Runemarks

Now all it needed was a spark.

That spark. That was the only true magic involved. Anyone familiar with the runes-which were only letters, after all, taken from an ancient language-could learn to write them. The trick, Maddy knew, was to set them to work.

It had been difficult at first. Now working the runes was easy as striking a match. She spoke a little cantrip-

Cuth on fyre…

The letters flared for a few seconds and then dwindled to a warning gleam. The goblins could see them-and so could Maddy-but to Mrs. Scattergood, who despised reading (because she could not do it) and who thought magic was the devil’s work, the runes would only ever look like scratches in the dirt, and they could all continue to pretend that the goblins were only rats.

Suddenly there came a scrabbling sound from the far, dark corner of the cellar. Maddy turned and saw a movement in the shadows and a shape, rather larger than a common rat, bob away between two of the barrels.

Quickly she stood up, lifting her candle so that its flame lit up the whitewashed wall. No sound could be heard; nothing moved but the shadows, which jerked and juddered.

Maddy stepped forward and shone the candle right into the corner. Still nothing moved. But every creature leaves a trail that only a few know how to see. There was something there; Maddy could feel it. She could even smell it now: a sour-sweet, wintry scent like roots and spices kept long underground.

A drunken party, she thought again. So drunken, perhaps, that one of the revelers, stupefied beyond all thought of caution by Mrs. Scattergood’s excellent ale, had curled up in some dark corner to sleep off the after-effects of a bellyful. And now it was trapped, whatever it was. Trapped behind a drift of stacked ale kegs, its burrow sealed, the cellar shut.

Maddy’s heart began to beat a little faster. In all these years she had never had such a chance: to see one of the Faerie at such close quarters; to speak to it and have it answer.

She tried to recall what little she knew of the Good Folk from under Red Horse Hill. They were curious creatures, more playful than bad, fond of strong drink and well-dressed meats. And wasn’t there something else as well, something that lingered tantalizingly on the edges of memory? A tale of One-Eye’s, perhaps? Or maybe some more practical trick, some cantrip to help her deal with the thing?

She left the candle on top of a barrel and came to peer into the corner. “I know you’re there,” she whispered softly.

The goblin-if it was a goblin and not just a rat-said nothing.

“Come out,” said Maddy. “I won’t hurt you.”

Nothing moved; just layers of shadow disturbed by the candle flame. She gave a sigh, as if of disappointment, and turned to face the other way.

In the shadows, something lurked; she could see it from the corner of her eye.

She did not move, but stood, apparently lost in thought. In the shadows, something began to crawl, very quietly, between the barrels.

Still Maddy did not stir. Only her left hand moved, fingers curling into the familiar shape that was Bjarkan, the rune of revelation.

If it was a rat, Bjarkan would show it.

It was not a rat. A wisp-just a wisp-of Faerie gold gleamed in the circle of her finger and thumb.

Maddy pounced. Her strike was well timed. At once the creature began to struggle, and although Maddy couldn’t see it, she could certainly feel it between her hands, kicking and twisting and trying to bite her. Then, as she continued to hold it fast, the creature finally went limp; the shadow dropped away from it, and she saw it clearly.

It-he-was not much bigger than a dog fox, with small, clever hands and wicked little teeth. Most of his body was covered in armor-pieces of plate, leather straps, half a mail shirt cut clumsily down to fit-and out of his brown, long-whiskered face, his eyes shone a bright, inhuman gold.

He blinked at her twice. Then, without any warning, he shot away between her legs.

He might even have escaped-he was quick as a weasel-but Maddy had expected it, and with her fingers she cast Isa, the Icy One, and froze him to the spot.

The goblin struggled and squirmed, but his feet were stuck to the ground.

He spat a gobbet of fool’s fire from between his pointed teeth, but still Maddy would not let him go.

The goblin swore in many tongues, some animal, some Faerie, and finished off by saying some very nasty things about Maddy’s family, which she had to admit were mostly true.

Finally he stopped struggling and sat down crossly on the floor.

“So what do you want?” he said.

“What about-three wishes?” suggested Maddy hopefully.

“Leave it out,” said the goblin with scorn. “What kind of stories have you been listening to?”

Maddy was disappointed. Many of the tales she had collected over the past few years had involved someone receiving three wishes from the Faerie, and she felt rather aggrieved that in this case it had turned out to be nothing more than a tale. Still, there were other stories that she thought might contain more practical truths, and her eyes lit up as she finally remembered the thing that had been lurking at the back of her mind since she had first heard the suspicious sounds from behind the barrel.

“In yer own time,” said the goblin, picking his teeth.

“Shh,” said Maddy. “I’m thinking.”

The goblin yawned. He was beginning to look quite cocky now, and his bright gold eyes shone with mischief. “Doesn’t know what to do with me, kennet?” he said. “Knows it’ll bring revenge if I don’t get home safe.”

“Revenge? Who from?”

“The Captain, acourse,” said the goblin. “Gods, was you brung up in a box? Now you let me go, there’s a good girl, and there’ll be no hard feelings and no call to get the Captain involved.”

Maddy smiled but said nothing.

“Ah, come on,” said the goblin, looking uncomfortable now. “There’s no good in keeping me here, and nowt I can give yer.”

“Oh, but there is,” said Maddy, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. “You can give me your name.”

The goblin stared at her, wide-eyed.

“A named thing is a tamed thing. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

It was an old story, told by One-Eye years ago, and Maddy had almost forgotten it in the excitement of the moment. At the beginning of the First Age, it was given to every creature, tree, rock, and plant a secret name that would bind that creature to the will of anyone who knew it.

Mother Frigg knew the true names and used them to make all of Creation weep for the return of her dead son. But Loki, who had many names, would not be bound to such a spell, and so Balder the Fair, god of springtime, was forced to remain in the Underworld, Hel’s kingdom, until the End of All Things.

“Me name?” the goblin said at last.

Maddy nodded.

“What’s a name? Call me Hair-of-the-Dog, or Whisky-in-the-Jar, or Three-Sheets-to-the-Wind. It’s nowt to me.”

“Your true name,” said Maddy, and once more she drew the rune Naudr, the Binder, and Isa, to fix it in ice.

The goblin wriggled but was held fast. “What’s it to you, anyroad?” he demanded. “And how come you know so bloody much about it?”

“Just tell me,” said Maddy.

“You’d never be able to say it,” he said.

“Tell me anyway.”

“I won’t! Lemme go!”

“I will,” said Maddy, “as soon as you tell me. Otherwise I’ll open up the cellar doors and let the sun do its worst.”

The goblin blenched at that, for sunlight is lethal to the Good Folk. “You wouldn’t do that, lady, would yer?” he whined.

“Watch me,” said Maddy, and, standing up, she began to make her way to the trapdoor-now closed-through which the ale kegs were delivered.

“You wouldn’t!” squeaked the goblin.

“Your name,” she said, with one hand on the latch.

The goblin struggled more fiercely than ever, but Maddy’s runes still held him fast. “He’ll get yer!” he squeaked. “The Captain’ll get yer, and then you’ll be sorry!”

“Last chance,” said Maddy, drawing the bolt. A tiny wand of sunlight fell onto the cellar floor only inches from the goblin’s foot.

“Shut it, shut it!” shrieked the goblin.

Maddy just waited patiently.

“All right, then! All right! It’s…” The goblin rattled off something in his own language, fast as pebbles in a gourd. “Now shut it, shut it now!” he cried, and wriggled as far as he could away from the spike of sunlight.

Maddy shut the trapdoor, and the goblin gave a sigh of relief. “That was just narsty,” he said. “Nice young girl like you shouldn’t be messin’ with narstiness like that.” He looked at Maddy in reproach. “What d’you want me name for, anyroad?”

But Maddy was trying to remember the word the goblin had spoken.

Snotrag? No, that wasn’t it.

Sna-raggy? No, that wasn’t it, either.

Sma-ricky? She frowned, searching for just the right inflection, knowing that the goblin would try to distract her, knowing that unless she got it completely right, the cantrip wouldn’t work.