Ethel smiled. ‘Told you,’ she said.
And so, hissing with frustration, the Watchman took to his bird form and soared into the moonlit sky, while Hugin and Munin, finding their perch suddenly unstable, shot out from under the Rhydian Bridge like Wildfire out of Netherworld.
WHILE ALL THIS was going on, Wildfire himself was thinking hard. In spite of what he’d told Captain Chaos, he had no intention of pledging allegiance to yet another renegade artefact.
But the Sun Shield was a powerful glam, which – if he could control it – would give him the kind of freedom he had only ever dreamed of: independence from Asgard; physical security; protection from his enemies, be they from Order or Chaos. It was a tempting prospect, and Loki was always willing to speculate to accumulate.
But Captain Chaos had proved more dangerous than even the Trickster anticipated, and now, hanging upside-down three hundred feet above the Vimur River, from a rusty girder under a bridge that was ready to collapse at any instant, Loki was beginning to realize that his plan was riskier than he’d thought.
The Sun Shield was positioned between the first two pylons of the Rhydian Bridge, at an angle to the ground. It was convex, which meant that it reflected a good part of the city itself, as well as the bank and the river, and although the years had tarnished it, the runes upon it were clear enough: Bjarkán; Sól; Thuris; Fé; Raedo; Úr; Kaen; Ár – powerful runes of protection and light to guard the solar chariot.
At Ragnarók, the sun had gone out, thanks to the Devourers – Skól and Haiti, now Skull and Big H – and their insatiable appetites. But the Shield was indestructible; and, like Mjølnir, had found its way out of Netherworld, through Dream and into the Middle Worlds.
At least, so Loki theorized; the Captain was far too busy to talk, and Loki thought it more prudent to keep his reflections to himself. Now, after a long and awkward climb, he was hanging upside-down in front of the solar mirror, while his image, watching from the ground, guided him through what was rapidly becoming a very tricky operation.
A large fishing net was spread out between the pylons, ready to catch the Shield as it fell. The plan was for Loki to pull it free, using his glam if he had to, drop it into the waiting net, then assume hawk guise and fly down from the bridge to rejoin his companion.
‘If you could give me a hand …’ he said. ‘What are you, afraid of heights?’
Loki was not afraid of heights – at least, not in normal circumstances. But climbing under a metal bridge that was nearly five hundred years old, then hanging upside-down in front of a mirror-glam with a runecharm of Tyr in one hand, then chipping away at the metalwork that held the ancient artefact in place, with rust and soot falling into his eyes and the bridge losing stability with every second that went by, Loki was starting to feel that perhaps he was nervous, after all.
‘Get on with it,’ Captain Chaos said. ‘And remember: no tricks.’
‘No tricks.’ Loki was uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable he was in his current position. With Kaen levelled at him from the ground, he was hardly likely to try anything tricky – or so he hoped the Captain would think … at least until it was too late. Clever of the Captain, he thought, to keep the upper hand like this; using Loki to free the Shield meant that he himself could watch from a position of safety, and that as soon as Loki dropped the Shield, he could retrieve it and use it as fast as his borrowed glam would allow him.
But Loki had a different plan. He had no intention of dropping the Shield. His double was cautious, and smart enough to anticipate some kind of trickery – but Loki too was cautious and smart, and he had a suspicion that, once the Captain had the Shield, he would have more than enough glam to dispense with Loki permanently.
It was, after all, what he would have done, if their situations had been reversed, and Loki was conscious of a twinge – no, not of remorse, but of pique at being so very predictable.
For if the Trickster was vulnerable, Captain Chaos was far from secure. As long as Loki’s image appeared in the Shield’s polished surface, his double had the upper hand; but if he could slip behind the Shield and use it before the Captain did, then Captain Chaos would be no more, and Loki would be free …
These were the dangerous ideas that were passing through the Trickster’s mind as he chipped away at the Sun Shield. It was rather large for a shield – about four feet across, perfectly round and inscribed with runes on its edge. The rest of it was smooth as glass, though time had given its surface a kind of smoky patina. If the mirror were removed, would the city come back to life? Would the thousands of captured souls that were caught in reflection under the bridge be freed, or would they just disappear? And what about the bridge itself? Would it still stand when the Sun Shield was gone? And – perhaps more importantly – would Loki have time to use it?
‘This bridge is falling apart,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it can take much more.’
Certainly the bridge seemed to know that the Shield was under attack. Girders moaned, rivets popped, centuries of powdery rust began to fall from the metal. It fell into Loki’s clothes and hair; it filled his mouth with the taste of blood.
‘Hurry,’ said Captain Chaos.
Loki gave a deep sigh. He was starting to feel most uneasy. The Sun Shield was more than an artefact; he’d already seen proof of that. Captain Chaos too had proved to be far more than just a reflection. What would happen when the Sun Shield was free? Would Captain Chaos then finally have a life of his own? And what would happen to Loki himself when he was no longer needed?
Suddenly, through the falling rust, he thought he saw something under the bridge. A dark shape – a bird, perhaps – was sitting on one of the girders. In no position to cast Bjarkán, Loki nevertheless recognized one of Odin’s birds – those annoying ravens that Ethel seemed to have adopted.
He hoped they weren’t trying to help him. The last thing he wanted at this stage was anyone’s interference. He reached around the Sun Shield for something to hold onto. The acorn that hung from his left wrist was now concealed in the palm of his hand. He slipped it behind the Sun Shield and started to whisper a cantrip …
The raven gave a sharp crawk and hopped a little closer, bringing down a scatter of rust over the inverted Trickster. Loki saw that it had a white head, which identified it as Mandy.
Crop it into the – crawk! it said.
‘What?’
Crop it. Into the creek. Gekkaway. Ack-ack! Mandy’s voice was urgent and harsh; even allowing for the vocal limitations of her host body, the message was unmistakable. Throw the Sun Shield into the river. Get away as fast as you can.
Loki dared not raise his voice in case Captain Chaos heard him. Instead, he spoke in a whisper, barely moving his scarred lips. ‘Please! Just leave me alone!’ he said.
Mandy pecked at the girder. Crawk! Another pinch of powdery rust fell into the Trickster’s eyes.
‘Ouch!’ He brushed the debris from his eyes, transferring Tyr to his right hand. The Sun Shield was almost free now; it shifted slightly beneath his grasp, and he felt the bridge shift accordingly.
‘Hurry up!’ said Captain Chaos.
‘Got it, I think,’ said the Trickster. He glanced back at the raven, and saw that it had been joined by its companion. Two pairs of gold-ringed eyes fixed on him in the darkness.
‘Listen, I don’t need your help,’ Loki said in the same careful whisper. He knew that Captain Chaos’s hearing would be at least as keen as his own, and he’d already seen how suspicious his mirror-image was of him. Once more he hissed at the ravens: ‘Get lost! I can take care of this!’
Hughie assumed his human form, cross-legged on the girder. Hidden among the shadows, he was almost invisible from the ground, his silver jewellery hidden beneath the cloak of feathers that covered him.
‘We know what ye’re thinking,’ he said. ‘No you don’t,’ hissed Loki. ‘Please. Do you want to get me killed?’ ‘You’re planning tae steal the Sun Shield and keep it for yourself,’ Hughie said.
Loki’s scarred lips tightened. ‘So what?’
‘So – that’s verra dangerous. And what about your promise, eh? What about the End of the Worlds?’
‘The Worlds can end without me,’ said Loki, looking down at the drop. ‘I’ve seen the show before – and believe me, I’m in no hurry to go there again.’
‘But you’re needed,’ Hughie said. ‘You’re a part o’ the prophecy. Just throw the Shield into the river, and get away as fast as ye can. Do anything else and ye’ll come to grief.’
‘Who says?’ muttered the Trickster.
Hughie crawk-ed in frustration. ‘Will ye never do as ye’re told? The survival of the Gødfolk depends on what ye do next!’
Loki shrugged (not easy to do when you’re hanging upside-down from a bridge). Three hundred feet to the net, he guessed. It might take him three or four seconds to fall. Three or four seconds, exposed, in mid-air, to flip the Shield round and use it before Captain Chaos could intervene. Three or four seconds of terrible risk; and even if he didn’t try to take control of the Sun Shield, what would prevent the Captain from shooting Loki out of the sky the moment the artefact was his?
He hissed: ‘Because the Gødfolk care so much about my survival …’
‘What are you whispering about up there?’ Captain Chaos’s voice was sharp.
‘I’ve got it,’ called Loki. ‘It’s coming free …’
Sure enough, the Sun Shield was coming away from its moorings at last. With a crackle of runelight, the solar disc pulled away from the pylon, and at once the bridge began to sag like a cart with a broken axle.
‘Throw me the Shield,’ the Captain said.
‘Throw it into the river,’ said Hughie. ‘That’ll distract him, and as ye do, ye can make your getaway. Otherwise he’ll bring ye down …’
But the Trickster had another plan. Ignoring Hughie and Mandy, he whispered a little cantrip. Behind the Shield, the acorn charm resumed its Aspect as Sigyn. Cramped, confused and disoriented, she opened her mouth to scream—
‘Shh, Sigyn, please …’ he said.
Behind the Sun Shield, Sigyn’s eyes widened in stupefaction. ‘What are we doing here?’ she said. ‘Where are the others? What have you done?’
‘Me? Nothing,’ Loki hissed. ‘Only saved everybody’s life, and risked my skin into the bargain. Now do as I say, and everything’s going to be all ri—’
A purple fireball struck the bridge barely three feet above Loki’s head. Iron girders splayed like straws from the disintegrating structure.
‘That was a warning shot, Trickster,’ called Captain Chaos from the ground. ‘I want that Shield, and I want it now!’
‘Hang on a minute!’ said Loki. Above him, cracks were appearing in the bridge. Chunks of stone were dropping through into the river below them.
‘Sigyn, now! Turn the Shield—’
Ack-ack! said the ravens, taking wing as their perch fell away.
‘Turn the wha-aaahh!’ screamed Sigyn as the girder from which Loki was hanging started to tear away in its turn. Three seconds more, and they would be falling towards the Vimur.
The second mindbolt was not a warning. It struck an inch from Loki’s head, firing off the Sun Shield and into the air above Rhydian. A smattering of violet sparks, each one as lethal as a crossbow bolt, skidded across the damaged bridge and fell into the water.
Loki had time to grab the Shield before he and Sigyn began to fall. Linked fast by the Wedlock, they twisted and turned in mid-air; Loki trying to flip the Shield, Sigyn hanging on for dear life, runelight flaring from her hands. Masonry and twisted metal filled the air around them; Hugin and Munin flapped and crawk-ed, trying to distract the Captain; while Loki’s double, on the bank, raged and screamed in fury.
His third mindbolt hit Loki smack between the shoulders, and if Sigyn hadn’t been shielding them both – not with the Sun Shield, but with Yr – it might have been much worse for him. As it was, he fell, howling, in flames, right through the net and into the river.
The water was fast and very cold. For a moment the Trickster lost consciousness. Dragged under by the Sun Shield and by the weight of the Wedlock, he felt the river’s terrible force crushing him and pulling him down; he opened his mouth and water rushed in, filling his lungs, consuming him …
In different circumstances it would have been an easy trick for him to have taken some different Aspect – a fish, perhaps, or a river-snake – and to swim to the bank in safety. But the mindbolt had stunned him half senseless, his glam was almost depleted; besides which there was the gold chain still fastened around his left wrist, and Sigyn, now a dead weight, dragging him deeper under the water.
The Sun Shield! Even now, the thought was foremost in the Trickster’s mind. It must have fallen through the net; the undertow had taken it. He opened his eyes, but the dark was so complete that he might as well have been blind. He was moving fast too, dragged down by the undertow, breathing water, seeing stars, crashing with tremendous force against a pile of driftwood—
More stars.
Stars? Ouch!
A hand in his hair, dragging him out. More hands on his body. He felt himself being carried, then dumped onto his back on the river bank. Someone’s mouth clamped over his own; air in his lungs like cold fire. His hair was singed; his shirt was charred rags; his back was burning as if he’d been branded.
Now he could hear voices; voices that seemed to come from afar; voices that he recognized …
‘Loki, talk to me …’
‘Is he alive?’
‘He is, worse luck. Quick, let me hit him before he comes round …’
Hastily Loki opened his eyes. In the starlight, a circle of faces, blurry at first, came into view: Heimdall, Freyja, Ethel, Thor. Idun, whose voice he had first recognized, was holding a sliver of apple. As always, she looked sweet and kind; kneeling beside her, the Seeress too was watching him with a look of concern.
Then she slapped his face, hard.
‘Ouch!’ he said. ‘I’m conscious.’
Ethel said, ‘Just checking, dear.’
Loki sat up. ‘The Sun Shield …’
Ethel gave him one of her looks. ‘Sigyn’s fine,’ she said loudly. ‘Just a little shaken, that’s all. I’ll tell her you were asking, though. You owe her your life, I hope you know that. She was the one who dragged you to the bank. She was the one who—’
‘What about the Sun Shield?’ Loki repeated urgently.
‘Fishbait. No time to recover it. It could be halfway to Hel by now.’ Ethel lowered her voice again. ‘My ravens told me everything.’
‘Oh,’ said Loki. ‘I can explain.’
‘Don’t bother explaining,’ Ethel said, and went back to wait by the wagons.
They set off again within the hour; and the Trickster, who had fully expected Ethel to tell everybody about his failed defection, was inclined to think that she had let him off easily. Perhaps she thought he’d been punished enough – after all, he’d lost the Shield – although, looking at her impassive face as she rode alongside him down the road, Loki could see no softness there, or any sign of affection.
He noticed that she now spoke to him only out of necessity; the rest of the time she spent reading a book, or whispering to her ravens, and more than once he found himself wondering uneasily how she could seem to hate him so much, while at the same time protecting him.
Still, who really knows what an oracle thinks? the Trickster thought as they trotted along, and soon his mind was on other things as Lucky’s Pocket Pan-daemonium Circus left the ruined bridge behind and began the final leg of its journey along the highway to World’s End.
Trust me. They don’t call it ‘wedlock’ for nothing.
Lokabrenna, 5:19
SEVEN DAYS HAD now passed since Maddy arrived in World’s End with high hopes of finding the Old Man, solving the prophecy and contacting her sister.
None of those things had happened so far. Her search had proven fruitless. Since meeting with
Mrs Blackmore, there had been no further mention of Maggie Rede, and the Old Man was as much of a mystery as it had been a week ago. Jormungand was useless, preferring to spend his time by the docks than helping Maddy in her quest. Even Odin’s ravens had failed to put in an appearance.
Now, with only two days to go before the End of the Worlds, she was beginning to wonder once again whether she shouldn’t simply go home when, on the Friday market day – Maddy’s eighth day in the city – she saw something that changed her mind. Or rather, she saw someone, and the sight of him made her hackles rise just the same as they always had.
Impossible, she told herself. What would he be doing here?
And yet the young man reminded her so strongly of someone she’d known before. The way he moved; the set of his jaw; the way his dark-blonde hair fell diagonally across his forehead …
It couldn’t be. And yet it was.
He’d grown into a handsome young man – though his blue eyes were still as mean as they’d always been when he was a boy, and his walk was just as arrogant as he strode between the market stalls.
Adam? Adam Scattergood?
Maddy ducked behind a tent-stall selling kitchen hardware. Perth gave her a quizzical look, but she gestured to him to hold his tongue. Through a gap in the side of the tent she watched as the young man wandered past.
For a moment her heart almost stopped as he paused at a nearby fabric stall, and fingered a roll of pale-yellow silk.
‘How much for this?’
The vendor, an Outlander woman in a blue veil, murmured a price.
Adam shrugged. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said, and threw down a handful of coins. From her place at the side of the tent, Maddy caught the gleam of gold.
So Adam was wealthy, was he, now? His clothes were of fine quality, he carried a sword at his side, and it was clear from his manner that he considered himself above bargaining with traders. She wondered how he had come to World’s End, and what could be his business there.
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