Adam Scattergood obeyed.
THAT NIGHT, IN spite of her fatigue, Maggie hardly slept. The richness of their surroundings, the softness of the four-post bed, the memory of the Old Man’s voice like a dark caress in her mind – all conspired to keep her awake until at last she could bear it no longer. She crept out of bed, leaving Adam asleep on the sky-blue sofa, and went over to the window, where a moon for wolves to howl at was rising over the city, gilding the rooftops and casting panels of light and shade across the floor of the penthouse.
The Old Man was on a plinth by the bed, silent under a dust-sheet. Was it sleeping? Was it dead? A part of Maggie hoped it was. But the greater part wanted nothing more than the chance to question their prisoner; to ask him about her family – and most of all, her sister – without alerting Adam, or the dark presence inside him of which she was always conscious.
Maggie tiptoed to the plinth and gently pulled aside the sheet.
‘Are you there?’ she whispered.
Something flickered inside the rock. Maggie. You seem troubled, it said.
‘I need to understand something.’
The Old Man’s colours brightened again, almost like a little smile.
Let me guess. You’re troubled because I showed you where you came from. You’re a child of the Æsir – our last encounter proved that. As if there could be any doubt in view of that runemark you carry.
The smile was even more luminous now, casting patterns of colour and light across the darkened bedroom.
Maggie frowned. ‘But how can that be? I was born here, in World’s End. My parents were Susan and Donal Rede. Everybody knows that.’
Really? said the Old Man. Did you know it, Maggie? Or were you always different? Always asking questions? Always wanting something more – a thing you couldn’t even name? Always looking for a place you didn’t even know was there?
Maggie’s eyes widened. ‘How could you know that?’
I was in Dream for a long time. I saw a lot of things there.
‘You saw my dreams?’ Maggie said.
Maggie, I’ve been watching you since the end of the Elder Age. I know how alone you must have felt, but believe this: I never forgot you. Not for a moment. All this time I’ve awaited my chance to bring you home to your people.
‘I don’t believe you!’
I think you do. Why else would you have come to me?
There was no answer to that, of course. Maggie knew that he was right. For all her suspicion, for all her rage, there was something that drew her to the Old Man; something even stronger than the thing that drew her to Adam. It was wrong – disloyal, perhaps – but there was no denying it. The knowledge that she had a family had altered the landscape of her mind. Now a range of mountains stood where once there was nothing but wasteland. Her sister. Her father. Her grandfather. All of them waiting to welcome her home …
‘You told me they were on their way,’ Maggie said.
I told you true.
‘What are they coming for?’
You, of course. The Old Man’s voice was tender now as it whispered and coaxed in Maggie’s mind: Magni, child of the Thunderer, I name thee; Magni, child of Thor; I name thee child of Jarnsaxa; born of Order and Misrule; I name thee Ác, Thunder Oak; sister of Aesk, Lightning Ash; I name thee Builder, Destroyer; War-bringer and Bow-breaker; Dreamer and Awakener and Mother of the Latter Age …
And now, as she listened to the words, Maggie began to experience a curious sensation. From feeling scratchy and restless, she began to feel almost sleepy. Her heavy eyes began to close. Her mouth curved in a little smile. Dream, in all its seduction, began to unfold its petals—
She snapped her eyes open. ‘Stop that!’
She saw what it was doing now. The Old Man was trying to charm her, to take her off-balance, subdue her will, to ease her into the world of Dream, where she might be susceptible to the same kind of possession that Adam’s Magister had already tried – and failed – to inflict upon her.
Panic brought her to her feet.
It’s all right, said the Old Man. Just listen for a moment more—
But Maggie’s cry had woken Adam. ‘What are you doing?’ he said in alarm.
The voice in her head grew urgent. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, it said. You must understand. I’ve made mistakes; I’ve done bad things. But I would never hurt you. We are your family, Maggie. We love you. We want you. We need you—
‘I said stop!’
And with that Maggie flung the rune Ác with all her strength at the prisoner. There came a howl of anguish from the creature inside the rock, and the net of runes that enclosed it flared so brightly that its pattern was imprinted on her retinas for several minutes afterwards.
Maggie shielded her eyes against the sudden blaze of runelight. Then, as abruptly, the Head went dark.
‘What in the Worlds were you playing at?’ Adam was standing beside her.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Maggie’s heart was pounding like a hammer. ‘I got up to talk to the Old Man, and then he tried to trick me …’
She looked at the darkened Head in dismay. ‘I haven’t killed him, have I?’ she said.
Adam shook his head. ‘No. But you have put him out of action. Tell me exactly what happened,’ he said.
Faltering, Maggie tried to explain. About her curiosity; the urge she’d felt to speak to the thing alone and without hindrance; then how it had drawn her in, seduced her with words and canticles …
‘What did he tell you?’ Adam said.
Maggie hung her head.
‘Well? Did he mention your family?’ Adam’s voice was relentless. ‘Did he say he needed you? Wanted you? Loved you, perhaps?’
Maggie nodded wordlessly.
‘Of course he did,’ Adam said. ‘I told you he was dangerous. I warned you, Maggie, didn’t I? I said he’d try to seduce you.’
‘I know. I know that,’ Maggie said. ‘I just thought …’
‘You could reason with him?’ Adam said in a dry voice. ‘You think he really cares for you? You think because of who you are he wouldn’t sacrifice you like a shot if it happened to serve his purpose?’
And now Adam told her about Maddy Smith: about how Odin One-Eye had befriended her when she was just seven years old, and groomed her into doing his work, and sent her at great peril into World Below – without so much as a warning – to find a glam of the Elder Days that the Æsir called the Whisperer …
‘That’s how much he cared for her,’ Adam finished triumphantly. ‘She was seven years old. An innocent. He lured her away from her family. He corrupted her. He taught her to kill. He made her into a murderer. So don’t you be getting any rosy thoughts about how she might be redeemable. None of them are. They’re the enemy. They never wanted you before, and the only reason they want you now is because you’re the Rider of Carnage.’
Maggie sighed. ‘I see that now. I suppose you think I’m very naïve.’
‘No, Maggie. I understand better than you think.’
She looked at him. ‘You do?’
‘Of course. You think I’ve never been lonely? You think I’ve never wondered what it’s like to have someone to love?’ He turned away, and from the corner of his eye saw Maggie watching intently. ‘No one’s ever wanted me,’ he went on in a quiet voice. ‘No parents, no people, no friends. Just my master, and now—’ He stopped.
‘Now what?’
‘Nothing. Forget it. Go back to bed,’ Adam told her curtly. To an outsider, it might have looked as if he were struggling to contain some long-repressed emotion. In fact, he was trying not to laugh. ‘Why should you care what I feel?’ he said. ‘I’m nothing to you, after all.’
Maggie put her hand on his arm. ‘That’s not true. You’re my only friend—’
‘I don’t want to be your friend,’ he said, turning to her abruptly. ‘I’ve tried, but I can’t. I love you—’
She looked at him, startled. ‘What did you say?’
‘I love you,’ h
e said, and touched Maggie’s face. Blue eyes looked into grey-gold. Deep inside, he was grinning.
‘Adam, I—’
‘Shh,’ he said, and drew her gently towards him. The gesture felt so natural that Maggie barely even gave it a thought. Her head sought the part of his shoulder that seemed to fit her so perfectly, and she closed her eyes with a long sigh. His hands dropped gently to her waist. He started to guide her towards the bed.
For a moment he felt resistance. Maggie, he knew, had been raised to believe in purity above all things. Over three days he had done a great deal to break down those beliefs and to replace them with those of his passenger; but even so, he knew that this was the ultimate test of her loyalty.
‘I’ve loved you since the day we met,’ he said in a dreamy, coaxing voice. ‘Ever since that day in the tunnels I’ve thought you were the bravest, the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my whole life. And I’m not afraid of dying in the battle with the Firefolk, but I’d never forgive myself if I went without at least telling you how I feel.’
And then he kissed her on the mouth, and Maggie forgot the End of the Worlds, the Old Man and the Whisperer; she forgot the Æsir, her sister and her family; she even forgot the Good Book and all its rules on modesty. In fact, she forgot everything but the touch of Adam’s hands, the faint and sleepy scent of him, and the words of love he whispered to her, more potent than any runecharm …
And as the two of them lay entwined on the giant four-post bed, Mimir the Wise felt a tremor of joy as he finally saw his goal within reach; and the Old Man of the Wilderlands, silent in his bed of rock, kept his counsel and slept, and dreamed, like all slaves, of being master.
MEANWHILE NAN AND the Horse of Air were skimming over Hel’s domain. It wasn’t the first time Nan had seen Hel – Crazy Nan was used to the worlds around Dream, and had spent much of her life there. Since childhood, waking or sleeping, she had always felt more comfortable in Dream than anywhere else, which was why folk had always called her daft, and had avoided her company.
Some even believed (Nat Parson among them) that her travels through Dream had robbed her of her soul as well as her sanity, and had called for her to be Examined; but in spite of the ruinmark on her forehead – a barely recognizable corruption of the rune Fé –
Nan showed no other sign of possession, and so the campaign was abandoned. After all, Nan Fey had her uses. She was an excellent midwife; she had a knack with healing herbs; and for the few like Maddy Smith who listened to her stories, she was a source of old tales, of rhymes and half-forgotten lore.
Now Nan soared over Hel and wondered what she should do for the best. She had failed to bring back the Auld Man, which was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. Odin One-Eye had a knack for dealing with problems, and besides, wherever he was, he was better off there than floating in Dream like a cork in ale, waiting for Chaos to swallow him up.
She decided to get back to Malbry. She had already spent too long in Dream, where Time works somewhat differently than in any of the other Worlds, and there were more pressing concerns at home than brooding over the Auld Man. His birdies would tell her what to do next. But with the gods having set off for World’s End, the situation on Red Horse Hill was reaching a fine old crisis point, with no one left to deal with it but Nan herself – and, of course, Epona. Just how an old woman and a washing basket might be able to close a rift in Dream that neither Æsir nor Vanir had managed to close in the past three years, or deal with the dreamcloud that even now was spreading fast towards Malbry, reducing everything it touched to fragments of shining cinder, Nan was as yet uncertain. But the Rider whose name was Lunacy had a lunatic’s optimism, believing that there was always a way; so she promptly urged the Horse of Air back towards the waking Worlds.
Some time later she was awake and sitting in her washing basket exactly as she had been when she set off on her extraordinary journey, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was now full night and the kitchen fire had gone out, coupled with the stiffness in her old legs and the gnawing at the pit of her stomach, she might almost have thought that no time at all had passed since she and the Horse of Air had vanished over Malbry.
And speaking of the Horse of Air …
Nan climbed from the basket and looked out of her window. In the garden Epona was cropping the frozen grass by the door, though now her Aspect had shifted to that of a rather elderly white mare with one milky eye and one dark one, which gleamed disreputably at Nan in the moonlight, as if the old Horse wanted nothing better than to stir up trouble in one form or another.
Nan went outside. It was snowy, but clear. Gently she patted the white mare’s mane and took a lump of sugar from her apron pocket. Epona accepted the sugar lump with a greedy snort and shook her head, wanting more.
‘There’s a good old girl,’ said Nan. ‘Ye’ve done very well. You have a rest now, while I feed the cats.’
Nan’s cats were mostly wild, though some of them ventured inside the house. Keeping a cat for any other purpose than catching mice was not common practice in Malbry, and many of the village folk took this little foible of Nan’s as further proof of her eccentricity. Nan liked her cats, however, and always fed them at half-past five every afternoon, at which time they would assemble outside the cottage and raise a plaintive chorus.
Today Nan was long overdue. The moon had been up for hours and the chorus of mewing had grown to a wail. She hurried outside with her bucket of scraps, to be greeted by more than two dozen cats – brindled and tabby and black-and-white – winding between her feet and legs and purring loudly and expectantly. So loud was this collective purr that Nan almost missed the sound of the rift between Worlds, now grown to the sound of a waterfall during the spring melt, and when she eventually heard it, she was shocked by how much its voice had increased during her few hours’ absence.
She left a pan of bread-and-milk for the cats and hurried onto the Malbry road. The village lay some miles away – so far that on a still day Nan could only just make out the ringing of the church bells – but tonight the sound of the rift in Dream was very clearly audible, which meant, Nan thought, that in her absence the dreamcloud had already crept visibly closer to the village; at this rate, in a week or less it would be at their doorsteps. If she looked very hard she could see it too, snaking against the starry sky like the Serpent with its tail in its mouth, ready to devour itself.
‘Oh my Laws,’ said Crazy Nan.
Crawk, came a voice behind her.
She turned, and saw a raven perching on the fence-post. She recognized one of the Auld Man’s birdies – the smaller one with the white head – and reached into her apron pocket for another sugar lump. She tossed it to the raven; Mandy caught it in her beak and transferred it immediately to her claws, turning it deftly round and round like a puzzle she was trying to solve.
Nan smiled. ‘Here ye are. I thought I’d see ye before long. I reckon ye already know the news regarding the Auld Man?’
Ack. The raven pecked at the sugar lump. Ack. Ack.
‘Attack,’ translated Nan.
Crawk. It finished the sugar. Kaik.
‘I don’t have any cake,’ said Nan. ‘Ye cleaned me out last time, ye did.’
Kaik. Kaik, said the raven.
‘Ach, wait,’ said Nan. ‘Ye want me to wait.’
Iar, said the bird.
Nan frowned. The Auld Man’s birdies had never been what you’d call easy to deal with. The big one, Hughie, could talk all right, but rarely said anything useful. The smaller one was better at carrying and remembering messages, but tended to find speaking difficult. Now it hopped down from its perch and pecked energetically at the frozen ground.
‘Wait,’ repeated Nan. ‘How long?’
The raven crawk-ed again. Once more it pecked at the cold ground. But this time its beak left a mark in the snow – a mark that stood out in the moonlight –
‘What is it? A glammy?’ Nan said.
Iar. Iar. Iar.
T
his seemed to be all the bird had to say. After several minutes of pecking the ground, of squawking, of strutting up and down, of hopping onto the fence-post and back again, Mandy finally seemed to lose heart, and with a final accusing Crawk! took wing and vanished into the sky.
Nan studied the mark in the snow. It certainly looked like a glammy. One of the New Script, likely as not; though how she was meant to use it, gods only knew.
Still, the Auld Man would find a way. He always did, she told herself. Chances were, wherever he was, he was just where he wanted to be. And if his birdies said to wait, then wait was what she had to do.
And so the Third Rider went back inside and made herself a pot of tea, while Epona cropped the grass in the yard, and on the road from Red Horse Hill the serpent of mist inched closer still, dissolving everything in its path into the stuff of dreams.
A WELL-EQUIPPED PARTY, travelling light and changing horses at every stop, might possibly reach World’s End in a week. But it soon became clear to all concerned that the gods and their allies in Chaos could not hope to make the trip in anything under two.
It wasn’t just the distance to be covered, which was significant enough, but the number of outposts they had to pass, with all the tedious formalities that entailed – credentials checked, baggage searched, names and identities called for – formalities that would, at best, cause grave delay to the party.
Better to travel cross-country, they said, avoiding the outposts as much as possible, and keeping away from the cities. It would add some time to their journey, but would save them from having to deal too often with the Folk, who, with their deep-rooted mistrust of all things Outlandish, would not make it easy to pass unchecked.
In Aspect, or in animal guise, they could have spanned the miles easily. But gone were the days (for most of them) when such glam could be used without counting the cost. Now the gods were cautious, reserving their strength for what lay ahead, knowing that every mile they crossed in this way would leave them weaker when they arrived, to face an enemy as yet unnamed.