Joanne Harris - Runemarks

Loki nodded. His smile was gone; now he looked eager, almost wistful, as he had by the fire pit, when he’d told Maddy there was a war coming. “So you think we will?”

“I think we must.” Odin’s voice was heavy. “I’ve known it since I found her, seven years old, savage as a wolf cub, with that mark on her hand. How she got there I couldn’t say, but all the signs were there from the beginning. An unbroken runemark- Aesk, no less-an innate ability to throw mindrunes, even her name-”

“My name?” said Maddy. Both of them ignored her.

“She never suspected,” Odin went on. “I fed her tales, half-truths, in readiness. But I knew from the start. It was in her blood. You can’t imagine all the times I’ve wanted to tell her-all the times I’ve wanted to give in to her demands and take her back to World’s End with me.”

“Tell me what ?” said Maddy, beginning to lose patience. “What’s in World’s End? One-Eye, what is it you haven’t told me?”

“But I knew she was safe,” said Odin, ignoring her still. “As long as she lived in this valley, by the Red Horse, I knew she’d come to no real harm. A little unpleasantness from the other children, perhaps-”

“A little unpleasantness!” cried Maddy, thinking of Adam Scattergood.

“Aye, a little, ” snapped Odin. “It isn’t easy being a god, you know. You have to take responsibility. It isn’t all about golden thrones and castles in the clouds.”

Maddy was staring at him, mouth slightly open. “A god?”

“Seer, demon, whatever.”

“But I’m a Fiery,” said Maddy. “You said so yourself.”

“I lied,” he said. “Welcome to the clan.”

Maddy just stared at both of them. “You’re crazy,” she said. “I’m Jed Smith’s daughter, from Malbry village. A runemark, a few glamours-that doesn’t make me one of the Seer-folk. It doesn’t make me one of you.”

“Oh, but it does,” said Loki, grinning. “This was predicted centuries ago. But you know what they say- Never trust an oracle. Their talent is all misdirection. Sounds prophetic but makes no real sense until the thing’s already happened.”

“So who am I?” cried Maddy.

“You haven’t guessed? All those clues and you haven’t guessed?”

“Tell me, Loki,” she snarled, “or I swear I’ll blast you, whether you’re a relative or not.”

“All right,” said Loki. “Keep your fur on.”

“Then tell me,” said Maddy. “If I’m not Jed Smith’s daughter, then who am I?”

Odin smiled. A real smile, which gave his stern face a kind of tenderness. “Your name is Modi,” he said at last. “You’re my grandchild.”

Outside the roundhouse Nat Parson stood up on legs that felt like wet string. Audun Briggs had almost passed out-whether from fear or from too much ale he could not say-but Jed the smith was sober enough and grasped the implications of what he had just seen with commendable agility.

“Did you see her?” demanded Nat. “Did you see the girl?”

Jed nodded.

Nat felt some of his agitation recede. He was aware that Maddy had been in his thoughts rather often in the past few days and had secretly feared that his obsession might have clouded his mind. Now he felt vindicated. The girl was a demon, and there could be nothing but praise for the man who brought her to justice.

That he himself should be that man was never in doubt. With the Examiner dead, Nat Parson unilaterally proclaimed himself in charge and appointed Jed Smith (for want of anyone else) his second in command. Besides, thought Nat, Jed had every reason to want an end to the bad blood that shamed his family, and when the reinforcements from World’s End finally arrived, he would want to make it clear that his loyalties had been with Law and Order from the very beginning.

He turned to Jed, who had moved back toward the roundhouse building and was watching the fallen Huntress through the open door. Jed had never been a perceptive man, being blessed with more muscle than most but somewhat less brain, and it was clear from his expression that events had left him at a loss. Examiner dead, lawman injured, and here they were, outside a building wherein lay a demon who might awake at any time.

Jed’s eyes found his crossbow, which had fallen to the ground during his flight. “Shall I go in and finish her?”

“No,” said the parson. His head was spinning. Ambitions that had once seemed as distant as the stars now lay almost within reach. He thought fast and saw his chance. He would have to be quick. And it would be dangerous, aye-though the rewards could be great. “Leave me here. Get clothes for the demon woman. You’ll find some in my house-borrow one of Ethelberta’s gowns. Take Briggs home and sober him up. Don’t speak of this to anyone. Either of you. Understood?”

“Aye, Parson. But will you be safe?”

“Of course I will,” said the parson impatiently. “Now off you go, fellow, and leave me to my business.”

Skadi awoke and found herself in darkness. The roundhouse door was shut, the Æsir were gone, she was mysteriously clothed, and she had a headache. Only the runes she carried had prevented it from being worse-her attacker had taken her entirely unawares.

She snarled a curse and raised her glam, and in the sudden flare of light she saw the parson sitting there, looking pale but quite calm and watching her through the spyhole of the rune Bjarkán.

In a second she had reached for her glam, but even as it took shape in her hand, the parson spoke. “Lady,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed.”

For a second Skadi was astonished at the fellow’s presumption. To imagine that she feared him- him ! She gave a crack of laughter like splitting ice.

But she was also curious. The man seemed so singularly unafraid. She wondered what he had seen and whether he could identify the person who had knocked her down. Most of all she wondered why he had not killed her when he’d had the chance.

“Did you put this on me?” She indicated the gown she was wearing, a blue velvet with a bodice of stitched silver. It was one of Ethelberta’s best, and although Skadi despised a lady’s finery, preferring the skins of a wild wolf or the feathers of a hunting hawk, she was aware that someone, for some reason, had attempted to please her.

“I did, lady,” said Nat as the Huntress slowly lowered her runewhip. “Of course, you have every reason to be suspicious of me, but I assure you, I mean you no harm at all. Quite the reverse, in fact.”

Using the truesight, the Huntress looked at him once more with curiosity and contempt. Surprisingly his signature-which was a strangely mottled silver-brown-showed no attempt to deceive or betray. He genuinely believed what he was telling her, and although she now saw him to be wildly excited beneath his appearance of calm, she perceived astonishingly little fear.

“I can help you, lady,” he said. “In fact, I think we can help each other.” And he held out his hand, wherein lay a key, its teeth still red with its master’s blood.

Now, the parson had always been an ambitious man. The son of a potter of modest means, he had decided at an early age that he had no wish to follow in his father’s footsteps and had become a parson’s prentice at a fortunate time, taking over from his erstwhile master just as the old man was growing too feeble for the task.

He’d married well-to Ethelberta Goodchild, the eldest daughter of a rich valley horse-breeder. To be sure, she was nine years older than Nat, and there were some who considered her a trifle muffin-faced, but she came with a handsome settlement and excellent connections, and her father, Owen Goodchild, had once had high hopes of promotion for his new son-in-law.