And now her rage at last found an outlet. Quite without thinking, and with her bastard runemark glowing hot on her palm, she hurled her anger and her voice, like the stones Adam had so often thrown at her, toward the crouching boy.
It was instinctive. Her cry rang out across the Hill, and at precisely the same time there was a flash of light and a deafening crack! as the standing stone split into two pieces and granite shavings spackled across the brow of the Hill.
Adam Scattergood was left crouching between the two halves of the broken rock, his face the color of fresh cheese and a wet stain spreading over the crotch of his fine serge trousers.
Helplessly, Maddy started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. The attack had left her almost as terrified as Adam himself, but still the laughter came and would not stop, and the boy stared at her, first in fear, then in awe, and finally (as soon as he realized that he was unhurt) in black and bitter hatred.
“You’ll be s-sorry, witch,” he stammered, climbing shakily to his feet. “I’ll tell them what you’re planning. I’ll tell them you tried to murder me.”
But Maddy was still laughing, out of control. Tears ran from her eyes, her stomach hurt, and even so, the laughter felt so good that she couldn’t stop, could hardly breathe. She laughed until she almost choked, and Adam’s face grew darker still as, breaking away from the circle of stones, he fled back down Red Horse Hill toward the Malbry road. Neither Maddy nor One-Eye tried to stop him.
Now Maddy went up to the broken stone. The laughter had fled as fast as it had erupted, and she was left feeling drained and a little sick. The granite had stood three feet high and almost as broad; nevertheless, it had been split clean in two. She touched the break: it was rough and raw-edged, and inside it, here and there, nuggets of mica shone.
“So, you can throw mindbolts,” said One-Eye, who had followed her. “Well done, Maddy. With practice, that may be a useful skill.”
“I didn’t throw anything,” said Maddy numbly. “I just threw…my voice. But it wasn’t a rune; it was just nonsense, just random shouting, like today in the cellar.”
One-Eye smiled. “Sense,” he said, “is a concept of Order. The language of Chaos is nonsense by definition.”
“The language of Chaos?” said Maddy. “But I don’t know it. I’ve never heard of it—”
“Yes, you do,” said One-Eye. “It’s in your blood.”
Maddy looked out across the Hill, where the distant figure of Adam Scattergood was getting smaller and smaller along the Malbry road, occasionally giving vent to a shrill scream of rage as he ran.
“I could have killed him,” she said, beginning to shake.
“Another time, perhaps.”
“Don’t you understand? I could have killed him!”
One-Eye seemed unmoved. “Well, isn’t that what you wanted to do?”
“No!”
He smiled but said nothing.
“I mean it, One-Eye. It just happened.”
One-Eye shrugged and relit his pipe. “My dear girl, things like that don’t just happen.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
And she did, Maddy realized—she was not the daughter of a smith for nothing. The thing she had thrown at Adam—the mindbolt—had not sprung out of thin air; it had been forged. It had been heavy, like a crossbow quarrel, and she had cast it at Adam with the strength—and intent—of years of pent-up anger.
Once again she felt a moment of dread as she imagined what might have happened if the stone had not taken the impact. And with that fear came the even more terrible knowledge that she could (and would) do it again.
One-Eye must have read her thoughts. “Remember what I taught you?” he said gently. “Fire burns; that’s its nature. Use it or not, but remember this: a mindbolt isn’t a blunderbuss. It won’t go off on its own.” He smiled. “As for the boy—no harm was done. It’s a pity he heard us, of course. It gives us less time. But it changes nothing.”
“Wait a minute,” said Maddy, looking into the open tunnel. “You don’t think we should go in right now, do you? After what happened?”
“After what happened,” said One-Eye, “what choice do we have?”
Maddy thought about that for a time. By now Adam would have made his report—unless he’d stopped to change his trousers—no doubt embellishing it with as many tales of demons as his limited imagination could invent.
Jed Smith would have to be told, and Matt Law, and the bishop, not forgetting Nat Parson, who had been waiting for such a crisis since his legendary pilgrimage to World’s End, and who would be delighted to have such an important violation to deal with. And whatever else happened, the incident would go down in the Malbry ledger alongside the most important events of the village’s history, and Adam Scattergood would be remembered until long after his bones were dust.
The sun was high in the sky now, and the valley was green and gold in its pale light. A little smoke rose over the rooftops, and the scent of burning stubble reached Maddy from afar, filling her eyes with sudden tears. She thought of the smithy and of the tiny house abutting it, of the smell of hot metal and smoke, of the ring of marigolds around the front door.
This was her world, she thought, and until this moment, when she was close to leaving it, she had never realized how much it meant to her. If she fled now, she tacitly admitted her guilt, and things could never go back to what they had been before.
“Is it worth it, One-Eye?” she said. “This Whisperer, whatever it is?”
One-Eye nodded. “It’s worth it,” he said.
“More than gold?” said Maddy.
“Much more than gold.”
Once more Maddy looked out across the valley. She could stay and argue her case, of course. She would at least get a fair hearing. There hadn’t been a hanging in the valley since Black Nell, a saddleback sow with a ruinmark on her back, had eaten her piglets ten years ago. But One-Eye was an Outlander—one of a tribe of beggars and bandits—and his trial was likely to be short and harsh. She had no choice—and besides, with the Hill standing open at her feet and the promise of hidden treasure below, how could she turn away?
The passage was rough-edged and narrow, sloping down into the side of the Hill. She stepped inside, stooping a little, and gingerly tested the earth ceiling. To her relief it was dry and firm; from the depths of the tunnel came a cellar scent. Maddy took another step, but One-Eye stayed where he was, watching her, and made no move to follow.
“Well?” said Maddy. “Are you coming, or what?”
For a moment One-Eye said nothing. Then he slowly shook his head. “I can’t go in there, Maddy,” he said. “He’d recognize me the moment I set foot in World Below. And he’d know at once why I was there.”
“Who would?” said Maddy.
“I wish I could tell you,” he said. “But time is short, and there’s none to spare for a long tale. The treasure you seek—the Whisperer—is no ordinary piece of loot. It may be disguised as a block of glass, a lump of iron ore—even a rock. It’s in its nature to hide, but you’ll know it by its colors, which it can’t disguise. Look for it in a well or a fountain. It may be buried very deep. But if you call it, it will come to you.”
Maddy looked once again into the passageway—it was dark in there, dark as a tomb, and she remembered One-Eye telling her that there were roads beneath the Hill that led all the way to Death, Dream, and beyond…
She shivered and turned to him again. “So—how do we know it’s still there? What if someone’s taken it?”
“They haven’t,” said One-Eye. “I would have known.”
“But you said there were others. And now—”
“Truth is, Maddy,” he interrupted, “I’m not sure if he’s there at all, or what he means to do if he is. But if I come with you and he’s waiting down there with whatever glam he’s managed to hang on to—”
“Who is he?” said Maddy again.
One-Eye gave a twisted smile. “A??
?friend,” he said. “From long ago. One who turned traitor in the Winter War. I thought he was dead, and maybe he is, but his kind have nine lives, and he always was lucky.”
Maddy started to speak, but he cut her off. “Listen, Maddy. He’s waiting for me. He won’t suspect you. He may not even notice you. And you can find the Whisperer and bring it to me before he sees what’s happening. Will you do it?”
Once again Maddy looked into the Horse’s Eye. It yawned darkly at her feet, as if the Horse were coming awake after centuries of sleeping.
“What about you?” she said at last.
The Outlander smiled, but his good eye gleamed. “I may be old, Maddy, but I think I can still handle a rabble of villagers.”
And perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it seemed to Maddy that her friend had grown taller somehow and looked younger, stronger, his colors brighter and more powerful, as if years had been shorn from him—years, she thought, or maybe more. For Maddy knew that the Winter War had come to its end over five centuries ago; demon wolves had swallowed the sun and moon, and the Strond had swollen to the flanks of the mountains, leveling everything in its path.
Nat Parson called it Tribulation and preached of how the Ancient of Days had tired of mankind’s evil and sent fire and ice to cleanse the world.
One-Eye called it Ragnarók.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Does it matter?” said One-Eye.
He must have seen his answer in Maddy’s face, because he nodded and some of the tension went out of him. “Good,” he said. “Now run and find the Whisperer—or let it find you if it can. Stay hidden, and stay alert. Trust no one, whoever they may appear to be, and above all, say nothing—to anyone—of me.”
“Wait!” said Maddy as he turned away.
“I’ve waited enough,” said the Outlander, and without a glance or a farewell gesture he began to walk back down Red Horse Hill.
1
The passage was not even, but dipped down at irregular intervals, sometimes crossing water, sometimes narrowing to a cleft through which Maddy had to squeeze to pass through. By inverting the runes, she had closed the mouth of the tunnel behind her, and now the rune Bjarkán at her fingertips was her only means of penetrating the darkness.
After some minutes, however, she found that the passageway had broadened a little and that its earth walls had begun to give way to a hard, almost glassy surface. It was rock, Maddy realized as she moved deeper into the hillside; some kind of dark and shiny mineral, its surface occasionally broken by a crystalline outcrop that shone like a cluster of needles.
After half an hour the floor too had mostly changed to the same glassy rock, and sheets of phosphorescence powdered the walls, so that the way was softly illuminated.
And there were color-signatures everywhere, like skeins of spiderweb, too many to count or to identify. Many of these showed the remnants of magic—cantrips and glamours and workings and runes—as easy to see as wagon tracks on a muddy road.
She cast ýr, the Protector, to keep herself hidden, but even so she was sure that among so many workings she must have set off a few alarms. Uncomfortably she considered what kind of spider might live in such an intricate web, and her mind returned to One-Eye, and to the person—friend or enemy—he feared, who might be lying in wait at the heart of the Hill.
What was she looking for? she wondered. And what did One-Eye know of any treasure of the Elder Age?
Well, she told herself, there was only one way to find out, and the simple fact of being under the Hill was thrilling enough—for the moment, at least. She wondered how far downward the passage led, but even as she did so, she felt the ground drop abruptly at her feet, and without further warning the narrow walls at either side of her opened to reveal a huge underground canyon, broadening out far beyond Maddy’s field of vision into a labyrinth of tunnels and a vastness of caverns and halls.
For a long time Maddy could do nothing but watch and wonder. The passage had come to a sharp stairway cut into the rock face; this led downward into a vast gallery, occasionally intersecting with other walkways and cavern entrances set at intervals down the canyon walls, with what seemed to be suspended catwalks, illuminated by torches or hanging lanterns, on the distant far side.
Maddy had expected a single cave, maybe even a single passage. Instead there were hundreds—no, thousands—of caves and passages. From the bottom of the canyon came a sound of water, and although it was too dark—in spite of the lanterns—to see the river itself, Maddy guessed it to be broad and fast-moving; its voice was like that of a wolf with a throatful of rocks.
Here too there were spells and signatures, there were green fingers of phosphorescence, nuggets of mica studded the walls, and wherever there was a trickle of water against the rock, musky flowers cast their tendrils: the pale, sad lilies of World Below.
“Gods,” said Maddy. “Where do I start?”
Well, to begin with, more light. Raising her hand, she cast Sól—the sun—so that her fingertips blazed and the tiny crystals embedded in the steps and walls flared with sudden brilliance.
It was not nearly enough to light the vastness ahead, but even so, she felt a little better, if only because there was less chance of her falling down the stairway. At the same time, she thought she caught sight of something at her elbow, something that shrank quickly into the shadows as her light shone out, and, almost without thinking, she cast Naudr like a net and pulled it in with a flick of her fingers.
“You again!” she exclaimed when she saw what she had caught.
The goblin spat but could not escape.
“Stop that!” said Maddy, drawing the rune a little tighter.
The goblin pulled a face but kept still.
“That’s better,” said Maddy. “Now, Smá-rakki”—the goblin made a pff! sound—“I want you to stay right here with me. No slinking off this time, do you understand?”
“Pff!” said the goblin again. “All this fuss for a nip of ale.” All the same, he did not move but glared at Maddy with his amber eyes, lips drawn back over his pointed teeth.
“Why were you following me?”
The goblin shrugged. “Curiosity, kennet?”
Maddy laughed. “Plus, I know your name.”
The goblin said nothing, but his eyes gleamed.
“A named thing is a tamed thing. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Still the goblin said nothing.
Maddy smiled at the unexpected piece of luck. She was not sure how long her control over him would last, but if she could have an ally—however reluctant—in World Below, then maybe her task would be a simpler one. “Now listen to me, Smá-rakki—”
“They call me Sugar,” said the goblin sullenly.
“What?”
“Sugar. You deaf? Short for Sugar-and-Sack. Well? You don’t think any of us go round tellin’ folk our real names, do you?”
“Sugar-and-Sack?” repeated Maddy.
Sugar scowled. “Gødfolk names are like that,” he said. “Sugar-and-Sack, Peck-in-the-Crown, Pickle-Nearest-the-Wind. I don’t go round laughin’ at your name, do I?”
“Sorry. Sugar,” said Maddy, trying to keep a straight face.
“Right. No harm done,” said Sugar with dignity. “Now, what exactly can I do you for?”
Maddy leaned closer. “I need a guide.”
“You need yer bleedin’ head seein’ to,” said the goblin. “The minute the Captain learns you’re here—”
“Then you’ll have to make sure he doesn’t,” she said. “Now, I can’t possibly find my way around this place on my own—”
“Look,” said the goblin, “if it’s the ale you’re after, then I can get it back, no trouble—”
“It isn’t the ale,” said Maddy.
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But you’re going to help me find it.”
It took some minutes to convince Sugar that he had no choice. But goblins are simple creatures, an
d he was not blind to the fact that the sooner Maddy had what she wanted, the sooner she would be out of his way.
However, he was clearly very much in awe of the individual he called the Captain, and Maddy soon realized that it would be best if she did not confront her new ally with too great a conflict of loyalties.
“So who is he, this captain of yours?”
The goblin sniffed and looked away.
“Oh, come on, Sugar. He must have a name.”
“Course he has.”
“Well?”
The goblin shrugged expressively. It was a shrug that began at the tips of his furry ears and went all the way down to his clawed feet, making every link of his chain mail shiver.
“Call him Sky Trekker, if you like, or Wildfire, or Crookmouth, or Hawk-Eye, or Dogstar. Call him Airy, call him Wary—”
“Not his nicknames, Sugar. His real name.”
The goblin made a face. “You think he’d tell me?”
For a while Maddy thought hard. One-Eye had warned her that he might not be the only one with interests under the Hill, and the webwork of glamours she had encountered on her way in confirmed his suspicions. But the goblins’ captain—most likely a goblin himself, or maybe a big cave-troll—could he be the one of which her friend had spoken? It seemed unlikely—no goblin had woven those spells.
Still, she thought, it was worth finding out more about this captain person and any threat he might represent. But Sugar was annoyingly vague; his attention span was catlike at the best of times, and as soon as the conversation turned to details of where, why, and how, he simply lost interest.
“So, what’s your captain like?” she said.
Sugar frowned and scratched his head. “I think the word is volatile,” he said at last. “Yeh, that’s the word I’m lookin’ for. Volatile and narsty. Tricky too.”
“I meant, what does he look like?” persisted Maddy.
“Just pray you don’t see him,” said Sugar darkly.
“Great,” said Maddy.
In silence, they moved on.