Wrath of Aten

by S. A. Ashdown

  If he defeated him.

  ‘Put the sword down, brother. They are all dead.’ She thrust a scabbard into his free hand. ‘I found it on the other side of the altar. Sleeve it; your eyes are burning red.’

  It took effort to lower the blade, as if it had a magnetism of its own, but it slid into the scabbard easily after that. ‘Surt can’t be far,’ he said, scanning the horizon.

  The fallen giants acted as stepping stones across the lava lakes on their return to the volcano, and they reached the gateway without incident. This feels too easy.

  Then again, maybe I’m just used to things going wrong.

  The fire lakes seemed to swirl about them.

  When they returned through the portal, Jancit clambered out of the channel and collapsed on the grass, blood pouring out of her nose.

  Narvi eyed the sword and picked Jancit up like a rag doll. ‘Mend the seal, you stupid dwarf. We don’t want Surt following yet.’ He turned to Menelaus. ‘Show it to me.’

  ‘No problem. First, put the princess down. She’s no use dead.’

  Jancit had the sense to stumble away as Menelaus unsheathed the weapon. It burned a line right down Narvi’s extended arm. He lunged at Menelaus but the light shot him into the air. The twins might be ugly, he thought, but the bastards were tough. ‘We’re to return Brann to Loki ourselves.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Vali snarled, backing off when Menelaus swung Brann in his direction. ‘Guess who we found skulking outside while you two were in Muspelheim?’ He jerked his head at one of the guards. ‘The imp sold you out.’

  The guard brought Hellos over, his hands chained and a nasty gash on his neck. ‘You’re a deserter,’ Vali hissed, ‘and your little bitch is a runaway slave.’

  Menelaus adjusted his stance, annoyed that his invisibility had once again deserted him now he was back in Loki-controlled territory. ‘Be sure to tell Daddy that press-ganging souls into his army isn’t the best way to breed loyalty – after you explain to him how you let us escape.’

  On cue, Rosalia hopped onto his back. Menelaus crouched and leapt over to Hellos, grabbing his arm and swinging his weight to act as a propellent as they hurtled through the air to the doorway.

  Jancit was inside, her eyes wide. ‘Show me where the prisoners are,’ he said, cutting Brann through the dwarf’s chains. ‘What the Hel are you doing here, Hellos?’

  ‘I just wanted to go home…and maybe plunder a few relics,’ Hellos said. He tapped his bulging pockets.

  Menelaus rolled his eyes and dashed down the mosaic hall until they reached the passageway that led to the dungeon, immediately blinding the guards on the stairwell with the sword-light. ‘Is that all of them?’

  ‘I can handle the other guards,’ Jancit said.

  ’Rosalia, go with Jancit. I’ll hold the others off.’

  It was bloody work. Narvi and Vali sent wave after wave of vampires, but none turned to stone under Surt’s fire. They withered away. Souls burned to ash.

  Menelaus felt sick, his fury expressed in each tension of muscle and parry, until he was yelling at the generals, pronouncing them cowards until they caught his barbs and charged at him.

  He knelt, holding the blade horizontally above his head. The heat, the light, the pulse of the sword beat in time with his heart, its intensity increasing with his own rage. In the hands of a giant like Surt, it would’ve been truly apocalyptic.

  Menelaus was only a dhampir. But it sent the generals careering backwards through the enormous arched windows illuminating the hall.

  ‘That’s quite something,’ Jancit said, heading up the group of dwarfs she had liberated. Rosalia rounded up the stragglers and they hastened out of the palace, no one arguing against abandoning the ancient seat of power in favour of following the half-dead vampire-warlock bearing Surt’s sword. Menelaus was their best bet at survival.

  Since when had he made this habit of rescuing prisoners?

  He smiled. This was the reason he’d become a Guardian in the first place. He’d died to defend the innocent once already and he knew in his heart that his sacrifice would bring his soul back to life. Ava had been right – this mission was fate, his path back to Midgard. But it was also his way back to himself.

  36

  The Utgard Fortress

  A blizzard hit us as we descended into the Valley of Doom, and several times I lost sight of Ullr completely. He led on, banging his shield so I could find him instead of getting spun round by the storm.

  For once, it wasn’t me causing the poor weather.

  Twilight cloaked the atmosphere, making it impossible to distinguish day from night. ‘We should rest,’ Ullr said at last.

  ‘I’m not tired!’ I shouted in the direction of his voice.

  He lodged his shield against the near vertical incline of the snowy bank at an angle to the storm. ‘Gatekeeper or not, you’ll need your full strength to approach Utgard in one piece. And damn it, I’m thirsty.’

  I sighed, and huddled next to him under the shield. ‘I’ll melt us some water,’ I said, gesturing for his bowl to scoop up the snow. I added a little extra heat to warm our stomachs.

  ‘I’d rather you summon some D’Ale,’ he said, unimpressed. ‘And there’s always stew in the kitchen pot – Hond won’t mind.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure, would you like fries with that?’ He stared at me blankly. ‘Chips? Cut up, deep-fried potatoes?’

  ‘What is wrong with you Midgard-born? Is your mortality not enough of a death sentence without enticing it quicker?’

  ‘Says the man who regularly visits the Valley of Doom.’

  Ullr shrugged. ‘I am not mortal.’

  ‘Stew it is.’ Turns out, Hond’s wife cooked her stew in a cauldron – half-full, but after our hideous hike, even the scrapings were welcome. We drank and ate and I rested against the snowy bank, drifting off.

  Theo, help me. Theo!

  Ullr shook my arm. ‘Wake up.’ I jerked, almost whacking him in the face. ‘We can’t stay here.’

  He yanked his shield out of the ground, and the storm’s force threatened to bury me unless I hurried after him. I tried to keep hold of the fluttering dream but the wind blasted the memory away, leaving only a general unease in its wake.

  As we trudged uphill, the weather improved, and Ullr dropped back next to me. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  I frowned. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re quiet. You’re never quiet.’

  ‘I’m apprehensive, that’s all.’

  Ullr grunted. ‘Stick to the plan,’ he said, referring to the discussion we’d had after he’d knocked me over with his shield.

  ‘Right, Phase One,’ I said at exactly the right moment; the snow died out, leaving a clear view of the challenge ahead. Lining each side of the valley extending in front of us, an army of frozen soldiers with spears of ice crisscrossed the only path to Utgard, waiting to impale intruders. Archers filled the gaps between each spearman, crystal arrows pointed into the sky.

  ‘This is one of those Going on a Bear Hunt moments,’ I said. ‘We can’t go over it, we can’t go under, we can’t go around…’ We’re going to have to go through it.

  Ullr swung his shield and held it in front of us. I pushed it away. ‘You can keep it,’ I said. ‘From here on out I’m going full Gatekeeper – no way am I getting speared or shot by those things.’ I didn’t want to risk projecting across in case the magic invested in this army sliced my body to pieces when I summoned it. ‘How did you get through with Nik?’

  ‘We spent a while building a tunnel but it was discovered and filled in years ago.’ He stepped forward.

  I projected in front of him. ‘Ullr, this time you’re going to stay behind me.’

  I walked as close to the frozen soldiers as I dared. The size of pylons, their eyes tracked my approach, prompting chunks of ice to crash into the path ahead as they prepared to respond.

  I couldn’t resist goading them. ‘You may be cold, you may be tall, but you’ve got n
othing on the Gatekeeper’s fire!’ I rose high into the air, above the tips of the skyward spears.

  The archers swivelled towards me with greater deftness than I thought possible.

  I opened my aura, forcing it into the storm behind, and latched onto the howling wind, heating it with my magic.

  The first archer loosed his arrow.

  I threw my arms forward, the now scalding wind funnelling around my body. Far below, Ullr braced against his shield. The air quivered with heat, melting the arrow into glass beads, hot embers that rained upon the snow. I smiled, closing my eyes, basking in the cosmic fire I was Syphoning from the Orlog, and hurtled the heatwave across the Valley of Doom, melting everything in its path.

  The frozen army, the banks of snow, even the supports surrounding the gateway to the fortress itself, flooded the valley as they turned to water. Ullr yelled and jumped onto his upturned shield just in time. I snapped out a tendril of magic and held him fast until the sudden river surged past, drowning the dip in the valley where we had paused for respite.

  I floated back down, and Ullr and I strode uphill to the gates of Utgard. Faces thronged the ramparts, empty only minutes before. ‘At last,’ I said to Ullr, who kept shooting me sideways glances, ‘a welcome party.’

  Utgard-Loki’s smile was about as welcoming as a shard of ice. Which doesn’t say much, considering he was made of the stuff, or rather it appeared that the atoms and molecules that made up his skin had crystallised and fused together into an unbroken armour of frigidity.

  I waved at him from the portcullis. ‘Greetings from Midgard via Alfheim. We need to talk!’

  Silence. Ullr shifted beside me. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted with all my might, this time addressing the onlookers in Old Norse. ‘Utgard-Loki! You saw what I can do – let us in or I’ll huff and I’ll puff—’

  Ullr nudged my ribs. ‘What?’ I said. ‘I started with a bear hunt, might as well end with the three little pigs.’

  WHAT DO YOU WANT?

  The boom of Utgard-Loki’s voice knocked us onto the ground. His men laughed at us. ‘His lips didn’t move,’ I said. ‘No fair.’ I stood up, brushing the dirt from my cloak. ‘You have something that belongs to Freyr, and he wants it back.’

  The ice god bellowed. ‘Freyr! He hasn’t been seen in eons!’

  For Jörð's sake, this could go on forever. ‘I get it. No one comes in without your approval.’

  The chortles died down. I waited until silence reigned. ‘But there’s a big old sea out there filled with giants, perfect for my magical catapult. I don’t think it would take too long to damage your wards enough for me to break them. I’m sure your men would rather get back to…well, whatever it is one does in an ice fortress. And my man and I here would love a drink and a catch-up. Sound reasonable?’

  Utgard-Loki vanished. A line of soldiers hoisted their weapons through the gaps in the ramparts and trained them on us. ‘Theo, if we die,’ Ullr said, ‘I’d like to say you’re the most infuriating warlock I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Apart from Nikolaj.’

  A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘I die corrected.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I’m extremely talented at necromancy. Just ask Lorenzo.’

  Jörð, I missed that vampire.

  The gates of the portcullis screeched open. Utgard-Loki appeared, his lean body reaching the apex of the archway. ‘One wrong move,’ he hissed, ‘and I’ll grind your bones—’

  ‘To make my bread.’

  Ullr kicked me in the heel. ‘I’m sorry, but he walked right into that one.’

  I stepped forward and extended my hand. ‘Gatekeeper of the Lífkelda, otherwise known as the Syphon to the Nine Realms.’

  He stared at my hand like it was some kind of alien technology, keeping his hidden behind his back. Yet he exchanged a nod with Ullr.

  ‘Tunnel builder,’ Utgard-Loki said. ‘I see you make a habit of fraternising with warlocks.’ He sucked in his cheeks. ‘At least this one doesn’t stink of Elf.’ He stepped aside and allowed me into the ice rink otherwise referred to as a courtyard.

  Then he shut the gate on Ullr. ‘Hey! Wait!’

  Utgard-Loki held up a bangled arm to block my path. ‘Just you, Gatekeeper. He cannot help you attain what you seek.’

  Ullr slammed his shield into the gate but the metal warped. He cradled his dented shield like a baby with a broken limb. ‘It’s okay,’ I called. ‘Go home. Send word to our mutual friend that I have arrived.’

  To his credit, he hesitated. Abandoning his charge wasn’t easy for him, and perhaps if he hadn’t seen my powers in action he would’ve protested. Either way, I felt better that Aurelia would get wind of my arrival, giving her and Ava peace of mind. He clapped his arm against his chest as a means of salute, and I returned it. ‘Take care, young warlock,’ he said.

  I approached the gate again and slipped him the lock of Freyr’s hair. ‘You should find attracting horses easier with this.’

  Ullr tucked it into his jacket with an amused smile. ‘Once this is over,’ he said, ‘there’s a pint of D’Ale waiting for you and Nikolaj.’

  ‘Only a pint?’ I whispered. ‘I look forward to it. Farewell, Ullr.’ And then I turned my back on him.

  To his credit, Utgard-Loki was waiting patiently, his open hostility replaced with a calm, even welcoming posture. I didn’t presume to understand ice-giant body language or psychology, so I decided to follow his lead while keeping alert. ‘It’s just you and me now,’ I said.

  He nodded, then strode across the courtyard without warning. ‘The Outland King is many things,’ he said, ‘but inhospitable isn’t one of them. Come, Gatekeeper. You must be hungry.’ He stopped in front of the entrance to the fortress itself, and I noted how the ice had been carved into floral patterns around the doorframe. ‘No doubt Ullr had you eating stew and drinking snow water. I’ll think you’ll find even we can do better than that.’

  In sight of the guards on the ramparts, I followed their king into the fortress.

  And found a feast.

  ‘Where did this food come from?’ I asked, as Utgard-Loki escorted me to the table as long as a felled sequoia. Mirrors at each end of the hall reflected the table and the feast upon it to infinity. I took the chair next to him, somewhat surprised when it automatically adjusted to suit my height – or lack of it.

  ‘My suppliers prefer to remain anonymous,’ he said. He loaded up his plate, the others taking his cue and diving into the platters of meat, vegetables, whole forests of wild animals, grain fields worth of bread, and a good river of fish.

  ‘Is that samphire?’ I asked, as a plate of vibrant green stalks whizzed by. Receiving no answer, I grabbed a boat-shaped dish of rice, infused with saffron and mixed with dried fruit. The Outland King had been telling the truth – the giants of Utgard dined as gods. It would be rude not to join in….

  ‘So, Freyr wants his sword back?’ Utgard-Loki said as soon as I had a mouthful of rice. ‘And he has sent you to retrieve it. That pretty boy never had the stomach for a fight.’

  ‘He’s more of a tactician,’ I said, crunching into a roll the size of my head.

  ‘Where has he been?’ He pushed back his chair and leaned down so that his elegant golden crown almost bumped my forehead. ‘What has he been up to?’

  ‘Trying to prevent the end of the world. Or worlds, plural. But the Midgard Serpent has reared its ugly head, and Loki – the other one – is acting up too. And I assure you,’ I said, ‘Akhenaten’s fire will melt your fortress into a puddle. It’s in your best interests to return Istapp.’

  Utgard-Loki rested his chin on this hand. ‘That is, of course, if you win, Gatekeeper.’

  ‘If I lose,’ I said, ‘not even Freyr’s sword can save you from oblivion.’

  ‘I am no friend to the Aesir,’ he said, sitting back and flicking his ropey white hair over his shoulder. ‘I will not mourn their demise.’

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t
think Akhen nor Loki nor Surt give a damn about who you will mourn. Utgard is nothing but a glorified igloo to them. Like it or not, I’m your best chance at survival.’ I bit into a fig and licked my fingers. ‘You’ll agree the food is too good here to die, yes?’

  We listened to the merriment taking place along the table, the icy exterior of the giants melting away in the warmth of the fireplace that heated the hall. I understood most of the conversation – Father had taught me Old Norse, and I spoke Norwegian anyway – though my discussion with their kind had been in English. They ate and drank and laughed, oversized people enjoying their existence. They too are my responsibility.

  I noticed that no one tried to talk to me.

  Eventually, the king remembered I’d asked him a question. ‘I am not convinced a midget like you has what it takes to defeat the foes you have listed, despite destroying my defences. To win, you must be hungry for victory, quick, strong, and single-minded in embracing your destiny.’

  ‘I am,’ I said, a little too quickly.

  ‘Then you’ll be happy to prove it.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘A few simple challenges to test your mettle. If you succeed, I give you my oath as king that I shall let you take Istapp without protest.’

  The feasters fell silent as Utgard-Loki stood to his full height, hand pressed against his chest. ‘My solemn oath!’ he roared.

  The feasters’ returning roar reverberated around the high ceilings. I covered my ears. ‘It has been heard!’

  ‘I think I’ve gone deaf,’ I muttered.

  ‘Do you agree, Gatekeeper?’

  Perhaps if Ullr had been present he would’ve insisted I avoid the king’s games, but I was outnumbered and didn’t wish to fight. That, and ‘impulsive’ was my middle name. ‘Deal,’ I said.

  ‘Where is that lazy mountain, Skrymir?’ the king shouted.