6

It was a most unholy alliance. On the one side the Huntress, royally clad in Ethelberta’s blue velvet; on the other, the parson, with his golden key. It was two in the morning when they repaired to the parsonage and, to Ethel’s bewilderment and displeasure, went immediately to Nat’s study and locked themselves in.

There, Nat told the Huntress all he knew-about Maddy Smith, the one-eyed Journeyman who had been her friend, and most especially about the Order and its works-and he read to her from the Good Book and recited some of the canticles in the lesser of the Closed Chapters.

Skadi watched and listened with cold amusement to the little man’s efforts to master the glamour that he called the Word. As the hours passed, however, she began to grow curious. He was clumsy and untrained, but he had a spark, a power she did not quite understand. She could see it in his colors: it was almost as if there were two light-signatures there instead of one, a normal signature of an undistinguished brown and a brighter thread that ran through it, as a silver skein may be woven into a cheaper silk. Somehow, it seemed, Nat Parson, for all his conceit and self-indulgence, had powers that might be of value to her-or might threaten her, if allowed to grow untrained.

“Now light it.” They were sitting at Nat’s desk, an unlit taper in a candlestick between them. Kaen, the fire rune, gleamed, a little crookedly, between the parson’s fingers.

“You’re not concentrating,” said Skadi impatiently. “Hold it steady, focus your thoughts, say the cantrip, and light the taper.”

For several seconds Nat frowned at the candlestick. “It doesn’t work,” he complained at last. “I can’t work these heathen cantrips. Why can’t I just use the Word?”

“The Word?” In spite of herself, Skadi laughed. “Listen, fellow,” she said as patiently as she could. “Do you use an oliphant to plow your garden? Would you burn a forest to light your pipe?”

Nat shrugged. “I want to get to the things that matter. I’m not interested in learning tricks.”

Once more Skadi laughed. You had to give it to the man, she thought-at least his ambitions were vast, if his intelligence wasn’t. She had entered their pact with the intention of humoring him for just as long as it took to gain the secrets of the Order, but now her curiosity had been aroused. Perhaps he could be useful after all.

“Tricks?” she said. “These tricks, as you call them, are your apprenticeship. Despise them, and our alliance is over. Now stop complaining and light the taper.”

Nat made a sound of disgust. “I can’t,” he muttered angrily, and at that very moment, with an angry whoosh! the taper leaped into violent flame, scattering papers, bowling over the candlestick, and sending a jet of fire so high toward the ceiling that it left a black soot stain on the plasterwork.

Skadi raised a dispassionate eyebrow. “You lack control,” she said. “Again.”

But Nat was looking at the blackened taper with an expression of wild exhilaration. “I did it,” he said.

“Poorly,” said the Huntress.

“But did you feel it?” said Nat. “That power-” He paused abruptly, bringing one hand to his temple as if he had a headache. “That power,” he repeated, but vaguely, as if his mind were on something else.

“Again, please,” said Skadi coolly. “And this time try to exercise a little restraint.” She righted the candlestick-which was still hot-and placed a fresh taper on the spike.

Nat Parson smiled almost absently. The rune Kaen, less crooked this time, began to take shape between his fingers.

“Steady,” said the Huntress. “Give yourself time.” Kaen was burning brightly now, a nugget of fire in the parson’s hand. “That’s too much,” said Skadi. “Bring it right down.”

But either Nat didn’t hear her or he didn’t care, for Kaen brightened once again, now glowing so intensely that Skadi could feel it, like a lump of molten glass radiating fierce heat.

Nat’s eyes were pinpoints of eager fire; before him on the desk, scattered papers began to curl and crisp. The candle itself, standing unmarked in its holder before him, began to drool and melt as the heat increased.

“Stop it,” said Skadi. “You’ll burn yourself.”

Nat Parson only smiled.

Now Skadi was beginning to feel unaccountably nervous. Kaen across the desk from her was the shrunken heart of a furnace; its yellow had veered to an eerie blue-white.

“Stop it,” she said.

Still there was no reply from Nat Parson. Skadi cast Isa with her fingers, meaning to freeze out the fire rune before it could escape and cause damage.

Then Nat looked at her. Across the desk of charring papers, blue Isa and fiery Kaen faced each other in a deadlock, and once again Skadi felt that sense of peculiar, nagging unease.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought. The fellow had no training, no glam-so where was he getting this influx of power?

In her hand Isa was beginning to fail. She cast it again, harder this time, putting the force of her own glam behind it.

On Nat’s face the smile broadened; his eyes closed like those of a man in the throes of delight. Skadi pushed harder-

And suddenly it was over; so quickly that she had difficulty believing it had ever been. Kaen broke apart, frozen by Isa, and a dozen fragments snickered into the far wall, leaving tiny flecks of cinder embedded in the plasterwork. Nat goggled at these with a bewilderment that might have been comic in any other circumstance, and Skadi let out a sigh of relief-which was absurd, as surely she could not have expected any other outcome.

And yet, hadn’t she felt something as she faced him across the desk? As if some power-maybe even a superior power-had lent itself to his, or some gaze of unspeakable penetration had flitted briefly over their struggle of wills?

In any case, it was gone now. Nat seemed awakened from a kind of daze, observing the marks of his working against the ceiling and walls as if for the first time. Once more Skadi noticed that he rubbed his temple with the tips of his fingers, as if to ward off an approaching headache. “Did I do it?” he inquired at last.

Skadi nodded. “You made a start. Tell me,” she said. “How did it feel?”

For a moment Nat thought about it, still rubbing his temple. Then he gave a tiny, puzzled smile, like that of a man trying to recall the excesses of a night of distant revelry. “It felt good,” he said at last. His eyes met hers, and she thought she saw in their silvery pupils a reflection of his earlier delight. “Good,” he repeated softly, and for the first time since the End of the World, the icy Huntress shivered.

7

She had planned to introduce her new ally to the Vanir without delay. Now she began to think again. After all, the Vanir were not her people-except through marriage, and that had been a mistake. The old man was still fond of her, of course, but their natures were too different for the marriage to last. Njörd’s home by the sea had proved unbearable to her; her place in the mountains equally so to him. The same went for Frey and Freyja: their loyalties were with their father, not her, and she knew that her pursuit of Odin and his grandchild might not meet with unanimous approval.

Of course, if she’d managed to lay her hands on the Whisperer, then things might have been different. But as things stood at the moment, she was likely to meet with some opposition-Heimdall, at least, would stay loyal to Odin-and she had no desire to find herself at odds with the Vanir. So far Odin held all the cards: the Oracle and, more importantly, the girl. The Vanir knew the prophecy as well as he did. None of them would knowingly oppose Thor’s child, and though Skadi had no love for Asgard herself, she guessed that the others would give a great deal for the chance to regain the Sky Citadel.