Runemarks (13 page)

5

As far as anyone knew, the passages that ran beneath Red Horse Hill had never once been mapped or counted. Even the Captain didn’t know them all, for although he had used the place for centuries as a bolt-hole and rallying place for goblins, he was not the architect of the Hill, nor the custodian of all its secrets.

Rumor had it that if you went deep enough, you could follow the Strond right down into Netherworld and the Black Fortress, which straddled the river Dream, but no one knew that for sure—except possibly the Captain, and any goblin foolish enough to ask
him
for particulars deserved everything he got.

Sugar-and-Sack was no fool. But he was curious—perhaps more curious than was altogether safe—and he had seen a number of peculiar things, which he longed to try and investigate. It had begun with that girl who knew his true name and her descent into regions where no goblin ventured but into which the Captain sometimes disappeared, returning in a foul temper and reeking of smoke.

Next had come the developments in World Above. In usual circumstances Sugar would have taken little interest in these. Goblins don’t like trouble, unless they are causing it themselves, and the frequent comings and goings on Red Horse Hill—the posses and the parson stirring up the neighborhood—would normally have kept him safely underground.

But this time he sensed that there was something more afoot than the usual tension between Folk and Faërie. There had been rumors—and a horseman, riding hard on a laden steed, galloping back to the Hindarfell. There was a scent too, like incense and burned stubble, and half an hour ago the Captain had returned from one of his forays with a rag around his head and a nasty gleam in his eye, had put his guard on full alert, and had shut himself up in his private quarters, snapping at any goblin who came close.

Sugar knew better than to get in his way. He had done what he always did in similar circumstances: had settled himself in an out-of-the-way place and prepared to acquaint himself with a plum cake, a ripe cheese, and a small barrel of mule-kick brandy that he had stashed there several weeks before. He was just getting comfortable when the sound of voices reached him—and one of them, he knew at once, was Maddy’s.

His duty was plain—to stop the girl. Those were his orders, clear as kennet, orders from the Captain himself—and the Captain had a way of making himself very unpleasant if his orders were not obeyed.

On the other hand, he told himself, anyone who could make Loki nervous would be more than a match for Sugar-and-Sack. The better part of valor, in this case, would be to lie low and finish the brandy.

It was a good plan, and it would have worked just fine, thought Sugar later, if it hadn’t been for his dratted curiosity. The same that had led him to the girl in the first place. And now it got the better of him once again as he crept along in the shadows, trying to hear what the voices were saying.

An argument seemed to be in progress.

It had not taken long for Maddy to discover that the Whisperer was not at all grateful for its release. In the hours after their escape from the cavern, following her own back-trail and carrying the object in a sling made from her jacket, she had many opportunities to curse herself for having succeeded so well.

One-Eye had been right, she thought. The Whisperer looked and felt just like a lump of rock. A chunk of some glassy volcanic stuff—obsidian, perhaps, or some kind of quartz—but looking closer, she could see its face: a craggy nose, a downturned mouth, eyes that gleamed with mean intelligence.

And as for its personality…It was like dealing with a bad-tempered old man. Nothing pleased it. Not their pace, which was too slow, but which became uncomfortable when Maddy speeded up, nor Maddy’s conversation, nor her silence, and especially not the fact that they were going to join One-Eye.

“That war crow?” said the Whisperer. “He doesn’t own me, never did. Thinks he’s still the General. Thinks he can just start giving orders again.”

Maddy, who by now had heard this several times before, said nothing. Instead she tried to concentrate on the path, which was rocky and filled with holes.

“Arrogant as ever. Who does he think he is, eh? Allfather my—”

“I suppose you’d rather I’d left you in the fire pit,” said Maddy under her breath.

“What? Speak up!”

“You heard.”

“Now listen to me,” said the Whisperer. “I don’t think you know what you’re dealing with here. I’m not just a rock, you know. In the wrong hands I could explode like a grenado.”

Maddy ignored it and kept on walking. It was hard going. The Whisperer was heavy and awkward to carry, and every time she thought of resting, she imagined Loki—angry, recovered, and out for revenge—running up the passage after her. She had done what she could to hide her trail, crossing it at intervals with the runesign
ýr
or doubling back on her own tracks. She hoped it would be enough to delay or lose him, but she couldn’t know for sure.

The Whisperer had not been slow to deplore her compassion. “You should have killed him when you had the chance,” it complained for the twentieth time. “He was helpless, unconscious—completely at our mercy. Failing that, you could have left him, and the fumes would probably have finished him off. But what do you do? You
save
him. You drag him into the clean air. You tie a rag around his head. You practically tuck him into
bed,
for gods’ sakes—what next, a glass of milk and a runny egg?”

“Oh, give it a rest,” said Maddy crossly.

“You’ll regret it,” said the Whisperer. “He’s going to bring us nothing but trouble.”

To give the thing some credit, she thought, it had just cause to resent the Trickster. As they moved toward World Above, it treated Maddy to a centuries-long catalog of grievances against Loki, beginning with his adoption into Asgard and the havoc he had wrought there and culminating in his reappearance, some hundred years after Ragnarók and in the most unlikely place—the catacombs of the Universal City in distant World’s End.

“What was he doing there? I don’t know. Up to no good—that goes without saying—and weak from his reversed glam. But just as tricky as ever, damn him, and he must have known I’d be somewhere nearby—”

“Known?” said Maddy.

“Yes, of course.” The Whisperer hissed. “There I was, peace at last, sleeping away the centuries, and what does he do? He wakes me, the bastard.”

“But how could he know where you’d be?”

It gave a pulse of angry light. “Well, given that I’m not what you’d call independently mobile nowadays, I suppose he just searched among the ruins until—”

“Ruins of what?” Maddy said.

“Well, Asgard, of course,” snapped the Whisperer.

Maddy stared. “Asgard?” she said. Of course she knew that the Sky Citadel had fallen at Ragnarók. And she had heard so many stories about the place that she almost felt she’d seen it herself, with its golden halls and its rainbow bridge that spanned the sky.

The Whisperer laughed. “What? Didn’t Odin tell you? The far side of that bridge was at World’s End. The Folk never knew about that, of course. They couldn’t cross it, only ever saw it when it was raining and sunny at the same time, and even then they thought it was a natural phenomenon, due to extraordinary weather conditions. But Dogstar knew—that’s Loki to you—and he found me and brought me to this place, a place at the very center of the Worlds, a place where lines of great power converge, where he bound me with runes and trickery and swore he’d release me—if I gave him what he wanted.”

“I knew it,” said Maddy. “But what did he want?”

Once more the Whisperer hissed to itself. “He wanted his true Aspect back. He wanted his rune unreversed. Failing that, he wanted to use me, to sell me to either the Æsir or the Vanir in exchange for his miserable skin. But he had done his job too well. He couldn’t get me out of the pit. The forces that imprisoned me—forces from Dream and Death and beyond—held me fast, and all he could do was stand guard over me and hope and pray that I never escaped. And so it has been for centuries”—the Whisperer gave its dry laugh—“and if that doesn’t give me a right to revenge, then this New Age of yours is even more pathetic than I thought it was.”

By this time they had reached the upper levels, and Maddy could see increasing signs of goblin activity. Their colors gleamed across her path; their footprints scuffed the red earth floor. When she found she could
hear
them too, she stopped.

This was the most dangerous part. From here on, there would be no place to hide. The long climb to the upper level would leave her visible on the rock stairway for a dangerous length of time. But she knew no other way out: all other paths led into the warren of storage and treasure rooms that honeycombed the Hill, and below there was the river, a crashing darkness in which lay no hope.

“What have we stopped for?” demanded the Whisperer.

“Quiet,” said Maddy. “I’m thinking.”

“Lost, are you? I should have known.”

“I’m not lost,” said Maddy, annoyed. “It’s just that—”

“Told you you should have killed him,” it said. “If I were him, I’d get back before us, set up an ambush, have posses of goblins at every corner, and—”

“Well, what do
you
suggest?” she snapped.

“
I
suggest you should have killed him.”

“That’s a lot of use,” she said. “I thought you were an oracle. Aren’t you supposed to know the future or something?”

The Whisperer glowed in open contempt. “Listen to me, girl. Gods have paid—and dearly—for my prophecy. The General gave me his eye, you know; but that was a long time ago, and he got a bargain. As for you—”

“I’m
not
giving you an eye,” said Maddy at once.

“Gods alive, girl. What would I want with that?”

“Then what is it you
do
want?”

The Whisperer glowed brighter still. “Listen,” it said. “I like you, girl. I like you and I want to help. But you’ll have to listen to me now. Listen and take notice. Your old friend One-Eye has systematically lied to you to bring you to this point. Over the past seven years he has fed you a careful diet of half-truths and deceptions, all the more heinous for
what you are
—”

“What d’you mean,
what I am
?”

The Whisperer glowed brighter than ever, and now Maddy could see sparks of runelight trapped like fireflies within the volcanic glass. They danced, beguiling, and Maddy’s head began to feel pleasantly befuddled, as if she had drunk warm spiced ale. It was a charm, she told herself, and she shook aside the pleasant feeling and pronged
ýr
with her fingers at the Whisperer, which continued to glow—in smugness, she thought—as if it had made some rather clever point.

“Stop that,” she said.

“Merely a demonstration,” said the Whisperer. “I speak as I must and cannot be silent. That rune of yours is strong, you know. I predicted such runes before Ragnarók. I imagine that’s why One-Eye sent you. Didn’t want to risk his own skin.”

For a moment Maddy said nothing. She was cautious of the Whisperer, and yet it confirmed some of what Loki had said. Loki, of course, was not to be trusted, but the Oracle…

Could
an oracle lie? she wondered.

“He means to start a war,” it said. “A second Tribulation, to wipe out the Order once and for all. Thousands will die at a single word.”

“Is this a prophecy?” Maddy said.

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

“What does that mean?”

“I speak as I must—”

“All right, all right. What else do you see?” Now Maddy’s heart was beating fast; behind the Whisperer’s rocky face, lights and colors danced and spun.

“I see an army poised for battle. I see a general standing alone. I see a traitor at the gate. I see a sacrifice.”

“Couldn’t you be a little less vague?”

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

“Go on!” said Maddy.

But the Whisperer’s colors had suddenly dimmed, and it almost looked like a rock again. And now Maddy was conscious of something nearby: a furtive movement in the shadows, a tiny crunch of pebbles on the floor. She spoke a sharp cantrip—

Nyd byth nearu

—locked her hands together to form the runeshape
Naudr,
then reached into the gloom and dragged out a diminutive figure, furry-eared and golden-eyed and covered in mail from head to foot.

“You again!” she said incredulously.

Sugar’s curiosity had finally got the better of him.

6

“Kill it,” said the Whisperer.

Maddy was looking down at the dazed goblin. “Spying, were you?”

“Kill it,” repeated the Whisperer. “Don’t let it get away.”

“I won’t,” said Maddy. “Will you stop asking me to kill people? I know this goblin,” she went on. “He’s the one who guided me.”

The Whisperer made a sound of exasperation. “What does it matter? Do you want it to report us?”

Sugar was squinting cautiously at Maddy. “Report what?” he said. “I don’t know nowt, and I don’t
want
to know. In fact,” he went on in sudden inspiration, “I think I’ve lost me memory—can’t recall a thing, kennet. So there’s no call for you to be worrit about what I’ve heard—you can be on yer way and I’ll just lie here quietly—”

“Oh, please,” said the Whisperer. “It heard everything.”

Sugar assumed an expression of hurt astonishment.

“I know,” said Maddy.

“Well, then? We have no choice. The minute it gets the chance, it will report to its master. Why don’t you just kill it, there’s a good girl, and—”

“Be quiet,” said Maddy. “I’m not killing anyone.”

“Spoken like a lady, miss,” said Sugar with relief. “You don’t want to listen to
that
narsty thing. You just get on back nice and safe to the Horse’s Eye. No need to be staying here any longer than you have to, kennet?”

“Shut up, Sugar. You’re going to lead us back to World Above.”

“What?”
snapped the Whisperer.

“Well, obviously we can’t leave him here, and we need to find a safe way out of the Hill. So I thought—”

“Were you listening to
anything
I just said?”

“Well…,” said Maddy.

“I happen to have just made a major prophecy,” said the Whisperer. “Have you any idea how privileged you are? Four hundred years in that blasted fire pit, with Dogstar at me every day, and I never gave him so much as a syllable.”

“But aren’t you supposed to be telling One-Eye all this?”

The Whisperer made a sound very like a snort. “Look what happened last time,” it said. “The idiot got himself killed.”

It was just then that they heard the sound. A distant pounding directly overhead, too regular to be accidental, which sent shock waves through the hollow Hill that made the rock walls tremble.

Boom-boom-boom.

Boom-boom-boom.

“What’s that?” said Maddy.

“Trouble,” said the Whisperer.

To Maddy it sounded like cannon fire; to Sugar, like the Tunnel Folk at work. Some kind of mining or digging, perhaps, and now they could hear the sound of falling grit as it filtered down onto the stairway from the ceiling far above.

“What is it, Sugar?”

Sugar gave one of his whole-body shrugs. “Sounds to me like the Horse’s Eye,” he said. “P’raps it’s your lot at it again. Bin a lot of bloody noise among the Folk recently.”

Maddy wondered how long she had spent underground. A day? Two days? “But we have to get out. Can’t we bypass Red Horse Hill?”

“You can, miss, but it’s a long way round, nearly as far as the Sleepers, and—”

“Good. It’ll be safe, then.”

Safe?
thought Sugar.
Safe?
The idea of
safety
and
Sleepers
in the same sentence—even in the same paragraph—made him want to whimper. But there was no denying the hammering sound, and now his sharp ears could make out other sounds too: the sounds of heavy horses, wheels, and the occasional clap of metal against metal…

“Uh-oh,” said Sugar.

“What?”

“I think they’re tryin’ to get inside.” His voice was incredulous; in five hundred years of siege (as he saw it) the Folk had never managed to do so much as crack open the front door to World Below, and here they were actually
pounding
their way into the rock.

“The Captain’s not goin’ to like this,” he said. “He’s not going to bloody like this at all.”