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Narrated by Nina Yndis
Crystal SeitzUnabridged — 15 hours, 22 minutes
Narrated by Nina Yndis
Crystal SeitzUnabridged — 15 hours, 22 minutes
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Seitz’s propulsive prose takes readers on a thrilling journey through terrifying forests filled with monsters, myths, and deadly magic. With a seductive silver-haired vampire, ancient blood oaths, and long-buried family secrets, Inheritance of Scars is sure to enchant dark fantasy readers.
"Seitz folds elements of her own experience with chronic illness into Astrid's recurrent worries about her Crohn's diagnosis, and the reimagined Norse folktales and mythical creatures will appeal to fans of classic fairy tales, especially those who like the creepier side of those stories."
A romantic, blood-soaked tale about forging your own path and the shifting lines between love and hate. I was swept away by this journey into the forest of Tiveden, where the cold is unrelenting and your heart can be as treacherous as the creatures that prowl the darkness. Fans of enemies-to-lovers—and vampires!—will adore this one.
Seitz has crafted a riveting and, at times, gruesome portrayal of legacy and what it means to inherit the ways of your foremothers. Main character Astrid’s journey toward self-advocacy is entwined in a heart-pounding quest for her lost grandmother with a dual-timeline look at the world of her ancestors. I felt like I was right there with Astrid and her reluctant (and handsome) guide. I can’t wait to read what Seitz cooks up next!
"Inheritance of Scars is sure to leave its mark on you! This debut is as deeply romantic as it is hauntingly atmospheric. Seitz has intricately woven together dual timelines to craft a tale spanning multiple generations. Readers will find themselves transported into the lush, wintry village of Unden where the small town is just as bloodthirsty and secretive as the monstrous forest surrounding it. And remember, no matter what you do, the blood oath must not be broken."
Inheritance of Scars is a sweeping, romantic adventure that’s as brutal as a cursed winter forest and as tender as a secret kiss.
"A solid debut dark fantasy inspired by Norse myth and folklore sure to please the intricate romantasy reader."
"Debut author Seitz intersperses passages narrated by Skaga into Astrid’s first-person account, weaving an impressive backstory deeply rooted in pagan beliefs. Astrid’s story expertly conveys her pain as she unravels her family’s secrets and her own destiny...A bloody love letter to Norse mythology."
2024-07-19
A Swedish girl must venture into the heart of ancient legends when her beloved grandmother disappears.
After Amma vanishes into the forest that’s home to the Hidden Folk, 17-year-old Astrid Skarsgård leaves Stockholm for the small village of her childhood. While searching for clues, Astrid finds a note from Amma telling her to follow the path into the Tiveden forest beyond the stave church, a place shunned by locals. Astrid’s skeptical of her grandmother’s folktales, but her disbelief is shattered when she finds a hidden cellar in Amma’s house containing a sleeping draugr, or undead creature, named Soren. After accidentally waking Soren, she learns he’s the lover of Skaga, her distant foremother who imprisoned him there. Soren wants to find Skaga and break the blood oath that’s destroying Tiveden, and together they journey into the forest, where they encounter nightmarish creatures and undead ancestors, growing closer as they face dangers. Through visions of Skaga, Astrid learns of her village’s violent history and realizes she’s a pawn in an age-old war between villagers and the Hidden Folk, forcing her to choose between love and family. Debut author Seitz intersperses passages narrated by Skaga into Astrid’s first-person account, weaving an impressive backstory deeply rooted in pagan beliefs. Astrid’s story expertly conveys her pain as she unravels her family’s secrets and her own destiny. Astrid is immunocompromised and has Crohn’s disease.
A bloody love letter to Norse mythology. (author’s note with content warning and link to pronunciation guide)(Dark fantasy. 14-adult)
| BN ID: | 2940191338736 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Simon & Schuster |
| Publication date: | 10/01/2024 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Chapter One People don’t just disappear. Not anymore.
But that’s the reason we’re heading home for the first time in nine years. Dad drives down the winding road, and the seat belt cuts across my throat as I lean closer to the window. Tiveden forest presses in around us, ragged pines reaching for our car like thousands of outstretched hands.
I peer out at the snow-drenched woods, half looking for the creatures my grandmother used to warn me about. Anytime something went wrong in Unden, Amma blamed the Hidden Folk. Food spoiling too quickly, covered with crawling flies. Power outages leaving us in cold darkness. Birds dropping out of the sky like stones.
When I first got sick.
No matter how long I stare out the window, I don’t see any monsters. I’m sure Amma would say what she always said about the Hidden Folk: Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Except now she isn’t here either.
We got the call no one wants to get a month ago while Dad and I were out for yet another doctor’s appointment. Because of course Dad still uses a landline. The voicemail was waiting when we got back, a blinking red light.
This is Officer Lind from Unden. No one’s seen Ingrid in a few days. We checked her house, but she wasn’t around. Thought maybe she’d gone to visit you in Stockholm? Well, just give us a call—
“We should be there soon,” Dad says, startling me back to the present.
“Took long enough,” I mutter, fiddling with the radio.
Dad ignores my barb and flips the radio off, leaving us in sudden silence. Now our soundtrack is bitter December wind blasting the car and tires grinding over gravel. Something about the motion makes me sick to my stomach. Or maybe it’s because I’m finally going home.
To Unden.
Maybe this is another before-and-after moment and I just don’t know it yet.
Before the voicemail, I hadn’t heard Amma’s name spoken aloud since we moved. After, dread doused me like ice water. Dad rubbed his mouth like he always does when he doesn’t know what to say, which is most of the time. He didn’t need to explain. I already knew. Neither of us had seen Amma in nine years. She was too old, too stubborn to ever leave Unden. So if she was missing now, it could only mean one thing.
Something had happened to her.
I’m sure she’ll turn up, Dad offered eventually.
She didn’t, and so here we are. Sighing, I slip my cell phone out of my pocket. I pull up my messages, scrolling through the most recent texts from Zuri:
soooo when are we getting Mr. Cake again??
Astridddddd
since when do u not want cinnamon rolls lol
hey, everything ok?
ok girl you’re actually worrying me now. are you ok?? it’s not another flare, is it?
I tap my thumb on the reply bar, but I don’t know what to tell her.
No service either. Great.
The rest of my messages are texts from people I never answered. Hey, how are you? and Want anything? and Wanna hang out? Maybe I’m just pushing Zuri away like I do everyone else. At least now I can use no reception as an excuse.
But it also means no distraction. The drive to Unden feels endless, like the hours I spent waiting for any update from Officer Lind. I remained right by the phone, because the alternative was staring blankly at homework or, more likely, Netflix. Each time it rang, I bolted over, but it was always Dad’s work or my gastroenterologist.
Days passed. Weeks.
Then finally Officer Lind called.
We’re going to find her became I’m so sorry.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, hoping it will calm me, but I’ve felt sick to my stomach since that last call. This better not be another flare-up. Not long ago, I could barely get out of bed to make it to the bathroom, never mind travel hundreds of kilometers. Dad didn’t want me to come. You never even let me say goodbye, I reminded him. Dad sighed. Fine, Astrid. This is your opportunity, but then you have to move on with your life.
He’s barely spoken to me since.
We’ve been driving for hours and in the car, there’s no escaping Dad. I can’t retreat to my bedroom or slam the door in his face. As the forest blurs outside the window, I catch a flash of something between the trees—
No, not something. Someone.
A wrinkled, pale face floating in the darkness of the forest. A white braid hanging over her shoulder like a rope. If I’d blinked, I might’ve missed it. Missed her. My breath catches in my throat. Amma is here.
“Stop!” I shout.
Dad slams the brakes, and the tires scream in protest. Momentum throws us forward in our seats. We skid off the icy road toward a tree, but Dad swerves away at the last moment. A low-reaching branch digs into the side of the car like nails scraping over a chalkboard. We screech to a halt, my heart pounding wildly.
Dad grips the steering wheel, white-knuckled. He turns to me, breathing hard. “Shit, Astrid. Are you okay? What is it?”
“Amma,” I choke out. “I just saw Amma in the forest.”
My eyes dart between the tall trees. Broken branches jut out like rib cages. Pine needles shiver as a breeze blows through the forest. My skin tingles, dread washing over me. Amma was right there.
Now no one is.
I stare at the empty space between the trees, trying to make sense of it.
I jab the cold glass. “She was right there!”
Dad rubs his mouth, his large hand scratching over his beard. He barely glances in the direction of my finger before pulling back onto the road. My focus remains glued to the side mirror as the trees recede into the distance.
“You know,” Dad says, hesitating a moment, “when I lost your mother, I saw her everywhere.”
I blink. We don’t talk about Mom. Ever.
Even though I never knew her, I’ve felt her absence my entire life. Mom died shortly after giving birth to me. Sepsis caused by postpartum infection. Though he’s never said it, I know Dad blames me instead of her shitty immune system. I’m a living reminder of everything he lost. That’s why he’s always angry. Why we always fight. He wants to forget, when all I want is to know her. If it weren’t for Amma, I wouldn’t even know that Mom loved to bake semla year-round and sing along off-key to ABBA.
But then the shock wears off, and the rest of his words hit me.
“Don’t act like Amma is dead,” I say tightly.
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t respond.
“We don’t know anything, not without a body.” I twist toward him, and my seat belt is the only thing restraining me. “Maybe if you hadn’t delayed for a month, we would’ve found her by now.” Maybe I would’ve noticed something everyone else missed. Maybe I could’ve found her.
Maybe I still can.
“We’re not here to find her.” Dad glances between me and the road, his shoulders tense. “We’re here to lay her to rest and evaluate the estate. Take care of loose ends. Once that’s finished, we’re getting the hell out of here and never coming back. We agreed, Astrid.”
“Lay her to rest?” I give a sharp, disbelieving laugh, and drag a hand over my braid. “How, exactly? She hasn’t even been found.”
Dad takes his eyes off the road long enough to give me an irritated look. “Unden is holding a vigil for her.” His brow furrows, deepening the creases in his forehead. “That’s the only reason you’re here. So you can say goodbye this time, like you said.”
I look away. Stare out the window. “We never should’ve left. We should have been here to take care of her. If we were, this never would’ve happened.”
“I took you away for your own good,” he says tightly.
I have to blink back tears. “Bullshit.”
“Stop blaming me.” Dad smacks his palm against the steering wheel. “Stop blaming yourself. Do you want to make yourself sick again?”
He’s seriously doing this. Acting like I can’t handle any stress just because I’m sick. If I hadn’t been there when he played the voicemail, I’m not sure he would’ve even told me. Or if Amma’s disappearance would’ve just become another thing on the long list of topics we never talk about. All kinds of messy feelings well up in me, threatening to overflow.
“I love her, Dad.” My throat aches with the words. “Is that so wrong? I need to know what happened to her. I can’t just move on and forget like you do.”
Silence forms a wall between us.
“She was old,” he says finally. “Her mind wasn’t all there anymore. She wandered into the woods and got lost. It happens more often than you’d think.”
I shove my hands into my coat pockets. “Amma isn’t senile—”
“She was.” His voice is harsh. “You were too young to realize it, but she was. You don’t know her like I do.”
My palm grazes the paper tucked inside my coat. The last letter I received from Amma. We’ve been communicating for years, but Dad has no idea, and I’m not about to mention it. After we left, he forbade any contact with her. He’d be furious and ground me if he found out.
“Whose fault is that?” I ask instead. Even the question leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Dad sighs heavily. “I won’t talk about this, Astrid.”
I curl my left hand into a fist, until my nails bite into the scar that runs across my palm. He always does this. Every damn time. The air in the car turns suffocating. Almost as suffocating as Dad. As I lower the window to a blast of cold air, part of me wishes he was the one who disappeared.
No.
No, I don’t. Even the thought of it feels like a swift punch to the stomach. I can’t imagine my life without him. Dad has been my only constant. He’s the one who takes me to my doctor appointments and colonoscopies, who spends the visiting hours at my bedside when I’m in the hospital, who makes sure I never forget my medicine.
I’d miss him even more than I resent him.
So I stare out the window, even though no blue sign declaring VÄLKOMMEN TILL UNDEN is going to greet me. Unden doesn’t appear on any map. Amma always said you can only find it if you know where to look. Our remote village has been forgotten by time. Unden is like a drying river, slowly diminishing. No one ever comes here.
No one ever leaves, either, not unless they die.
Except me and Dad.
As we drive down the only road into Unden, it feels familiar and foreign at once. Some kids chase our car down the street, and I have to fight a smile. When I was their age, I used to race like that too, laughing and screaming with friends, back when it was still easy to fit in. Back before I was too angry, too sick, too much.
Old houses stand out bright as blood against the snow. Unlike the colorful pastels of Stockholm, the homes here are all the same shade of Falu red. Instead of tall buildings crowded together, the village spreads over a generous swath of land, and in the distance, the tiered roof of the stave church darkens the bleak gray sky.
We pass a pole that looks like a lamppost, but instead of a light, a giant animal skull rests on top of it. The animal’s empty eye sockets stare at me while we drive by Old Ulf’s house. Unease scrapes across my skin. That is certainly something I’d never see in Stockholm.
A níðstong pole for cursing enemies. Or neighbors, in Ulf’s case. He’s famous around here for his unpleasant attitude. When I was a kid, we all called him Old Ulf and whispered about how he was over two hundred years old. I’m surprised he’s still around—and Amma isn’t.
A group appears ahead, erecting a large wooden structure using ropes. A rune for protection. Other giant rune effigies are being raised all over the village ahead of Midwinter on December twenty-first. Eight days from now they’ll be set ablaze to protect us from the Fell King while the Bright Lady is at her weakest.
Midwinter was the one night of the year Amma would leave me. As Unden’s foremother, it was her duty to lead the community and preside over the town-wide celebration. Not that I ever saw the ritual. Dad never let me attend. We stayed home instead. All I could do was watch from my window while everyone else gathered in the streets and lit the effigies.
Amid the group, I catch a glimpse of a long white braid—
My heart sticks in my throat.
As her face comes into view, my mistake becomes clear. Those stern features could only belong to Helga, the village healer and Amma’s best friend. Of course it’s not Amma. I swallow my disappointment. Part of me wishes we could stay until Midwinter, but Dad made it clear we had to be back in Stockholm by then. This is just a quick weekend trip, and I can’t miss any more classes.
A few houses down, Ebba Karlsson watches us from her window. She’s the typical middle-aged nosy neighbor who needs to know everything that’s going on. Our eyes meet momentarily. She disappears, lace curtains fluttering in her wake.
Tires crunch the snow like glass as we roll to a stop. Not in front of our house, but the police station. If you can even call it that. It’s more of a converted barn, which leans sharply to one side, looking ready to collapse at any moment.
“What are we doing here?”
“I told you. Taking care of loose ends.” Dad rubs his forehead. “There’s some paperwork Officer Lind needs me to sign, and I want to get it over with as soon as possible. Be right back.”
He slams the car door, putting a punctuation mark on this conversation.
I climb out after him. “What paperwork?”
Dad heads toward the police station without even looking back. “To declare my mother legally dead.”
Dead.
The word is sharp and sudden, cutting through my thoughts. At least missing holds the possibility of being found. Tears build behind my eyes until I feel like a dam about to burst. We don’t even have a body—or any answers.
I chase him inside the station. “You can’t.”
Lights blink and hum overhead. Paint peels off the clapboard walls like scabs.
Officer Lind sits at a large wooden desk, chatting on the phone. Behind him, a series of photos line the wall. Portraits of Unden’s past foremothers. Since cameras existed, anyway. The six frames are eclectic, but the photos are eerily similar. A smiling woman standing in front of the stave church with a crown of braided hair.
My stomach flips when I reach the last picture. Amma. I used to believe mine would hang in the empty space beside hers one day. Since I was young, I’ve dreamed of leading Unden, like Amma always said I would. It’s why I chose to focus on business administration in high school. A big part of me still wants that title, but not yet.
Not if it means Amma is gone.
Dad clears his throat loudly.
“Sorry, they just got here, Ulf.” Officer Lind looks relieved to see us. Old Ulf was probably complaining again. “Talk later.” He drops the phone into the receiver and pushes up from the desk, holding out a hand to my dad. “Rick, good to finally see you again. You too, Astrid. Will you be joining us for the vigil tomorrow?”
Dad stands as still as a statue. “I’m here for the paperwork, Adrian. Save the pleasantries for someone else.”
I glance between them, shifting uncomfortably. The tension is palpable. And I’m caught in the middle. Amma once mentioned they used to be best friends but had a falling-out over my mom. Eventually they became drinking buddies after her death. Right now, it sure seems like they can’t stand each other.
Officer Lind drops his hand. And his smile. “Fine, Rick. Have it your way.” All pretense of politeness vanishes as he shuffles through the piles of papers on his desk. “I just need you to sign these here.”
Whatever is going on between them isn’t important. Finding Amma is.
“Shouldn’t you still be searching?” I ask.
Officer Lind doesn’t glance up. “We searched for days. Everyone helped, but there was no trace of her anywhere in Unden.”
“People don’t disappear here,” I say, recalling the flash of Amma I saw in the forest.
“I suspect she went into the woods,” he says as if reading from a report. His voice is flat. Factual. “Used to be somewhat of a tradition. When resources were scarce, the elderly would sacrifice themselves for the communal good. And while I was doing interviews... well, it turns out Ingrid was sick. Helga said she didn’t have long, anyway.”
His words hit me like a hard slap, nearly knocking me over. “What?”
It takes a moment for me to realize what he’s saying.
What Dad didn’t tell me earlier.
“You think she went... to die?” The words drop from my mouth, heavy.
Silence is his only answer.
Amma never mentioned she was sick. I shake my head so hard my braid sways. They’re wrong. Amma wouldn’t just... abandon me. The letter I have in my pocket is proof of that.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Then why haven’t you found her?”
“Because she didn’t want to be found.” Officer Lind’s mouth twists. “She went beyond the stave church. I’m not risking any more lives, simple as that. Tiveden is too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous? What about Amma?”
Wait. He’s not talking about the dense forest, or treacherous terrain, or even the freezing temperatures, is he? He’s talking about that stupid superstition: never go beyond the stave church. Supposedly, if you do, you’ll be devoured. Drained of blood. Bones broken like branches. Superstitions I was only scared of as a kid.
“The Hidden Folk aren’t even real,” I say.
I look to Dad for backup. He’s always hated his mother’s stories. The word he used for them was nonsense, or if he was feeling less generous, bullshit.
Now he has nothing to say.
He must not care why as long as he gets to clean his hands of this. Case closed. Time to move on.
“What if there’s proof she’s alive?” I ask before I think better of it.
Officer Lind’s chair creaks as he leans forward. “Do you know something?”
I hesitate, fingers brushing over Amma’s letter. Mail takes forever to arrive from Unden, so I didn’t get it until a week ago. The smooth paper is creased from how many times I’ve reread it since, enough times to know the words by heart:
As your birthday approaches, I cannot help but recall the day you were born. You were absolutely perfect. Your hair was blond as wheat cream, your eyes the color of fresh hazelnuts, your little laugh like birdsong. I cannot remember ever loving something so much. For so long, I begged Freyja to give me a daughter. Finally, she blessed me with you.
And now soon you will turn eighteen yourself. How time passes! You must return to Unden before Midwinter so we can celebrate your birthday together. I’ve prepared a special gift for you, one that can only be given in person. We have much to celebrate this year! You will become an adult, and not even your father can keep us apart.
We need no goodbyes.
Amma
I grip the paper as Officer Lind watches me, waiting.
Dad stares at me so intensely, it feels like I’m being raked over hot coals.
This letter is proof they’re both wrong. She was in her right mind. She didn’t just wander off or abandon me. She was waiting for me to come home. But it’s also damning proof that I’ve been secretly communicating with her right under Dad’s nose. Years of swiping the mail will be undone in a second. Knowing Dad, this letter would be enough reason to turn around and go back to Stockholm, vigil or no vigil.
“No.” Sighing, I slip my hand from my pocket. “Not yet.”
Officer Lind glances between us uncertainly. “Well then.” He slides the papers across the desk like he’s handing out a death sentence. “Here’s that paperwork. Sign right here, Rick.”
As soon as Dad signs, no one will ever look for Amma again.
I grab his arm. “You can’t, Dad. Don’t.”
Dad scrawls his legal name, Erik Skarsgård, across the line. “It’s already done.”
My eyes sting as I stare at the dark, permanent ink. I want to scream at him, beg him to do more, but my teeth are clenched together tight enough to crack. He will never relent. Once his mind is made up, there’s no changing it. Just like mine.
I storm out of the station.
If no one else will, then I’ll have to find her myself.
Once I’m outside, Amma looks out at me from a missing poster plastered to a telephone pole. Her face is wrinkled and warm as she smiles, a long white braid draped over her shoulder like a rope. The same face I caught a flash of in the woods, but this photo is faded like a memory.
The bold capital letters above read: MISSING. Swallowing hard, I scan the rest of the poster’s information. Ingrid Skarsgård. Age: 68. Height: 165 cm. Weight: 58 kg. Last seen November 11 at her home. I don’t know what Amma would have been wearing when she disappeared or even who the last person to see her was. She might have been dying, and I had no fucking idea.
It’s pathetic how little I actually know. How little Dad has actually told me. As I peel the poster from the telephone pole, it rips down the middle. I stare at Amma’s torn, smiling face through my tears.
No matter what Dad says, I won’t give up.
