by Alane Adams
They hurried down long corridors into the depths of the Great Hall until they reached the entrance to the Tarkana crypt.
Three familiar witchlings lounged outside sturdy double-doors dead-bolted shut.
“What are you doing here?” Endera snarled, getting to her feet. Glorian and Nelly quickly followed suit.
“Where’s Safina?” Abigail demanded.
Endera raised one eyebrow. “Safina? Is that the little brat who follows you around?”
Calla huffed out an impatient breath. “Don’t play dumb, Endera. We know you brought her down here. Where is she?”
“She went inside of her own free will,” Glorian said.
“Yeah, she volunteeeeered,” Nelly sneered.
“So back off,” Endera said. “She’s just doing me a favor.”
Abigail wanted to shake the girl for being so callous, but she kept her temper and calmly said, “And now you’re going to do me a favor and show me where you sent her.”
“I will not.”
Rage began to curl around Abigail’s spine and her voice dropped an octave. “You will. Or I swear I’ll send you and your friends back to the netherworld this instant, and you can spend eternity with Queen Octonia.” She raised her hand, drawing her fingers into a tight fist. “You know I can do it, so don’t tempt me.”
“When did you get so … bad?” Endera shifted uneasily. “Fine, I suppose I can check on her progress.” She nodded at Glorian.
Glorian threw the bolt back and pulled the heavy door open. “After you.” She waved Abigail in.
“No, I prefer to go last,” Abigail said. “Endera, why don’t you lead the way.”
“Fine.” Endera raised her nose and sailed in, followed reluctantly by the other two.
A narrow set of steps, crumbled and stained with age, led down into darkness.
“What are we doing, Endera?” Nelly hissed. “We can’t be running around some old tombs.”
“Yeah.” Glorian moaned. “I haven’t had lunch, and I’m starving. Cook was going to make roasted sneevil with boiled black cabbage.”
“Too bad,” Endera snapped. “This is important to my mother, so it’s important to all of us. The fate of the coven rests on this.”
Abigail exchanged a glance with Calla. The other girl shrugged, and then snagged a torch from the wall and lit it with a burst of witchfire. The flames sent crazy shadows up the walls. The air grew chilly and damp as they descended, heavy with the smell of decay.
At the bottom, a low-ceilinged room stretched before them, marked by arches and passageways going in different directions. Chunks of crystal inset into the ceiling began to glimmer brightly as they absorbed the light of the torch, sending a greenish glow over the room.
“Which way?” Abigail asked.
Endera looked around. “I think—I’m not certain—I say this way.” She began to march straight through the center of the room that held rectangular tombs on either side.
Nelly looked warily side to side as they followed. “You think it’s true?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “That there are draugar roaming around down here?”
“Course it’s not true,” Endera snapped over her shoulder. “There’s no such thing as the undead.”
Abigail couldn’t help it. She reached out and flicked Endera’s collar. The girl screamed, whirling around. Abigail kept her face straight.
Endera glared at her. “Real funny.”
Calla and Abigail looked at each other, then snorted with laughter.
“This place is huge,” Calla said as they continued on. “So many witches buried here.”
“We’ve fought a lot of wars,” Abigail said, “and haven’t won many of them.”
Calla paused and put her hand on a tomb. “What a shame.”
“Is your mother buried here?”
Calla blinked at her. “My mother’s not dead.”
“She’s not? But Baba Nana looks out for you. You never mentioned her. I thought …”
“She’s just a recluse.” Calla looked away as she said it, as if she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Do you ever see her?” Abigail pressed.
Calla gave a tiny shrug. “Sometimes. She’s not herself most of the time. I’ll take you to visit her someday, if you’d like.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Zip it,” Endera hissed at them. “Unless you want every rathos in the place to come crawling.”
“What about your mother?” Calla whispered as they walked on. “She might be here.”
A jolt of shock ran through Abigail at the thought. “You think so? I should look for her.”
Endera whirled, planting her hands on her hips. “Look, we don’t have time to go running around looking for some dead witch.”
“Then what are we here for?” Abigail asked. “Why did you send Safina down here?”
“If you must know, I asked her to visit the tomb of a he-witch.”
Abigail’s pulse jumped. It can’t be. He isn’t here, is he? “Whose?”
“Rubicus. They moved his tomb here centuries ago, severed head and all. They say the head can still speak to you.”
“Still … still speak?” Abigail quailed. This was absolutely awful. The last thing she needed was to have Rubicus recognize her.
Calla gripped her arm in silent support.
“My mother says he used to talk to her, but after your mother ran off, he warned her never to come back. He wanted a father’s joy, whatever that is. But my mother wants to speak to him. That’s why I sent Safina down. To fetch him. What?” she said at Abigail’s look of horror. “I was going to put him back.”
“I don’t care that you wanted to take him! I care that you sent a firstling into the catacombs alone! You should have gone yourself.”
Endera snorted. “Why, when Safina was so willing?”
Before Abigail could give her a piece of her mind, something scaly brushed against her ankle, and she squealed.
Endera jumped back. “What is it?”
Abigail searched the ground. “I don’t know. I felt something just now.”
“Probably a rathos,” Nelly said. “Don’t be a baby.”
Abigail’s heart pounded in her chest. “It didn’t feel like a rathos. It felt like …”
“What?” Calla asked.
Abigail looked at her, fear making her lips cold. “Fingers.”
The witchlings huddled together, looking uneasily around. When nothing more appeared, Endera sighed heavily.
“Abigail was obviously playing another of her tricks. Let’s get this over with. I have no desire to miss lunch and dinner over some orphaned firstling who’s probably just lost.” She resumed walking, though she looked worriedly at the ground on either side.
Abigail followed, keeping an eye out. She caught movement along the wall—almost as if something shadowy was climbing it. She tried to keep track of it, but it disappeared in the darkness. A rasping sound echoed in the recesses of the chamber, like stone grating against stone, followed by slithering noises.
“Do you hear that?” Calla whispered. “It sounds like … I don’t know … like tombs are opening.”
“I hear it,” Abigail said, trying not to stutter from the icy fear that gripped her, “and I really don’t like it.” Madame Arisa’s words echoed in her head. The draugar were drawn to the powerful dead. Was there anyone more powerful than Rubicus? How dangerous was it to have him buried right here under the Tarkana Fortress?
The slithering sounds shifted and became the pfft pfft pfft of footsteps coming from every direction.
“Maybe we should go,” Nelly said, her eyes wide with fear. “Come back later.”
“I agree,” Glorian said, her chin wobbling. “I don’t like this place.”
“Not without Safina,” Abigail said firmly, shoving them both forward.
Endera was practically running now as her two cronies kept fast to her heels.
They entered an immense chamber and skidded to a halt. A
giant sarcophagus with the name RUBICUS chiseled into the side dominated the room. A glass jar perched atop the tomb, holding the he-witch’s lazily floating head. His eyes were open, and they blazed emerald fire at the young girl standing before him. She appeared to be frozen with fear, hands clasped over her mouth.
“Safina!”
At Abigail’s call, several things happened.
The boys burst into the room. Robert had his small sword in hand, and he used it to hack at the jar that held Rubicus’s head. The jar flew, crashing against the wall and spilling liquid, filling the room with the smell of embalming fluid. The head rolled to one side and came to a stop next to Safina. She screamed again, louder this time, and backed away, right into the arms of a creature out of a nightmare.
Glistening gray skin stretched over its shrunken limbs, which were covered only by a stained loincloth. It retained some human features, but its nose was a slit, and its oversized yellow eyes were sunken into its head. It hissed, revealing sharp pointy teeth and a blackened tongue. The figure wrapped its bony arms around Safina, dragging her backward.
Abigail sent a blast of witchfire into its face, sending it skittering away, before turning to her friends. “Hugo! What are you doing here?”
“Looking for answers. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Safina.”
“I think we have bigger problems.” Robert nodded at the shadows.
A dozen or more glittering pairs of eyes stared back at them, accompanied by garbled hissing and muttering.
“What are those?” Hugo’s eyes were wide behind his glasses.
“The draugar,” Abigail said. “The living dead.”
Chapter 23
Safina screamed again as one of the draugar scrabbled up the stone wall like a lizard and tried to drop down on her head from the ceiling. Calla sent a fierce blast of witchfire, driving it back, but more of the hideous creatures scurried forward, pressing in all around them. Before the witchlings could gather their wits, a familiar deep voice cut into the fray.
“Enough!” Rubicus roared. “Get back to your dark holes before I shatter your bones into tiny pieces and spread your remains for the rathos to gnaw on.”
The creatures grumbled angrily, taking several steps back, but didn’t leave. Instead, they formed a tight ring around the outer edges of the room.
“Don’t just stand there,” Rubicus yelled from the ground. “One of you pick me up.”
Robert sheathed his sword, then picked up the head, gingerly setting it on top of the sarcophagus.
“I know you.” Rubicus’s brows drew together in an angry furrow as he stared at Robert.
Robert said nothing.
Rubicus’s eyes flicked left. “And you,” he said to Hugo. Then to Calla, “You as well. All of you look exactly the same as I remember.” A flash of excitement had his brows rising. “Which means hardly any time has passed for you. Where is she? Where is the one I seek?”
“Here I am,” Endera said with a big smile, stepping forward and curtsying. “I am my father’s joy. Every day, that’s what he says. I am here to serve you any way I can.”
Rubicus curled his upper lip. “You’re not her. Get out of the way. That one. Behind you. Let me see you.”
Abigail reluctantly stepped out from behind Endera.
Rubicus’s eyes flared with shock, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Abigail. By the gods … you live … I thought … I was sure there was no hope. Verty promised, but I’d nearly given up. I’ve waited centuries to see you again!”
“Wait, how do you know him?” Endera turned on Abigail. “What sort of trickery is this?”
“It’s your fault,” Abigail hissed. “You’re the one who tried to kill us with that ivy.”
Endera’s eyes widened with shock. “That’s where you went? You met Rubicus? But how?”
“Your spellbook has a lot to answer for,” Abigail muttered.
“Abigail is such a lovely name,” Rubicus cut in. “Did you know it means ‘a father’s joy’? Your mother couldn’t stop talking about it.”
Shock ran through Abigail. “You knew my mother? How?” She took a step closer.
His eyes glowed with the memory. “She came down here to try to learn my secrets. She and this other witch were always pestering me to talk, but I had no use for them. Until one day, she came alone, rattling on about the little bundle of joy she was carrying. ‘She’ll be called Abigail,’ she said, ‘because it means a father’s joy.’”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Abigail said with a frown. “I hadn’t met you yet. I hadn’t even been born.”
Rubicus sighed. “It’s the paradox of altering time. You had met me in my reality. When I heard your name, I knew at last my long wait was over. I demanded she hand you over, but she didn’t take the news well. The little bird flew the coop.”
“Wait—that’s why she ran away?” Abigail’s lips had gone numb. “Because I met you? Then … that means … it’s my fault, not hers.”
“Your mother was a traitor,” Endera said. “Just accept it.”
“No.” Abigail whirled on Endera, giving the girl a shove. “Melistra was the traitor. My mother ran away to protect me. Your mother sent a viken after her. She’s the traitor.”
“You’re Melistra’s little whelp?” Rubicus eyed Endera. “She always was a pushy one. I told her not to come back after she told me what she did. Nearly ruined everything. She was supposed to stop Lissandra, not kill her.”
“Er, Abigail, they’re getting closer,” Hugo said.
“Deal with it,” Abigail said. “This is bigger.”
“I don’t think so.”
Glorian squealed as a pair of draugar pawed at her, grabbing her arms and dragging her backward. She dug her feet in, prying at the bony hands. “Endera, do something!”
“Oh, quit your whining,” Endera answered. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Nelly cast a ball of witchfire, but the draugar was fast and ducked. It bared its teeth and kept on dragging Glorian.
“Abigail, we need to do something.” Calla sent a blast of witchfire at two more who wandered close.
“Rubicus, call them off,” Abigail said.
The he-witch wrinkled his nose. “Why should I? This ought to be entertaining.”
“If they take us, what use will I be?”
His eyes locked on hers. “They won’t take you, my pet, but I have no use for the others.”
“Then I won’t do what you ask.”
“Ah, but you swore an oath, and your loyalty is assured.”
“Only if my friends are safe, and that still holds.”
His eyes narrowed. “Safe a millennium ago, which they were. Now is not part of that bargain.”
A swarm of draugar pushed and shoved Glorian and Nelly. Safina jumped in, trying to pry off a hand holding Nelly, but another draugar grabbed her around the waist, picking her up as she screamed. Endera moved to help them, only to find herself swept up in the throng.
“Abigail, help!” Endera desperately reached a hand out for her.
But it was Robert who came to the rescue.
As Abigail played tug-of-war with the draugar holding Safina, the boy drew his sword, slashed down on the draugar’s arm holding Endera, severing it, and pulled the witchling back into the center of the room. The creature screamed, rolling away as foul-smelling green blood oozed from the severed limb.
Endera looked up at Robert, stunned. “You saved me. After what I did … why?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, turning away.
Calla calmly blasted at the draugar dragging Nelly and Glorian until, with loud shrieks, they dropped the girls and fled. She turned to the others, “Endera, make yourself useful and help me cast a protection spell to keep those things away. Safina, you can help.”
Abigail was grateful for the respite because at the moment, she didn’t have the ability to do anything let alone cast a protection spell. The othe
r five witchlings faced each direction and created a bubble of energy that locked them inside and kept the draugar at bay. All they could hear were the muffled sounds of the creatures pounding to get in.
Abigail dragged in a deep breath, and then turned to Rubicus, certain of what she had to do. Gathering her magic, she blasted witchfire next to his head. “Send them away now, or I’ll destroy what’s left of you.”
He snarled at her. “If you destroy my head, I can’t be brought back.”
“Sounds good to me.” Calla stepped up to Abigail’s side. “I say we blast him to bits.”
The two girls raised their hands, ready to send out twin balls of witchfire, when Rubicus pursed his lips and blew out a sharp puff of air.
A strange whisper rasped against Abigail’s eardrums.
Piscadora.
As the word registered in her brain, Abigail froze. Her entire body locked up. Calla cocked her arm back, prepared to throw her witchfire, but Abigail knocked the girl’s arm and sent the fireball flying.
“Abigail, what are you doing?” Calla said.
“Step away.” Abigail repeated what the voice in her head commanded her to say. Her limbs moved jerkily as she stepped in front of the severed head. “I must take him to Vertulious. If you try and stop me, I will destroy you.”
Chapter 24
There was something very wrong with Abigail. Hugo took a step closer, but the warning look she gave him stopped him in his tracks.
“Abigail, what’s gotten into you? I’m your friend, remember?”
Her eyes had a strange hollow look, the pupils widely dilated. Her movements were uneven, as if she didn’t know how to control her own limbs. She held the head of Rubicus under one arm, and a strange ball of witchfire glowed over the other.
“Why is your witchfire purple?” he asked, itching to pull his notebook out and write this down. The strands of violet were darker than anything he had seen her call up before.
Ignoring Hugo, she turned to Robert, who was brandishing his sword, and said in a wooden voice, “Don’t make me use this.”
Calla planted her hands on her hips. “Stop that right now, Abigail. You’re not going to use magic against your own friends.”
