He pulled a dagger from his robe and allowed his wrath to fill his bones. His priests, his choir, the guards. They had all failed him and let his Queen be butchered like a lamb. Red fury glazed his vision as he slit the throat of every last servant in the temple, piling their bodies upon the mud altars surrounding his wife.
A further two mortal years had passed by the time he returned from his voyage across the Nine Realms, a tedious journey fraught with hindrance by the gods of darkness, and a fruitless one too – Nefertiti’s soul had vanished.
The ‘visitors from the north’ had rubbed salt into his wound by obscuring themselves behind confounding magic. No one who’d survived the temple massacre could remember a single detail about the men who’d slaughtered Nefertiti. In the end, Akhen butchered them too – along with every prophet, magical practitioner, and god-spawn within striking distance of the city.
Akhen’s endless rage – flared by the Serpent inside him – chased its own tail, breathing fire into his mind and heart. He welcomed it as he rode through the gates of the glorious city he’d built and ruled over with his lost wife. The peasants streaming towards the gates forced him to slow his gallop. Akhen watched them pass with their meagre bundles, grief bubbling as he observed the crumbling buildings and the deserted side streets.
He seethed; they had sworn fealty to him and Nefertiti and yet were abandoning the very seat of Aten himself. Betraying the One, scuttling back to the Many.
I should crush them like bugs. He smiled. So be it, their betrayal liberated him from the burden of finding room for his chosen people in the New Age. Let him rule over a sea of blood. Not a single grimy face that passed him on the way out of Akhetaten deserved to see the New Dawn.
He set his course back to the temple, welcoming the fierce heat beating on his neck. This was it, the beginning and end of his grand dreams.
The temple was empty. He walked past the carved pillars depicting his family – a family now lost to him, a family that had turned away from his legacy – and paused in a courtyard.
‘What do I do, Father?’ Akhen said, letting Aten’s rays seep into his skin. ‘What course do you wish me to take?’
Look up. Give me your sight and I shall give you mine.
A glut of fear gurgled in Akhen’s stomach. His sight?
I will share the path I have lit for us. Give me your sight and you shall have your purpose.
What more could be taken from him? But he’d never feared suffering; Akhenaten would endure as the pharaohs rose and fell.
He closed his eyes, and threw his head back. Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyelids open and gazed into the eyes of the Glorious Aten. As his human vision was seared away, it was replaced with something divine.
You will rule. You will sift through each generation of dirt until you find the root that feeds Yggdrasil. You will wrench the root out with your own hands. When that day comes, Nefertiti will blossom once more, and She shall be the whole world. Her heart will warm you, her blood will feed the sea. You will know happiness, and our glory will shine unhindered across creation.
As Aten retreated from the sky, Akhen, blind yet enlightened, filled his lungs and sung in praise of his god as the last of his followers left the city.
27
Just Keep Climbing
‘Duck!’
‘Where?’ Rosalia looked round.
Menelaus grabbed her and dived to the ground. ‘I’m not talking about the cute creature with webbed feet,’ he said, pointing to the sky. So they had survived the poisoned waters of the Well, but dragons?
‘Oh, that’s Nidhug,’ Rosalia said.
‘Why don’t you sound worried?’ Menelaus asked, lifting his head up to identify the nearest source of cover.
Rosalia shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’ve spent many years studying the books Persephone collected during her excursions to Midgard, dreaming of adventure.’
‘I respect that,’ Menelaus said, kneeling now that the dragon had flown away from them to scour the landscape in the near distance. ‘But I’d rather just survive.’ An odd thing to say when he was basically half dead already. ‘He’s coming back, come on.’ They scrambled over the patch of bare earth and hid behind a formation of rocks.
‘I don’t think we should stay here long,’ Rosalia said, tapping on Menelaus’s shoulder and pointing at the skeleton behind him.
‘And where is “here” exactly?’
‘Niflheim proper, I should think.’ A veil of mist rolled over the rock, thankfully a few moments before Nidhug swooped above them. Menelaus held his breath, trying not to make a sound.
Rosalia pulled a scroll out of her side satchel and unrolled it, the crackling paper echoing across the otherwise silent valley. She pointed to the map – Nine Circles were spaced out between the branches of Yggdrasil, leaving Helheim and Niflheim firmly at the bottom of the cosmic tree. ‘We need to get to Svartalfheim,’ she whispered, ‘but I’m afraid it’s worse there. Anyone we meet here are the souls of the condemned dead and cannot cause us much harm. But Svartalfheim is packed with dwarves and Loki’s vampires.’
Menelaus rolled his eyes. ‘Naturally. So how do we get to this haven?’
Rosalia took his finger and placed it on the map. ‘There’s a ladder. The dwarves left it behind after they had mined Niflheim of its precious metals. But the tunnel that once hid it has long since crumbled away – according to Loki – leaving the ladder exposed. Which means we’ll have to climb it in full view of Nidhug.’
If he hadn’t been so afraid to make noise, Menelaus would’ve groaned. ‘We better hide out here until dark,’ Menelaus said. ‘I guess you’re about to tell me that Nidhug has infrared vision?’
‘What is—’
’Never mind.’ He smiled. ‘Remind me to fire up the Xbox when we get home.’
They waited in silence until nightfall.
Menelaus and Rosalia hurried across the last stretch of open plain into the tunnel mouth at the side of the cave. They had lost their way twice, relying on Menelaus’s vampire-enhanced vision to guide them according to Rosalia’s map.
‘This must lead to the ladder,’ Menelaus said, striding downhill into the blackness. For several minutes they walked blind, until a spot of light leaked through the partially collapsed tunnel, exposing the ladder to the ethereal moonlight.
‘Do you think this is where the myth of Jacob’s ladder started?’ Menelaus wondered aloud as Rosalia bumped against his shoulder.
She stepped forward and stumbled. ‘If I see another corpse…’ Menelaus said, catching her, but suddenly the tunnel filled with firelight. ‘You must have triggered some switch,’ he added.
The walls were lined with etchings.
Here I go. Wish me luck.
Jerry was here, 1763…I think.
I don’t belong here. Why did I agree to scout for the dwarves?
‘Er, Menelaus.’
He pulled back his hand from the wall, murmuring: ‘Some of these are in Latin, and look, that one is—’
‘Menelaus!’
He jolted. In the shadows, a chair. On the chair, a well-proportioned dwarf. He waved at Menelaus, slurping from his tankard. ‘Visitors!’ he roared, gesticulating so violently that he spilled half of his drink. ‘How long has it been since the last lot of unfortunates?’ Before they could answer, he leaned in closer. ‘You didn’t come down the ladder, did you?’
’No? Why, is that possible?’
The dwarf shrugged. ‘I suppose you want to go up?’
‘Yes,’ Rosalia said.
‘Usually I require a fee, you see. An etching to keep me company.’
‘Who are you?’ Menelaus asked.
The dwarf held the tankard towards Menelaus. ‘The name is Hellos. Drink?’ He shook his head. ‘No? For the lady?’
‘I’m actually a little weary,’ Rosalia muttered, and she held out her hand, took the tankard and sniffed it. ‘It smells okay. What is it?’
‘Rainwater. Not much else on offer, I’m
afraid. You’ll need to stay hydrated if you hope to survive the climb.’ She sipped the liquid.
‘Aren’t you dead? I thought you didn’t need sustenance?’ Menelaus asked.
‘Like you, I am in-between. My soul is yet to be judged, thanks to Hel and Loki.’
The dwarf slipped off his chair. ‘In-between, you say? Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. The day I have waited eons for has come.’
Menelaus took Rosalia’s hand; the look on the dwarf’s face wasn’t entirely benign.
‘I have been trapped here since my kind left, just before the veil between the realms fastened tight. In those days, we were free to roam the Nine Realms as we pleased. Oh, the fun I had! I was having a bit too much fun and was in a drunken stupor when the final exodus took place. Ever since, I have been waiting for someone able to pierce through the veil and take me back up.’
Menelaus gestured to the etchings. ‘Why didn’t you go with any of these lot?’
‘Oh, none of them had it in them to get past Nidhug. They were probably sent to appease him. He’s a real pest when he gets too hungry and Loki doesn’t like to deal with him.’
‘And Loki hasn’t helped you home?’ Rosalia asked.
‘Does he seem the altruistic sort to you? Come on, will you two help me or not?’ He pointed at the ladder. ‘Look up there, can you see it? The veil has thinned. Yggdrasil’s branches are closer together than they have been since the glory days. You half-dead folk have a chance, best of both worlds. You can take me.’
‘And if we don’t?’ Menelaus said.
’Then the putrid rainwater of Niflheim will suck the last droplets of life out of the little lady here. It took me centuries to build a tolerance to the stuff.’
Menelaus surged forward and grabbed the dwarf by the throat, lifting him into the air. ‘You bastard! Heal her!’ He dropped him to the floor before he snapped his neck.
‘I can’t,’ he said between gasps, ‘but the waters in Svartalfheim will nullify its effects. If you know where to look.’
‘If you’re lying to us…’
Rosalia stuck her fingers down her throat and retched in the corner. Menelaus prayed that would be enough. Nidhug screeched in the distance. Once, and then again – closer.
‘I’m not. Trust me, or both of you will die. For good this time.’ He jumped to his feet and leapt onto Menelaus’s back. ‘Start climbing,’ he hissed in his ear, ‘unless you fancy being dragon fodder.’
The tunnel kept them safe from Nidhug for the first section of the climb but every cross-lateral movement lead them closer to his fire. Rosalia went first, above Menelaus and Hellos, who’d fastened his arms and legs around Menelaus’s body. If they survived this, if they made it to Svartalfheim to discover Hellos had lied to them about Rosalia’s cure, Menelaus silently vowed to chuck him back down the ladder.
He didn’t dare verbalise his threat in case he drew the dragon closer to them.
Just keep climbing, he thought, just keep going. He didn’t mind heights, nor did he fear falling. Being eaten alive by a mythological dragon was on a different level though. On the bright side, it would be an epic way to die – again.
Rosalia reached the section of ladder unobscured by the tunnel. She picked up her pace while Menelaus used his dhampir strength to power his muscles.
Nidhug – who had been causing a racket a moment ago – fell silent.
‘That can’t be good,’ he whispered.
‘Keep going,’ Hellos said, his breath tickling Menelaus’s ear.
A flare of fire licked the ladder beneath them, cracking the wood. Menelaus glanced up the ladder. ‘Rosalia, be careful!’ he shouted. ‘The rungs up there are weak!’ But she got past the first lot. After all, she was basically a ghost, and light-limbed.
He wasn’t.
The rung beneath his foot snapped. He slipped down the ladder as another lash of fire hit the spot he had been climbing. ‘Rosalia, go! Don’t wait for us!’
‘Menelaus, I won’t leave you!’
‘Do it, damn it!’
She climbed like a fiend up the ladder, catching her shoe on the hem of her dress, but keeping her balance. Menelaus glanced over his shoulder at Nidhug as the dragon swirled in the sky. He’s toying with us, he realised. He wants to relish the hunt.
That, at least, was something Menelaus could understand. He took the rungs at speed, freer to move now Rosalia was almost near the top. He had an eerie sense of déjà vu; he’d been climbing to escape Lorenzo back in Priddy when his Enthralled vampire-student slit his throat. This was somehow more terrifying.
Nidhug flew closer, the beat of his wings creating a gust of air that nearly blew Menelaus off the ladder altogether. He shook the hair out of his face and kept going.
Up ahead, Rosalia made it through.
It was just him, Hellos, and Nidhug.
Hellos was slowing him down. Menelaus paused. ‘You poisoned my sister.’
‘Desperate times leave no man free to choose.’
‘Make up for it now or I stop climbing.’
Seconds passed. ‘What is it that you want?’
‘Tell me where to find the water to heal her. And I can hear your heartbeat. I’ll know if you’re fibbing.’ Which was a fib in itself. ‘If you tell me now, I’ll take you up. If you refuse, or lie, then you’re dragon bait.’
Nidhug swooped round behind them, heading at full clip towards the ladder. ‘Hurry up and decide!’
‘But if I’ll tell you—’
‘You can trust me,’ Menelaus said.
‘The river that runs through the capital, it’ll do the job.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘No, I’m not!’
Menelaus dug deep and scrambled up the ladder, hearing the rungs snap beneath him as he passed.
The dwarf screamed as his back was singed by fire, his hands slipping from Menelaus’s neck. He glanced up at the opening. So close. The dragon nipped the dwarf’s leg, and Hellos lost his grip and fell down further, grabbing onto Menelaus’s leg.
Menelaus swung on one arm, trying to reach Hellos with the other. Terror wrecked his face. ‘Help me!’ he screamed, as his shoe came off in Nidhug’s teeth.
‘You owe me,’ Menelaus hissed, and with all his dhampir strength he flung the dwarf through the air and into the opening.
Nidhug opened his mouth and released a furious, putrid scream.
Menelaus drew his sword from his scabbard – he’d kept hold of it since he’d been drafted into Loki’s army – waiting for Nidhug to strike. As the dragon shut his mouth Menelaus threw the sword like a dagger into Nidhug’s eye. No way would it kill the fire-breather, but as the beast twisted and roared in the air Menelaus climbed to the opening.
Nidhug vented his rage, blasting apart the ladder above Menelaus’s head.
The wood crumbled.
A long branch appeared through the portal. He grabbed it just before he fell, leaving the dragon to a dinner of splinters and dust as Menelaus was heaved through the opening.
His heart thundered in his chest, blood pulsing through his ears.
The feeling of hard ground and grass beneath him brought his senses back to the present. He pushed himself up to find Rosalia and Hellos clutching the other end of the branch.
Menelaus wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘Thank you,’ he breathed. ‘Now we save Rosalia.’
The dwarf let go of the branch and brushed the dirt off his trousers. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ he said, ‘the rainwater in Niflheim is perfectly fine.’
Rosalia gave him a sharp poke with the end of the branch. ‘You damn creature!’
‘If you weren’t so bloody small,’ Menelaus began, ‘I would—’
The dwarf held up his hands in surrender. ‘I apologise.’
‘And I lost my sword to Nidhug!’ Menelaus turned and took his fury out on a tree, just one of many in the wood they’d found themselves in. ‘Well, you can lead us to this capital of yours,’ he said. ‘I need
fresh blood.’
The dwarf’s ruddy cheeks paled. ‘One of them, eh?’
‘One of what?’
‘Loki’s vampires? You’ll be able to heal the burn on my back then, and my ankle?’
Menelaus took Rosalia by the arm and started into the wood.
‘I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,’ the dwarf said. ‘It’s infested with your kind, and none of them are as pleasant as you.’
Menelaus sighed and bit into his arm, gesturing Hellos forth. ‘Drink,’ he said.
He winced as the little creature lapped at his blood and licked his lips. ‘That was disgusting, but thank you.’ He turned and walked downhill.
‘Where are you going?’ Rosalia called.
’To the river. It’ll lead us to the capital and away from Loki’s men.’
They ran after him, deciding to trust a grateful native over Rosalia’s ancient specimen of cartography.
28
Yew Dale
The heavy oak door creaked as I stepped into the dark interior of Yew Dale Inn.
Patrons filled the pub – and I mean filled – some of the larger giants risking a sore head if they stood up straight. The bartender narrowed his eyes. The hubbub quickly died away, the air saturated with suspicion.
Do they know who I am? A name and a face are two different things. I took an empty stool at the bar, ignoring the heightening tension. ‘Aurelia suggested I try the house special,’ I said with a smile, ‘Dale Ale, right? And one for her good friend Ullr.’
‘D’Ale. Ullr’s hunting,’ the bartender said, nodding to his other patrons, who promptly returned to their drinks and arguments.
‘That’s a shame, I require the use of his shield.’
He plonked an enormous jug of frothing ale in front of me. ‘Free of charge if you pay for a room,’ he said, completing the other half of the Fae Queen’s code. She and I had bid farewell and she’d sent me to Jotunheim with a script and location. Ullr – a god in his own right – had helped Nikolaj and Aurelia during the Elven-Fae War, and he’d been her most trusted asset in Jotunheim since then. He lived nearby, deep in the Yew Dales.
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