Sleipnir took to the air at once, long legs straddling the sky, so that Maddy had no time to see where or how badly Perth was hit. She flung up a shield to protect herself; Aesk and Yr dispersed the glam. She knew she ought to get away – Perth was hurt, and needed help. But still she couldn’t leave Maggie.
‘Maggie, please. Let me explain—’
‘You killed Adam,’ Maggie said. Her voice was dull and expressionless. It was as if the grief of her loss had burned the heart right out of her.
‘I didn’t kill him!’ Maddy said. ‘I wanted to, but I couldn’t. You saw—’
‘Why?’ said Maggie. ‘Did you hate us so much?’
‘No!’ said Maddy desperately. ‘I wanted to save you – to stop all this. Nobody wanted Adam to die …’
Stubbornly Maggie shook her head. ‘Oh yes they did. They wanted him dead because he was a man of the Folk. Because he was in love with me. And because I’m pregnant with his child—’
His child? Oh gods. My sister’s child?
Suddenly Maddy could hardly breathe. She understood now what Perth had meant when he’d said that Maggie was lost to them. Maggie Rede had never been the Whisperer’s primary target. The girl was already too strong, too volatile to serve as a host. But her unborn child – a child of the Fire, with glam passed down from its mother’s side – would be wide open and easy to shape. Its character, as yet unformed, would become that of the Whisperer. And Maggie, of course, would be there to protect her child from any who threatened it – which meant that the Whisperer’s Aspect was safe until its powers were fully grown.
Maddy’s voice grew urgent now. ‘Maggie, you have to listen to me. The Whisperer has possessed your child. It means to use it – and you too – to get back into Asgard.’
But Maggie wasn’t listening. A double fistful of mindrunes flew like razor-blades and peppered the wall around Maddy’s shield. ‘You’re lying!’ she said in a harsh voice. ‘First Adam, and now my baby as well! I wish I’d killed you when I had the chance! I wish I’d killed all the Seer-folk!’
Once more Maddy tried to reason with her sister, but in her heart she knew that she’d already lost. Maggie was working on a rune that would cut through her mindshield. A combination of Úr and Hagall took shape between her fingers.
Behind her, the shadowcloud had reached the walls of the cathedral. Massive, it stood at Maggie’s back, hissing with destructive energy.
‘Get away from the shadow!’ Maddy said. ‘Maggie, whether you trust me or not, don’t go near the shadowcloud!’
Maggie flung the weapon at her. It broke against the mindshield. Wild-eyed, she started again, summoning her strongest glam.
Maddy tried to work out in her mind the distance back to Jormungand. She could make it in thirty seconds, she thought, as long as the mindshield held that long. She cast a version of Aesk, and sent a handful of jagged little runes spinning out like sycamore keys. Their purpose was not to harm, but to confuse, to buy herself a little time. One of them sliced across Maggie’s palm, making her flinch and look away, and in that second, Maddy leaped on Jorgi’s back and spurred him into action. Above them, the arch of the Rainbow Bridge. Below them, a city in chaos.
And at the centre of it all, the light from the Kissing Stone still shone against the Sun Shield, pinning World’s End like an insect, and Maggie Rede hurled runes at the sky and swore vengeance against the Æsir, while in her belly something so small that it barely had a heartbeat smiled and whispered to itself, and dreamed of Worlds to conquer.
PERTH REACHED BIF-ROST just in time to witness the onset of Chaos. Not that he saw very much at first: the bolt that Maggie had thrown at him had struck him squarely in the face, and for most of his flight he had had to rely on Sleipnir to guide him home. His eyes hurt, but as he approached, he found that he was not blind, although it took him some time to understand what it was he was seeing.
The inky cloud had become a wall that towered over the Rainbow Bridge, its dark mass dwarfing the sprawl of World’s End. On one side of the Bridge there was light; the other was nothing but shadow, its furious depths filled with turbulence and roiling with ephemera. It was impressive; even the General, who had witnessed Aspects of Chaos before, had never seen such a concentration over such an enormous area. Ten thousand times as potent as the dreamcloud erupting from Red Horse Hill, this was the raw stuff of all the Worlds, the wellspring of Destruction and Creation, which starts in Chaos and finds its place, sometimes after millions of years, as a natural part of the Order of things.
On the parapet of the Bridge, the gods had begun to mount their defence – Æsir on the right side, Vanir on the other; both sides working frantically to hold back the approach of the cloud. Bragi sang a song of war that scattered musical shrapnel. Njörd set up a sea-wall. Tyr flexed the fingers of his new hand. Hawk-Eyed Heimdall, with his glass, charted the path of the enemy. Thor, with Mjølnir in his hand, swept a deadly arc through the air. Idun stood by with her healing kit; Skadi mounted an ice-shield. In the centre stood Angie, with her wolves on either side – Skól the Devourer to her left, Haiti and Fenris to her right – the Temptress herself in her Hag Aspect: ancient, skeletal and cold.
The shadowcloud was very close now. Thirty feet away, maybe less. A mindbolt flung against it slowed its pace by a second or two; after which it began its approach again, sending out ephemeral tendrils towards the little group of gods. These tendrils could be cut, Perth knew; mindswords and rune-staves would do it – but the shadowcloud was capable of generating so much more, and, including himself, the defenders of Worlds only numbered twenty-one.
Half blinded by Maggie’s mindbolt, Perth reined in Sleipnir on the bright side of the Bridge. Hugin and Munin, in raven form, wheeled and crawk-ed around him. Perth touched his eyes with his hand. The fingers came away red, and now he could feel the clean, shallow cut that ran between his left eyebrow and cheekbone. The eye was swollen shut. It hurt; still, he knew it could have been worse. He tore off a piece of his shirt and made a pad and a bandage to keep it in place. Ethel came to help him; there was no time for celebration now, but her look told him all he needed to know.
He smiled. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Longer for the rest of us.’
Meanwhile Loki, whose contribution to Bif-rost’s defence had been from the safer side of the Bridge, came over to see what was going on. Anyone else might have been reasonably chastened by recent events, but the Trickster was in high spirits, his eyes gleaming maliciously, his scarred lips stretched in a broad grin.
‘Welcome to the party,’ he said. ‘I hope you brought a bottle.’
Perth gave a reluctant smile. The Trickster could be annoying, he thought, but still, it was good to see him again. ‘So how was Hel?’
‘You should know.’ Loki gave him a dark look. ‘Nice Aspect, by the way.’ He jerked his head at the wall of cloud. ‘So, I’m told you have a plan?’
‘Of sorts,’ responded Perth.
‘Of sorts? What the Hel does that mean?’
‘Well, it hasn’t exactly been tested yet.’ Perth shrugged. ‘But as you know, I’m at my best when I’m being creative.’
‘Terrific,’ said Loki. ‘So – when do we start?’
There was a slightly uncomfortable pause. Then Perth said: ‘Well, that’s the thing.’
‘The thing?’ demanded the Trickster.
‘I’m waiting for one more development,’ said Perth, in a casual voice. ‘We have almost everything in place – the Bridge, the building blocks of Dream, the Sun Shield, the runes from the First Stone of Asgard – all we need now is Carnage, Madness and Treachery, and we’ll have ourselves a construction team.’ He gave his broadest, most brilliant smile.
Loki knew that smile of old. He’d seen it too many times before – and in too many unpleasant situations – to believe that it promised anything good. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘If that’s the case – we already have Sleipnir and Epona. So – where’s Jorgi? And Maddy, of course …’
‘They’ll be here any second now.’
‘Really?’ said Loki, peering down over the Bridge’s parapet. ‘Because I don’t know if you’d noticed, but things aren’t looking too good down there.’
Loki was right. The End of the Worlds had finally come to World’s End. One half of the city remained in light; the rest was eclipsed in shadow. The gods had seen that shadow before, three years ago in Netherworld, and they knew that it was only a matter of time before Chaos released its most lethal Aspect of all: that of Surt, the Destroyer, a being that was defined more by absence than presence, but whose shadow was that of a black bird that left only nothingness in its wake.
Death and Dream were part of the Worlds; even Chaos had its place. But in that bird shadow nothing remained, not even Death; just an eternal emptiness beyond imagination or redemption.
Loki didn’t want to imagine it. Loki’s imagination was much happier roaming the islands beyond the One Sea, maybe drinking a cocktail or two and watching pretty girls walk by. But Chaos had already eclipsed more than half of the fallen cathedral, and as far as Loki could tell, they had only minutes before the end.
‘I hate to rush one of your plans—’ he began.
‘Get to your post,’ said the General.
‘But—’
‘Captain, get to your post!’ said Perth, and that was when the shadowcloud began to collapse towards the Bridge like a tidal wave of darkness.
THE FIRST WAVE hit them broadside, rocking the Bridge to its foundations. The Sun Shield trembled, the double arc shook, and a wave of ephemera broke from the cloud like a giant swarm of killer bees. The creatures stung relentlessly, defying the runes of protection; swords and hammers were useless against their poison needles.
Thor gave a roar of fury and flailed with Jolly at the ephemeral cloud; Frey was stung on the ankle and fell, numbness surging through him. Bragi picked up his guitar and picked out a series of quick little notes, sending them spinning into the swarm. The bees converged on the player now, two arms of ephemera pulling him into a deadly embrace; but Bragi’s music played on – sweeter, more melodic now, so that the bees grew drowsy and flagged, dropping away from the Rainbow Bridge as if they had been hit by smoke.
Idun gave pieces of apple to everyone who had been stung. The gods prepared for another assault. Nan Fey stood by with Ethel and Perth to watch for Maddy’s arrival.
Meanwhile Maddy and Jormungand were hurtling towards Bif-rost. The shadowcloud hung over the Bridge, monstrous, inescapable. Distinguishable only by their signatures, which blazed like torches against the night, the gods fought on in Aspect with all the force of their recovered glam. Above their heads the Sun Shield blazed; below them, the column of runelight that rose from the ruined cathedral gathered like wool on a spindle, turning, spinning, reflecting.
It was a strangely moving sight – Æsir and Vanir fighting side by side, just as they had at Ragnarók, and fighting now alongside them were the very beings that had caused their fall: the Fenris Wolf, the World Serpent, the Temptress, the Devourers.
Would it be enough? she thought. Would their allies in Chaos be enough to turn the tide of Dream? Was the promise of a hall in Asgard really enough to buy their loyalty? And if Chaos got the upper hand, could Angie not just turn her coat again and rejoin the enemy?
But Chaos was not forgiving: Loki was proof of that. Chaos has no sentiment, no understanding, no clemency. Its imagination is boundless, its penalties extreme. Chaos offers no second chances; Angrboda knew that. She and her demon brood, like the gods, were in this to the very end.
Maddy kicked against Jorgi’s flanks, urging him towards the Bridge.
The second attack was under way. This time, bees had been replaced by a wave of four-legged predators: wild dogs, ice bears, black wolves of enormous size with jaws that snapped wildly even as their heads were cut off and their bodies sent plummeting down to World’s End.
With great sweeps of his hammer, Thor kept Bif-rost clear of the creatures, while Freyja and Angie, in Carrion form, flew from side to side of the Bridge to beat off the invaders with burning wings and raking claws.
The god of war, however, was suffering from a conflict of personalities. His glamorous arm seemed to have ideas of its own about how to handle a battle, while Sugar-and-Sack’s first instinct had always been to run for cover at the first sign of trouble. He was also finding it difficult to adjust his style to his new height: Sugar’s humble fighting skills had always been tailored to suit his size (which was more or less that of a small dog), and he found it rather daunting now to be in a position to strike for the head, when before he’d been lucky to go for the knees.
Fenris, in wolf form, snarled at him. He and the other two demon wolves had positioned themselves on the Bridge, ready to take Thor’s place if he fell.
‘Some god of war you turned out to be,’ he growled as Sugar’s glamorous arm flailed wildly at an oncoming ice bear.
‘Well, I’m not used to dealin’ with woofs,’ said Sugar, dispatching the creature (mostly by chance) with a sweep of his mindsword.
Fenris sniggered. ‘Dude. Ragnarók?’
Sugar shot him a nervous look. ‘Yeah, kennet. You bit off my arm. But I was someone else then. Now we’re supposed to be allies.’
‘Yeah. Right. Allies,’ said Fenny. ‘As if a little noob like you was ever going to fight with me.’ He paused to bite the heads off three oncoming wolverines – like a dog snapping heads off marigolds.
‘I am not a noob,’ said Sugar. ‘And you got killed at Ragnarók. All the stories say so.’
The demon wolf grinned and showed his teeth. ‘Here’s something the stories didn’t say …’
‘What’s that?’ said Sugar.
‘You were tasty.’
Sugar gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on the fight in hand. He wasn’t at all comfortable with Fenris standing at his back. As far as he was concerned, one demon wolf was much like another, and the fact that they were supposed to be on the same side was hardly reassurance. He didn’t trust Fenris, never had, and he edged away warily, making for the far side of the Bridge, where Loki was hurling fire-runes and holding a running commentary on the battle, to which no one but he was listening.
‘And Thor gets in behind Frey and – Wham! Boom! That’s got to hurt. And Loki scores! This boy’s on fire!’ And Loki did a little dance on the parapet of the Bridge, shooting runes into the air like a spray of fireworks.
‘Calm down, and save your glam,’ Perth advised him. ‘Maddy’s here.’
Loki looked down. ‘About bloody time.’ The second wave was over. The creatures drew back into the cloud to regroup and take another shape. Idun came round with her apples. Skadi, who, fighting in wolf form, had sustained a number of slashes and bites, took two pieces.
With his spyglass, Heimdall was trying to see what might come next. He squinted for several seconds, then levelled his gaze at Loki. ‘This one’s for you,’ he said with a grin.
‘Let me guess,’ said Loki. ‘Snakes.’
Snakes it was – ten thousand of them, heaving and wriggling out of the cloud. Snakes of all colours, poisonous snakes, constrictors, serpents as big as a dozen men. They slithered onto the Rainbow Bridge with an unspeakable papery sound, heads raised, fangs bared …
‘Hold them!’ said Perth. ‘Hold them back!’
Loki shifted to his Wildfire Aspect. The smell of burning snakes rose from the parapet of the Bridge. Perth smiled. Loki could be trouble, he thought, but he always came through in a crisis. He turned to Maddy, who had just arrived with Jormungand at the far side of the Bridge. In Aspect, she looked ready to face anything.
Nan took Jormungand’s bridle.
Maddy stared at her. ‘Crazy Nan?’
‘Long story,’ said Perth. ‘No time for that now. Nan and I need your help.’
‘Of course!’ said Maddy, drawing her mindsword.
Perth shook his head. ‘Not that. The others can handle the shadowcloud.
What we have to do – and fast – is build.’
‘Build?’ said Maddy. ‘What with?’
RIGHT AT THE start of the Elder Age, when Odin – and the Worlds – were young, the stuff of Creation was always Dream. Dream in its purest, sweetest form, channelled through a single mind. But Dream, like all rivers, is a fragile ecosystem, subject to contamination and pollution. Over the centuries Dream had become a place of diverse influences – some healthy, some lethal – as Faërie and Folk and demons and gods all dipped into its lavish flow. Now it was a toxic mess, as likely to kill as to restore. And yet it retained a crude energy that, when harnessed and refined, might yet have the power to heal the Worlds.
Crazy Nan had already seen some of that power on Red Horse Hill. There, the rift in Dream had been small compared with what assailed them now; just as the imaginations of the Folk were small compared with those of the gods. If Nan could use the rift in the Hill and the dreams of the Folk to build Bif-rost, then surely, with the Sun Shield’s help, from the dreams of gods and from the almost infinite resources of the shadowcloud, a new Sky Citadel might arise …
At least, this was what Perth believed. There was only one way of testing it.
‘It’s not so much a plan,’ he explained, ‘as a work in progress.’
Behind them, Æsir and Vanir fought to hold back a living wall of snakes. Maddy tried to ignore them, but the sound was inescapable – a hideous slithering, crackling sound – and there was a stench of burning and venom. Of course, she was used to Jormungand, who seemed oafishly disinterested in what was going on, except when stray ephemera ventured his way, at which point he simply opened his jaws and swallowed the intruder. It didn’t surprise Maddy at all that Jorgi was a cannibal. In fact, she would have been surprised if he wasn’t. Jorgi’s appetites seemed to run equally to gods, ephemera and seafood.
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