“So Loki was right,” she said softly. “You made a deal with the Order, and you’re keeping control of these men somehow.”

The Whisperer smiled. “A deal?” it said. “Maddy, I made the Order. From Chaos I brought it, after the war. I was free then, the gods were imprisoned, and I sought my disciples among the Folk. The Folk have remarkable minds, you know-rivaling the gods in ambition and pride. I gave them the Good Book-a collection of commandments and prophecies and names of power-and they gave me their minds. By the time your friends escaped from Netherworld, my Order had grown to five hundred men. Scholars, historians, politicians, priests. Five hundred pairs of eyes abroad, linked to me through Communion, the beginnings of an army that would change the Worlds. Little by little, but always through me: the still, small voice of the Nameless.”

“The Nameless?” repeated Maddy blankly.

It gave its dry and humorless laugh. “Everything has a name, you know. Names are the building blocks of Creation. And now, at last, My prophecy is fulfilled, and I shall arise as the leader of an invading army. Ten thousand men, all armed with the Word, all loyal to Me and incapable of betrayal. With them I can do anything: raise the dead, reorder the Worlds. This time we’ll win, no doubt about it, and this time we’ll take no prisoners.”

Once more Maddy looked at the Whisperer. It looked insubstantial in this new Aspect, and yet there was no mistaking the power at its fingers; trails of glamour snapped around it, and Maddy knew that just one touch from its staff would be enough to reduce her to a smear of ash.

Where is it getting the power? she thought.

The answer formed itself almost before the question was posed. It was standing before her, set out in orderly columns across the plain.

Slowly she rose to her feet, keeping a distance between herself and the Nameless. From time to time her eyes went back to the figure of Loki at her feet, eyes closed, hands folded neatly over a chest that neither rose nor fell.

“Forget him; he’s dead,” said the Whisperer.

“No,” said Maddy. “He can’t be.”

“Of course he can,” said the Whisperer. “Dead, done, and good riddance.”

She put out a hand to touch Loki’s face. It was still warm. “But he’s here.” Her voice shook. “His body is here.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Whisperer. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t belong to him anymore. You see, Hel and I had a certain arrangement. A life for a life. A bargain, I think.”

Maddy stared at Hel, who stared back, impassive, her living hand folded over her dead one, both resting on the deathwatch around her neck. Thirteen seconds remained on the clock.

“You broke your promise,” said Maddy in astonishment.

“By a few seconds-”

“That’s why he’s still here. You cheated him. You stole his time-”

“Don’t be childish,” said Hel crossly. “A few seconds. He would have died anyway.”

“He trusted you-he spoke of a balance…”

Maddy was almost sure she saw a flush against the dead pallor of Hel’s living profile.

“No matter,” said Hel. “What’s done is done. Thanks to your friend and his pet snake, Chaos has already breached Netherworld, and it cannot be reopened without placing this World-maybe all the Worlds-in jeopardy. Right or wrong, it cannot be changed. And now, Mimir”-she addressed the Whisperer in an altered tone-“your part of the deal.”

The Whisperer nodded. “Balder,” it said.

“Balder?” said Maddy.

So that was what he’d promised Hel. Balder’s return-in a living body…

“And it had to be Loki,” she said aloud. “It couldn’t have been me, for instance, or any other casual visitor, because Balder the Fair, of all the Æsir, would never be party to the death of an innocent…”

“Well reasoned, Maddy,” said the Whisperer in its dry voice. “But as we know, Loki’s no innocent. And so everyone’s happy-well, almost everyone. Surt gets Netherworld and everything in it-including our deserters, for whom I imagine he has interesting times in store. Hel gets her heart’s desire. And I?” Once more, it smiled. “My freedom at last. My freedom-from him.”

At that the old face twisted in rage, and the eyes, which had always been as cold as glass, blazed with a light from which all sanity had been scoured away.

“Here, in the flesh,” the Whisperer said. “Here on the plain, I’ll meet him-and this time I’ll kill him, and I will be free.”

“But why?” said Maddy. “Odin was your friend-”

The Whisperer gave a dry hiss. “Friend?” it said. “He was no friend to Me. He used Me when it suited him, that’s all. I was his instrument, his slave; and tell Me, little girl-what is it a slave dreams of? Do you know? Can you guess?”

“Freedom?” said Maddy.

“No,” said the Whisperer.

“Then what?”

“The slave dreams of being the master.”

“First, Balder,” said Hel, who had been watching the river with her dead eye.

“Ah, yes, of course. How could I delay?” And now the Whisperer raised its staff-red lightning crackled from the tip, and Maddy felt the hairs on her arms and head crackle with static in response.

But the power it raised was not against Maddy. It distressed the air like a storm in a bottle, casting shards of lightning onto the plain; it troubled the sky so that crow-colored clouds gathered overhead, and then the Whisperer opened its mouth to speak the Word.

“Balder,” it said, and the Word it spoke echoed from the mouths of every one of the ten thousand dead. “Balder,” it said. “Come forth.”

Maddy did not hear the Word, but she felt it. Suddenly her nose bled, her teeth ached; a haze seemed to come between herself and the world and she felt a sensation of drawing, of stretching. And now a light surrounded Loki’s body (she still could not bear to think of it as his corpse) and slowly that Aspect of him began to fade, to alter, so that as she watched, his hair changed color, his lips lost their scars, the angles of his face softened and changed shape, and his eyes opened-not fire green as before, but a sunny, gold-flecked, summery blue.

If she tried, she could still see Loki behind the new Aspect, but it was like looking at a picture against which a lantern show had been projected. Nothing was clear; it was impossible to say where Loki ended and Balder began.

Maddy gave a cry of grief.

Hel’s lips parted in a soundless gasp.

The Whisperer bared its teeth in satisfaction.

And Balder the Beautiful, prisoner of Death these five hundred years, stirred, sleepy at first, and then into wide, blue-eyed, astonished life.

“Welcome back, Lord Balder,” said Hel.

But Balder was scarcely paying attention. “Wait a minute,” he said.

His hand went quickly to his face. Through the gleam of his Aspect Maddy could still see Loki’s features, like something glimpsed through thick ice, and as Balder’s fingers moved tentatively against his forehead, his cheek, his chin, his air of puzzlement deepened.

“There’s something funny about this,” he said. He pressed his fingers once more to his lips. At the pressure, Loki’s scars reappeared briefly, then faded again-reappeared-faded-reappeared…

His hand went to the glam on his arm. Kaen, reversed, now glowing white hot.

“Hang on,” said Balder. “I never used to be Loki, did I?”