by Alane Adams
Pushing open a set of swinging doors, Sam stepped inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A cloud of tobacco smoke hung over the room. A couple of dwarfs sat at the end of the bar. There were several round tables, each filled with coarse-looking men holding cards. Piles of coins were in the center of each table.
A long bar stretched across the back of the room, where a bartender was pulling a draft of beer. Silence rippled across the space, reaching a barrel-chested man at the bar. He turned and eyed Sam, lifting his mug of beer to his lips to blow off a layer of foam.
“Come on in, boy. Get out of that cursed sun,” he called out.
Sam stepped inside, suddenly unsure this was a good idea. The men looked rough and unfriendly. He wanted to turn and run, but he had to find a boat. He slowly approached the stranger at the bar. The man wore a soiled blue coat. A three-cornered hat sat jauntily on his head.
“Name’s Lionel Hawkins, but you can call me Hawk.” He pulled out a barstool for Sam, and Sam sank down, licking his lips, hoping for a cold drink. The bartender slid a tankard of beer in front of him.
Hawk slapped him on the back. “That’ll put hair on your chest.” He laughed, and the men in the saloon laughed with him. “The way things are going, the red sun’s going to kill us all. Might as well enjoy your last days.”
Sam smiled weakly but pushed it away. “No, thanks. I’m looking for a boat to get to Balfour Island.”
Hawk’s eyes shifted away. He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long drink. Wiping away the foam with the back of his hand, he let out a long, deep belch before answering. “There’s nothing but witches and wild animals on that cursed island. Nothing for a boy like you.”
Squaring his shoulders, Sam turned to face the rest of the room. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t muff the little speech he had prepared. “I am a Son of Odin, Lord of the Ninth Realm. The witches took my friends, and I’m going to get them back. I can pay you. I have gold.”
Conversation stopped, as if every ear was tuned in to the word gold.
“Show me your gold, boy. I’m sure we can make a deal.” Hawk’s eyes glinted with greed. A niggle of doubt ate at Sam. He stepped back.
“I left it with friends . . . ,” he began, but Hawk leaned forward, roughly grabbed the leather pouch from inside Sam’s cloak, and held it up, clinking the coins inside next to his ear.
“Yes, that will do nicely.” He gave a nod, looking over Sam’s shoulder as he did.
Sam glanced up in the mirror behind the bar and saw one of the seamen standing behind him. Before he could react, the sailor swung his tankard down on Sam’s head.
Chapter Twenty
A cup of water thrown in his face made Sam sputter. He struggled to sit up, but his hands were tied behind his back. Worse, someone had tied a gag around his mouth that made it hard to breathe. The smell of horse manure and hay filled his nostrils.
He opened his eyes to see Mavery hovering over him.
“You’re alive,” she grunted, not sounding all that happy about it. She untied the gag, and Sam gulped in a lungful of air.
“What happened?” His head was pounding.
“You don’t remember?”
It was fuzzy. “I remember talking to some guy, trying to hire a boat to Balfour Island.”
“Yeah, I heard all about it. Here, roll over.” She untied Sam’s wrists and then worked on the rope on his feet. He sat up, rubbing his hands to get the blood back into them.
“Someone hit me from behind,” he said, remembering the barroom he had entered. He searched his pockets. “The money’s gone.” He reached around his neck and was relieved to find the stone pouch there.
Her dark eyes searched Sam’s. “Did you really brag you were a Son of Odin and pull out your gold in Dorrian’s? Hawk’s the biggest pirate in the seas of Orkney.”
“I’m pretty stupid, huh?”
“Yup.”
He looked at her crossly. “You don’t have to agree.”
“You’re the talk of the town,” she smirked.
“Glad I amused you.” He rubbed the knot on his head. “So why’d you come back, anyway?”
“You said we’re a team. Besides, you clearly can’t get on without me.” Mavery lifted her eyes to Sam’s. She needed a friend as badly as he did.
“I’m sorry about before. It won’t happen again.”
“Better not, or I’ll show you my magic. You’ll be walking around with a pig’s tail.” She helped him to his feet.
“So now what?” he asked, feeling dizzy, but at least his legs still worked.
“We get a ride to Balfour Island. Come on.”
Taking his hand, she led him through the stables. It was near dawn. The sun was just climbing over the horizon. Men slept, scattered around the barn. Sam recognized that pirate Hawk, the man in the soiled blue coat. Hawk lay on his back, arms flung wide, snoring like a logger. He had Leo’s knife tucked in his waistband. Sam reached down and carefully stole it back, resisting the temptation to give old Hawk a kick in the nards, then followed Mavery outside.
She took his hand and pulled him toward the dock as the sun creased the horizon, casting red fingers of light. They ran past sturdy fishing vessels and tugboats until they came to the most rickety, run-down, ramshackle boat in the wharf.
“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I am not crossing the ocean in that hunk o’ junk.” Its brown sails were full of holes. The small cabin had no windows, and it listed to one side.
Mavery ignored him. She slipped onboard, lifted the hatch on the deck, and disappeared below.
Angry voices rang out from the tavern up the hill. Sam thought he heard his name bandied about. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to follow Mavery. He ducked under the rope and hopped on deck. It felt solid enough. He made his way along the railing toward the cabin.
“That’s far enough,” a voice said. The sharp edge of Sam’s own knife pressed against his neck. The stranger had pulled it out of Sam’s waistband so quickly, he hadn’t even noticed.
“Hey, I don’t want any trouble. My friend came onboard,” he said.
“Jasper!” Mavery’s head popped up through the hatch, and the knife returned to Sam’s waistband like lightning.
Sam turned and saw an elderly man. Long gray hair spilled down his back in a wild mass. His wiry beard stretched to his belly. He had knobby hands, a hollow chest, and canvas shorts tied around his waist with a length of rope.
“Mavery? Is it really you?” he croaked, a smile creasing his face.
“This is Samuel,” she piped back. “He’s a witch.”
Jasper looked at Sam with watery eyes that were full of fear—or maybe it was pity.
“Never thought I’d see the likes of you—a boy witchling. Show me your magic.”
But a loud bird cry above interrupted them.
Lagos, Rego’s sharp-eyed iolar, flew overhead. The shouting at the tavern got louder, and Sam could now make out a crowd of men gathered outside the building. Rego had found them.
“Uh, we should get moving,” Sam said, trying not to sound desperate. Then it hit him—there was no wind. The boat was dead in the water. He groaned. They were as good as captured.
Mavery grabbed Jasper’s hand. “Please, Jasper?”
The old sailor smiled down at her, giving her a wink. “Can’t say no to you, Mavery.” He cast off and quickly raised the sail. His stringy arms were roped with muscle. He pursed his lips together and blew toward the sail. At first nothing happened; then the sail flapped a bit.
Sam risked a glance up the hill and spotted Rego’s sturdy figure running full speed toward them. Behind him, the Falcory representative, Beo, sprinted like a deer, passing Rego. Close behind Beo, another pair of Falcory men raced.
Sam was trying to decide whether he should jump overboard and try swimming or just turn himself in, when a strong breeze snapped out the sails and the boat jerked away from the dock. Sam stared in wonder as Jasper puffed out hi
s cheeks and blew wind into the sails, creating a roaring gust that kicked across the sea.
They were a good fifty feet away by the time Rego skidded to a stop at the edge of the dock. He shouted at Sam, but his words were lost in Jasper’s magic wind. Sam waved sheepishly back at the dwarf, hoping Rego didn’t hate him. Beo notched an arrow to his bow, aiming at Sam, but Rego put his hand on the Falcory’s arm and Beo slowly lowered the weapon.
Sam held on to the rigging as the boat cut through the water, sending up a white splash of spray. The boat looked rickety, but it sure was fast. He worked his way to the back, where Jasper held the wheel. Mavery had wriggled in between Jasper and the helm and was trying to steer.
Dropping down on a mat, Sam tried to catch his breath. “I’m Sam. Sam Baron,” he started.
“I know who you are,” the old seaman replied in his gravelly voice.
“I’m glad you do, ’cause I’m not so sure anymore,” Sam said, half joking.
Jasper spun the wheel, turning them into the wind. “See that sun up there?” Jasper pointed a finger at the sky.
After his little incident with Mavery, Sam refused to look at it, but the power of the rays warmed his face.
“The fish are dying because of its poison,” Jasper continued. “The boats come back empty every day. You’re the one responsible—that’s who you are.”
Sam’s jaw dropped open. That is so unfair, he thought. His mother might be a witch, and okay, so maybe he was one, too, but that didn’t make him responsible for the red sun. Rego had said the sun had been that way for months. Sam had been in Orkney only a few days.
“You’ve got it backward. I’m going to save Orkney from the red sun. Some guy named Rubicus started it.”
Mavery yawned, and Jasper patted her head fondly. “Run along to the cabin and get some rest.”
She scampered down the stairs like she had been on the boat a thousand times.
“I found her adrift one day,” Jasper commented, his eye on the distant horizon.
“At sea?”
“Holding on to a couple of sticks. They’d tossed her overboard.”
“Who?”
“The witches.”
“I thought she was a witch.”
“There’s witches and then there’s witches.”
Sam was more concerned with Jasper’s crazy accusation. “You can’t blame me for the curse on the sun. I was only a baby when I left Orkney,” Sam challenged.
“Not just any baby—the first he-witch since Rubicus. Your parents thought they could protect Orkney by taking you to Midgard.”
Sam felt a sudden chill. “You knew my parents?”
“Aye, I spirited them away the night they fled. You were sick from that Deathstalker venom, squalling your head off.” Jasper squinted at the horizon. “You should have died from that scorpion bite. When you didn’t, they knew. Your mother knew you were a threat.”
“Me? How? I wasn’t even here. And it’s not my fault I got bit by a stupid scorpion.” Sam really didn’t want to lose his temper, but the old seaman was being unreasonable.
“It might not be your fault, but you’re still responsible for it,” Jasper replied. “And only you can stop it.”
Sam climbed to his feet. “I am going to stop it; I just have to save my friends first.”
“Then you’ve killed us all,” Jasper said grimly.
“Why do you keep blaming me?” Sam shouted.
Jasper pointed a stern finger at Sam. “You are the red sun. The red sun is you. It will destroy everything and everyone here in Orkney if you don’t stop it.”
All Sam could do was shake his head in denial. It’s not my fault, he told himself over and over. But no amount of rationalization could stem the tide of anger swelling inside him. Sam felt his fingers curl into tight fists at his side. A strong desire to smash something, anything, became all-consuming.
Jasper’s watery blue eyes never left Sam’s face. “You want to hit me, lad? Go ahead. But it won’t change the truth.”
Sam did want to hit the seaman. He wanted to plaster Jasper like he had done to Ronnie Polk. He wanted to make Jasper take back his harsh words. But Sam resisted the urge to lash out, and that caused his arms to shake uncontrollably.
“There’s your evidence right there.” Jasper pointed at the sky.
Sam looked up and watched as another thin vein appeared on the sun, spreading like the roots of a tree.
He was about to protest, but suddenly he wasn’t sure. He did feel a connection—a boiling anger that flowed through him into that red, pulsing, poisonous vein on the sun. He had a sudden flash as he remembered the rune stone Rego had tossed at him in his garage. The one Keely had looked up in the library.
Sigel.
The holder of this rune stone is the source of energy for the sun.
A jolt of realization moved through Sam. Rego had known all along. Or suspected. As fast as it came on, the rage drained out of Sam, leaving him hollow inside.
“Get some rest, lad,” Jasper said, with just a pinch of sympathy. “I’ll need your help when we get close to Balfour. The akkar are not to be trifled with.”
“What’s an akkar?”
But Jasper didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on the horizon, and Sam gave in to the bone-deep weariness. He went down into the cabin and found Mavery curled up on a narrow bunk. He took the one above it. Closing his eyes, Sam quickly and mercifully lost himself in the sanctuary of sleep—but not before a blazing image of the sun, encrusted with red, splotchy veins, had rooted firmly in his mind.
Chapter Twenty-One
The ship rolled steeply, knocking Sam out of the bunk. He blinked, clearing the dreamy image of the red sun from his eyes. They were in the middle of a storm; the seas tossed the boat about like a pinball. Mavery leaned over the top of the bunk and chucked up her breakfast all over the floor at Sam’s feet.
“Stay here,” Sam ordered, stepping carefully over the mess. Mavery flopped back on the bunk, pulling the blanket over her head. Struggling to steady himself, Sam grabbed a slicker off a hook on the wall and poked his head out of the deck hatch.
The wind aboveboard gusted hard enough to knock Sam backward. Thick black clouds dumped a torrent of rain. He made it up to the deck when a wave crashed over the side, washing him into the railing.
Sam grabbed at the rigging, but his feet went over and he dangled above the roiling sea, hanging desperately onto the badly weathered rope with two hands.
Just when Sam didn’t think he could hold on another second, Jasper was there, leaning over and hauling him back onto the deck with a long grunt.
“What’s happening?” Sam shouted over the storm.
“We’re getting close to Balfour Island.”
Jasper pointed ahead at a landmass rising from the ocean like an angry black slash. Up close, the jagged cliffs lining the shore made a safe landing seem impossible.
But that wasn’t their biggest problem.
“What’s that?” Sam asked, trying to shield his eyes from the blinding rain.
A swelling, murky blob rose from the frothy sea. Gray and bulbous, with long, trailing arms, it slashed at the ocean, spraying them with cold seawater. A single, swollen yellow eye blinked at them from its massive head.
“The akkar,” Jasper warned with unmistakable dread. “They guard the island.”
Jasper grabbed a long spear from a rack by the mast and thrust it into Sam’s hand.
“Aim for its eye, boy. When I say the word, let it fly.”
He’s gotta be joking, Sam thought, looking down at the weapon in his hand. The spear was heavy and had a razor-sharp metal tip, but it felt feeble compared with the giant squid-thing that bobbed on the surface in front of their ship. How was Sam supposed to stop an enormous sea monster with a fishing spear?
The boat tilted sideways as the akkar rose up and thrust a slithering tentacle at them. Its hideous eye glared over a gaping mouth that belched out a noxious odor. Water frothed through long, spiny
teeth. Ignoring the danger, Jasper navigated the boat directly toward the creature. Sam clutched the rigging with one hand and held the spear with the other.
The akkar gave a loud, resounding roar, blasting them with spray. A slimy tentacle skidded on deck, trying to sweep Sam off his feet. Gripping the spear, he stabbed at the groping limb but missed. The creature quickly coiled its tentacle around Sam’s weapon, sending the spear flying into the ocean. Just then, a familiar squeal sent his heart into his shoes. Mavery had opened the hatch, and a tentacle scooped her up and locked a tight coil around her, holding her ten feet above the deck. She screamed, punching at the slimy limb.
Another tentacle crashed down on the deck. Sam ran forward, dodging it while he tried to get closer to Mavery. He skidded to a stop as the creature loomed two stories above him, rising out of the ocean in a gray, jellylike mass and letting out a timber-rattling shriek.
Long, spindly arms wrapped around the front of the boat, pulling them toward that awful, gaping maw crowded with hundreds of sharp, glistening teeth. Sam froze up, paralyzed with fear. This was the closest he had ever been to death.
“Do something!” Jasper shouted, whipping the wheel in his hands as he struggled to keep the boat from capsizing.
Rain lashed Sam’s face, and his fingers were numb with cold. He heard Jasper yelling, but the words didn’t move him. In fact, they actually amused him. Does he think I can just pull another spear out of thin air?
But then Sam straightened, remembering the words Forset, the God of Justice, had spoken back in Skara Brae. Forset had told him that spear in the hallway was a gift from Odin—that it would come if Sam called it.
Sam felt a little foolish, but as Mavery screamed again, he figured there was nothing to lose. So he held up his right hand and called out the name: “Gungnir.” Nothing happened. The squid’s teeth began gnashing on the long prow, tearing away the piece of wood like a toothpick and coming back for another bite. Desperate, Sam tried again, turning up the volume and thrusting his hand in the air. “Gungnir!” he shouted.