I almost gagged on my food. ‘Oh come on; if I’d known I was destined to be the crux of all life on Earth, the only thing preventing the death of Jörð herself, don’t you think I’d have been sufficiently motivated? I would’ve studied until my eyes bled. You should’ve told me sooner.’
‘Don’t be naïve. The Praefecti knows there’s something different about us, your mother drew too much attention… and—’
‘And what, Father? What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying you must be careful. One mistake could start a war to end all wars. Why would I entrust the most important secret on Earth to a boy? The Guardians could’ve clawed their way in and interrogated you any time they chose. It was imperative to keep it on a need to know basis.’
‘A war to end all wars… you mean like Ragnarök?’
Father and Nik exchanged a soundless conversation. ‘None of us know how it might come about.’
‘But it will?’ My heart lodged in my throat.
‘No one knows that either,’ said my uncle. I guess he was trying to be reassuring. News flash: confessing ignorance never is.
‘So,’ I said, after a brief, verbal truce, ‘you want to know how my body ended up on the clifftop and not with you, Nik?’
‘No, we know how that’s done. The soul relocates and solidifies in its new location. Usually you would return to the body, but some witches and warlocks can reverse that process, and call the body instead.’
‘So that’s how you do it,’ I mused. ‘Leave the body at will and summon it to join you. Handy tip.’
Father rolled his eyes. ‘This is serious. Why didn’t you come straight back to your body when you realised what happened? The pull to return is always strong. Did you ignore it, Theodore? Why?’
I huffed and finished the dregs of my hot chocolate. ‘It was nice to feel so liberated. Invulnerable. Nothing else mattered. I wanted to leave all the sadness and fear behind and not be magic’s rag doll.’
‘You’re unhappy, Theo?’ Father’s voice was oh so soft it sliced me.
‘Aren’t you?’ When was the last time we laughed together, excitedly planned a trip, or even shared a dirty joke?
He said nothing. He wrung his hands, squeezing the bones so hard it made me wince. I averted my eyes when he took the chair opposite and leaned over to straighten the cloak over my shoulders, fingertips lingering on the Mjölnir. ‘I will be happy when I know you are safe.’
The closest he’d come to saying he loved me since… since… when? I should’ve said it. So often, we miss a perfect opportunity, staying silent for one too many heartbeats and then the moment’s gone. He withdrew his fingers and the grooves in his forehead crinkled into a frown. ‘I’ve shown you how to ground your magic many times. Have you neglected your nightly Anchoring practise when you say your prayers to Jörð?’
I didn’t have the heart to say I’d neglected those prayers too. ‘Not formally.’
Nikolaj scoffed behind me. ‘Which is slang for not at all, I presume?’
Father cussed in almost every language he knew while I made out the shapes in the clumps of chocolate powder at the bottom of my mug.
‘Two minutes. Get changed. I expect you by the fountain in three.’ He’d drag me out there himself if I disobeyed. He’d done it before.
Nikolaj tailed me indoors, playing bodyguard. As I got dressed in my room, he examined the picture above my writing desk: A Reading from Homer by Lawrence Alma-Tadema. A handsome young man with laurel-wreathed hair leaned forward with perpetual excitement, reading Homer’s epic poetry to an enraptured audience, beside the Mediterranean in seventh century Greece. Nikolaj gave me the oil painting soon after he’d recited the Iliad during those sad, post-mother nights in the library, a way to cheer me up and re-enthuse my education.
How listless grief had made me. Before Mother’s death, I’d been a dedicated student; magic was fun, entertaining me and my friends…
…Friends? What friends? None of my school pals from before I was home educated had known about my powers, right? No one had seen me practise…
‘Theo.’ My uncle tapped his wrist although he’d never once worn a watch. My train of thought inexplicably crashed off the rails before I had the chance to resume it… Yes, after Mum died, magic felt too serious, too scary….
I hurried with Nik outside, my father’s blond hair bleached white in the silvery moonlight as he waited atop the wide pathway. Uncle Nik deposited me into Father’s care and slipped away in the pocket of elm trees, no doubt to reconnect with his inner Elf.
‘Tell me what you see.’
I don’t think Father had once opened a conversation with ‘Hello.’ I didn’t answer right away – like a game of I, Spy there was a correct answer, despite many viable responses. Salty wind peppered my chapped lips, and I suspected the fountain’s pipes had frozen thanks to the unseasonable weather. Hemmed in by woodland and illuminated by the moon, nothing looked out of the ordinary. I knew Hellingstead Hall too well to fear its shadows.
I shrugged, ‘The garden.’
That look of utter disappointment. Spitting a tsk, and with folded arms, Father lodged his focus right between my eyebrows, a tactic he used to unnerve people. ‘That’s the big picture. You’re ignoring details.’
‘The wood for the trees,’ I muttered, scouring my surroundings again, this time breaking it all up into small segments. Why had Father brought me here? To Anchor my spirit to the earth. True, I’d neglected the basics but I was still a warlock. To Anchor meant to ground myself, which required the five elements – the fabric wrapped around a warlock’s toolkit.
‘Earth. Water. Fire. Air. Aether.’
‘Show me.’
‘Earth,’ I said, pointing to the mulch lining the path. ‘You can’t fail to notice the wind.’ Father shivered as if in acknowledgement. ‘Fire comes from the stars and the sun’s light on the moon. We’re Pneuma, and Pneuma possess magical essence, and that’s just another term for Aether. The fountain is pretty obvious.’ For the hell of it, I made a gathering motion with my hands and ushered water to gush from Neptune’s trident, filling the night with melodious splashing. Father raised his sweeping eyebrows with a grunt of approval. ‘But why do I need to draw from the elements when I’m the Gatekeeper? If I can use that magic for spells, why can’t I use it to Anchor me? I have all that power itching to be used. Seems like a good shortcut.’
‘Shortcut? Theodore…’
‘Theo.’
‘It’s not advisable to rely on that beast. Every warlock – and witch – is blessed with a nugget of magic. But it’s akin to a copy—’
‘Like files on a computer, right? You can’t open a copy when the master document has been deleted.’ Father loathed computers. He considered them more of a threat to security than a useful life tool. Nikolaj bought me a laptop, but I had to encrypt everything I did, install the latest firewall software, and was forbidden to use any social media. I didn’t even get an email account until I was eighteen.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said. ‘Currently you’re the conduit for the original source of life and magic. You are the Gatekeeper, but the Gatekeeper isn’t Theodore Clemensen. It’s a legacy that moves on to each generation. If you let it, it will take a piece of your soul when it leaves. And one day, it will leave. You wouldn’t be the first Clemensen to go mad after their Gatekeeper stint ended. Use your own magic whenever you can, use your unique essence to Anchor your body to Jörð.’ He grasped my elbow lightly and smiled. ‘Then you won’t feel so lost when your son takes the baton from you. Believe me, I know.’
‘I was going to ask you how you felt about that.’
‘That’s a conversation for another time, Theo.’
Oh, the countless conversations I intended to have with him, but no point bringing all that up now. If the fiery snake camping inside my belly was as old as Thor, carrying its history to each new vessel down the generations, I’d be burying myself in a pit of queries from here to Ragnarök
and back. If we could come back from that. Considering its fabled reputation, not a likely scenario.
I shook away my doubts and faced the night, lining up the pleached walkway extending from the fountain towards the orchard in my vision. The pleasing line of symmetry helped my focus and I tuned inward, aware of Father behind me. Usually, I resented him overseeing my rituals, feeling like the nervous kid in an exam, the breath of the invigilator on his neck. It felt different now; I’d heard voices in my head and had been temporarily convinced I was Thor, leaving my body to go flying over Hellingstead. It was reassuring to have him there to hold my kite strings.
Father’s palms burned into my shoulders, softening the knotted muscle with heat. I tapped behind my neck to locate him in silent thanks, but found nothing but the hood of my cloak. When I glanced back, he still stood several paces behind me. Why was I surprised? He had natural power, plus years of experience. Sure, he wasn’t a Gatekeeper anymore, but a Clemensen warlock nonetheless. His reach could always find me, and that truth was like sliding into a hot bath after a miserable day, knowing at last it’s all over and you’re home safe.
In his own way, he tethered me. I relaxed my jaw and concentrated on allowing the magic to pulse, seeping into every pore, every nucleus of every cell, until I buzzed and vibrated, hummingbird-style.
Tightening my control, I shifted the energy downwards and drove it out through the soles of my feet, using the strength of the marble to drive it into the ground like a stone. My eyes snapped open as tendrils of magic stirred the molten core of the earth, coaxing its fury to lick through rock and come to meet me. The jolt threatened my balance as it lashed out, whipping up its own tail of fire, smacking into mine, forming an energy-rope far below the planet’s surface that could defy the cut of the sharpest sword.
The spirit of Jörð filled me, her anger at being woken smoothing out and transforming into motherly recognition, an intoxicating welcome akin to Mother’s perfumed hug. I basked, bound to the earth, strengthened, and rooted instead of floating and flighty. When I’d left my body I’d wanted to escape the fight and cut loose from my life, but now She was here, our Goddess, I wanted to stay and protect Her, ready to battle any demon that threatened Her and Her children at Ragnarök or at any other time. It’s a son’s duty to protect his mother. I would’ve slain anyone who hurt my own.
All these years later, I couldn’t understand her ‘accident’. Father simplified the story but it seemed empty of crucial detail. Whenever I pushed the point, he looked so forlorn and unhappy I let my demanding questions fall flat. I rarely saw him so bleak and miserable, and it disarmed me.
But what if it wasn’t an accident? He’d hinted at the Praefecti’s involvement, not just the Guardians of the Praetoriani. But what did he mean by that? I deserved to know exactly what happened that night. I resolved to look him in the eye and ask him straight out.
I would stand before him, just as one day I would stand before the Orlog, and like Father would be forced to explain myself. Would I be a saviour, or the sinner who let Jörð perish because I didn’t pass on the Gatekeeper gene – that great, whopping baton of responsibility? It was a ridiculous thought to have, but think it I did: What if I’m infertile?
Jörð responded with a surge of power that coursed through my root chakra, a spiritual energy nexus at the base of the spine that corresponds with sexual urges. No doubts there then. I banished Ava from my thoughts as soon as her sensuous mouth popped in, and drew on the water pooling at my feet, cooling the passion in my heart. The wind and moon worked in a synchronised dance to flood my body like a rising tide, bringing the elements of my soul into equilibrium. For once, the Gatekeeper was still, contained like a coiled dragon in my solar plexus, hemmed in by a temperate cocoon that arose from inner balance.
Under closed eyelids, I could see the garden, sparkling under the moon, a living jewel. Fired rubies glimmered in the sky, and Neptune spouted a shower of fine azure crystals, milky white moonbeams that shimmered as they plunged into the fountain. A jumble of glittery, quartz raindrops balanced on palms of jadeite leaves. I inhaled the powdery, gold dust that sailed in the wind and settled on the ground, daubing the soil with a bronze patina sheen.
That was the first time I became aware we weren’t alone, that Hellingstead Hall had another inhabitant no one else knew about. That’s impossible. The wards keep everything out. Yet my gut said that Father was ignorant about it. I was supernaturally certain by some indefinable understanding that whoever was here was uninvited and thoroughly concealed.
I didn’t see a silhouette or a skulking humanoid – nothing like that. A beacon shone out of the redwood by the stables and tunnelled into the heavens, blazing eternal, and the air seemed to chime with it, a song played on a cosmic harp of coloured strings, plucking its soft, bright white notes into a harmony that spoke of zephyrs and the clockwork dance of planets.
Chunks of gold more convincing than pyrite be-speckled the branches of the redwood, lighting the bark like an old-fashioned candle-lit Christmas tree. Sentient, that beacon, twisting in place, like a big eye meeting me with cool appraisal. I stared back at it, absorbed by its beauty. I was so mesmerised I didn’t hear Father talking until he tugged at my sleeve.
‘Have I lost you again, Theodore? No, I can see Jörð has Her grip on you.’
‘I’m here, Father,’ I said, as the spell snapped. I stepped down and glanced around, suddenly bereft. I wondered if that was how vampires saw the world, one big glitter ball, and felt faintly jealous.
‘That was amazing,’ I said.
Father cleared his throat and started towards the house. I trotted along up to the gate, the one that had been blown off its hinges during the storm. ‘Connecting with Jörð should be something you do. Leave the primal beast out of the equation.’ So that’s what he calls it. ‘But the hot breath of the Gatekeeper will enhance any magic you perform – it can’t help chucking wood onto your fire.’
I didn’t go inside. Father protested, but I needed some alone time to absorb everything that had happened, and to my surprise, he capitulated and left me to roam the estate. No prizes for guessing where I went next – straight to the redwood. I approached with caution, although I believed the tree’s occupant was fully aware where I was. I decided to treat it like a startled fawn and not go in all guns blazing, but give whatever it was a chance. It hadn’t attacked us. Maybe it was biding its time, but there’s only so much menace a blazing white light can instil; it’s awesome, but not threatening. That’s why I’d decided not to tell Father, who would’ve totally freaked and probably bulldozed the tree with a rocket launcher. Anything that could pass his wards was enemy number one. I guessed. Nothing ever had.
The redwood’s roots clawed into the meadow, and it towered above the cherry trees. Whatever dwelt within its branches didn’t fear being conspicuous. Just as on the night I’d returned from the Red Hawk, I considered whether Father’s wards shielded us from above. I don’t mean aircraft; a jumbo-jet would bounce off Hellingstead Hall’s airspace like a rubber ball. But that didn’t rule out aliens, right? Could they break the magical defences? Whatever squatted in our redwood wasn’t your average human – but otherworldliness didn’t automatically equate to other planetary-ness.
Hrimfaxi and Skinfaxi roamed free from their stables. Explaining that was a tough one, unless Uncle Nik had come over and let them out, but I was pretty sure he hadn’t considering the day’s events. They sighed through their nostrils and meandered over, divesting any sense of concealment I had as they nudged soft noses into my pockets, no doubt after more apples.
‘Sorry, guys,’ I whispered, ‘I’m all out.’
They nuzzled close and settled near the giant tree, splaying out their long forelegs. My horses weren’t threatened; they didn’t flee the scene, alerted by some sixth sense. I harnessed my nerve and peered up into the dark canopy. ‘Knock, knock,’ I called, ‘anyone home?’
The air stilled, all life pausing mid-breath. The night its
elf seemed to listen. The being replied. ‘Wherever I am, I am home. Hello, Clemensen.’
That voice, satin-smooth and as delicate as silk. It tickled the hairs in my ear and I rubbed it reflexively. ‘Hello,’ I said, unsure how to proceed. The voice, although angelic, was unemotional. No threats, no delight. ‘May I ask your name?’
I took the polite tack; this person was an unknown quantity. And hey, Father may have been paranoid about strangers, but my mother brought me up to be hospitable, not hostile. Another considered pause. Time passed, spent choosing words not often said. When the answer came, it was as a judge delivering a sentence, deeming me worthy of truth, the only thing it could tell me. This person would not lie. I knew it in my gut.
It didn’t mean they’d tell the whole truth either.
‘I was given a name. My name is Raphael.’
‘So you’re a man?’ So light a tone it was hard to be sure.
‘Some call me a boy. I am neither.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come and see for yourself.’
Climbing would make me vulnerable, but hardened by recent events, I was sure I’d survive any attack from this soft-spoken creature. I hoisted my bulk over the lower branches and dug my shoes into cracks in the bark, buoying my weight with a magical cushion, climbing until I clocked him sitting cross-legged on a thick branch, which partly overhung the meadow.
‘Puer Aeternus,’ I whispered, Eternal Boy. The mythological version of Peter Pan, only slightly older. He was exquisite, unearthly in the moonlight: snowy skin offset gold-flecked, amethyst eyes sitting in a pearlescent lake, crowned by feathered lashes. Those lashes, those serene arched brows smudged beneath raven loops cascading over his high forehead, like the masterstroke of a great artist. Slight and pretty, he examined me, his blood-red lips pinched into a bow. When at last he smiled, all baby-white teeth, adorable dimples appeared in his cheeks, rich as Devonshire cream — a half-naked nymphet lived in our redwood.
The Descendants of Thor Trilogy Boxset: Forged in Blood and Lightning; Norns of Fate; Wrath of Aten Page 10