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

by S. A. Ashdown

  ‘I have stripped your magic,’ I said, ‘but I know you’ll find a way to get it back. I’m so sorry, but I can’t allow your soul to be knitted into Hel’s web. It’s too strong.’ Ut incepit fidelis sic permanet, I thought. As loyal as she began, so she remains. I didn’t expect it to hurt this much. ‘And yet, I can’t bring myself to kill you,’ I whispered, holding the mirror to her eyes.

  ‘Mirror wake and claim this look! Keep her trapped ’til Ragnarök.’

  Penny melted away into the mirror, her cries muted behind the glass.

  I tucked it into my cloak and stared at Malachi. For a moment, the vampire flashed behind the god, anguish in his molten eyes. ‘Penny!’ He shoved through his Hordes, tearing up the ground between us. ‘What have you done to her?’

  My coven didn’t try to stop him.

  I jumped from the chariot.

  A lone Golden Knife ran out of the trees towards us. Freyja skewered him with a spear made of cloud.

  ‘You have Sif’s hair.’ Loki’s voice, frigid and scalding at the same time. ‘Give it to me and I’ll let your girlfriend live.’

  But this time I was ready for his tricks. ‘Touch Ava, and I’ll smash the mirror to pieces.’

  ‘I care nothing for her.’

  ‘Not you, but Malachi does. And I’m guessing that you plan on his cooperation in the future.’

  Hesitation. It was enough.

  Freyja jabbed her spear again. Loki twisted away, and as he did I threw Mjölnir, cracking Malachi’s spine.

  He would heal.

  I walked over, stepping on his chest and pushing down, hard. The first time Malachi and I had fought had been so like this, him catching me by surprise outside the Red Hawk. ‘You were wrong, Loki,’ I said, as he gurgled for breath. ‘They don’t need to fear me more than Akhen. They only have to believe in me. All this time the Gatekeepers have hidden. Today we reveal ourselves, and the Pneuma will seek shelter under our wing. We are Yggdrasil.’

  He grabbed my ankle and twisted. ‘You must fight fire with fire, stupid boy! You cannot succeed without slaughtering a few lambs! Even Thor knew that.’

  I dropped the hammer on his chest and stepped aside. ‘Good job vampires have good lungs, eh? And I’ll think you’ll find, Loki, that water is the best way to put out fire. The Lífkelda will drown Akhen under the roots of Yggdrasil.’

  ‘And we’ll be waiting for him in Niflheim!’

  He squirmed under Mjölnir’s weight. I knelt beside him. ‘It’s a good thing that water can kill as well as revive, isn’t it? Go back to Hel, Loki.’ I covered his nose and mouth with my hand, and summoned the electrified water of the Lífkelda, forcing it into Malachi’s chest until it stifled Loki’s fire. The molten eyes lost their lust for destruction, fading to that bitter-sweet honey.

  I wrenched the hammer from Malachi’s chest. The vampire staggered to his feet, a snarl twisted by emotion, the first true sign of humanity Malachi had ever betrayed.

  Grief.

  That I could understand.

  Malachi, his form dwindling, used the last ebb of Loki’s power to attack. He sprang forward, curled hands ready to rip me apart.

  I did nothing.

  Loki’s shield fell, and Malachi succumbed to the sun.

  ‘If only you’d waited a few minutes for the sun to set to exact your revenge,’ I said, as from outside-in, Malachi turned to stone. ‘You doomed yourself.’

  Ava sprinted into my arms. Menelaus arrived a second later, tailed by Guillaume and Sarah – he’d introduced us while we’d sailed the skies on Naglfar. ‘What happens now?’ Menelaus asked. ‘What happens to us?’

  The Hordes stopped in their tracks. Some held up their swords, spears, and axes, and cheered. ‘We’re free! The drumming has gone!’

  A few innocents were spared that way.

  The remaining few Golden Knives were trapped, and I watched in shock as one by one they took their own lives. ‘Gloria vel martyrium! Glory or martyrdom!’

  That’s the first time I’d heard their army’s motto.

  Somehow, we had won.

  Guillaume and Sarah dropped their weapons, crying into each other’s arms. Menelaus frowned. ‘Something feels wrong.’

  ‘I sense it too,’ said Ava.

  Odin, Thor, and Freyr, what now?

  The Hordes were walking back up the hill, looking around at the carnage in awe and disgust. The stragglers returning from the woods imploded into ash first.

  The rest ran, the slowest among them dying first. ‘Oh shit,’ I said. ‘Menelaus, get on the chariot – now!’

  Ava and I jumped on too. ‘Guillaume, Sarah, hurry!’ Menelaus leant out, hand outstretched. But they didn’t come.

  ‘We need to be with our children,’ Sarah said. ‘Goodbye, Laus. Good luck.’

  They turned their backs on us and strode hand in hand towards the undead army.

  Ash, and wind, they became.

  Sif’s gift worked its magic. A golden net spun and threaded around the chariot, providing a cocoon. A web to counteract the Black Widow’s.

  Moments later, Menelaus was the last one left.

  ‘I’m really getting sick of dying,’ I said.

  ‘Me too.’ Menelaus poked at the web, and it stuck to his finger. ‘I’d like to live first.’ His words sounded heavier than the hammer in my hand.

  ‘Father’s dead. He died to ensure my passage to Valhalla. Menelaus…’ I touched the scar on his cheek, a permanent reminder of Mum’s death. ‘Mum said that she forgives you.’

  He nodded, sucking in a breath. Ava took his hand and mine. ‘We must remain united,’ she said, ‘no matter what. We only have each other now.’

  The sight of his hand in hers had once soured my stomach. Now it felt right. We were a family.

  ‘Theo, did you see my mother?’

  ‘Elspeth? No.’

  I stared at Alastair and his clan, who were attempting to convince my coven to lay down their arms. They were still Lamia – vampires protected from the sun by their magic. ‘But that’s your grandfather over there.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stay on this chariot forever,’ he said. ‘And I’m guessing fate will find me wherever I go.’

  He stepped onto the ground. Nothing happened. I sighed with relief.

  He walked toward Alastair.

  His hair, I realised, some of it’s missing.

  ‘Menelaus! Wait!’ I leapt from the chariot but the ground opened under his feet, a bony root wrapping around his ankles and dragging him into the earth. ‘No!’

  He twisted, nails clawing at the soil.

  The root grew around his chest and looped his neck.

  I skidded, whirling around and trying to heave his shoulders, but the root squeezed his neck and sliced his skin the harder I pulled. ‘I won’t lose you! I won’t!’

  Ava pulled me away. ‘You’re killing him, Theo! He’s alive again, and you’re strangling him!’

  ‘No!’ I shook her off.

  Her arms took my waist. ‘Theo, we’ll get him back. Hel wants him. You have to let him go!’

  Menelaus croaked something, cheeks bright red. He batted away my hands and surrendered. Within three seconds he was gone, sucked through the earth.

  I raved, tossing Mjölnir into the woods. It came flying back. Freyja blew her wind to cool my fury but I couldn’t watch as her panthers took flight again. Alastair came, but I pushed past him, twirling in circles and kicking at corpses. I screamed until my guts hurt.

  Father. Father was dead. Menelaus, gone.

  Arabella. Penny. I counted the bodies I recognised and gave up after I ran out of fingers. Tobias, he lived, but so many of the prisoners could only pray for Valhalla.

  Julian. Michele. What would I tell them? Where were they?

  Exhaustion overcame me, the ancestors jabbering for attention all at once. Father. That last voice – Father.

  I bless thee, Theodore Alastair Clemensen, in the name of Odin, Thor, and Freyr. The light of the Nine Realms be wit
h you, always.

  Darkness fell over the horizon, and over my eyes.

  49

  Nikolaj

  Lorenzo had never moved so fast.

  The burning in his veins, did not matter.

  The twisting of his bowels, did not matter.

  Raphael was everything. He ran, he rolled down hills, and climbed valleys, bounded over roads, and exploded through solid brick. The boy, his prey, was the only spark he needed.

  It didn’t matter if he was full of blood and death. He sought life, and love.

  He wanted to tumble into the world and all its beauty, Raphael at his side, drawing him into nature’s secrets, life’s deep, fluttering heart.

  Raphael was not meant to suffer. Lorenzo would bear anything to tilt the world back onto the correct path, and free his lover back into the wind.

  He recognised nothing. These scents spoke of the sea and France somewhere beyond. Cornwall, was it? How long had they had him?

  Why had he consented to leave Raphael for a second?

  For Theo, and his debt to that warlock. His friend.

  A ship in the harbour.

  A carriage lurking towards the shore; Lorenzo had tracked that sound, and the sound of screeching landvættirs, all the way here.

  A wet nose nudged his hand. He tensed – fixed on that carriage, the world had become merely an assortment of obstacles. ‘Fenrir?’

  The elkhound sniffed the air. His coat grew longer, the limbs transforming into arms and legs. The dog’s maw was the last part to change. Lorenzo recognised that single-pointed ear.

  ‘Nikolaj.’

  The Elf barked, stretched his neck, and cleared his throat. ‘Yes…my head is…different. We must intercept that carriage.’ He pointed toward the harbour. ‘That’s an Egyptian vessel.’

  ‘The ship? If they want Raphael, why don’t they take him through a portal?’ Lorenzo kept his eyes above Nikolaj’s waist.

  ‘Unpredictable magic. Raphael isn’t normal – who knows what could happen?’ He started off downhill, and jumped over the fence into someone’s back garden. Moments later, he returned, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that barely fit. ‘Don’t want to stick out,’ he said.

  ‘In more ways than one, I’m guessing.’

  Nikolaj ignored him. They cut over fields and through woodland. With a little Elvish magic, they avoided the security booths at the dock.

  Killing Raphael’s guards – that was harder.

  ‘I’ll spin an illusion over the dock,’ Nikolaj said. ‘Five minutes to dispatch the escorts and dump their bodies in the sea. Go.’

  Lorenzo slaughtered the first pair in a heartbeat. The remaining six fought well, but three minutes in, Elvish arrows and his need for Raphael cut spinal cords and tore out throats.

  ‘Nik, hurry!’ The ship’s crew were heading towards the gangplank.

  ‘The illusion will fade in sixty seconds,’ he said, appearing by Lorenzo. ‘We get Raphael and flee to Alfheim. Got it?’

  Lorenzo hitched his arrow as Nikolaj broke the spell on the carriage door. It opened, and out poured the dreadful cries. ‘Raphael!’

  ‘Akhen is gone!’

  Lorenzo hardly recognised the boy’s face, the lacerations obscuring its once smooth beauty. ‘He stole the secrets! He stole the sacred knowledge from my mind!’

  ‘Where is he?’ Nikolaj demanded.

  ‘Hellingstead.’ Raphael clutched his head and ground his teeth. ‘Please, get me out of here. I can’t…’ His narrow chest heaved, struggling for air.

  Lorenzo surged forward, but an invisible force flung him across the dock. ‘The carriage is lined with diamonds,’ Raphael said between gasps. ‘My children!’

  ‘Lorenzo!’ Nikolaj shouted. ‘Make the portal to Alfheim!’

  ‘How?’ he said, running back to the carriage.

  ‘You’re a Dark Elf. Go to the trees and command them! Then save me if you can.’

  Lorenzo hesitated. Sparks flickered overhead; the illusion was failing. In seconds, they would be inundated with Akhen’s men. He ran to the edge of the dock and roared at the closest pair of fir trees. Their branches snapped and interlocked as if in a scrum, and the vortex stuttered to life between their trunk-legs.

  He called back to Nikolaj, who was pressed against the carriage, chanting in Elvish. A white substance twisted out of the carriage – the ectoplasm of landvaetirs – and Nikolaj sucked it in through his nose and mouth.

  Theo’s uncle staggered back and fell onto the dock, writhing in pain. ‘Run!’ he yelled at Raphael as the ageless boy stumbled out from his prison.

  The illusion snapped.

  Shouts from the ship.

  Lorenzo zipped across the dock, heaved Nikolaj to his feet, and hooked his spare arm around Raphael’s waist.

  Nikolaj was raving, spittle foaming at his mouth. Somehow, Lorenzo got them both to the portal and pushed them through it.

  He dived in after them, a bullet piercing his back as the vortex pulled him in.

  He whirled, lost in the spinning colours.

  A small, delicate hand reached out of the clashing clouds. Lorenzo caught it, and vowed he would never let go.

  END OF PART FOUR

  Epilogue

  Akhenaten the First, Imperi Ducis of the Praefecti, rode through the gates of Hellingstead Hall. The gargoyles snarled at him, but they could do nothing. Three miles away, his men died in droves.

  It was worth the sacrifice.

  He had a thousand underlings vying for a promotion into the Golden Order. The Knives he’d picked for the mission weren’t his best; he gave them a chance for honour – on their own gilded blades, if not at the hands of the enemy – and made it clear their vows left them no third option. Distracting the Clemensens, that was the whole point.

  As he’d hoped, Raphael had billowed the light of revelation like smoke from a fire. As he’d hoped, the wards had fallen.

  Akhen kicked his steed into a gallop, tearing up the driveway and the front lawn. The Hall itself and its intriguing library was not his concern. He spurred his Arabian stallion around the side of the house, admiring the great redwood and elms, setting his jaw when he spotted the blasphemous fountain, Neptune, with his devilish trident.

  It didn’t do his accursed offspring any good when the Serpent crushed Thera, he reminded himself. He hadn’t been there himself, but he’d been gifted the memories after his rebirth, and it could’ve easily been his own work, and the blessed ash from the fallout had nourished the bed of his Nile. The pretenders always perish. He sat upright in the saddle, trotting down the walkway. The orchard rose like a golden city at the path’s end, the walnut tree proud in the centre.

  He plucked an apple and bit the fruit. Crisp, fresh, and tainted by magic. Akhen spat out the flesh and tossed the apple into a bush. A nearby squirrel paused, took one look at him, and scurried away. Akhen whistled.

  The priest, who’d tailed him on foot, hitched his desert robes and ran to catch up with his master. ‘Most Magnificent One,’ he said.

  ‘Climb that tree for me and follow my directions.’

  The priest, a scrawny rat without a name, gaped. Ah, the rage built in Akhen’s innards, constricting his airway. Disobedience was the one thing that threatened to prompt his fits. He yanked the knife from his belt and the priest startled to life. ‘Yes, Most Magnificent One.’

  Akhen grunted and used his knife to point out the correct nut casing. His priest climbed, clinging on with his nails as he scrambled up the tree, his thin lips pinched white as he slid onto the correct branch. At last.

  ‘Throw it to me!’

  The nut’s green cocoon flew through the air. He caught it and sliced the shell open with his knife. Akhen smiled.

  ‘Is it what you wanted, Most Magnificent One?’

  ‘Yes, rat. You may climb to the top and jump off now.’

  The priest’s joy at serving his master turned to horror. ‘Please, Master—’

  ‘None of my men must know I have found thi
s treasure. I trust you, rat, but you’ll break easily enough if stamped upon. You will minister the Knives that fell in battle today, prepare them for the fight to come. It is a great honour. You are the shadow, priest. I am the sun.’

  ‘Yes, Most Magnificent One.’

  Akhen shuddered with pleasure as he admired the amulet in his hand. His priest obeyed his duty and leapt silently from the tree top, landing with a satisfying thud in front of Akhen. Ah, the power over men – it tasted more wonderful than any fruit in this orchard ever could.

  Still, he turned his horse away from the corpse, and gazed at Hellingstead Hall.

  ‘So many things are pronounced indestructible,’ he mused, stroking the amulet with his thumb. ‘Men, kings, ships, weapons, kingdoms, whole civilisations. Yet all have been claimed by time – weathered and destroyed by the Magnificent Aten.’ He rolled his shoulders back. Thank Aten the Pretenders had made Raphael – the sprite that could talk, the sprite that could think, the sprite that gave him the knowledge to destroy the amulet and break the Syphon’s curse after all these millennia. ‘Your time, little treasure, has come.’

  The End

  Contents

  Prologue

  I. Farewell

  1. All Together Now

  2. Home Is Where The Fear Is

  3. Time To Go

  4. Dining in Hel

  5. Alfheim Bound

  6. Dancing in the Mist

  7. A Bridge Between Nations

  8. A Third Eye for a Third Eye

  9. Down Under

  10. A New City

  11. Avalon

  12. Odin, Thor, and Freyja

  Interlude

  II. Swords Of Fire And Ice

  13. Bad Aird

  14. King of Renewal

  15. War Council