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Legacy of the Father
Legacy of the Father
Legacy of the Father
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Legacy of the Father

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The ancient gods have all but faded away. Only a handful remain, scouring the world for scraps of power to sustain themselves. When Apollo infiltrates an archaeological dig, he falls in love with a human and conceives a child but tragedy strikes when he is attacked by rival forces.

Years later, Ryan, unaware of his heritage, is a normal sixteen-year-old boy but as he finishes school, he is hounded by sinister individuals determined to abduct him for their unknown master. His life is thrown into chaos as the truth of his family is finally revealed and the mythological world explodes around him. Greek and Norse gods collide in a desperate battle for survival, and all them are out to use Ryan for their own ends.

Ryan must face up to his father's legacy and protect himself and his mother from the forces threatening to overwhelm them. Together they journey to the heart of Norse and Greek myth, facing dangers they thought were mere fantasy, in a desperate attempt to find help and stop the triumph of a deadly foe.
 

LanguageEnglish
PublisherCraig Knight
Release dateNov 15, 2018
ISBN9781386482680
Legacy of the Father

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    Legacy of the Father - Craig Knight

    Prologue

    ‘I t’s absolutely incredible .’

    Anthony jumped as Charlotte’s voice intruded in the stillness of the ancient cavern. He stared at the temple entrance and watched the shadows lurking there, banished from their centuries-old slumber by the powerful floodlights.

    ‘I wondered if we’d ever find it, but you did it,’ he replied.

    Charlotte’s ponytail bobbed as she nodded. ‘We did it, it was a team effort. Your insights were...’ she paused as she grinned at him, ‘insightful.’

    ‘Well, as much as I’d like to stand here gaping at it, shall we?’ Anthony’s heart pounded in his ears as a smile lit up Charlotte’s face.

    ‘I’m actually a bit anxious,’ she said as she wrung her hands.

    ‘I’ll go in with the crew, if you want.’ A gruff voice, gravelly like rock being scraped across rock, sounded from the access tunnel.

    Anthony had to consciously suppress the sneer that tried to force its way onto his face as Lars came into view. He rubbed a hand over his own smooth chin as he watched the squat man whose face was being consumed by a bushy beard.

    ‘Oh, you’re an angel, Lars, but Anthony and I really want to be first. A bit selfish, I know.’ Charlotte threw him her most disarming smile.

    ‘Your choice,’ Lars shrugged and returned Charlotte’s smile, but cast a dagger-glare at Anthony before he left.

    ‘I think he fancies you,’ Anthony whispered.

    Charlotte’s eyes glinted in the light. ‘Strange, I thought he was rather taken with you.’

    Anthony chuckled. She never failed to make him laugh, and it made using her like this even harder, but in his desperation, he had no choice.

    SHADOWS FROLICKED ALONG the walls as the light from Anthony and Charlotte’s torches crisscrossed the vast chamber. The temple’s interior was decorated with a dazzling array of plinths, each displaying a relic: a kithara and plectrum, a silver bow and arrow, a sculpture of a bay laurel plant, and so many others. Along each wall were towering sculptures of Apollo that stood at least twenty feet tall.

    Charlotte whistled. ‘The Lost Shrine of Apollo.’

    Anthony grunted as he scanned the chamber with his torch. Where was it? Panic rose like bile in his throat and sweat trickled down his back.

    ‘That’s odd.’ Charlotte focussed her torch beam on a statue at the far end of the chamber. ‘All the statues are the same, except this one has a bracelet.’

    Anthony’s heart lurched. He hurried over to her and stared up at the statue which wore a simple gold band wrapped around its wrist.

    ‘Just another artefact,’ he murmured.

    ‘The detail on these statues is extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything so well-preserved; they barely need any restoration.’ She flicked her torch between Anthony and the statue. ‘You look a lot like him, you know?’

    Anthony cleared his throat and shuffled away.

    Charlotte continued to talk but her words were lost on him. He’d spent so much time searching for the bracelet, he hadn’t planned how to get it once he found it. It was too risky to wait until they had packed it away but there was more to it, he wanted to tell her the truth, despite how she would react.

    ‘I need the bracelet,’ he said, and bit his lower lip.

    Charlotte lowered her torch and frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

    ‘Just the bracelet, the museum can keep the rest.’

    ‘I don’t understand. What are you saying?’

    ‘I’m sorry, I really am, but I need it, my family needs it.’

    Charlotte sighed and her shoulders sagged. ‘You’re in some kind of trouble?’

    ‘More than you can know.’ That was the truth, but she’d never understand the depth of it.

    ‘If it’s money you need...’

    ‘No, it’s... I wish I could tell you, but you wouldn’t understand.’

    The look on her face cut a deeper wound than any knife. ‘Did you use me?’ Her gaze was as intense as the light from her torch.

    ‘I did to begin with,’ Anthony replied and Charlotte’s eyebrows rose. ‘Wouldn’t you use someone if it meant saving your family?’

    There was silence for a moment, just an accusing glare hanging between them.

    ‘I thought you cared for me.’ Her face wore betrayal like a mask. ‘Has everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done together just been a lie?’

    ‘I came to love you, please believe me. Everything I said, everything we did, was the truth and I’m sorrier than you can imagine that I’ve hurt you.’

    Charlotte began to speak but was interrupted by a slow clapping from the shrine’s entrance.

    Lars stood there, leaning against a stone pillar and shaking his head. ‘Oh, how sweet,’ he sneered, ‘the great god Apollo has fallen in love again.’

    Anthony gasped. How could he know?

    Lars laughed, a deep, rakish sound that echoed through the temple. ‘You don’t know who I really am, do you? I realised who you were the instant I set eyes on you but I guess you can’t trick a trickster.’

    A trickster? It made sense, now. ‘Loki.’ Anthony shook his head. ‘I should have known.’

    Lars bowed with a flourish. ‘At your service, my Lord.’ He clicked his fingers and torches held in sconces along the walls burst into flame with a whooshing sound, sending light crashing through the chamber.

    ‘You dare intrude here?’ Anthony switched off his torch. ‘This is not your dominion; your presence here is not permitted.’

    ‘Oh, come on, Apollo. The old dominions don’t exist anymore. Not even our dear fathers have the power to enforce them. How is daddy-dearest, by the way?’

    ‘As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.’

    ‘Have you two gone crazy?’ Charlotte frowned, her torch still on and focussed at the ground. ‘What the Hell are you on about?’

    Lars smirked. ‘You haven’t told her, have you? Ah, bless.’ He turned to Charlotte. ‘My dear, you’re in the presence of gods, I hope you’re suitably impressed.’

    Charlotte’s brow furrowed and her gaze flicked between them.

    Anthony grimaced. ‘I wanted to tell you –’

    ‘You aren’t exactly catching us at our best,’ Lars said. ‘Not many of us left anymore. Who’d have known, without you lot worshipping us, we’d grow powerless and fade away?’ He tapped his lips with a finger. ‘But you did, didn’t you, Apollo?’

    ‘I am – was – the god of prophecy.’

    ‘I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you. I thought, Loki, he’s got to be after the same thing you are and I was right. It’s the bracelet, isn’t it?’ He gestured at the statue. ‘What did you do? Put a piece of yourself in it?’

    ‘I foresaw our downfall centuries ago and imbued the bracelet with part of my power for when I needed it the most.’ Anthony sighed. ‘It will sustain my family for another century.’

    Lars shrugged. ‘Well, much as I love to chit-chat, I have places to go, people to taunt. Just hand over the bracelet, I’ll be on my way and you can return to lovin’ it up with the missus.’

    ‘Not going to happen.’ Anthony crossed his arms over his chest.

    ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ Lars snarled and cast his arm forward as if throwing a ball.

    Something hard hit Anthony in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Charlotte stumbled as she backed away, mouth open, and staring at Lars as Anthony clambered back to his feet, wincing at the pain in his chest.

    Lars looked at his hand in disgust. ‘Having no power sucks, doesn’t it?’

    ‘It does if that’s all you’ve got,’ Anthony replied.

    ‘You think you have more?’

    Anthony focussed on compressing the air between his hands, moulding it with his mind, until a solid force materialised, then he cast it at Lars. A deep thud echoed through the cavern as Lars smashed into a wall but a wave of fatigue brought Anthony to one knee. He threw a glance at the bracelet on the statue.

    ‘Not too shabby,’ Lars droned as he dusted himself off, ‘but it takes a lot out of you, doesn’t it?’ He rolled back his sleeves to reveal hairy arms. ‘We’ll have to do this mano-a-mano.’

    With a roar, he stormed towards Anthony, tackling him around the waist and bowling him over. Anthony twisted himself around and delivered a kick to Lars’s face, who grunted, and fell back. Anthony jumped to his feet but Lars was ready, dancing like a boxer. Lars feigned a lunge, then turned and grabbed Charlotte, wrapping an arm around her neck. Her torch clattered across the ground into a murky corner.

    ‘The bracelet, Apollo, or I’ll snap her neck.’

    A look of indignation twisted Charlotte’s features and she elbowed Lars in the stomach. He staggered back, making an oof sound, as Charlotte turned, and with a yell, punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor.

    ‘You hit me!’ Lars said as he nursed his jaw with a hand

    Charlotte clutched her hand, wincing. ‘I don’t care who you are; come near me again and you’ll get far worse.’

    ‘Quite the little spitfire, isn’t she?’ Lars laughed. ‘I can see why you’re so taken with her.’ The grin fell from his face. ‘But no mortal touches me.’

    In a blur of motion, he retrieved a dagger from behind his belt and threw it. Time slowed as the light glinted off the surface of the blade as it flew hilt over point towards Charlotte. Anthony reached within to summon power to block the blade but nothing rose in response, an empty void where once there was a roaring fire. Charlotte tried to twist away but couldn’t move fast enough and the blade pierced her chest. She cried out, hands clutching at the hilt as she tumbled to the floor.

    ‘Charlotte!’ Anthony lunged towards her but was thrown back as Lars flung another ball of air.

    Anthony staggered backwards into the statue then stumbled to the ground, jarring his arm as he braced himself. The statue creaked as it rocked, teetering on its base for a moment before it fell forward and shattered into pieces against the temple floor. A booming sound filled the cavern and dust clouded Anthony’s vision. A tinkling sound came towards him followed by a thin golden band rolling out of the dust cloud.

    ‘No.’ Lars darted for the tiny object, stumbling in his haste.

    Anthony reached out, grabbed the bracelet, and crammed it onto his wrist before Lars could get near. It was hot against his skin, and he closed his eyes as the power flowed through him. His veins burned with it, his muscles bulged with it, and he rose onto his toes as his back arched with the ecstasy of it. It had been so long since he knew what it meant to be a god but he was now Apollo again. His eyes snapped open.

    ‘Come on, Apollo.’ Lars raised his hands in surrender. ‘Let’s not do anything rash.’

    A simple thought was all it took for flames to engulf the trickster and consume him before he even had chance to scream; all that was left was ashes sighing in the air. Apollo breathed deeply, then caught sight of Charlotte lying in a pool of blood.

    She lay motionless as he rushed to her side and placed two fingers against her neck; there was no pulse. He had to heal her, he couldn’t let her die, this was his fault, but to reverse death? That would take all the bracelet’s power and doom his family. He swore; he used to be the god of healing! This was his domain but breathing life back into the dead was a bold undertaking even at the height of his power.

    He ran a hand through his thick hair. Did mortals have to contend with intolerable decisions like this? For Charlotte to live, his family must die. You’re a god, do something! He yearned to help her, but he couldn’t condemn his family to death.

    His chin dropped against his chest. ‘I’m so sorry.’

    A thought struck him - there was another way. How things had changed, for him to consider doing this for a mortal. No, not just a mortal, the woman he loved.

    He yanked the dagger from Charlotte’s chest, fear blossoming in his stomach as blood gushed from the wound. Forcing himself to ignore it, he placed his hands on her chest and concentrated, delving deep within himself. His hands glowed and a golden light engulfed Charlotte’s body, closing the wound. After a moment, Charlotte’s back arched as she took a gasping breath.

    Apollo sagged back onto his heels and Charlotte’s fingers brushed his face.

    ‘You saved me,’ she whispered.

    ‘I love you.’ He shrugged and pulled the bracelet off his wrist, watching as it faded away. ‘For my family.’

    Charlotte grabbed his arm. ‘It was so dark then a blinding light. How did you...?’

    ‘I couldn’t use the bracelet and condemn my family to the void so I used the only thing I had left, my life force.’

    She gasped. ‘But doesn’t that mean...?’

    Apollo nodded. ‘Nothing can stop that now.’ He examined his hand, noticing that it had already become transparent. ‘But I’m okay with this, it’s a price I’m happy to pay if it saves you and my family.’

    Tears carved their way through the dirt on Charlotte’s face. ‘But what about you?’

    ‘Father says the gods don’t truly die. He says our essence drifts across the cosmos until it becomes... who knows what?’ He smiled. ‘There are worse fates, aren’t there?’

    ‘You should have told me who you are, we could have done things differently. There must be a way to save you.’

    Apollo shook his head and smiled. ‘I thought I’d live forever but I find myself content now, at the end.’

    ‘Anthony!’ Charlotte’s eyes went wide. ‘I have to tell you.’

    Just before the fog covered his vision, he saw her hands rest on her belly and heard her final words: ‘you will live on.’

    Chapter 1

    It was the glare of reflected sunlight that made Ryan look up. Kids swarmed everywhere, shouting and cheering as they flooded out of school, high on the joy of the last day of term. A row of parked cars waited across from him: a white Audi A5, a silver Ford Fiesta, and behind that, a monstrous, black Humvee. Two men stood behind the massive car, silent and still like statues, just staring at him. What was their problem? Had he grown a second head or something? One of them looked like a normal-sized man had been stretched long and thin, like he could reach up and play basketball with the sun. Ryan was one of the tallest lads in his year at two inches over six feet but this man was something else. He had a long, hooked nose, much like a beak, with shoulder length hair that appeared to have fallen out with its comb. A ring on his left hand caught the sun as he fiddled with it, dazzling Ryan with its glare. The tall man’s companion was of average height but looked short compared to his partner. He had a heavy build and wore a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed well-muscled arms.

    Ryan frowned. ‘Something I can help you with, guys?’

    A group of kids paused in their jubilations and turned to look, but the two men continued to stare until they turned as one and walked down the road. Ryan watched them go until he jumped as hands grabbed his shoulders from behind.

    ‘Mate!’ Simon exclaimed, his broad grin filling his face.

    His thick, blond hair was swept back and his face was littered with spots that looked like craters on the moon. Ryan was lucky, not a single spot had ever marred his face.

    ‘Hey, mate. You done?’ Ryan replied.

    Simon clenched his fist. ‘Yes! No more exams and three months break until college.’

    Ryan smiled. ‘Hell, yes!’ Damn, that felt good. Three months to do whatever he wanted until Mum decided he was bored and dumped chores on him.

    ‘Still waiting, huh?’ Simon didn’t pause for an answer. ‘My dad’s just down there. Come on, we can give you a lift.’

    Ryan thought if Simon was an animal, it would be a hummingbird, an over-active, overly positive hummingbird.

    ‘Thanks, but Mum said she’ll be here. She’s picking up her new car today and she’ll be pissed off if I don’t wait.’

    ‘Okay, no problem. Don’t forget, football practice tomorrow at ten.’

    ‘Yep, I’ll be there.’

    Simon waved a farewell and bolted down the road towards where his father stood leaning against their car. Ryan smiled and waved and received a salute in return, but his smile slid away as he wondered what it would be like to have a father. His own had died before he was born and Mum always got upset when he asked questions about him. She didn’t even have any photos so his father was just a faceless figure to him.

    A car horn sounded, breaking Ryan from his reverie. He looked up and grinned as Simon passed, waving frantically through the side window. Yep, hummingbird, no question.

    Ryan sighed. His last exam, Physics, had drained him. It was his worst subject, and he was sure he’d got most of the answers wrong. He wanted to go home and if Mum didn’t turn up, it was an hour walk. God, he didn’t feel like doing that. She never understood how much he had to do, he was knackered and needed food. It was all right for her, she only had to go to work.

    He dropped onto on a nearby bench that made his backside ache almost as soon as he sat. He stretched out his long legs and breathed deeply. The warm summer weather beat down on him and his eyelids insisted on closing, so to keep himself awake, he took out his phone.

    After a while, a gun fired in the distance. He turned to look and a rusty, old red car lurched towards him. It was Mum’s new one, it had to be, it was like her to pick the biggest heap of junk just to spite him. Why couldn’t she just buy a new one and save the embarrassment? Money doesn't grow on trees, she'd told him, but cars didn't cost that much. He cringed as the wreck backfired again and he could feel his face turn the same colour as the car. He glanced around, grateful that most of the kids had gone, but the few that remained were laughing and pointing at the decrepit hunk of metal that thundered towards them.

    The car pulled up at the roadside and the passenger door swung open. Ryan stood and stared. Maybe he could refuse to get in and wait until the others had gone? His idea was dismissed as a cheerful voice came from within.

    ‘Sorry I'm late, sweetie, got held up at the faculty again.’

    Sweetie? He had turned sixteen a few days earlier and was too old to be called sweetie. He hunkered his shoulders and stomped towards the car. He was sure he heard someone yell out ‘nice wheels’ but he didn't look to see who it was. Bending down, he threw his bag onto the back seat and folded his lanky frame into the passenger chair.

    ‘Hello to you too,’ his mother quipped.

    ‘Mum, this car’s embarrassing, it’s rust held together by car. Couldn’t you get a new one?’ He crossed his arms, staring ahead.

    ‘Not if you want to eat, no.’

    Ryan turned to look at his mother. She’d tied her long, wavy red hair back, and it emphasised the dark circles beneath her eyes. She still wore her id badge around her neck which carried a picture of her looking dazed. Charlotte Wilson was written in green capital letters beneath the photo.

    She poked him in the arm. ‘Cheer up misery, school's over.’

    Ryan forced a smile. ‘Yeah, sorry, Mum.’ He glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw the two men from earlier standing further down the road. ‘What’s up with those guys?’

    ‘What guys?’ Charlotte turned to look out the back window. ‘Damn, talk about Laurel and Hardy.’

    ‘Laurel and who?’

    Charlotte snorted and shook her head. ‘Never mind. Did they bother you?’

    ‘Nope, they were just staring at me, bloody freaks.’

    ‘Hmm. Tell me if you see them again, okay?’

    ‘Who cares? They’re just a couple of losers.’

    ‘Just humour me, okay?’

    ‘Yeah, whatever. Can we go? I'm starving.’ His stomach grumbled its assent.

    Charlotte laughed and fastened her seatbelt. Ryan glanced in the mirror as the car pulled off but a flash of reflected sunlight made him look away.

    Chapter 2

    Charlotte sat facing Ryan at their small dining room table. It was one of those compact designs from Ikea, ideal for people with no room. One chair was crammed against the wall, inaccessible but with just the two of them, they never used it. The table had a fancy white lace cloth covering it, a gift from Charlotte’s mother in her quest to decorate the house, but a pizza box sat conspicuously on the corner. They both helped themselves to a piece, leaving behind grease stains on the box.

    ‘Don’t forget, we’re going to your grandparents’ place in the lakes tomorrow for the weekend, okay?’ Charlotte asked.

    Ryan nodded. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve got football practice first thing though.’

    ‘I remember. We’ll have lunch then set off.’

    Ryan took a bite of his pizza but kept glancing at her, then back at the table. ‘Mum, can I ask you something?’ He licked tomato sauce from a finger.

    ‘Sure,’ Charlotte said as she peered at him.

    ‘How did you and Dad meet?’

    Charlotte felt her face drop and something fluttered inside her chest. ‘I’ve told you this before. Why are you asking again?’

    Ryan shrugged. ‘Dunno, just want to hear about him, I guess.’

    ‘Well, erm...’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘as I’ve said before, at the University. He was a research assistant on the dig I was leading.’

    ‘Yeah, but what was he like? What did you think of him when you met?’

    ‘Come on Ryan, we’re eating. It’s not the time to be telling you stories.’ Charlotte reached into the pizza box and took out another piece.

    ‘It’s only pizza, Mum, not a dinner party.’

    He was right and she couldn’t think of a valid reason to refuse to talk about it without creating an atmosphere with the subsequent frosty silences. She hoped a few tit-bits of information would mollify his curiosity as it usually did.

    She rested her chin on one palm and a smile crept onto her face as she recalled memories she usually suppressed. The slice of pizza hung limp and forgotten in her other hand as a string of melted cheese stretched closer towards the table.

    ‘He was quite something, your father. Tall as a tree, charismatic, and oh my God, was he handsome. I fell for him the moment I saw him. That face, that body...’ Charlotte cleared her throat and glanced at the table.

    ‘So, you and Dad got it on at work?’ Ryan grinned, his mouth full of food.

    ‘Hey! What a thing to say. We were very professional, I’ll have you know.’ Charlotte finished the pizza whilst struggling not to laugh. ‘I can see a lot of him in you, actually.’ She reached over and ruffled Ryan’s hair.

    ‘Oh, Mum!’ He brushed his hair back into place with greasy fingers.

    Charlotte chuckled, stood up, then cleared away the pizza box and dirty plates.

    ‘I saw Simon with his dad today and it got me thinking about mine. I miss him but I never knew him. Is that weird?’

    Charlotte paused. ‘Not really. I miss him too. It’s been sixteen years but it feels just like yesterday.’ Tears welled up in her eyes so she turned her head and whisked them away with a finger.

    After a moment of silence, a question whispered: ‘How did he die?’

    Charlotte froze and stared ahead as a lump appeared in her throat. ‘He... he died in an accident at the dig.’

    ‘What happened? Was it a cave in or something?’

    ‘Ryan... I can’t... please leave it.’ She shoved the pizza box into the bin, unable to look at him.

    Ryan pushed his chair back with a loud scrape. ‘You never talk about him. I only want to know about my dad. Is that asking so much?’

    She clutched the side of the work surface, her head hanging low. He didn’t understand.

    ‘Fine.’

    Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs followed by a door slamming that shook the walls.

    CHARLOTTE SAT IN HER bedroom and stared at the floor. Ryan had stayed in his room for the rest of the evening, only coming down to get a glass of water before bed and saying a curt ‘goodnight’. She turned to her bedside table and pulled open the top drawer. Inside, buried behind a stack of bills and bank statements covering God-knows-how-many-years, was a tiny silver box. She knew she shouldn’t, but she took hold of it, unhooked the fastener, and opened the lid. Nestled on a bed of silk was a thick lock of blond hair, tied together with a red ribbon. She picked it up and stared at it; it was all she had left of him. She smiled but her lower lip quivered so she swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears.

    Charlotte.

    She gasped and her head snapped to the side but nobody was there. She knew that voice. It’s just your imagination, she told herself, then returned the lock of hair to its box and shut it away in the drawer.

    A dark shape moved in the corner of her vision and she turned to look. Again, nothing. Her eyes widened, and she panted as a hot flush surged through her body. It had been more than a year since the hallucinations had gone away and she didn’t think she had the strength to cope with a relapse. It was talking to Ryan about his dad, about Anthony, it must have been. Dredging up those memories she tried so hard to keep down, had messed with her head. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, focussing on her breath. In... out... over and over as her yoga instructor had taught her.

    After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, feeling more relaxed. She was just being daft, unsettled by the argument with Ryan. Time for bed, get some rest and sort things out in the morning.

    Chapter 3

    ‘H ead in the game, Ryan ,’ the coach yelled as he ran alongside the players. Wearing ridiculously short shorts and a tight T-shirt, the coach looked like someone from the 1960s England squad. He blew a whistle, and the boys stopped to take a breath.

    The sun was shining and there was no trace of any breeze but it didn't invigorate him. He had slept little, dwelling on the argument with Mum

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