by Alane Adams
Keely shook her head. “Odin chose you as Protector of the Realm, Howie. You wore the uniform of the Orkadian guard. Without you, Skara Brae will fall.”
“Are you serious?” Howie’s face burned red with embarrassment. “If this is Odin’s idea of a joke, the joke’s on him because I’m not that guy.”
Keely grasped him by his scrawny shoulders. “Odin put his trust in us, Howie. Us—not me, not Leo, all of us. I saw how you stood up to Ronnie Polk. You’re not the same guy who used to get grape-jelly facials. Mimir gave you Odin’s Horn of Gjall! He must believe you’re trustworthy.”
Howie smiled weakly, still unconvinced.
“What else did you see, Keely?” Leo asked, wincing as he tried to sit up.
“My job is to bring back that pearl. It’s somewhere at the bottom of a pond. I think it’s the key to saving Sam. I saw blizzards and snow. Oh, yeah, and a giant beast with octo legs guarded it.” There was more to her visions, a lot more. But something urged her to hold back on the details. No need to burden them when they already had so much to deal with.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Howie said, leaping to his feet. “We are the Chosen Ones, so let’s get out there and do some Chosen work.”
Chapter Seven
Howie might have been eager to get moving, but there was no way Leo was up to it. The sun was already sinking behind the trees, and Leo looked too weak to stand. “I’m actually pretty tired,” Keely said, jerking her head at Howie so the lunkhead would notice Leo wasn’t going anywhere. “I think we should stay here for the night. Maybe try to get a fire going. In the morning, we can figure a way out of these woods.”
“I will be fine by morning,” Leo said, though his voice was tinged with pain. “I just need to rest.”
“No problem. I can get a fire going,” Howie said, cracking his knuckles like popcorn.
Keely raised an eyebrow. “Serious? I didn’t know you were a Boy Scout.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t. But I did go to science camp. And they thought us nerds should know how to survive in the wilderness in case, you know, we got lost walking from the mess hall to rocket lab. You had to start a fire with nothing but a stick and some moss.” He looked around the clearing. “And I think we have plenty of that here.”
He scurried off, rummaging for the perfect piece of wood.
Keely turned back to Leo, putting her hand on his forehead. He was burning up. She took off her denim jacket and made a pillow under his head. “Get some rest. Things will be better in the morning.”
He nodded, his eyes already drooping.
Keely sat back. Her stomach rumbled in protest. It would have been nice of Odin to give them a little advance warning so they could have at least packed snacks. And not saying goodbye to her dad was awful. He would be lost without her. Howie returned with an armful of wood and wads of dried moss. He busied himself with a rock, boring a hole into a log. Then he crumbled some dry moss in it and added a small piece of wood.
“Okay, let’s see if the ol’ How-master still has the magic touch.”
Placing the tip of the stick in the small hole, Howie swirled the stick between his palms, spinning it back and forth. His tongue was clasped firmly between his teeth. Keely hovered, hoping for a miracle, but prepared to console Howie if his experiment failed. The sun was fading, and a fire sounded really good. Leo was sleeping, but his brow glistened with sweat.
“I think Leo may have an infection,” she said. What would they do if he got really sick?
Howie shouted with glee. “Got it. Nailed it. Knew I could do it.”
A tiny tendril of smoke rose from the log. He blew on it, pursing his lips and getting his face close. A little flame jumped up.
Keely smiled, feeling a surge of hope. Things would look better once they had a fire going. “Way to go, Howie.”
He added some small twigs and fed it shreds of moss. “Come on, little fire, bring us some warmth. Hey, you don’t think those wraiths are going to come back, do ya?”
Keely wrapped her arms around her knees. “No. But let’s not think about it, okay? We have a fire now thanks to you.”
Howie lay back, tossing some more sticks into the small blaze. “Bet you wish we could order some Chuggies chili fries now.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? I’d eat an entire Chuggies burger with all the fixings.”
They chatted about food and what they would eat if they could until the moon rose high and Howie fell asleep, head on his arm, huddled close to the fire.
As Howie snored, Keely mopped the fever on Leo’s brow. He was restless, tossing side to side. Her careless mistake had nearly cost Leo his life. Never again, she swore to herself. Never again would she drop her guard like that. She turned her face to the moon, thinking about the pearl she had seen in her vision, wondering if it would be enough to save them all.
“We’re coming, Sam,” she whispered, staring at the moon until her eyes closed.
Fragments of dreams filled Leo’s head, making him toss and turn. Visions of scaly beasts chasing him. A shiny gold cuff just out of reach. As he stretched to take it, he fell, arms pinwheeling as he dropped into a pit that never ended.
Leo gasped, opening his eyes.
Was he awake or asleep?
He sat up, gasping as the sharp pain of his wound lanced straight to his brain. Definitely awake.
Night had fallen, sprinkling the sky with bright stars. Keely and Howie slept soundly around the nearby campfire. Howie’s snores sounded like a chainsaw. But that didn’t stop Leo from hearing a branch snap in the surrounding darkness. His heart jumped, but his friends continued sleeping. What if the wraiths had returned?
I am a warrior of the Umatilla, Leo told himself. I can stand.
And so he did. “Who’s there?” he called. Squinting to see in the darkness, a flicker of light caught his eye. A single spark.
“I’m not afraid,” he declared, but it came out more like a whisper. Staggering forward, clutching his side, he headed for the strange glow.
The light twinkled and danced, enticing him closer. He stumbled three more steps and almost touched the sparkle before it floated up and out of reach. He staggered forward, reaching for the light just as it danced away. Again and again, he reached and missed. Finally spent, Leo sank to his knees.
“I am a warrior of the Umatilla,” he said out loud. “I am not afraid.”
A soft voice came out of the darkness, surprising him. “No, brave one, you need not fear me. I am a friend.”
Leo felt the soothing comfort of a hand on his shoulder, a woman’s presence next to him. He tried to rise from his knees, but the woman held him down. “Stay. The fever grips you. Let me help.”
She placed her hands on his wound and pressed.
Her hair shimmered like white rain in the moonlight. Leo blinked, clearing the fog from his vision. Recognition hit like a breath of hope.
“Vor,” he said hoarsely, gasping when her hand slipped inside the wound. The pain was intense, and at the same time, her touch was a relief. “It’s you.”
“Shh. Yes, brave one, I am here.”
Leo had met Vor once on his first trip to Orkney. She had guided him on his journey to rescue Sam and stop the red sun curse. Her hands gently ministered to his wound, and when she withdrew, the skin began to knit, restoring itself. The fever faded from Leo’s brow.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Her brow furrowed. “Odin is acting strangely. I am troubled by his choices. Bringing children into battle. You nearly perished at the hands of wraiths on your first day.”
Leo sat up, feeling stronger already. “Whatever lies ahead, I am ready. I won’t fail Keely or Sam.”
A sad smile passed over her face. “Brave one, it will be harder than you know. If you fail to stop Sam in time, I fear the worst . . . one of our own may be taken.”
“One of your own? You mean a god?” Shock rippled through Leo. “How can that be?”
Vor shrugged
imperceptibly, her blank eyes focused on a distant point. “Even the gods take foolish risks.”
Leo absorbed her words. “What can I do?”
She hesitated, as if the words pained her. “You are the Sacrifice. You must do that which you were chosen for. But never give up hope.” She opened her hand. In her palm, a white butterfly fluttered softly, hovering there. “When all seems lost, in the darkness, you will find my light.”
A cold wind gusted. Vor turned her face toward it. Leo could swear he saw a cloud of fear in her sightless eyes. Then the goddess began to disintegrate. Her head, then her shoulders, then her gown. In mere moments, all that was left was a small pile of sand on the rock. The butterfly flitted around it and then flew off. Leo reached out to touch the sand, to see if it was real, but the wind blew the grains into the night.
Chapter Eight
Sam was dreaming. In his mind, he was standing outside in bright sunlight as the Orkadian Guard played a mournful song on their trumpets. It was the day of his father’s funeral. All of Orkney was out to pay homage to a man they had admired and respected. Flags fluttered in the breeze, snapping in the salted wind that blew in from the sea.
He remembered the warmth of the sun on his face as he placed his father’s regimental sword on the coffin. He wished his mother could have been there, longed for the comfort of her arms. Had Sam done the right thing by freeing him? It tormented him as the box was lowered into the earth. Maybe Sam should have left him in the stone. Maybe someone stronger than Sam could have saved him. He began to sweat as his dream turned darker, and images of his father beseeching Sam for help cascaded through his mind.
“Why, Sam? Why did you let me die?” Over and over his dad asked him that question, his face floating before Sam’s eyes.
The wispy image faded away, and Sam awoke. His arms and legs bore the marks of vicious bites from the creatures that scuttled about in the endless dark. He shivered with cold even as his skin burned. How many days had he been left alone in this dungeon? What if no one ever came back for him?
“C-c-can I . . . ge-get . . . that ro-room service now?” he called out in the emptiness of his cell, teeth chattering, his body racked with tremors. “How ’bout a g-glass of ice wa-water?” Thirst made his tongue feel like rough sandpaper. How long could a person live without water? Three days? Four?
And then, after days of silence and isolation, the door to his prison slowly creaked open. He turned his head, straining to see who was there.
A woman stood in the doorway, carrying a brightly lit torch.
“So you live.”
Catriona. Her voice rasped like steel wool.
Sam squinted his eyes into narrow slits, waiting for the light to be tolerable. The old crone slowly came into focus. She wore a charcoal wool dress with pointed shoulders that covered her from her neck to her ankles. Long gray hair fell in waves down her back, wiry and untamed. Deep wrinkles lined the gray skin hanging in loose flaps on her face. Her lips were thin and slightly purpled, pursed into a tight line. Her eyes were the only vibrant thing about her, a blazing green that actually hurt to stare at.
She sauntered forward into the cell, placing the torch in a hole bored in the wall. With a crook of her finger, the door slammed shut behind her. “Tell me, how do you like this place? I spent a thousand years inside a rock. This is quite spacious by comparison.”
“No complaints,” Sam lied, struggling to his feet. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stop shaking.
“You surprise me. My Deathstalkers can kill a man with one sting.” She stopped a few feet away from him.
Sam shrugged like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Endera tried to kill me with one of those overgrown roaches when I was a baby. Didn’t faze me then, doesn’t faze me now.” That was a fat lie. Between the fever and the blistering pain, Sam’s blood raged with a burning sensation that made every joint throb.
Catriona laughed, a jagged sound that scraped against Sam’s ears.
“Then perhaps you would enjoy more.”
She waved her hand, and a scuttling noise made Sam step back. From behind Catriona, the horrible creatures spilled out of the crevices, their crimson bodies crawling over the floor toward him, snapping yellow-striped pincers as they advanced. Beady black eyes glittered in the light. Their stingers were poised and ready to do their worst.
“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked, kicking at a Death-stalker that got too close.
Her eyes glittered with a deep malevolence. “It’s time you took your rightful place at my side. Every day you linger here, your precious Orkney loses another battle to me. Join me, and the war can end today.”
“You can’t win,” Sam said, kicking another Deathstalker away. “And you can’t turn me to your side. Endera tried and failed. I’m a Son of Odin through and through.”
“And a Son of Rubicus,” she reminded, stepping closer to him. She chucked her fingers under his chin, lifting it so his eyes met hers. “My father’s blood flows through your veins.”
Sam jerked his chin away from her vile touch and took a step back. Up close, her evil was like a powerful force, emanating off her in waves. “What do you want? Why bring me here?”
Catriona spread her hands wide. “To open your mind to the possibilities of what you can do with all that glorious anger you carry. Why do you fight who you are? We are alike, you and I. We both lost our fathers at a young age. I watched him die, you know. Odin took his head off with one swing of his sword.” Her face tightened as she replayed the memory, hatred oozing from every pore.
“Odin had no choice,” Sam reminded her. “If he didn’t stop Rubicus, the sun would have destroyed every living thing, including your ugly hide.”
“Odin could have showed mercy,” Catriona hissed, her gnarled fist clenched in his face. “After Rubicus died, I was forced to live in exile, running from one end of the earth to the other in search of a refuge. My sisters and I were outcasts. Alone. Hated by all. Perhaps you have felt that way?”
“No.” Another lie. When the red sun had returned a second time, Sam had felt the withering hatred of those who blamed him.
A smile touched the corner of her lips. “I can tell when you’re lying, boy. Don’t worry, I understand you. You can’t help who you are.”
Her eyes were mesmerizing as she laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He wanted to pull away from her hateful touch, but his legs didn’t obey his orders.
“You remind me of him, you know,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“Rubicus. You have his chin. And his temper.”
Revulsion and denial flooded Sam’s veins. “No. I’m nothing like him.”
She withdrew her hand. “I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” She snapped her fingers, and the door flew open. Sam hoped Catriona would leave the torch behind, but she took it, pausing in the doorway. “How many innocent lives will be lost today because you refuse to join me? Ten? A hundred? Pick a number, and my beautiful witchlings will make it so. You have the power to end this war, but you refuse. Which makes you just like Rubicus, so willing to let innocents die to save his own skin.”
Her words stung like a flurry of Deathstalker bites, forcing Sam to bite down on his cheek to stop from howling at her.
“This is your last chance. Join me, and I’ll send them away.” She nodded at the army of scorpions.
Sam gritted his jaw, refusing to speak.
“Oh, very well, have it your way.”
The door slammed shut, and the Deathstalkers began their march toward Sam.
After leaving the boy, Catriona climbed to the highest parapet of her fortress. She sucked in a bellyful of air. Entombed for centuries in her stone prison, she had dreamed of this freedom every single day. And now that it was here, she was determined to devour every moment life had to offer. Catriona threw her arms out, letting the elements whip her hair. Rain lashed at her face as she cackled in delight. She pressed cold fingers to her skin.
Wrinkled. Lined.
Old.
But not weak.
She wound her hands around her head three times and then flung them up at the sky. A bolt of green lightning shot from her fingers, mixing with the lightning in the sky, creating an ancient dance. She laughed long and hard. It felt good to work out the kinks. Get the juices rolling.
War had invaded every corner of the land. Exactly as she had plotted. Raining down pain and suffering on those responsible for destroying her family and locking her away. They would pay, and pay, and pay some more until no morsel of flesh was left that had not tasted her revenge and choked on it. She would cut out the heart of Orkney and force it down the mewling Orkadians’ throats until they retched with regret.
For you, Father, she whispered to herself.
A raven landed on the rail, bobbing its black head. In its beak it clutched a scrap of red fabric with strange writing. She fed it a tidbit of mincemeat from her pocket and stroked its black feathers. The ravens spoke to her. Spilled their secrets for the right price.
It let out a loud caw and squawked for minutes, chattering on.
Catriona fed it another morsel, feeling her anger rise as she absorbed the import of the news.
Odin was interfering again.
What kind of fool game was he up to, bringing those earth children back to the Ninth Realm? No matter. They were as helpless as newborns. A nuisance easily sacrificed. But still, there had to be a reason for this desperate maneuver. The old wind-bag was many things, but impetuous was not one of them.
Behind her the door creaked. She whipped her head around, wrapping her wet cloak to her body. “I do not wish to be disturbed,” she snarled.
Her eyes clashed with those of her rival, Endera Tarkana. A scar ran across Endera’s face, and more crisscrossed her arms, marks of her failed battle with the witch-boy when she had tried to destroy him at the Ring of Brogar. At Endera’s side stood one of those flea-ridden Shun Kara wolves she favored. It growled low in its throat, as if warning Catriona to be polite.