Norns of Fate: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Descendants of Thor Trilogy Book Two)

by S. A. Ashdown

  Mar—

  My cousin.

  Guillaume and Sarah walked like stiff white sails, arms linked as they dodged spears and axes, puncturing stomachs and staking hearts.

  And here came the vampires under Akhen’s command, streaming out of the windows of the Palladian-fronted building. Menelaus recognised some of them as they teamed up with the loyal bravos, lictors, and mercenaries, those who could wield more than guns and bullets.

  Malachi, or the creature that was Malachi, tore over to the steps, his victims’ gory deaths streaked across his naked flesh like war paint. The vampires that faced him broke like twigs under his forceful attack.

  March. Kill. Repeat.

  Menelaus hobbled after his master.

  I didn’t get to Arabella in time. A dozen yellow-caped warlocks had her pinned between two carriages. Four fell in the attempt, one staggered away, eyes scratched out, but the remaining seven sliced her apart with their magic.

  Tears welled, burning trails down my cheeks. Penny soared through the air, bat-like, and attacked her murderers, backed up by Ricarda and Faflon.

  The sound of screaming women caught my attention. Malachi was tossing corpses down the steps, tearing out the throats of whoever walked out the Praetoriani’s doors, whether they bore Hel’s mark or not. ‘Stop!’ I roared, spurring Hrim on against the horse’s better judgement.

  The women, wearing the patches of the auxiliaries on their uniforms, were trapped between him and the crowd pushing from inside, next to fuel the vampire-god’s thirst. Hrim charged up the steps, blocking Malachi’s path. ‘Go!’ I yelled. ‘For Odin’s sake hide!’

  ‘You can’t hide from death!’ Malachi grinned, his fangs as red as his face, but he retreated back into the battle. I peered through the doors to find Michele tearing through the entrance hall, the massacre unravelling across an extravagant stage as men and women perished, overlooked by heavenly frescos and the portraits of those sworn to protect them.

  A hand tugged at my boot. I started, but before I could react an arrow slapped it away. Lorenzo waved from atop a horse of his own, one he must’ve stolen.

  I must end this. I can’t let the killing go on.

  Hrim followed my thoughts and faced out onto the lawn. Closing my eyes, I dug down and unlocked that cage of voices. They wafted out like smoke, ready, so ready to show me what to do.

  Yes, it’s time to show what the Gatekeeper can do.

  My blood turned ice cold as if my heart had been plunged into a glacial stream.

  Yes, Gatekeeper, the Black Widow cackled, I do quite agree. Spin, weave, twist. Thread the fate of men and unravel them again. Yes, spin, weave, twist. What lovely hair you have…

  ‘No!’

  Ride. Slaughter. Send me those souls to knit! I don’t care which!

  Hrim shook his mane and whinnied, but I urged him on, and ground Ormdreper into the first living creature I saw.

  Inside, those voices screamed.

  Ava sipped her tea, not noticing that it had gone cold between the start and end of that last vision. ‘I can’t just sit here,’ she said. ‘Something’s terribly wrong…’

  Lolita flew to her feet as Ava headed out of the sitting room, the kitsch wallpaper and low ceiling suffocating. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

  Ava pushed her away.

  ‘Do you remember anything about what happened the night Frigg possessed you?’

  ‘Fragments…I…’ She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  ‘It will all come true,’ Ava said. ‘I know that now. Actions have consequences. Cause and effect. I can’t resist going to Theo any more than I can resist breathing; every moment has led up to this.’

  ‘You were in the visions,’ Lolita said. ‘Theo was…’

  ‘Dead. At least, that’s what it looked like. I’m sorry, Mum, but I know where it’s going to happen. I must be there.’ She gritted her teeth, ready to argue, and ran to the front door.

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘Mum…’

  ‘I don’t understand what’s going on, Ava,’ she said, wagging her finger, ‘but I’m sure as hell not letting my daughter go charging into danger alone. How do you propose to get there? By bicycle? You’re not insured to drive, remember?’

  ‘Least of my worries right now, Mum!’ Lolita snatched the keys from her as she plucked them off the hook. ‘Fine, but I can’t protect you.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lolita, barging past her, ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘I hate being late,’ Alastair grumbled, tapping his foot as Johnag and his team searched for the weak spot in the wards surrounding the headquarters. It had to be here somewhere – if that pregnant woman they’d found hiding in the woods at Hellingstead Hall was right. Espen’s army must’ve broken through somewhere.

  ‘You’re always late, Al.’

  ‘Not to battle.’

  Johnag snorted.

  Maurina yelped in surprise as she fell into the hedge. She resurfaced a moment later. ‘Think I’ve found it, boss.’ He hardly recognised her under all that camouflage paint.

  ‘Remember the mission,’ Alastair said, gesturing to the crew posted near the coastal path. ‘Secure Theodore. Everyone else is secondary. Feel free to slaughter those golden-caped ponces while you’re at it.’

  His kin laughed quietly and Calumina licked her knife. Alastair dived through the hedge first, fingers ready at his pouch of throwing stars.

  Lorenzo tore out the Elvish arrow from the soldier beneath his feet, immediately redrew it, and watched it sail. Someone shouted his name. He swivelled round to find a reinforced stake aimed at his chest. The crystal decorating its handle glowed a bright blue, like a detector. Lorenzo froze.

  A hawk dived from the sky and dug its talons into the man’s scalp, forcing him to drop the stake. Lorenzo whooped and snatched it out of the air. Thank you, Raphael. He swirled around, taking snapshots of the battle. A Golden Knife was running uphill, a flock of seagulls squawking and pecking at the unfortunate soldier.

  That had been Theo’s idea, inspired by Strix. Raphael had left his instructions last night before returning to the safety of the tower. Overall, the fight was going well; a black warlock and a German-looking witch had teamed up with Belle and Espen and had made a considerable dent in the core cavalry, freeing up horses for their followers.

  Malachi had single-handedly exterminated the vampire threat. After the first wave of fighting, Menelaus had caught up with Lorenzo and gruffly informed him he still had his invisibility, probably because it was Theo who had restored it in the strange, inexplicable way that Theo was wont to do things, and that he intended to use it.

  He hadn’t seen him since.

  Which was probably a good thing.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Lorenzo mouthed. A wave of Golden Knives piled out of the carriages all at once, upwards of a hundred men. Where were they all coming from? He ran to the first carriage that had emptied and ripped off its glittering side door.

  A swirling vortex crackled inside, and Lorenzo found himself tearing out hearts as still more soldiers appeared. He jumped out and swung onto the roof. ‘The carriages are portals!’ He screamed, cupping his hands around his mouth. Hardly anyone heard him over the final cries of the doomed.

  Penny was close, her hair wild, her armour slick. She was looking away – at Theo, who was riding at full pelt down the Praetoriani’s steps, straight into the fresh battalion as they broke up and formed a circle around him. He couldn’t make out what the soldiers were holding.

  Lorenzo leapt into the air, landing next to Penny. ‘The carriages are portals!’

  She tore her gaze from Theo, her eyes so bloodshot she hardly looked like the human she’d been before, but those eyes realised the danger soon enough, and she bounded away to gather her sister witches.

  ‘He can’t fight all of them.’ Lorenzo knocked a straggler from his horse, firing arrows as he rode to Theo’s aid.

  A cluster of men and women, faces heavily painted, came cha
rging out of woods, necks popping with the sound of their violent song, a kind of demented Hakka dance on foot. Lorenzo heard it over the wind, the hairs prickling up his arm.

  ‘We are the Braecs! We wield the ancestral power! We ride the path of vengeance!’

  Who the…? Lorenzo cantered towards them, ready to intercept. They charged right past him and slammed into the back of the Golden Knives. Okay, I can go with that.

  So this is pain. I squeeze into the pockets of air in the juddering carriage but the element has betrayed and rejected me. The men, I don’t like their stink. ‘This carriage is built to hold you, Elder,’ says the dark-skinned man with the broken nose.

  ‘I’m suffocating,’ I say. ‘Please make the screams stop.’

  The guards say something in the language of the Pharaohs; I cannot see their auras so I must rely on the words they speak to decipher their intentions.

  The carriage stops.

  The guards leave, replaced by a man with a long face, thick lips, and fanned-out eyebrows. He fills this little prison, his knees scraping mine. His white cotton robes and head scarf hide not the sourness lurking within.

  ‘I have long desired to meet you, Elder.’

  ‘Who are you?’ I squeak, dreading the answer I already know.

  ‘I’m sure my reputation precedes me? I go by many names,’ he said. ‘I am the servant of Aten, I am the World Cleanser, I am Akhenaten the First. Most importantly, I am the one you will give the amulet to, the one you will teach to destroy it.’ He smiles but it is like pottery cracking. ‘How is it that Elders are exempt from feeling pain? That is a question that has troubled me, but at last I have found a solution.’

  He pulls a great diamond from his robes and presses it to my face. ‘See what you have missed!’ he shouts as the tears prickle. ‘This is the anguish the Syphons have caused me, and this is the agony he will feel, too!’

  I double over, the screams of my trapped brethren – the Old Ones I once rode the winds with – boring into my skull.

  He rips off my seashell necklace and crushes it under his feet.

  All was silence. I felt nothing as I spun Hrim in a circle, slicing and stabbing, until they hemmed me in. That was what I wanted. Father was charging towards the enemy, Lorenzo was coming, the red-haired strangers, whom I instantly recognised as kin, had thinned out the Golden Knives to my left, drawing them into another fight.

  I threw my sword down. It dissipated into dust as I slipped off the saddle, slapping Hrim on the hind. ‘Go!’ He snorted and trampled his way out of the heaving crowd.

  So far, I had resisted, held back by Father’s warnings. Akhen would know, as soon he heard news of this, that the Clemensens were the Gatekeepers. There could be no doubt.

  And I, I might be lost to the voices and the Black Widow’s instructions forever.

  I crouched down amongst the snarling faces, and lit the dragon’s fire.

  Light exploded from me, blasting out in seven coloured pulses. Men were flung into the sky, their golden capes the first to incinerate, moments before their flesh. They burned so quickly they hadn’t the chance to scream. A hundred men evaporated in an instant.

  Ash fell like rain. Bones clattered to the ground.

  ‘Theo?’ A big man, short, red hair.

  I groaned, scrambling over the flurry of voices jostling for dominance inside.

  ‘Grandfather?’ He hardly looked older than Father, the muscles straining against his armour. He pulled me up to my feet. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You wrote to me,’ he barked.

  The letter, it got to him.

  ‘How did you do that, Theo?’

  The sword formed in my hand. ‘Run,’ I said softly, ‘Hel has hold of me. She wants me to kill.’

  Father appeared on horseback. ‘Alastair?’

  ‘Where’s Malachi?’ I asked, backing away. ‘I must stop him. And then you must stop me.’

  ‘Theodore! Where are you going?’

  Menelaus faded into view at the bottom of the steps. He pointed to the building, and like a rope had been looped around him and tied to a cart, he was dragged inside.

  And through those doors, the red carpet of carnage unrolled at my feet. Malachi was chasing scores of Praetoriani staff down the sweeping staircase – Guardians, Overseers, auxiliaries, magistrates, students, librarians – most unbranded by the Black Widow’s mark.

  I must end this.

  You will not touch Loki, Gatekeeper. Kill the rest.

  Hel’s Hordes rippled into the entrance hall, cutting off the exits like wildfire. They heaved and grunted, their undead symphony oddly orchestrated. Far below our feet, Hel’s fingers plucked their heartstrings and vocal cords, as she did mine.

  I staggered over to the unbranded men and woman as they huddled together. Ormdreper burned in my hand, yet every step was a lie. At the last moment, I used the momentum of a sword swing to turn around and face Malachi. ‘No,’ I said.

  Blisters welled up in my throat.

  ‘Out with the old, Gatekeeper.’ Loki speaking – Malachi called me the Syphon. I suspected the vampire didn’t know our true title. A god, however…

  ‘Innocent. Won’t. Kill.’

  His irises swirled, pure fire.

  If ever I needed you, ancestors, it’s now.

  It built from Jörð’s hot core, blasting up Earth’s rocky layers to slam into my solar plexus. The Black Widow almost blinded me with her screech in protest.

  I looked around, dazed, in awe that no one else responded to it.

  The bitch would not stop me Anchoring. But it wasn’t enough to drown her out.

  Loki smiled. No one defies my daughter.

  ‘No one denies the Gatekeeper,’ I hissed. His burning eyes widened for just a moment; he had not meant to gift that thought. I had taken it, something that the Gatekeeper had told me was impossible to do. But as the Black Widow’s net gathered at my feet, I could read the threads so entwined with my own.

  ‘Meet Ormdreper.’ I grinned. ‘Warm his blade, Loki.’

  He lunged.

  I parried.

  Lightning scattered over Ormdreper’s surface, searing Malachi’s flesh where it jumped the gap. He healed within an eye blink.

  Voices I recognised – a woman so similar to Mum – called over the fighting outside. There was no time to respond.

  Raphael’s serene face flashed in my mind, the way he melted into the wind, dancing in the leaves.

  I projected across the exquisitely polished floor in quick succession, my Vital Essence managing to stay a hair’s breadth away from Hel’s fate-web, twisting and predicting Loki’s sharp lunges and vicious fangs. Like Raphael, I became the wind. As I whirled, I caught glimpses of the Braecs slaughtering their way through the Hordes under Loki’s control. Their fight, like mine, seemed to unwind in slow motion.

  Loki, for all his strength, was at least somewhat limited by Malachi’s body.

  The god was a trickster – not a warlock.

  Not a Clemensen.

  I tripped on the threads attempting to lasso my soul.

  Speed up, Theo.

  As I tired, I let the ancestors in to take their shots, using their own knowledge. I’d never been so happy to belong to a family of marauding Vikings and warrior kings.

  Suddenly, the Hordes cracked open, allowing two bodies to slip through. An undead soldier shoved through his comrades, hauling someone behind him.

  The dying sunlight sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Ava’s rainbow hair shimmered. She struggled, kicking and biting, but she was a mouse in a cat’s jaw. Loki used Malachi’s vampiric speed to reach her.

  ‘Kind of you to join us, child,’ he said, stroking her cheek.

  I yelled. ‘Harm her and I’ll cut off your daughter’s hands! She’ll never spin another thread! You know I can do it.’ What a sight I must’ve been, a picture of the medieval, drenched in blood and missing half my hair.

  ‘Ah, so you admit it, Syphon. In front of a
ll these good people?’ He waved at the sacrificial lambs in the corner. Several had already died trying to organise an escape.

  ‘I am not a syphon!’ I screamed, beyond reason. ‘I am the Gatekeeper of the Lífkelda!’

  ‘No, Theo!’ My father. He was lodged in the Hordes – so close.

  ‘Untangle this, Gatekeeper,’ Loki said. ‘Obey my daughter’s orders or your soulmate here dies. Slowly. Painfully.’

  Ava’s arms were pinned to her sides, but her soulful eyes were beseeching. ‘No! Don’t take that stain on your soul! You’ll never recover from it, Theo! I can see it!’ Her limbs jerked violently as she fell into a vision-fit.

  Loki clamped her mouth shut, his huge hand covering her nose too. In a minute, she would stop breathing, and I would be too far gone to resurrect her.

  My arm extended, the tip of the blade pointed at an innocent throat. Every muscle twitched, even my eyelids. A quake crippled my stride as I fought it, dragged toward the crowd.

  Five Elvish arrows struck the back of Malachi’s head.

  He tossed Ava to the floor and roared, spinning to face the threat. Lorenzo soared over the heads of Hel’s army. ‘It’s time you stopped commanding everyone to do your dirty work,’ he said, drawing the sixth arrow.

  Loki leapt forward.

  And fell to his knees.

  Menelaus shuddered into view – I had not spotted his telltale wispy limbs. That had changed since his death, like the blood bond between us had been severed. He drew the savage knife away from Malachi’s spurting throat and tossed it back to Lorenzo, who fired his arrow, and caught the knife between his fingers an instant later.

  It wouldn’t be enough. Lorenzo continued his volleys, but already Malachi’s god-enriched body was recovering. As Menelaus staggered over to Ava, he nodded.

  I fuelled Ormdreper with every last spark of energy, every last shred of willpower, and charged at Loki.

  Raphael.

  That Asgardian sprite, that blinding beauty flashed again in my head.