The Rubicus Prophecy

by Alane Adams

  “Yes, but the one to break the curse will have great power. And if I know one thing about witches, it’s they don’t like to share. They’ll want to break the curse another way, to keep the power for themselves. There was a pair of witches back in the day who were mad about the idea.”

  “Do you remember their names?” Hugo asked.

  “Let me think, one was rather nice. Lousandra or something.”

  “Lissandra?”

  “Yes, that’s it. The other witch I know all too well. Melistra. Horrid creature. Pestered me endlessly for any books I could find on Rubicus. The two of them were quite keen on this journal.” Oakes opened a thick tome bound in cracked leather. “Here. This is the page they went back to over and over again.” He stabbed a finger down on a scrawled drawing of a man in a cloak hunched over a glass vial.

  “Is that Rubicus?”

  “Yes. But it’s not his handwriting. I’ve compared it to historic ledgers. The journal is made up of gibberish, undecipherable notes, nonsense equations, and the like. All except for this drawing. See those symbols on his cloak? I think they’re pieces of a puzzle.”

  Hugo studied the drawing but couldn’t make sense of the symbols. “So did they, Melistra and Lissandra, ever solve it?”

  Oakes’ brows knitted. “I don’t know. I traveled abroad that year, and when I came back, Lissandra had disappeared, and Melistra never asked me about it again. I think whatever the mystery was, Rubicus took it to his grave.”

  “His grave?” Hugo had a sudden thought. “He isn’t buried somewhere around here, is he?”

  “Yes. In the catacombs underneath the Tarkana Fortress. They moved his body there centuries ago. There’s even a rumor they preserved his head in a jar,” Oakes whispered, then pushed back from the table. “I better be off. I’ve got to go beg Headmaster to let me stay. Take care of yourself, Hugo, and don’t go prying into things.”

  “I won’t,” Hugo said. “All right if I stay here until lunch?”

  “Sure. It will be our secret.”

  After Oakes left, Hugo continued studying the picture. For a moment the scientist in him thought the letters might be element symbols, but he had memorized every known element, and the letters didn’t all fit.

  Abigail needed to see this. If Melistra and Lissandra had been interested in it, it might lead to more answers as to why Lissandra had run away, and why Melistra had sent a viken to stop her. Taking a quick look to make sure no one was lurking, Hugo ripped the page out and stuffed it in his pocket.

  And if Abigail was the Curse Breaker, he had to warn her that her life was in danger.

  Chapter 11

  The one benefit of Professor Oakes not teaching classes was there were no papers for Hugo to score after school. He made his way toward the Tarkana Fortress, eager to show Abigail the drawing. During lunch he had decided to turn in his old uniform to avoid further trouble, and now sported the black wool of the Balfin Boys’ Brigade. He was tugging at the collar, hating the shiny buttons and itchy fabric, when something rustled in the shrubbery next to the path.

  “Psst, you there,” a voice called.

  Hugo stopped. “Is someone there?”

  “No, the bush is talking to you.”

  Hugo turned to see the brown-haired Orkadian boy from the docks step out from behind some bushes. “You’re Lord Barconian’s son. Robert.”

  Robert brushed some leaves off his sleeves, looking down his nose at Hugo. “I saw you watching us. Why were you spying on my father? Who do you work for? You one of them Balfin spies?”

  “No. I’m a scientist.”

  Robert cocked an eyebrow. “A scientist wearing the uniform of a soldier? You were with one of them. I saw you.”

  “You mean Abigail?”

  “Yes. A witch.” He spat it out as if it were a bad word.

  “You know, not all witches are bad.”

  “That’s like saying not all sneevils are vicious. Turn your back on one and see what happens. They’ll run you through sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Abigail is different. And so is Calla. I know witches. There are bad ones, but they’re not all that way.”

  “What do you know? You’re just a witch-loving Balfin. Every witch I ever met is a liar and a thief and a … a horrible creature.”

  Hugo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He refused to be drawn in to a fight, even though he wanted to defend his friends. “What do you want, anyway? Shouldn’t you be on your ship?”

  “I’m looking for something.” Robert rolled his shoulders. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  “Probably not, but you’ve never been here before, so how are you going to find whatever you’re looking for if you don’t ask for help?”

  Robert glared at him. “Are you always this annoying?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure I am.”

  That made him laugh. “You’re not half bad.” He clapped Hugo on the back. “All right, the truth is I lost something that belonged to me. I think one of the witches roaming around Garamond took it, and I want it back.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing important—I just don’t like being played for a fool, and this witchling, she was the worst.”

  “Let me guess, her name was Endera,” Hugo said.

  Robert cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “So you know her? She one of your witch friends?”

  “No. I can’t stand her, and neither can Abigail. Her mother is very powerful though.”

  “I know, blunderhead. I was there when the sneevils attacked the farmer. It was awful.” He shuddered, and a haunted look came over his face. “So can you help me?”

  “It would help if I knew what you were looking for.”

  “Just a … uh … a sword. It was made of the finest venadium steel. My father will be furious if he finds out it’s gone. Family heirloom and all.”

  Hugo frowned. “Endera took your sword? Why would a witch want a sword? Or was it a relic? Something magical?”

  “No. Never mind why. She just did it to get me in trouble. That’s what witches do. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

  “Yes, but I have to meet my friend first.”

  “The witch.” The way he said it left no doubt as to what he thought of them.

  “Yes, she’s a witch, but she might be able to help. If Endera has your sword, Abigail is the only person who will know how to get it back.”

  Robert sighed, scratching his head. “Fine, you can bring her in on it, but I’m not going to trust her.”

  “Yeah, I can only imagine how she’s going to feel about you,” Hugo muttered. “Come on, the Tarkana Fortress isn’t far.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Abigail glared at Robert. The boy was busy stuffing his face with ripe jookberries that had fallen to the ground.

  Calla hovered over her shoulder, a smile on her face. “Hello, I’m Calla.”

  “Robert,” the boy answered, swiping the back of one hand across his face to clear the berry juice and straightening his tunic with the other.

  “Don’t talk to him, Calla. He’s nothing but a rude Orkadian boy who doesn’t like our kind,” Abigail said.

  Robert crossed his arms. “That’s because I don’t trust you.”

  “Me? You don’t even know me.”

  “You’re one of them. That’s all I need to know.”

  “Well, I don’t trust you. You’re one of the Orkadians. And you smell like a sneevil.”

  He flushed. “I’ve been on a boat for weeks. Look, do you want to help or not?”

  “Help you? As if—”

  “Abigail, stop,” Hugo said. “Let’s just discuss this. Robert says Endera stole his sword when she was on Garamond wreaking havoc this summer. It’s a … er … family heirloom made of venadium steel, and he really needs to get it back before his father finds out it’s gone.” Hugo suddenly squinted at her. “You have your sea emerald back.”

  “Yes.” She fingered it. “Endera gave it back. She tried to ge
t me in trouble, but it backfired, and she had no choice. Why are you wearing that ridiculous uniform?”

  He tugged at his collar self-consciously. “If I don’t, I’ll get expelled. All anyone can talk about is war.”

  “Why would Endera want a sword?” Abigail turned toward Robert. “Did it have some kind of magic?”

  Robert shook his head. “No, it was just a plain sword. Look, just give me five minutes to look around her room and see if it’s there.”

  “Are you crazy?” Abigail looked at him like he’d suggested petting a sneevil. “You can’t go poking around the Tarkana Fortress in broad daylight, not after your father just decreed that witches can’t leave the island.”

  “Abigail’s right,” Calla said. “It’s too dangerous for you to be anywhere near that place. You’ll just have to tell your father what happened. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “I can’t,” Robert said doggedly. “He’ll never trust me again. I haven’t been that responsible lately. It’s my last chance to prove I can live up to his name. Please. He’s having dinner with the High Witch Council this evening, which means I’ll be invited into the fortress. We won’t have a better chance.”

  “Maybe Calla and I could go into Endera’s room,” Abigail offered reluctantly. “It would be much easier than sneaking you in. What does this venadium sword look like?”

  Robert shook his head stubbornly. “No, I have to be the one to retrieve it. Only me. It’s just—you wouldn’t understand—but I made a mistake, and I have to fix it.” His earnest, steady eyes looked from Abigail to Calla to Hugo.

  Calla spoke first. “If we’re going to do it, he’s right, dinnertime is perfect. Everyone will be in the Great Hall. If you think you can get away, I’ll help you.”

  “And I will too,” Hugo said, feeling a sudden rush of excitement. “I’ll be waiting outside the dormitory tower. Operation Endera will take place tonight. No one breathes a word to anyone, agreed?”

  He stuck his hand out, and Calla placed hers on top. “Agreed.”

  Robert added his, nodding firmly.

  They waited, staring at Abigail expectantly. She sighed. “I have a bad feeling about this.” But she added her hand to theirs.

  Chapter 12

  Abigail hurried down the steps of the dormitory tower, following the line of giggling girls ahead of her. There was to be a formal dinner in the Great Hall, and all the witchlings were invited. She had changed out of her uniform into a simple black dress with a plain white collar.

  Halfway down, a shift in the air ruffled her hair, making her pause. She turned, and the spectral woman was there, peering around the corner of the hall. She gestured with one hand, urging Abigail to come, but remembering Madame Arisa’s words, Abigail ignored the figure and hurried on.

  She entered the Great Hall through the double doors and looked up in awe. Glowing balls of witchfire hung in the air, spinning slowly. Enchanted shreeks flew among the rafters, carrying long streamers in their sharp little beaks. Festive piles of orange and yellow squashmor intertwined with green vines made colorful centerpieces. Thankfully, the enormous Tarkana spider that normally lurked above the grand dais was hidden behind a sweeping black curtain.

  The firstlings had their own table. Abigail caught sight of Safina sitting cramped between two other girls. The witchling waved excitedly, and Abigail smiled back.

  The High Witch Council sat at the front of the room on the grand dais where they normally held council. Hestera sat in the center, her lips pursed in a thin line. Calla hovered over her, filling her water glass, but Hestera irritably waved her away.

  Below the dais, a table had been set for the Orkadian convoy—noticeably lower than the witches’, Abigail noted as she took her seat.

  The main doors swung open, and silence filled the room as the Orkadians swept in. Lord Barconian led the way, his black boots clicking sharply on the stone as he strode forward. His red cape went to his knees. A white heron was emblazoned on his chest, and his sword gleamed at his side.

  Robert followed behind him. His hair looked freshly washed, but his eyes were downcast. When he passed Abigail’s table, he raised his gaze past her straight to Endera. Hate burned there for a moment, but the witchling didn’t even look at him, continuing to blithely serve herself soup. Robert took his seat with the rest of the Orkadian soldiers, while Lord Barconian joined Hestera.

  Tension crackled in the air. Some of the older girls hissed at the Orkadian soldiers, sending glares at them and muttering threats.

  Hestera pushed her chair back, the scraping noise echoing loudly in the vast room. She lofted a silver goblet. “We welcome our Orkadian … friends … from across the sea. We hope tonight is the first step toward a new understanding.”

  Lord Barconian raised his glass but didn’t drink from it.

  Hestera sat down, and a line of servers brought trays of food out. The Orkadian soldiers ignored the platters set in front of them. As the witchlings dug into crisp chicken, boiled black cabbage, and blood pudding, the room grew steadily quieter as it became obvious their guests were not joining in.

  Is it all going to go downhill before we even have a chance to sneak away? Abigail wondered.

  Madame Vex was the one who came to the rescue. The headmistress stood, clinking her fork against her water glass for attention. “It seems our Orkadian friends do not trust us enough to eat our food. Wise men, no doubt. But if we wanted to harm you, we simply would have placed a hex on you when you stepped into our hall.” She waved her hand, and the Balfin servant closest to her twitched and then squealed loudly as he sprouted a pig’s tail. “So please eat, or I’m afraid Madame Chef will be most displeased, and there is no telling what an unhappy witch will do.”

  She sat down. Lord Barconian gave a firm nod to his men, and they picked up their forks and dug in. The room fell into the comfortable silence of people eating and talking in low voices.

  Abigail saw Robert stand up from his table, give a short bow, and then walk toward the door. On the dais, Calla cleared her great-aunt’s plate and headed for the kitchen exit. She cast her chin at Abigail, who quickly lifted her dish and followed after. They walked quietly down the hall to the kitchens, dumped their plates, and dashed out the nearest door.

  The air was cool as they hurried toward the round dormitory tower. They had told Robert to meet them in the back where the ivy grew thick and there were less people about.

  “There you are.”

  Abigail nearly screamed as Hugo stepped out of the shadows. “Hugo, you made it!”

  “Yes, but where’s—”

  “Here I am.” Robert appeared from around the corner. “This place is huge. I nearly got lost.” He rubbed his hands together. “So what are we waiting for? Take me to Endera’s room.”

  “Not so fast,” Abigail said. “We can’t just go in the front door. There could be witchlings in the dormitory. Any one of them could see you. We have to sneak you in.”

  “How are we going to do that? Is there a back door to this joint?” he asked.

  “No.” Abigail grinned. “We climb.” She pointed upward.

  Robert craned his neck back. “Up there?”

  She grabbed a clump of ivy and pulled herself up. “Unless you’ve changed your mind? I hear they’re serving gally melon pie for dessert. We can go back inside and forget all about this.”

  “Not a chance.” He began climbing next to her. The four of them scrambled easily all the way to the top. Over the summer, the ivy had regrown around Abigail’s window, and they were able to push the panes open and clamber over the ledge to drop onto the floor.

  Robert looked curiously at the cramped space. “Is this your room?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “It’s just so … small. Why are you stuck in the attic? What did you do?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Nothing,” Abigail said defensively. “And I like it just fine.”

  “Abigail, is that Endera’s spellbook?” Calla crossed to her
desk and lifted it.

  Abigail puffed out a breath. “Yes. But I didn’t steal it, I swear.”

  “Then how did you get it?” Calla asked. “She’s been going on about you taking it.”

  They all looked at her as if she were some kind of thief.

  “You wouldn’t believe me,” Abigail mumbled.

  “Try us, Abigail. We’re your friends,” Hugo said.

  “Fine. I was minding my own business, just lying on my bed, when this spider”—she pointed up in the corner of the eaves—“began talking to me. It sounded just like Queen Octonia, and then it made me fall asleep, and then … it … I’m not sure … but I think I was sleepwalking, and I went somewhere, and the spellbook was there, and I … I don’t know what happened next. It’s all a blur. When I woke up the next morning, Endera was here with Madame Vex accusing me of stealing it, but they couldn’t find the spellbook.”

  “So where was it?” Calla asked.

  “Up there, wrapped in webbing.” She pointed back at the tiny spiderweb lodged in the corner.

  Robert eyed it skeptically. “It doesn’t look nearly big enough to hold a book that size.”

  “Well, I’m not a liar, if that’s what you’re saying,” she said hotly. “I’m going to return it since we’re going to her room.” She clutched the book to her chest, then wished she hadn’t when an icy barb ran through her.

  Hello, dark witch.

  Chapter 13

  “Oh, shut up,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Robert protested.

  “She’s talking to the spellbook,” Calla said lightly. “It whispers to her, but only she can hear it.”

  Robert stepped away from Abigail. “That’s creepy.”

  “Be nice,” Hugo said. “It’s not her fault.”

  “No, he’s right, it is a bit creepy.” Abigail hesitated before deciding to tell them the rest. “But you know what’s worse? I think I’m being haunted by a ghost. I keep seeing a pale woman, but no one else can see her.”