Runelight Page 23

  Take it! it commanded, and Adam obeyed, at the same time wondering what was so wonderful about a piece of rock. It looked like the volcanic glass that, long ago, he and his friends used to dig out of the sides of Red Horse Hill, although this was by far the largest piece that Adam had ever seen. It was heavier than he’d expected, and when he turned it in his hands, he thought he could almost see features there, bluntly fashioned into the stone.

  ‘It doesn’t look much,’ Maggie said. ‘Are you sure this is it?’

  Adam nodded. ‘Quite sure.’ He ran his hands across the glassy surface. It was warm; much warmer than ordinary stone, as if it might almost be alive. And now he even remembered it, although his acquaintance with the Whisperer’s previous incarnation had lasted only minutes – most of them spent in abject terror as gods and demons did battle in Hel …

  Now he remembered the goblin, who had seized hold of the stone Head and flung it into the river Dream – where the being who had once been Mimir the Wise had tried and failed to possess Maddy Smith; and how at that moment a Voice in his mind—

  That’s right, interrupted the Whisperer. That’s why I needed you for so long. A vehicle for My consciousness. Of course, you were only a temporary solution. You had no further potential. Not even a broken runemark with which to enter Asgard. I did what I could with what I had, but I knew that one day I would have to move on.

  ‘You want to go back in there?’ Adam said.

  Go back to my old cell? Oh no. I have something rather better in mind. Besides, it’s already occupied.

  Maggie was feeling restless. Unable to follow the conversation between Adam and his passenger, she had turned her attention to the rock that she had fought so hard to retrieve.

  What was so special about it, then? Maggie formed the rune Bjarkán, and peered at the object through its lens. What she saw was something that looked rather like a big cabbage inside a shopping net; but the net was made of runelight – dozens and dozens of woven strands – and the cabbage—

  She gasped and banished the rune. ‘It’s alive!’ she exclaimed. ‘It looked at me!’

  The being that had once been Mimir the Wise felt a rare pang of amusement. It used Adam’s voice to say: ‘Did it now? Shall I introduce you?’

  Maggie stared at the stone Head. Now that she knew how to look, she could see the features quite clearly: the outline of a lean jaw; a jutting nose; a clever mouth now bracketed with double lines of anguish; and across one empty eye-socket a ruinmark that she recognized as a broken form of Raedo, the Journeyman, in reverse.

  In its stall, the Horse of Fire made a shrill, uneasy sound.

  ‘For pity’s sake, who’s in there?’

  Adam looked at her and smiled. ‘Maggie, meet the General. Otherwise known as the Old Man.’

  MAGGIE STARED AT the chunk of rock. So this was the Old Man she’d heard so much about; the thing that Adam valued so much. Looking at it closer now through the circle of finger and thumb, she could clearly see its features, dimly illuminated inside the volcanic glass, and if she concentrated very hard, she thought she could even hear its voice …

  They had moved it to the penthouse where Adam and Maggie had their rooms. Now, with the curtains prudently drawn, the two young people examined their prize.

  ‘Is it alive?’ Maggie said.

  The Whisperer laughed with Adam’s voice. ‘Alive, and at My mercy. Yes.’

  ‘What is it? Who is it?’

  ‘Never mind. What matters is its value to us. With your power and My knowledge, there’s nothing that we cannot achieve.’

  Once more Maggie stared at the rock. The being that seemed to be trapped inside mouthed frantic, silent phrases. Inside the cradle of runes, it shone with a faint luminescence, and a brighter glow lay at its heart, like a piece from a fallen star.

  ‘A fallen star?’ said the Whisperer. ‘Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Fallen from the Firmament into the depths of the Underworld; rescued from the realm of Dream; and now at last, at long last, My prisoner, bound by his own glamours into the Aspect in which I was trapped for so long …’ Once more Adam gave the Whisperer’s laugh. ‘What does it feel like, General, to be as helpless as I was?’

  ‘You mean it’s one of the Firefolk?’ Maggie said in disbelief. ‘Is that a demon trapped in there?’

  ‘A demon, or a god. Who cares? There’s hardly any difference. Make it talk,’ it told her. ‘You can do it. You have the glam. You can make it prophesy. You can make it give to you the runes of the Younger Script – the ones that will rebuild Asgard and make us lords of the Nine Worlds.’

  ‘I can?’ said Maggie doubtfully. She put her hands on the piece of rock. The light at its heart shone fretfully. She followed the contours of its face, tracing its features in the stone. ‘How do I make it do anything? It’s a rock, for gods’ sakes …’

  With an effort, the Whisperer tried to contain its impatience. ‘You have the Good Book. Use it!’

  Maggie gave Adam a doubtful look. That rasping note in his voice was not his, she knew, but that of his passenger. She hated the fact that her friend could be manipulated in this way, like a puppet in a sideshow; and she didn’t much care for the offhand way in which the Magister spoke to her.

  ‘You promised you’d let Adam go,’ she said. ‘I’ve kept my part of the bargain—’

  ‘Bargain?’ said the Whisperer. The rasping note was harsher than ever. ‘Must we talk of bargains when the End of the Worlds is upon us? We have the Old Man in our grasp, and you’re haggling over it like a loaf of bread in a village bakery?’

  Maggie opened her mouth to reply, but Adam interrupted.

  ‘It’s all right, Maggie,’ he said, now speaking in his own voice. ‘My master’s manner can be abrupt. But if we want to save the Worlds, these new runes are all we need.’

  Maggie looked doubtful. ‘How many new runes?’

  ‘No one knows for sure,’ Adam said. ‘We know the Firefolk have at least two.’ He glanced at the Old Man, now glowing even more brightly. ‘Maggie, this is our chance,’ he said. ‘This thing’s a kind of oracle. It can tell us about the Firefolk. Their plans. Their powers. Their numbers. With the runes, we can stop them. We can win this war before it even starts.’

  Maggie looked at the Good Book lying open at her side. A text, all in runes, seemed to shine from the page where Raedo glowed a kingfisher-blue.

  ‘Is this the text?’

  Adam nodded.

  Maggie fingered the Journeyman rune. Even to her untrained hands, it felt uncommonly powerful. She aimed it at the stone Head, making its cradle of runes flare, and started to read from the Good Book:

  ‘I name thee Odin, son of Bór.’

  And was that a tiny glint of response, deep inside the heart of the stone? Was it just a reflection from the sunlight through the curtains? Or could it be a wink, she wondered, from a single gleaming eye?

  ‘Be careful,’ said Adam. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  Maggie nodded and went on: ‘I name thee Grim and Ganglari, Herian, Hialmberi—’

  The Head was glowing fiercely now, as if the being inside the rock knew that it was under attack. Maggie’s own head began to ache, and she realized that this was part of the thing’s defence; this demon, with its broken glam, was stronger by far than the Whisperer. She was already halfway through the verse when a voice spoke up inside her mind – a voice that was, for a demon, both surprisingly cultured and vaguely amused. She faltered and stopped mid-sentence.

  Maggie Rede. At last, it said. Can I just say how proud I am?

  ‘What?’ said Maggie.

  Don’t be modest. For a torturer’s first attempt, I think you’re doing very well. Though you may have to work on your intonation.

  ‘Who said I was going to torture you?’

  Given the company you’re in, it seemed a reasonable guess.

  ‘You don’t know the first thing about me,’ said Maggie, turning back to the Book.

  You’re wrong. I know all abo
ut you. I’ve known all about you all your life. Did you think you were alone, under the old University? What did you think you were doing down there? Didn’t it ever occur to you that every time you read from those books you were calling out at the top of your voice to anyone who could hear you?

  Maggie looked back at the Good Book. ‘You’re trying to distract me,’ she said.

  Not at all, said the Old Man. By all means, feel free to continue. You’re very powerful, by the way. You certainly scared the sunshine out of my brother Loki. The snake was a clever detail, I thought. I wonder what you’ll dream up for me.

  Maggie shot the Old Man a look and went back to the canticle. ‘I name thee Bolverk,’ she went on. ‘Grimnir, Blindi, Har-Harbárd—’

  Harbard, corrected the Old Man. The accent on the first syllable, please. And try not to stutter. A sensitive person might mistake it for mockery.

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ said Maggie.

  No? I rather thought you did.

  ‘Just let me read the canticle. Then you can help me all you want.’ She went on with the ancient text, reading from the Good Book, and as she read, the runes on the page lit up, one by one, with a hectic light.

  ‘I name thee Omi, Just-as-High.

  I name you Sann and Sanngetal …’

  The canticle was working. As she spoke, the net of runes flared, each rune lighting up in turn. As it did so, Maggie felt the Old Man’s power recede and fail; its broken glam no match for hers.

  Maggie, please. It hurts.

  She flinched. The disembodied thing could feel. Its anguish set her teeth on edge, like walking over broken glass. She tried to steel herself to go on, but suddenly her mouth was dry. The Old Man was right, she told herself. She really was a torturer.

  Maggie, you have to listen to me. The Firefolk are on their way. You can’t stop them, whatever you do. Even if you kill me now—

  Maggie clenched her teeth. ‘I name thee Vili, and Wotan, and Ve—’

  Maggie! Please! Just listen to me! Is this the Order you dreamed about?

  Maggie faltered, then stopped.

  She thought of Adam, a prisoner of the being that called itself Magister. She thought of her parents, dead of the plague, and of her brothers, dead of the Bliss. She thought of the Universal City, overrun with cut-throats and thieves. And then she thought of herself, dreaming of death and destruction, taking joy in the prospect of seeing her enemies suffer and bleed …

  The Old Man was right, Maggie thought. There was no Order in all this. For three years her life had been nothing but Chaos, grief and loneliness. Could it be that the Old Man might give her something different?

  Adam was looking impatient. ‘What are you doing, Maggie?’ he hissed.

  Good question, Maggie thought. The Old Man was at her mercy now. One more couplet would break its will. But something inside her refused to go on. She had touched the creature’s mind. She knew the anguish the Word provoked. And to torture a thinking, rational being – even one of the Firefolk – was this what she had come to? Was this the price of Order?

  The Old Man’s struggles were weakening now. Its glam was almost exhausted. To speak the last words of the canticle, to annihilate this ancient being when it was already in her power, now seemed both needless and cruel.

  Maggie closed the Good Book. The last two lines of the canticle – the final cantrip that would have bound the Old Man to her will – remained unspoken.

  The creature in the chunk of rock gave a kind of mental sigh.

  Thank you, Maggie. I’m in your debt.

  In Adam’s mind, the Whisperer gave a howl of frustration. Don’t stop! Don’t stop! What is WRONG with her? Tell her to finish it – finish it NOW!

  But Maggie’s attention was focused elsewhere. In her mind the Old Man’s presence was unfolding like a flower. What she had failed to take by force was offering itself willingly, page by page, like an open book – text, illuminations, maps – spread out before her in glorious profusion.

  ‘What’s this?’ she said.

  You wanted to know me. Here I am.

  And now came a cascade of images, some strange, some troublingly familiar. Stories of the Elder Age; faces and places and sigils and glams; battles and banquets and fragments of dream; heroes and monsters and long-lost friends; old betrayals, lost loves; and beneath all that, a sorrow so deep, such a world of grief and loss that Maggie, no stranger to loss herself, could hardly bear to think of it.

  The Old Man was old, she realized. Older than the Order; older even than the Universal City. Odin, son of Bór, had seen the World Tree grow from a sapling; had seen an empire rise and fall; had seen his children grow up and die; had watched the dance of Order and Chaos as it moved across the centuries. He had cheated Death; survived in Dream; had even escaped Damnation.

  And all for what? He was alone. His people were scattered, aimless, at odds. Two of his sons were dead; the third still wandered, weakened, among the Folk. Of all his people, only his grandchildren, only the twins mattered now: Modi and Magni, children of Thor, the Oak and the Ash that would rebuild the Worlds—

  Maggie opened her eyes in shock. ‘No – I don’t believe it!’

  The Old Man’s voice in her mind was dry. Believe it or not. You saw what you saw.

  ‘You’re lying!’

  I think we both know I’m not.

  For a moment Maggie was too stunned to think. The landscape of the Old Man’s mind went on unfolding around her, but she was unable to take it in; dwarfed by that single, mountainous truth …

  If she was Maddy’s sister, then …

  The Old Man was her grandfather.

  With a cantrip, she banished the link that bound the Old Man’s mind to hers. Relief flooded through her, relief so strong that her knees gave way and she fell to the ground. She began to shake.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Adam said.

  Maggie found that she could hardly speak. A mass of emotions warred in her – emotions she could barely identify. Finally she seized on one that she could really understand; one that she’d had experience of throughout her short and troubled life.

  Anger.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she said, and her voice was enough to make Adam flinch. The air crackled with fugitive glam, raising the fine hairs on his arms.

  Deep down in his mind, his passenger whispered words of caution: Don’t mess this up, boy.

  But Adam needed no warning. He’d seen Maggie angry before, and knew that she could be dangerous. ‘What did it tell you, Maggie?’ he said. ‘Did it teach you the New Script?’

  She shook her head. She knew that her rage was not against Adam himself, but still she did not trust herself. She took a deep breath, felt dizzy and clung to the bed-post for support.

  ‘That thing,’ she said. ‘The Old Man – did you know he was my grandfather?’

  Adam did know, and had dreaded the time when Maggie might find out the truth. A lie would be disastrous – she would see it in his colours at once – and so he simply nodded and said: ‘I did. Oh, Maggie. I’m sorry.’

  Maggie felt her rage recede, leaving her very close to tears. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she said.

  ‘I wanted to protect you.’ Adam knelt beside her. ‘I thought you might never have to find out …’ He put his arms around her. For a moment she stiffened; then she put her head into the curve of his shoulder and sobbed.

  ‘Don’t cry, Maggie,’ Adam said. ‘You’re not the first to be taken in. My master, your sister, even me—’

  ‘My sister?’

  Adam kissed her hair. ‘She’s been a pawn in his game all along. He used her to get to my master, then used her again to get to you. Now he wants to claim you as well. That’s why we have to deal with him fast. And with the other Firefolk.’

  Maggie nodded. It all made sense. The Old Man had misdirected her; pretended to cooperate, discovered her weakness, then dealt her this blow. Was this how he had claimed Maddy Smith? By playing with her loyalties?
>
  She turned her gaze towards Adam. ‘He told me they were on their way.’

  ‘Who?’ said Adam.

  ‘The Firefolk.’

  For a moment Adam said nothing. In his mind, his passenger had suddenly grown very still and very alert. He braced himself for the creature’s rage, but when the Whisperer finally spoke, its voice was calm and silky.

  The Firefolk are coming? it said. All right. Let them come.

  You don’t seem very concerned, Adam said.

  I’m not, replied the Whisperer. The road to World’s End isn’t easy, especially not for the likes of them. Even if they manage somehow to settle their personal differences, they’ll still have the Folk to deal with. Lawmen, posses, border patrols – all those things will slow them down; test their resources; drain their glam. And if we need to intervene – well, we have our dreamer.

  ‘Maggie,’ it said in Adam’s voice. ‘All this has exhausted you. For the moment you should get some rest. Tomorrow we can try again.’

  Maggie looked at him gratefully. ‘Next time I’ll do it right,’ she said. ‘I promise I won’t let you down.’

  And now, once more, the Whisperer spoke silently to Adam, occasionally pausing in its instructions to check that the boy had understood. Adam listened carefully, and if he was surprised at some of the things his master required, he wisely avoided comment.

  A boy from the Northlands, he told himself, should never have been caught up in this battle for Worlds, and he had long since given up any desire for power. The time was approaching when he would be free, the Voice in his head assured him. All he needed to do was obey, and very soon Adam would be able to do whatever he wanted – go home, if he chose; or stay in World’s End and collect his final reward.

  Just do exactly as I say, and I will give you everything that you have ever wished for. All you ever dreamed …

  No more dreams, Adam thought. If I had a wish, that’s what it would be.

  Inside his head, the Whisperer laughed. Granted, it said. Now do as I say.