Joanne Harris - Runemarks

Then Nat looked at her. Across the desk of charring papers, blue Isa and fiery Kaen faced each other in a deadlock, and once again Skadi felt that sense of peculiar, nagging unease.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought. The fellow had no training, no glam-so where was he getting this influx of power?

In her hand Isa was beginning to fail. She cast it again, harder this time, putting the force of her own glam behind it.

On Nat’s face the smile broadened; his eyes closed like those of a man in the throes of delight. Skadi pushed harder-

And suddenly it was over; so quickly that she had difficulty believing it had ever been. Kaen broke apart, frozen by Isa, and a dozen fragments snickered into the far wall, leaving tiny flecks of cinder embedded in the plasterwork. Nat goggled at these with a bewilderment that might have been comic in any other circumstance, and Skadi let out a sigh of relief-which was absurd, as surely she could not have expected any other outcome.

And yet, hadn’t she felt something as she faced him across the desk? As if some power-maybe even a superior power-had lent itself to his, or some gaze of unspeakable penetration had flitted briefly over their struggle of wills?

In any case, it was gone now. Nat seemed awakened from a kind of daze, observing the marks of his working against the ceiling and walls as if for the first time. Once more Skadi noticed that he rubbed his temple with the tips of his fingers, as if to ward off an approaching headache. “Did I do it?” he inquired at last.

Skadi nodded. “You made a start. Tell me,” she said. “How did it feel?”

For a moment Nat thought about it, still rubbing his temple. Then he gave a tiny, puzzled smile, like that of a man trying to recall the excesses of a night of distant revelry. “It felt good,” he said at last. His eyes met hers, and she thought she saw in their silvery pupils a reflection of his earlier delight. “Good,” he repeated softly, and for the first time since the End of the World, the icy Huntress shivered.

She had planned to introduce her new ally to the Vanir without delay. Now she began to think again. After all, the Vanir were not her people-except through marriage, and that had been a mistake. The old man was still fond of her, of course, but their natures were too different for the marriage to last. Njörd’s home by the sea had proved unbearable to her; her place in the mountains equally so to him. The same went for Frey and Freyja: their loyalties were with their father, not her, and she knew that her pursuit of Odin and his grandchild might not meet with unanimous approval.

Of course, if she’d managed to lay her hands on the Whisperer, then things might have been different. But as things stood at the moment, she was likely to meet with some opposition-Heimdall, at least, would stay loyal to Odin-and she had no desire to find herself at odds with the Vanir. So far Odin held all the cards: the Oracle and, more importantly, the girl. The Vanir knew the prophecy as well as he did. None of them would knowingly oppose Thor’s child, and though Skadi had no love for Asgard herself, she guessed that the others would give a great deal for the chance to regain the Sky Citadel.

And so, that morning, after breakfast with the parson, she returned in bird form to the Hall of Sleepers. She flew right over Loki’s head, but by then he was already on his way to the meeting place in Little Bear Wood, and it never occurred to the eagle that the old lady it saw on the Malbry road might be the Trickster in disguise.

As Skadi dressed-in the same tunic and boots she had left behind-she gave the Vanir a carefully edited account of the night’s work. Odin and Loki were working together, she said, along with a girl-whose identity, she told them, was still unknown. They had the Whisperer; they had foiled the Examiners and, in spite of her vigilance, had managed to escape.

She did not mention her promise to Nat Parson or her plans for Maddy Smith.

“So why didn’t Odin wake us himself?” said Heimdall when she had finished.

“Perhaps he was afraid,” said Skadi.

“Afraid? Of what?”

Skadi shrugged.

“Obviously he’s planning something,” said Frey.

“Without telling us?” said Bragi, offended.

“Why not?” said Skadi. “It’s Odin’s way. Secrets and lies were always his currency-”

“Untrue,” said Heimdall. “He’s loyal to us.”

Skadi looked impatient. “Oh, please. Let’s face it, Goldie. The General’s always flirted with Chaos. More than flirted-and now we find he’s thick as thieves with Loki again-Loki, of all people. What more do you need? If he wanted you, he’d have wakened you, wouldn’t he?”

Now the Vanir were looking uneasy.

“The world has changed,” Skadi went on. “There are new gods, powerful gods, working against us. Why do you think he took the Whisperer? Why do you think he left the Vanir sleeping?”

There was a lull. “Perhaps he’s working on an alliance,” said Frey doubtfully.

“You think so?” said Skadi. “With whom? I wonder.” And she told them what she knew of the Examiners of World’s End; of the Nameless, of the Word. They listened in silence-all but Idun, who seemed oblivious-and when Skadi had finished, even fickle Freyja was looking grim.

“Their Word is more powerful than any of ours,” said Skadi. “They can defeat us-they can control us-they can make us their slaves. They are the Order. Who knows what deal Odin may have cut with them to save himself?”

“But you said he was their prisoner,” said Bragi.

“A trick,” she said, “to lure me to the village.” And she explained how, at the very moment at which she was about to release Odin, they had turned against her, striking her down with a foul blow and making their escape-with the Whisperer-into the Hill.

“Why you?” said Heimdall, still suspicious.

“Because,” said Skadi, “I’m not one of you. All you Vanir-you’ve been with him too long. You’ve started thinking of him as one of your own. He isn’t. His loyalties are with the Æsir first and the Vanir second-if there is a second. But to save the Æsir, don’t you think he’d sacrifice you if he had to? Do you think he’d hesitate, even for a moment?”

Heimdall frowned. “You think he made a deal?”

Skadi nodded. “I think they forced him to it,” she said. “His own life in exchange for ours. But his plan went wrong. I killed the Examiner. I got away, and the Order lost its chance. That doesn’t mean it intends to give up.” She began to pace across the shining floor, her ice blue eyes gleaming. “We must assume they are coming after us with reinforcements. We must assume they know where we are. And who.”

It was enough. The seeds had been sown. Little by little, Skadi watched them grow in the eyes of the newly awakened Vanir. Heimdall bared his golden teeth; Frey’s eyes grew colder; kindly Njörd darkened like the edge of a cloud just veering toward rain. Bragi sang a sad song, Freyja wept, and Idun just sat on a block of ice and smiled, her face as unlined and serene as ever.

“Very well,” said Heimdall, turning to Skadi. “Let’s assume for the moment you’re right.” He squinted keenly at the Huntress, as if he perceived something in her signature that the others did not-some shift in her colors, some wrongness in the light. “Let us assume that Odin has a plan which may not be to our advantage. That’s all I’m willing to assume,” he said as Skadi seemed about to protest, “but I do understand the need for caution.”

“Good,” said Skadi.

“All the same, we outnumber them,” said Heimdall. “Seven of us to the three of them-assuming we’re counting the girl, of course…”