“Quelle surprise,” I murmured.
He smiled. “And so Bór’s youngest son set out to take the runes by stealth. He was young, he was naïve, the Vanir saw him coming. They took him captive and flung him into one of their dungeons. Then they sent word to Vili and Ve to demand a ransom in gold.”
My eyes were starting to widen. The legendary Vili and Ve were nothing but names to the Aesir. No one knew what had happened to them. No one alive remembered them. Oh, I’d had my suspicions, of course. But that’s all they were. Suspicions.
“Gold, huh?”
He nodded. “The Vanir always liked gold. So did Odin’s brothers. So much that they were reluctant to pay the ransom the Vanir demanded.”
“I’m starting to see where this is going,” I said.
Odin ignored me and went on. “Alone and afraid, Odin waited for his brothers to answer the call. But Vili and Ve were oddly slow in coming to redeem him. Finally, Odin realized that he had been abandoned. A coldness came upon him, not of fear, but of anger. He may have been young, but he was no fool, and he started to look for a means of escape. In the dungeons, there was a prisoner whose ambitions had led to his fall. This prisoner was called Mimir.”
“Mimir the Wise?”
“The very same.” Odin’s mouth twisted a little. “Mimir promised to help him, in exchange for a place by his side. Odin agreed, and together, they escaped and returned to the Aesir stronghold. From that moment, Mimir became Odin’s closest counsellor. As for Vili and Ve, they soon succumbed to a fatal sickness, which killed them both, along with their wives and children, and all their supporters.”
I grinned. “I like this Odin,” I said. “I wonder, what could have happened to him?”
The Old Man gave his blandest smile. “With Mimir by his side, he became the architect of the Elder Age. The rest of the Aesir came to believe that Mimir was his uncle. And when, years later, Gullveig-Heid came to challenge the Aesir and to issue her ultimatum, no one suspected Mimir the Wise. You see, he had omitted to mention that he knew the visitor. Knew her rather well, in fact. Gullveig-Heid was his daughter.”
“His daughter?”
Odin nodded. “Mimir was not originally from the tribe of the Vanir. He was one of the Rock Folk, a man of great wisdom and learning. But his ambition to master the runes led him onto a dangerous path. He married one of the Vanir, hoping to learn their secrets from her, but was caught out by her people before he could achieve his desire. But now he had a daughter, and she was all he had hoped for. Powerful, ruthless, clever, and as ambitious as he was himself.”
“Did she know about Mimir?”
He shrugged. “Odin never knew for sure,” he said. “But after she left, Odin began to question Mimir’s loyalty. Mimir would vanish for days at a time, with no explanation, giving only evasive answers to Odin’s questions. He had some dubious connections among the Rock Folk and the Ice Folk. And he spoke increasingly of an alliance with the Vanir, of an exchange of hostages, of our chance to possess the runes. And so at last Odin conceived a plan to keep him forever by his side, and yet which would curb his ambition for good.” He shrugged. “Well, you know how that ended.”
I did. With Mimir’s severed head, kept alive in a cradle of runelight. A slave to Odin’s ambitions—a sacrifice: an Oracle.
“You planned that from the start?” I said.
He sighed. “Oh, don’t sound so surprised. Mimir was a piece of work. I used him when it suited me—but don’t think it wasn’t mutual. If I hadn’t caught him in time, that might have been my Head, not his, prophesying Ragnarók.”
I let that one go. It made my head ache. Mimir, as Allfather?
“It’s what he wanted,” Odin said. “He’d always been ambitious. And he’d been so certain the Vanir wouldn’t suspect or recognize him when he returned to their camp as my ambassador. To be fair, he was right. He’d left their camp as a young man. He returned as an old one. But all it took was a word or two, delivered by my ravens, to put them on the alert again. They sent me his head as a token—and of course, by then, the runes were ours. The Aesir-Vanir alliance was born.”
I thought about that. It explained a few things. And I’d always known Odin was sneaky. In fact, if I’d know just how sneaky he was, we might never have ended up enemies. But however interesting all this might be, it didn’t explain what Gullveig-Heid wanted from me in particular. Revenge against Odin, yes, I got that. Even though Mimir had hardly been much of a parent, it went some way to explaining her rage, her split from the rest of the Vanir. What it didn’t explain was why she wanted Yours Truly.
“Because she wants the new runes,” Odin continued. “The runes the Oracle foretold. They are the key to a new World. And she will do anything to possess them.”
The dread I mentioned earlier was starting to kick in by then. “Why me? I don’t have them,” I said. “New runes will come to Odin’s heirs. Am I Odin’s heir? No. Did anyone ever give her the impression I was likely to be Odin’s heir?”
“No,” said Odin gently. “But you were the one who had Mimir’s Head on the day of Ragnarók. You were the last one to speak to it. Gullveig-Heid may think you know where it is.”
“I threw the damn thing off Bif-rost. It could have landed anywhere.”
Well, I knew that wasn’t quite what happened. But I didn’t trust Odin one bit. This tale (which rang true enough in terms of Odin’s sneakiness) was, I suspected, some kind of ploy to get me on his side again. Possibly to make me divulge any knowledge I might have of the whereabouts of Mimir’s Head, and thereby of the New Runes. Of course I hadn’t told him about the scene on Castle Hill, and the way my blood had cast runeshapes on the thirsty ground at my feet. So shoot me—I haven’t survived this long by trusting folk like the General.
Odin looked skeptical. “A pity,” he said. “While I believe your story, I suspect Gullveig-Heid will not.” Which doesn’t look good for you, he meant, although he didn’t say so. He didn’t have to say so: his eye gleamed with quiet menace.
I said, “I don’t know where it is. And even if I did know, we left that Head in another World, a World that you and I have no means of reaching.”
That gleam again, like a firefly in the eye of a marble. “I wouldn’t say that,” said Odin.
“What?”
“There may be another way out of this World. A way to return to the one that we left.”
That sounded far too attractive to be entirely straightforward. “How?”
Odin smiled. “In every World, there have been places of power. Places where lines of energy cross. A place where such lines of power converge might possibly also exist, in some form, in any number of other Worlds.”
I thought of that vapour trail in the sky, the one that looked like a runemark. “Let me guess. You mean the Hill?”
“You saw it yourself; you felt it.”
I had to admit I’d felt something. Once more I almost considered telling Odin about the scars on Jumps’s arms, and the fact that she’d thrown a runebolt, and the way my blood had summoned runes on the open hillside, then I decided against it. I still wasn’t sure what he wanted of me, and knowing Odin, I guessed he wasn’t telling me everything he knew.
“So, what you’re saying is, keep away from the Hill. Because only an idiot would risk facing that kind of power. Right?”
Odin shook his head. “No, Captain. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t really surprised. Give the Old Man a choice between an easy, if restricted, life of jam tarts, cold beer, sleep, and shopping, with the promise of sex with Meg thrown in, and the likelihood of being torn apart by intersecting lines of force, he’d take the peril every time. That was the thing about Odin: he could never resist a gamble. And if he was risking my life with his, all the better. My life, plus the lives of our hosts, which I assumed they valued almost as much as we did ourselves—
Hang on a minute. What was that?
That was Jumps, who until then had been immer
sed in some kind of distant reverie, and now snapped to attention. I sought a reassuring lie, but she sensed it before it could take shape.
Don’t lie!
I—
Yes, you were!
“Okay. I admit, I was going to lie. I was going to say not to worry. And you shouldn’t, because I’m going to keep as far away from that Hill as I can. Because I don’t have a death wish. So your lines of power can jolly well do one, because there’s no way I’m risking what we have for anyone, or anything.”
Odin raised an eyebrow. “Your host?”
“My host believes, quite rightly,” I said, “that the life we share should not be a pawn or gambling chip. I happen to concur, by the way.”
Odin looked impatient. “Don’t think that you or your host have a choice. If you don’t go after what’s under that Hill, then Gullveig-Heid will come after you.”
“I’m not afraid of her,” said Jumps.
“You should be,” Odin said grimly. “Because she, too, is short of time. Every moment she spends in her host’s body is a risk. She’s here for the runes of the New Script. And she’s not taking any prisoners.”
Prisoners. The world clanged alarmingly in my mind. At the same time, I felt Jumps tense, as if she’d had the same as yet-unspoken thought. We’d escaped Heidi’s clutches on the Hill, but there was someone else out there, someone Heidi knew about—
“Oh shit,” I said.
In our shared space, Jumps echoed the sentiment.
“Jumps, I’m sorry,” Odin said, and suddenly he was Evan again: Evan, as sincere as the General was sneaky. “You were never meant to be a part of this, but I promise, you’ll be totally fine. You know I’d never go along with anything that could hurt you. You might not understand that now, but—”
Then his expression flickered, and he was the General again. “Enough of that,” he said briskly. “Let’s leave this to those who know. Castle Hill is a passing-place, a crossroads between many Worlds. We know that there is power here, maybe the kind of power that could take us back to our own World. It is vital that you and I harness this power before Gullveig-Heid unlocks its secrets for herself. And that’s why there is no time to lose. We have to—”
Just then, the phone began to ring. A shrill, persistent trilling.
Odin picked up. “Yes? Hello?”
He listened for a moment. Then he put the receiver down and turned to me with a twisted smile. “That was Gullveig-Heid,” he says. “She tells me to tell you Meg says hi.”
2.
There was a long and rather fraught silence, in which I felt a little awkward, Odin sat in his wheelchair, and Jumps bounced around our shared space like a cat in a baking oven, shouting: Meg, she’s got Meg—as if the thought hadn’t occurred to me, as if it wasn’t obvious, as if it wasn’t already twisting my guts like a wet rag—
“What exactly did she say?” I said, when I managed to form the words.
“She’s holding your friend,” said Odin. “Meg is unhurt, and will remain so as long as you meet Gullveig-Heid at Castle Hill within the hour.”
For a moment I joined in the bouncing act. “Me? What does she want with me?” Apart from blood, of course, I thought.
“Possibly something to do with the fact that you were the last to see Mimir’s Head, and that Mimir’s Head may hold the key to the Runes of the New Script.”
“So what?” I started to pace. The dog, Twinkle, looked up hopefully.
“So,” said Odin. “Perhaps she thinks that you might know how to find it.”
“Well, she’s wrong,” I told him. “This is where you should have said, ‘Who, Loki? Don’t be absurd. Besides, I have no idea where he is. He might have left the country. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw him heading for the airport on his way to somewhere warm—’ ”
Odin shrugged. “This is your fault,” he said. “You were the one who went off-piste. You disobeyed my orders. You were too busy having fun, going on dates, eating jam tarts—”
“Excuse me,” I said. “If asked to describe this learning curve, ‘fun’ isn’t the first word I’d choose. There might have been small pleasures, yes, but there were also feelings, exams, parents, teachers, mean girls, a grandmother, and something called yogurt—”
Odin gave me a quelling glance. “Also,” he said, “the weapon I was planning to use in our defence against Gullveig-Heid has been rendered useless, thanks to your paranoid antics—”
“Who, me?” I was indignant.
“Well, this is the point at which we could probably have used the Thunderer, in some Aspect other than that of a fluffy white dog.”
In the corner, Twinkle barked. Even his bark sounded harmless. I put my head—Jumps’s head—in my hands. “This isn’t my fault!” I wailed. “I never asked for any of this!”
“You threw Mimir’s Head off the bridge. You involved Meg. You lost us Thor. You partnered up with Gullveig-Heid. Just whose fault is it, then?”
I racked my brains for an answer. For some reason, there wasn’t one. Inside our shared space, Jumps was still bouncing around, repeating: Meg, she’s got Meg!
“Do shut up. I’m trying to think. It’s hard enough being trapped in here—which, to be perfectly frank with you, is hardly the mind palace I have been accustomed to—without having you climbing the walls like a sackful of squirrels,” I said.
I don’t suppose she realized the severity of my words. With her love of small animals, I suppose she might even have taken it as a compliment, whereas anyone who knows me knows that next to snakes, and possibly lutes, I detest squirrels most of all. Anyway, she ignored the gibe, but mercifully, stopped the bouncing.
“Now to think of a plan,” I said. “Preferably a plan that includes saving Meg, whilst keeping as far away from Gullveig-Heid as possible.”
You’ll have to do as she says, said Jumps. You’ll have to give her what she wants.
“And what if what she wants is my blood? And yours?”
Odin shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. After all, if she wanted us dead, she would have killed us already.”
“Good point,” I told him gloomily. “Death’s probably too good for us.”
Odin gave his twisted smile. “There’s only one way to find out,” he said.
“You mean, you’ve got a plan?”
He said, “You’ll have to get to Mimir’s Head before Gullveig-Heid gets her hands on it.”
“That all?” I said. “Oh well, that’s fine. I thought you might be asking for something really difficult.”
“That sounded like sarcasm,” Odin said.
“Really? I can’t imagine why.”
I could feel Jumps getting impatient. Is there a way of doing that?
“Oh, there’s a way,” I told her. “Unfortunately, the way involves my crossing between Worlds, which is sadly unavailable, with Bif-rost having fallen, and my own powers being, shall we say, somewhat depleted?”
But the General thought otherwise. I could tell by the way he turned to me, a gleam in his single living eye. I felt a lurching sensation somewhere in the region of my solar plexus, as if in anticipation of a blow.
“You’re right, of course,” he told me. “And yet, there may be other ways to cross between the Worlds. Your offspring, Sleipnir, had that skill.”
For Jumps’s benefit, I sketched a new entry in the Book of Faces. Sleipnir: Eight-legged horse with a foot in all Worlds, except for Pandaemonium. Unnatural offspring of Loki and Svadilfari. So shoot me, yes, I’m a mother. Likes: grass, oats, hay, sugar lumps, travelling between Worlds. Dislikes: the usual, you know: giants, demons, snakes, the dead. And squirrels. Bloody squirrels.
I looked at Odin. “So?” I said. “Sleipnir fell at Ragnarók.”
Odin shook his head. “Not quite. You know how I mentioned energies? Places where lines of power converge?”
I nodded. His one living eye gleamed.
“The Hill is one of these places. A place that exists very close to our Wor
ld. Perhaps it’s even the same place, built on some tributary of Dream, linked by something as powerful as the gods themselves—”
“Please tell me you’re not suggesting we try to cross between the Worlds, without glam, riding an eight-legged Horse that might not even be there?” I said.
“I could say that,” said the General. “But that would make me a liar.”
“You are a liar,” I told him. “You’re almost as good a liar as me, and I do mean that as a compliment.”
He smiled again. There was nothing warm in that smile, just a kind of brightness, like the sun on treacherous ice.
“As you are aware,” he said, “Sleipnir was at Ragnarók, inasmuch as a being with a foot in all Worlds can ever be in a single place. I gave him orders, in case I fell. I told him to wait for my return. And during my time in Netherworld, I scanned all Dream for signs of him, or traces of his passage.”
“And you think he’s here?” I said.
“I sensed his presence from the start, the first time I saw Castle Hill. Just as you sensed him yesterday, when you saw that sign in the sky. Some places are attractive. Places where the Worlds connect, like the cells in a piece of honeycomb. Castle Hill is one of these; a place that exists in more than one World, connected by lines of energy. And yes, I believe that by following it, we can get back to our own World.”
“So why haven’t you followed it?” I said.
He shrugged. “Believe me, if I’d had the glam, I would have done that long ago. But without a functioning runemark—”
“Well, I don’t have one either!” I said.
“That’s not quite true, is it?” he said. “Jumps, if you’d kindly show me your arm.”
“I’d rather not,” I told him.
Jumps scowled and pushed up my sleeve, exposing that ladder of silvery scars, almost obscured now with fresh blood. No, not quite a runemark, and yet I could see the shape of Kaen, bastardized and broken. And was it my imagination, or was the scar slightly luminous, as if under the skin, something were trying to make itself visible?