Joanne Harris - Runemarks

She had always been a lonely child, playing alone, keeping apart, hated and feared even by her own Folk, even by her father and sister. During all her years in Malbry there had only been One-Eye to take her side, and then only for a few days in the year. She had never expected things to be different; had always believed she would die alone, unknown and uncherished, friendless, childless, fatherless.

But these people standing by the riverside…

She watched as one by one the Vanir stepped forward to pay their respects. The Watchman, the Reaper, the Man of the Sea, the Healer, the Poet, the Huntress, the goddess of desire; slowly they passed, one by one, to salute the little barque as the river took it and to cast their runes of luck and protection into the river Dream.

And now came the Æsir. All filed past: the Thunderer, the Mother, the Harvest Queen, the Warrior, the Trickster…

These were her family, Maddy thought. Her father was there, and her grandmother; her allies and her friends. They shared her grief; they were bound to her, as she was to them, and she knew-suddenly and without any doubt-that whatever came, fair weather or foul, they would face it together.

It isn’t over, Maddy thought. This battle has been fought many times already and will be fought many times again. Who knows what new face the enemy will take? Who knows how it will end next time?

All she knew was that she wanted to be a part of it- was a part of it, whether she wished it or not-just as the leaves and roots of the World Tree play their part in the balance of Order and Chaos. Everything was linked: sorrow and joy, healing and loss, beginning and ending, and all the seasons in between.

The Order might be gone-at least for now. But there would be other enemies, other pretenders to threaten the balance. There was a citadel to be built-Asgard, as was-friends to be made, a brother to be found, and a world of tales to be discovered and told.

One-Eye would have understood-One-Eye, who had collected tales like they were penknives, or butterflies, or stones. For a teller of tales will never die, but will live on in stories-for as long as there are folk to listen.

The Order had known it-which was why they had outlawed stories and books-and the first thing Maddy intended to do was to change that Law and to free all the people in Malbry and beyond, free them from sleep and into dream…

For Maddy knew that where Folk dream, the gods will never be far away. And she smiled as she remembered something One-Eye had said, back in the days when such things had seemed as remote and unattainable as Asgard itself:

Anything that can be dreamed is true.

The river Dream, like the World Tree, has many branches, many routes. In World Below it joins the Strond and filters into World Above. It gushes under Red Horse Hill and bubbles out into Little Bear Wood, and trickle by trickle, it runs under the mountains, down the valleys, across the fens, and finally to World’s End and into the One Sea, the place from which all things came and to which all things may one day return.

Look for me in dreams, he’d said.

And Maddy smiled as she watched the burning boat drift down the river and out of sight.

RUNES OF THE NEW SCRIPT

Aesk: the Ash Tree, Yggdrasil

Ethel: the Homeland, Motherhood