The Red Sun (Legends of Orkney)

by Alane Adams

  “Take her out!” Leo shouted.

  Catriona and her sisters released the lethal sphere of witchfire onto the Orkadian forces. Sam stepped forward in front of his friends and flung his arms wide, letting the blast penetrate his chest. It knocked him back a step, taking his breath away and sending jolts of electricity through his bones. He almost fell, but a stubborn need to prove himself to Catriona made him dig his heels in. Odin’s Fury was in his blood, he reminded himself. He could beat her.

  Sam pushed back against the enormous blast, and, slowly, he began to drive the blaze of energy away from him and back at the witches. He took a step forward, pushing with both arms, sending all of his magic into his hands, and finally, with a cathartic cry, he shoved his palms forward and said, “Fein kinter dispera!”

  A great crash of light erupted over the battlefield. The witches’ mass of energy shot up into the sky in an emerald blaze and then collapsed on itself like a black hole. When it did, the battle was over.

  The witches had all disappeared.

  Chapter Fifty

  Sam ran straight to Howie. The boy lay like a limp dishrag on the field where the Shun Kara had attacked him. He turned Howie over, hardly expecting his friend to be alive. Howie’s eyes were closed, and Sam couldn’t tell whether he was still breathing.

  “Howie, say something,” he said.

  His glasses lay next to him, and Sam slipped them back onto Howie’s face. They were cracked and dirty, but he at least looked like himself when he had them on.

  “Howie, come on, man. Don’t leave me here alone.”

  Howie stayed limp, unconscious. Keely and Leo knelt down next to him. Leo had blood from a deep scratch on his cheek, but otherwise he looked okay.

  “Sam, I think he’s gone,” Keely said softly, her voice trembling.

  No. No. No, Sam told himself. Not now.

  Sam shook him hard. “Come on, Howie—snap out of it. Or I’ll feed you to the Shun Kara.”

  No response. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Howie coughed once, his eyes still closed, as he mumbled, “Can’t a guy take a nap around here?”

  “Howie! You’re okay!”

  He opened his eyes blearily and let out a sigh. “The How-master lives.”

  “I am so sorry for dragging you into this,” Sam started, but Howie cut him off.

  “Dude, chillax. We’re good. Besides, the witches weren’t all bad. There was this cute one who visited my cell. I think she liked me.”

  Sam chuckled. “You fell for a witch?”

  “Did I mention she brought me hot scones?”

  Around them, soldiers were being helped to their feet. The bodies of the sacrificed Orkadians marred the grassy hillside. Too many were left dead on the battlefield. As for the witches, Sam saw no trace of them. Those who had perished had vanished, along with the surviving witches, probably back to their fortress on Balfour Island. The Balfin ships had already lifted anchor and set sail.

  Rego strode over to Sam, limping a bit but in one piece.

  “So you had to free the stone witches, didn’t you, lad?” he started in. But he was interrupted by a whirlwind that tackled Sam.

  “You’re alive! You did it! I knew you could. I wish you would’ve let me help,” Mavery babbled on, grinning up at him with a tear-streaked face.

  Sam looped his arm around her shoulder and faced Rego, waiting for the lecture. The condemnation. The blame. He had really screwed up.

  “Let me guess. Gael and Beo want me dead again?”

  But Rego just snorted. “Dead? No. They’re not happy those witches are loose, not by a long shot. But no one’s blaming you this time.”

  “Really? They’re not?”

  Rego’s whiskers twitched. “That’s only because I convinced them you could help us defeat the stone witches. So they’re willing to keep you alive. For now.” He winked at them and walked away.

  “Sam, I really need to go home,” Keely said.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing my parents again,” Howie said, sitting up.

  “I know how you guys feel,” Sam said. “I want to go home, too. See my mom, take a hot shower, sleep in my own bed. But the portal that brought us here . . . we can’t go back that way. The stonefire’s been destroyed.”

  “Sam, you still have some of Odin’s Fury in you,” Leo said. “Maybe you can open another portal?”

  Sam’s eyes went to the center of the Ring of Brogar, where the last remaining stone stood. He walked toward the towering stone and ran his hand over it. He felt a shimmer. Could he do it? It shimmered again, and his hope soared.

  He turned and looked at his friends. “Leo’s right. I think I may have just enough left. Are you ready?”

  Keely nodded rapidly. “I’m so ready for a bubble bath. Send me home, please!”

  Leo stepped forward with an uncharacteristic grin. “I’m ready to see my dad and the rest of my family.”

  Howie slapped Sam on the back. “Dude, enough of these medieval times. Let’s go play some Zombie Wars and eat Chuggies until we puke.”

  Sam grinned at the thought of the good times ahead in Pilot Rock. For extra measure, he pressed the pouch that held Odin’s stone to the standing rock and murmured another spell.

  “Fein kinter, portola, portola envera amica,” he said, and placed both hands on the large chunk of granite.

  The rock began to vibrate, growing warmer beneath Sam’s hands. The hard surface began to soften, wiggling like Jell-O. Then, at his feet, a ring of fire burst into life, circling the stone and sending flames licking up the surface. Sam stepped back with the others as the flames burned more brightly.

  “It’s working,” said an excited Keely.

  The solid gray stone shifted into a transparent veil, and Sam could make out another field—it looked like the football field at Pilot Rock Junior High—just on the other side of this new stonefire.

  “Go,” he said, looking at his friends.

  Keely stepped up, and Leo helped push her into the stone. She disappeared from sight, and then Sam saw her tumble onto the field of grass. Howie rubbed his hands together and then took a running dive, joining Keely in a heap on the sports field.

  Leo nodded at Sam, then followed. “See you on the other side,” he said, before disappearing.

  Sam readied himself to follow, when a voice stopped him.

  “You’re not leaving us, are you?” Mavery asked.

  He wavered. On the other side of the stonefire, he could see his friends waiting for him.

  “Please, Sam. The witches will ruin everything if you leave.”

  Sam clenched his teeth. He was torn.

  “Come on, Sam,” Keely called from the other side, holding one hand out. “Come home with us.”

  But in that moment, Sam made a decision. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his hands off the stone. As the surface shimmer started to fade and the veil lost its transparency, Sam could see the confused looks on his friends’ faces.

  “I’m sorry, guys. They need me here. Tell my mom I love her.”

  “Sam, wait—don’t do this,” Keely pleaded, her voice muted and slightly distorted by the closing stonefire. “We need you, too.”

  But the rock sealed up, and the tantalizing view of Pilot Rock was gone.

  Rego’s voice came from behind Sam. “You did the right thing, lad. You’re home now.”

  Sam surveyed the battlefield—the rolling green hills, the blazing yellow sun—and wondered if he could really call this place home.

  There was no time to worry about that now. He had to bury his father and figure out how they were going to defeat the stone witches, because one thing was certain.

  The battle for Orkney wasn’t over.

  The End

  From the Author

  Dear Reader:

  I hope you enjoyed The Red Sun! It has been an incredible journey creating the Legends of Orkney series and catapulting my characters into action. Sam has learned so much about his past and how to overcome his anger. Will
he continue to use his powers for good, or will darkness overcome him?

  As an author, I love to get feedback from my fans letting me know what you liked about the book, what you loved about the book, and even what you didn’t like. You can write me at PO Box 1475, Orange, CA 92856, or e-mail me at author@alaneadams.com. Visit me on the web at www.alaneadams.com and learn about the interactive digital game app you can download on your smartphone.

  The adventures of Sam and his friends are not over. As a thank-you for being a loyal reader, I have included a preview of the next book in the series, The Moon Pearl, to be available soon.

  Keep reading!

  —Alane Adams

  The Moon Pearl

  North Shores of Garamond

  Orkney

  Chapter One

  A burst of green fire exploded the tree next to Sam’s head. He flinched, brushing splinters out of his hair. He had to move or end up incinerated into a pile of smoldering ash. Counting silently to three, he broke from his hiding place and sprinted across the clearing, weaving side to side to avoid the blasts.

  War had come to Orkney.

  Already Dunham Brook, High Town, and Potters Hill had been burned to the ground. The witches were terrorizing the countryside, which was still recovering from the deadly effects of the red sun. Striking at random. Driving the helpless Orkadians from their homes.

  Sam dropped behind a fallen log and tried to catch his breath. His heart raced like a steam piston.

  Catriona was extracting her revenge. The queen of evil. A witch so nasty, Odin had made sure she was permanently trapped inside a stone. Until Sam messed that up by releasing her trying to save his father. As if that Tarkana witch Endera hadn’t been enough trouble, now there were eight more of them. Eight stone witches who possessed a powerful, ancient magic that threatened to destroy all of Orkney.

  There was smelly old Bronte, a wizened hag, stooped with age, able to conjure up deadly potions that turned men to stone; crafty Agathea, with her wide stripe of white hair, who controlled the beasts they used in their attacks; and ghastly Leatrice, whose tongue had been removed in ancient days. Now, she poured out her silent rage in the acid rain that spewed from her fingertips, melting whatever she touched.

  The rest—Paulina, Vena, Ariane, and Nestra—were like deadly tentacles, extending the reach of Catriona through all of Orkney.

  The witches were holed up at the Tarkana Fortress on Balfour Island, training Endera’s younger acolytes to be a lethal force, teaching them the old ways, and restoring the magic Odin had stripped away spell by spell. Then they sent them out to wage war, along with a legion of vicious creatures worse than any sneevil.

  Oh, and plenty of sneevils. Those beasts could rip a person apart with one hook of their curved tusks.

  Sam had come face-to-face with a sneevil just last week in a field on the eastern shores of Garamond. Out patrolling with a young recruit not much older than he, the boy had been in the middle of a colorful joke about a barmaid and a parrot. And then he was gone. The sneevil had sprung out from behind an elderthorn bush, charging at Sam. But his brave friend had thrown himself in the way and given his life in exchange for Sam’s.

  The last Son of Odin was to be protected at all costs.

  Even now, it made Sam want to pound the ground in frustration. He was no hero. Not worthy of any sacrifice. He had as much hope of setting things right as getting an A on an algebra test.

  The facts were the facts. This war was his fault.

  He was the one who had released the stone witches.

  Another stump exploded next to him. Sam rubbed the leather pouch around his neck. It held a shard of Odin’s Stone. A gift from his father. Robert Barconian had been a good man. A man worth dying for.

  Sam missed him every day.

  Now he kept the stone as a reminder of who he was. One of the good guys. He fought for the Orkadian army. Just because witch magic flowed through his veins, it didn’t make him one of them.

  The battle lines had been drawn. Sides chosen.

  Witches were vermin.

  Endera Tarkana had said the Orkadians wanted to exterminate all witches, and now Sam understood why. All of Orkney would fall if Catriona had her way. The world could end, and she would laugh into the black void.

  Sam gripped the pouch around his neck. Today, when they captured Agathea, they would strike a blow into the heart of Catriona’s vengeance plan. Then the witches would know that Samuel Elias Barconian, Lord of the Ninth Realm, Son of Odin, son of Robert Barconian, was a force to be reckoned with. He would avenge his father and send Catriona and her ancient cronies back into the dark hole they had emerged from.

  Sam peered around the corner of the log.

  Agathea had been leading her acolytes on a series of raids along the northern shores of Garamond, Orkney’s largest island and home to its capital city of Skara Brae. The witches acted with impunity, as if they feared nothing. Burning crops in broad daylight. Unleashing their wild beasts to terrorize. Casting a pox on the farm animals. Then retreating to some hole where they waited to launch their next strike.

  But not this time. This time, Sam and company had tracked them back to their nest at the top of this hill in this drafty corner of Orkney where the stones fell into the ocean.

  Captain Teren, the stalwart commander of the Orkadian Guard and Sam’s friend and mentor these past few months, had a dozen of his best men creeping up the slope. If all went right, their ally, Gael of the Eifalians, would arrive along the flank side with his band of skilled archers.

  The tables were about to be turned.

  Sam might not like his witch blood, but he couldn’t very well shut it out. The words of spells were written in the dust motes. They lit up like fireflies in his brain. The magic blew in the winds and was absorbed into his skin. As the witches grew in power, so did he.

  Captain Teren signaled to Sam across the clearing, pointing up at the tree.

  There.

  A nasty little witch hid in the branches. She was preparing to launch another blast of witchfire.

  Sam closed his eyes, centered himself, and then stepped out. He threw his hands forward, shouting, “Mea ustrina.”

  A burst of virescent fire exploded from his palms, blasting the branch to pieces and cindering the witch dead.

  They moved forward up the hill toward Agathea’s roost. Two of Teren’s men let out cries as the witches sent a wall of earth down the mountain, tumbling boulders and pinning the men underneath. Teren rallied his remaining men forward.

  Sam raced up the far side, darting through trees. He had one thought on his mind: get to Agathea before she fled. He heard the whisper of the wings before he saw them. Black rain poured out of the sky, armed with fangs and claws.

  Shreeks. Witches’ spawn.

  The men cried out as the vermin latched on and bit. Sam cut back toward Teren and his men.

  Swinging Odin’s rock over his head, he created a powerful windstorm. “Fein kinter,” he cried. I call on my magic. “Fein kinter, ventimus, ventimus.”

  The wind blew off the flying black rats, giving the men a fighting chance to slash at them with their swords.

  Too late, Sam realized his mistake. Dumbhead. He had run out into the open. A rain of fiery arrows arced up over the trees and came down, aimed directly at him. Two of the men closest to him fell to the ground. He threw up his hands, instinctively shouting, “Concustodio.”

  A bubble of blue energy formed, deflecting the deadly rain. He murmured to himself, focusing his strength on keeping the shield up over the men around him. The rain of flaming arrows slowed, then stopped.

  Sam’s shoulders drooped. Magic took a heavy toll. He was spent, but the witches weren’t finished with his band of friends. While they were huddled under the shield, a pack of sneevils had surrounded them.

  Sam drew his sword, followed by Teren and the handful of men left: the redhead, Heppner; brawny Tiber; dark and wiry Speria; and the steadfast Galatin. They huddled back to b
ack in the center of the clearing, while eight, then ten, then a dozen sneevils crawled into the clearing, their lips drawn into a snarl. White tusks curved wickedly at the ends, tipped with sharp points ready to eviscerate them.

  “Steady,” Teren said. “Wait until they draw close. Aim for the heart.”

  In a puff of black smoke, Agathea appeared behind the creatures. A thick white streak marked her swath of black hair. Her little band of acolytes crouched behind her, ready to do battle. She tilted her head back, laughing at the sight of their little group.

  “Come, my pretties; feast on some fresh blood,” she cooed to the sneevils, urging them forward.

  The beasts circled closer, heeding her call.

  Her flinty green eyes met Sam’s, hardening as she recognized him. “The witch-boy will make a delicious meal.”

  “Not this time, Agathea,” Sam said, lurching forward with his sword. The sneevil closest to him bared its teeth and charged. Without thinking, Sam drew his sword up between two hands and plunged straight down, pinning the sneevil to the ground.

  “Kill them,” Agathea ordered. The sneevils charged. The young witches began blasting the small band of fighters with green fire. Sam tried to deflect it, but he was fatigued. His arms shook with the effort. Then a volley of arrows appeared high in the sky, aiming directly down at the witches.

  Their Eifalian ally, Gael, had arrived with his archers.

  The young witches shrieked as the arrows found their marks. Agathea took her eyes off Sam’s group to deal with the Eifalians. Their pale figures moved stealthily through the trees, keeping up a stream of deadly arrows. Agathea cast a spell, puffing out her cheeks and blowing hard. The Eifalians tumbled backward, their arrows careening away. Teren and his men fought the sneevils, but they were in danger of being overrun. One of the sneevils broke through and scored Tiber’s thigh with a deep gash before Teren put it down.

  Sam tried to think. Agathea was winning. He had to stop her.