Runemarks

by Joanne Harris

  Perhaps he was used to the heat, she thought. A glassblower’s prentice has to spend long hours working the ovens, fanning and stoking the fires for the melted glass. Besides, he was unusually resourceful—for a prentice—and he had had time to get used to the unpleasant conditions.

  Still, now that she came to think of it, Maddy realized that although Lucky knew a great deal about her, she still knew almost nothing about him. What was he doing under the Hill? From what he had told her, he had been gone for two weeks or more—a serious breach of his contract of apprenticeship, for which he would be punished when he returned. Why would a glassblower’s prentice come here? More importantly, how had a glassblower’s prentice managed to break into World Below in the first place?

  A few feet away, Lucky slept, a picture of innocence. Maddy could not believe she hadn’t at least questioned him, hadn’t even thought of doing so until now. There had been so much else to do—and besides, Lucky had no magic, no glam. Bjarkán confirmed it—he left no trail.

  But now even that made Maddy uneasy. She tried to recall exactly what she had seen as Lucky came back over the rocks with his fishing net. Surely there should have been something, she thought—his colors, at least. Lucky was young and strong and smart; he should have left a good, bright signature behind him. But even with Bjarkán, there had been no colors. Not a gleam, not a glimmer.

  Could he have hidden them somehow?

  The thought was too alarming. It suggested—

  Sitting up sharply, she raised her hand and cast Bjarkán for the second time, and this time she concentrated as hard as she could, looking into the runeshape for anything—anything—out of the ordinary.

  The glassblower’s prentice slept on, one hand clenched at his side, the other flung out against the rock. Now she could see his signature, a bright and exuberant violet, glowing fitfully as he slept.

  Maddy gave a sigh of relief. Just nerves, that’s all it was; nerves and her own fears, making her jump at shadows. She lowered her gaze…

  And then she saw it in his left hand, where, sleeping, he must have relaxed his guard. A trio of runes, like thin trails of colored fire scrawled across his palm: ýr, the Protector, crossed with Bjarkán and Ós, a complex charm to shield him as he slept.

  So much for his innocence, Maddy thought. Gods knew who this Lucky was or why he had lied, but one thing about her new friend was clear. He was no prentice after all.

  He was a Fury, just like her.

  Most runes can be neutralized, either by reversal or by casting another to combat their effect. Maddy judged that T ýr might break through Lucky’s defense, revealing whatever he was hiding. Of course, it did depend to some extent on the strength of his glam, but Maddy had the advantage, and surely now his resistance must be at its lowest.

  Taking care not to disturb the sleeper, she stood up and silently cast the rune. Then, with a sudden push, she set it to work.

  His charm flickered but did not fail.

  Maddy gave another push and at the same time cast Bjarkán. The runes vanished, and Maddy was left looking into a face she had seen once before and which, now that she saw it in its true colors, seemed unexpectedly familiar.

  His Aspect had not been greatly altered. He had much the same coloring and build, although he was a little taller. But he was older than he had first seemed, and even in sleep, there was less innocence in his features, more guile. There were marks too, which had not been there earlier: a runemark—

  —Kaen, reversed, on his bare arm—and now she saw that his mouth was crisscrossed with fine, pale scars, too regular to be accidental.

  Maddy dropped her hand to her side. Too late now she understood everything, too late she remembered what Sugar had said, too late remembered One-Eye’s words.

  A…friend, he had told her, turned traitor in the Winter War. I thought he was dead, and maybe he is, but his kind have nine lives, and he always was—

  “Lucky,” whispered Maddy, turning pale.

  “That’s right,” said Lucky, opening his fiery eyes. “But you can call me Captain.”

  6

  He moved fast—very fast for a man just waking from a deep sleep. But to Maddy’s surprise, he did not attempt to strike at her, but simply leaped toward the mouth of the cave, so that the mindbolt she flung at him smashed against the wall, dislodging a shower of rock fragments as it did so.

  She raised her hand again, moving to the cave entrance to block his escape. This time Lucky did not attempt to run but, with a curious rapid flick of his fingers, summoned the rune Kaen and cast it—not at Maddy, but at himself—and vanished, or so she thought, leaving only a thin gunpowder trail of fire where he had been standing, a trail that now moved swiftly toward the cave mouth.

  The violet signature went with it, and in that instant Maddy summoned Logr—Water—and shot it at the fire trail, stopping it short and charging the air with thick steam.

  In a second Lucky was back, soaking wet and gasping.

  Logr trembled once more at Maddy’s fingertips, ready to strike. Slowly, hands raised, Lucky got up.

  “Try that again and I’ll kill you,” she said.

  “Hold it, Maddy; I thought we were friends.”

  “No friend of mine,” said Maddy. “You lied.”

  Lucky pulled a face. “Well, of course I lied. What did you expect? You creep up on me, you whack me in the face with something that feels like a combination sledgehammer and lightning bolt, you interrogate me, and then—then you just happen to mention that you’re big friends with One-Eye, of all people…”

  “So I was right,” she said. “Who are you?”

  He had dropped his disguise, standing before her in his true Aspect. Once again Maddy thought he looked familiar, although she was sure she had never met him before. In a story, perhaps, or a picture from One-Eye’s books. But she knew him, she was sure of it; she knew those eyes.

  “Listen. I know you don’t trust me. But there are a lot of things One-Eye hasn’t told you. Things I can help you with.”

  “Who are you?” she demanded again.

  “A friend.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Maddy. “You’re the one I was warned about. The thief. The one who’s after the Whisperer.”

  “Thief?” He laughed. “Maddy, I have as much right to the Whisperer as anyone else—more right than some, as a matter of fact.”

  “Then why did you lie to me?”

  “Ask yourself rather—why did he lie to you?”

  “This isn’t about One-Eye,” she said.

  “Isn’t it?” Lucky’s gaze was difficult to hold; his voice low and oddly persuasive. “He knew I’d be here,” he said. “Ask yourself why. And as for the Whisperer—you’ve still no idea what it is, have you?”

  Slowly Maddy shook her head.

  “Or what it does?”

  Again she shook her head.

  Lucky laughed. It was a light and pleasant sound, instantly likeable, irresistibly contagious. Maddy found herself grinning back before she realized the trick. She was being charmed.

  “Stop that,” she said sharply, casting ýr with her fingers.

  Lucky looked unrepentant. Even behind the protection rune there was something in his smile that invited a response.

  “I know you,” she said slowly. “And One-Eye knows you too.”

  Lucky nodded. “Told you I was a traitor, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that I turned my coat when the war turned against him?”

  Again Maddy nodded.

  Oh, there was definitely something familiar about him, something she knew she ought to remember. She struggled with the thought, but Lucky was still speaking, his voice soft and compelling.

  “All right,” he said. “Just listen to this. It’s something I’ll bet old One-Eye hasn’t told you.” Now his grin was hard and metallic, and in the dark his eyes gleamed fire green and subtle. “Get this, Maddy,” he said. “We’re brothers.”

  Maddy’s eye
s grew very wide.

  “Brothers in blood, sworn to each other. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “And yet he was willing to break his oath—betray his brother—for the sake of his cause, his war, his power. What kind of loyalty is that, do you think? And do you really think a man who can sacrifice his brother would think twice about sacrificing you?”

  Now Maddy felt as if she were drowning. The words flowed over her and she found herself drawn in, helpless. But even as she struggled against the charm, there came once more that little sting of recognition, the feeling that if only she could remember why she knew him, then everything else would fall into place.

  Think, Maddy, think.

  Once more she drew the protective charm. ýr lit at her fingertips, dimming the persuasive glamour of Kaen.

  Think, Maddy. Think.

  That voice. Those eyes. The silvery crisscross of scars over his lips, as if long ago, someone, armed with something very sharp…

  And now at last it came to her: the old tale of how the Trickster had challenged the Tunnel Folk—the master forgers, Ivaldi’s sons—to a test of skill and had wagered his head in return for their treasures and lost. But even as they made to cut it off, he had cried, The head is yours, but not the neck!—and so, outwitting them, escaped with the prize.

  At that, the dwarves, enraged at the deception and bent on revenge, had sewn up Loki’s mouth, and from that day forth his smile had been as crooked as his thoughts.

  Loki. The Trickster. How could she have missed it? She knew him so well by reputation, had seen his face in a dozen books. One-Eye had given her what warning he could; even Sugar had called him Crookmouth. And the biggest clue was right there on his arm.

  Kaen. The fire rune. Reversed.

  “I know you,” said Maddy. “You’re—”

  “What’s a name?” Loki grinned. “Wear it like a coat; turn it, burn it, throw it aside, and borrow another. One-Eye knows; you should ask him.”

  “But Loki died,” she said, shaking her head. “He died on the field at Ragnarók.”

  “Not quite.” He pulled a face. “You know, there’s rather a lot the Oracle didn’t foretell, and old tales have a habit of getting twisted.”

  “But in any case, that was centuries ago,” said Maddy, bewildered. “I mean—that was the End of the World, wasn’t it?”

  “So?” said Loki impatiently. “It isn’t the first time the world has come to an end, and it won’t be the last, either. Thor’s beard, Maddy, didn’t One-Eye teach you anything?”

  “But that would make you—” said Maddy, perplexed. “I mean, the Seer-folk—the Æsir, I mean, weren’t they—the gods?”

  Loki waved his hand dismissively. “Gods? Don’t let that impress you. Anyone can be a god if they have enough worshipers. You don’t even have to have powers anymore. In my time I’ve seen theater gods, gladiator gods, even storyteller gods, Maddy—you people see gods everywhere. Gives you an excuse for not thinking for yourselves.”

  “But I thought—”

  “God’s just a word, Maddy. Like Fury. Like demon. Just words people use for things they don’t understand. Reverse it and you get dog. It’s just as appropriate.”

  “What about One-Eye?” said Maddy, frowning. “If he’s your brother”—her mouth dropped as she remembered yet another of those old stories—“then that would make him—”

  “That’s right,” said Loki with his crooked smile. “The Allfather. The General. Old Odin himself.”

  1

  Ragnarók. The End of the World. According to Nat Parson, it had been a great Cleansing by the Nameless, a single, titanic attempt to rid Creation of evil and to bring Perfect Order to the Worlds, with fire and ice and Tribulation.

  Only Noar’s line survived, or so the Good Book said, and the survivors—the demons and heretics that cheated Death—were flung into Netherworld to await the End of Everything.

  One-Eye, on the other hand, had told her of the Prophecy of the Oracle and of the last great battle of the Elder Age: of how Surt the Destroyer had joined with Chaos and marched against the gods in Asgard, while the armies of the dead, in their fleet of coffin ships, sailed against them from the Underworld.

  On that final plain the gods had fallen, fathoms deep in glamours and blood: Odin, the last general, swallowed by the Fenris Wolf; Thor the Thunderer, poisoned by the World Serpent; T ýr the One-Armed; Heimdall of the Golden Teeth; Frey the Reaper; Loki…

  “But if they were the gods,” Maddy had said, “then how could they fall? How could they die?”

  One-Eye had shrugged. “Everything dies.”

  But here was Loki telling her a different story: of how the fallen gods had not been destroyed, but had remained—weakened, broken, lost to themselves—waiting to return even as Chaos swept over the Nine Worlds, taking everything in its wake.

  Years had passed; a new Order had come. Its temples were built on the ruins of springs and barrows and standing stones that once were sacred to an older faith. Even the stories were outlawed—There’s nobbut a thread ’tween forgotten and dead, as Crazy Nan used to say—and at last the march of the Order had trampled the old ways into near oblivion.

  “Still, nothing lasts forever,” said Loki cheerfully. “Times change, and nations come and go, and the world has its revolutions, just as the sea has its tides.”

  “That’s what One-Eye says.”

  “A sea without tides will go stagnant,” said Loki, “just as a world that stops changing will stiffen and die. Even Order needs a little Chaos—Odin knew that when he first took me in and swore brotherhood between us. The others didn’t understand. They were out to get me from the start.

  “Chaos was in my blood, they said—but they were happy enough to use my talents when it suited them. They despised deceit, hated lies, but were content to enjoy the fruits of them.”

  Maddy nodded. She knew what he meant. To be an outsider—a bad-blood—always blamed and never thanked. Oh yes. She understood that very well.

  “When Odin took me in,” Loki went on, “he knew exactly what I was. Wildfire that cannot be tamed. So what if I slipped my leash a couple of times? I saved their skins more often than any of them knew. No one was grateful. And in the end”—once more Loki gave his crooked but oddly charming smile—“in the end, who betrayed whom? Was it my fault that I got out of hand? All I ever did was follow my nature. But accidents happen. Something went wrong. High spirits, perhaps; a little understandable friction at a difficult time. And all of a sudden, old friends didn’t seem quite so friendly anymore, and I began to think it might be good to remove myself until the dust had settled. But they came after me and meted out their clumsy vengeance. I imagine you’ve heard the story.”

  “Sort of,” said Maddy, who had heard a somewhat different version. “But I rather thought—I mean, I heard you’d killed Balder the Fair.”

  “I never did,” snapped Loki crossly. “Well, no one ever proved I did. What happened to the presumption of innocence? Besides, he was supposed to be invulnerable. Was it my fault that he wasn’t?” Now his face darkened again, and his eyes took on a malevolent gleam. “Odin could have stopped them,” he said. “He was the General; they would have listened to him. But he was weak. He could see the end coming, and he needed all his people on his side. And so he turned a blind eye—’scuse the pun—and delivered me into the hands of my enemies.”

  Maddy nodded. She knew the tale—some part of it, anyway: how the Æsir had left him chained to a rock; how Skadi the Huntress, who’d always hated him, had hung a snake to drip venom into his face; how their luck had been bad from that day until the End of the World; and finally, how Loki had broken free on the eve of the battle to play his part in the destruction that followed.

  Clearly he had no regrets. He said as much as he told Maddy of the last stand of the Æsir; of the battle One-Eye called Ragnarók.

  “Perhaps I could have saved them if they’d stood by me at the end. W
ho knows, I might even have turned the battle around. But they’d made their choice. He’d made his choice. And so the world ended, and here we are, the dregs of us, hiding in caves or peddling cantrips, trying to figure out what went wrong.”

  Maddy nodded again. One-Eye’s voice inside her head warned her that this was Loki—Loki—and that whatever else, she must not be charmed, flattered, or deceived into dropping her guard. She remembered One-Eye telling her that charm comes easily to the children of Chaos and determined to take nothing of what he told her at face value.

  But Loki’s tale was dangerously plausible. It explained so many things that One-Eye had refused to tell, although some of it was still hard to digest, and his talk of the gods as if they were human beings—vulnerable, fallible, besieged—was especially difficult to accept. She had grown up with stories of the Seer-folk, had learned to think of them as friends, had dreamed of them in her secret heart, but even in her wildest imaginings had never thought to meet one someday, to talk to one as an equal, to touch a being who had lived in Asgard and have him stand in front of her, with a very human-looking welt across the bridge of his nose—a welt that her own mindbolt had caused…

  “So…are you…immortal?” she said at last.

  “Nothing’s immortal,” he said, shaking his head. “Some things last longer than others, that’s all. And everything has to change to survive. Why d’you think I carry my glam reversed? Or that Odin does, for that matter?”

  Maddy glanced at the runemark on his arm. Kaen—Wildfire—still gleamed there, violet against his pale skin. A powerful sign, even reversed, and Maddy had used it often enough herself to know that she must respect and mistrust its bearer.

  “So how was your glam reversed?”

  “Very painfully,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Maddy. There was a pause. “Well, what about the Fieries? Fieries, Furies, whatever they are…”

  “Well, we’re all Furies now,” he said with a shrug. “Like anything that’s been touched with the Fire. Demons, as your parson might say. Of course, I always was—comes of being a child of Chaos—but it can’t be easy for the General, who was always so set on Law and Order.” He grinned. “Must be hard for him to accept that—to the new gods, at least, to the Order—he’s the enemy now.”