Runemarks

3

The battle, he knew, was nearly done. Time after time Odin had struck; he was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but no damage had come to the Whisperer. Instead his blows had cleared a narrow swathe among the silent troops of the Order-but for every man that fell, another stepped in to take his place, and the ghastly Communion went unbroken. One-Eye fought on like a cornered rat-but in his heart he was coming to believe that the creature was invincible.

Now, at last, the General was reaching the end. Every name, every canticle cut deeper than the last. His glam was burned out, his right arm useless, his mindsword worn right down to a nub. He’d struck the Nameless a hundred times, but not once had he dealt it so much as a scratch.

If anything, it had gained strength as they fought, its Aspect taking shape around it so that, even blind, Odin could almost see the face now beneath the hermit’s cowl, the shape of the mouth, the intelligence behind its eyes. And its colors-surely he knew that rust red trail, flaring at the edges toward bright orange…

But it was not yet the Word made flesh. This Aspect, he knew, might wield power here, in the Land of the Dead, but to conquer the Worlds, it needed bone and muscle and living flesh…

A life for a life.

His flesh. His bone.

I name you Wotan, Vili, and Ve…

“Is this what you wanted, Mimir, old friend? I wish you joy of it,” he said. “For myself, I’m beginning to tire of this body.”

The Nameless gave a dry laugh. “Oh no,” it said. “Your body wouldn’t do for Me. Oh no. Not at all. It might have been all right a hundred years ago, but it’s far too damaged to be of any use to Me now. No, this, my friend, is for fun-and because I hate to see an old score go unsettled.”

It raised its staff to strike again and Odin rolled sharply out of the way, ignoring the pain in his wounded shoulder.

“So whom did you have in mind?” he said. “This is the Land of the Dead, in case you hadn’t noticed-”

And then it suddenly came to him.

A life for a life.

Without a body (or even a head), the thing could never leave the Underworld, and if it wished to conquer Worlds…

A life for a life.

Maddy’s life.

And now he saw the Nameless’s plan, and he struck out in rage and desperation at the thing that danced just out of reach. He fell to one knee-

The Nameless parried his blow with ease.

“So that’s what you wanted all along,” gasped Odin as he struck out again. “To be reborn into living flesh-to rebuild Asgard and to rule it yourself. To become Modi-to steal her glam and make it your own-to fulfill the prophecy you had to make…”

“At last,” said the Nameless. “You always were slow. Well, old friend, you know what they say. Never trust an oracle.”

And now they had come to the final verse. Thirty-three verses were written under the name of Odin Allfather in the Book of Invocations; ten thousand voices recited the final couplet.

I name you Warrior, One-Eye, and Wanderer.

Thus are you named, and thus are you…

And now, at last, the General fell, defeated, onto the bone gray sand.

4

Now Maddy had heard the prophecy. I speak as I must, the Oracle had said-and although it had misdirected them, told fragmentary truths to deceive and delay, she knew that an Oracle could not lie.

I see a death ship on the shores of Hel,

And Bor’s son with his dog at his feet…

And yet as she’d watched the two terribly mismatched opponents, she had never lost the conviction that something, somehow, would happen to turn the battle to One-Eye’s advantage. Some unexpected turn of events, like in her favorite stories.

But now it was over. Her friend was lying facedown on the bone gray sand, his colors so faint that he might have been dead.

No, not you too, she mourned, and shaking off Balder’s restraining hand, she ran across the blood-spattered sand to where he lay. The Nameless stood over them, its runestaff raised, its face illuminated with triumph, but Maddy hardly noticed it.

She knelt down. Touched his hair. He was still alive.

“Maddy.”

“I’m here.”

Painfully he raised his head. Out of Aspect he looked very old-very human-as if a hundred years had passed since their last meeting on Red Horse Hill. He had lost his eye patch during the fight and his ruined face was a mask of blood and dirt. His one eye stared sightlessly, and she realized that he was totally blind. Her heart gave a wrench of pity and grief-but behind it the feelings of anger and hurt that had come to her when she learned the truth were still alive, still crying for release.

“Why did you have to come here?” she said. “I knew that if you came here, you’d die.”

Odin sighed. “Same-impatient-Maddy.” He spoke in a broken, breathless whisper, but she could still hear a trace of the old irritable One-Eye in his voice, and that made her want most terribly to cry.

“I wanted to stop the war,” she said. “I wanted to stop all this from happening. I wanted to save you-”

“Can’t,” said Odin. “Prophecy.”

Maddy began to protest, but Odin shook his head. “Let me-see you-again,” he said as, blindly and with great gentleness, he raised his hand to Maddy’s face.

For a moment Maddy held her breath as his fingers moved from her cheek to her chin, lingered at her forehead; traced the lines of sorrow and stubbornness around her mouth, the slight wetness around her eyes.

A good face, Odin thought. Strong but gentle-though perhaps not so wise…

He smiled and lowered his head to the sand.

And behind them the Nameless stepped in to deliver the final blow.

***

Meanwhile, at last, Nat and the Folk had reached the clearing. Passing unseen through the ghostly ranks, they found themselves mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them.

Ethel recognized it and sighed.

Adam gaped at it, openmouthed.

Dorian clutched Fat Lizzy.

Sugar looked down at the Captain’s runestone resting in the palm of his hand, and his stomach lurched as he saw it pulse with a violet light-just once, and faintly, like a heart that has not quite stopped beating.

Oh no, Sugar thought. Surely not. Not now…

The runestone flared, a little brighter this time, and a strange little shiver went up Sugar’s spine, almost as if a familiar voice-

You’re beyond reprieve. You said it yourself. There’s nowt I can do.

He made as if to drop the stone. But as he emerged from the Order’s ranks, he found himself still gripping it tightly and pushed it deep into his pocket. Perhaps there was something after all. You never did know with runes.

Nat Parson stared in wonderment, his eyes filled with the glory of the Nameless. He had traveled so far-suffered so much for the sake of this moment-that he hardly dared hope that he had reached it at last.

This Being shot through with wonderful lights; this terrible, glorious, all-powerful Being, born in Aspect from the stone Head-could this be the Word his heart had longed for? Slowly he began to push his way through air that was curdled with glamours and barbs. No one reached a hand to stop him; no one saw the joy in his eyes as he moved toward the two opponents.

***

“Don’t cry, My dear,” the Nameless said. “I told you that you were special.”

Maddy turned to look at it as it stood over her, lifting its staff. Glamours clung to it like wool to a spindle, spitting sheaves of static into the dead air. It was impressive; Maddy sensed she should have been impressed. But the ground was wet with One-Eye’s blood and the color of it was all she could see; that red, like Harvestmonth poppies, on the desert sand…