The Legends of Orkney

by Alane Adams

  As Milligan trudged off, Teren turned to the kids, pointing at each of them in turn. “Let me see, you’re Keely. Howie. And Leo. But why are you back in Orkney?”

  “Odin brought us,” Keely said. “We’ve been chosen to help save this land.”

  His eyebrow rose. “Chosen? How so?”

  “Well, we met Mimir and—”

  Suddenly a dark-haired moppet tackled Keely and nearly knocked her backward. “Keeeeely! I knew it was you.”

  “Mavery?”

  The witchling broke into a grin. Keely grabbed her and swung her around. “It is you! What in the world are you doing here?”

  Mavery had the same impish look, but her ragged clothes had been replaced with a neat gray frock over black leggings and soft boots. Her dark locks had been trimmed evenly and tucked behind her ears. And she was at least an inch taller.

  “I live here, silly. Me and Sam have to stick together. We’re the only good witches around, you know.”

  Behind Mavery, a stumpy figure hurried into the arena. Rego. Sam’s stalwart friend and companion. Keely had never been so happy to see a dwarf in her life. A small iolar perched on Rego’s shoulder, eyeing them curiously with a sharp tawny gaze.

  “Why am I not surprised to find you three in Skara Brae?” Rego announced, a grin splitting his whiskered face.

  Keely ran forward to give Rego a hug. The bird squawked, startled by her approach, and flapped its wings wildly.

  “Hush, Lingas.” He reached up to scratch the bird’s snowy belly. She had leather jesses around her ankles, keeping her tied to him.

  Howie high-fived Rego. “Dwarfmaster, what’s up with my buddy Sam?”

  A shadow chased over Rego’s face. “Sam is out of our reach. You shouldn’t have come back here. Last time, the witches used you against him.”

  “We were brought here,” Leo answered. “Odin called us back. But perhaps we should discuss it privately?”

  The recruits had all stopped their archery practice and were milling about, listening in on their conversation with open curiosity.

  Teren nodded. “Aye, let’s move this into the armory. Better to keep it amongst ourselves until we know what this is all about. There are many in Skara Brae I do not trust.”

  Rego grunted. “Beo will want to be there.”

  Teren scowled but agreed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Keely would have rather been taken to a place with a hot shower and room service, but at least the armory was warm and dry. There was a crowded bunk room attached to a small dining hall that held a long rough table. The place smelled like a locker room. Grungy piles of dirty uniforms competed with mounds of unwashed chainmail for floor space. A trio of sputtering candles dripped wax all over the table. Four soldiers were seated eating a meal. The remains of a cooked chicken sat on a platter. Keely’s stomach rumbled, but the carcass looked picked clean.

  Teren made quick introductions. “Keely, Leo, Howie, meet my most trusted men. This is Galatin.” Galatin stood and shook their hands. He was young, maybe nineteen, with close-cropped hair. He had the battle-worn look of an experienced soldier in spite of his youth.

  Next was Heppner, a carrottop with a swath of freckles. Then Speria, dark, silent, and slender as a whip. Both men nodded curtly. The largest of them was Tiber, the beefy blond man she had seen in the doorway of the armory. He folded his arms and just grunted at them. Lastly, Teren introduced them to Rifkin. The soldier had a shiny bald head and a large gold hoop hanging from his right ear. A beard covered most of his lower face, ending in a tiny braid at his chin.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Rifkin said, jumping up and pumping Keely’s hand, and then moving on to shake Leo’s and Howie’s. “Welcome back to our esteemed land.”

  Rego entered with Lingas on his shoulder, leading a hawk-faced man and a boy their age. The man’s black eyes darted from person to person in the room. Small silver hooks dangled iolar feathers from his earlobes. A javelin was strapped across his back, tipped with a long and pointed flint arrowhead. His chest was bare save for a beaded leather vest. His face was fascinating, marked by a hawk-like beak famed for giving the Falcory exceptional sense of smell. The boy was a carbon-copy of his father, down to the beaded vest and silver earrings, though his feathers were smaller. As they stepped forward, Keely saw the man favored his left leg.

  While Rego settled Lingas on her perch, Teren turned to the newcomers. “Meet Beo, and his son, Jey. Beo is the Falcory representative to the High Council. He was wounded fighting off a nest of witches. Took down one of the Volgrim hags with a javelin through her cold heart, and then removed her head just to be sure she was really dead.”

  Beo nodded curtly, arms folded. He stood apart from the group. Jey mimicked his father, folding his arms, but his eyes darted around the room, passing over Howie like he was of no consequence to linger appreciatively on Keely, then moving on to Leo. Keely could feel tension rise in the room, as if the two boys were somehow locked in a silent competition.

  “Tiber, keep an eye on the door. I don’t want any listening ears,” Teren ordered as he waved them into chairs. Tiber went to the door, cracking it a hair, leaning his bulky body against the doorjamb. When they were seated, the captain cleared his throat. “These earth children claim they have been chosen by Odin to help us defeat the witches.”

  There were some snickers under hands that quickly covered mouths. Even Rego let out a little chuckle. Irritated by their lack of respect, and more than a little put out that no one had offered her a meal or a hot shower, Keely stood, planting her hands on the table.

  “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but someone flushed us back to Orkney. We didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to our families. Then we met Mimir in the forest, and he let me drink from his well. We’ve been attacked by wraiths, and we out-smarted a witch named Ariane, who wanted to boil us alive. So I’d appreciate it if you’d give us some respect. And something to eat. We’re starving.” She sat back down with a huff.

  There was stunned silence. Rego broke it with his chuckles. “Mimir, you say? You’d have to make a sacrifice . . . of course . . . the hair.” Rego eyed her pixie cut. He let out another chuckle. “A sprite of a girl taking on a crafty old coot like that. You’re lucky it didn’t cost you an eye.”

  “My apologies for our lack of manners,” Teren said. “Speria, go fetch them another chicken. There’s nothing but bones left on the plate.”

  Speria left and returned with a glistening, steaming chicken that smelled like it had just been pulled off a spit. Keely’s mouth watered as he set it down. The three kids scrambled to tear off hunks. For once, Keely didn’t give a thought to manners, biting chunks of meat off the bone and savoring the feeling of filling her belly. When she was done, she wiped her hands on her soiled jeans and used her shirt to wipe her chin.

  Teren leaned forward. “Tell us what you saw when you drank from Mimir’s well. You can speak freely. I’d trust these men with my life.”

  “I saw two bears in a circle,” she began, “one swallowing the other’s tail.”

  Rifkin slapped his thigh, his gold earring glinting in the candlelight. “That’s the mark of the Vanir.”

  “The Vanir? You mean the frost giants of old?” Rego looked doubtful. “I didn’t think they still existed.”

  Keely felt a chill of apprehension. The Vanir were the tribe that Odin had once traded Mimir to. The ones who had cut off his head.

  “Oh, they exist,” Rifkin said, eyes wide as he spoke. “Giants with the strength of ten oxen. They live in Rakim, an icy realm north of the Eifalian kingdom. Rifkin knows ’em too well.” He tapped his temple. “It’s so cold, your eyeballs freeze solid if you open them in a storm, that is, if the troll-hags that live in the woods don’t cut your heart out with their stone daggers first.”

  Every person in the room gawked at Rifkin, mesmerized by his vivid tale.

  “What?” he said, blinking under their collective gazes. “I grew up in the northern territori
es. I’ve heard these stories since I was a babe.”

  “Go on,” Mavery nudged Keely. “Tell us the rest.”

  “I saw a cave. A giant beast with lots of legs guarded it.”

  “That’s Audhumla,” Rifkin whispered. “He guards Ymir’s cave.”

  “Who’s Ymir?” Leo asked.

  “Ymir was the creator of the cosmos,” Rifkin answered. His eyes glittered with excitement as he told the story. “He was killed by his three sons: Odin and his brothers, Vili and Vi. When he died, he spit out the sky. His hair became the trees.” Speria and Heppner joined in, chanting in unison, “And his bones the mountains, his sweat and blood, the seas.”

  “A child’s nursery rhyme,” Teren scoffed.

  But Rifkin was undeterred. “Legend has it Ymir’s bones were thrown into the Cave of Shadows. It’s said to hold the greatest treasures of this world. What I wouldn’t give for five minutes inside and a sack to carry all that gold,” he added dreamily.

  Keely went on. “In the cave, I saw a pearl at the bottom of a pool. It glowed with a bright light.”

  “A pearl?” Speria raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What good is a trinket?”

  “Yeah, how’s a pearl going to stop witchfire from turning you to ash?” Heppner chortled, elbowing Speria. “You going to get a string of them and make yourself a pretty necklace?”

  Mavery leaped up, throwing her hand out, and sent a tiny blast of witchfire at Heppner, singeing the end of his nose. “Be nice, or next time I’ll turn you to ash myself.”

  Heppner’s face turned as red as his hair. A black streak marked his nose. “Why you little witch, I oughtta . . .” He shoved his chair back, probably intending to throttle the girl, but Teren held his hand up.

  “Enough. Look, this is a nice tale, but the Cave of Shadows is nothing but a myth.”

  “Begging your pardon, Captain, but the Cave of Shadows is real as this cup,” Rifkin said grimly, knocking his tin mug sharply against the table. “I stood outside it once myself. And mark my words, that pearl she speaks of? That’s the Moon Pearl. Every child of the North knows it holds the essence of Ymir’s heart. I’d stake my life on it.”

  Teren hesitated, a spark of hope lighting his eyes. “And you really think this pearl can help us defeat the witches?”

  “Not just defeat the witches, bring Sam back to us,” Keely said firmly. “He’s out there. We can’t forget that.” They were all silent a moment as they thought of their friend. “We were each given a task. I am the Seeker. I have to go north and retrieve this Moon Pearl. I am going,” she added, in case that wasn’t clear. “But I could use some help.”

  “And the others, lass?” Rego asked.

  Keely cleared her throat before announcing the rest. “Er, Howie’s been chosen as Protector of the Realm. Skara Brae will fall unless he makes a stand here.”

  Speria and Heppner erupted in laughter, although Heppner eyed Mavery warily. Galatin remained silent, but his lips twitched with amusement.

  Teren’s eyebrows arched so high in disbelief they almost disappeared under his sheaf of blond hair. “Is this some kind of joke? Look at him—he can barely lift a sword.”

  All eyes turned to stare at Howie. His cheeks reddened, but he just grinned, spreading his hands wide. “Teren, my man, Odin chose me to be Protector of the Realm. Not my fault, just my fate. You’re either with me or against me. And trust me, you don’t want to go against The Howmeister.”

  Teren looked like he wanted to explode. Howie’s fingers twitched at his waistband. Keely knew he was itching to pull out the Horn of Gjall and show them what he could do, but now was not the time to call an army of the dead. She put a hand on his arm and caught his eye, shaking her head.

  Fortunately, Rego intervened.

  “Captain Teren, surely you could use some extra hands around here,” the dwarf said quietly. “The boy could be of service. What about you?” Rego asked, turning to Leo.

  “I am the Sacrifice,” Leo said grimly. “Keely saw a golden cuff guarded by a monster I must defeat. When I do, the cuff will take me someplace dark.”

  Beo spoke for the first time. “This monster. What does it look like?”

  “A cross between an iguana and an armadillo,” Keely said. “Why? Do you know it?”

  Beo nodded curtly. “That is the she-she-kana. It lives on the edge of the Falcory lands deep inside a mountain known as Ilyawit Peak.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Leo said.

  Next to Beo, his son Jey snorted, as if that was the dumbest thing he had ever heard.

  “Ilyawit means death in our language,” Beo said dryly. “All who have ventured inside have only scattered bones to show for their bravery. The she-she-kana guards the Draupnir, a golden cuff that has the power to free someone from the underworld. The beast is invincible. The boy will never defeat it alone.”

  Teren drummed his fingers on the table. “What say you, dwarf? You believe these earth children speak the truth?”

  Rego rubbed his whiskers. “How else can you explain their arrival here? If they’re back, its Odin’s doing, mark my words.”

  “Maybe this is our chance to end this,” Teren said with fire in his voice. “Beo proved the Volgrim witches are not invincible when he took off that hag’s head. If the gods have favored us with hope, then we cannot turn our backs on it.” The captain abruptly rose to his feet. “I’ll need volunteers to escort these children on their quests.”

  Rego stood. “Tiber and I will take Leo west to the Falcory lands to find this cuff he speaks of.”

  “I’ll guide you,” Beo said.

  “Father, your leg,” Jey argued. “You can’t ride. Let me go.” Jey’s voice was brash, confident like his father’s. “I know the way to Ilyawit Peak.”

  Beo shook his head. “No, Jey, it’s too dangerous.”

  Jey drew himself up tall. “I am thirteen. A man. You have trained me for this. Where others have failed, I will not.”

  Teren stepped in. “Beo, we could use your help here. Lord Orrin is up to his usual trickery on the High Council. With Gael absent, you are my only ally. Send the boy as a guide. Tiber and Rego will enter the beast’s lair alone.”

  Beo put his hand on Jey’s shoulder, affection softening his hawk-like features. “You are sure?”

  Jey nodded, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement.

  That settled, Rego pointed at Rifkin. “Rifkin knows the northern territory, so he should travel with the girl.”

  Galatin spoke up. “I will accompany Rifkin.”

  Teren turned to his remaining men. “Speria, Heppner, you stay in Skara Brae with me; I can’t be left alone with all these recruits. I would accompany you myself, but there are politics afoot here, and we must tread carefully. No one is to speak of this outside this room, understood?”

  The men nodded.

  “Then you must leave now,” Teren said. “Every moment you linger inside the walls risks discovery and answering questions before the High Council until we reach old age.”

  Keely’s head spun. She had really been looking forward to a shower, maybe a good night’s sleep.

  Mavery piped up. “I’m going with Keely. She’ll need my help.”

  “No!” Keely’s voice was harsh. “You can’t come. It’s too dangerous, and . . . you’re too young. You’ll just be in the way.” Her words were deliberately hurtful, but the vision she had had of Mavery’s head on a chopping block gave her no choice. The imp had to stay back where she was safe.

  Mavery looked like she wanted to spit nails at Keely, but the men were already scraping back from the table as Teren issued his orders.

  “Rego, Tiber, rustle up some horses from the stables for your journey. Galatin, you and Rifkin commandeer one of our ships. It’s the fastest way to the Eifalian kingdom. I’ll send word to the fleet captain.”

  Keely tried to think of something to say to Mavery to make her feel better, but the witchling ran out of the room, her face red and tear-streaked. Keely sighed and turned
to give Howie a goodbye hug, but Rego interrupted, holding the young iolar on his arm. “I have a favor to ask, lad,” he said to Howie. His voice was gruffer than normal. “I want you to watch over Lingas while I’m gone. She’s too young for a journey like this, and untrained.”

  Rego thrust his arm out. The bird screaked loudly at Howie, opening its mouth wide and snapping at him when he reached out his fingers.

  Howie snatched his hand back. “Uhm, are you sure? Maybe she could just go with Keely?”

  “Nonsense, she won’t like the cold. Here,” he lifted the bird onto his fist and held her out. “Just take her.” He sniffled loudly, as if parting from his pet pained him.

  Howie slowly raised his fist, mimicking Rego. The bird hesitated, her tawny eyes sizing Howie up, and then she delicately stepped over onto his hand. He tentatively lifted her to his shoulder.

  “Who’s a pretty bird?” Howie cooed. Lingas promptly bit down on his ear, drawing a sharp yelp from him. She let out a soft cackle, like she thought it was funny.

  “She’s a bit feisty, but you’ll get used to her antics,” Rego said. “She likes to hunt squirrels, but keep her tied up with her jesses,” he pointed to her leather leggings, “until she’s bonded with you.”

  Howie rubbed his ear wryly and nodded.

  Teren approached and clasped Howie on the shoulder. “Apologies for my words earlier, lad. What with defending an entire realm and fighting spells I can’t even name, I’ve been a bit knackered.”

  “Yo, I get it. No need to apologize,” Howie said. “Just point me and Lingas here in the direction of a hot shower and a comfy perch, and I’ll let you get back to biz.”

  “Oh no. No, no. That won’t do.” Teren shook his blond head and tapped Howie on the chest. “Not for the Protector of the Realm and his noble bird.”

  “Yeah,” Heppner said, mirth lighting up his freckles, “the Protector would want to be near the men.”

  “Training with them,” Speria added, waggling his dark eyebrows.