Forged in Blood and Lightning_A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel Read online

  FORGED IN BLOOD AND LIGHTNING

  Descendants of Thor Trilogy: Book One

  S. A. Ashdown

  PART ONE OF THE DEVILS OF ALFHEIM NOVELLA, FEATURING LORENZO AND MALACHI, YOURS FOR FREE. SELF-CONTAINED SHORT STORY. GET IT HERE: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/7kc7h74ej5

  Get your FREE CHARACTER PROFILES here too: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/ilzt24konf

  For Jacobie, the Gatekeeper of my soul; my Pneuma; my Vital Essence…

  ... And to absent friends…

  …And invisible cheerleaders

  Contents

  EXCERPT

  Prologue

  I. The Storm’s Curse

  1. Rebirth

  2. The Red Hawk

  3. The Book Of Gatekeepers

  4. All Roads Lead to Hel

  5. Harbinger Of Storms

  6. A Tale Of Alfheim

  7. Kiss Of Death

  Interlude: Raphael

  EXCERPT

  II. Tangled Webs

  8. Descendants Of Thor

  9. The Anchor

  10. The Guardian

  11. The Praetoriani

  12. Salvation In Those Eyes

  13. Breaking And Staking

  14. The Intruder

  15. A Deal With A Vampire

  16. Party In A Graveyard

  17. A Meeting With Raphael

  18. Dreaming Of The Dead

  19. Philosophers Love Definitions

  20. Mentor

  21. Temple In The Heath

  22. Crossing Blades

  23. The Queen Of Sicily

  24. Snow White And The Photographs

  25. Hunt For The Amulet

  III. Inquisition

  26. Into The Labyrinth

  27. The Assessment

  28. The Date Crasher

  29. Agony

  30. Smile Between Friends

  31. The Daemon

  32. Rolling In His Grave

  33. The Satyr’s Portal

  Interlude: Nikolaj

  IV. Black Widow

  34. Drowning In Memories

  35. Dökkálfar

  36. Forest Of Dreams

  37. A Mother’s Child

  38. Never Ever

  Interlude: Raphael

  V. Snapping Cords

  39. Return To Midgard

  40. A Familiar Face

  41. Demolished By Desire

  42. Ghost Boy

  43. Weeding My Heart

  44. Trust

  45. Visions Of The Dead

  46. The Fall

  47. Pulling The Wings Off A Fly

  48. Blood At Dawn

  49. Severing Strings

  EXCERPT

  Thank You To My Readers

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  Acknowledgments

  EXCERPT

  From the diary of Julian Knight, Overseer of the Praetoriani, written in code:

  5th May 2015

  Sometimes it’s necessary to swap the white robes for grey. Malachi De Laurentis has come back to Hellingstead, and I suspect the Tuscan coven has come with him. The time is ripe. My son, Menelaus, must not suspect my involvement.

  Hellingstead won’t thank me; I’m allowing another blood-drinker into their midst. Blame the Elves for that; it is their curse.

  I feel sorry for the lad, of course. Lorenzo Angelucci, fate has other plans for you now.

  Prologue

  “STRANGERS THAT DIE TOGETHER…”

  5TH MAY 2015

  The rain was biblical, drowning out the face of Lorenzo’s wristwatch as he squinted, trying to read the hands between lightning flashes.

  Damn it. The storm seemed to wind the hours forward to midnight, lacquering the sky as Lorenzo tucked his dissertation under his arm, the folder already damp, despite the detour through Oakley Park.

  As Lorenzo picked up speed down the slippery pathway, huddling close to the thick line of silver birch trees, he imagined his professor, Menelaus Knight, waiting in his nice, warm office. Tonight was his final chance to deliver his dissertation before the exam season started. He couldn’t show up late, sodden, and without dry text after the third extension. I should’ve brought my laptop, he thought, I should’ve paid for a taxi.

  In the darkness, Lorenzo didn’t spot the boy, slight as a pixie, inhabiting the matted branches of a looming oak tree that had defied time and foul weather for four centuries. The path forked around it, leaving Lorenzo to find refuge under its bony branches as the wind reached its apex and rain shards sliced his cheeks raw. This wasn’t a normal spring storm; the air came in clammy gusts that left a bitter taste on Lorenzo’s tongue.

  Above him, the boy watched, accompanied by the insects hiking over his skin, and the birds nesting in his black hair. Gold streaks burnished his curls – a hint to his creation; he was living stardust, the first of his kind. His name was Raphael, and he perceived Lorenzo’s immediate fate as it unravelled before them both. He could sense in the dull steps against the wet earth that death was approaching – his creature companions stilled as if waiting for the audible squelch. Each critter heard it. The sharp fangs sinking into yielding human flesh, the grunts and groaning, and finally the screaming.

  Theo Clemensen woke in a mental twilight, twisted in the covers, having soaked the mattress on his four-poster bed in sweat. In a daze, he peeled off his shirt, exposing his shoulders and chest to the thick, stuffy air of his bedroom, as if the extreme heat effused from his dreams into real life.

  I must get to her. His limbs thrashed wildly but he moved only in his mental world, trapped in an awful, waking dream. His dead mother rode through the fir-tree copse, vibrant, crimson hair flailing in the wind like a headful of snakes as he struggled to catch her in time. He’d had this nightmare before, and it was always too late. She always made it to the cliff’s edge, always plummeted to her death. But it hadn’t been this violent before, this vivid.

  Theo reached the rocky ledge, but this time no spit of waves hissed up from the ocean’s surface. This time, he met exploding fire, a bubbling cauldron of colour that enthralled him into submission. On, on, it urged him. Come, come. He stepped forward and plunged into the deep, his body exploding on impact, his mind melting in the flames. His cry broke through the lava of his dreams and into reality, shaking the foundations of Hellingstead Hall. The air crackled and popped as his father, Espen, and his great-uncle, Nikolaj, appeared at his side, wrestling Theo’s limp body from the sheets.

  ‘He’s not breathing!’ shouted Espen, as they dragged him onto the oak floorboards.

  ‘No!’ Nikolaj restrained Espen’s frantic hands as he tried to resuscitate his son. ‘Stop. He has to die before he can be reborn.’

  I

  The Storm’s Curse

  THEO | PENNY | LORENZO

  1

  Rebirth

  I have dug up the sky. I have hacked up the horizon.

  I have traversed the earth to its farthest extent.

  I have taken possession of the spirits of the great ones,

  Because I am the one who equips a myriad with my magic.

  Spell 10, Egyptian Book of the Dead

  6th May 2015

  I gasped, my eyes snapping wide, the blurry faces of my father and uncle watching as my body convulsed. The inferno was calling. I tried to resist but its strength overwhelmed me and it pulverised me again. An ear-bursting wail brought me back to the surface. Was that me screaming? I wanted to keep screaming, if only to drown out the incessant rain that was pounding against the window.

  The universe seared itself onto my irises and blistered my thoughts. H
ours fused together. I was lost, my bones ached. Worst of all was the terror tearing at my heart, making a mockery of my sanity. Was my soul dying, my spirit’s essence being stripped away, to be replaced with something alien – something other?

  ‘I am Theo Clemensen, but I am nothing!’ I babbled, the words flying out of my mouth. ‘I am dust. I am the whole Earth. I’m blinded by everything I see. I hold the world in my palm, light, dark, creation, destruction.’ Father and Uncle Nikolaj held me down as I thrashed and roared at them. ‘I am the magic that binds all life together; I am the Gatekeeper of the Lífkelda – the life-spring of the great World Tree, Yggdrasil. I can burn the world to the ground!’

  ‘But you won’t,’ Father whispered, wiping the sweat from my forehead, ‘because you are a Clemensen, and we choose life.’

  And yet, I was dying.

  7th May 2015

  I woke up alone in my room. Just me and the rain. I laughed aloud, somewhat manic and thrilled that I’d woken up at all. So, my family’s idea of a twenty-first birthday surprise is that ‘coming of age’ kills us, was it?

  I hadn’t left my room since I’d died.

  Okay, so ‘died’ is a touch melodramatic, since my heart only stopped beating for a minute, but by the look on my father’s face, you’d think I’d already begun to haunt him. The secrets he had revealed while I’d been in bed recovering had taught me that really, something haunted me. Whatever slid inside me upon my death was strengthening its grasp with each passing moment. Everything felt numb to the touch as my brain rewired to accommodate my sudden, internal roommate.

  I’ll never be alone again. Not for a second. Somehow, the thought didn’t comfort me. But depression wasn’t my natural state. Compared to my father, I’m a bubbling ray of sunshine. He’d been different before my mother died, not so suspicious. But our secret is dangerous. Now I was that secret – that living cauldron of magic – I believed my mother paid for it with her life.

  The thought was too painful. I got up and walked to the bay window – my favourite brooding spot – which overlooked a wild meadow at the front of the house. Beyond grass be-speckled with yellow buttercups and blossoming wildflowers, and the giant ash tree where I’d gotten my first broken wrist, lived normal people, doing normal things. Such as going on dates. Getting girlfriends. Heck, getting laid. Jobs. Money. Cars. Fun. So close. A zillion miles away – and drowned in the torrential rain caused by my magic. My beloved view was drifting away from me, lost on a sea of water.

  A soft knock on the door. I turned as Uncle Nikolaj barged through, burdened with a tray of baked goods. ‘Good morning,’ he grinned, and I caught a waft of honey oatcakes as he approached. ‘You look like—’

  ‘Like I just died.’

  ‘Oh, it happens to all of us.’ He thrust the tray into my chest and tucked a long, blond strand behind his single, pointed ear. Uncle Nikolaj, I should explain, is half Elf. At around thirty, he’s not much older than me, but he’s been thirty for a – really – long time. I live with him and my father in the once medieval town of Hellingstead, in Somerset, but my father’s family hail from Norway originally.

  ‘You mean you were once the Gatekeeper too.’

  Nik gestured to the array of baked treats, the golden oatcakes his signature. ‘Yes, so I know you’re starving. Eat. Sugar is perfect fuel.’

  I bit into one and groaned as the sweet butter melted on my tongue. ‘Where’s Father?’ I asked.

  ‘In the library. He thought you needed space.’ Nikolaj flopped onto my bed and wagged his finger. ‘But your wise Uncle knows you need feeding. On that note, so do I.’ He closed his bright green eyes and frowned. I winced as static crackled against my hands as the tray vanished, reappearing on Nikolaj’s lap. By the time I reached the bed, he’d scoffed a flapjack.

  ‘Crumbs,’ I said, brushing down the duvet.

  We ate together for a few moments, and I thought about how casually he’d just defied physics. Nik, being a Clemensen, was also half warlock, like me, though my father and I are full-blooded. A warlock, if you don’t know, is a male witch. The Clemensens are one family belonging to a sect of humans with extra abilities, who can use magic or are affected by it. We refer to each other as Pneuma, but those amongst us who have corrupted their gifts we call varmint, like vermin. I guess every society has its criminals – those who don’t care who they hurt.

  The Clemensens are a powerful Pneuma clan, but I’m not talking about politics. Our ancestors drew strength from careful matches, breeding hard bodies able to manipulate a volatile cocktail of magic – a gauntlet passed to each generation. It wasn’t vanity that drove the improvements, it was necessity. The Clemensens’ survival meant everything. It still did.

  ‘Is this really a big deal?’ I said, breaking the silence. ‘I can’t believe that I can make any difference to the world.’ I pointed to the window. ‘I don’t feel like I’m causing that rain.’

  Nik sighed, chucking a half-eaten biscuit back onto the tray, and scooted round to face me.

  ‘The earth may need us, Theo, but its climate suffers every time the next Clemensen takes up the Gatekeeper mantle. Earthquakes, flash floods, volcanic eruptions. We don’t cause these disasters. The Gatekeeper does. You’re not one and the same, it highjacks your body and soul until you provide it with a new host.’

  I shivered.

  ‘But don’t feel bad, hey? When your father came of age at twenty-one, he caused an avalanche in his mountain village back in Norway. Espen likes to pretend he was on holiday in Scotland when he met your mother, but really, he was running away from his fate. It turned out your mother wanted to escape hers as well.’

  ‘So they settled in Somerset,’ I said. Nik nodded. ‘Did anyone die in that avalanche?’ I asked, as the rain hammered against the roof and windows. With all Hellingstead’s hills, valleys, and ancient drainage systems, the town was under siege because of me. I hope no one has been caught in a flash flood and drowned.

  ‘Espen never told me, but I heard rumours that a body was found.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  He patted me so hard on the back I almost choked on the remains of my third oatcake. ‘Whatever happens, Theo, promise me you won’t run away.’

  I scoffed. ‘Unlikely. Father won’t even let me out of the house without a chaperone.’

  ‘What? You mean you don’t like hitting the town with your stylish uncle?’ His face crumpled in mock shock, and I rewarded his teasing with a punch in the arm.

  ‘When have we ever “hit the town”? Besides, our little town is soaked through. I’m staying on the second floor until I have Noah on speed-dial.’

  ‘Noah, nice chap.’

  ‘Come off it, Uncle, you may be pre-war, but you’re not that old.’

  Nikolaj wiggled his eyebrows and pretended to count.

  ‘Stop it,’ I laughed, but again I remembered my ‘inheritance’ and the humour evaporated. ‘Why didn’t Father ever tell me? Why didn’t you tell me, Nik? Why keep my destiny a secret until it literally killed me?’ I struggled to keep the hostility from seeping into my words.

  Nikolaj shot a longing look at the door. My uncle shied away from confrontation at the best of times, so I held onto his wrist as a warning not to scarper, and he sighed.

  ‘Theo, it wasn’t my job. I advised Espen to tell you sooner, but he refused. He argued that it was safer this way, in case the Guardians of the Praetoriani got to you before your birthday.’

  ‘So, you’re saying before, like two days ago, I was too young to be told? That patronising—’

  Uncle Nik jabbed my arm. ‘Theo! Your father is a little…’

  I jumped on his hesitation. ‘Paranoid, superior, hypocritical?’

  ‘Protective. Can you blame him after what happened to your mother?’

  I glared at him. ‘Oh yeah, and what would that be? He hardly told me anything about the night she died.’

  ‘The details will do you no good. Suffice to say, Espen has cause to mistrust the Praetor
iani.’

  ‘I blamed him for not bringing Mum back for years,’ I confessed. ‘I always wanted Father’s powers, so I could do it myself.’ My jaw tensed at the irony. Most boys idolise their father I guess, but mine could fizz in and out of rooms and summon the sun from the clouds. When I was a toddler and tried to run away from him, the grass would wrap around my ankles and bind me in place, preventing me from slipping into one of our many ornamental ponds. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

  Except bring my mother back.

  I’d dwelt in a family halved for eleven years, doubting this claim, as he toppled from the pedestal I had placed him on. I was sure if he’d tried hard enough, if he hadn’t been so paranoid about the Guardians watching our every move, Isobel Clemensen could return. Why, I’d asked him, couldn’t we resurrect her and run away back to our stronghold in Norway? Why, when he was so powerful, wouldn’t he tell those stupid Guardians to sod off?