Only her left hand moved, fingersĬurling into the familiar shape that was Bjarkán, the rune of The shadows, something began to crawl, very quietly, between She did not move, but stood, apparently lost in thought. In the shadows, something lurked she could see it from the She gave a sigh, as if of disappointment, and Nothing moved just layers of shadow disturbed by theĬandle-flame.

The goblin – if it was a goblin and not just a rat – said ‘I know you’re there,’ she whispered softly. She left the candle on top of a barrel and came to peer into Or maybe some more practical trick, some cantrip to help Tantalizingly on the edges of memory? A tale of One-Eye’s, perhaps? Wasn’t there something else as well, something that lingered Than bad fond of strong drink and well-dressed meats. They were curious creatures, more playful She tried to recall what little she knew of the Good Folk from She had never had such a chance: to see one of the Faërie atĬlose quarters to speak to it, and have it answer. Maddy’s heart began to beat a little faster. Kegs, its burrow sealed, the cellar shut. One of the revellers, stupefied beyond all thought of cautionīy Mrs Scattergood’s excellent ale, had curled up in some darkĬorner to sleep off the after-effects of a bellyful. Wintry scent like roots and spices kept long underground.Ī drunken party, she thought again. She could even smell it now: a sour-sweet, Maddy stepped forward and shone the candle right into theĬorner. Moved but the shadows that jerked and juddered. Quickly she stood up, lifting her candle so that its fl ame lit Shadows and a shape, rather larger than a common rat, bob Suddenly there came a scrabbling sound from the far, darkĬorner of the cellar. The dirt, and they could all continue to pretend that the goblins

She could not do it) and who thought magic was theĭevil’s work, the runes would only ever look like scratches in Maddy – but to Mrs Scattergood, who despised reading (because

The goblins could see them – and so could The letters flared for a few seconds, and then dwindled toĪ warning gleam. She spoke a little cantrip – Cuth on fyre. Now, working the runes was easyĪs striking a match. Anyoneįamiliar with the runes – which were only letters, after all, takenįrom an ancient language – could learn to write them. Today I’m pleased to share with you an extract from Runemarks, the latest novel by bestselling author Joanne Harris.