Runelight Page 10

  Maggie tried to edge past her, acutely aware of the fact that her ex-employer was starting to attract attention. There were still lawmen at work in the Universal City, and while not all the Laws were strictly enforced, rumours of witchcraft were never ignored, and looting was a grave offence.

  ‘All I want is to collect my things,’ she told her. ‘Then I swear I’ll go.’

  Mrs Blackmore gave her a piercing look. ‘Ye’re not in trouble, are ye?’ she said. Her eyes went back to Adam. ‘Because if ye are, there’s easier ways than messing with the Order’s books …’

  ‘I’m not in trouble,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Ye wouldn’t be the only one,’ said Mrs Blackmore virtuously. ‘Many’s the girl as hides her shame under a maiden’s bergha.’ And with that she reached out suddenly and snatched at the scarf around Maggie’s head. It pulled free, and Mrs Blackmore’s feigned outrage turned to genuine alarm as Maggie’s newly shorn head was bared and, with it, the ruinmark that gleamed on her neck.

  ‘Oh my gods!’ said the landlady, forgetting herself enough to swear. ‘Gods, ye have a ruinmark, an honest-to-godless ruinmark. Where did ye even get such a thing? Unnatural! Unnatural!’ And she backed away as fast as she could, forking the sign against evil (a fingering of the runeshape Yr) and knocking over a coal-scuttle in her haste to get away. ‘If my husband were still alive,’ she declared in a tremulous voice, ‘he’d have something to say, miss! Traipsing around the city at night, cavorting with Outlanders, corrupting the Word, flaunting that ruinmark like a badge o’ pride …’

  Adam looked impatient. ‘We don’t have a lot of time,’ he said. ‘Deal with her, Maggie, for Laws’ sakes.’

  ‘Deal with her?’

  Adam put a finger meaningfully to his throat.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Maggie. ‘I couldn’t—’

  ‘Why not? Use your glam. You used it on me, didn’t you?’

  Maggie looked at him helplessly. ‘I can’t. It would be murder,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Adam impatiently. ‘Do I have to do everything?’ And he pulled the sword from the sheath at his side – a pretty blade from Jed Smith’s forge, and sharp as a World’s End fishwife’s tongue – and levelled it at the landlady, thereby reducing Mrs Blackmore to a quivering pudding, chin and lip both striving in vain to carry as much as a squeak of fear.

  ‘I believe my friend said something about collecting her effects …’ said Adam, punctuating his words with a slight increase of pressure from the sword-point.

  Mrs Blackmore’s chins shook.

  ‘I didn’t hear that,’ Adam said. ‘Is there some kind of a problem?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Mrs Blackmore.

  ‘I thought not,’ Adam said. ‘In fact, we will be so discreet that you won’t even know we were here.’ And Adam reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of coins.

  Mrs Blackmore, recognizing the gleam of gold, gave a shudder and forked the sign against evil again – which pious gesture would not prevent her from spending the money later, when the demons had fled. For demons they undoubtedly were, as she would say in a low voice to her friend Mrs Claymore, who ran the taphouse down the road; only a demon had such eyes.

  ‘Go then,’ she said. ‘Give ye joy.’

  Adam smirked. ‘I think it will.’

  In fact, he didn’t care at all about collecting Maggie’s things – she had little enough in the world, and Adam had plenty of money – but the Voice in his head had insisted, and now Adam thought he knew why. He had already cut off Maggie’s hair. Now he had cut off Maggie’s life – her job, her home, her acquaintances – making himself her only friend, her ally and protector.

  Of course, this never crossed Maggie’s mind. In fact, in spite of everything, Maggie was happier than she’d ever been before. She was jobless and destitute – homeless, an outcast – and yet she felt lighter than air; and it was with a strange new sense of recklessness that she ran to join her new friend on the streets of the Universal City, to conjure up an army of dreams to ride against the Firefolk.

  DREAM IS A river that flows both ways – a fact often overlooked by the Folk, for whom dreaming had always been considered territory best left unexplored. Malbry’s own Crazy Nan Fey was rumoured to be a victim of turbulent spirits, channelled into the world through Dream, though Maddy Smith had always suspected the other kind of spirit to be at fault – the kind that came in bottles and kegs. But Dream is far more than a river, as Odin One-Eye could have told her. Dream is the stuff of Worlds – all Worlds – and all things come and go from it, as water comes and goes from the Sea, becoming clouds, rain, snowflakes, tears – all so ephemeral, all so unique, always changing but never lost, a universe of possibility where any thought can take form.

  In Malbry, Maddy was dreaming. It was a quiet, comforting dream that took her back to her childhood years, when everything was new, and her old friend, whom she knew only as One-Eye, would tell her tales of the Elder Age and teach her how to fling cantrips to bamboozle Nat Parson and torment Adam Scattergood and his cronies.

  Today she was only ten years old, and she and One-Eye were lying side by side in the sage-grass of Red Horse Hill, watching the fat fairweather clouds pass rapidly in the morning sky. It was just past Midsummer’s Fair Day; the Sleepers were crowned with blue haze, and from the fields below Red Horse Hill came the distant sounds of grazing cattle, and birds, and the sleepy sound of the river Strond snaking across the valley.

  ‘That cloud looks like a serpent,’ said Maddy (who of course had never seen such a thing, except perhaps in One-Eye’s books). ‘A big one, with a shaggy head.’

  ‘Aye, perhaps,’ said One-Eye lazily, taking a puff of his stubby pipe. The smoke made two distinct little clouds of its own, like two tufts of rabbit-tail grass, which chased each other into the swift summer air and were lost on the crest of the Hill.

  Maddy said: ‘Did you see it too?’

  One-Eye smiled. ‘There’s substance even in clouds,’ he said. ‘And dreams are no less potent or less perilous if the dreamer happens to be awake. Do you see those birds over there?’ He pointed them out: two black birds, too large to be jackdaws, too dark to be gulls. Crows – or ravens, perhaps, thought Maddy.

  ‘I see them,’ she said.

  ‘Good. You keep your eye on them. Birds are messengers, they say. Did you know that the General had the power to send out his thoughts in the form of a pair of birds?’

  Maddy nodded. ‘I’ve heard the tale.’

  ‘Hugin and Munin were their names. Spirit and Mind, in the old tongue. Rascals both, but with their help he could scrutinize every one of the Nine Worlds. The Middle World. Dream. The Underworld. Even into Chaos itself – Odin’s eye saw everything, for Mind can travel to every World. Now look for me, Maddy. What else do you see?’

  Maddy squinted at the sky. ‘That pink cloud looks like a horse,’ she said. ‘But with more legs than usual.’

  ‘Really,’ said One-Eye.

  ‘Over there. Can’t you see it?’ Maddy said.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure you can. What else do you see?’

  Maddy smiled. ‘That one looks like a basket. A basket full of washing. And that one …’

  ‘Yes? Is there anything else?’

  Maddy narrowed her eyes at the sky. She thought the birds looked closer now, circling the brow of the Hill. And for a moment, in their wake …

  She looked away. ‘I don’t think so. Can we play another game?’

  ‘Of course we can, Maddy. You’ve done very well.’ One-Eye tapped out his pipe onto a piece of rock at his side. ‘But now I must ask you to do something else. Something that may prove difficult.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Maddy, her eyes lighting up. ‘What is it you want me to do?’

  One-Eye moved closer, and now she could see how old he suddenly looked, how sad, with his dusty cloak and his eye-patch and his battered hat on the ground at his side. And she wanted above all things to put her arms around him, b
ut there was something in his manner that made her afraid to lay hands on him, as if at a touch he might disappear …

  ‘You’re not ill, are you?’ she said. ‘You look so … tired.’

  ‘Aye. Maybe I am. But there’s work to do before we can rest. Hard work. And I need your help.’

  ‘You mean like digging for treasure?’ asked Maddy, looking up eagerly. There was treasure under Red Horse Hill, everyone in the valley knew that. Relics from the Elder Age: gold and diamonds and rubies.

  ‘Not that kind of treasure,’ he said.

  Maddy was disappointed. ‘But I thought …’

  ‘Never mind. Listen. I need you to trust me. I know you have little reason to. I lied to you once, and paid the price. Fair enough, that’s what I do. But now I need you to trust me again. The fate of the Worlds depends on it.’

  Maddy was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. When did you ever lie to me?’

  One-Eye looked grim. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t understand – not yet. Nevertheless, I need your word. Trust me, Maddy. Do as I say. Remember this conversation. One day you’re going to understand exactly what I’m talking about. That’s when I’ll need your trust, Maddy. That’s when you’ll know what you have to do.’

  Maddy nodded.

  One-Eye went on. ‘I need you to search for something,’ he said. ‘An artefact of the Elder Age. A very special thing indeed. You can call it the Old Man. The Old Man of the Wilderlands.’

  ‘The Old Man of the Wilderlands?’

  Odin nodded. ‘That’s one of its names. Though it won’t look like a man to you, but something else entirely. It may look like a piece of rock; but it’s what’s inside that matters.’

  Maddy nodded solemnly. ‘How will I find it? Where will you be? Won’t you be coming with me?’

  One-Eye smiled. ‘Patience,’ he said. ‘By the time this message reaches you, you’ll understand what I’m trying to say. For the moment, remember this. Someone’s going to come here soon. For the Horse, and for the Old Man. And you’re going to have to be ready.’

  Maddy frowned at him. ‘Who?’ she said.

  ‘You’ll soon find out. Don’t tell anyone we spoke. Not if the gods themselves were to ask—’

  ‘The gods?’

  ‘Please, Maddy. I don’t have much time.’

  ‘All right,’ said Maddy. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good.’ One-Eye tucked his pipe carefully back into his tobacco pouch. The birds were very close now, spinning and circling the brow of the Hill. One-Eye turned to look at Maddy again. ‘Now I have to go,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll hear from me again. Keep dreaming, Maddy. Remember me. And keep an eye out for those birds.’

  And with that he stood up and put on his hat and vanished into the sweet air of Red Horse Hill without even a flicker, and Maddy awoke with tears on her face to the sound of beating wings in the dawn.

  AT FIRST MADDY thought she was still dreaming. Two black birds – two ravens, in fact – were perching on the window-ledge. Maddy could hear the whispering squeak of their feathers moving against the glass, and their cries – a loud, unmusical craw – were enough to wake the Sleepers.

  She rubbed her eyes and got out of bed and walked towards the window.

  To her surprise, the two big birds did not fly away at her approach, but simply watched her from guinea-gold eyes, occasionally shifting from one foot to the other in the half-comic, ponderous way that always made Maddy think of Nat Parson.

  She thought of her dream.

  Birds are messengers.

  Maddy frowned at the two birds. They looked just like ordinary birds to her. Both looked glossy and well-fed. One – the smaller of the two – had a single white feather on its head. The other, a ring around its foot.

  Birds are messengers. Why not? There was plenty of truth in dreams, she knew. Could Odin have somehow sent these two? And if he had, where was he now? Death, Damnation, or maybe Dream?

  Maddy opened the window. Feeling slightly foolish, she spoke to the birds. ‘Do you have a message for me?’

  The larger bird pecked at its wing.

  The smaller cocked its head. Craw.

  ‘Sorry. I don’t speak raven.’

  Crawk.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Craw. Craw.

  Maybe they wanted a bribe, she thought. Ravens and crows were greedy, she knew; she had often watched as One-Eye fed them with crumbs from his pocket. Maddy had never quite understood why – the birds were thieves and scavengers, ready to peck the eyes from your head if they could get away with it – but for some reason One-Eye had always liked them, calling them my tattered ones and laughing at their antics.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’ she said.

  Two pairs of eyes swivelled up at her.

  ‘All right. Wait here.’

  There was a half-eaten biscuit on a saucer by the bed. Maddy turned to pick it up, meaning to scatter the crumbs on the ledge—

  But the ravens were there before her. Without waiting for an invitation, both had flown into the room, one now perching on the bed-post, the other on the mantelpiece. Maddy hadn’t quite realized how very large a raven could be. The sound of their wings was disquieting in the little room; their beaks looked sharp and dangerous.

  ‘Who asked you in?’ Maddy said.

  The smaller of the two birds hopped from the bed onto Maddy’s arm and pecked at the biscuit in her hand. Maddy dropped the biscuit, and the bird caught it in mid-air, bearing it off to the corner of the room. The larger raven gave pursuit, and there followed a sudden vicious scuffle of talons and beaks as the two of them quarrelled over the food. A china candlestick – one of two – fell into the fender and smashed.

  ‘Stop it!’ said Maddy, just managing to rescue the second candlestick.

  The ravens paid no attention at all.

  Maddy stared at them helplessly. What an idiot she was, she thought – so eager to believe her dream was real that she’d thought a pair of scruffy ravens might be messengers from another world. She looked around for some kind of weapon – a broom, a carpet-beater, perhaps – with which to shoo the birds away.

  A voice – the smallest of voices – came to her as if from a dream.

  Rascals, both, it whispered, and laughed.

  ‘Odin?’ said Maddy.

  Craw. Crawk.

  The birds stopped squabbling at once. They seemed to be waiting for something; two pairs of golden eyes stared fixedly at Maddy.

  ‘I don’t know what you want,’ she said.

  Crawk. Crawk. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ Maddy was starting to lose her temper.

  And then she suddenly knew what to do – it was so simple that she’d missed it; but if the birds were what she hoped, then there was a way to know for sure.

  She made the sign of Ós with her hand. ‘A named thing is a tamed thing,’ she said in a voice that trembled a little.

  Two pairs of eyes blinked.

  Maddy made the sign again. ‘I name you Hugin and Munin,’ she said. ‘Spirit and Mind, in the old tongue. Now – will you tell me what you’re doing here?’

  The two birds disappeared at once, to be replaced by two tattered figures, one lounging on the ottoman, one perching on the bed. To Maddy they looked almost identical, but for the difference in gender and size, and the broad streak of white in the girl’s long hair. Both were dressed in shiny black, in a fabric that might have been feathers or silk, but which somehow resembled neither. Their hair was wild and tangled, and they both wore a great deal of silver jewellery – rings on every finger; bracelets stacked halfway up each arm – earrings that jangled with feathers and bells; strings and strings of gleaming jet beads.

  They looked like Chaos folk to Maddy, and each carried a black design that she did not recognize – the woman’s on the right arm, the man’s on the left:

  ‘Shiny,’ said the taller one.

  The other grinned and flashed its teeth.

  ‘Hugin and Munin?’
Maddy said.

  ‘We dinnae go by them names any more,’ said the taller of the creatures. ‘Call me Hughie. It’s close enough. And this is my sister Mandy. Get us both a drink, will ye, and maybe a quick bite of something tae eat? We’ve come a long way to see ye, and you’re going tae want tae hear what we say.’

  MIND AND SPIRIT, my foot, Maddy thought with bitterness as, some time later, over what seemed like half the contents of Ethel Parson’s pantry, her two visitors unburdened their tale. Wines and spirits, more like. Gods, who are these people?

  But Maddy had soon learned that when dealing with Hughie and Mandy, certain things took time. Time and sustenance, it seemed – and as far as their joint appetites went, the two were more like locusts than birds. A raised mutton pie; a cold roast ham; several loaves of bread; some cakes, including a plum pudding set aside for Yule; a cheese; a whole barrel of biscuits; various jars of jams, preserves, cherries in brandy, dried apricots; plus wine, ale, a bottle of mead and, lastly, tea – with six sugars.

  ‘What, no cream?’ Maddy said.

  Mandy grinned and made a sound very like a raven’s craw.

  ‘She disn’ae talk much in this Aspect,’ said Hughie apologetically. ‘But she’s a fearsome thinker.’

  ‘So, what do you want from me?’ Maddy said. The clock on the wall now said nine o’clock, and it was only a matter of time, she thought, before one of the gods came looking for her and found her entertaining guests.

  ‘Well, if ye had a dozen eggs, I’d no say no tae an omelette—’

  ‘Apart from food,’ said Maddy. ‘And drink.’

  Hughie looked disappointed. ‘Well, ye already know that, a-course. We’ve a message from the General.’

  For a moment Maddy could hardly breathe. ‘One-Eye?’ she said in a choked voice.

  ‘Aye, that’s him. He called us from Dream.’