‘Now now, you two,’ Akhen said, walking onto the water. Yes. On the water. Like Jesus. ‘I have left Raphael’s instructions with the Consul. If anything happens to me, the amulet shall be obliterated.’
‘You mean it hasn’t been already? What’s the holdup?’
He gestured for me to walk down the bank. ‘Have you even asked Raphael how the task must be accomplished?’
Lorenzo and I exchanged glances. Our faces said it all. I’d been too busy dealing with Father’s death and Nikolaj’s disappearance to think about it.
‘Well, you can ask him once we’re done here. It will all become clear. The sun has almost set, Syphon. The veil between realms is at its thinnest. My Great Royal Wife and your dhampir are waiting.’
I didn’t join him on his watery spot, even though I could levitate. I’d done it before, when arguing about Ava with Father and Nikolaj in the library. I could still feel the heat from Father’s rage through those few weeks that were to separate him from life and death. It didn’t seem possible that he was gone.
I cut my hand on Ormdreper and let the blood spill into the water. Akhen had a good, long look at Father’s signet ring, which I had taken to wearing after finding it in his study. Lorenzo bit into his wrist and squeezed out as much as he could before the wound healed. Akhen added his poisonous blood – the water hissed the second it touched the surface.
‘I don’t feel good about this,’ Ava said. She’d been so quiet I had almost forgotten she was there. Her skin had paled.
‘Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now. I hope you’re not like this on our wedding day.’
She gave me a look that could stop a deer in its tracks.
‘Joke,’ I said. ‘Never mind.’ Maybe her reaction hurt a bit.
The water marbled with our blood. Akhen waved his hand over it, and the blood threaded together, swirling faster and faster. The wind picked up – a howl, like a cry of pain, ripping the air. It was only after we linked hands, plunging into the vortex after Akhen, that I realised the cry had been Raphael’s.
12
Odin, Thor, and Freyja
Lorenzo recognised Raphael’s cry as he fell through the vortex with Theo and Ava, but he was powerless to fight the vacuum. Raphael’s dread burned in Lorenzo’s veins, a silky strand of feeling – the blood – keeping their hearts tightly bound wherever they were.
They tumbled out, spat from the vortex – straight into a vast, steamy bog. Whatever the Well of Urd was meant to be, Lorenzo hadn’t pictured it like this. The smell for one thing; death and life commingled among the trees, the decay feeding the forest. Lorenzo focused his senses, picking out sounds. No birdsong, no little creatures. That unnerved him more than the smell.
‘I’m sinking!’ Ava shouted, snapping Lorenzo into focus. She grabbed onto Theo’s cloak, and he pulled her out of the vat of liquid mud she was standing in.
Akhen had left them behind.
‘Lorenzo, catch up with him,’ Theo said. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight. Ava, jump on my back. I can teleport with you. Lorenzo, we’ll follow.’
One thing Lorenzo loved, one thing that cleared his frantic mind, was a good chase. He honed his hearing and locked onto Akhen, who seemed to have no trouble traversing the bog. Lorenzo moved fast, avoiding the ground long enough to clear the muddy soup threatening to digest him. Akhen’s knife slashing through the leaves and tangles was an easy sound to track.
Lorenzo smiled as he overtook Akhen in parallel, jumping out ahead of him. ‘Going somewh—’
What?
Theo appeared with Ava, the air renting with a fizz and pop. ‘Where is he?’
‘Right here! He was right…I could hear him, smell him. Easily.’
‘Too easily,’ Theo said. ‘Jörð, he’s had us.’
‘An illusion.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Ava said. ‘He needs us. Why would he…?’
Lorenzo heard the screaming first. He looked at Theo, and ran – in the opposite direction. He passed under a tunnel, or was it two? Three? Light and dark, mist and heat. He felt as if he were clawing his way through treacle, the air pushing against him, rejecting his attempt to pierce it. He growled, determined to beat it.
Pop.
Lorenzo overshot the clearing. He skidded to a halt, falling into a puddle.
No, it wasn’t a puddle. It was a vat. He flipped round, realising that the tunnels were roots – great claws that rose out of the bog and filled the sky.
The sky. Lorenzo couldn’t focus on the blurring movements across the clearing, the screams, or the sprays of blood that coated the air like fine beads.
The Nine Realms. He was witness to infinity.
He had imagined it more like a Christmas tree, with each realm a glorified bauble. How wrong he had been. Nine bowl-shaped gyrating plates shifted in vast, clockwork movements, an intrinsic balance that echoed Lorenzo’s sense of time. He could see right through the translucent boundaries, as if he had opened up the back of a watch.
Powered by that eerie, filtered light, seeping down through the Nine Realms. Theo had a word for it – the Orlog.
Theo. Akhen. Focus. But Dark Elf or vampire, Lorenzo’s core was still human and the World Tree had transfixed him. Slowly, his brain fused back together.
Theo had arrived, but it was too late.
Lorenzo’s perceptions caught up with the present moment. He saw it replay before his eyes as he remembered it. The clearing had been filled with beings emanating divinity: three women at the central altar that surrounded the Well, their dresses made from the forest itself; gods and goddesses, some wearing crowns, others with beards or golden, shimmering jewellery.
Freyja – Theo had described the goddess so well: her plaited hair, her cloak of falcon feathers. Beautiful. Radiant.
Unsuspecting.
She had fallen by Akhen’s hand.
The pharaoh had slithered through the crowd like a snake, unnoticed, just another body in the congregation. Except…he was an army unto himself, his visage scattering over the clearing like shattered glass. The three forest woman had shrieked, kept shrieking, and the gods and goddesses had fought the many illusions of Akhen.
But he had come for Freyja. He held up his blade, and the light from the distant Orlog had cut through the Nine Realms and met the metal as he rammed it into Freyja’s chest.
Lorenzo got up.
Theo threw Thor’s hammer at Akhen as he tore out Freyja’s heart, skewered on the end of his knife. Akhen twisted from the hammer’s path, shoving Freyja away, and falling backwards into Urd’s Well. Theo teleported over, catching Freyja in his arms. Lorenzo was at the altar a second later.
Akhen was gone.
The forest women pointed at Theo and Lorenzo. ‘You! You brought the Serpent here!’
‘He tricked us,’ Ava said, bursting through the crowd. ‘He must’ve known you were all here.’
‘And now he’s got what he wants,’ Theo said, clutching Freyja to his chest. ‘Redheart, where are you?’
The Fae guard appeared beside him, weapons drawn but no one to aim them at. The gods and goddesses were shouting, arguing about what to do with Freyja – but even Theo was powerless to replace a missing heart.
‘Take her to my Queen,’ Redheart said, ‘She can preserve her Vital Essence for a time.’ She yanked the vial of liquid from around her neck and poured it into the Well. Lorenzo saw a mirage of the Isles through the portal.
‘Give her to me,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I’ll be quicker.’
The crowd grew angry, the tide turning against their favour. The goddess’s well-muscled frame surprised Lorenzo, but he was strong enough.
‘Wait!’ Ava cried, seizing the attention of the three witches of the forest. ‘How can we rescue Menelaus from Hel?’
He didn’t hear their answer – Theo had already shoved him and Freyja into the Well.
‘She looks peaceful,’ Lorenzo said. It felt like the right thing to say. Anything to cut through Raphael’s
soft cries as he held Freyja’s cold hands in his.
The stars spread out above them, illuminating the blanket of vines that Aurelia had woven around Freyja – arteries growing out of the roof garden at the very pinnacle of the palace.
The vines pulsed with golden light. A nexus of ambrosia filled the cavity in Freyja’s chest.
Theo muttered to himself, braced against the turret’s crenelated barrier, spitting self-hatred at the carpet of green rolling into the distance. ‘I’m such an idiot. I should’ve just killed the bastard. This is all my fault. Father would…’
‘We all agreed to it,’ Lorenzo said.
‘It is my fault,’ sobbed Raphael. ‘I told Akhen what he needed to destroy the amulet. I never expected him to be so brazen as to walk in to the holy heart of Urd and…and…by the time I realised, it was too late.’
‘How will we even know if it’s destroyed?’
‘You’ll know,’ Raphael whispered, and it made Lorenzo sick to see the fear in those amethyst eyes.
Theo’s shoulders tensed. ‘Odin, Thor, and Freyr,’ he said. ‘Raphael?’
‘Yes?’
‘Is it true what Frigg said? When she possessed Lolita, she called you the Anchor’s Friend. When I first learned about the amulet, I assumed it was the Anchor’s friend. Which is it?’ Theo walked over and knelt by Raphael and Freyja.
What was Theo getting at? Lorenzo’s heart thumped, aware of a threat and yet unable to place it. ‘Raphael?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ His voice splintered. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’
Theo put his arm around Raphael.
I should be doing that. But the sprawling vines seemed to trap him. He couldn’t shake the image of the clockwork rotation of the Nine Realms, or the epiphany that had stunned him into stupidity while the carnage had unfolded around him: that Raphael, the sprite, his lover, was the linchpin threading it all together, a vine in his own right, wound about Theo’s magic, the pair of them the very trunk of the cosmic tree. And the amulet, the amulet must protect them both.
The hidden fear ripped its way out of his subconscious just as Theo voiced the truth Lorenzo had been dreading. ‘If Akhen destroys the amulet, he will destroy you.’
A single tear slipped down Raphael’s cheek. The boy that wasn’t a boy, wasn’t anything but the most important precious gem and swirling galaxy and the beginning and end of Lorenzo’s heart and soul, tilted his perfect face towards the very infinity of stars of whose dust he shed from his own skin, and met Lorenzo’s hungry desperation with his eyes.
And confirmed the truth of Theo’s words.
Lorenzo sank to his knees, the ground rising as if he’d dived from the turret, ready to meet his own end. ‘How long have we got?’ he asked, husky, broken.
Raphael trembled while Theo shook and twitched, along with the turret beneath their feet. The whole island began to shake, a dreadful rumble that cracked through the ocean like concrete. Raphael flew into Lorenzo’s arms and cried out.
Theo vanished, no doubt to attend to Ava and Aurelia, who had been working on a clue given to them by the forest witches Theo had called the Norns.
He thought of retreating inside the turret, but then they would be trapped if it collapsed. If he was going to die, it would be here – holding Raphael at the midway point between the earth and the heavens.
END OF PART ONE
Interlude
Raphael
The roar comes from the epicentre of the Nine Realms. It is the Serpent’s rallying cry, his battle horn, his first victory.
‘It has to be Midgard, Freyja. The Nine Realms will blossom or wither according to its heart. The Middle Path is the only hope we have to stave off Ragnarök.’
The memory hits me like a slap. It has been locked away for millennia. I gasp, pained as this ship, long buried, is dragged up from the seabed.
‘But to choose a human to be the Gatekeeper? Some fragile creature that destroys as much life as it produces?’
‘Freyja – sister – there is no better host. An immortal would go mad carrying the key to the Orlog’s fire. Who among us can resist the allure of such power? A human hasn’t enough breath in him to last a century, let alone undo the fragile peace between the Vanir and Aesir.’
I feel sick. Lorenzo pulls me tight, I can smell him, my own Essence inside him – the gift I have bestowed. It will keep him strong. Yes, it must keep him going. It is divine substance. I’m starting to remember.
‘Brother, I can’t do this without you! What will I tell the others? Who will take your throne in Alfheim?’
‘They mustn’t know where I have gone, Freyja, it’s too dangerous. Watch over me, but keep the secret – you must keep it. This is bigger than politics or a single kingdom.’
‘I beg of you, send someone else! Why must it be you who guards him?’
‘Freyja, we are responsible for Jörð. She is our treasure to protect – a marble in an ocean of darkness. I will trust no one else. Promise me, my heart’s chamber, promise me!’
‘I…promise.’
‘Freyja, there is one more thing.’
‘Freyr?’
‘I must not remember – or I won’t be able to pay the ultimate price if it comes to it.’
I kiss Lorenzo. It seems the only thing to do, while the tower resists the pressure on the rock beneath it, while the walls in my own mind come tumbling down. He bites my lip and then he bites my neck and his tears are warm against my skin but I won’t pull away. He can have whatever’s left of me before I lose myself, and Raphael becomes just a made-up appellation, a disguise.
Then, I hear it. From a long way away, like a pin dropping, a glass smashing…
An amulet obliterated with the flesh and blood stolen from my twin sister. Because, in the end, it had been a sacrifice we had agreed to make together.
‘Freyr!’
Lorenzo is startled; he backs away, shocked by the vision of my sister floating, back arched, in the air. Vines trail behind her like a bridal train. Her eyes are open – she is staring at the stars but she is calling me.
I rush to her, gather her in my arms, kiss her on her cheeks, and beg her forgiveness for forgetting, for not knowing, for betraying our secret and handing over those sacred keys we’d sworn to protect to Akhenaten.
‘Freyr,’ she says, smiling, ‘it is your turn to live and my time to be stardust.’ She tears out her ambrosia, substitute heart and plunges it into my chest. I scream, fall into Lorenzo’s arms.
I keep screaming as my sister breaks the vines and sails into the night. The explosion, as her Vital Essence is scattered across the Nine Realms, is enough to light the Alfheim-sky for a full second. A second that lasts for eternity, a second that breaks the ambrosia heart apart inside me, pouring forth its divine nectar into my veins for the first time in eons.
My ears are ringing with my sister’s death.
Raphael’s long and lonely life is destroyed along with the amulet in the core of Midgard.
I am disintegrating in Lorenzo’s arms.
‘I don’t want to die,’ I say. ‘I don’t want my love for you to die.’
And then I turn inward, and become nothing.
…
…
Freyr, Ruler of Alfheim, God of Fertility and Renewal, opened his eyes.
II
Swords Of Fire And Ice
Nikolaj | Ava | Theo | Espen | Lorenzo | Menelaus | Akhen
13
Bad Aird
How has it come to this? Nikolaj wondered, as he walked across the Aird, near Inverness, at night, crossing the very battlefield where the Scots fought against a Norwegian king. Was that some kind of subtle threat from Alastair? Perhaps the old warlock sent him out here to die.
The promised witch arrived from the direction of Moniack Castle. Nikolaj let out a hopeless sigh. Why couldn’t Alastair have sent an old crone to cure him, instead of a beautiful, half-naked woman? He wasn’t in a fit state.
‘The
legendary Uncle Nikolaj,’ she said, by way of a greeting as she crested the hill.
‘Put your hand away,’ he said, ‘they don’t like me touching people.’
‘Oh,’ she said, plonking her basket of herbs in the grass. ‘They have organised?’
‘The sprites have adapted to their new host, that’s all,’ he said, suddenly feeling defensive. Did she have to look at him like he was a mental patient? ‘It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.’
She shrugged her bare shoulder. ‘If you say so. How did you get rid of the last lot?’
‘That doesn’t matter. This isn’t the same situation.’ He bit his tongue, annoyed that he’d contradicted himself. ‘I think we’ll need stronger herbs.’
‘Oh, those are to put you to sleep. Trust me, you don’t want to be awake for this.’ She clicked her fingers, and twelve cloaked witches emerged from the base of the hill, encircling him.
Sure, he could escape; his Elvish gifts would trump whatever these witches could throw at them. No, not them. Him. That didn’t mean he’d survive the separation. This was a risk – Alastair had warned him well.
A lump rippled under the skin on his face as one of the sprites attempted to see through his eyes. He yelled – it hurt like Hel – and the coven mistook his pain for fear.
‘We’ll stop if we have to,’ the priestess said.
‘If you can,’ said Nikolaj. He watched as she crushed the sour-smelling herbs between her palms, blowing the spell that slipped from her lips into the wild crumble, lighting it. She chucked the burning power in his face. His muscles solidified.
But he was still awake.
‘I’m sorry, Nikolaj,’ the priestess said, ‘but you must focus on shutting the sprites out of you. I know, I said the herbs would put you to sleep.’
He tried to nod but the gears that controlled his head and neck had jammed together.
The Descendants of Thor Trilogy Boxset: Forged in Blood and Lightning; Norns of Fate; Wrath of Aten Page 79