Runelight

by Joanne Harris

  ‘Did the Old Man speak?’ he said, and she saw the Whisperer in his eyes.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Not a word.’

  ‘And nothing else happened?’ The Whisperer’s voice was suspicious, and dry as a handful of cemetery dust.

  Once more Maggie shook her head, and any feeling of guilt she might have had at deceiving Adam slipped away. The Whisperer was too dangerous for her to confide in Adam now. Who knew what kind of punishment his master might inflict on him, and all because Maggie Rede couldn’t keep her mouth shut? Besides, what had she really done? Opened the window an inch or two? Bought a couple of Fat Boys? Had a nap? Dreamed a dream?

  She lifted her eyes to Adam’s and gave him her sweetest, most open smile. ‘I had the most wonderful dream,’ she said. ‘Now, how about a kiss?’

  And as she pulled him towards her and laced her hands together at the nape of his neck, Maggie felt a surge of something inside too powerful for her to express. She had no words for it; but she knew that she would rather die than see Adam suffer because of her. If everything went to plan, she thought, the Firefolk would soon be subdued, the Old Man would give her the new runes, and Adam would be free at last.

  And as for Odin’s ravens …

  Maggie reached down into her pocket and felt the crumpled pink paper there. As soon as she could, she told herself, she would throw it into the fire. No trace remained of the two birds – no speck of sugar, no signature, not even a scatter of Fat Boy crumbs to indicate that they had been there. Perhaps she had only dreamed them, and all this was just a delirium brought on by a surfeit of Fat Boys.

  In any case, Maggie thought, all that was over now.

  Adam didn’t need to know.

  THE SUN WAS setting through the mist as Loki and the other gods made their way to the Rhydian Bridge, the mass of its four stone pylons looming dark against the sky. The mist was getting thick now, rolling off the river in waves. The streets were ghostly with it; the air heavily charged with the scent of smoke.

  ‘Gods alive, it stinks!’ said Jolly.

  For once, Sugar agreed with him. It wasn’t just the smoke, he thought, or even the reek of the tanneries. It was something worse than either of those; something like the stench of death.

  The townsfolk seemed not to notice. They watched with no hostility, but no apparent interest, while the circus approached the Rhydian Bridge. As the sky darkened, so Rhydian lit; first with lamps by the side of the street, suspended from metal lampposts; then with lanterns in windows; with torches, fires and braziers, and strings of multicoloured glass globes, each containing a tea-light, that were stretched from building to building, giving the town a carnival look.

  Loki felt his spirits lift again. A carnival meant money to spend, wine to be drunk, fat purses to be plundered. What if there was another circus in town? Rhydian was big enough. And besides, the Trickster couldn’t see any carnival hoping to compete with Lucky’s Pocket Pan-daemonium Circus.

  What had the old woman said to him? That the town came alive at sundown? Well, it was sundown, and sure enough, all along the riverside, Rhydian was coming to life. Chop-houses and taverns were beginning to open their doors. From one came a scent of mulled wine; from others, fresh bread, grilled fish, fruit pies with cinnamon. The gods found their mouths watering; the meagre supplies from their last stop mostly consisted of dried food and hay for the horses, and the prospect of a home-cooked meal was suddenly very attractive. Loki began to feel quite cheerful; and even the thought of competing with Rhydian’s home-grown carnival felt as if it might turn out to be, not a chore, but a pleasure.

  The mist had thickened even more as the gods made their way to the foot of the bridge. Now they could begin to grasp the colossal, solid scale of the thing: those pylons reaching into the mist; those cables holding the structure in place like a cat’s cradle of metal and stone. The far side of the bridge was in fog; only the lights on the pylons remained visible, like fireballs in the darkness.

  ‘Gods, that’s impressive,’ said Thor (who, in his Aspect as Dorian, appreciated a nice piece of engineering work).

  ‘I can’t see the other side at all,’ said Heimdall, squinting through Bjarkán. ‘This fog must be unusually thick.’

  But Loki had other things on his mind. ‘So – where’s this other circus?’ he said. ‘And how come we can’t hear it?’

  ‘I do hear something,’ Bragi said, summoning a cantrip. ‘It sounds like someone playing a flute.’

  Idun nodded. ‘I hear it too. It’s coming from down there …’ And she pointed to some iron steps that seemed to lead underneath the bridge.

  Loki took a step forward. There was definitely something down there. Now that he knew, he could hear it too. A sound of many voices, muffled by the weight of the fog; and music, distant music, and the scent of something delicious …

  He squinted into the luminous mist. ‘That must be the carnival,’ he said. ‘What say we go and check it out?’

  The others seemed inclined to agree. ‘It’s under there,’ said Freyja, pointing between the bridge’s feet. ‘Look, I can see the lights …’

  The gods and their allies in Chaos left their wagons to take a look. Sure enough, between the pylons was gathered a crowd of people. Visibility was poor, and the crowd looked more like ghosts, but there were men, women and children down there; and pastry vendors, beer stalls, pie-men, pedlars selling trinkets. The smell of food was suddenly overwhelming.

  ‘This looks very promising,’ said Loki with his crooked smile. ‘We’ll go down, set up the show, get ourselves a bite to eat and be off before midnight. I’m starving.’

  Fenris and the Wolf Boys growled their approval of the plan.

  Jolly and Sugar, who had livened up at the smell of beer, now looked almost cheerful.

  Angie said, ‘They have animals.’

  Sure enough, a rumbling sound, like penned beasts, came from below.

  ‘And a stage,’ said Freyja, looking down the steps in her turn. ‘And something written there in lights …’

  Once more Loki squinted into the mist, and found himself wondering why he hadn’t seen it before. A large square panel, surrounded by glass globe-lights, which proclaimed:

  CAPTAIN CHAOS’S CARNIVAL OF CATACLYSM AND CATASTROPHE!

  ALL YOUR WILDEST DREAMS BROUGHT TO LIFE!

  SEE THE MIGHTY OLIPHANT!

  THE MAGIC MIRROR!

  THE MAN OF STEEL!

  THE BEST IN NINE WORLDS, OR YOUR MONEY BACK!!!

  Loki found himself caught between amusement and indignation. Clearly this Captain Chaos had no small opinion of himself.

  ‘We can make a killing here,’ he told the others. ‘Wait and see. There must be a thousand people down there – that’s a thousand purses ripe for the picking. A thousand satisfied customers just waiting to show their appreciation in gold.’

  Only Ethel looked doubtful. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘Can’t we just cross the bridge and move on?’

  ‘What?’ said Loki. ‘And miss out on the biggest prize in the whole of the North Ridings? Not to mention a decent meal …’

  Heimdall nodded. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘It’s just a pity we can’t take the wagons.’

  Ethel shook her head. ‘I’ll stay. You don’t need me for the show, anyway. And I don’t like the look of those steps.’

  Loki shrugged. ‘Well, please yourself. But I still think you’re missing out.’

  And so gods and demons (and wolves and birds) made their way down the spiral steps that led underneath the Meridian Bridge. It was a long way down, and the steps were older and even more rickety than they had first appeared. Clearly the ironwork under the bridge was not as well-maintained as it was above, and the infrastructure made disquieting little ticking sounds as the party descended.

  But when they arrived underneath, they found a scene of such merriment that all of them forgot their doubts. Loki had guessed at a thousand Folk – now he reckoned twice that number, all crow
ded onto the space that ran under the stone pylons – a broad stone walkway overlooking the water and lit by many lanterns that were suspended under the bridge.

  The effect, especially in fog, was like that of an enormous hall with food stands, pedlars, entertainers of all kinds – fire-eaters, jugglers – all barking their wares at the tops of their voices while the crowd moved placidly from one entertainment to another, ooh-ing and aah-ing and tossing coins.

  And there was the stage, surrounded by lights. An opulent red curtain was drawn, and a man in a spangled coat and tall hat was announcing some kind of performance. Freyja was already there, watching from the front row, her face as rapt as a child’s.

  Captain Chaos’s Carnival, thought the Trickster, and grinned to himself; pausing only to snag a Fat Boy from a passing vendor’s tray, he pushed forward through the cheering crowd to check out the opposition.

  The first thing he did was cast Bjarkán. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but information never hurt. What tricks did the circus have in store? Were there trapdoors? Illusions? What was hidden behind that curtain?

  But in the glare of the stage lights, Bjarkán had nothing to reveal. The tiniest scrawl of a signature, something that might be a broken rune – but beyond that, try as he might, Loki couldn’t make out the details. Still, he thought, it was nothing much. Just a couple of cantrips. Nothing that might challenge him. He settled down to enjoy the show.

  Captain Chaos revealed himself to be a man of average height, with red hair under his tall hat and an impudent, lopsided grin, to which Loki immediately took exception. His manner was equally impudent, though he had an engaging style and a slick turn of phrase and a comic air that set the audience roaring.

  ‘And now, for your delight and delectation,’ he said. (What a cliché, thought Loki.) ‘All the way from the depths of Dream’ – a drum rolled, a guitar struck a chord – ‘the delirious, delicious, utterly irresistible Diva of Desire, the Deaconess of Delight, the one and only Dulcinea, the most Beautiful Woman in the Nine Worlds!’

  Freyja stiffened. ‘How dare he!’

  Loki put a hand on her arm. ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘I want to see.’

  ‘How dare he!’ she said in a louder voice, slapping away the Trickster’s hand. On her brow the rune Fé shone out in indignation. ‘Most Beautiful Woman in the Worlds! That’s— How dare he! That’s me!’

  Briefly Loki considered shutting her up with a cantrip. But the goddess of desire in a rage was not someone to be trifled with, and if Loki felt that it might be unwise for Freyja to intervene at that point, he wisely kept his thoughts to himself. Some forces are unstoppable – a jealous woman is one of them. And so he finished his Fat Boy instead, and settled down to watch as Freyja leaped in full Aspect onto the stage and into the lights.

  Captain Chaos seemed unmoved by the interruption. In fact, his grin broadened a little. ‘Have we had the pleasure?’ he said, extending a welcoming hand.

  Freyja, blinded by the lights and finding a thousand pairs of eyes suddenly fixed upon her, glared.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘It appears we have a challenge. For tonight, for one night only, Dulcinea will share the stage with – er …?’

  Loki, seeing Freyja ready to make a fool of herself, sprang up onto the stage beside her. ‘Let me introduce you,’ he said. ‘This is the Lady Gylfa, from Greenland. Gylfa the Golden, Gylfa the Great, the glorious Goddess of Gorgeousness …’

  Captain Chaos showed his teeth. ‘Very well. Name your stake. We’ll match it. Winner takes all,’ he said.

  ‘Stake?’ said Freyja, bewildered.

  ‘Make a wager, lady. Best in Nine Worlds, or your money back. Isn’t that the rule, folks?’

  The audience roared its approval. Coins began to shower down onto the boards of the little stage.

  For a moment Freyja hesitated. Then she summoned the money-rune, Fé, and flung down a handful of silver coins.

  Captain Chaos raised an eyebrow, and Loki saw that under the dazzling lights, Freyja’s coins had reverted back into the dreamstuff from which they had come, leaving only a handful of dust that glittered on the wooden boards.

  He hastily put a hand into his pocket and brought out a handful of real coins. Captain Chaos grinned at him as they clinked onto the growing pile.

  Once more the audience howled. Loki took a deep bow.

  Captain Chaos followed suit. ‘All right. Now, folks. Let the show begin!’

  And from behind the red curtain stepped a woman of such beauty, such grace, that even the gods, who were used to such things, could not help but stop and stare. A gleaming rune adorned her brow –

  – it was the reverse of the rune Fé, a rune of fire and destruction – and though afterwards no one who’d seen her could quite agree on the precise colour of her hair, or the fabric of her dress, Thor stared so hard that Sif slapped his face; and Fenny and the Wolf Boys almost drooled with longing; and Bragi’s jaw dropped; and Idun glared; and Loki thanked his lucky stars that Sigyn was safe in her acorn-cup.

  And then Dulcinea started to dance to the languid sound of a violin, and every note was a first kiss, and every step was a broken heart, and the audience began to sway and moan in a kind of voiceless ecstasy …

  For a moment Freyja stood her ground. In Aspect, she was dazzling. Her hair was a winter sunset, her mouth a slashed pomegranate. It seemed impossible that any woman could rival her …

  But Dulcinea was like silk; like cream; like roses; like starlight. Next to her, Freyja’s hair looked brassy and vulgar; her lips too full; her face too hard; her waist too pinched; her eyes angry slits; her fists clenched into ugly knots.

  ‘Do we have a winner?’ said Captain Chaos with a grin.

  The audience began to chant: ‘Dul-ci-ne-a! Dulcinea!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Captain Chaos.

  The colour dropped from Freyja’s face.

  ‘Are you sure that’s who you want?’

  ‘Dul-ci-ne-a! DUL-CI-NE-A!’

  Still she faced them. The chanting grew louder. Someone called out: ‘Get the doxy off the stage! Let’s have Dulcinea!’

  And at that, with a shriek of outrage, the goddess of desire fled, crackling with runelight and wrath, to laughter and mocking applause from the crowd.

  Thoughtful, Loki watched her go. It wasn’t that he had any sympathy for Freyja’s humiliation. In fact, he quite enjoyed it. Still, there was something about all this that made him a little uneasy. Perhaps it was those dazzling lights that prevented him from using Bjarkán … He almost considered packing up and leaving. After all, they still had supplies. The horses could last another night, with runes of endurance to speed them on. After that there had to be plenty of villages down the road that would be happy to see their show.

  But the thought of letting a rival win was too much for Loki to accept. Captain Chaos’s Carnival couldn’t be as good as it claimed. The best in Nine Worlds, or your money back?

  That sounded like a challenge. A bet.

  And if there was anything he couldn’t turn down …

  And so, without further resistance, the Trickster snagged himself another couple of Fat Boys and prepared to face the enemy.

  PERTH LIVED IN a small, narrow houseboat down by the docks, in a neighbourhood known as the Water Rats, a place where fishermen traded their wares. It was lucky for Maddy that he did, for she had soon learned that Jormungand, even in his Horse Aspect, needed more than just hay to sustain him.

  On his very first day in World’s End the Horse of the Sea had munched his way casually through half a dozen lobsters, a bucket of shrimp, a barrel of salt herring and a whole fresh cod before Maddy could stop him, and was now under orders to stay under the boardwalk, preferably in one of his smaller Aspects, and to feed only by night, well away from curious eyes.

  Perth’s suggestion that a fish-eating horse would help draw the punters in was dismissed by Maddy, whose earlier assessment of him had only been reinforced when she saw him in action. Perth c
ould sell anything – from pieces of rock to sacks of potatoes – and if they were stolen, then so much the better. He also had no scruples about picking the pockets of his customers as they left, and Maddy, trying to ensure that neither of them attracted the wrong sort of attention, found the task harder and harder.

  By the time she’d been in World’s End five days, Maddy was feeling desperate. According to the Seeress, the End of the Worlds was in four days’ time, and still there was no sign of either the Old Man, or Maggie, or even Odin’s ravens, who might have been able to guide her in the right direction. Jorgi was worse than useless; lolling under the boardwalk by day, hunting for seals and lobsters by night, he showed no sign of clairvoyance, nor any inclination to help, and Maddy’s frustration grew and grew until she could barely eat, barely sleep, in case she missed some vital clue to the problems that eluded her.

  At night she paced. She gnawed her fists. She wrote out Ethel’s prophecy and studied it interminably. She even took out her casting runes and tried to read her fortune, but the runestones kept stubbornly landing face-down, so that finally she put them away, half wondering whether all this – Perth, Maggie, her flight to World’s End, Jormungand, all the events of the past three years – had simply been a terrible dream, from which she could expect to awake at any moment to discover that Odin was not dead, that Maggie was not her sister and that the Apocalypse predicted by the Seeress was merely a chapter in an as yet unwritten Faërie tale, to be told around a campfire to grandchildren as yet unborn.

  Sadly, it was no dream; and Maddy was almost ready to give up hope and rejoin her friends when something happened to change her mind.

  It was fish-market day at the Water Rats. There were four of these markets every week – one for fish, one for fabrics, one for flowers, one for fruit and vegetables. Perth was helping out at a stall selling pickled herring (and lifting the occasional purse, just to keep in practice). Jorgi was under the boardwalk as usual, snapping up anything that happened to crawl his way. And Maddy, her face half wrapped in a shawl (to try to stifle the smell of the fish), was sitting watching the people go by and feeling almost sleepy with the noise and buzz of the market-day crowd.