Wrath of Aten

by S. A. Ashdown

  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.

  Her eyes grew heavy, and for one small moment, she dropped back into the weighted blanket of peace, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. The world was better off without her, and she was better off without it.

  As she lost consciousness, she felt arms wrapping around her.

  ‘Keep her alive,’ a voice said. ‘I have a use for her.’

  A use? She hadn’t been useful while alive. It made a strange kind of sense that death would bring her purpose. Her thoughts petered out, lulled by ignorance of the agonies to come.

  The vision cleared, leaving spots behind it. Julian and Michele were standing behind her, eager. ‘What did you see?’ Julian asked.

  Ava blinked, shaking her head; emotional pain took time to discharge. She let her thumbs slide over the underside of Elspeth’s arms, finding the rough, scarred skin.

  She ignored Elspeth’s lovers. This wasn’t about them and what they wanted from her, not when they had abandoned Elspeth in the first place. Ava warmed Elspeth’s cheek with her palm. ‘I’m so sorry for everything you suffered,’ she said. ‘The torment you endured at Akhen’s hands is over now. Do you hear me? There is hope.’

  Elspeth groaned, her throat cracking from the effort. ‘What do you know of pain?’

  ‘I feel yours,’ Ava said. Elspeth stared at her through her curtain of wild, red hair. How would Theo feel, seeing this replica of his mother? Wasn’t that half the problem? Whenever anyone saw Elspeth they immediately thought of Isobel.

  ‘Menelaus needs you,’ Ava said, and Elspeth reacted as if she’d been slapped. ‘He’s in trouble. The others didn’t want to tell you in case it upset you, but you’re his mother.’

  ‘I abandoned him.’

  ‘To protect him. You gave up everything so he could have a good life, untarnished by his origins. But now he needs his mother again. He needs you to marshal every ounce of strength you have to help us save him, so he can save the Nine Realms. Can you do that?’

  Silence emanated between the stone walls of Malik’s house. Elspeth clutched onto the fur blanket Sayen had given her, tossing her head from side to side. ‘I-I…my son…’

  Ava took her hands again, and sent a thought-packet of images – snippets of conversation, memories of Menelaus – into Elspeth’s mind. She watched as Elspeth sat up straighter, her moss-green eyes moving around as if in a waking dream. ‘He’s handsome, isn’t he?’ Ava said. ‘And brave. He’s relentless when it comes to protecting his loved ones, just like you.’

  ‘But he’s trapped in the Underworld?’ Elspeth asked, catching up with the vision. Ava nodded. ‘I can help him?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Ava said, ‘if you’re willing to try.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Create a happy home for him to return to,’ Ava said. ‘Give him a selfish reason to claw his way out of the Underworld.’

  Elspeth’s wandering gaze fixed on Ava, tears streaming down her face. ‘I’ll meet him half way if I must. I never minded getting my nails dirty,’ she said. ‘And when he’s home, I shan’t ever let him go.’

  Ava hugged her. ‘I think he’ll like that.’ Michele’s hand fell onto her shoulder and she moved out of the way.

  ‘Well done,’ Sayen whispered, taking her arm. The Elf-princess paused, thoughtful. ‘You speak highly of Menelaus.’

  Ava became very conscious of her engagement ring. ‘He’s family,’ she said.

  Sayen arched a brow, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Ava’s cheeks reddened.

  Malik barged into the house. ‘Overhead!’ he shouted. ‘Nikolaj, it’s as you warned – the Craven has come!’

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ Sayen tugged on Ava’s arm, keen to see the fabled Craven. Even Michele had put on his day-suit in order to witness the spectacle.

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ Ava said, ‘being inside Elspeth’s head was pretty intense.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Ava closed her eyes to the dark room, quieting her breath as Belle had taught her to do after readings in Crystal Clear. The noise outside emphasised the silence of the house, and Ava let the tension tumble from her chest as she sat on the chair by the hearth.

  The psychic attack hit her in the head like a brick – wallop – stunning her mind. She grasped her head and fell to the floor, unable to breathe or make a sound.

  Tell me where you are.

  Ava tried to scream but the pain bore between her eyes and wrapped around her throat, exploding downwards into her chest.

  Don’t make me ask again.

  Alfheim – in Malik’s house.

  Good girl. Go to the Forest of Dreams immediately, where the boundary between Alfheim and Midgard overlaps. Tell no one, unless you want your head to explode. I will do the rest.

  An unseen force jerked Ava to her feet. She spun on her heel, almost toppling over. Suddenly the band of preternatural creatures outside seemed impossibly distant, unreachable. She staggered to the back door, each micro movement observed and approved by an invisible judge.

  Oh, but she recognised the voice. The voice of Theo’s enemy.

  Why are you doing this?

  I need a bride, remember? Did you think you could pluck Elspeth from me and not pay the consequence?

  Ava hurried across the Fork River bridge, taking the glittering road to Goldenstone market before turning down the track that led to the sprawling volcanic forest. News of the Craven had spread; Elves streamed around her, running in the opposite direction, towards Sarrow land. She felt as Elspeth had in the vision – invisible to the core – when no one stopped to question her distress.

  The grinding glass in her brain forced her deep into the trees, the heady scent trapped within the canopy assailing her overburdened senses. She cried out and was rewarded with a blow to the solar plexus. Hurry up, vessel. Turn right.

  Thick thorns ripped her robe, prickling the soles of her feet. She thought she saw her mother kissing Glen, the Fae guard, and she called to her.

  She doesn’t want you, Ava.

  Ava struggled over a large tree trunk which had fallen across the path. She caught the back of her robe and slipped, landing on…

  Menelaus. The blood spurted from his throat and splattered her face. Ava screamed.

  You failed him. You knew he was going to die, and you let it happen.

  By the time she had shoved herself away the body had vanished.

  No, she thought, I know what you’re trying to do! I helped Elspeth, I woke her up.

  Ava dragged her legs uphill – the drill bore deeper each
second that she dallied.

  And she’ll resent you forever because you witnessed her secret.

  Shut up, just shut up.

  That’s no way to speak to your husband.

  Ava grabbed onto a branch and retched; the head-splitting agony, the thought of that serpent running his hands over her body, was unbearable.

  But that’s not the worst of it, is it, Ava?

  No, that’s enough!

  She pushed herself upright, rolled her shoulders back, and forced in a lungful of air.

  You had the gift as a child. Do you remember the nightmares?

  Ava stood very still. How dare—

  Did you tell Theo? Did you tell him why you always refused to play near the cliffs?

  A sensible fear, that’s all.

  No. You sensed what was going to happen. You watched Isobel die in your dreams. And you told no one. You pretended you didn’t know her destiny.

  Ava sunk to her knees and sobbed. Everything in the Forest of Dreams was an illusion – Theo had told her that. Lies, all of it – lies coated in truth.

  I hate you, she hissed, I hate you. I was only a child.

  You have always caused Theo more harm than good. When Espen removed your memories, don’t you think he learned how you’d kept a secret that killed his wife? Why else would he keep you apart?

  Ava walked to the small, steep clearing. Above her, the volcano puffed smoke. The agony subsided. You may not believe my warnings, Akhen’s voice continued, but the Nine Realms are fusing together, to be drenched in Aten’s fire. Which is why – for the first time in millennia – I can do this…

  Sweat clung her robe to her swimming costume, her hair to her cheek. Her chest heaved, breath rapid, as the clearing was bleached in white light. Ava covered her eyes with her palms, the wind rushing in her ears.

  ‘You can look now, Ava.’

  Rough hands tore hers away. Ava peeled her eyelids open, unwilling to meet her fate.

  The sky extended in all directions. She shot rapid glances around the curved, glass walls. Beneath her feet, Ava could see the base of the tower extending down into infinity. ‘Where—’

  ‘A tower in the sky,’ Akhen said, seizing her arms. Ava shuddered. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, smiling, ‘it’s just you and me – literally. This sky-high prison resides between realms. I designed it myself.’ He leaned down as if to kiss her, then suddenly let her go. ‘Only those I admit can pass through the membranes. So before you ask, no one can find you. I suggest you conserve your energy. Enjoy the reading material and admire the view. The sunrise is really quite spectacular here.’

  Ava risked a look at the ‘reading material’. The Book of Aten?

  ‘How did you get in my head like that?’ Ava demanded.

  Akhen clasped his hands behind his back and turned back to face her. ‘The same way I transported you here, rainbow girl. Every thought, every feeling—’

  ‘The mental plane,’ Ava said, remembering what Isis had told her the day she’d been kidnapped from the shop: the connections between the branches are mental, not physical. ‘And because the Nine Realms are merging together, so are the realms of thought.’

  Akhen clapped silently. ‘I am pleased that your intellect remains intact. Nefertiti will be satisfied – once she re-attunes it to suit her Essence, of course.’

  Ava folded her arms – an impotent form of self-protection. ‘Are you going to kill me?’ she asked, but it was a whisper. Fear and altitude threatened her balance.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot purify your flesh as I did with Elspeth; your mortal body would simply disintegrate. But if you’re a good girl, I may let you retain your soul when it’s time for Nefertiti to join you.’ His droopy eyes glittered, reliving a happier time. ‘My Queen never did mind sharing her bed with other women.’ He laughed, apparently amused by that. ‘And your subdued Essence may help hers to stick.’

  Ava said nothing. There was nowhere to hide; the translucent tower provided no privacy. Akhen gestured to the free-standing bath, its golden taps glistening in the sunlight. ‘You do look a state. Bathe. There are fresh clothes on the bed. I’ll bring food later, and after, you may beg for your pathetic, Pneuma-loving life.’

  He disappeared in a flash of light.

  Ava walked to the edge of the tower and screamed at the sky.

  31

  The Craven Claim

  Malik’s tribe clamour and rush to the perimeter, forming around the Craven of Light, awed and terrified at once. The raven swishes her head from side to side, returning their tumultuous emotions with her own.

  ‘The Final Battle looms like a scythe, ready to cut us apart and nourish the soil beneath our feet with the blood of our brethren!’

  Malik clicks his fingers to his guards and has the frantic Elf towed away to the back. He glances at me, unsure. Should he address the crowd – a mixture of his people and the unfamiliar faces starting to stream onto Sarrow land – or should I?

  I feel Lorenzo’s cool hand press into my lower back, his metallic breath tickling my ear. He still acts as if I am the lonely sprite desperate for connection. Maybe he is right to do so, but I wonder if it was Freyr – my true self – I had yearned for as much as my people during our lengthy separation. ‘You’ve got this, Raph— Freyr.’

  And he is correct. Aurelia had spoken of the whispers disseminating through the Elvish court, that I had abandoned them on a whim, or may not be who I claimed. I could let this foretold creature spread fear like wildfire across Alfheim, or re-spin the story into one of hope.

  Malik takes a step towards the Craven and almost loses a hand.

  I hold up my arms, close my eyes, and invite the wind to gather me up. At first the crowd does not notice until I’m above their heads, above the Craven. Tree branches pop bark to lean closer to me. I catch my footing in an ash, steadying my weight with a hand. The Craven watches me, her eyes blue-fire, as I unfurl my fingers from my palm, catching her gaze with my own.

  ‘Come to me, Light Raven, and find peace.’

  The Elves watch, a chorus of birds and insects mirroring their agitated expressions. I remember – I am the embodiment of all life in Alfheim, even those who see a raindrop as a sea. The Craven tilts her head.

  No.

  No? A sadness weighs my heart. Rejection? That’s a first.

  And then I spot Lorenzo, a statue of menace fixed upon me, and truly comprehend the pain marring his aura; I found myself, but he lost Raphael. He remains bereft of my acceptance.

  And still he looks up, full of wonder, pride, and belief. Lorenzo wants Freyr, always.

  My doubt takes flight and leaves the nest. I let nature in, the pure atmosphere of Alfheim filling my lungs with its harmony. ‘The Nine Realms isn’t dead yet,’ I sing, in the Elvish tongue. ‘And while I am at her helm, Yggdrasil shall flower and flourish.’ As long as Lorenzo is with me, I add to the song inside, as long as his faith holds fast, I cannot fail. Alfheim is the home and refuge of all.

  Even Lorenzo.

  The Craven spreads her wings and flies to meet me. I wrap my arms around her neck and we soar along the Fork River, lighting the sky with our song.

  We head the procession, the Elves beneath, following us to the Royal Wood where I shall reclaim my throne.

  I am too lost in wonder, playing in my treasured wood and dancing around my throne of twisted tree roots to realise that Nikolaj and Lorenzo have not joined the procession.

  It is Michele and Elspeth who tell me that Ava has vanished. My elation turns to dread – my coronation will have to wait. I instruct Malik to organise a search party while I take to the Craven’s back and scour the verdant hills and forests of Alfheim. As the Orlog’s fire sinks in the sky, I find Lorenzo ensnared in the Forest of Dreams.

  ‘This is the last place I can smell her,’ he says, after we land in the clearing on the steep banks of the volcano. He is despondent, angry at himself, but I am no better at finding words than Raphael.

  ‘
We’ll find her,’ is the sum of the comfort I can offer. The Craven obeys my will and allows me to carry Lorenzo back to the Royal Wood. But that night, Alfheim is ablaze with torchlight, as from the top of my mountain I watch the Elves spread like fireflies across the land until dawn, hunting for Theo’s beloved.

  She is lost.

  Aurelia arrives with a wagon laden with gifts, but her appearance crushes the final ebb of hope that the rainbow-haired girl is safe with the Fae.

  32

  Valley of Doom

  That night Ullr and I slept high up in the canopy to avoid the nameless, nocturnal beasts that roamed Jotunheim – they were nameless because Ullr refused to talk about them. ‘How do you think I got that hideous scar on my back?’ he said, when I tried to press the matter.

  I caught glimpses though, and when we descended in the morning, fresh grooves had been ripped into the nearby trees. ‘Why don’t they eat the horses?’ I asked.

  ‘No one eats Jotun horses,’ he said, as we finished another fish breakfast and cleaned up camp. ‘They eat hoof-fuls of yew-berries to poison their flesh.’

  I looked at our steeds with newfound respect. They weren’t bothered by the steady drop in temperature as we followed the Iving to the coast, but even though the Gatekeeper kept my limbs warmer than Ullr’s, a steady sense of unease throbbed through my mind. Trepidation and something else.

  I should’ve heard from Ava by now, I thought, and I soon ran out of excuses to stop by the river, waiting for her lovely face to reflect my own. Where is she? Perhaps we kept missing each other, but as the day drew to a close, I doubted it more and more.

  We didn’t catch sight of the frozen sea until dawn the following morning, from atop the tallest tree in Jotunheim. I’d convinced Ullr to release the horses back into the wild in exchange for attempting the climb with assistance from a little reverse-astral projection, and once we had our location in full view, we linked arms and crossed the remaining woodland to the sea.