Joanne Harris - Runemarks

In a second the circle of Vanir broke apart.

Heimdall threw himself to one side, mindbolts at his fingertips.

Bragi sang a song of protection.

Frey drew his mindsword and made for the house.

Freyja shifted into the form of a red-tailed falcon and soared out of the danger zone, leaving Ethelberta’s green silk dress empty.

And such was the riot of glamours, movement, and noise that for a time no one noticed the parson’s wife lying dead on the ground or the fact that somehow, in the confusion, Odin One-Eye had disappeared.

Inside the house Skadi flung Isa at Frey, freezing him where he stood. She turned to Nat. “Can you do it?” she demanded. “Can you stop them all?”

Nat hesitated. “Ethel,” he said.

“Forget her,” said Skadi. “She got in the way.” She grabbed Nat by the arm and forced him to look at her. “Now tell me, Parson, can you do it?”

For a moment he stared at her. The Huntress in Aspect is a fearsome sight, even to the gods. Nat felt sick. The Word and the feelings it had conjured inside him had evaporated; it might return, he told himself, but he would need time to recapture it, time to prepare…

“Magister,” he whispered.

“What?” she said.

“A gift,” said the parson. “For loyal service.”

Skadi cursed and flung another mindbolt into the night. This was what came of dealing with the Folk, she told herself fiercely. She’d thought him different; the more fool she. The man was weak, his mind was wandering, and any second now the Vanir would finally understand who had betrayed them and come running.

Once more she cast Isa into the courtyard. Njörd froze, one hand on his harpoon. But it would not last. Without the Word to immobilize them and make them helpless, the Vanir outclassed her by a long way.

One last time Skadi turned to the parson. He was pale and sweating. Shocked, perhaps, by the death of his wife, but looking into his haunted eyes, Skadi didn’t think so. She had seen trances that looked like this in men who had worshiped her in the distant past. After the ecstasy, the horror. She saw it in Nat Parson’s eyes, the gaping, empty horror, and knew then that they had lost. Odin was gone, and in seconds the Vanir would be upon them.

Till next time, then, the Huntress thought. She put her hands on the parson’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, fellow,” she said.

Slowly his eyes turned toward her. “Don’t…call…me…fellow,” he whispered.

Ah. At last, a reaction. Good, she thought. “If you want to live, then do as I say. Do you want to live?”

Wordless, he nodded.

“Then come with me, Parson, if you can. Take your Book. Follow me. And run.” And with that she shifted into her snow-wolf form, shot through the open back door, her pads soundless on the hard ground, and vanished like smoke into the night.

In less than a minute-at a single word-the life Nat had always known was over. Gone was the parsonage; gone wife, flock, comfort, ambitions. Now he was a fugitive.

Ahead of him the snow wolf raced toward the safety of Red Horse Hill. The air was sharp and clean, the ground underfoot brittle with frost. Dawn was approaching; birds sang and a pale green light bled the violet from the sky. It occurred to Nat suddenly that it had been years since he’d watched the sun rise.

Now he could watch it whenever he pleased.

The knowledge was suddenly so overwhelming that he laughed aloud; the snow wolf paused briefly, snarled, and padded on.

Nat ignored her. Freedom at last, freedom to do what he’d always yearned for, freedom to use his talents, his power-

Tsk-tsk, begone!

Nat frowned. Whose words were those?

He shook his head to clear it. He’d been under some stress, he told himself. It was only natural that there should be a little confusion, a little disorientation in his mind. After all, he’d lost his wife-

An Examiner of the Order has no wife.

The words came unbidden into his mind, and now he remembered them, as in a dream, remembered saying something of the kind to Ethelberta as he collapsed, exhausted-and the voice had spoken-to him- through him…

It was the same voice. Mournful now, but a voice of authority nevertheless-soft, precise, and with a trace of arrogance-and now he thought it was almost familiar, haunting as a tune forgotten since childhood and overheard years later, unexpectedly, from a distance.

“Who are you?” whispered Nat, his eyes widening. “Are you a demon? Am I possessed?”

In his mind there came a sigh no louder than a breath of air.

He hears me, it sighed. At last, he hears me.

“What are you?” he repeated sharply.

A man, it said. A man, I think…

“What man?” said Nat.

Elias Rede, whispered the voice. Examiner Number 4421974.

For a time Nat Parson stood transfixed. The dawn had turned out to be a disappointment. No sun shone; the day’s promise was lost under a pall of cloud, and suddenly Nat Parson was bursting for a piss, but to relieve himself in the nearby bushes now felt somehow indecent with this interloper in his mind.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he said at last.

Perhaps, said the Examiner, but I’m still here.

“Well, go away then,” said Nat. “Go join the Nameless, or the Hordes of Hel, or wherever you’re supposed to go when you die.”

You think I haven’t tried? said the Examiner. You think I wanted to be stuck inside your mind?

“It’s not my fault you got stuck.”

Oh, isn’t it? said the Examiner. Who got in my way when I spoke the Word? Who stole power from my final casting? And who’s been using the Book of Words without control, without any kind of authority-not to speak of fasting, meditation, or indeed any of the Advanced or even the Intermediary States of Bliss-ever since?

“Oh,” said the parson. “That.”

There was rather a long silence.

“I meant well,” he said at last.

No, you didn’t, said the Examiner. You meant to seize power.

“Then why didn’t you stop me?”

Ah, said the Examiner.

There was another silence.

“Well?” said Nat.

Well, as an Examiner, I had certain duties, certain restrictions-protocols to be observed, fasting, preparation-and now… It paused, and Nat felt its laughter inside his head. Do I really need to explain, Parson? You’ve tasted it-you know how it feels…

“So all that stuff-about using the Word without authority-all that was just to make me feel inferior, was it?”

Well, let’s face it, you are only a parson, and-

“Only a parson! I’ll have you know-”

My good fellow, I-

“And don’t call me fellow!”

And at that he turned, unbuttoned, aimed for the bushes, and watered them, luxuriantly and at length, as Examiner 4421974 spluttered and protested in his mind and Skadi, in wolf form, caught the scent of their prey and began to run, heedless of the little drama being enacted on the road behind her, toward the Horse’s Eye.

The posse on the hilltop saw them coming. A small posse-a group of four, posted there by Nat with orders to report any unusual activity to or from the Horse’s Eye. There had been none-much to their relief-save a few scuttling things at around midnight that might have been rats (but were probably goblins).

Now the men were dozing under the wheel of one of the silent machines while Adam Scattergood, who had bravely volunteered for the safest duty, sat cross-legged on a stone, eating a smoked sausage and watching the road.

He jumped from his perch at once when he saw Nat.

“Mr. Parson! Over here!”