by Alane Adams
Sam was dead.
Kalifus lived.
Long live Kalifus, he joked with the lowest gallows humor he could muster.
In the distance, he spotted the mighty Yggdrasil tree, only it was no longer green and lush. Black rot climbed up the trunk, spreading like a fungus, consuming the tree. A giant branch broke off near the top, tumbling to the ground.
As he passed under the sacred tree, another branch fell, just missing his head. Out of nowhere, a tail came out, whipping itself around his feet and knocking him flat.
“What have you done?” Odin’s guardian hissed, its yellow eyes penetrating as it raised its head to strike at him. “Where isss Odin?”
Kalifus scrambled back up. “He’s dead. Odin’s dead.” Surprisingly, he could say it without emotion. Kalifus was much stronger than Sam.
The snake’s eyes flared with surprise and fear. “It can’t be,” it hissed. “No mortal has that power.”
“I am no ordinary mortal,” Kalifus boasted. “I descended from Odin, and I share a bloodline with Rubicus.”
“Traitor. He trusssted you.” The snake lunged at him, but Kalifus dodged to the side, sending a blast of witchfire at an overhead branch and bringing it down on the snake.
He had no wish to harm the creature, so he began jogging toward the shore, but the snake’s tail whipped out and wrapped around his ankles, dropping him to the ground. Before Kalifus could fight it off, he was rolled inside the long coils. The snake squeezed harder, crushing Kalifus’s damaged armor and choking the breath out of him.
“Let me go!” Kalifus demanded, pushing at the coils.
“Ssson of Odin, you will die,” it hissed at him.
Kalifus couldn’t get his hands to his knife. He tried to conjure up a spell, but he had nothing. It was infuriating. After everything he had been through, now it appeared this stupid snake was going to kill him. He could feel the rage building inside him. Sam would probably talk his way out of this, but Sam was gone. Kalifus closed his eyes and let the Deathstalker venom flow freely, mixing with his magic, turning his body into an inferno.
“Mordera, erasmus!” he called, easily tapping into the dark magic Catriona had shown him. When he opened his eyes, yellow fire blazed forth.
He directed a torrent of furious energy at the snake’s gaping mouth. The snake let out a painful shriek, and the coils loosened long enough for Kalifus to escape. He staggered away, leaving the giant snake writhing on the ground.
Behind him, the giant tree shuddered and then, with a loud crack, the trunk split down the middle, dividing the tree and sending half of it falling straight for Kalifus. He broke into run, stretching his legs to leap over branches as the once-mighty tree came down around him.
By the time he emerged through the rim of fog, bruised and breathless, the island was crumbling apart behind him—literally breaking into pieces. The forest trees toppled over one after another. Chunks of the island broke off like pieces of an iceberg.
“Go, go, go!” he shouted to the mutated Balfins as he jumped into the awaiting boat. His crew rowed as fast as their bulky arms would carry them while all around the boat, Asgard was sinking, sending two-story waves at them. One crashed over their rowboat, sweeping a hulking ape-man overboard. His heavy armor swiftly carried him under the surface. Kalifus clung to the gunwales as the crew rowed harder until they bumped into the side of the Balfin ship. Strong arms reached down and pulled Kalifus onto the deck.
With a grunt of impatience, he shook off his rescuers and turned to watch the last shard of land collapse in on itself in a roar of rushing water and then disappear from sight. Kalifus closed his eyes, exhausted.
Odin was dead.
Asgard destroyed.
The captain thumped Kalifus victoriously on the back. But as he opened his eyes, watching the crew erupt into raucous shouts and jeers, a feeling of triumph settled in his stomach. He had been an outright fool to think he could ever turn back from the intoxicating power of using dark magic.
I killed a god.
He raised his fists with the crew and joined in on their celebration.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Catriona stood on the shore of the small cove in the early morning light. Her gray hair was tousled by the wind. Around her a black-clad row of witches lined the banks. A breeze blew over the ocean, bringing with it a gloominess, like the winds were keening their sorrow.
“Do you really think he did it?” Agathea snipped, pacing back and forth along the beach.
“We will see, won’t we?” Catriona replied for the umpteenth time. A raven had brought word of the ship’s imminent return and the destruction of Asgard, but she would believe it when it came from the boy’s own lips. Even though she felt it, in every bone in her body. The shift in atmosphere. The departure of hope.
The end of tyranny.
“There, see? The ship comes,” Lemeria said, clapping her hands. A ship entered the small cove bearing the black sails of the Balfins. It unfurled its sails and dropped anchor.
Of all the Tarkana witches, Catriona thought Lemeria showed the most promise, and the least amount of loyalty to Endera. She rewarded the young witch with a pat on the shoulder. “Yes, but is the boy on board?” She studied the ship with sharp eyes, searching for his slight form.
There, in the prow of the ship. The wind blew his hair back from his face. He wasn’t skulking. He looked defiant. Proud.
He had done it. She was certain. The thrill of victory made her pulse race. Odin was dead, that insufferable god. And all that he had done to tamp down on the power of her kind had been erased. I have avenged you, Father, she thought to herself. Rubicus would be pleased.
Soon Skara Brae would fall when her army marched on its walls.
All of Orkney would crumble when it did.
And then Catriona would break the bonds of magic that separated Orkney from earth, allowing her rule to spread and grow with no bounds.
A rowboat was lowered and swiftly carried her prodigy to shore.
The witch-boy splashed through the shallows to where she waited for him. She was excited as a schoolgirl.
“Kalifus, my son.” She grasped his shoulder. “I heard the words the raven spoke, but I dared not believe it until I heard it from you. Is it true? Is Odin really dead?” She probed him with her magic, searching for deceit, for any trace of lies.
Kalifus fell to one knee, his arm across his chest. “I killed him myself,” he said, laying the ragged ear of Brunin at her feet.
A wild cheer went up from the witches.
Catriona picked up the scrap of flesh, rubbing it against her cheek, smelling its rotted scent like it was the sweetest perfume. “How? How did you do it?” Her eyes glistened with a lust for blood. There was not a trace of deceit about him. Wickedness fairly oozed from his pores. Even his eyes were different. Yellow tinged the whites, a side effect of all that glorious Deathstalker venom inflaming the dark magic that ran through him. This powerful weapon truly belonged to her.
The witches gathered around him, crowding in to hear his tale. Kalifus glowed under their attention, relating in detail how he had destroyed their oldest adversary. He described the giant bear, how it had battled with him, and how he had defeated it with Catriona’s enchanted dagger.
“This belongs to you,” Kalifus said, pulling the blade out to return to her.
Catriona folded his hands around it. “No. It is a gift. Keep it. You have done well, my son. You will ride next to me in a place of honor as we take over this world.”
The ensemble of witches let out a shriek of approval.
Kalifus smiled. “Yes, my queen,” he said with a short bow.
The air burst with a loud crack and the smell of sulfur. Black smoke coiled around a woman, who tumbled to the ground. Her long black hair fanned out. Blood marked the white sand where she lay.
Catriona dropped to her side. “Ariane. What has happened to you?”
Ariane’s face was gray and etched with pain. She was dying,
the light in her eyes fading. “I have been searching far and wide for you. I’ve been . . . poisoned,” she gasped out.
“Who did this to you?” Catriona cried, giving her a shake.
But Ariane shuddered in the grips of death, her eyes fluttering closed.
Catriona shrieked in her face. “Who did this?” Then, grasping the back of Ariane’s head, she cast a spell, using her other hand to pull back, drawing the last gasp of air out of Ariane’s chest.
“Ennnnderrrra . . .” Ariane breathed the name of the traitor and then went limp.
Catriona dropped her back onto the sand. The entire coven appeared shocked by the name Ariane had uttered.
Agathea spoke first. “I knew she was trouble,” the witch hissed. “We should have taken care of her long ago.”
Catriona ignored her. Rage blazed in her eyes. “Endera is no doubt going into the underworld after her daughter. If she survives the journey, we will deal with her. For now, our plan continues. Our army is ready.”
She turned and marched to the top of a small rise. Kalifus and the others followed. Below in a shallow valley, an army of transformed Balfins awaited. The ground was black with their movements as they swarmed and organized their ranks. Vena rode on the back of a large stallion, commanding them with a long silver whip she snapped over their heads, shouting orders at them and keeping them under her control. General Degroot seconded her orders, his silver helmet shining as he rode on his huge black horse among the rank and file.
“Aren’t they marvelous?” Catriona crowed, clapping her hands in excitement.
Vena rode over to join them. At her side the Balfin general rode on a beastly horse with armor embedded in its flesh. Another of the monstrosities lifted her down from the saddle, setting her gently on the ground.
“General Degroot has trained his army well,” Vena said. “And dear Sigmund led the way.” She patted the hulking behemoth like he was a pet Rottweiler.
The General grunted loudly, slapping his arm to his chest, and bowed his head.
Vena laughed. “The Orkadians will fall like paper dolls.”
“What of Paulina?” Catriona demanded.
“As you ordered, Paulina took a battalion to attack the Orkadian Guard on their mission to make peace with you. I assure you, there will be no survivors.”
Catriona cackled in vicious glee. “Then tomorrow we march on Skara Bare,” she shouted, raising her fist to the sky. Green lightning shot out of her fingers. The other witches joined in until the sky was ablaze with crackling electricity.
The Balfin creatures beat the ground with their lances and heavy boots, grunting and hooting in a glorious cacophony of noise.
Catriona grinned delightedly as Kalifus raised his fist with the rest of the witches and sent green fire into the sky to join with theirs.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Days of hard riding and limited stops had pushed Howie and Captain Teren’s finest to the point of exhaustion. A pair of broken axles and several heavy rainstorms had delayed their travels to the seaport where Catriona was promised to be waiting to discuss a treaty. The High Council leader, Lord Drabic, stuck to his carriage, drinking ever-increasing amounts of the endless supply of wine he had brought. He was attended by his two servants and hardly stepped outside except to head straight for the tent they set up for him nightly, a silken pagoda that included a feather mattress and thick carpet for his tender toes. The rest of them made do with bedrolls around the campfire.
To Howie, it was an adventure of the highest sort. Here he was actually on a diplomatic mission to help end a war. No more working the Chuggies counter after school and having kids laugh at his dorky uniform. No more Ronnie Polk shoving grape-jelly sandwiches in his face. He was a Chosen One. He almost began to believe that Catriona was really going to be waiting for them at the other end, ready to sign a treaty. And then Howie’s job as Protector would be a grand success without even breaking a sweat.
Scattered clouds threatened more rain in the coming days. On their left, thick forest encroached all the way up to the road. The sun had begun its descent when something in the air made Howie sniff. It was the faint smell of smoke. Like a bonfire. He had a sudden craving for s’mores.
Teren raised his hand and halted the caravan. Heppner pulled out a scope and searched the sky. “There.” He handed the glass to Teren. “See that smoke?”
Howie craned his neck. A thin black trail wound up into the sky. The road ahead twisted and turned. It was impossible to see what was causing it.
“Wait here,” Teren said to his other men. “Heppner and I will scout ahead.”
Howie ignored the order and tagged along because he was Teren’s squire, and he had a funny feeling running up his spine that made him want to stick close to their fearless leader. As they came around the bend, the horses reared up at the sight of a bonfire in the middle of the road. Someone had piled tree stumps and set fire to them, sending shooting flames crackling and popping as the dry timber was consumed.
They dismounted to study the raging fire.
“What in Odin’s name?” Heppner said.
“It’s a trap,” Teren answered.
Howie felt the backs of his hairs stand up, as if unseen eyes were watching them from the woods.
The sound of hooves thundered toward them. Howie turned and saw Lord Drabic’s carriage running wildly down the road. The coachmen were nowhere to be seen. The carriage headed straight for the fire.
Teren jumped into the middle of the road in the way of the stampeding horses, waving his arms and shouting at them to stop. They came to a shuddering halt, tossing their heads in terror. Teren threw open the carriage door. “Lord Drabic, are you okay?”
The portly Drabic tumbled out onto the ground. A large sword protruded from his back. His servants had vanished.
Before anyone could speak, galloping horses sounded again on the road. Teren and Heppner drew their swords. Howie just gaped as Teren’s men appeared, riding fast and hard, looking like they were fleeing from a nightmare. Behind them was a terrifying sight. A horde on horseback followed them. They carried the black banner of the Balfin army. Only they weren’t ordinary men. These were the monster men Beo had warned about.
They looked like sneevil-faced ape-men. Howie could make out misshapen faces and tusks that stuck out of their fat lips. Thick hair covered their heads and arms. Clawed talons that could rip flesh from bone gripped the reins of the beasts they rode. In their hands, they clutched double-headed axes and deadly maces. Their horses had been changed into something from a horror movie: beasts with breastplates and metal armor built into their hides. Alongside them, a herd of sneevils snarled and nipped at the horses’ heels as they raced after them.
Howie struggled not to pee his pants.
“By the heavens, what is that?” Teren whispered.
“An abomination,” Heppner said. “Coming our way.”
“Off the road!” Teren shouted, snapping back to his senses. He gave Howie a shove toward the safety of the trees. The remaining men followed behind, abandoning their steeds and scrambling through the thickets as fast as they could. Arrows zipped through the air. Snarling sneevils chased alongside them. Howie looked in sheer terror as one of the men was brought down, then ripped to pieces by the beasts. This was nothing like a video game. This was real. Too real. He kept pumping his legs, trying to keep Teren in sight. They jumped over rocks and slid down banks. Ahead, a dark opening in a small knoll of boulders indicated a cave.
Shouting at the men to follow, Teren grabbed Howie by the collar and pushed him inside. The surviving men poured in, only a handful. Heppner stood at the entrance. Only four others had made it. Howie trembled with uncontrollable fear. Teren sent the men to search for another exit.
“I expected a trap, but not so soon, and not like this, with beasts I can’t even describe,” Teren said, pacing. “When Beo said monster men, I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought, that the sailors had been bewitched.”
&n
bsp; “What were those things?” Heppner asked.
“Balfins, most likely, by their banner. The witches transformed them into something evil.”
“They’re coming,” Heppner said from the entrance. He raised his crossbow and sighted out into the woods.
“Any other way out?” Teren asked, seeking guidance from the soldiers that returned from their search. They shook their heads.
Outside the mouth of the cave, the clearing was still. Teren joined Heppner and peered out. Howie peeked out from between them. A lone sneevil ran across the open ground. Teren drew a bead on it with his crossbow and released the bolt, striking it clean in the heart. It fell over, but then three more advanced. The ape-men filtered through the trees. Up close, they were even more frightening. Their shoulders bulged with muscles. They knocked down trees with a swing of a mace. Teren shot at one of the monster men, hitting it in the chest. It yanked the bolt out like it was a nuisance and kept coming.
Heppner let loose with his crossbow, sending an iron bolt straight into the head of one of the Balfin mutations. The creature fell down and was quickly run over by the sneevils.
“I’ve only got two shots left,” Heppner said, “and there’s a whole lot more than that out there.”
Between them, they had a pitiful amount of arrows, and each man his sword.
The swarm of creatures climbed over rocks and moved carefully forward, avoiding the open. It was only a matter of moments before they sent the sneevils in and overcame Teren’s sorry resistance.
Howie turned away, unable to watch. They were going to die. There was no last-minute save. They didn’t have the manpower to fight this army. Tears burned his eyes as he thought of his parents. They didn’t always do a great job showing him how much they loved him, but deep down, he knew that they cared. And they would never know what happened to him.
Teren turned to face Howie and the small band of men. “I don’t know about you lads, but I’m not about to die in this hole. I say we go out there, and we give it our best. We take as many of them with us as we can and die in battle knowing that we gave our life in the discharge of our duty.”