Runemarks

by Joanne Harris

  “Is this another prophecy?” Maddy interrupted.

  “No. It’s a prediction,” the Whisperer said.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Predictions can be wrong. Prophecies can’t.”

  “So you don’t actually know what’s going to happen, either?” said Maddy.

  “Not exactly. But I’m a good guesser.”

  Maddy bit a fingernail. “I see an army poised for battle. I see a general standing alone. I see a traitor at the gate. I see a sacrifice.” She turned to the Whisperer. “Is that me?” she said. “Am I supposed to be the sacrifice? And is One-Eye the traitor?”

  “Couldn’t say,” smirked the Whisperer.

  “The dead will awake from the halls of Hel. And the Nameless shall rise and Nine Worlds be lost, unless the Seven Sleepers wake and the Thunderer be freed from Netherworld—freed from Netherworld?” Maddy said. “Is that even possible?”

  Within the Whisperer’s glassy shell, fragments of runelight sparkled and spun.

  “I said, is it possible?” repeated Maddy. “To free my father from Netherworld?”

  Loki had thought her childish and irrational. In fact, ever since she had heard the tale of his escape from Netherworld, Maddy had been thinking very clearly indeed. She had gambled on his willingness to help—not because she trusted in Loki’s better nature, but because she expected him to lie. She was sure he had no intention of allowing her to throw the Whisperer back into the fire pit, but the task of retrieving it from the Hall of Sleepers was a two-man job, and rather than let it fall into the hands of the Vanir, she was sure that Loki would be ready to humor her—at least until they reached World Below, where he would deliver Maddy and the Whisperer safely into Odin’s hands. For a price, of course.

  Well, two could play at that game.

  On her way from the Hall of Sleepers, Maddy had been doing some serious thinking. Part of her wanted to run to One-Eye with her questions, as she had always done as a child—but the Whisperer’s prophecy had made her wary, not least because, if she read it correctly, One-Eye’s defeat could lead to the end of the Worlds.

  She wished she’d never heard of the Whisperer. But now that she had, there was no going back. And although it was a poor substitute for her old friend’s counsel, at least a prophecy could not lie.

  She knew what One-Eye would think of her plan, and it hurt her to deceive him, but there was nothing she could do. I’d be saving him from himself, she thought. I’d be saving the Worlds.

  Maddy gave up on waiting for the Whisperer’s answer. “Just as long as Loki agrees to help…”

  “Don’t worry about that,” said the Whisperer. “I can persuade him. I’m very persuasive.”

  Maddy gave it a long look. “Last time I knew, you wanted him dead.”

  “Even the dead have their uses,” it said.

  It was half an hour later that Loki arrived, footsore and dusty in Crazy Nan’s dress.

  “Oh, look,” said the Whisperer in its nastiest voice. “Dogstar’s taken to wearing a dress. What next, eh? Tiara and pearls?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny,” said Loki, untying the shawl that covered his head. “Sorry I’m late,” he said to Maddy. “I had to walk.”

  “Never mind that now,” said Maddy. “What matters is that we have the Whisperer.”

  The Trickster looked at her curiously. He thought she looked flushed, with excitement or fear, and there was something in her colors, some brightening, that made him feel uneasy.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “We’ve been talking,” said Maddy.

  Loki looked uncomfortable. “What about?”

  “I have an idea,” she told him.

  And then she began to outline her plan, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, while beside her Loki’s face went paler and paler and the Whisperer glowed like a clutch of fireflies and smiled as if it might explode.

  “Netherworld?” he said at last. “You want me to go to Netherworld?”

  “You heard what the Oracle said!”

  “Poetic license,” snapped Loki. “Oracles love that kind of thing.”

  “A general will stand alone, it said. The Nameless shall rise. Nine Worlds will be lost. War, Loki. A terrible war. And the only way of stopping it is to free my father from Netherworld. You promised you’d help—”

  “I said I’d help you recover the Whisperer,” said Loki. “I never said anything about saving the Worlds. I mean, what’s so wrong with a war, anyway?”

  Maddy thought of the Strond Valley, and the fields and houses scattered all the way from Malbry village to Forge’s Post, and all the little roads and hedges, and the smell of burning stubble in the fall. She thought of Crazy Nan in her rocking chair, and of market day on the village green, and of Jed Smith, who had done his best, and of all the soft, harmless people of the valley with their little lives and their silly conviction that they were at the center of the Worlds.

  And for the first time in her life Maddy Smith understood. The lectures, the bullying, the signs forked in secret behind her back. The hundred small cruelties that had sent her running for Little Bear Wood more times than she could remember. She’d thought they hated her because she was different, but now she knew better. They’d been afraid. Afraid of the cuckoo in their nest, afraid that one day it would grow and bring Chaos upon their little world.

  And she had, Maddy thought. She’d started this. Without her, the Sleepers would not have awakened, the Whisperer would still be safe in the pit, and the war might be fifty years away, or a hundred years, or even more…

  She turned to Loki. “It can be done. You said so yourself.”

  Loki gave a sharp laugh. “You’ve got no idea what you’re suggesting. You’ve never even so much as set foot outside your valley before, and now you’re planning to storm the Black Fortress. Bit of a leap, don’t you think?”

  “You’re afraid,” said Maddy, and Loki gave another crack of laughter.

  “Afraid?” he said. “Of course I’m afraid. Being afraid is what I’m good at. Being afraid is why I’m still here. And speaking of being afraid”—he glanced at the Whisperer—“have you any idea what the General would do to me if—No, don’t answer that,” he said. “I’d rather not know. Suffice it to say that we both go and see him now, give him the damn thing, let him negotiate with the Vanir, yadda yadda yadda…”

  “When Odin and Wise Mimir meet, Chaos will come to the Nine Worlds.” That was the Whisperer, speaking almost idly, but with its colors flaring like dragonfire.

  Loki turned. “What did you say?”

  “I speak as I must and cannot be silent.”

  “Oh no.” Loki held up his hands. “Don’t even think of making a prophecy right now. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know.”

  But the Whisperer was speaking again. Its voice was not loud, but it commanded attention, and both of them listened, Maddy in bewilderment and Loki in growing disbelief and horror.

  “I see an Ash at the open gate,” said the Whisperer. “Lightning-struck but green in shoot. I see a meeting at Nether’s edge, of the wise and the not so wise. I see a death ship on the shores of Hel, and Bór’s son with his dog at his feet—”

  “Oh, gods,” said Loki. “Please don’t say anymore.”

  “I speak as I must and cannot be—”

  “You were silent enough for five hundred years,” protested Loki, who had gone even paler than before. “Why break the habit now?”

  “Hang on,” said Maddy. “Bór’s son—that’s one of Odin’s names.”

  Loki nodded, looking sick.

  “And the dog?”

  Loki swallowed painfully. Even his colors had turned pale, shot through with silvery threads of fear. “Forget it,” he said in a tight voice.

  Maddy turned to the Whisperer. “Well?” she said. “What does it mean?”

  The Oracle glowed in the pattern she had come to recognize as amusement. “All I do is prophesy,” it said
sweetly. “I leave the interpretation to others.”

  Maddy frowned. “The Ash. I suppose that’s me. The green shoot from the lightning tree. The wise—surely that’s the Whisperer. Bór’s son on a death ship—with his dog at his feet…” Her eyes came to rest on Loki’s face. “Ah,” she said. “Dogstar. I see.”

  Loki sighed. “So it means I die. Do you have to repeat it?”

  “Well, it doesn’t necessarily mean you die—”

  “Oh, really?” snapped Loki. “Me, on Hel’s shore? What else do you think I’d be doing there?” He began to pace, tucking his skirts into his waistband, his shawl flying. “Why couldn’t you have told me all this before?” he demanded of the Whisperer.

  The Oracle smirked and said nothing.

  Loki put his face in his hands.

  “Come on,” said Maddy. “You’re not dead yet. In fact—” She stopped for a moment, her face brightening. “Let me get this right,” she said. “According to the Whisperer, if Odin dies, then you do too.”

  Loki made a muffled sound of despair.

  “And when Odin and Mimir meet, then Chaos will come—Odin will fall…”

  Loki’s eyes turned to hers.

  “Unless we free Thor from Netherworld—in which case the war won’t happen at all, the General won’t die, the Nine Worlds will be saved, and my father…”

  There was a long silence, during which Loki stared, transfixed, at Maddy, Maddy’s heart raced even faster, and the Whisperer shone like a chunk of star.

  “So you see,” she said, “you have to come. You know the way into Netherworld. The Whisperer said it could be done—and if we keep hold of the Whisperer, then Odin won’t meet it, and there won’t be a war, and—”

  “Listen, Maddy,” interrupted Loki. “Much as I’d love to save the Nine Worlds while committing suicide, I have a much simpler plan. The Oracle saw me dead in Hel. Right? So as long as I stay away from Hel—”

  He broke off suddenly, aware of a small but vicious stabbing pain just above his left eyebrow. For a second he thought something had stung him. Then he felt the Whisperer’s presence, like a sharp object raking his mind. He took a step back and almost fell.

  Ouch, that hurts!

  He sensed it catching his thoughts like a fingernail snagging silk. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but when Loki tried to close his mind to it, a second lance of pain, more acute this time, slammed through his head.

  “What’s wrong?” said Maddy, seeing him falter.

  But Loki was in no position just then to explain. Eyes closed, he took another drunken step. Below him the Whisperer sparkled with glee.

  What do you want? Loki said silently.

  Your attention, Dogstar. And your word.

  “My word?”

  In silence, if you value your life.

  With an effort, Loki nodded.

  I know what you’re thinking, said the voice in his mind. You are afraid, because I can read your thoughts. You are surprised at how my powers have grown.

  Loki said nothing but gritted his teeth.

  And you are wondering whether I mean to punish you.

  Still Loki said nothing.

  I ought to, said the Whisperer. But I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself.

  Redeem myself? said Loki, surprised. Since when did you care about saving my soul?

  In his mind he felt the Whisperer’s amusement. It’s not your soul I care about. Nevertheless, you will do as I say. Go with the girl to Netherworld. Take me with you as far as Hel. Free the gods—avert the war—

  And why would you want to go to Hel? What’s your plan, you old fraud?

  A last, tremendous bolt of pain went rocketing through Loki’s head. He fell to his knees, unable to cry out, as the voice in his mind delivered its warning.

  No questions, it said. Just do as I say.

  And then the alien presence was gone, leaving him shaking and breathless. Once more he wondered at how much stronger it had grown; his struggle to contain the thing, centuries earlier, had lasted for days, exhausting them both and causing devastation in World Below, but today it had brought him to his knees in seconds.

  Now it shone with a warning gleam, and Loki heard its whispering voice, faint but commanding at the back of his mind.

  No trickery. Do I have your word?

  All right. He opened his eyes and took slow, deep breaths.

  “What happened?” said Maddy, looking concerned.

  Loki shrugged. “I fell,” he said. “Bloody skirts.” And with those words he picked himself up and turned the full force of his scarred smile on Maddy. “Now,” he said. “Are we going to Netherworld or not?”

  6

  It was a most unholy alliance. On the one side the Huntress, royally clad in Ethelberta’s blue velvet; on the other, the parson, with his golden key. It was two in the morning when they repaired to the parsonage and, to Ethel’s bewilderment and displeasure, went immediately to Nat’s study and locked themselves in.

  There, Nat told the Huntress all he knew—about Maddy Smith, the one-eyed Journeyman who had been her friend, and most especially about the Order and its works—and he read to her from the Good Book and recited some of the canticles in the lesser of the Closed Chapters.

  Skadi watched and listened with cold amusement to the little man’s efforts to master the glamour that he called the Word. As the hours passed, however, she began to grow curious. He was clumsy and untrained, but he had a spark, a power she did not quite understand. She could see it in his colors: it was almost as if there were two light-signatures there instead of one, a normal signature of an undistinguished brown and a brighter thread that ran through it, as a silver skein may be woven into a cheaper silk. Somehow, it seemed, Nat Parson, for all his conceit and self-indulgence, had powers that might be of value to her—or might threaten her, if allowed to grow untrained.

  “Now light it.” They were sitting at Nat’s desk, an unlit taper in a candlestick between them. Kaen, the fire rune, gleamed, a little crookedly, between the parson’s fingers.

  “You’re not concentrating,” said Skadi impatiently. “Hold it steady, focus your thoughts, say the cantrip, and light the taper.”

  For several seconds Nat frowned at the candlestick. “It doesn’t work,” he complained at last. “I can’t work these heathen cantrips. Why can’t I just use the Word?”

  “The Word?” In spite of herself, Skadi laughed. “Listen, fellow,” she said as patiently as she could. “Do you use an oliphant to plow your garden? Would you burn a forest to light your pipe?”

  Nat shrugged. “I want to get to the things that matter. I’m not interested in learning tricks.”

  Once more Skadi laughed. You had to give it to the man, she thought—at least his ambitions were vast, if his intelligence wasn’t. She had entered their pact with the intention of humoring him for just as long as it took to gain the secrets of the Order, but now her curiosity had been aroused. Perhaps he could be useful after all.

  “Tricks?” she said. “These tricks, as you call them, are your apprenticeship. Despise them, and our alliance is over. Now stop complaining and light the taper.”

  Nat made a sound of disgust. “I can’t,” he muttered angrily, and at that very moment, with an angry whoosh! the taper leaped into violent flame, scattering papers, bowling over the candlestick, and sending a jet of fire so high toward the ceiling that it left a black soot stain on the plasterwork.

  Skadi raised a dispassionate eyebrow. “You lack control,” she said. “Again.”

  But Nat was looking at the blackened taper with an expression of wild exhilaration. “I did it,” he said.

  “Poorly,” said the Huntress.

  “But did you feel it?” said Nat. “That power—” He paused abruptly, bringing one hand to his temple as if he had a headache. “That power,” he repeated, but vaguely, as if his mind were on something else.

  “Again, please,” said Skadi coolly. “And this time try to exercise a little restraint.�
�� She righted the candlestick—which was still hot—and placed a fresh taper on the spike.

  Nat Parson smiled almost absently. The rune Kaen, less crooked this time, began to take shape between his fingers.

  “Steady,” said the Huntress. “Give yourself time.” Kaen was burning brightly now, a nugget of fire in the parson’s hand. “That’s too much,” said Skadi. “Bring it right down.”

  But either Nat didn’t hear her or he didn’t care, for Kaen brightened once again, now glowing so intensely that Skadi could feel it, like a lump of molten glass radiating fierce heat.

  Nat’s eyes were pinpoints of eager fire; before him on the desk, scattered papers began to curl and crisp. The candle itself, standing unmarked in its holder before him, began to drool and melt as the heat increased.

  “Stop it,” said Skadi. “You’ll burn yourself.”

  Nat Parson only smiled.

  Now Skadi was beginning to feel unaccountably nervous. Kaen across the desk from her was the shrunken heart of a furnace; its yellow had veered to an eerie blue-white.

  “Stop it,” she said.

  Still there was no reply from Nat Parson. Skadi cast Isa with her fingers, meaning to freeze out the fire rune before it could escape and cause damage.

  Then Nat looked at her. Across the desk of charring papers, blue Isa and fiery Kaen faced each other in a deadlock, and once again Skadi felt that sense of peculiar, nagging unease.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought. The fellow had no training, no glam—so where was he getting this influx of power?

  In her hand Isa was beginning to fail. She cast it again, harder this time, putting the force of her own glam behind it.

  On Nat’s face the smile broadened; his eyes closed like those of a man in the throes of delight. Skadi pushed harder—

  And suddenly it was over; so quickly that she had difficulty believing it had ever been. Kaen broke apart, frozen by Isa, and a dozen fragments snickered into the far wall, leaving tiny flecks of cinder embedded in the plasterwork. Nat goggled at these with a bewilderment that might have been comic in any other circumstance, and Skadi let out a sigh of relief—which was absurd, as surely she could not have expected any other outcome.