruined cathedral. Both she and Perth could outrun it, she knew: Perth was mounted on Sleipnir; Maddy was riding Jormungand – and getting the worst of the deal, she thought, because though Sleipnir simply looked freakish, Jormungand smelled terrible.
But Maggie was still in the building – dead or alive, she did not know – and inside, the Kissing Stone still shone, projecting a column of dazzling
light towards the heart of the rainbow, where the Sun Shield caught its rays and projected them outwards like a cradle in the sky.
Perth flung up the rune Yr as a shield against the blinding light; Maddy did the same with Ác, the rune she had learned from her sister.
They came to a halt some distance away in one of the side streets off Cathedral Square, from which they were able to observe the collapse of the dome of St Sepulchre and everything that followed it. On every side, the Folk of World’s End clutched at their gushing noses and fell to their knees as the aftershock of what had occurred at the Kissing Stone reverberated throughout the Universal City, bringing carnage in its wake.
Some, closest to the centre, died. Most had survived the initial attack, but were seized with panic and, seeing the sky, ran for their homes, or went insane, or fled raving in search of someone to blame. Some blamed the Faërie; others the old gods; others the wave of foreigners. Some fell to their knees and prayed, remembering tales of the Bliss. Shops were looted; people were robbed, old scores settled under cover of Chaos.
Disaster always strengthens faith, and in the city the old beliefs that had been so quickly eclipsed by greed now returned to new life. Mrs Blackmore, Maggie’s old landlady, rapidly rediscovered prayer, donned a black bergha and fled through the streets, screaming that this was Last Days, and that everyone should repent or be Cleansed. The lawman who had arrested Perth remembered the girl on the Red Horse, and called his remaining colleagues to arms. The Outlanders and traders who had settled themselves so comfortably in the old University found themselves being attacked on all sides by native World’s Enders, who, like most people in crisis, afraid and in need of a scapegoat, had decided to punish the foreigners for the coming Apocalypse.
And in the middle of it all Perth simply sat on his Horse and smiled like a gambler wagering his last coin.
It was a look that Maddy knew – she’d last seen it on Odin three years ago, on the shores of Hel – and she knew only too well what it meant.
She glanced at the ruined cathedral, shielding her eyes from the column of light. ‘What happened?’ she said. ‘Is my sister dead?’
It seemed more than likely: the building was wrecked, its dome collapsed like a rotten egg. No movement came from the rubble; and, looking through Bjarkán at the scene, Maddy could see no signatures, no sign of anything left alive; just that eerie finger of light pointing into the turbulent sky …
And then there it was, that fugitive gleam, shining through the drifting dust. The colour of Maggie’s presence, her glam, silvery-white against the destruction. Heart pounding, Maddy moved to urge Jormungand towards the source of the signature—
‘Don’t,’ said Perth.
‘Why not?’
‘Just don’t.’ He looked more than ever like Odin now. ‘You disobeyed me once before, and all the Worlds will pay the price. But forsake your duty now, and everything we’ve worked for is lost. Your sister’s alive. Be glad of it. If you want her to stay that way, then we have a prophecy to fulfil.’
‘But I thought that my sister was meant to be the Rider whose name was Carnage. The Seeress practically said so!’
‘Never trust an oracle.’ Now he had Odin’s voice too; Maddy’s eyes began to sting. ‘Your sister’s part in this is done. For good or ill, the child of hate has opened the gate to Asgard. Our job now is to protect it.’
‘How do you know?’ Maddy said.
‘Because I was dead,’ Perth replied, ‘and that gives quite a unique perspective on things. Now, if you don’t have any more questions …’
Maddy looked up into the sky. ‘I don’t understand. How could my sister have done all this? She was only here to get married …’
Perth shrugged. ‘You think so?’ he said. He gestured towards the cathedral. ‘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.
‘Cathedral. Cradle. Such similar words. You think that was just a coincidence? And what about the architect? Where do you think Jonathan Gift found the means to build this place? And who do you think instructed him?’
Maddy’s eyes widened. ‘The Whisperer?’
Perth nodded. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘The Universal City wasn’t just built on the ruins of Asgard. It was built from the ruins of Asgard. And the thing you Folk call the Kissing Stone – inscribed all over with runes of power – that was the First Stone of Asgard, the Foundation Stone of the Sky Citadel, linked through Bif-rost, the Rainbow Bridge, to every one of the Nine Worlds.’
He frowned at Maddy impatiently. ‘For five hundred years that stone has lain here, waiting for someone to awaken it. Jonathan Gift knew what he had. He made sure the Stone was kept safe, deep in the heart of the city. For five hundred years the Order guarded it, not understanding what it was. But the Nameless understood. It knew, and it watched, and bided its time, waiting for someone to come along – someone with sufficient glam to speak the Word and release the power.’
Maddy stared. ‘My sister,’ she said. ‘But why would the Nameless – the Whisperer – want to rebuild Asgard?’
‘To own it for itself, of course,’ said Perth with a twisted smile. ‘In spite of all his power in World’s End, Mimir was a prisoner. Bodiless and robbed of his glam, he could never hope to escape. Ending the Worlds was one way out; but far better, if he could manage it, was to steal an Aspect from one of us, and use it to get into Asgard.’
‘One of us?’
He nodded. ‘That’s right. Preferably someone like you, whose rune was intact and full of power. He tried with you in Hel, and failed. But now—’
‘He has my sister?’ she said.
Perth put a hand on her arm. ‘There’s nothing you can do any more. Maggie gave herself willingly. She spoke the words on the Kissing Stone; the words inscribed for that purpose over five hundred years ago. And then she sealed the oath with a kiss …’ He sketched the runesign in the air –
‘Which also happens to be a rune – Gabe – a gift, in the language of the Elder Age. Though it’s more than likely that her gift will end up being the death of us all.’
‘Is that a prophecy?’ Maddy said.
‘No. An educated guess. So now – suppose we do our job? We have a citadel to build, and she can’t be a part of it.’
Stubbornly Maddy shook her head. ‘That thing has taken my sister,’ she said. ‘There’s no way I’m going to leave her like this.’
Perth made an impatient sound. Now he looked like the One-Eye of the old days in one of his blackest, foulest moods. ‘How obtuse can you be?’ he snapped. ‘There’s nothing you can do for her. She’s lost to us now. What’s done is done. And both of us have a job to do. This glam is a gift to the Æsir …’ He indicated the column of light that had been released from the Kissing Stone. ‘We can use it to fight the enemy. To arm ourselves – to rebuild our fortress – or we can watch it be consumed while you waste time in sentiment …’
But Maddy was barely listening. ‘I fought the Whisperer before. I can do it again,’ she said. ‘Together, we can cast it out.’ Her heart was pounding. ‘It’s worth a try!’
Perth glared. ‘Damn you,’ he said. ‘Are you going to betray me again?’
Maddy held his gaze. ‘I can’t abandon my sister,’ she said. ‘If Mimir has her—’
‘He doesn’t,’ he said.
‘But you just told me—’
‘I said she gave herself willingly. But she was never the main prize. The Whisperer tried to control her once. It knew it couldn’t possess her. It knew that she – or you – would expel it long before it reached Asgard.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ said Maddy, confused. ‘If it doesn’t have Maggie after all, then why does she have to be lost to us?’
But Perth never got the chance to answer Maddy’s question, because just then there came a sound and a movement from the ruined dome. For a moment she hardly recognized the approaching figure as Maggie Rede. Her yellow veil was
black with dust, her face blank and blurry with tears and soot. She climbed out from the debris, eyes fixed on the stony ground, moving as slowly and carefully as if she were a hundred years old. Grief and rage marked her signature in lurid shades of green and red.
‘Maddy, trust me,’ Perth said. ‘You really don’t want to be part of this.’
But Maddy wasn’t listening. She stepped away from the Serpent’s flank and softly spoke her sister’s name.
Slowly Maggie lifted her head. A pair of grey-gold eyes met hers. For a moment Oak and Ash stood face to face under Bif-rost.
Then Maggie’s eyes lost their blurry look and acquired a deadly focus. A smile of peculiar sweetness came over her ravaged features.
‘Run. Now,’ Perth said, kicking his heels into Sleipnir’s flanks.
But it was already too late. Maggie’s eyes fixed on the General. The runemark at the back of her neck flared with sudden brilliance.
‘You killed Adam, demon,’ she said, and the rune Ác, crossed with Úr and Hagall, whickered through the dusty air. Perth’s reflexes were fast – and, combined with Odin’s lifelong skills, the result was impressive.
Perth, combined with Raedo and Úr, deflected the mindbolt against a wall, and Maddy had just enough time to admire the deftness with which her old friend handled the runes before he went on the offensive, fanning out a handful of runes with astonishing speed and power towards the source of the attack.
So this is what he used to be like before his runemark was reversed, thought Maddy, just as the mindbolt struck, showering Maggie with shards of glam. And with that thought came the certainty that Perth would try to kill Maggie – just as she would try to kill him, if Maddy did not intervene.
‘You killed Adam,’ said Maggie again, and hurled another handful of runes. The runes were unskilled but effective, each one breaking into small, sharp pieces, scattering potent little missiles across the whole area. A stray shard hit Perth in the face, and he slumped across his saddle-bow.
Runelight Page 45
