Runemarks (19 page)

11

Maddy had frozen the moment Loki mentioned the Whisperer. In her anxiety over One-Eye, it had not occurred to her how dangerous it was to have brought it with her into the Hall of the Sleepers.

Now it did, and Maddy cast about wildly for a place to hide it. Fortunately, she realized, the ice cavern was perhaps the only location in World Below where such a thing was possible, for the light-signatures that stitched the air were so bright and so numerous that among them even a powerful glam like the Whisperer might pass unnoticed for a time.

Cautiously she edged back behind the block where she had first taken cover. By scraping at the base with the edge of her knife, Maddy found she could make a gap large enough to hold the Whisperer. Sealing it with
ýr
and a few handfuls of packed snow, she inspected the result and decided it might pass.

It would have to pass, she told herself. Time was short, One-Eye was a prisoner, and although Loki was hardly a friend of hers, she wasn’t going to stand by and watch him be slaughtered. And so Maddy stood up and began to walk calmly toward the two deadlocked adversaries.

So far, so good. He’d bought himself some time.

Of course, it was the worst kind of ill chance to have happened upon Skadi, of all people—Skadi in her full Aspect, angry, alert, and strong as ever,
Isa
having no reverse position—besides which, Loki had never been much of a fighter, even in the old days, relying on wits rather than weaponry.

That runewhip of hers, he thought darkly. Doubtless some glam of the Elder Days, when they still had time and power to spend on such fancy work. It had not struck him directly—if it had, it would probably have taken his hand off—but even so, it had felt like being hit over the knuckles with a cudgel. His whole arm hurt, his right hand was still numb, and his chances of being able to work even the simplest fingering within the next hour were poor indeed.

But he
was
alive, against all expectation, and that was enough to cheer him for the present. At least…

Skadi had her back turned, and the first she knew of Maddy’s approach was the look of sudden anguish that flashed through Loki’s eyes. She turned and saw a young person not more than fourteen years of age walking steadily toward them.

“Skadi,” she said. “Nice to meet you. I see you and Loki have been catching up.”

Loki swallowed. For the second time that day he found himself at a loss, and did not enjoy the feeling. He was only too aware that a single word from Maddy could condemn him. And who could blame her? They’d hardly parted on the most friendly of terms.

Still, he thought, there’s always hope. Already his quick mind was sifting plans and possibilities. “Skadi,” he said, “meet Maddy Smith.”

Of course, if the girl was still carrying the Whisperer, then he was lost. And if she refused to play along, there again, he was lost. Perhaps they both were, for though Maddy was undoubtedly strong, Skadi was old and battle-trained, and with that deadly glam at her fingertips, Loki didn’t rate their chances if it came to a fight.

Maddy, however, seemed cheerful enough. “I’m glad to see you, Skadi,” she said. “I imagine Loki told you why we’re here.”

“Actually—no,” said Loki. “We were…discussing old times.”

“Well, it’s like this,” said Maddy, reaching down to pull him to his feet. “They’ve got One-Eye. And they’re using the Word.”

1

“When?” demanded Loki.

“At sunset.”

“Then they may not have used it yet,” he said.

Skadi looked at him. “Used what?”

“The Word, of course.” Shivering, he began to pace, his bare feet soundless on the glassy floor.

“What Word?” said the Huntress with suspicion.

“Gods,” said Loki in disgust. “This just gets better and better, doesn’t it? Maddy, where’s the General?”

“The roundhouse, I think.”

“How well guarded is it?”

Maddy shrugged. “Two men. Maybe.”

“Then we’ll have to move fast. We can’t let the Order interrogate him. If they find out who he is and what he knows…” He shivered once again at the thought.

“What Word?” repeated Skadi. “What is this Word, and where is the Whisperer?”

Loki looked impatient. “Look, dearie, things have changed a bit since Ragnarók. There have been some quite significant developments in the fight between Order and Chaos, and if you hadn’t been asleep under the mountains for the past five hundred years—”

“That wasn’t my idea,” Skadi hissed.

“Convenient, though, wasn’t it? Nice of old Njörd to count you in, even if you’re not technically a Van. No Examiners, no reversals, no Black Fortress—”

The Huntress’s eyes lit dangerously. “Hold your tongue, Dogstar, or I’ll relieve you of it.”

“Hey,” said Loki. “What did I say?”

“Please,” interrupted Maddy. “We don’t have time. One-Eye needs help—”

Skadi looked at her in scorn. “You want
me
to help
him
?”

“Well, yes,” said Maddy. “Isn’t he the General?”

Skadi laughed, a cheerless sound. “To the Æsir, perhaps. But not to the Ice People. Not to my folk. Whatever alliance we once had, it ended with the war. As far as I’m concerned, he and the rest of you can all go to Hel.”

For a moment Maddy was at a loss. Then she had a sudden inspiration. “He’s got the Whisperer,” she said.

The Huntress froze. “
Has
he?” she said, staring at Loki.

“Has he?” said Loki, genuinely startled.

Skadi raised her runewhip again. “I should have known you were lying,” she said.

“I wasn’t,” said Loki. “I said I knew where the Whisperer
was.
I didn’t say I had it on my person. For gods’ sakes, Skadi, give me some credit. Why would I bring it here, of all places? Would I really be that stupid?”

Maddy glanced uneasily over her shoulder to the ice block behind which she had hidden the Whisperer. “Would that be very stupid, then?”

“Very,” he said.

Meanwhile Skadi was watching Maddy. “So you were the one who woke me,” she said.

Maddy nodded. “I thought you’d help. The Whisperer said to wake the—” She stopped short, realizing her mistake.

But it was too late. Skadi’s eyes had widened. “It
spoke
to you?”

“Well…,” said Maddy. “Only once.”

“Did it make a prophecy?”

“It told me to wake you,” said Maddy, who was wishing she hadn’t got into this. “Look, are you going to help or not?”

“I’ll help,” said the Huntress with a chilly smile. “But I’m taking
him
with me. We’ll fly out together, find the General, pick up the glam, and if for some reason it isn’t there—”

“Why shouldn’t it be there?” said Loki.

“Let me guess,” said Skadi. “Perhaps some lying, conniving person thought he might be able to get me out of the way by sending me on a wild-goose chase while he and his little friend weaseled off with the Whisperer—you know, something like that. This way we can all rest easy. Don’t you think?”

Maddy glanced at Loki. “I’ll go.”

“You can’t.” He spoke reluctantly, as if weighing heavy odds. “The Hill is sealed from the Horse’s Eye. You can’t use the tunnels. Anyway, it would be suicide to go aboveground in this snow—as well as taking more hours than we can afford. No. She’s right. Whoever goes will have to take bird form to reach the village—an hour’s flight, if all goes well.”

Demon blood, Vanir blood, meant the power to shift from one Aspect into another. Loki and Skadi both shared that skill. Too late Maddy saw that her attempt to help had simply placed One-Eye in greater danger than before.

Loki knew it too—being basically dishonest himself, he had no great trust in Maddy’s story, and the prospect of facing Skadi again—this time after an hour-long flight and with One-Eye as his only chaperone—filled him with dread. “My dear Skadi,” he said, “it’s not that I don’t
want
to come with you—I mean, there’s nothing I’d like better than to risk my life for the General again, but—”

“No buts. You’re coming.”

“You don’t understand.” Now there was desperation in his voice. “My glam’s used up. I’m tired. I’m hurt. I’m frozen stiff. There was a mountain cat the size of a—Honestly, I couldn’t light a
fire
in this state, let alone tackle an Examiner armed with the Word.”

“Hmm,” said Skadi, and frowned.

Loki was right. She saw that now. His colors were weak, and, using
Bjarkán,
she could read his distress there as clearly as footprints in snow. He couldn’t shift; he couldn’t fight; she was surprised he could still stand.

“I need food,” said Loki. “Rest.”

“No time for that. We leave at once.”

“But,
Skadi
…”

But Skadi had already turned away. Leaving Maddy and Loki together, she seemed to be searching around the vast cavern, inspecting the walls, the floor, and the ice sculptures that rose out of it—here an oliphant, there a waterfall, a giant table, and beyond that a ship that gleamed in the moonlight, its every surface clustered with brilliants.

“Maddy, please. You’ve got to help me.” Loki’s voice was soft and urgent. “I promised her the Whisperer. When she finds out I don’t have it—”

“Trust me,” said Maddy. “I’ll think of something.”

“Really? That’s good. Forgive me if I don’t fall at your feet with gratitude
just
yet…”

“I
said,
I’ll think of something.”

For a second Skadi seemed to pause, then she moved on, still searching, her pale hair shining eerily as she went.

“What are you doing?” Maddy called, seeing the Huntress move deeper and deeper into the Hall of Sleepers.

“Getting help,” came the sardonic voice. “For our poor, exhausted friend.”

“Oh no,” said Loki.

“What now?” said Maddy.

“I think she’s going to wake someone else.” Loki put his face in his hands. “Gods,” he said. “That’s all we need.
More
people after my blood.”

2

More people after my blood,
he’d said, but the second woman who came strolling out of the Hall of Sleepers was as different from the icy Huntress as cream is from granite.

This woman was round and soft and golden; flowers gleamed in her long hair, and
Ár,
the green rune of Plenty, shone out from her forehead. Her gaze fell on Maddy, and it was wide and trusting and slightly perplexed, like that of an infant who wishes to please.

And such was the charm of this strange and childlike woman that even Maddy, who had plenty of reason to dislike a certain kind of cowslip-haired beauty, felt the air of the cavern thaw a little at her presence and seemed to smell the scent of distant gardens and ripe strawberries and fresh honey straight from the comb.

Skadi walked behind her at some distance, as if unwilling to get too close to something so unlike herself.

Loki too recognized her; as the smiling woman made her way toward him, Maddy saw in his face a mixture of relief and what might have been embarrassment.

“Who is it?” whispered Maddy.

“Idun,” he said. “The Healer.”

“Here he is,” said Skadi curtly. “Now get him moving, and fast.”

Idun peered at Loki, wide-eyed. “Oh, dear. What have you been up to this time?” she said.

He pulled a face. “Me? Nothing.”

“
Do
be polite, Loki, or you won’t get your apple.”

Idun,
thought Maddy. The keeper of the magical fruit that cures sickness and heals Time. According to the tales, the fruit was golden apples stored in a golden casket, but the fruit that Idun held out to Loki was small and yellow and wrapped in foliage, more like a crab apple than anything else, though its scent, potent even in the frosty air of the cavern, was all green summer and creamy Harvestmonth crammed into a handful of withered leaves.

“Eat it,” said Skadi as Loki hesitated.

Loki did, looking none too pleased. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, and then Maddy saw his signature brighten suddenly from its dim bruise color to a vibrant gleam. It had been fading; now it hummed with power that crackled from his hair and his fingertips and shimmered briefly across his entire body like St. Sepulchre’s fire.

The effect was immediate. He straightened; breathed deeply; tested his ribs and his injured hand and the gouges from the cat’s claws and found them mended.

“Feeling better?” said Idun.

Loki nodded.

“Good,” said Skadi. “Let’s go. And, Loki…”

“What?”

“In case you were thinking of pulling a fast one—”

“Who,
me
?”

“I’ll be watching you.” She smiled. “Like a hawk.”

Ten minutes later an eagle and a small brown hawk were on their way to the village of Malbry. It would take them an hour to cross the valley. Without wings, Loki said, it was pointless to follow—and yet Maddy hated the thought of leaving One-Eye at the mercy of the Huntress when she realized (as she inevitably would) that she had been deceived.

Idun, as she soon discovered, was no help. She listened attentively enough to Maddy’s story but seemed to feel no sense of urgency or danger at all.

“Odin will think of something,” she said, and appeared to feel
that
ought to reassure her.

But Maddy was not reassured. “There must be some way,” she said. “It’s my fault.
I
took the Whisperer…”

Idun was sitting on a block of ice, singing to herself. At the mention of the Whisperer she stopped, and a look of mild anxiety crossed her features.

“
That
old glam?” she said. “Best leave it alone. It never did give us anything but bad news.” She pulled a comb from her hair and examined it, then began to sing again, her voice a thin filament of sweetness in the chilly air.

It was clear to Maddy that whatever powers Idun possessed would be of little use to her in their present situation. Wild thoughts of mindblasting her way out of the cavern were attractive but impractical, and she knew that however much she tried, she could never walk to the village in time.

One solution remained, and as she examined it from all angles, weighing the benefits and disadvantages, she became more and more convinced that it was her only hope.

“There’s no choice,” she said at last. “I’ll have to wake another Sleeper.”

Idun smiled vaguely. “That would be nice, dear. Just like old times.”

Maddy had a feeling that reviving old times was the last thing they needed right now, but she didn’t see any alternative. The question was, whom to wake? And how could she be sure that waking someone else wouldn’t just make matters worse?

With a heavy heart, and with
Bjarkán
gleaming at her fingertips, Maddy went over to the remaining Sleepers. Idun followed her through the caverns like a lost child, singing to herself and wondering at the lights and colors. Maddy noticed that wherever Idun went, the ice melted briefly, reconfiguring itself into frost flowers and ice garlands in her wake. More than once she looked anxiously at the chains of icicles suspended above their heads and tried not to think of what might happen if Idun stopped moving for too long.

Instead she concentrated on the Sleepers. There they lay in their beds of ice, still and gleaming beneath the bindwork of runes. Five remained of the original seven—four men and one woman—and for some time Maddy went from one to the other and back again, trying to determine which one to choose.

The first was a man of powerful build, with shaggy hair and a beard that curled like foam. His signature was ocean blue; he wore the rune
Logr
beneath a tunic of something that looked like close-linked scales, and his feet, which were large and shapely, were bare.

Maddy had no difficulty recognizing him from One-Eye’s accounts and decided at once that there was no question of waking him. That was Njörd, the Man of the Sea, one of the original Vanir and onetime husband of Skadi the Huntress. Their marriage had failed, due to irreconcilable differences, but all the same Maddy felt it wiser to keep Njörd out of the situation for the moment.

The second Sleeper was like Njörd, with the fair skin and pale hair of the Vanir, though Maddy sensed a warmth coming from him that had been absent in the Man of the Sea. He too was a warrior, with the rune
Madr
on his chest and a spyglass around his neck. It took Maddy some time to decide who he was, but she finally made up her mind that he must be golden-toothed Heimdall, messenger of the Seer-folk and wakeful guardian of the rainbow bridge; even beneath the ice, his bright blue eyes remained open and fiercely aware.

Maddy passed him by with a shiver of unease. She knew from the stories that Heimdall, though loyal to Odin and to the Æsir, hated Loki with a passion and was unlikely to be sympathetic to anyone trying to help him.

The third was Bragi, husband of Idun, a tall man with the rune
Sól
on his hand and a crown of flowers around his head. He looked gentle (Maddy knew him mainly as a champion of songs and poetry) and she would have liked to have chosen him, but Bragi, she knew, was no friend of Loki’s, and she didn’t like the idea of having to explain his role—or, indeed, her own—in what was becoming a very tortuous mess.

The fourth Sleeper was armored in gold and his long hair gleamed with it; the rune
Fé
shone out from his brow and a broken sword lay at his side.

Next to him, close enough to touch, was the last Sleeper, a woman of bright and troubling beauty.
Fé
adorned her as well; her hair was fretted and woven with gems, and a necklace of twisted gold circled her throat, catching the light even through the ice. She bore a striking resemblance to the Sleeper beside her, and Maddy knew them at once to be Frey and Freyja, the twin children of Njörd, who had joined the Seer-folk with him in the time of the Whisperer.

With her hands Maddy swept the loose snow from the face of the last Sleeper. Freyja slept on, beautiful and impassive, giving nothing away.

Dared she wake her? Could she even be certain that Freyja—or
any
of the Vanir—would be any more helpful than Skadi or Idun? Of course, Skadi was only one of the Vanir by marriage; she came from the Ice People of the north, a savage race with whom the gods had held an uneasy truce. Surely it had been pure bad luck that she had woken Skadi first, and surely the other Vanir would be keen and ready to rescue their general.

Rapidly Maddy went over in her mind all that she remembered about Freyja. The goddess of desire, Freyja the Fair, Freyja the Fickle, Freyja the Falcon-Cloaked—

Ah. That was it.

Sudden excitement surged through Maddy. Now she could see a glimmer of hope—not much, but enough—that once more set her heart beating fast.

The runes felt familiar now, kindling quickly beneath her fingers. Here too the net that contained them seethed with impatience; the bindings itched; the glamours shone out with an imperious light.

Maddy reached for them with one hand, a bunch of colored ribbons like those on a maypole. She pulled—

—and the whole assembly came loose with a ripping and tearing and a great flare of colors and hues.

This time the ice did not shatter, but instead melted away, leaving the Sleeper damp but unharmed, dabbing at her eyes and yawning delicately.

“Who are you?” she inquired when the operation was complete.

Maddy explained as quickly as she could. One-Eye’s capture, Skadi’s awakening, the Examiner, the Whisperer, the Word. Freyja listened, her blue eyes wide, but as soon as Maddy mentioned Loki’s name, they narrowed again.

“I’m warning you now,” said Freyja stiffly, “I have…certain issues…with Loki.” (Maddy wondered briefly whether there was anyone in the Nine Worlds who
didn’t
have issues with Loki.)

“Please,” she urged. “Lend me your cloak. It’s not as if I’m asking you to come with me.”

Freyja looked Maddy over with a critical eye. “It’s my only one,” she said. “You’d better not damage it.”

“I’ll be
really
careful.”

“Hmm. You’d better.”

Moments later it was in Maddy’s hands, a cloak of tricks and feathers, light as an armful of air. She pulled it around her shoulders, feeling the delicious whispery warmth of the feathers against her skin, and at once it began to
shape
itself to her form.

The thing was alive with glamour, it seemed. Runes and bindings stitched it through. Maddy could feel them, delving, painlessly taking root in her flesh and bone, transforming her into something other.

It was blissful; it was terrifying. In seconds her muscles lengthened; her vision sharpened a thousandfold; feathers sprouted from her arms and shoulders. She opened her mouth in astonishment, but nothing emerged but a harsh bird cry.

“There. It quite suits you,” said Freyja, leaning over to inspect the result. “Now, when you want to take it off, just cast
Naudr
reversed.”

How?
thought Maddy.

“You’ll manage,” said Freyja. “Just make sure you bring it back.”

It took her a few minutes to become accustomed to her new wings. For an agonizing time she fluttered wildly, confused by the altered perspective and half panicked by the enclosed space. Then at last she found the skylight and shot through like a flung projectile into the night.

Oh, the freedom,
she thought.
The air!

Below her the valley hung like a silver-stitched tapestry—the glacier, the road twining down along the Hindarfell pass. The sky was all stars, the moon was dazzling, and the joy, the exhilaration of flight was such that for an indeterminate length of time she simply let it take her, shrieking, into the illuminated sky.

Then she remembered the task at hand and, with an effort, took control. With her enhanced vision she could see about a mile ahead of her the hawk and the eagle—Loki and Skadi—streaking toward Malbry.

Below them the fields were beginning to turn, moving from Harvestmonth yellow to Year’s End brown. In Malbry a few lights still shone, and the smell of smoke from the bonfires hung over the land like a banner. Somewhere among those lights, she knew, her father would be awake, drinking beer and watching the sky. Her sister would be dreamlessly asleep on her bed of boards, a lace cap tied around her cowslip curls. Crazy Nan Fey would be sitting in her cottage talking to her cats.

And One-Eye? What was he doing? Was he sleeping? Suffering? Hopeful? Afraid? Would he be grateful to see her, or angry at how badly she’d handled the situation? Most important of all, would he play along? And if so, with whom?