Justice and Utu

Prologue — Mimir's well

Summons

The warrior

The limits of justice

I wish to see you

Gaol

Post-trauma

Rude awakening

Fortune-telling

Prophet

New eyes

Will

Balor and Maikuku

Reckless stupidity

Paramount chief

Fire rune

Bloodied waters

The chase

Naval engagement

Landing under fire

Duel

Guilt and grief

Living in twilight

Epilogue: proposal

Author's Note

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

N
ORTH
S
HORE
, A
UCKLAND, SIX YEARS AGO

T
welve-year-old Evie van Zelle loved cards and games, and knew dozens of card tricks. She'd been superstitious all her life: wouldn't cross the path of a black cat, go under a ladder or step on cracks. Every morning she'd shuffle a random card from the deck beside the bed and wear it in her top pocket — low-number cards meant not much would happen, but the big cards meant big stuff. Hearts for friendship, Clubs for family, Spades for school work, and Diamonds for money. She didn't tell anyone, of course; not because she was embarrassed about it — to her, it was as natural as breathing — but in case telling someone distorted the outcomes.

That morning she drew the Joker, which always meant bad things. She worried all day at school and was scared even to go outside at lunch break, shutting herself in the library instead. Her friends, and she had lots of them, kept filing in to plead with her to come outside and play. When she wouldn't budge,
most of them simply stayed with her, laughing and joking to cheer her up. Evie was always at the centre of things, always surrounded by laughter and dozens of tiny dramas — some people are planets, but others are suns, the centre of the circle that everyone orbits around.

Evie's father was Dutch and her mother Norwegian. They had given her a Dutch name, Everalda, but all her school friends called her Evie. She had a sunny face, a snub nose and cascades of brown hair. She tanned easily, so much browner than her parents that they joked that she must be part-Maori, with much mock finger-wagging at each other. She loved to run and cycle. An only child, she never went without — Dad's building company gave them comfortable lives on Auckland's North Shore. Tears were reserved for dead pets and skinned knees. She always got what she wanted for Christmas and birthdays. Life was a hazy summer that stretched on forever. Until that day, the day she drew the Joker — and something really bad happened.

When the bell rang for home-time, Evie was part of a cluster of girls giggling and jostling as they swarmed out the gates and into parents' cars or onto bicycles or simply off down the footpath. She was biking home, just a ten-minute ride. By the time she was weaving her way down Walter Street, her mind was already on the biscuit jar waiting at home. The black car that passed her slowly was just another car; she felt none of the warning instincts she'd always had growing up, of when certain people were not to be approached or when a floor was slippery or the traffic too dangerous. She barely registered it at first. But then it slowed, and the passenger window came down. She felt the first chill of danger.

The driver peered at her. Evie glimpsed blonde hair, a hard-faced woman leaning across the passenger seat. She had a Maori moko on her chin even though she was Pakeha.

‘Excuse me,' the woman said in a cool and terse voice. ‘Is this the way to Spencer Terrace?'

Evie nodded warily as she braked her bike and planted her feet. She was careful not to come too close. Spencer Terrace was where she lived. ‘You take the next right and then the second left.'

The woman smiled. ‘Thank you, Everalda.'

She stared at the woman's face, wondering how she knew her name. Then instinct took over. Evie threw herself into motion, thrusting her top foot downwards and kicking off. Her bike leapt forward as she surged away from the car. It roared after her.

She jerked the handles and swerved onto the footpath, pedalling furiously. Dips and ramps made by the driveways slowed her, but it was only three more doors to the house of her mum's friend Molly.

The black car swerved across her path into a driveway and braked. Evie tried to turn, but her front wheel struck the car and buckled. She flew into the side of the car, her face striking the side window and smearing down it. Her knees and shins were barked as she struck the concrete and sprawled in a tangle of handlebars and pedals, crying aloud in pain and fright.

A door opened, fast footsteps crunched the stonework, and then the woman was above her, pinning her down. A thousand terrors imprinted by her parents froze Evie's mind. The woman clamped a hand over her mouth, then said something,
and a kind of electricity fizzed through Evie's bones. Light swirled, the ground fell away, and Evie felt herself falling into something spongy and wet, still held tight in the woman's grip. All was suddenly, shockingly, silent. No distant traffic hum, no gulls calling. Silence.

‘Open your eyes, girl.'

She could not help but comply, especially when she realized she was lying on soaking long grass instead of concrete. Her bicycle was gone, and so was the woman's car. Trees crowded above them both.

She looked up into the eyes of her captor.

The woman had a narrow skull, blonde bobbed hair, and the most intense eyes Evie had ever seen. A face made for scowling regarded her with a cocktail of emotions which Evie could not comprehend. There was triumph, dread, bitterness … and many other things too hard to recognize. The woman was skinny but strong, and smelt of expensive perfume and sweat.

‘Don't be afraid, girl,' the woman rasped. ‘I will return you to your home, very soon.'

Evie didn't believe her. But she sucked in air and steeled herself as the pain from all her bumps and grazes hit her. Blood crept in burning trickles from her knees. She looked around her, breathed in the rich damp air. All about her was bush, a tangle of flax and kowhai, and buzzing sandflies swarming to her blood. A small stream gurgled by, not ten feet away. And the sun looked strange, as though it had a carved face.

She began to tremble.

The woman gripped her chin, pulled her gaze back. ‘Do
not be afraid — I'm here to help you,' she said in a low, hurried voice. ‘You have a Gift, Everalda. I'm here to enhance it, to make it stronger.' She pulled the Joker from Evie's pocket and showed it to her. ‘Do you know what this card meant?'

Evie shook her head.

‘It foretold my coming to you,' the woman told her. ‘It predicted the change I will bring. But ordinary playing cards are too imprecise; they limit you. You are ready for more, girl. You are ready for better tools, and sharper sight. My name is Donna Kyle, and I am here to make your life better.'

Evie didn't believe that either. But she stayed perfectly still, because she was too terrified to move and the woman's cold hands were horribly strong. The woman's raptor eyes pierced Evie through, as if she could see right inside her.

The woman Donna knelt beside her and stroked the cuts on Evie's knees. With a stinging burn, the skin seemed to sear shut. Evie gasped in alarm, but the woman gripped her chin. ‘Quiet,' she said, forcing a smile. ‘Do you know the story of the Norse god called Odin, Everalda?'

Evie shook her head.

‘He was called the All-Father, the chief of the gods of the Norsemen, the Vikings. He was said to have gained the ability to see glimpses of the future, like you can, only much more clearly.' Her voice had an odd, hollow tone, as if she were both sceptic and believer. ‘He was, after all, a god.'

Donna stroked her left cheek. Evie wondered if she was to be freed or killed. The woman had to be insane, babbling about make-believe things. And where were they? Where was the street? Where was her bike? How could she get away?

The blonde woman went on. ‘Odin knew that a great danger faced his kindred, but not the nature of that peril. He knew he needed more information. He needed to know the future so that the gods would not be overthrown. So he went to a magical place, called Mimir's Well. Mimir was a witch, and she gave him prophecy, so that the gods might be able to save themselves. A great gift, don't you think?'

Evie nodded mutely, seeing that she was expected to.

‘I'm going to give you the same Gift, Evie. Well, in truth I'm going to enhance it in you, for the Gift is already there.' She leant over her, her thumb tracing a pattern on her cheek, her face filling her sight. ‘Would you like that, Everalda?'

The young girl was too frightened to do other than nod.

Donna sucked in a deep breath, as if steeling herself. ‘I do not mean you ill, Evie, I swear. But this is necessary, if either of us is ever to be free.'

What does she mean?

Donna's face tightened. Her thumb lifted, right above Evie's left eye, blocking out half her sight. Her nail was long and sharp. Her face tightened slightly, the only warning Evie got of what came next. Then she gouged downward brutally. Her thumbnail pierced the eyeball and blood sprayed over her hand. Evie screamed all the way into sudden, merciful oblivion.

 

Evie awoke to burning pain, her left eye socket throbbing. She could feel her right eye jerking about in panic, too filled with tears to make of the world anything but a blurry murky smear, like a window in a rainstorm. And the pain was awful … She
felt herself falling into unconsciousness again, and some part of her hoped not to wake.

But wake again she did, although who knew after how much time. Evie was wrapped in a blanket in that same clearing, lying on her side. When she touched the left side of her face she found a bandage tightly bound about it.

‘It hurts,' she heard herself moan. ‘I can't see.'

‘Hush, child. Pain is fleeting. Your eye will heal and see more clearly than ever before, though not in the way it used to.' Donna took Evie's left hand and pulled it away from the bandages. ‘When Odin went to Mimir, she demanded a sacrifice from him in return for the gift of prophecy. She demanded his left eye. Some Adepts require a sacrifice to open their powers fully. You are such a one.'

Evie was in too much pain to understand the words, or why this woman would do such a hideous thing to her. She sobbed quietly, wanting only her mother and father to hold her and make her better.

But the woman would not let her be. ‘Listen to me, Everalda. I will take you back to your world soon. People will think that you have had a fall and hurt your eye. For a while it will be sightless, but you will see things through it at times, important things that you would otherwise not have seen. You will learn how to interpret those visions in your own way. Every seer's gift is unique to them, though some tools are universally used, like tarot cards. It will come to you naturally, girl. You are a born seer.'

‘I want to go home.'

‘Of course you do, child. And I will take you there now. But remember this: if you try to tell anyone about what has
happened here, you will find you can't; in fact, you will find yourself beginning to choke and pass out. This prohibition extends to writing about the experience. Do you understand? You will never speak of this to anyone.'

Evie nodded mutely.

‘In time you will be grateful, Evie. And you will see me again. I will visit you at times and ask you questions when I need the insight your Gift will bring. You might think me cruel right now, but, believe me, I am your friend.' She stroked Evie's cheek. ‘You will help me to be free, one day.'

Then she murmured something, and the world fell away again.

 

Evie awoke to hospital beds and operations, white-faced parents and weeping classmates. She had fallen on her bike and poked her eye on a shrub, they told her: she was lucky to be alive. Some Good Samaritan had saved her life. When she tried to tell them otherwise, she almost asphyxiated. She never tried again.

As promised, she saw Donna Kyle occasionally. Perhaps once every six months, always when she was alone. At times she felt the woman watching her, glimpsed her across a park, or in the street, staring at her. Later, Donna began to visit her, asking for tarot or palm readings — skills she made Evie learn, buying her books on the subjects. At times Donna brought other people, who seemed subservient to her. Evie hated them all. They were callous and sarcastic, condescending and jealous. Sometimes they brought objects for Evie to hold and give opinions on. But most often it was tarot or palm readings,
always about themselves, and what might be coming next. Evie was too frightened to lie to them. They would know.

It changed her — how could it not? Her left eye had been blinded, and now was milky-white and ugly. She went through an eyepatch phase and then on to sunglasses. Her loss of depth perception put paid to ball sports and cycling, though she tried to compensate by running. She became more sombre, and her friendships changed. Some girls left her alone, others became closer. She left school after Year Eleven, having never attained the marks she knew she could have. With no other skill or talent, she opened a booth in Victoria Park Market using a loan from her father.
Everalda: Fortune-Teller
, the sign said. She was good, uncannily good, when she wanted to be. But she also learnt to moderate her predictions in case they scared the punters away, turning her blind eye from the bad things she foresaw, and not talking about them. She was scared to be too accurate and become some kind of public freak show.

She told no-one what had happened. Even though a year or so ago, just after her seventeenth birthday, Donna stopped coming. At first Evie thought it coincidence, but gradually she began to hope that some richly deserved bad thing had happened to the woman. She was still unable to speak of her, but, as the months dragged by and she heard nothing, Evie began to hope that she was, finally, free.