The Legends of Orkney

by Alane Adams

  Orrin’s furry brows rose in surprise. “You’re an earth child. What brings you back? Wait, let me guess, you’re here to save your friend.” He tilted forward, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret. “It won’t work, you know. Catriona will never let him go.”

  “She won’t have a choice once we complete our missions,” Howie bragged without thinking. Orrin’s eyes flared. Howie could have slapped himself in the head. Teren had told him to keep his fat lips zippered, but he’d blown it already.

  “Missions. So the rumors are true. Odin has chosen his heroes. Which are you? The Seeker? No, no, the Sacrifice. You look a bit like a lost lamb.”

  The two guards snickered.

  Howie flushed. “Actually, I’m the . . .” He cleared his throat, working up the courage to say it.

  “The . . . ?” Orrin raised one eyebrow, waiting.

  Howie forced out the words. “The, uh, you know, Great Protector of the Realm.”

  One corner of Orrin’s lips rose in a sneer of contempt. “Great Protector, is it? I see. So you must have superior fighting skills?”

  Howie fiddled with the armor, avoiding Orrin’s eyes. “Well, sure. Obviously.” He tried to think of something, anything, he could brag about. “I play a mean game of Zombie Wars. Wiped out a legion of undead armies on my way to getting the top score.” Howie had the sense of mind not to mention the horn Mimir had given him that actually could command an army of the dead. It was currently buried under Howie’s dirty clothes.

  Orrin’s voice dripped with disdain. “And will a ‘top score’ in Zombie Wars help defend us against an army of witches?”

  This Orrin dude was obviously pushing his buttons, but Howie was tired of people picking on him. “Yeah, I get it, I don’t exactly look the part. That’s cool. Who knows what Odin was thinking? I mean, he is a gaaaawd, and all, so you know, I expect he has it under control.”

  The High Regent waved a hand. “Or perhaps Odin has his own agenda. What about your friend? The he-witch. I hear he is a prisoner in the Tarkana dungeons. You don’t worry about him?”

  Howie shrugged. “Sam can take care of himself.”

  Orrin stepped closer. Howie smelled cloves on his breath. “There is a rumor that colonies of Deathstalkers live within the Tarkana walls.”

  “Hey, man, I was there myself. No scorpions. Just giant rats.” Howie shuddered as he remembered them, although his buddy, Bert the Rat, had grown fat eating his crusts.

  Orrin tapped his chin as if he were thinking. “Ah. You were in the upper cells. There are lower ones. Deeper underground. But, if you’re not worried, why should I be? And with you on guard here at Skara Brae, I guess he is very much on his own.”

  Orrin stood directly underneath Lingas’s perch. Howie was about to warn him that was probably a bad idea when Lingas let out a burp. A dribble of bird vomit erupted from her mouth and landed on Orrin’s red robe, splotching it with what looked to be squirrel entrails.

  Howie couldn’t help it. He snorted with laughter. Orrin looked angry enough to rip Lingas’s head off, but the bird bared its beak at him as he reached for it, and the weasel-faced official retreated.

  “Be careful the Great Protector doesn’t need protecting,” he spat out, wiping his robe in disgust as he left the room, followed by his men.

  Lingas cackled and then tucked her beak in her chest and promptly started snoring.

  Howie picked up one of the swords and gripped the handle in his hands. Orrin was right. He should learn more about being a warrior. The sword was so heavy, his arms trembled under the weight, and the tip sagged to the armory floor.

  A peal of laughter rang out behind him. The back entrance, the one that led to the barracks, stood open. A girl leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe twelve. Thin as a reed with long brown hair tied back tightly. She wore breeches instead of a skirt, with short black boots. She carried a stack of clean uniforms she hung in a cupboard.

  Hello, cutie pie.

  “You’re holding it wrong,” she taunted.

  Howie leaned on the sword, trying to act casual. “Yeah, I’m just, you know, getting the feel for it. The captain is counting on me to help win this war.”

  She walked slowly along the rack of swords, running her finger across the blades. “I could beat you blindfolded with a wooden spoon,” she challenged over her shoulder.

  Howie’s common sense, the part that recognized he knew absolutely nothing about swordplay, was promptly overridden by his desire to impress this girl. So without thinking, he yanked a set of wooden practice blades from the bin and tossed one to her. “I’m warning you, I beat all seventeen levels of Sword Master III. Plus the bonus content.”

  The girl caught the blade with one hand. “Do you always speak such nonsense?” she asked, slashing the air smoothly with it.

  Howie’s mouth went dry. That had looked pretty polished. “I—”

  “Let’s have a go.” She bowed and extended the tip of her sword to him, crouching slightly. He mimicked her stance, but it was her eyes that drew his attention. They were a toffee color with a fringe of thick lashes. And just as steady as her blade.

  Howie met her thrust, but she parried fast as lightning, leaving him stumbling over his feet. Every attack he tried, she countered, moving like a nimble-toed dancer. It was obvious within seconds she outclassed him by a hundred miles, and that what he had learned playing video games was of absolutely no use in a real fight.

  After she had knocked the sword from his hand three times and allowed him to retrieve it, Howie finally surrendered.

  “Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he panted, slumping against the table.

  She gracefully sliced the air with her sword before she sat next to him.

  “My father. He was a great swordsman. A member of the Orkadian guard. I used to come here with him to practice.”

  “Was?”

  Her gaze, which had been so direct, now drifted away and darkened. “He died a few months ago. Ambushed on patrol by some nasty witches.” Her voice was laced with a mixture of spite and grief.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” She swung her legs and waited for him to speak.

  “I’m Howie.” He stuck out his hand. “That’s Lingas.” He indicated the snoring bird.

  “Selina,” she said, slipping her slender hand in his. “You’re not from here, are you?”

  “Nope. I’m from good ol’ Pilot Rock, Oregon. A place with hot showers, flush toilets, and cable TV.”

  She pulled her hand free as her voice turned cool. “You’re friends with the he-witch.” It sounded like an accusation.

  “That’s me. Sam’s best bud.”

  Her face turned cold. “Where’s your ‘bud’ now? No one’s seen him in weeks. They say he’s gone and joined the witches.”

  “No way!” Howie’s voice rang with conviction. He might not think much of his abilities as Great Protector, but he had a ton of confidence in his friend. “Sam’s one of us. Catriona’s got him locked up in her dungeon. I’m here to help find him and save Orkney. Odin sent for me himself. Made me Protector of the Realm.” He waited to see if she would laugh at him, but she didn’t even blink.

  “Then why are you hiding out here in the armory with only a iolar for company?”

  “You mean besides my total lack of skills?” Embarrassment stung his cheeks. “You saw me; I can’t fight worth beans.”

  “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?” She jumped down and paced in a circle, taking practice swings with her sword. “Some Protector you are.”

  He slid off the table. “Who said I’m giving up?”

  “I say it.” She circled him. “What will you do about it?” She slapped him on the thigh from behind with the flat blade of her sword.

  “Ow!” He jumped and turned to face her.

  “Show me something, Protector.”

  His leg stung from her smack. “Stop it.”

  “Make me.” She hit him again, this time on the
arm.

  He stepped back, feeling his face turn red. “I don’t want to hit a girl.”

  She slashed the air three times with the sword, all the while advancing on him. He stumbled back and, in full-blown humiliation, fell on his bottom.

  Selina stood over him. “Why are you so scared?”

  “I’m not scared.” A sweat broke out on his upper lip. He was scared. But he didn’t want to admit it.

  “Then hit me.”

  “No.”

  “Hit me!”

  “No!” Suddenly he wanted to cry. And the Howmeister made it a rule not cry in front of girls.

  “You’re a coward is what you are.” She put the point of her sword under his chin and lifted it.

  She was looking at him the same way Ronnie Polk and his buddies did when they picked on him. A simmering fury rose within Howie as she shook her head in disgust and turned her back to walk away.

  “Take that back,” Howie demanded, scrambling to his feet. He clenched his fists, feeling frustrated and angry and afraid.

  She paused, cocking her head to the side to look at him. “I fight for my father’s honor. Who do you fight for?”

  Howie knew the answer without having to think. “Sam. He’s my best friend. He’s stood up for me so many times I lost count. I’d do anything to be the one standing up for him.”

  She threw him a sword. “Then fight. Odin picked you. Have a little faith.”

  Howie gripped the sword. Confidence trickled into him. Tapping the sword to his forehead, he bowed. “Come on, chiquita, show me what you got.”

  Selina grinned, tipping her sword and mirroring his bow. “It will be an honor, Lord Protector.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Keely stared wistfully at the receding island of Garamond. Things had happened so quickly, she had hardly had time to catch her breath, let alone realize she had parted ways with her two most trusted allies. She worried about leaving Howie alone. He was sorely lacking in confidence. Leo. Well, he would probably defeat the iguanadillo in two shakes and be back in Skara Brae before Keely even got close to the Cave of Shadows.

  “Where are we headed?” Keely asked as the two men quickly set the sails and caught a stiff ocean breeze. They had taken possession of a small skiff Galatin said was used for scouting missions. It was bare bones, with only a tiny cabin below deck. It was designed for speed, not comfort.

  Galatin answered from his position at the helm. “North to Torf-Einnar.”

  Torf-Einnar. She tried to remember her Orkney geography. “Isn’t that where the Eifalians live? I met Gael before.” Gael was the Eifalian representative to the High Council. From what she could recall, he didn’t always approve of Sam, but he was a good person.

  Galatin nodded. “We’ll be needing their help to go north to Rakim where the Cave of Shadows is. Gael’s father is King Einolach. Their territory borders the frost giants. They’ve been enemies for centuries, but the Eifalians know the ways of snow and ice.”

  “So we’re talking cold,” Keely said.

  “Colder than a witch’s heart,” Rifkin muttered next to her as he unfurled a sail.

  “And you really think they’ll help us?”

  Galatin gave the wheel a spin as the wind caught the sails and the skiff picked up speed. “Once they understand the importance of our mission.”

  Rifkin winked at her. “Personally, I think they’ll toss us into the street like dishwater. The Eifalians have no love for the Vanir.”

  A giant yawn split Keely’s face.

  Galatin jerked his head at the hatch. “Go down and get some rest. We’ll sail through the night. Should make Torf-Einnar by late morning if the winds are kind.”

  Keely didn’t argue. She took a bunk below and promptly fell asleep. Her sleep was dreamless except for one recurring vision.

  The Moon Pearl. It glowed like a celestial night-light. She wanted to touch it, feel its soothing power, but it was just out of reach.

  When she awoke, sunlight streamed through the small port-hole over her bed. She rubbed away the smudges and looked out with wonder. They were approaching the coastline of a beautiful emerald island. Torf-Einnar. Stone cliffs streaked with creamy layers of pink and beige rose up from the water. Along their rim, fresh snow dusted the tops of towering pine trees. In the distance, white-capped mountains beckoned. Beyond those mountains was the Moon Pearl. Keely could feel it calling to her.

  Brimming with excitement, she climbed up onto the deck. Galatin stood at the helm. Rifkin swung in a hammock.

  “Good morning, little mouse,” Rifkin said cheerfully.

  Galatin tossed her a hard biscuit. “Eat this, Chosen One. You’ll need to keep your strength up. The journey ahead will be difficult.”

  “I can do it, you know,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m not afraid.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then you’re a fool. Fear’s what keeps you alive on the battlefield.” He spun the wheel sharply. “Rifkin, get your lazy bones moving. We’re nearly there.”

  Keely turned away, gripping the railing with one hand. Galatin’s words chafed at her confidence. Of course she was scared, but that wasn’t going to stop her from going ahead. She nibbled on the biscuit, watching as a dolphin crested the wave next to the ship. Keely smiled, remembering their adventure to Asgard and how Mavery had gotten the dolphins to haul their raft across the sea. Poor Mavery. Keely hated hurting her feelings like that, but what choice did she have?

  As Keely leaned on the rail, something moved out of the corner of her eye. She tensed, imagining one of the rathos she had encountered in the dungeons at the Tarkana Fortress. Did the ship carry the same vermin? There was a rolled-up sail stowed in the helm of the ship. It was moving slightly. Too big for a rathos. Suddenly suspicious, Keely marched over to it and pulled it away.

  “Hello.”

  Mavery’s beaming face looked up at her. She looked pleased with herself and not the least bit put out at being discovered. Her hair stuck up in clumps, and her gray dress was rumpled from hiding all night under the sails.

  “Mavery! What . . . you’re supposed to be . . .” Keely sputtered for words.

  Galatin and Rifkin heard the ruckus and made their way forward. Galatin had a thunderous look as Mavery got to her feet. “You were told to stay in Skara Brae, witch.”

  “No, I was told I couldn’t go with you,” Mavery said saucily. “No one said I couldn’t catch a ride to Torf-Einnar. I felt like paying a visit to King Einolach.”

  Rifkin snorted. “Good friends with the king, are you? A little witchling like yourself?”

  Mavery just gave that sweet smile and turned her back on them, holding on to the rail as the skiff cut through the water.

  Galatin shouted at Rifkin to get back to sailing the ship, and the two girls were alone.

  Keely put a tentative hand on Mavery’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. About yesterday.”

  “It’s okay. I know why you did it.” Mavery kept her eyes on the approaching shores.

  “What do you mean?”

  She snorted. “I’m not stupid. You drank from Mimir’s well. You saw things that are going to happen. You musta seen something bad. Real bad to not want me to go, because we’re friends . . . right?” She finally turned to look up at Keely.

  Keely saw the shining look of need in the girl’s eyes, and she wrapped an arm around Mavery’s shoulders. “Yeah. We’re friends. And you’re right. The things I saw . . . they’re pretty ugly.”

  Mavery turned back to the horizon, looking pleased. “That’s okay. I’ve survived lots of things I wasn’t supposed to.”

  They were silent a moment. “What happened?” Keely ventured. “You know, the day the witches tossed you overboard. Why did they do it?” Mavery had been abandoned by the Tarkanas and left to drown. An old sea captain named Jasper had plucked the girl from the frigid waters.

  The girl’s face paled. Her lip trembled slightly. “Because they knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Th
at I wasn’t like them.”

  “But you’re . . . a witch.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So what made you different?”

  Mavery took the barely nibbled biscuit from Keely and held it in her palm. “Sometimes what you see on the outside is not what’s in the inside.” She cracked opened the biscuit. A tiny delicate flower nestled in the center. Its pink petals unfurled in the light. Mavery lifted it and began plucking the petals, dropping them one by one in the water. “I’m not a Tarkana witch. I was a foundling. Left on the steps of the Tarkana Fortress. They musta seen something in me they didn’t like.”

  “So who are you?”

  Mavery’s eyes were bleak as she stared out at the sea. “Someone nobody wanted. Look, we’re here.”

  The ship came around an island point, and the city of Ter Glenn burst into sight. A picture-perfect fairy castle sat atop a large outcrop of rock. Dozens of turrets rose up, impossibly tall and beautiful. Green banners flapped in the breeze. A small town was nestled along the seawall. The whitewashed buildings were capped by red-tiled roofs. An armada of boats lined the wharf. Men crawled over the decks, loading supplies and polishing brass. More than a dozen soldiers patrolled the ramparts.

  The Eifalians were nothing if not well-armed. Surprising for such peaceful people. Then Keely realized . . .

  War was coming.

  A depressing thought settled over her. What good were warships against the power of the Volgrim witches? Catriona could probably incinerate them all with one sweep of her hand.

  They nosed in among the large ships. Keely had barely set foot on the dock when a boy with a sheaf of hair even whiter than hers dropped down next to them from the sidewalk above. He landed on his feet light as a cat. He had an elfin face—thin, pointed chin, and eyes bright as the blue sea.

  “What are you doing back here?” he said, planting his hands on his hips as he glared at Mavery.

  “None of your beeswax, Theo.”

  “Who’s your friend?” He switched his glare to Keely.

  “Hi, I’m Keely.” She stuck her hand out, but at the mention of her name, he took a step back.

  “You’re an outsider. You don’t belong here. This is not your world.”