The Rubicus Prophecy

by Alane Adams

The light poured from her fingertips into the cauldron. She wanted to fight it, but her fingers were welded to the sides. The magic swiftly drained from her veins, leaving her weak-kneed and light-headed. When the last drop of Odin’s magic was in the cauldron, he released her.

  “Now for some witchfire,” he said. “And take that ridiculous necklace off. You don’t need it any longer.”

  She pulled Jasper’s sea emerald over her head and tucked it into her pocket, then readied herself.

  “A nice long blast,” he said.

  She threw her hands forward, sending her witchfire out. She had expected it to be blue, but just like in Madame Malaria’s class, it was a deep shade of violet. She didn’t like it. It felt oily, like the spellbook. Dark.

  He bent down close to her. “You are a true Volgrim witch, little one. You should be proud. One day, you will rule this coven with me. And now for the spell. Chrysopoeia en venadium.”

  The cauldron jumped, bouncing hard on the table.

  “Atmo radion.”

  The cauldron flew up and hit the ceiling before landing on the table again.

  “Spino turnium.”

  Abigail flinched as a screech came from the cauldron, as if a thousand souls had perished at once. At his urging, she kept up the stream of witchfire even as her arms shook with fatigue.

  Vertulious raised his hands over the cauldron, waving them side to side as though he were conducting music, and continued, “Crania lizardine, cephalia oullium, medulla sulfire.”

  Finally, he held his hand out, halting her.

  Dropping her arms in relief, she panted, watching as the spinning cauldron slowed and then came to a stop. He reached inside and lifted out a small red object.

  It looked like an ordinary apple. She could smell its fresh tartness from where she stood. He held it up then took a large bite, chewing noisily. “Did you know the gods get their immortality from an apple?” He took another bite, chewing as he spoke. “There is a goddess named Iduna who grows them on a tree. It wasn’t easy determining the elements, but I love a good puzzle.” He quickly gnawed the fruit’s white flesh down to the core.

  He closed his eyes, sighing with satisfaction, then staggered, putting one hand on the table to steady himself. The apple core dropped to the ground. He hiccupped, looking slightly ill, and then the bones in his body shifted under the skin, making him appear as a monster with a bulging forehead and overlong arms, then a man, then a giant that brushed the ceiling, then a man again. His arms swept out as he tottered, knocking all the vials off the table and sending them crashing to the ground.

  A high-pitched wind keened through the room, sending bits of broken glass everywhere, stinging Abigail’s skin. She wanted to stop it—to make him disappear—but she could only watch in horror as he transformed before her until, with a sudden whoosh, all the candles went out in the room, pitching them into darkness.

  She held her breath, frozen in place. Is he dead? Did it fail? Please let it fail.

  A single snap of fingers brought every candle back to life.

  Vertulious stood before her, no longer a wispy figure, but fully formed. He was a bit younger than she’d expected, the gray had receded, but he had the same long hair and strong craggy face. He wore rich velvet robes embroidered with threads of silver that glimmered when he moved.

  He inhaled deeply, thumping his chest with both hands. “Now, that feels good.” He looked around the room, which was in shambles. “We can do better,” he said, waving his hand. Stone began to leap back in place. The marble grew polished and bright as the room straightened into an orderly lab, the beakers reassembling themselves from splintered glass. Around them, Abigail could hear rocks groaning as the stone fortress restored itself.

  A loud horn sounded outside, followed by the thumping of heavy boots.

  Vertulious went to a set of doors that opened onto a balcony. He didn’t seem interested in the children any longer.

  Abigail crawled to Robert’s side. The boy was cold and deathly pale. She undid his wrists and patted his cheek. “Wake up, Robert. Please.”

  He opened his eyes. As they focused on her, fear and shame made him wince. “Is it really gone?”

  She nodded.

  Hugo appeared at their side. “We need to get out of here. Endera already left with Safina.”

  They helped Robert down the steps, which now gleamed like polished marble. The front doors hung neatly on their hinges. Outside, not a stone was out of place. The entire fortress glowed with light.

  In front of them, an army of witches, Balfin Guards, and Orkadian soldiers stood side by side.

  Vertulious stood on the balcony. He raised his hands for silence. “I am Vertulious, the greatest he-witch who ever lived. Behold, Odin’s Stone is destroyed.” He dropped a handful of crumbled stone over the ledge. The assembled group gasped. “I have broken Odin’s curse over us. From now on, I hold the power in this coven, and I decree war. War on Orkney. War on the Orkadians.”

  The Orkadian soldiers shifted, looking uneasily at the witches by their side.

  “Where is my son?” Lord Barconian demanded, stepping forward. “Tell me this instant, or this war starts now.”

  “I’m here, Father.” Robert shook off his friend’s hands and limped forward. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you the witches stole Odin’s Stone. They destroyed it. This is all that’s left.” He held out a small shard of rock.

  His father swept him into his arms. “It’s not important. Are you all right?”

  “Just a little cut,” he said.

  Lord Barconian looked at Hestera. “Is this what you want? War between us? We were so close to becoming allies.”

  Hestera’s eyes had a crafty look in them. “When need necessitated it, we were allies. But without Odin’s Stone, how will you protect yourself? There will be war for years to come until we are the rightful rulers of this place. I suggest you leave before we decide to test our powers out now.”

  Lord Barconian looked pained, and then he shook his head. “You will live to regret this.”

  “It would appear that the Rubicus Prophecy has come true. A he-witch has returned to us,” Hestera cawed.

  Vertulious waved from the balcony as the witches cheered him.

  “What does this mean, Father?” Robert asked

  “It means there will be war until one side or the other wins.” He took a pouch from around his neck and dumped out a small key. Taking the shard of stone from Robert, he tucked it inside, looping it over the boy’s neck. “I want you to wear this always. To remember who you are. A true Son of Odin. Its magic will protect you and guide you in times of trouble.”

  Robert looked doubtfully at the small pouch. “Even now that it’s destroyed?”

  “More so than ever. Come, we must go. There are no friends here.”

  “Wait, that’s not true.” Robert pulled back. “These are my friends.” He indicated Abigail and Hugo. “They stood by me. When I needed them most, they were there.”

  “How about now?” his father asked quietly.

  Abigail stepped forward, ready to offer her support, but Madame Vex appeared to put an arm around her shoulders, firmly drawing her back.

  “Do not betray the coven,” she whispered in Abigail’s ear. “Hestera will banish you. Is that what you want?”

  Abigail wanted to argue with her, to explain to Robert, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Robert swallowed, looking hurt, and turned to Hugo. “And you?”

  Hugo took a step forward, only to have someone yank him back. It was his brother, Emenor, dressed in the robes of a Balfin acolyte.

  “One step closer and they’ll destroy our family,” Emenor hissed. “You want our parents to be out on the street?”

  Hugo looked back at Robert, then lowered his eyes.

  “See? You have no friends here,” Hestera said. “Go home, boy, before we show your father what we are capable of.”

  Abigail pleaded with her eyes for Robert to understand wha
t it was like—to be loyal to the coven, to be a witch, to not have a choice in this matter—but Robert just turned away, holding his wounded arm against his chest as he followed his father.

  Abigail wished for him to turn around, but the boy never looked back. Surely, he wouldn’t think they were bad. He couldn’t.

  Abigail hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Hugo answered. “He does, and I can’t blame him, can you?”

  “No,” Abigail said. “Not at all.”

  From the balcony, Vertulious looked down at them, smiling gleefully as the mass of witches shouted and called out to him.

  “We have a he-witch in our midst,” Abigail said. “Is Vertulious right? Has the curse been lifted?”

  “I don’t know,” Hugo said. “I thought it meant bearing a son. This is … different.”

  “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Abigail said. “But I have a bad feeling.”

  “So do I.”

  Chapter 31

  Abigail stared at the red sunflower growing in the courtyard. It was taller now, well over her head, and the round center bulged in and out as though it had swallowed a slug. She raised a hand and, without hesitating, sent a blast of witchfire at it, incinerating the flower into a pile of ashes. Then she walked away and waited under the jookberry tree for Hugo.

  It was the third day in a row she had waited, hoping he would show. The Balfin boy had stayed away since that awful night when Vertulious had come back.

  Fall had set in, and the leaves were turning brown. Abigail’s second year as a witchling had barely begun, and already things had gone completely awry. Calla had hardly left Baba Nana’s side. Madame Vex had taken the old witch away to be cared for by the High Witch Council. She was more dead than alive, but there was a flicker of life in her.

  As for Endera, the grieving witchling had locked herself away in her room, refusing to speak to anyone.

  “Oh, Hugo.” She sat back against the tree. “I wish it wasn’t so complicated.”

  “I agree,” a deep voice said.

  Abigail sat up, startled to see an old man sitting next to her. He wore a simple white tunic belted at the waist. His white beard was neatly trimmed, and he had bright blue eyes. A crow perched on one shoulder, and another sat nearby on a tree branch.

  “What … who are you?” she asked.

  “You know who I am.” He held a hand out, and the crow flew over and landed on it. He stroked its shiny black feathers. “I must say, you’re a very small witchling for as much trouble as you’ve caused me.”

  Odin. It had to be. She felt his power just sitting there. “I didn’t mean to. You know, I tried. Robert, he was my friend. I couldn’t let him die. I didn’t want to destroy the Stone, I swear. Oh, it’s just awful, isn’t it?”

  Odin laughed. “Well, it isn’t ideal. In fact, if things could have gone worse, I don’t know how. I wish I had known you were in such deep trouble.”

  Abigail flushed, hiding her eyes from the god.

  “But I suppose you know that,” he said. “I wonder if you could perhaps give me some advice?”

  “You want me to give you advice?” she asked, jaw agape at the very thought of telling a god what to do.

  “Yes. You see, I had all sorts of ideas, and they’ve all gone sort of haywire. So perhaps even a god such as myself doesn’t know everything.”

  “All right, ask.”

  “When a friend is in danger, what do you do?”

  “Help them,” she said promptly.

  “What if it’s not in the best interest of the coven?”

  “Well, you still help them,” she said, “because you help your friends no matter what.”

  “I see. That’s good to know. So what if helping your friends means you can’t be a witch anymore?”

  “That’s harder.” She plucked at the grass. “I am a witch, and my coven comes first.”

  “But your friends also come first.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “It’s not logical.”

  “No, it’s not. Your first instincts are to help your friends, but if you have to think about it, you might wonder whether you should.”

  “I suppose I might. Does that make me awful?”

  “No.” But he sounded disappointed.

  They were quiet a moment, and then in a rush of words, she asked, “Am I the one you fear?”

  The god eyed her curiously. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “The note that Fetch passed to Jasper to give to you. It said, ‘The dark one rises.’ Was that me?”

  “You?” He chuckled. “Is that what you thought?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “I mean, I guess, yes. Because I’ve used dark magic a few times and I, well, you know, I like it. I hate it too. It’s very—”

  “Intoxicating?”

  “Yes, and I like that.”

  “But you don’t like how it makes you feel.”

  “No. It led me to bring Vertulious back. That’s bad, right?”

  He nodded, looking grave. “The worst of all possible outcomes. But child, you are not the one I worried about. That was Melistra. It was her dark heart that led us to this place. You are a bright and shining star.”

  “Like my father.”

  They looked up at the sky, to the low-hanging blue star.

  “Yes, like Rigel. He was quite something.”

  “Will I ever see him again?”

  “I suppose that could be arranged.” He stood. “But I’m afraid there are many problems to attend to before that day.”

  Abigail scrambled to her feet. “When I went back to see Rubicus, Vertulious cast a spell, a loyalty spell, on me so I would do what he wanted later. But I wonder …”

  “If that’s why you’re so loyal to your friends?”

  “Yes, I mean, is it because I’m good or because I’m under a spell?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s an old story about twin brothers. They are the same in every way, but one is always angry and mean, while the other is good and kind.”

  “How did they become like that?”

  “Because one brother listened to his anger, and it fed him, while the other listened to his kindness, and it fed him. Whatever you listen to is what you become.”

  She sighed. “What do we do about Vertulious?”

  “So it’s we, is it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “He wants us to go to war.”

  Odin stretched his arms out, and the crows took flight, arcing into the sky. “He’s not the only one. There are many dark forces at play here.”

  “How do I help and not betray my coven?”

  “I suppose we will see,” he said, patting her head. “We will see.” He lifted his chin. “I think I hear your friend.”

  “Hugo? He came?”

  “I might have encouraged him.” He winked, then squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t ever give up hope. Keep it here”—he touched her chest—“in your heart. Remember who your father is, remember how much your mother loved you, and things will be all right, no matter the outcome.”

  And then, with a gust of wind, he was gone.

  A head appeared in the branches above. “Abigail, who are you talking to?”

  She looked up with a big smile. “Hugo, you came!”

  He dropped down, looking wary. “I wasn’t going to. Things are so confusing. But something kept niggling at me to come.”

  She threw her arms around him. “I’m glad to see you. I’ve missed you. We’re still friends, right?”

  He nodded slowly. “What about Robert? He was your friend, too, and you turned your back on him.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. Madame Vex said Hestera would have me removed from the coven, and I couldn’t bear that. What about you?”

  He hung his head. “Emenor said it would destroy my family. I had no choice.”

  “We both let him down,” she said. “It’s time I told you a few things.”
She recounted her visits from Vor and Odin.

  “So what do we do?” he asked, his eyes round behind his glasses. “Robert must think we betrayed him.”

  “We’ll just have to talk to him. Today.”

  Hugo winced. “We can’t. He’s gone. They set sail the night Vertulious came back. I saw something when you were absorbing Odin’s magic. It seemed for a moment that you lost control, and then I saw a shadow, like someone else was there. Crazy, right?”

  “No, not crazy,” Abigail said softly. “It was my mother. She was the ghost woman I kept seeing. She was trying to protect me. Oh, Hugo, without Odin’s Stone, the Orkadians don’t stand a chance. What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know—hope for a miracle?”

  A breathless voice called out to them. “Abigail, Hugo, you’re both here.”

  Calla skidded to a halt in front of them, red-faced from running.

  “Calla. What’s wrong? Has something happened to Baba Nana?” Abigail asked.

  “No. It’s my mother. She’s not far. If you want to meet her, you have to come now. She won’t be here long.”

  Calla pushed the gate open into the swamps and began skipping through the murky trees. “Come on! She’s just ahead.”

  Abigail and Hugo hurried after her, trying to keep her in sight. They came out of a clump of trees near a steep cliff that bordered the sea. Calla headed for a well-worn path that disappeared over the side, curving back and forth down the steep face to the beach below.

  As they reached the bottom, Abigail gasped as she caught sight of the most amazing creature perched on a rock. Sunlight cast a golden halo around its iridescent skin. The upper half looked human, with slender arms and a beautiful face with long pink-and-yellow hair. But the lower half was covered in scales that ended in a fish tail.

  “Is that—” Hugo appeared speechless.

  “A mermaid,” Calla answered. “Yes.”

  “Your mother is a mermaid?” Abigail gasped.

  “Yes—no—not all the time. Her name is Calypha. She’s a witch that can change forms. She just likes this one better than any other. Come on, she won’t stay long.”

  Calla hurried forward, scrambling over the rocks. Sea spray moistened the air around them as waves crashed against the beach. The sea creature’s eyes widened at the sight of Calla. She held her arms out to embrace the girl.