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

by S. A. Ashdown

  ‘Currently indisposed. But he’s not why I’m here. Aurelia sent me.’

  He held up his hand. ‘Hold it there,’ he said, ‘Hond, tell your lovely wife to bring us her infamous stew. If Aurelia is behind this, I’m going to need a full stomach.’

  The bartender – Hond – smiled and hollered something through the hatch in the wall. ‘Make that two,’ Ullr added, patting my shoulder.

  ‘You remind me of my uncle,’ I said, as he led me to a table in the corner of the inn.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ He guzzled down the rest of his ale. ‘What is it that you need from me?’

  ‘Escort me to the Utgard Fortress,’ I said. ‘Please.’ Manners cost nothing.

  He banged his chest, dislodging the liquid he’d just coughed up, then raked his fingers through his rusty-blond hair. ‘Ah, I see. And what’s your purpose there?’

  ‘I must retrieve something of Freyr’s.’

  He sat back and pushed the empty jug to the end of the table. ‘So the reports are true. He has returned – at his sister’s expense.’

  I nodded. ‘The last part wasn’t his choice.’

  Our food arrived, and we ate in silence for a few minutes. The stew was interesting, but I wasn’t about to ask what the ingredients were. I put my spoon down and filled Ullr in on the details. Aurelia said I could trust him, and Nikolaj trusted her, so that was good enough for me.

  Ullr eyed his shield, which he had left propped up against the bar. ’There’s only one way into Utgard and one way out. Through the front door.’

  ‘If you get me close enough I can teleport in.’

  He stared at me, then laughed. ‘You have Nik’s gift too, do you? Well, he tried it once, long ago when he wasn’t much older than you. The magic surrounding Utgard is very old and strong. The effort required to crack that shell isn’t worth the yolk inside.’

  A food analogy – Uncle Nikolaj would be proud. I smiled, imagining him as a youth, roaming Jotunheim with Ullr, for Jörð knew what reason. In a way, I was retracing his footsteps. I hoped that Ava and Aurelia would find a way to free the sprites from Nik’s mind before it cracked.

  ‘So how do we get in without alerting Utgard-Loki?’

  He shrugged. ’No idea. You’ll have to figure that part out.’

  Great.

  ‘Can we leave now?’ I asked.

  ‘Travel at night? In Jotunheim? Are you mad? We’d never make it to Utgard.’

  I was about to open my mouth and assert that nothing could stop me, I am the Gatekeeper. But although I no longer felt the need to hide who exactly I was, I didn’t want to draw upon the Gatekeeper’s magic until I fought Akhen. Not when using too much of that ancient magic risked allowing it to control my mind and body – for good.

  I finished the rest of my stew, dipping the crusty bread in the remnants. I’d need every last ounce of energy to power our trek to Utgard and prise Istapp from the Ice King’s hands.

  ‘Don’t suppose I could ask for Freyr’s sword back?’

  Ullr covered his mouth, chewing and laughing at the same time. ‘From the sworn enemy of the Aesir? Life must be very simple in Midgard for you to hold such hope.’

  I folded my arms. ‘You should try living there sometime, Ullr. It’s—’

  ‘I was joking, warlock. I suggest you get some rest. We’ll leave at sunrise and charm us some horses.’

  We shook hands. ‘Thanks, Ullr.’ I turned to leave, then paused. ‘Do you want payment?’

  He licked the last of his stew from his fingers. ‘The survival of the Nine Realms is payment enough,’ he said. He winked at me. ‘Gatekeeper.’

  How does he…? But of course the attendants of the War Council would share the news that the youngest Clemensen was the fabled Syphon and I had outed myself the moment I’d spoken to Ullr. This time, when I appraised the stares coming from the other giants, I didn’t see hostility. Wariness, fear, even a touch of wonder. They knew, alright.

  I returned to the bar and collected the key. Hond bid me goodnight, but as I crested the stairs, the restless night ahead welcomed me into my room.

  I didn’t like waking up in a strange bed without Ava. I had hardly slept but there was no point lying in, so I was washed and dressed by the time Ullr knocked on my door.

  After a quick breakfast at the bar – the eggs were the size of my face – we headed out into the dale. ‘Where are these horses?’ I asked, after we’d been hiking uphill between the yew trees for an hour without seeing a single equine.

  ‘On the moor,’ he said. He motioned through a gap in the canopy where the morning sun had spilled its fresh light on the heather.

  I smiled. ‘Close enough,’ I said, grabbing his arm and projecting us both onto the moor, cutting out a good section of our hike.

  He blinked in the sudden brightness and shuddered. ‘Bloody Clemensens,’ he said, but although his voice was serious he grinned, rolling back his shoulders before charging through the heather, shield on his back. ‘Used to wooing everyone with their magic. Let’s see how you fare with Jotun horses!’

  If I thought the people were big here, the four-legged beasts that roamed the moor put them to shame. Ullr bounded across the uneven landscape, heading straight for a spot of pasture apparently favoured by the native pure-bloods.

  They paused in their grazing, a few trotting away to hide behind a tor that towered over their patch like a castle, as Ullr broke into their ranks. I watched him from a distance, unable to suppress a laugh at the sight of the demi-god cajoling a steed towards him. As the horse approached, he kneeled, holding up his hand to its nose while he looked down and away.

  Then he started to sing – not Elvish, or English for that matter. A language I didn’t recognise, a Jotun dialect perhaps. Although I didn’t understand the words, the tone and rhythm took a familiar turn into emotions in which I was well-versed. Sadness. Longing. Love.

  The steed, with a white patch running down the length of his nose, nuzzled Ullr’s hand.

  And snorted. And stalked away.

  Ullr cradled his head in his muscular hands.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said as I walked up to him, ‘I’ve got this covered.’

  I withdrew the curl of Freyr’s hair that he’d given to me as a sign of trust when I’d left Alfheim, strolled into the gathering and – careful not to let Ullr see what I was doing – placed the lock in my upturned palm.

  One. Two. Three. The horses who’d had been hiding behind the tor reappeared, joining their herd as they caught a whiff of Freyr’s scent. I felt a pang for Hrimflaxi and Skinflaxi but although I could summon them now I was in Jotunheim, I had no idea what was ahead of us, and had no desire to see them come to harm.

  As they approached, I slipped the locket back in my pocket. The steed that had rejected Ullr bent his neck down low as if inviting me to ride him. I waved at my guide, who looked on in astonishment as I summoned a pair of saddles and prepped two volunteers. I gave him his favoured horse and teleported onto the back of mine.

  ‘Don’t know what all the fuss is about,’ I said. ‘Ullr.’

  We rode across the endless moor until the sun reached its apex, and with very little shade, we relied on the breeze we generated by our movement to keep us cool.

  I claimed disadvantage against Ullr’s superior skill on horseback – his legs reached his steed’s belly, whereas I was convinced the only reason my equine acquisition obeyed my commands was because of Freyr’s hair.

  At last the moorland took us downwards towards a sparkling river. ‘We should stop here,’ Ullr said, ‘and refresh the horses.’

  ‘I think I’m more tired than the horses,’ I said, saddle-sore.

  ‘Oh, they’re not tired.’ He slowed to a halt and gracefully vaulted to the ground. ‘But they won’t work under unfavourable conditions – not unless the bond is strong.’

  I imagined a group of horses standing around a table, discussing union rights. I leant forward and whispered in my ride’s e
ar, ‘Hey, fella, don’t abandon me, okay?’

  Then I joined Ullr at the edge of the river, grateful for the shade provided by the pine trees. Ullr slurped the fresh water from a large bowl-like cup, which along with a few other accoutrements, he kept attached to his belt.

  ‘Where are we now?’ I asked, taking a drink and washing my face in the river.

  ‘The River Iving.’

  I sat back on my heels. ‘The one that never freezes over? The one that separates Jotunheim from Asgard?’

  Ullr stood up and walked along the edge. ‘That’s the one,’ he said. I watched him as he meandered over to a tree with branches overhanging the water, where the maggot-infested carcass of a small animal was tied to a string. ‘The maggots attract the fish,’ Ullr said, answering my inquiring look, ‘you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten from the River Iving.’

  I expected him to pull a fishing rod from behind a tree, but Ullr proved much more visceral than that. He stripped to his natural state and, using a spear he’d strapped inside his enormous shield, he dived into the river, skewering two huge fish similar in colouring to rainbow trout.

  ‘Why is everything so big in Jotunheim?’ I asked, as Ullr returned – still rather naked – with a fish in each hand.

  He left them on a warm rock, returned for his tool belt, and proceeded to gut them. ‘Why is everything in other realms so small?’ he countered, as he used his own magic to direct the sun’s heat onto the rock to cook the fish. ‘But I suppose your Midgard scientists would point to oxygen levels.’

  We ate together, overlooking the glistening river, senses overtaken by bright sunshine and delicate, silky-fresh trout. Ullr smiled as I ploughed through my meal, determined not to waste it – he’d already finished his, so I gave in and shared the rest. ‘That’s…’

  ‘Incredible? Delicious?’

  I nodded, unwilling to stop chewing.

  Thankfully, the horses came back after wandering away to polish off a meadow. We washed up and carried on down the river, heading towards the sea.

  A sea of permanent ice drifts, to contrast with the Iving, and the very waters that had ensnared hundreds, if not thousands, of ships. The sea that washed onto the shores of Utgard.

  29

  A Rainbow for a Redhead

  Akhen stared at the empty slab. The rage built up from his feet, rolling through his heart and reaching boiling point in his thoughts. After all his planning, from the guards that surrounded the tomb to the magic that protected it, the Fae were the foes he hadn’t factored in. The Fae, their portals, and Nikolaj’s connection to them.

  The mural veered to one side as his inner vision wobbled. He laid on the slab, folding his hands over his belly, working backwards from the night’s events. He couldn’t fathom how the hodgepodge crew who’d infiltrated his facility had ended up stealing his vessel until he’d been informed that the stolen magic belonged to Elspeth.

  He drew fiery symbols in the darkness with his fingers, connecting the players in his epic game. Preventing Elspeth’s family from seeing her ‘cremation’ had been a mistake. The flower of suspicion grew from a kernel, and Akhen realised he had underestimated the crusty old vampire’s ability to love. Michele – no doubt already defiling the purified specimen Akhen had so painstakingly prepped for Nefertiti’s soul.

  Although, Elspeth’s involvement had always been accidental – when he had taken the girl’s body, he’d yet to confirm the Syphon’s identity. Once he had, the planets themselves proved aligned; the Syphon’s own kin would resurrect his Queen. The descendants of the very men who’d cut his wife’s throat would die, knowing one of their own rejoiced in Akhen’s bed.

  But now she’s gone, he thought. What a shame. They’d be expecting him to abduct her again but that was too obvious. No – he wanted to strike deeper at the Syphon’s heart, destroy his mind and body. He drew the line that matched Espen to Isobel, and Elspeth by extension. Below, on the horizontal line, he connected Theo to the replacement for his prize.

  Akhen smiled at the symmetry, a pleasure akin to arousal as he imagined his revenge. Yes, yes. He’d steal the Syphon’s rainbow-haired girl and rip out her snivelling, Aesir-rotted soul, and bind Nefertiti to her bones and supple flesh instead.

  30

  A Room With A View

  Ava accepted the dry robe as one of Aurelia’s women held it out for her, and wrapped it around her swimming costume. Wading in rivers wearing see-through fabric dresses was quickly growing old.

  ‘Did you see my nephew?’

  Ava yelped, surprised as Nikolaj leapt down in front of her from a nearby tree.

  ‘Yes, I saw him – with Ullr. At least, I assume it was Ullr.’

  ‘Ullr! Old pal!’ Nikolaj stared wistfully into the misty mountains. She noticed how his eyes slid across the sea towards the Fae Isles, disappointed that Lorenzo’s portal hadn’t led him straight into Aurelia’s arms.

  The Queen of the Fae had refused to house Michele and the unruly coven.

  That, and Freyr had a throne to claim – in Elvish Alfheim. This time, when the long-missing god rode into the Sarrow village, Malik had rediscovered his sense of hospitality and invited them all to stay.

  ‘He seems okay,’ Ava said. ‘Well, he was eating a huge trout anyway. You know what Theo is like about food.’

  Theo’s uncle mumbled to himself. She might as well converse with the wind. It was Nikolaj’s face, Nikolaj’s voice, but not him. Not completely.

  ‘And Menelaus?’ he asked at last.

  ‘Not in Helheim. It looks like he and Rosalia have reached a city of some kind, accompanied by a dwarf.’

  Nikolaj failed to respond. She poked his arm but he remained unflinching. ‘Nik? Hello?’

  Redheart came bounding out of Malik and Sayen’s stone house – the only stone building in the Sarrow encampment – and took Nikolaj by the arm. Ava followed them back inside, her eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the darkness. The house had enough windows, but Michele insisted Malik close the shutters.

  It shook Ava to see Elspeth huddled in a blanket in the corner, starting every time Sayen approached her with healing balms and offers of food. Theo’s aunt, Menelaus’s mother, alive. And neither of them knew yet.

  Lorenzo brought Ava tea. ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘They’re okay for now,’ she said, and his shoulders relaxed a little. ‘You really care about him, don’t you?’

  ‘Theo? Yeah. He’s saved my life more than once.’

  ‘And how’s it going with Freyr?’

  Lorenzo hardened. ‘I think you should concern yourself with Elspeth,’ he said.

  Be like that, Ava thought, I’m only your best friend’s fiancée.

  Ava sipped her tea and approached Elspeth. Michele zipped in front of her, blocking her path. ‘Stay away,’ he hissed.

  ‘I’m practically her niece,’ Ava said. ‘Back off.’ She steeled herself, forcing herself not to blink while her rapid heartbeat betrayed her. ‘Nothing you’ve done has worked, has it?’

  Michele ground his jaw, leaning closer. Ava’s hands trembled, but the vampire stood aside. ‘Be my guest,’ he said. ‘See if you can get into her head.’

  She handed her teacup to Julian and knelt down in front of Elspeth, the intense expectation pushing on her chest. For years no one had believed in her gifts and now they relied on them.

  Elspeth closed her eyes, clearly not wishing to talk. That suited Ava just fine. A picture told a thousand words.

  She took Elspeth’s hands in her own and walked through the door in her mind.

  Elspeth locked the front door, blocking out the noise of the busy town where Italian mammas gossiped in courtyards, hanging out their washing, and men smoked together and drank coffee in the bars. The little children and their big, dark eyes and glossy hair. She couldn’t bear to watch them play barefoot in the street, tomato-stained shirts and scabby knees. Every little boy looked like him, reminded her of her lost baby.

  The shutters were open.
She slammed them against the window, resting her forehead against the slats. Why wouldn’t Michele come to her? Why did he forsake her?

  She had forsaken their son. The regret slammed into her gut the moment she’d left the bundle on the steps of St. Michael’s, her heart in tatters as she fled England. And Isobel. Isobel hadn’t sought her out – she’d betrayed her and chosen the Norwegian warlock.

  Or was it that Elspeth had chosen her vampire?

  The vampire who’d left her when she’d needed him most.

  Her life, her future, had once been as exciting as running to the top of a hill, the cool wind tousling her hair. Isobel and Espen had led her away from her Highland home but their adventure in love had destroyed everything.

  Elspeth turned away from the window and spotted the scissors on the table. The landlady had left them there, she realised, when she had replaced the flowers in the vase.

  It was a sign.

  What was the point in trudging on, watching the world twirling away from her grasp with every breath? All those she had loved had rejected her. Even Da.

  A mother who abandons her child isn’t worthy of the name. She hadn’t felt this invisible in all her life. A nameless face, its beauty stripped by grief.

  Elspeth kicked off her sandals and walked over to the old, wooden table and slumped down against the wall. She ran her finger along the sharp edge and a satisfying bead of red dripped down her hand. Time to allow herself one more small fantasy – Michele bursting through the door, rushing to gather her up in his strong, Italian arms, licking that bead of blood away and unleashing a series of undying promises to soothe her heart and open her to life once more.

  She gave it five minutes, staring at the door. Her heart leapt – could that be? But no, it was just a little street urchin kicking a football. Well, an anticlimax summed up her existence nicely.

  Elspeth turned her left wrist and jammed the scissors into her flesh. It hadn’t hurt at all – she was dead inside already.