by Alane Adams
“I know you, Samuel Barconian. I am Vor, the Goddess of Wisdom. There is a battle raging inside you. Which bloodline will win? That is the question on everyone’s mind.”
“What do you mean?”
She extended one arm and opened her hand. On her palm, a white butterfly fluttered. “The blood of your father leads you down one path.”
Sam swallowed, dreading her next words. “And my mother’s?”
“Her blood will take you down another path.” Vor opened her other hand. A black wasp buzzed angrily. Its wings were laced with red-veined membranes. A large, pointed stinger protruded from its rear. It saw the butterfly and darted at it, giving chase as the butterfly took flight. Vor dropped her hands. “When the time comes, you must decide whom to save and whom to sacrifice. The fate of the world hangs on your decision.”
Fate of the world? Sam looked back at Vor, feeling weak. “So, what am I supposed to do?”
Her hand waved gently in the air. “We cannot influence your decisions.”
“We? Who’s we?”
“The gods, Samuel.”
Oh, just the gods. Great. He sat back heavily. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Odin has allowed you to ask one question of me.”
Sam tried to think of something important, like how to rescue his friends or why the witches wanted him dead, but the words that tumbled out were filled with his shame.
“Sometimes, when I lose my temper, it’s like I’m a different person. I can’t control it. Why does that happen to me?”
She looked at Sam with those pearl-colored eyes and put her hand on his forehead, closing his eyelids. Her hand felt cool and soothing.
An image formed in his head of a baby lying in a crib. Sam was the baby, he realized, looking up at the small hands waving in front of his face. Over his crib, a woman appeared. He felt afraid.
No wonder. A younger Endera Tarkana smiled down at him and tickled him under his chin. He began to wail. As he did, she held a scorpion over the crib by its tail. He began to scream in earnest as the scorpion dropped onto his blanket and scuttled under the covers. A burning pain shot through his foot. Blue lights burst over his head, and then his mother appeared, looking scared. His father joined her, reaching down and grabbing the horrid thing, crushing it under his foot.
Vor took her hand away, and Sam gasped.
“I was stung by a scorpion?”
“Not just any scorpion. A Deathstalker,” Vor explained. “The sting should have killed you. We cannot explain why you lived. Perhaps some venom remains inside you, circulating its poison.”
“So it’s not my fault,” he said, feeling a rush of pure joy. There was a reason for his rage. He wasn’t a monster.
But Vor dashed his sudden joy. “Yes and no,” she answered. “A fire does not burn without fuel. You are easily brought to anger, Sam. The venom merely fans the flames. You must learn to control those feelings, or your path will be very dark, I’m afraid.”
Voices rang out, calling Sam’s name. He looked up to see Vor’s reaction, but she was gone. In her place, a white dove sat cooing on the rock.
Captain Teren rode into the clearing. “Milord, there you are,” he said, reining in his horse and looking relieved. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said with a puzzled sigh that reached into the soles of his boots. He had just met a blind woman who claimed to be a goddess, then turned into a dove. There were so many things that weren’t “all right,” he had lost track.
“Shall we proceed, then?” Teren asked. His horse pranced nervously as wind rattled the leaves in the clearing. The dove took flight through the trees.
Sam climbed back onto his horse and followed Teren to the trail. There was no more idle conversation between them. Sam hunkered down over the saddle. Not much about this place made sense. But one thought kept him going: rescuing Howie and Keely. His friends needed him to figure things out.
They made camp in a clump of trees as the sun set. Davis brought him a bowl of black cabbage stew, promising it was delicious. Sam managed a few bites before he grew too tired to chew. He stretched out on a rough blanket, his eyes closing before he could even take his boots off. It must have been some hours later when he awoke. Men slept in scattered lumps on the ground atop bed-rolls, heads resting on folded saddle blankets. A few feet away, Sam could make out Rego’s lumpy figure, snoring like a chain saw.
Sam stood, stretching the kinks out of his muscles. A large fire burned in the center of camp. A sentry warmed his hands over the flames. He gave Sam a nod. Tall trees pressed in close, surrounding the clearing. The moon was half full, spilling white light over the camp. The night was clear, the sky sprinkled with distant stars. A branch snapped in the woods behind Sam. He whipped around. An animal? He looked back at the sentry, but the man had wandered over to check on the horses.
A whispery voice drifted through the trees. “Saaaamm . . .”
His ears pricked up. Was that Keely? Uncertain, Sam looked at Rego’s sleeping figure. It was probably nothing. The dwarf would be annoyed if Sam woke him. But if it was Keely, it was his chance, maybe his only chance, to rescue her. The sliver of moon was bright enough to see by. He would check it out and then go back to bed. He ducked into the stand of trees. Instantly, the thick canopy blotted out the moonlight. A cloak of dampness settled over him, making him shiver. He paused to listen.
There. Ahead. That sound was definitely Howie’s laugh. No time to get Rego. Sam started to run. Branches whipped him across the face. He tripped over a root and hit the ground hard. He lay still, trying to catch his breath, listening for the voices. Pushing himself up, Sam grabbed a tree trunk, his fingers sinking into thick moss.
“Son of Odin,” came a whisper through the trees.
“Who’s there?” Sam called. His heart galloped in his chest. Fear made it hard to think. “Mavery? Is that you? Stop playing tricks. This isn’t funny.” Sam put his hands in front of him as he moved blindly toward the sound.
“Release us,” the voice pleaded, a plaintive, restless sound that echoed inside his brain.
“Stop it,” Sam said, straining to see in the near darkness. “Get out of my head.”
“Release us, Son of Odin. It is time.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he yelled.
“Sam?” came a familiar voice, faint but real.
“Keely?” Sam instantly forgot his fear. “Keely, where are you?” he shouted.
“Sam, I thought you were my friend. Why won’t you help me?” she called, her voice trailing through the wind and the branches.
“I’m coming!” Sam cried, and ran in the direction of her voice, crashing through the trees.
He broke into a small clearing. A figure stood alone in the center. Her head was bent and covered in a black, hooded cloak.
“Keely?”
“Sam, why don’t you come?” It was Keely’s voice, but as she raised her head, Sam stepped back in horror.
His substitute English teacher stood gloating, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
“I thought you were my friend,” Endera mouthed, her face creasing into a smile as her voice lapsed back into her own. “Welcome home, Sam. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Behind her, the clearing filled with a dozen figures in black cloaks. Sam took another step back.
“What do you want?”
“We want you to join us,” she said, opening her arms wide. “You’re one of us.”
“One of us,” the clan of witches murmured softly in agreement, while moving to encircle him.
For once, Sam wished Rego would show up unannounced. “Forget it! You’re a bunch of evil, disgusting witches!”
“Ouch. I’m offended,” Endera pouted, crossing her arms. “I thought we were getting so close.”
“Where’s Keely? What have you done with Howie?” Sam turned his head side to side to make sure they weren’t sneaking up on him.
“Your friend
s are enjoying their time in our dungeons.”
Sam lunged at her, wanting to wipe that smug look off her face, but Endera vanished, reappearing behind him to tap him on the shoulder. Sam spun around, prepared to swing at her, but her hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. She lifted him off the ground easily, as if he weighed nothing, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his.
“What’s. Your. Problem?” Sam choked out, pulling at the hands wrapped around his throat. “What did I ever do to you?”
She arched one thin eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Who you are.” Endera pulled him closer, her eyes searching Sam’s, as if seeking to know what thoughts were inside his head.
“I’m no one. I’m just a kid.” That was what Sam wanted to believe.
Endera released him then, dropping him to the ground, and tilted her head back to laugh. The other witches remained silent, watching.
“Just a kid? No, Sam, that won’t do. It’s time you discovered who you really are.”
The cloaked figures pressed forward, lifting him up by his arms and holding him tight. Their pale faces were shrouded in darkness, but Sam felt their wickedness.
Endera murmured some words. “Fein kinter, respera, respera Barconian fils.” Her palm began to glow, and then a bolt of green light shot out and hit him in the chest. A sharp, lancing pain sent stars behind his eyes. Sam’s body arched back as he let out a loud shriek, but a hand covered his mouth, muffling it so that he sounded like a mewling cat.
The witch drew nearer, keeping the sizzling bolt locked on Sam’s heart. “All young witches undergo a ritual where they receive their full measure of power. Haven’t you ever wondered why strange words hover on the tip of your tongue?”
Sam shook his head, but it was a lie and she knew it. He heard them when he lost his temper, echoing like a muffled chant in his head.
“Why do you fight who you are?” She thrust her hands forward and increased the flow of energy.
It was agony, as if his soul were being ripped from his body, but Sam fought it. “I know who I am,” he gasped. “I’m Sam Baron. And nothing you do is going to change that.”
“Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” She stepped closer, until her scorching fingertips were only an inch from his body.
She murmured some final words and then touched one finger to his chest, just as she had done the first time he had met her back in Pilot Rock. Only this time, an explosion of dazzling green fire lit up Sam’s brain. At the same moment, the witches let him go. He fell backward, boneless and faint. In slow motion, the sky came into view as he hit the ground with a thud. He couldn’t move. His eyes were wide open, staring up at the sky. A jumble of words began filling his head in a language he understood hazily.
Endera leaned down next to him. “Welcome to the coven, Sam.”
Chapter Eleven
Opening his eyes, Sam looked up into the bloodstained sun. The veins on its face throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, squeezing his heart with an angry fist. He turned away and saw Rego—except there were two of him. Sam had to blink several times before the vision merged into one annoyed dwarf. Next to him, Lagos let out an angry squawk as it fluttered its wings out, as if chastising Sam.
Rego squatted down next to him. “So, you want to tell me why you were knocked out cold in the woods?”
Sam sat up, groaning at the aches in his body.
“How did I get here?” He was back on his bedroll. Someone had taken his boots off.
“Lagos spotted you passed out in a clearing a click away. Teren and I had to drag your sorry hide through the woods. What on Odin’s earth were you doing that far from camp?”
Sam tried to remember. “I thought I heard Keely’s voice. I was trying to get to her. I must have run into a tree and blacked out.” His fingers went to his chest, pulling his shirt open to look for any burn marks.
“Something wrong?”
Sam abruptly let go of his shirt. “No.”
Rego glared at him suspiciously. “A tree, huh? Did you hear anything else?”
Sam hesitated. Telling Rego he had been zapped by Endera in some crazy ritual would just make the dwarf worry, or ask a lot of questions Sam couldn’t answer. “Just my stomach growling,” he lied. “I’m starving.” That part was true. On cue, his stomach let out a loud grumble.
Rego abruptly shoved himself to his feet. “I don’t believe a word you said, Sam Baron. Next time you wander off into the woods, I’ll leave you to the wolves.” He stomped off to join Amicus by the horses.
“What about breakfast?” Sam called after him.
Davis came up with a cheerful grin. “I’ve saved you some biscuits and sliced ham,” he said, opening a checkered cloth. “Should tide you over till morning tea.”
“Thanks.” Sam bolted down two biscuits before asking, “Hey, Davis, can you tell me anything about magic?” If he was going to survive in this place, it was time he learned more about how things worked in the Ninth Realm.
Davis knelt down and helped put Sam’s boots back on. “Not me, milord. But I know someone who can.” He turned his head to search the camp. “There.” He pointed. “That’s who you’re looking for.”
Mavery. The little imp. She flitted across the clearing and darted into a tent. Sam thanked Davis, grabbed another biscuit off the plate, and then jogged after Mavery.
Edging around behind the tent, Sam snuck in through the back opening. Mavery was scarfing down a freshly baked pie, her face smeared with cherry-red filling.
Sam cleared his throat. “Gotcha.”
She looked up guiltily, then smirked when she saw who it was.
“Get yer own pie,” Mavery said, and went back to her snack, finishing the entire dish in a matter of seconds.
For a waif, the girl could eat. She scraped the tin until there was nothing left but crumbs. Then she let out a loud burp and a small bubble floated toward Sam. It was green and smelled faintly of apple. He snicked his fingers at it so it popped harmlessly in the air.
“Davis says you can tell me about magic.”
She licked her lips greedily. “What’s in it for me?”
“How about I don’t tell Teren that you ate one of the cook’s pies?”
The girl shrugged it off. “I’ll just tell them you ate it.”
“So don’t help me,” Sam said indifferently, giving a shrug. “You probably don’t know anything, anyway.”
Mavery stomped her foot. “I know all about magic. I was one of the Tarkana witches. I know why they’re after you. I know why they’ll make you pay for—” She stopped at his triumphant grin. “You tricked me.” A smile crossed her face. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
“And you’re a little pig, so let’s make a deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you get all the pies you want.”
“I have been wanting to try a giblet pie,” she said dreamily.
“Giblet pie, apple pie—whatever you say. I am a Lord of the Ninth Realm,” Sam boasted, hoping she wouldn’t ask him what that meant, since he didn’t have a clue.
She fell for it. “That you are, milord.” She gave a little curtsy. “Son of Odin, I am your humble servant.” She stuck out her hand.
Sam stepped forward, reaching out with a smile, and failed to notice her little trap. Using her foot, she knocked over a lantern, spilling its oil on the ground. He promptly slipped in the puddle of slick tallow and landed hard on his sore bottom.
He wanted to curse her, but oomph was all that came out of his mouth. Sam reached for Mavery, but she danced away, laughing as if her gut would burst.
Suddenly, they heard voices outside the tent. The girl dove under a pile of blankets as Captain Teren walked in. He took one look at Sam sprawled on the floor and put his hand on his sword.
“Mavery!” he shouted. “I warned you, witchling!”
Sam picked himself up. He was fine, and since he needed the girl to trust him, he lied. “Tere
n, it’s only me. I was just looking for something to eat.”
Teren eyed the empty pie tin, then looked at Sam, one eyebrow raised.
Sam gave a shrug, lifting his hands. “Sorry. Ever since I got here, I’ve been starving.” A muffled snort came from the blankets. Sam coughed to cover it up.
Fortunately, the captain let it pass. “We are a half day’s ride from the capital, Skara Brae. The High Council is eager to meet with you. We will be leaving before the men break camp to expedite our journey.”
“Then let’s expedite,” Sam said cheerily, waving at the door.
Teren looked at him like he was a bit loony, but the soldier exited the tent.
Sam swung around and pulled the blanket off Mavery.
“I saved your nasty little hide; now you owe me.” His hand wrapped tightly around her thin wrist. Her pulse raced under his grip. The little witchling looked scared. Feeling bad, Sam relaxed his hold, and she immediately slipped away to the tent’s opening.
Mavery stopped and flashed him a grin. “Bring a giblet pie to the stables later, and I’ll tell you one secret.” Then she disappeared.
One secret, my foot. She was going to spill a truckload if Sam had his way.
Davis helped him onto his mare. Sam’s backside was raw from the previous day, but he just grimaced and kept quiet as he followed along behind Teren. Their party was small; only Rego and Amicus joined them. The rolling hills gave way to farmland and scattered villages where smoke rose from the chimneys atop small stone cottages. Teren pointed out the towns as they rode along. The names were simple. Potters Hill. High Town. Bright Hook. Sam felt like he had been dropped into a medieval time warp where electricity and flush toilets had not been invented— and apparently, here in Orkney, they hadn’t. The fields were brown and filled with shriveled stalks of grain.
“Why is everything dead?” he asked Teren.
Teren jerked his head upward toward the smoldering red sun.
“The sun did this?” Sam found himself sneaking frequent glances at it. The glowing ball both attracted him and repelled him.
