The Seals of Abgal

By Woelf Dietrich

Bookstore owner and novice antiquarian, Sebastian Kaine is proud of his new profession and even prouder still of the collection of antique books on the occult that he keeps locked away in the basement of his bookstore. But his little utopia is shattered one night when he wakes up in that same basement, bound and bloodied, and his prized collection all but destroyed. Making matters worse are the two strange men responsible for the carnage. They want The Seals of Abgal and insist Sebastian is in possession of it. Though he denies having any knowledge of the book, Sebastian soon finds himself at the receiving end of a brutal interrogation--one, he fears, he may not survive.

As he tries to stay alive, Sebastian discovers The Seals of Abgal is far more than just an ordinary grimoire for it holds powerful secrets. Secrets that are older than time itself.

And these men searching for it are no ordinary thugs.

But then, Sebastian is no ordinary bookseller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Woelf Dietrich
• Release date: Jul 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301143092

Woelf Dietrich

As a kid I consumed books and comics by the truckloads, reading anything from fantasy to westerns to science fiction. I wanted to stay in that dream state so I began making up my own stories, writing my first short story at 12. I also started drawing my own comics–little stick figures with dialogue balloons that later evolved into musclebound warriors and scantly clad vixens. I gave them battle axes and broadswords and unleashed them onto the world. A silent chaos ensued followed by crickets chirping and nothing much else, but boy, did I entertain myself. Alas, life kept interfering and I allowed it, and so nothing came from my artistic endeavors. After graduating high school I served a year in the military where I learned how to dig trenches, eat quickly, and miss girls. I travelled to Israel and lived on a Kibbutz for eight months, working in avocado fields and drinking cheap vodka. I sold pots and pans and educational toys in Africa for a while and almost got shot in Zimbabwe. I did a brief stint as a cartoonist somewhere and an even briefer stint as reporter somewhere else. Somehow, and maybe by accident, I ended up in law school and became a lawyer. I did that for almost a decade. These days I’m back to writing stories. A calling I ignored for far too long. I now live in New Zealand, and with a wife and kids, and a dog, I’ll be staying put for the foreseeable future.

Book preview

For V. Thank you.

...From the very first page I was drawn into this story, which soon became a rapid descent into the dark places of the imagination. This novella, which seems to cram so much in, is impeccably researched. I loved the occult references and the obscure mythology that form the basis of this book. There is such a fascinating premise to this story that I can't wait to see where this series develops next. 

~Daniel Williamson - Goodreads

The story itself consists almost primarily of a single scene, but is so well written and compelling that it draws the reader in and becomes impossible to put down. Though only a novella, the author does a wonderful job in accomplishing several tasks: he develops a world in which later stories will be told; he introduces characters that seem real and identifiable; and, he gets you hooked!

~Scott Wieczorek from Wieczorek Fiction Blog

Dietrich is a very vivid storyteller, and this is a damn well written story, especially for a first book. You feel for the main character, and you fear for him. The situation he is in seems pretty grim and there doesn’t appear to be a way out of it. I’ll be looking forward to further books by this author. 

~Author Glynn James - glynnjames.co.uk

The Seals of Abgal

A Guardians of the Seals Tale

Woelf Dietrich

Text copyright © 2012 by Woelf Dietrich

All rights reserved

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Cover Layout and Design by Fena Lee of .bcd

Cover image copyright © Phillip W. Anderson of West Wolf Renaissance

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either entirely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

For more information about the author, please visit:

www.woelfdietrich.com

Epigraph

His (Odin's) men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them. This was called Berserkergang.

Ynglinga Saga by Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241)

The Seals of Abgal

I woke to pain.

It felt like a burst of white-burning phosphor was tracing along the insides of my skull. It dominated my immediate world. I lay on the ground, inert, waiting for the worst to pass, praying for the fire to burn itself out quickly. It does after a while, to a degree.

It took a few fluttering false starts but I managed to pry open my eyes. My vision was blurry. What happened? Where am I? The pain in my head kept pulsing like a flashing lightbulb. The cement was cold underneath me.  I couldn't move. My hands were tied behind my back, as were my feet. They felt like water balloons being squeezed.

In front of me a wall of red brick spanned the field of my vision. Faded patches of white paint mottled the rough surface. Here and there the mortar had started to crumble in between leaving dark slits. I looked up and saw a row of ornate, flush mounted lighting fixed to a low-hanging ceiling. They cast a weak yellow light that barely divided the shadows. The fixtures seemed oddly familiar.

I tried to shift my body to clear the cobwebs, to get myself thinking straight, but the attempt only exacerbated my agony and I sank back waiting for the throbbing to calm down. I noticed my legs were tied with nylon zip ties. I assumed my wrists must be too.

I counted to three and tried again. Gulping back a groan, I turned my head and rolled onto my right side. Exposed pipes and cables encased in steel-wire trays ran the length of the ceiling and disappeared into the shadows at the other end of the room. The pipes looked old, but well maintained and, again, familiar.

I smiled to myself. I’m in the basement under my bookshop. I’m surprised how slow my mind is filtering the data. Still groggy, yes, but it’s definitely my basement. Only, a tornado had ripped through the place. Everything that I had done, all the renovations to make this space a proper haven for my collection of antiquated books, had been made undone in a very brief period of time and in a very decisive way.

I heard voices and then a loud crash as something heavy fell to the floor. The tremor of it thrummed through me. I craned my neck trying to search for the source of the noise. A whiff of iron and dust and something moldy teased my nostrils. Something else too—something bilious and vulgar. It made me gag.

This must have attracted someone’s attention, because I could hear footsteps, not loud, more like the dull squishy noise you get from rubber soles. There was an urgency to them and I turned to brace myself, not knowing what to expect, but I was slow—too slow. A heavy boot smashed into my face and for a split second the pain level increased tenfold before I mercifully slid back into the blissful indifference of unconsciousness.

I opened my eyes. Dried blood crusted the rims. I blinked a few times, but it’s like someone kicked sand in my eyes. My head still throbbed, but the pain in my face trumped it. I could see a bulge on the bridge of my nose. The skin was broken and dark. Whoever had knocked me out had left, but for how long, I didn't know. Maybe they were gone completely. I tried to sit up. Painful, but not impossible. After a few draining attempts, I was leaning against the wall, exhausted. Gauging my memory for clues just revealed a jumble of images. It confused me more than anything else.

How long have I been out?

I needed to change my position. Using the wall as