by Alane Adams
His palm tingled. There was a crackle of energy, and then— in a flash of light and heat—his fingers were wrapped around the solid shaft of Odin’s spear.
“No way,” Sam whispered, hardly believing his eyes.
“Don’t just stand there!” Jasper barked at him. “Aim for the eye, boy! Aim for the eye!”
Sam nodded, then hefted the spear in his hand. After a deep breath, he took a run forward and launched it at the creature’s rolling black eye. The spear wobbled off course; then, just as Forset had promised, the spear changed direction in the savage wind, and the sharp point hit dead center. The creature’s eye burst open, spewing gray, gelatinous liquid.
Sam covered his ears as the akkar’s deafening wail shook the boat. The akkar dropped Mavery onto the deck as its tentacles withdrew in a frenzy, lashing the boat about as the creature retreated into the watery depths. As fast as the onslaught had come, it was over. Then they were free, bobbing in the water.
“We did it,” Sam said, shocked that they were alive.
Mavery sat up woozily. “Is it gone?”
“It’s gone,” Jasper confirmed. “Your witch-boy came through.”
Sam stepped forward to give Mavery a hug just as a stray tentacle broke the water’s surface and swept the deck, knocking Sam into the sea. Thrashing around in the watery tumult, he tried to swim back to the boat. Mavery stretched through the railing and reached out her hand for him. He grabbed for her fingers, but a tentacle gripped one of his legs and dragged him under.
The cold seawater submerged him, leaving him gagging and choking for air. He tried to free himself, but the akkar wrapped another tentacle tight around his waist. Pink suction cups latched onto his hands as he pried futilely at them.
He needed air. Fast. Leo’s knife was still in his belt. Fumbling, he managed to snag the blade, then stab at the throbbing tentacle. After the third jab, the monster released him just as black spots sprouted behind Sam’s eyes. He couldn’t tell which way was up. He swam a few strokes, then stopped, confused which way to go.
Then the water began to glow with a bright sheen, and Sam had a flash of hope. But as the glow swirled and formed shapes, Sam realized who had joined him.
Wraiths swarmed around him, trailing their icy fingers along his face. Sam closed his eyes, not wanting a repeat of the ice bolt in his shoulder. This was all he needed: a bunch of soulless beauty queens showing up when he was on the brink of death. Then Sam’s survival instincts kicked in. He pulled off their fingers, kicking hard to swim away, any direction, but he could hear their eerie call in his head, inviting him in.
“Join us,” they whispered.
He stopped, letting himself float in the water. His lungs burned with the need to breathe. He was fading fast and had no hope of reaching the surface. Sam gave in and opened his eyes, turning to look into the skeletal face of the wraith closest to him.
“Help me,” he whispered back, in the silent language they shared. He stared into her empty sockets, seeing the flesh ripple back to life as she looked at him with pity. Her long, grayish hair undulated in the water. She raised one bony hand to his cheek. Sam bit back the disgust as his lungs screamed for air.
“You are one of us,” she whispered, taking his hand and tugging him downward. He had no strength to fight her off. A coldness settled over him as she dragged him down.
Then the water exploded into thousands of bubbles, and Sam’s lungs gave out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Something nibbled on Sam’s toe, a sharp pinch. He lifted his head out of the sand. He was lying facedown on a beach, the surf rolling around his ankles. A large sand crab was investigating his toe. He had no idea why he was still alive. He remembered the wraiths twirling around him, pushing and prodding.
“That’s twice I saved your life.”
Turning his head, he saw Mavery. Wet hair clung to her head in clumps. Her arms were wrapped around her knees as she shook with cold.
Spitting out sand, he said, “That’s why I keep you around. Where are we?”
Sam pushed himself up. They were on a narrow spit of beach boxed in by sheer cliffs. The tide was rolling in quickly. In a matter of hours, maybe less, they would be without dry land.
“Balfour Island, dummy. Where else? The wraiths were trying to take you with them. I stopped them.”
He looked at her, seeing how pale she was.
“How?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t let go of you. When the akkar knocked you over, I jumped in, too. Jasper tried to stop me, but I’m too quick for him,” she said proudly.
“Thank you.” The words were hardly adequate, but they made Mavery smile.
Sam reached for his pouch, reassured to feel it around his neck. One of his boots had come off and was half-buried in the sand. He dumped out the water and pulled it on, then stood on wobbly legs and helped Mavery up.
“So, how do we get off this beach?”
“We climb,” she said, pointing at a low cleft in the face. “Race you to the top!” Mavery took off, her feet pounding in the sand.
“Hey, not fair!”
Sam gave chase, and they ran across the beach, laughing as Mavery got to the base of the cliff first and started scrambling up like a monkey. Sam felt strangely giddy. They were alive, and his friends were close. Once he rescued them, together they would find a way to stop this cursed sun from destroying Orkney.
But by the time they reached the top of the cliff, exhaustion had replaced Sam’s excitement. His hands were raw, and his whole body ached. Behind them, the black clouds boxing in the shore had dissipated, leaving the day clear and cloudless. Before them, a flat valley spread out, covered in stumpy dead trees and boggy water.
Unfortunately, Emenor’s map of Balfour was a sodden mess. Sam laid it out to dry, but the ink had run together, smudging the lines. He tried to recall where the big X had marked the Tarkana fortress. He traced the faint line Emenor had drawn through the bogs and the swamp.
“You don’t need a stupid map to find the Tarkana fortress,” Mavery said, scuffing the ground with her toe.
“Well, how are we going to get there?”
“I was born here, remember? I hid in these swamps when I wanted to escape,” she mumbled.
“Did it work?” he asked.
“They couldn’t tease me if they couldn’t find me. This way, dunderhead.” She struck off down the hill.
Sam caught up with her as they reached the edge of the swamp. A layer of mist clung to the ground. The mud let out loud pops as it released gas of some sort. Brown shriveled shrubs stuck out of the water.
“Is it always this . . . dead around here?”
Mavery held her skirts up as she waded. “It’s usually thick with vines that snake across the ground and try to choke you, and trees that toss their thorns at you. Be grateful things are dead. The red sun’s doing us a favor here.”
Insects buzzed around Sam’s head, and the shrieks of birds filled the air. They kept to higher ground when possible but had to wade through the murky swamp water between low-lying mounds of dry ground.
After only a few minutes of marshy trekking, Sam’s boots were so full of water that he gave up and took them off, carrying them over his shoulder. Mavery hopped along like a toad, not seeming to mind that her toes squelched in the thick, slimy mud.
The first solid piece of ground they came to, Sam threw himself down in the shade of a scraggly tree. His stomach growled loudly. He thought of the last hamburger he had eaten, when he and Howie had gone to Chuggies. If he closed his eyes, Sam could almost smell the greasy fries and charbroiled meat patty. His mouth watered as he dreamed about a thick chocolate shake to wash down his meal.
“You don’t have anything to eat, do you?” he asked.
Mavery reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a small green apple, and waved it in front of his nose. “You mean like this?”
Sam snatched it from her, then hesitated. “No . . . it’s yours.”
She waved it away
. “I ate two waiting for you to wake up.”
Sam bit eagerly into the fruit. It was tangy and crisp. Similar to an Oregon apple, but even more flavorful and fresh. That was pretty much how Sam would describe most things in Orkney, compared with his home: similar but different.
“What’s she like?” Mavery asked, taking a seat across from Sam.
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“She’s great. A lousy cook—she usually burns dinner. And she can’t do math for beans, but I guess growing up in Orkney, she didn’t study geometry.” At that moment, Abigail’s complete lack of math skills finally made sense. Sam smiled at the memory of her struggling to help him. He tossed the core in the water and watched the ripples spread out in a circle. “You know what I don’t get? How she left all this behind—her magic, her powers, this entire realm—and never said anything to me. It’s like she erased everything she knew. Until some shreeks attacked us, I never saw her use her magic.”
Mavery plucked a skinny white flower and twirled it in her fingers. “Watch,” she said, cupping her hands and then blowing into them. She opened her palm to reveal a yellow frog in place of the flower.
“Is it a frog or a flower?” She looked at him with earnest eyes.
“I’m not sure.”
The frog quivered in her hand, the size of a thumbnail.
“And neither was your mom.” Mavery blew on the frog, and it hopped away into the water . . . where it turned back into the flower, now floating on the surface. “It’s hard to remember what’s real and what’s not. Maybe she wanted your life there to be real.”
“How’d you get so smart?”
“How’d you get so dumb?” she answered back, with that impish grin.
Sometimes Mavery was a real pain, but Sam couldn’t imagine being here without her.
By late afternoon, they came to the edge of the bog and found themselves on solid, dry ground. A pair of crows flew in a lazy circle overhead. To the left were steep hills, and to the right, a thick tangle of bramble and thorny trees.
“Which way, Mavery?”
She pointed to the left. “On the other side of those hills is a road that winds around all this. It’s longer but safer.”
“What if we go that way?” He pointed at the bramble.
“That way will get you killed. Guaranteed. It’s full of sneevils. A sneevil can use its tusk to tear your guts out and—”
“I know, I know, eat you while you’re still alive. But look, if we go the safe way, how much longer will it take?”
“Another day.”
“Another day? No. I can’t wait another day.”
“Better another day than dead.”
“If we go fast, maybe we’ll get lucky and not run into any sneevil things.”
“That’s wishful thinking,” Mavery warned. “The kind of thinking that will get us both killed.”
“My friends are waiting to be rescued. I can’t make them wait another day because I’m afraid of something that might not even be there. Besides, another day, and who knows what the red sun will do? We don’t have time to go around.”
“I’m not going in there,” she said, but Sam had already started walking into the bramble. He was pretty sure she would follow.
“Sam, you’re being an idiot!”
“I know. You coming?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Endera stared at the portrait of her ancestor that hung over the fireplace in her chambers. Catriona’s piercing green eyes stared back at her under a mane of thick gray hair that flowed down her back. Catriona was the greatest witch ever to stalk the nine realms. Now she was trapped inside a rock, her powers shackled by Odin’s magic. Endera reached a hand up to stroke the canvas, imagining what it would be like to possess Catriona’s ancient magic, magic that had been lost to them in the centuries since she and her sisters had been entombed.
A light tap at the door sounded, and Lemeria appeared. The young witch was ditzy but useful. She had her spies, a network of ravens she used to keep an eye on things for Endera.
“What news, Lemeria?”
Lemeria skipped across the floor and took a seat on a spin-dly chair by the fireplace. “My pretty birds are full of tidings.” She clapped her hands like an excited schoolgirl.
Endera bit back her impatience, seating herself across from Lemeria. “Do tell.”
“The boy is here, just as you said he would be.” Her eyes glowed. “He’s got a child with him. I know her. She’s that little orphan we got rid of.”
Endera went to the window and breathed in the smell of the swamps. Yes, the boy was indeed out there. She could smell the faintest odor of his magic. “We must be sure to make them feel welcome.”
She cast about for the pets she had in mind and sent a silent command. From across the murky depths of the bogs came a returning buzzing sound.
“Hestera is plotting against you,” Lemeria said from behind her. “She doesn’t believe you can do it.”
“She is wrong.” Endera turned to face her young protégé. “Everything is in motion. Even now the boy comes to us. He will deliver me what I seek. What do the others say?”
Lemeria shrugged, standing up, her hands twisting in her skirt. “They’ll wait to see who’s right. You know how witches are. You really think he can do it? My ravens tell me he is quite scrawny.”
“Samuel Barconian has Odin’s blood and that of Rubicus, the most powerful he-witch ever to live. You see how the sun glistens with his rage. How can you doubt he has the magic to break the ancient curse that keeps our ancestors prisoner?”
Lemeria shrugged, then giggled. “You’re right, of course.”
Endera waved her off. Soon enough, the boy and his little imp would be running for their lives and straight into her hands.
It took only half an hour for Sam to cut every inch of his upper body on brambles with thorns the size of his thumb. Mavery walked mutinously behind him, avoiding the worst of it by staying close. He kept waiting for her to say, “I told you so,” but she held her tongue. That didn’t stop her from snorting with disdain every time Sam yelped in pain from a new cut.
He was about to proclaim the bog sneevil-free when they ran into a pack of them—six, to be precise, and each of them as ugly and vicious as Mavery had described. Their tusks were the length of his arm. Canine teeth jutted up from their lower lip. Only the filthiness of Sam’s and Mavery’s skin and clothes saved the children’s lives. The sneevils were so busy sniffing the ground for roots, they didn’t catch wind of the two mud-encrusted kids. Sam and Mavery slowly backed away into the brambles. Then, like an idiot, Sam stepped on a branch, snapping it in half, and the sneevils’ heads jerked up with a chorus of snorts.
Mavery started to run, but Sam decided to test out his magic. The sneevils began to circle him. He raised his palm and cleared his throat, before shouting, “Fein kinter!” He thrust his hands forward as he shouted the words, but nothing happened. He tried again, feeling increasingly foolish, then gave up and grabbed his pouch as the sneevils drew closer, emboldened by his feeble efforts to stop them.
“Sam, run,” Mavery shouted, but Sam held his ground stubbornly, determined to make this magic of his work.
“Fein kinter, ventimus,” he said, swinging the pouch. A wind began to blow, stopping the surprised sneevils, but then one broke from the pack and charged him, intent on goring him.
Sam stumbled back and accidentally let go of the pouch. It sailed into a tree. He faced off against the sneevil while Mavery kept screaming at him to run.
The sneevil bared its snout at Sam, making a snuffling, growling sound. Sam dug his heels into the dirt, making himself tap into that other part of him. As the sneevil got within arm’s reach, Sam raised his palm, this time feeling the connection to the pulsing of his blood.
“Fein kinter,” he said again, and thrust his palm forward. This time, his whole hand tingled with energy, and, as the sneevil lowered its head to gore him, a bolt of witchfire
shot out of Sam’s palm, nearly knocking him backward, and seared the sneevil. The beast began to shake uncontrollably as smoke rose off it, and then it incinerated in an odorous puff of black smoke. The other sneevils backed away and ran off through the trees.
Mavery didn’t even thank Sam for saving her life. “Told you there were sneevils,” she sniffed; then she stalked off through the brambles.
Sam’s legs were shaky but held him up. He grinned lightly to himself. He was starting to get the hang of this magic stuff. Snatching his pouch from the low branch, he hurried after Mavery.
“Look!” he said excitedly, as the thorny bushes thinned out. In the distance, the tip of a dark tower thrust up from the swamps. “We made it.”
Sam smiled smugly down at Mavery, but she was looking over her shoulder.
“Don’t move,” she whispered.
He froze. Please don’t tell me it’s another sneevil, he thought. Then he heard a buzz, like the humming of a generator. The sound grew louder.
Mavery grabbed his arm. “Run!”
She took off through the brambles, ignoring the thorns that caught at her dress. This time Sam didn’t hesitate; he ran after her, but not before he turned around and saw a roiling black cloud snaking through the trees, arrowing after them with furious intent.
“What is that?” he asked, as he raced to catch up to her.
“Biters,” she called back.
Up ahead, he could see a pile of rocks split by a black gap.
“There!” He pointed to the dark slice and veered toward it.
From behind, Sam could hear the buzzing grow louder. But he figured they might just reach the cave before the bloodsucking bugs overtook them. As the opening yawned in front of him, Sam heard Mavery scream.
Skidding to a stop, he turned and saw her sprawled facedown. She tried to get up, but her ankle was stuck in a hole. Mavery turned her head as the swarming cloud reached her, breaking apart into green bugs with wings the length of his finger and long, pointy beaks. Like mosquitoes on steroids. One of the biters landed on her arm, and she screamed as it drilled into her.
