The Legends of Orkney

by Alane Adams

  “Come on, ole Sunny, girl. You can do it,” Howie said through cracked lips. “It’s just . . . right ahead, right, Damarius?” He kept repeating the lie in order to get himself to believe it. Sunny’s body wavered. A shudder ran through her, and Howie knew she was finished. He pulled up on the reins, but the horse just sank down on her forelegs. Howie managed to get clear before the old girl fell on her side.

  “Get up, Sunny. You can’t just lie here. We’re almost there.” Howie stroked her velvety nose. The horse whickered softly and then went still. Damarius growled at him and tugged on Howie’s shirt with his teeth.

  “All right, just give me a second to say goodbye,” Howie said. He closed the horse’s funny cockeye and rubbed her ears one last time, and then he got to his feet and started trudging through the sand.

  Lingas pecked at his ear, snapping him awake when he fell asleep on his feet.

  The sun was a blazing orb. Endless sand stretched before him. At one point, he thought he saw a green line of trees ahead, but then it disappeared behind a sand dune. He must have been delirious because he could swear he passed out, and something began dragging him.

  When Howie came to, the sun had set, and there was something different. The air had a coolness to it. Something rough was moving across his face. And the smell was awful, like rotten bologna. Blinking, he looked up into the eyes of Damarius.

  “Shove off, dog-breath,” he grumbled.

  Pushing Damarius away, he sat up. The red sand of the desert was gone, replaced by pine forest.

  He had made it.

  The sound of a stream nearby got him moving. He put one hand on the Shun Kara’s coat to steady himself as the animal led him to the stream. Lingas perched on a branch, her eyes glowing yellow in the twilight as Howie dropped to his knees and buried his face in the water, gulping down the precious liquid.

  Finally sated, he sat back, wiping his mouth, and rubbed a hand over the wolf’s ears.

  “How did I get here?” Howie fingered holes in his shirt. Bite marks. So he hadn’t been dreaming. Damarius had dragged him.

  The wolf snorted and sat down, as if to say it was obvious. Lingas skreaked, chiming in her own vote.

  “Well, I guess I owe you both one.”

  Something made his nose wrinkle. The smell of smoke. Someone had a campfire going. Maybe they had some food.

  Howie followed his nose, winding through the trees. He could see an orange glow ahead. This was bigger than any campfire. It was a wall of flame. As the trees thinned, he saw the source.

  A sign at the edge of the trees read: Brighthook.

  He remembered this place. It was a small little town south of Skara Brae. He had visited once with Teren. And now it had been burned to the ground. Sadness made him grip the bark of the tree he leaned against until his palms hurt.

  Then Damarius growled, nudging Howie back as the sound of wings cut through the air and a boercat landed not ten feet from where he was standing. Lingas flew up into the shadows of the tree.

  Fear made Howie’s knees go weak as a giant of a man stepped down from the back of the beast. More and more boercats began landing until the area was filled with them. Their attention was on the blazing fire, but any moment the giants would turn and see them. Damarius dove in the center of a large bramble bush. Howie followed, crawling deep into the bush, ignoring the pain as thorns scraped his skin until he burrowed next to the wolf.

  More and more fire giants landed and began setting up camp. Howie didn’t dare so much as hiccup. Damarius lay still as a statue, his eyes the only thing that moved as he stared out through the brambles.

  Holy guacamole, we’re in deep doo-doo.

  The largest of the red-skinned giants strode into the center of the clearing. He had massive biceps that could crush a tank. “Arek, give me a report.”

  “Yes, Lord Surt.” The one called Arek bowed. “We’ve burned every village we’ve come across. The boercats have done their job well. You see that the horizon is nothing but a wall of orange blaze and the sky is black with smoke.”

  “Good. Orkney will fall in a matter of days. These pitiful fools have no defenses. How much farther to the capital?” Surt asked.

  Arek knelt to draw in the dirt. Howie stared through the opening in the bushes, listening hard.

  “We are here, to the south. One more day’s ride, and we can be on the outskirts. If we rest tonight—”

  Surt snarled. “No. We are close. We keep moving.”

  Arek shook his head. “The boercats need to feed. We have been raiding for days while Bellac and Lukas march on foot. We must wait for them to catch up. We rest now, and when we are united, we battle.”

  Surt drew his blade so fast it was a blur as he placed it against Arek’s neck. “You dare defy me?” Flame danced along the blade, but his general showed no fear.

  Howie put an arm around Damarius. Surt’s boots were inches from them. If the fire giant looked down . . .

  There was a high-pitched shriek.

  Lingas.

  It did the trick. Surt spun around, shoving Arek aside as he asked, “What was that?”

  “Just a night bird,” Arek said, rubbing his throat. “My lord, forgive my insult. I know you are wise enough to see the men are tired and need rest.”

  Surt spat on the ground. “Fine. We stop here. Tell them we will have a feast. Open those kegs of ale we lifted. Tomorrow we will ride on Skara Brae and sack the city.” He stalked away.

  Howie felt his blood chill. Time was running out.

  The next few hours were the longest in Howie’s life as they waited for their chance to slip away. The fire giants had hunkered down for the evening, feasting on roasted beef and laughing long into the night.

  A fight broke out between two of the giants. As they wrestled each other to the ground, a crowd swelled around the pair. All their backs were to Howie and Damarius. Lingas let out a low whistle.

  “Let’s move it,” Howie whispered, backing out of the bush.

  They crawled on their hands and knees until they were deeper into the shadows of the woods, and then Howie clawed his way to his feet and began running, not caring if the branches whipped him in the face. He ran until he was winded and couldn’t drag in another breath.

  Damarius nudged him with his broad head. The wolf looked at Howie with that green stare of his.

  “Yeah, I was scared too,” Howie said, rubbing his ears. “We got a two-day walk unless we find a ride. Lingas,” he rubbed the bird’s head as she settled on his shoulder. “You saved our life. Now, I need you to use those wings of yours to get back to Skara Brae and warn the captain that Surt’s coming.”

  He threw the bird in the air, and she took off through the trees.

  A faint whimper drifted through the night, like an animal in pain. Damarius turned and let out a low growl.

  Something was out there.

  It could be one of Surt’s men out on patrol. Damarius growled louder, taking a step forward, his hackles rising.

  “Let’s go the other way,” Howie whispered, but Damarius took off like a black arrow. “Dumb animal,” Howie grumbled, trotting after him.

  The moon was his only light. Coming to a clearing, he caught a flash of reflection across the way. Something was hiding in the bushes, something large, and it was growling at him with green slanted eyes.

  Damarius had frozen and was shaking, like he was scared. Whatever it was had to be bad to scare a Shun Kara.

  “Let’s go, Big D,” Howie whispered, tugging on his thick fur. They backed away two steps.

  “Stay.” The word was scratchy, more of a growl than a voice.

  Howie froze. “Are you talking to me?”

  The massive head tilted in a nod. “I see you are a friend to the wolf.”

  “Yeah, me and Big D are like brothers,” Howie said, hoping this thing couldn’t tell how scared he was. Gathering his courage, Howie took a step closer to those green eyes. “Who are you?”

  “I am Fenrir, son of Loki
, and the greatest wolf to ever live. If you help me, I will be in your debt.”

  Big D pressed up against his legs, still shaking, hiding behind the boy. Later, Howie would rub the wolf’s nose in it, but, for now, he kept his voice steady as he asked, “What’s the problem, my man? Why do you need the help of little old me?”

  Chains rattled. Howie caught sight of the glint of moonlight on metal. The giant wolf had stepped into a steel trap.

  “I see the problem,” Howie said. “You’re in a pickle. If I leave you here, you might get free, or the fire giants camped nearby might find you.” The beast snarled, and Howie nodded. “And that would be bad. So you need to get out of this trap and hightail it away.”

  He took the silence as agreement.

  “I might help you.” As the words left Howie’s mouth, a shaggy paw the size of a dump truck landed with a thump in front of him, one long toenail pinning his boot in place. “I mean, of course, I’ll help you,” he added, tugging futilely on his boot. “The thing is, I know these red jerks, and they’re bound to spot you in the morning when they fly overhead, so unless I free you tonight and you get far away, they’re going to do what they do best: barbecue your flea-bitten hide.”

  The razor-sharp claw pressed harder on Howie’s foot, making him flinch. “But of course, my man, I’m not going to let that happen, because the How-master always has a plan.”

  The talon eased up slightly, and Howie drew his throbbing foot back an inch. “Here’s what I think.”

  He explained his plan to the beast. When he was done, the beast growled softly, but he withdrew his paw.

  “Do we have a deal?” Howie asked.

  There was silence. Determined not to cave in, Howie shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Your loss, my friend. Those ugly fire giants can eat you for breakfast for all I care. Come on, Damarius, let’s get out of here.”

  Howie turned to go when he was knocked over by a swipe of Fenrir’s paw. He looked up into the eyes of a snarling beast, large as a house. His open jaws hovered over Howie. He could devour him in one snap and not even taste him going down his gullet, but Howie refused to flinch.

  “Go ahead, eat me!” he shouted. “I don’t care. Just do it because unless we have a deal, I’ve got nothing to live for. My friends are going to die, and I have to get there and warn them even if it means I die with them. So just finish it and be done.”

  He shut his eyes and waited for the teeth to rend him to pieces. Damarius trembled next to him. After an eternity, Howie cracked open one eye. The beast towered over him, a long trail of drool hanging from one side of its mouth.

  “Agreed,” he rumbled.

  Relief flooded Howie as he scooted back, getting to his feet and dusting himself off.

  “I’m just going to take a look.”

  He walked slowly around Fenrir. His rear leg was snared in a large bear-claw trap. Blood oozed from the wound, making a sticky mess on the forest floor. The trap was held by a chain wrapped around a thick tree.

  “I’m going to have to pry that apart,” Howie said. He looked up into the green eyes of the wolf. “This is going to hurt a lot, so don’t eat me by mistake.”

  Howie put his foot on one side of the trap and lifted up with both hands to separate the steel jaws. The teeth were dug deeply into the wolf’s leg. Blood had dried around the fur, blackening it. Howie put his back into it, but the trap hardly moved.

  The wolf growled at him, warning him to hurry up. He tried again, getting his shoulder under the edge and pushing his boot downward. His face turned bright red, and he was sure he was going to pop a blood vessel, but finally the spring moved and the trap sprung open.

  “Now,” Howie grunted. The wolf pulled on his leg.

  “It’s stuck,” Fenrir growled, turning his head and raising his lip in a snarl.

  Howie pushed harder, using every last bit of strength, and, at last, the wolf’s leg sprung free. Howie let the jaws close with a snap, jumping back so he wasn’t caught in the trap.

  Fenrir licked the fur around the wound, lapping it with his rough tongue. Howie stood uncertainly. He was just as likely to get eaten by the wolf as killed by Surt’s men. He held his ground, tightening his hands into fists.

  “We had a deal.”

  The wolf kept licking his wound.

  “You’re to take me to my friends,” Howie said, moving closer.

  Fenrir snarled at him. “Silence. I have to feed first. I am weak.” He went back to licking his wound. Behind Howie, the brush rustled.

  Damarius appeared, holding a limp goat in his teeth. He dropped it at Fenrir’s feet and then bowed his head, extending one paw forward to his giant brethren.

  Howie grinned. “Dinner’s served. Eat up, my wolf brother. We have a long way to go.”

  Chapter 35

  As dawn broke, the ship carrying Keely, Leo, and the rest of the slave boys entered the harbor of Skara Brae. Keely stood at the rails and heaved a sigh of relief. The red flags still flew. They’d made it in time.

  The same could not be said for the eastern seaboard of Garamond. Roiling black clouds of smoke filled the sky, turning it a leaden gray. Orkney was falling under Surt’s relentless attack. They had spied boercats from a distance, but none had come near their ship.

  “We are not too late then,” Reesa said, gripping the rail.

  Leo stood at Keely’s other side.

  “Do you think Sam is back?” he asked.

  Keely shook her head. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  Behind them, the line of slave boys stood silently watching.

  Galatin had spent every minute of their journey training them to fight. Keely’s arm ached from wielding a sword against the stronger Vanirian boys, but they had thrived under the watchful eye of Reesa. The woman had surprised Keely by changing out of her royal garb into a tightly belted leather tunic, her hair tied back in a neat braid as she helped Galatin train the boys how to wield a sword.

  Reesa’s eyes frequently went to study Eithan’s face, but the woman asked him nothing about his past, just gently instructed him the same as the others.

  Captain Teren waited for them on the dock, looking haggard and worn. Keely searched for any sign of Sam, but Rego just shook his head at her when he caught her eye.

  Keely made the introductions. “Captain Teren, I present Queen Reesa of the Vanir.”

  Teren bowed low. “An honor to meet you, your highness. I apologize we cannot offer you much of a welcome.”

  “Surt approaches,” Reesa said quietly. “His fires are less than a day off.”

  Teren nodded. “We know. We have prepared the best we can. Your army, does it follow you?”

  The queen looked pained, twisting her hands as she said, “I don’t know if my husband will come, but I have brought these young Vanir to help.” She waved at the line of boys that stood on the deck. Each had a fierce look on his face. “If you can provide them with armor and weapons, they will be as brave as any man.”

  Teren eyed the boys, then nodded gravely. “Their help will be appreciated.” He turned to his pair of men. “Speria, Heppner, see the boys get outfitted, and get them a hot meal. Come, let us discuss matters in the council chambers.”

  As they walked, Keely asked Teren, “Has Abigail returned?”

  “Yes. She arrived yesterday.”

  “And?”

  He winced. “Hestera proved difficult. Eight witches chose to come to our aid.”

  Keely was disappointed, but eight was better than nothing.

  “What of Gael and the Eifalians?” Leo asked.

  “It’s bad news. Their ships were attacked and burned en route to joining us. The survivors were able to swim to shore. They are in position on the ramparts, but their numbers are few.”

  “Any sign of Sam?”

  He shook his head. “No word.” He touched her arm. “You should know, Howie isn’t here. His iolar returned this morning, squawking up a storm, but not even Rego can make sense of what the bird i
s trying to say.”

  Teren filled her in on what he thought Howie had done, going after Jey’s father with the Falcory boy, and he told her about Howie’s crazy battle plan.

  “We have almost a thousand buckets of armor out there, and my men stand ready to light smoke fires. With any luck, we can hold them off another day.”

  Teren’s voice was tight. He didn’t have to say it wasn’t much of a plan. It was all they had. Miracles happened. And that’s what they needed—a miracle.

  Inside the High Council chambers, Abigail and Gael were locked in a fierce discussion with Rego. A group of eight women clad in black dresses huddled in a group—the Tarkana witches. Most were young, barely out of their teens.

  Abigail stood, wrapping Keely and Leo into a hug. “Do either of you have any idea where my son is?”

  Keely looked at Leo and then said, “Abigail, Sam’s gone after Odin.”

  “Gone after Odin? But how is that—you don’t mean in the underworld?”

  “It wasn’t his idea,” Leo said. “Frigga commanded it, or else she would punish him, all of us, for what happened.”

  Abigail finally noticed the other woman standing behind Keely. “I am Reesa, Queen of the Vanir,” Reesa said, extending her hand.

  “We welcome your help,” Abigail said. “Come, join us.”

  They sat around the table. The witches remained huddled in the back, quietly talking among themselves.

  Teren sat forward. “Howie’s tin army is in position along the front walls of Skara Brae. With any luck, it will make Surt think twice before attacking. We have to hold out hope that more help will arrive. If Surt does attack, we draw in Surt’s ground troops and pin them between the walls lined with Gael’s archers and the soldiers I have positioned on the other side in the forest.”

  “A few soldiers won’t stop them,” Reesa said.

  “We will do our part,” Abigail said, nodding at the line of witches that had gone quiet to stare calmly at them with their sparkling green eyes. “We are Tarkana witches. Our witchfire can take out a legion or two.”

  Reesa nodded appreciatively. “That will help balance the odds. I will lead the Vanirian boys in battle. I promise you, they will not disappoint.”