The Return: (The Eternity Road Trilogy Book 2)

by Lana Melyan

  “The bridge is a part of the landing strip,” said Samson.

  “Impressive. I’ve driven here before but hadn’t caught the blockbuster scene. It felt like it was landing on my head.” Craig grinned. He glanced at the big, yellow road sign with destinations. The name Hommelvik wasn’t there. “How far is it?” he asked.

  “Ten to fifteen minutes.”

  “The witch, does she know we’re coming?”

  “No. Last time I met her was long ago.” Samson looked at Craig, then at the road again. “But she knew that the moment Eleanor was back, I’d come to her.”

  “What if she isn’t home?”

  Samson’s hand ran over his forehead and down his shoulder length hair. “We’re not going to her home. We’re going to an old, abandoned house. We’re meeting there so she can hand over the box.”

  “Why didn’t you call her? She could be anywhere.”

  “She probably knew Eleanor was back the moment it happened. I’m sure she’s nearby.”

  “How? You mean witches can sense that?”

  “No. But she can. She isn’t an ordinary witch.” Samson glanced at Craig. “She’s like me. She’s the First Witch.”

  Craig stared at him. “The First Witch? How come we never heard about her? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because I read about her on the golden pages and, as you know, that’s secret information. I’m glad I followed the rules and never told Fray about her. During all those years, she was my safest harbor.”

  “Is she as old as you are?” Craig asked, still processing the news.

  “Oh no. She’s much older.”

  Craig looked at the dagger, imprinted on Samson’s forearm. “Does she have a sign, too? What is it?” He chuckled. “A cauldron?”

  Samson smiled. “It’s a pentagram. It’s colorful and shaped a little differently than ours.”

  Craig glanced at the fjord. Not far from its shore was a small island covered with pointed coniferous trees and resembling a giant hedgehog.

  “Samson, you chose me for this,” said Craig. “It means you trust me. Don’t you think that it’s time to fill me in?”

  “I’ll tell you everything you need to know to fulfill your mission. The rest you’ll find out yourself.”

  “How do you do that?” Craig shook his head.

  “Do what?” Samson gazed at him.

  “You’re eight hundred years old and still full of secrets. How do you keep all those secrets without exploding?”

  “Oh, that.” Samson sighed heavily. “I take my duty seriously. So should you. After a while, I started feeling good about it. It gave me power.”

  “Like you need more of that. You are the most powerful man on the planet.”

  “No. Not that kind of power, not physically. I mean knowing something no one else does. Knowledge can be a very powerful weapon.”

  Craig looked at him, at the man who seemed only a few years older than Craig himself. At the man who was always confident, determined, poised, and in control. “That’s why the Higher Powers chose you. They knew you could do it. All of it.”

  “I don’t know. I always thought that it was dumb luck.” Samson beamed. “Never got a chance to ask, never seen them since.”

  It was nice to see him smile. Time wasn’t dead anymore. The clock was ticking again, counting minutes, and each minute brought him closer to his goal.

  The blue road sign informed them that the tunnel ahead was three hundred meters long. Before entering it, Samson pulled his sunglasses to the top of his head. The glasses weren’t that black and he could see even if the tunnel didn’t have any lights at all, but after a hundred and sixty-two powerless years, he had acquired the habit.

  They drove for a few more minutes along the shore. As they passed a gas station, a bus stop appeared, and Samson slowed down. He parked the car next to a one-story red building—Cafe Rampa. Across the street was a grocery store. And that was pretty much it—the center of Hommelvik. From the foot of a mountain, tidy houses decorated with potted flowers stretched up to the woods. From between them the pointed top of a church stuck out.

  They had breakfast in the cafe. While Craig was finishing his coffee, Samson went to the grocery store.

  “What is that for?” asked Craig when he came back with food and bottles of water in a plastic bag. “You said it’s only a few miles from here.”

  “Just in case,” said Samson. “As I said, she isn’t there yet.” He locked the car. “We’ll go on foot from here.”

  The area was sheltered by mountains, and the wind was much weaker. They crossed the road, rounded the store, and went up the street. As they passed the last house at the end of the lane, the asphalt pavement changed to a dirt road, wet from passed rains.

  They kept to the path at first, but after a while Samson veered off it, taking a shortcut. It didn’t take long until the old, gray, two-story house showed up in the small clearing.

  “It looks like it might collapse the moment we pull open the door,” said Craig, looking at Samson sideways.

  “It's been like that for a very long time. That, and the hearsay that the house is haunted keep people away from it. Mostly.”

  As they came closer, Craig saw a small wooden sign with a few native words scrawled on it. The words were written in red, looking like blood. Not far from it, in a small hole in the ground, a thermos sat with a sticker reading COFFEE and a few plastic cups for the passersby.

  “Did she do all this?” Craig asked.

  “Of course not.” Samson went toward the porch. “People like mystery, and they’re trying to keep it alive.” He stepped to the door and pulled it open. “Many searched this place out of curiosity, and after they did, they all said the same thing: that they didn’t find anybody in the house, but the candle was lit and a cup of steaming coffee sat on the table, like someone just put it there.”

  Craig passed the threshold and stopped in the corridor. There were two doors, one to the left and one to the right. In front of him, running along the wall, was a staircase. The door to the right was open, and Craig looked through it into the kitchen. It seemed like nobody had changed anything here since WWII. There was no dust, and everything was old but clean, like in a museum.

  Craig followed Samson, climbing up the squeaking stairs. As he reached the second floor, he saw the room with old furniture, where in the middle of the simple wooden table stood a candlestick with one lit candle, and next to an open book sat a steaming cup of coffee.

  “There was nobody around, and if no one lives here. . . ?” Craig started his question.

  “Magic,” Samson answered before he could finish. “It’s not just a cup of coffee. Pick it up.”

  Craig approached the table and looked at the small cup on a saucer. When he lifted the cup, it weighed at least five times heavier than it was supposed to. “Okay,” he said, putting it down. “Then, what’s it doing here? I’m sure it has some meaning.”

  Samson stepped to the table and picked it up. “You have to take a sip from it,” he said, and sipped the coffee. “That’s how you summon the Witch. Now she knows that someone is here.”

  Craig pondered for a moment, then said with a grin, “Couldn’t you just text her?”

  Samson chuckled. “Last time I met her, cellphones didn’t exist yet. We were followed by vampires most of the time. I couldn’t take a chance.” He picked up a pencil lying next to the book and wrote his name on its page. The next moment, the writing was gone.

  “Message received,” said Samson.

  Craig ran his hand over the printed page. He tried to look at the cover, but the book didn’t budge. Samson’s gaze was still fixed upon the page, and a few seconds later it shone with golden words: See you at midnight.

  Craig pointed at the words. “Is this . . . this reminds me of our bracelets.”

  “Who do you think enchanted them? And the spell to summon the Hunters, which we—and she, of course—passed to witches. Where do you think I know it from?”
>
  “I thought you learned it from the Book.”

  “It’s a Book of Power, not a Book of Spells.” Samson chuckled again. He glanced at his watch. “We have more than twelve hours. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Craig, following him outside. “Is there a hotel nearby?”

  Samson shook his head. He pulled a bottle of water out of the bag and took a few gulps from it. “There’s a cabin in the woods, not too far. We can wait there.”

  “I don’t get it. Isn’t it too easy?” said Craig, still thinking about what he’d just learned. “The people who search the house may think that it’s just a coffee and try it as well. That means that anyone can summon her.”

  “That’s what the weight of the cup is for. It’s not normal, and at a mysterious place like this, people wouldn’t risk it. Besides, it wouldn’t work without a message. She has to know who summons her, otherwise she wouldn’t show up. That’s how witches communicated with her before. I’m sure they use phones now. And not just any witches. Only the heads of covens knew about this place.”

  They took a trail, stretching up into the woods. Between the thick trunks of big pines, Craig saw a waterfall running down the craggy mountain wall. He thought about the house they had just left, about its secret. All those centuries, he had thought there was nothing supernatural in this world he didn’t know about. To find out there was somebody like them walking upon this Earth, and the fact that she was even older than Samson, was overwhelming. This exciting discovery brought up a lot of questions.

  “If she is the First Witch,” Craig asked, “does it mean that there are other immortal witches out there?”

  “No, there’s just her.”

  “So she can’t turn people, like you do?”

  “No, but she can slow down the aging of chosen ones.”

  “For how long?”

  “Hundred and fifty, two hundred years.”

  “That’s horrible.” Craig felt sorry for the Witch. “Live forever and not have anyone with you for that never-ending journey.”

  “Yeah,” sighed Samson. “That’s why it made her very happy when I showed up. I was thinking to introduce her to Fray. But in the end, we decided to stick to the handbook. And predicting your next question,” said Samson, his eyes on a squirrel as it prepared to jump from the branch of one tree to another. “No, we never had an intimate relationship. When we first met, she had someone, and by the time he was gone, we were good friends and kept it that way.”

  “You would make a sweet couple,” smirked Craig. “The Hunter and the Witch.”

  “I was with a witch, long before I met Gabriella. She was the head of a coven. Believe me, it wasn’t fun. Especially when she tapped into the black magic. It wasn’t fun for her either, because, thanks to the Higher Powers, her magic never worked on me. For example, things like mind control—to discover my secrets, use my power for her dark purposes, to convince me to turn her. When word got to Runa, she stripped her of her powers.”

  “You mean the Witch? She can do that?” asked Craig, feeling like a freshman at his first day of school.

  “Oh, yes. She has stronger punishments for the ones who breaks the rules. She and I—we have to support each other. We have a code. Otherwise, I would never trust her enough to give her the only key to my goal for safe-keeping. Plus, Fray and his vampires have killed dozens of witches. She wants to punish him as much as we do.”

  “I still don’t understand. The witches, they always knew about us, that we exist. Why couldn’t we know about Runa?”

  “The witches are mortal humans. We needed each other. Many of them didn’t believe we were real until we showed up. They don’t believe Runa is real, either. To them, she is a legend. She is their god. Among them, Runa pretended to be just another witch. As I said, only the heads of covens know about her existence, and they take that secret to their graves.”

  Samson took a deep breath. “In the beginning, it was just me and Fray. Even then he wasn’t always honest with me, and I wasn’t sure I could trust him. I didn’t keep this secret from you, I kept it from him. Who knows how it would have ended up if he had met her?”

  They were off the trail now and soon reached a big glade. On its edge stood the cabin. In front of it was a long wooden table with benches on both sides. There was also a fire pit, furred with rough stones.

  Samson opened the cabin door, and the both of them stepped in. It was one big room with two lower and two upper bunks. Since the whole place had only one window, it was dark and damp, smelling of smoky wood. In the corner, next to the door, was a stove with an old kettle on the top and a stack of logs on its side. By the window stood a small square table with a few shelves on the wall next to it.

  Craig eyed the shelves, stocked with a jar with plastic cutlery, disposable plates, a jar with granulated coffee, about a dozen candles, plastic and glass cups, as well as a bag of rice, some sugar and matches, and a bundle of other useful items. “Does anyone live here?”

  “No,” said Samson, dropping the bag on the bunk. “This place belongs to the community. People come here to spend weekends with family and friends. They leave those things here, in case someone needs them. Hikers, for example, or passers-by, like us.”

  Craig glanced at the table. A couple of glasses with half burned candles in them, a mug stuffed with pens and pencils, and an open journal sat there. It was a guest book. The last record informed that, “Stian and Mona stayed here last weekend.”

  He took a pen from the mug. “Let’s do this. For the history.” He threw a glance at Samson. “I mean, for our family history,” he said in a low voice. He wrote down the date and put his name next to it. Then he handed the pen to Samson. They turned to each other, and their eyes met in a sad, lingering look.

  “Craig . . .” started Samson.

  But Craig raised his hand, stopping him. “You don’t need to say anything. You made your decision, and I respect it. What I am trying to tell you is . . .” He swallowed. “It’s such an honor to be here with you today. Thank you for believing in me.”

  Samson nodded and took the pen. Next to Craig’s name, he wrote, and Samson.

  “Do you think they can do it?” asked Craig quietly. “Find the bodies?”

  “It’s not an easy task, and they don’t have much time.” Samson brushed back his hair with both hands. His hands stopped on his forehead, and it took a moment before he dropped them down. “They know that their lives and our mission depend on it, and I’m sure they’ll do their best.”

  Craig dropped down on the bunk.

  “Listen,” said Samson, sitting on the bunk across from him. “I know you’re worried about her, but she’ll be all right.”

  “Yeah. It’s just . . .” Craig hesitated. “It’s only been a few days since we got our powers back, and I feel this rush of energy. You know it, because you feel it, too. So do they, and so does Fray. Our blood is boiling. What if he’s in Green Hill? What if she’s not able to control her rage when she meets him? She blew up that gas station. Riley tried to make it sound casual, but I could tell he was worried, too.”

  “We knew this would happen. She’s grieving. She lost people she cared about, and it causes her pain to think what you went through all those years. Grief and power are a dangerous combination. But I’m sure the daggers are well hidden. Fray wouldn’t risk bringing them out now, when he is all alone. Riley and Ruben will look after her, they will all look after each other. And don’t forget—she has a protector on the enemy's side.” Samson stood up. “By the way. That rush of energy you were talking about? Let’s go make use of it.”

  They walked outside and Samson pointed at another small stack of logs under the wall. “There’s not much wood left. Let’s find some dry lumber.”

  Next to the logs, an ax was stuck in a tree stump. Craig pulled it out. Samson went behind the house and came back with a chainsaw.

  It felt good to do something physical. A few hours later, when the work was done, Craig was
more relaxed and really hungry. They ate outside, sitting next to the fire Craig made in the pit. It was nearly eight, but the sky above the glade was still bright.

  “It’ll get darker after ten,” said Samson, looking up. “End of May is the beginning of white nights in Norway.” From the bag on the ground, Samson pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

  “Why Norway?” asked Craig, thinking about the Witch. “Runa. Is it. . . ?”

  “It’s Norse.” Samson poured the whiskey into the glasses and handed one of them to Craig. “That’s why she chose this place. She was born somewhere around here.”

  “Where does she live? I mean, she was alone, and she couldn’t turn people. Does she have a castle, too, or just a secret house somewhere?”

  “She has a castle. It’s in Scotland, hidden in the woods. It’s not as big as ours, but very quaint. I’ve been there only a couple of times. You know how it was, the communication, the distance, each busy with own mission.”

  “How did she summon you?”

  “Same as the other witches. With the Map. But she used a different spell. It showed a golden spot on the location where she expected me.”

  Craig was amazed by this revelation. It was like opening an arcane door. There, somewhere, was another castle hidden behind a veil. The Map showed golden spots, and none of them had ever seen or known about it. Samson had dated a witch. From the day Craig became a Hunter, Gabriella was there, and it never occurred to him to ask Samson about his love life before her. Gabriella. Did she know all of this, or did he have to keep it from her, as well?

  His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Samson. “I’m not the first person you’re telling this to, am I?”