The Rubicus Prophecy

by Alane Adams

  No. That wasn’t right. After she’d clambered up the ivy with Calla, she’d seen the girl out, shut the window tightly, and then collapsed on the bed.

  She rolled to her other side and gasped.

  A woman with long blonde hair, dressed in a white gown, sat on the edge of her bed. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her sightless milky eyes stared straight ahead.

  “Good morning, Abigail,” she said softly. “I apologize if I startled you.”

  “Vor.” Abigail sat up, shocked that the Goddess of Wisdom was in her room. “What brings you here? I thought … that is … you said you were done with me.”

  “You know why I came.”

  “Oh.” Abigail plucked at the blankets. “Is it because I used dark magic?”

  The goddess nodded. “It’s like a black stain across my heart when you do.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, and she smiled briefly. “I don’t know why we are connected thus.”

  “Where does it come from? Dark magic? I mean, isn’t all witch magic dark?”

  “No. Magic itself isn’t dark. It’s a form of pure energy, a connection between the user and the elements. What makes it dark is when it is twisted and bent to accomplish great harm. Then it begins to sour a person’s soul to match the magic.”

  “Did Odin send you?”

  She turned away, a guilty flush on her face. “No. He does not know I came. I am here because I care for you. The path ahead of you is dangerous. There are many possible outcomes but only one that will lead you to a place of hope.”

  “What way is that?” she asked, eagerly taking Vor’s hands in her own. “I want that. Please, tell me.”

  Vor squeezed Abigail’s hands, then disentangled herself and rose. “It is not for me to say. Fate has a way of finding you, but if you follow your heart and do not let fear guide you, you might stand a chance.”

  “Something bad has happened,” Abigail blurted out. “Odin should know. His—”

  Vor held a hand up, silencing Abigail. “You mustn’t speak the words to me. For if you do, I am honor bound to tell Odin, and the consequences will be graver than this world can bear. You must solve it yourself, but you are right to be worried. Failure could very well mean the end of everything you know.”

  Vor spun in a circle, her gown twirling around her until she disappeared into a white mist.

  “Great, end of everything I know,” Abigail muttered, flopping back on the bed. In the corner eave, the cursed spider was busy building its web. “If Melistra stole the Stone, then she’s hidden it somewhere. Where would she hide it?” The spider continued on, but Abigail thought it paused as if it was listening.

  “She wouldn’t keep it here in the Tarkana Fortress because anyone could find it. She would hide it outside the walls. Somewhere she thinks would be safe. Any advice?” The spider went back to spinning its web. “Oh, bother, you’re a waste of time.”

  Throwing the covers off, she hurriedly dressed, knotting her braid as she rushed down the stairs. She ignored the ghostly woman, who waved to her from the same landing as the night before.

  “No time for spirits today,” she muttered to herself, then nearly knocked Endera over as the girl stepped into the stairwell.

  Endera’s eyes grew wide, then her face paled—like the girl was afraid. “You—you came back.”

  “No thanks to you,” Abigail said. “Step aside, I really must get to class.”

  But Endera blocked her way. “One way or another, I’m going to get rid of you.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that, won’t we? Who knows, I might be the one who gets rid of you.”

  Endera’s jaw went slack, and Abigail darted around her, dancing down the steps as she hurried to Awful Alchemy. As she headed for her customary seat in the back, something made her move forward to the front row. She sat down, folding her hands on the desk, and waited for class to begin.

  Calla dropped into the seat next to her. “Why are you sitting up front? Madame Malaria is going to call on you!”

  “I know, I’m ready,” Abigail said. She had studied all summer while everyone else was off having fun. This was the one class she should be breezing through. It was time to show Madame Malaria just what she was capable of.

  The door flew open, and Madame Malaria swept in, heading straight for the front of the class. When she got to the first row, she froze, tilted her head toward Abigail a few degrees, sniffed once, then sailed on.

  Throwing off a drape that had been covering a table, she revealed a row of jars with various powders and ingredients, all labeled with scientific terms. Hugo would be in heaven here, Abigail thought.

  “It is time to see if you have learned anything useful.” Madame Malaria set a lump of gray clay on the table. “This is lizardine. I want you to transform it into a lovely piece of marble I can put on my mantle.” She waved a hand at the row of jars. “If you have done your homework, you’ll know which element to choose.”

  There must have been thirty jars. Abigail sifted through her memory but came up blank.

  “Portia, why don’t you and Ambera go first,” Madame Malaria asked.

  Portia slunk off her stool, followed by her meek partner. Portia’s boil had only just healed, leaving a faint blotch on her skin. They studied the jars, whispering to each other, then chose one with pink crystals and carried it back to the table.

  Madame Malaria eyed their jar with a neutral gaze, giving nothing away as she said, “Proceed.”

  Portia placed the chunk of clay on a small silver platter, and then Ambera sprinkled some of the crystals on top. They said the transformation spell together, “Chrysopoeia en cicada.”

  The crystals began to smoke, and the two girls’ eyes grew wide as they pressed in. Then, with a loud splat, the clay spattered into a wet mess, covering their faces in pink goo.

  “Next.”

  Madame Malaria pointed at Minxie and Glorian. They went with a jar of white salts, carefully sprinkled just a few crystals on a fresh lump of clay, and recited the words.

  Minxie hid behind Glorian, but nothing happened. The crystals didn’t even smoke.

  “Next,” Madame Malaria said in a bored tone.

  Endera and Nelly stood. Nelly wanted to choose a jar of dried green mushrooms, but Endera argued for a jar that held blue powder.

  Of course. A light went off in Abigail’s head as a vague memory surfaced. Kobalta and lizardine made … something. What was it?

  Endera won the argument, and they poured a liberal amount on the lump of clay.

  Reciting the spell loudly, Endera added a small burst of witchfire. The clay bounced and sizzled, spinning around on the plate. A smile tugged at Endera’s lips as Nelly snickered proudly. Then the clay shot off the table. It bounced off the ceiling, hit the far wall, and ricocheted back. The girls screamed, ducking as the projectile shot around the room until it splatted against Endera’s chest, leaving a sticky blue mess.

  “What are they doing wrong?” Calla whispered. “I think kobalta is the right element.”

  Abigail had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Remember what Madame Malaria said on our first day? That transformation takes a source of great power?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Maybe Endera doesn’t have enough power. If we do it together …”

  Calla’s eyes flared, and then a small smile tilted the corners of her lips. “That’s why I stayed back a year—so I could have you as my partner.” Calla slid off her stool. “Abigail and I will go next.” She hooked arms with Abigail, and they walked to the display of jars. All eyes were on them as Madame Malaria waited, tapping one foot. They made a show of studying each ingredient, picking the jars up and turning them around.

  “We haven’t got all day,” Madame Malaria snipped. “Choose and get on with it.”

  “Oh, we’ve already chosen,” Calla said innocently. “We were just looking at your jars.” She took the jar of kobalta and sprinkled some on the fresh lizardine, then winked at Abigail.

&
nbsp; They dropped into a crouch. Together they shouted the words, “Chrysopoeia en cicada!” And then they shot a stream of witchfire at the lump of clay.

  It bounced around the dish, spinning in a frenzy as they kept up a steady blast. An acrid burning smell made Abigail’s eyes water. Her arm tired as her magic drained.

  “Almost there,” Calla said calmly. Honestly, the girl had no fear. It was as though she’d always had her magic and never been a glitch-witch. There was a loud pop, and they both dropped their hands. The clay gradually stopped spinning, and the entire class left their seats and pressed in close, staring at it.

  It was a perfect sphere of black marble polished to a high sheen.

  Glorian reached for it. “What is it?”

  “Don’t touch that.”

  Madame Malaria thrust through the crowd, shoving the girls aside. “None of you touch that. Class dismissed. Abigail, Calla, you will stay behind.”

  Chapter 18

  The girls whispered and oohed as they shuffled out. The snick of the door closing had Madame Malaria whirling on them, grabbing them both by the shoulder.

  “How did you do that?”

  “We just recited the spell you taught us,” Abigail said. “We guessed it needed more power to complete the transformation.”

  “We’re sorry,” Calla said. “We didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

  “Wrong? Did I say you did anything wrong?” Madame Malaria laughed, releasing them. “I think I found my star pupils for the semester. Do you know what you did?”

  They eyed the orb. “No, madam,” they said in unison.

  “I’ve never seen a secondling perform such a perfect transformation.” She picked the orb up and tossed it in the air, then tucked it into her pocket. “I’m going to add this to my billiards table. Your magic is astounding, the two of you. There’s something about the combination of witchfire. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Abigail said as they walked to their next class. “I felt it when our witchfire joined. You’ve gotten much stronger. You should really be Head Witchling.”

  “Can you imagine? To go from having no magic to wearing that gold pin.” Calla sighed dreamily. “It’s like I’ve never not had magic, you know? It’s quite loud sometimes.”

  “Loud?”

  “Like thundering horses running through my veins.”

  Abigail raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit … dramatic.”

  Calla shrugged. “I can’t help it. I feel so many things I never used to feel. It’s all quite wonderful.”

  “Abigail, there you are,” a little voice said.

  “Not now, Safina. Calla and I are late for class.” The two girls hurried on, but Safina tugged on her sleeve.

  “Wait, Abigail, I want to tell you all about my ABCs class. I cast my first spell to charm a shreek. Madame Barbosa says I have real talent.”

  “Oh, looky here, Abigail has a pet,” Endera said, appearing in front of them with her two side-kicks.

  “Yeah, like her own little tamed sneevil,” Nelly added. Glorian made high-pitched shreek noises that sounded more like a sick cat.

  “Leave her alone.” Safina stepped in front of Abigail. “You’re supposed to help other witchlings, not be mean to them.”

  “It’s okay, Safina,” Abigail said. “Endera’s just jealous because Calla and I aced our alchemy spell, and she …” Abigail turned to Calla. “Did Endera do anything?”

  “I think she changed that lump of clay into pudding.” They burst out laughing.

  Endera turned red, rubbing at the dried clay on her uniform. “The day is coming, Abigail, when I will be the last one laughing.” Whirling around, she marched off in the other direction, closely tailed by the other two bullies.

  “She’s perfectly awful,” Safina said, turning to face Abigail.

  “I suggest you stay away from Endera and stop defending me. You’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these days.”

  But Safina just grinned. “I’m top of my class in almost every subject. You wait, I’m going to be Head Witchling, just like you were.”

  “You mean before it was taken away,” Abigail pointed out.

  “That wasn’t your fault. Everyone knows that. You saved the Tarkana Fortress from that beast.”

  Abigail couldn’t help glowing. It was nice to have a little bit of hero worship for once. “Shouldn’t you be in Magical Maths? You know how Madame Vex is if you’re late.”

  Safina squealed and hurried off. Abigail smiled as she watched her go, wishing she had her easy attitude. Safina thought being a great witch involved casting a few spells and doing well in class. She didn’t realize the sacrifice that came with being a true witch, the price that had to be paid, the darkness that rose and fell with each spell.

  Calla watched her go. “She’s going to be plucked like a ripe jookberry, isn’t she?”

  “I hope not, but she’s very—”

  “Gullible,” Calla finished. “I don’t suppose you did your history homework.”

  Abigail groaned. “No, I forgot. Melistra is going to have my head. A failed exam and no homework in one week.”

  “Not to worry.” Calla passed her a sheet of paper. “I made two copies, with some different answers so she can’t tell they’re the same.”

  Abigail accepted it gratefully. “Thanks. I guess I’m going to fail no matter what, but at least it won’t be today.”

  They walked on. “So …” Calla kept her voice low. “Have you figured out where Melistra is hiding the … you know what?” Neither dared speak the word out loud.

  “Not yet.” Abigail froze outside their classroom.

  The ghostly woman was there. Right there, standing behind Calla.

  “Calla. She’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman. The ghost.”

  “Where?”

  Calla spun around and looked right into the woman’s face, waving her hand. “Sorry, I don’t see anything. Remember, Madame Arisa told you to ignore her.”

  She dragged Abigail inside the classroom. The woman looked sad, reaching a hand out to touch Abigail on the arm as she passed. Instead of giving her chills, Abigail was surprised at the feeling of warmth that flooded her.

  Chapter 19

  Melistra accepted Abigail’s homework without question. She seemed distracted, as if she had other things on her mind besides tormenting the secondling—like plotting how to take over Orkney. The day passed quickly as Abigail and Calla ticked off the minutes until it was time to go meet Hugo. As soon as the last gong rang, the girls hurried into the gardens and slipped out the side gate into the swamps.

  Baba Nana lived in a run-down shack that looked as if a stiff wind would blow it over. Her real name was Balastero, and she had been a teacher at the Tarkana Academy back in the day, before Melistra had gone behind her back and created a viken she’d sicced on Abigail’s mom. After Melistra had blamed it on Balastero, the witch had been banished from the coven to live out her days on the edge of town, a shell of her former self.

  Robert and Hugo waited out front.

  “Why haven’t you gone in?” Calla asked.

  “Go inside a witch’s house?” Robert shuddered. “No thanks. Not without backup.”

  “Baba Nana would never hurt you,” Calla said, pushing open the door. “Baba Nana, I’m here with Abigail and Hugo.”

  Baba Nana pulled aside the ragged curtains that partitioned off her bedroom. The old witch was dressed in her customary bundle of rags, which gave her a hunched-over look. She pointed a gnarled finger at Robert. “Who is that?”

  “He’s an Orkadian boy from Skara Brae,” Calla said.

  “That is no mere boy. Come here, child.” She summoned him with both hands.

  Robert remained frozen in place.

  Abigail gave him a little push. “Don’t be afraid. She won’t bite.”

  “She’s harmless,” Hugo added.

  Robert straightened his should
ers, furtively moving one hand to his sword, and stepped forward.

  Baba Nana cackled, revealing blackened gums. “You think that paltry sword will protect you?” With a flick of her wrist, the sword flew out of its sheath and embedded in the back wall, wavering back and forth.

  Robert gathered himself and bowed low. “My apologies, Baba Nana. I am Robert Elias Barconian. Son of Odin. Lord of the Ninth Realm. It is an honor to meet you.”

  She placed two hands on his face, scrunching his cheeks between her palms as she stared into his eyes. “You have a heavy secret, boy. Might as well tell Baba Nana.”

  “I c-can’t … I mean, I don’t—”

  “He was guarding Odin’s Stone, and Endera tricked him. Melistra stole it, and now it’s gone,” Hugo blurted out.

  Robert whirled, jerking out of the witch’s grasp to glare at Hugo. “You promised not to tell anyone.”

  “Baba Nana isn’t just anyone.” Calla patted the old woman’s arm. “She’s the smartest person I know. Well, Baba Nana, what do we do?”

  They all looked at the wizened old hag. She shook her head. “This is a big problem even for Baba Nana. There’s no telling what Melistra intends to do with it.”

  “Obviously, she’s going to destroy it,” Robert said, “leaving us defenseless.”

  “Perhaps.” Baba Nana pursed her lips. “Or something even worse.”

  “What could be worse than destroying it?” Hugo asked.

  Baba Nana shrugged. “It has powerful magic. Melistra may try to break Odin’s hold over it and harness its power for herself.”

  “Baba Nana, you should know … I met … that is … we went back in time and … I spoke to Rubicus,” Abigail stuttered out.

  “You didn’t,” she hissed. Her eyes swiveled among them all, taking in their guilt. “You saw him face to face?”

  Abigail nodded. “Yes. It was that horrid spellbook. It sent us back to the day he lost his head.”

  “That explains the mark,” she said, studying Robert.