The Descendants of Thor Trilogy Boxset: Forged in Blood and Lightning; Norns of Fate; Wrath of Aten

by S. A. Ashdown

  Raphael may have stolen my amulet, but when Ava shot me that flourishing smile, my heart burst with gratitude for his mysterious existence. I wished he were in Lorenzo’s bachelor pad with us, sunlight tricking through the open blinds, so I could hug him. ‘My mother had a cottage in the house grounds, which she used as an art studio. I found them there in a box.’

  She traced the little figures in the last picture, suddenly ashen. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘This rocking horse,’ she said, her voice light and floaty, ‘it’s the one from my dreams.’

  ‘Memories, not dreams,’ I said. I brushed her temple, resisting the urge to kiss the dimple in her cheek, which appeared with a shudder under my light caress. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, her smile radiant.

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Then again, I had yet to explain the sword hidden under my cloak.

  ‘Ava, if you never saw me in your dreams – only my mother – then how did you know who I was?

  She squeezed my hand. ‘Oh, but you were there, Theo – as a boy. Scattered throughout my nights like shards of glass, a thousand faces reflecting one. The face of my Ghost Boy. When Grace stepped aside, it was as if she unveiled you, fiery blond and shining blue. I felt haunted.’

  I threaded my fingers through her rainbow hair, breathing in the sweet spice of her skin. ‘My heart stayed warm for you, it didn’t forget. It took a single song to cause me more anguish and joy than I’d endured in eleven years. I’ve loved you all this time.’

  ‘We hardly know each other now, how can you be so sure?’

  ‘Look at me, Ava. Can you deny it? Can you deny me?’

  Her lips wetted against mine, biting against flesh for a moment, painful in its brevity. She pulled back slightly. I winced as her face flashed with guilt. ‘What do I say to Menelaus?’

  ‘You said there was nothing going on between you.’

  ‘There isn’t – now. We dated, briefly.’

  ‘How far did it go?’

  ‘Theo!’

  ‘Answer me!’

  She brushed my arm aside. ‘It’s irrelevant. I only meant that he should know I’ve found you.’

  ‘Irrelevant? You’re with me and he killed my mother, Ava.’

  ‘You don’t know what happened that night. And a kiss isn’t a covenant, Theo.’

  I measured my tone so precisely it was like weighing ingredients for a spell, one to prevent a Ragnarök of heartbreak. ‘We’ve been bound since birth—’

  ‘You make it sound like an arranged marriage—’

  ‘—And we have a thousand kisses ahead of us, unless you still have feelings for that monster?’

  He’s not a monster. She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. I wanted to fall with her onto the bed and claim her as my own but I couldn’t move, spellbound by the answer that took so long in coming. Eventually, she said, ‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response. I’m here with you now. You’re just going to have to trust me.’

  ‘I’ve had difficulties trusting people lately.’

  ‘Well, get over it.’

  There’s no way in the Nine Realms I’m letting her go now. ‘I’ll do as you wish,’ I said, ‘but you need to understand that deliberately or not, Menelaus is the root of all our pain. I won’t let him steal you after he took my mother from me. So tell him this: tell him that you’re mine, and if he tries to take you, I’ll kill him.’

  ‘Is that the sort of man you want to be?’

  ‘I’m sick of letting everyone interfere with my life. I’m not a normal man, Ava. It’s time for the world to accept that. The question is can I count on you to stand by me no matter what happens?’ The hilt of my Excalibur pulsed at my hip.

  ‘I won’t help you blacken your soul with the blood of revenge. But I can show you the truth, what really happened, if you’ll open your mind to me… and use your magic to connect to mine. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘Good. Now put your sword down.’

  ‘How did you know I was…?’

  ‘I’m clairvoyant duh-brain.’

  Her hands felt cold in mine, but I had fire enough to warm us both. ‘Close your eyes, and think about Isobel.’ We fell into silence and when we awoke, I was trembling.

  45

  Visions Of The Dead

  ‘Maybe Elspeth knew all along.’ Isobel wore down the rug next to the library’s fireplace with the grinding of her shoes. Espen let her pace; she’d been so restless lately, often taking to horseback to work through her anxiety, while he ran the perimeter of the estate. He had asked Nikolaj to come, to break up the family threesome of husband, wife, and young child, and inject some jollity into Isobel’s glooming countenance.

  The Elf-uncle had taken Theo off their hands, happy to indulge the boy in endless play, along with that little girl, Ava, who Isobel so often referred to as ‘our skinny lass’. But Nikolaj’s child-minding hadn’t allayed her fretting.

  ‘Elspeth didn’t know,’ he said, for the thousandth time. It had been hard for them to keep the secret, but they had never once slipped, and he was sure Isobel wouldn’t have risked it, even with Elspeth.

  ‘What’s to say she didn’t?’ Isobel twirled to face him, one hand searching for the ledge of the fireplace to support her. ‘How do we know that for sure?’ Her eyes twinkled with conviction. ‘Elspeth’s gift was invisibility. Did you place a warning ward on the house for her?’

  Espen’s confidence quaked under his wife’s implication. Had he? No, why would he guard against Elspeth, of all people?

  ‘I thought not,’ Isobel smiled, albeit weakly, when he failed to respond.

  ‘Even if Elspeth had eavesdropped and heard us talk of Theo inheriting the Gatekeeper gene, why would she endanger us by telling Julian?’

  Isobel held up two fingers. ‘One: she trusted her Guardian. Two: revenge. As far as she was concerned, we should’ve helped her with the baby. Now she’s dead and her child is an orphan.’

  ‘Not quite an orphan, Isobel.’

  ‘Details don’t matter to a dead witch.’ Isobel pinched the bridge of her nose, a trick she used to stop the flow of tears. Espen held out his arms, but she refused him. He missed the fragrance of her lavender perfume, the taste of heathland when he kissed her neck. ‘Why else would Julian assign Menelaus as my Guardian when he’s not yet even eighteen? Why would he call me in to HQ, why would he suggest binding Theo’s powers?’

  Espen fought his anger, not wanting to upset her further. He was glad there were no snowy mountain peaks nearby, no potential avalanche for him to cause. Although, the idea of burying the Praetoriani HQ in a drift of snow filled him with devilish glee. ‘What reason did he give?’

  ‘Who cares what reason? I’m never binding my son’s powers!’ She prowled around the armchair, elegant and sleek as a lioness. ‘Some rubbish about him not accidentally hurting Ava. He knows Theo couldn’t pull the wings off a fly, and he can control it; he’s ten, not two! When I was his age, I was allowed to mix potions for the whole village, and not all of those ingredients were benign!’

  Espen allowed her to rant – after all, her fears reflected his own. He just hated the thought of it, of Julian and that wretched Halfling, Menelaus, getting their hands on his boy. ‘We must sit still, my flame. I am the Gatekeeper, not Theo. Give them no reason to doubt us. Smile sweetly at their questions and demands, and outmanoeuvre them. It’s worked for generations.’

  ‘No, not good enough. Not for our son. Why did I agree to move to this godforsaken place? Why do we live a hairsbreadth away from the hornet’s nest?’

  Isobel’s usual skittish brogue roughened, betraying her frustration. ‘My flame,’ he began, as always, unsure where to place his words on the tightrope that was Isobel’s temper. She was the only one Espen was scared of offending, the only one who made him seem lax by comparison. Why had he worried telling Isobel who he was, when she was his greatest weapon? ‘Darling
, it’s better to hold a wetted finger to the wind and feel which way it’s blowing, to have a stronghold nearby, from which to attack if it comes to war, than to be ensconced in the farthest corner of the Nine Realms, drawing suspicion by our absence, but not knowing it until it’s too late.’

  ‘What’s wrong with having spies instead?’

  I already have spies, he thought, but that was a secret he had to keep even from her. He wished he could confess all about Julian, but it was too important to risk. One whiff by the Imperi Ducis and everything would be lost. ‘Spies are fallible.’

  ‘So are we.’

  ‘Not when it comes to protecting Theodore. We’ll die first.’

  She looked at him, and Espen comprehended the deep and primal chord he’d struck in her motherly soul. ‘He prefers Theo now.’

  ‘The whims of children…’ he said, but she wasn’t listening. ‘Isobel? What are you up to?’ Espen followed her as she dashed around the library, plucking ancient, bound books from worrisome places, even ascending the ladders and walking the catwalks to hunt out her prize.

  They rowed when he pieced it together, when he understood the magic she coveted. Dark, ancestral magic. ‘What you’re doing, it’s necromancy.’

  ‘You said it yourself, Espen. Familia Super Omni. Why do we have to die to protect Theo, when the souls of the dead can guarantee his safety for us?’

  ‘It’s forbidden, my flame! Think of the consequences if you’re discovered! They’ll strip your powers for good. You will be a husk of a woman. Think of Elspeth – it killed her – think of—’

  Oh, why did he let her get so close to him? His guard, as ever, crumbled into dust as Isobel neared. He didn’t realise – until he breathed in that packet of carefully concealed herbs that she tossed over his skin, bidding him into the deepest sleep – the lengths to which she would go. He called for Nikolaj as his cloak twirled around him, masking the sound of his crash to the floor. He mustered his strength, but her spell had left him mute, and he was too weak to break it before losing consciousness.

  Isobel moved with hollow limbs and burdened heart, concealing her husband in the book-stacks before extinguishing the fire. In her hurry, she neglected to kiss his forehead, forgetting to apologise, her thoughts bent on Theo. Her trusting, smiling boy, the child who warped her into a mindless warrior with a venomous bite, ready to strike out at any threat. What our babies do to us, she thought, half-praying to Elspeth as she gathered the candles and athamé, and the herbs and potions she’d stored in one of the library’s many glass cabinets. How we sell our souls for them. You know more than most, Elspeth. My dear sister.

  46

  The Fall

  Ava broke the connection. ‘I can tell you the rest. That’s where the dreams started.’

  Isobel had hammered the message into her. The last dream seized her when Theo left with his uncle, and nervous of the strangers downstairs, she had returned to the bedroom with Grace, and they’d slept huddled together, protected from intruders by Theo’s lingering spell. Ava was glad Theo had told her about that.

  Isobel Clemensen, in the moonlight, fir, silver birch, and rowan trees a natural rustling boundary to the circular clearing, the candlelight throwing up dancing silhouettes across her face, glazing her tousled red hair and mossy green irises with wildness. The tide drove into the cliffs not far behind her, salt-spray tangy in the breeze. The tumbling roar of the waves crackled against her chanting, her ancient Gaelic invocations renting the air. The words sounded wrong to Ava, like the scraping of a knife against metal, and her ears still rang from it. There was no mistaking in any language the menace behind Isobel’s chanting.

  The grass uprooted in tufts underfoot, and Isobel’s pained wail muffled Ava’s scream. Worms slithered in the soil, clinging to the witch’s bare feet, sucking her ankle-deep into the thick earth. Ava was but one of a thousand stares prying into the darkness, hunting the source of the magic that summoned them. Dark, cruel magic. Demanding, fettering magic.

  Ava felt suffocated, as if there wasn’t enough space to contain the spirits trapped in the grove.

  Then, the man. He appeared – not in a blaze of fire, nor wielding a weapon – just appeared. She’d been watching Isobel through a lens, a distortion of air that now made sense. Menelaus had been in front of her, invisible, watching as intently, as horrified as she was.

  ‘Isobel Clemensen, I bid you to cease this evil rite, in the name of the Code.’

  This Menelaus, two-thirds his older self, but recognisable even from behind; the perfect, tapered V from shoulders to waist, his bearing. That same awkward bluntness that had attracted Ava to Menelaus on their first date. But his formality felt alien, as did his presence in the scene.

  Isobel stood impassive as a tree, only her lips moving in demented haste, rushing to complete the binding of the ancestors, distorting space until it became painful for Ava to stand, as if it pushed her in from all sides. ‘Isobel Clemensen, I have no choice but to arrest you for violation of—’

  That got Isobel’s attention. She flung out her arm, and the shockwave knocked Menelaus off his feet, slamming him into a tree. But he was strong, recovering with a side-roll before running at her, striving to return the favour and knock her off balance.

  Isobel struggled to free her earth-lodged feet. Exhausted by the broken spell, she collapsed under Menelaus’ weight, but still she clawed at his eyes and mouth, squirming and kicking like a lassoed animal, gouging out a lump of flesh from his chin with her nails. The ancestors were partly chained to her already, waiting to be transferred to Theo to act as his impenetrable bodyguards. Ava comprehended this fact as she did so many others, with little understanding behind it, like a painted canvas creating the illusion of a 3D landscape. The spellbound ancestors weakened Menelaus’ hold, and she escaped him.

  ‘You can’t have him!’ Isobel’s screams ripped from her throat. ‘I’ll kill you first!’

  ‘Have who? No, Wait! Isobel!’ Menelaus chased her from the clearing, trying to catch up, no time to think of words that might calm her magic-addled brain. Following her frantic chants, scrambled in a language he only began to decipher as he rushed out onto the cliff-edge, he reached out to catch her as she swirled round, feet slick with clinging worms that shimmered in the starlight. ‘Isobel!’ he shouted, but it was too late; the stony ledge crumbled under her slippery heels, moistened by the spitting waves. Her final cry echoed in Ava’s ears across an eternity of broken nights, every time she’d shut her eyes, she heard it like a siren’s call. Theo!

  Now it was Menelaus’ turn to scream, sinking to his knees and groaning as the blood from his chin trickled down his shirt. His horror became a howl to the moon, drowned by the surf along with Isobel, dashed on the jagged rocks below.

  47

  Pulling The Wings Off A Fly

  When Ava and I broke apart, the air snapped like a cracking wishbone. She gave me answers to questions Father had refused to give me. He couldn’t confess that Mum had tricked him, and that because of his ignorance, his own naivety about his wife, he lay sprawled unconscious on the library floorboards, oblivious of her death.

  I know the truth, I thought. But at what cost? I relived every detail of Ava’s dream, her clairvoyant-spiked senses working overdrive as she described each moment. And before that, the vision she’d given me; as if peeling back the curtain on a window and spying on the inhabitants inside the house. I ached for my mother as the vibrant images faded in my mind’s eye.

  ‘I have questions myself,’ said Ava, ‘and don’t ask me how the vision thing works. It just does. The important thing is that Menelaus isn’t a murderer, Theo. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘It’s enough,’ I said, and she retook my hand, the relief palpable in her smile. ‘For you, Ava. It’s not enough for me.’

  She dropped it again, and it fell like lead against my side.

  ‘Mum tried to protect me from the Praetoriani. They sent Menelaus. They killed her.’ I picked up my sword, which I
’d left on Lorenzo’s unmade bed.

  Ava intercepted – at least, she tried to. ‘Wait, you see that it was an accident, right, Theo? You can’t go off half-cocked impaling innocent men!’

  ‘Accident? No, I didn’t see an accident.’ I waited half a breath for her expression to catch up. ‘An overzealous sixteen-year-old with the gift of invisibility, who had no business being a Guardian or being on our land, sneaked in and frightened my mother in the midst of a ritual in the middle of the night. It was Menelaus who decided to arrest her. But he failed, so he chased her off a cliff instead.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, someone sent him, Ava. Someone sent Menelaus to set Mum up. To capture or kill.’

  ‘You don’t know that!’

  ‘So tell me, who the hell is Elspeth, and why was my mum so afraid of Julian, who we know is Menelaus’ father?’

  Ava glared at my sword. ‘Adoptive father.’

  ‘That doesn’t make him less suspicious does it?’

  ‘Regardless, you can’t blame a sixteen-year-old boy.’

  ‘He’s not sixteen now. What justice has my mother had these eleven years? I am her kin. It’s my duty to avenge her!’

  Ava looked at me with sorrow, shifting her weight back, avoiding my touch, as I leaned over the bed. Too late, I became self-conscious of the aggression with which I snatched up the sword, the strain in my vocal cords as I’d shouted.

  ‘Vengeance is not justice,’ she said.

  ‘It is for a heathen. I will never turn the other cheek. Not when it comes to protecting those I love.’

  ‘You can’t protect the dead.’

  ‘You can look them in the eye when it’s your turn to walk through the veil,’ I said, storming to the door, Ava’s bewildered thoughts clawing at my back.