by Alane Adams
Giving up the refuge of the cave, Sam ran back to her side to pick her up, but the bugs were everywhere. They landed on his face and arms. He swatted at them, trying to fight them off long enough to get Mavery to safety, but there were too many.
All over his body he felt stinging sensations, followed soon after by light-headedness as dozens of malevolent vacuum cleaners sucked his blood out of him. He tried to help Mavery, who just kept screaming, a thick layer of bugs now covering her arms and face.
Weakness invaded Sam’s legs. The biters were draining his life force, rapidly swelling in size as they engorged themselves. Sam swayed, his vision starting to blur. He knew that if the biters kept attacking, he would die. Mavery would die. And all of Orkney would be destroyed.
Sinking to his knees, he put his arms around Mavery, sheltering her. Deep inside, an anger began to build.
It’s so unfair, Sam railed silently. These stupid bugs are ruining everything!
He turned his face to the sun, letting the rays soak into him, fueling him with the poisonous power the sun strangely provided him. As his eyes began to burn, anger coiled inside him, bubbling up, making his head rise as he gave voice to his molten rage.
“Elie nistrasa liem golum!” he ordered. Harm her and I will destroy you.
The voice was not his own, the words unrecognizable to him, but they came from somewhere deep inside him. From that dark source of his ancient bloodlines.
The clearing grew silent as the swarm paused, hovering, as if the bloodsuckers were waiting to see what he would do.
Sam climbed to his feet, staggering but feeling the strength gathering inside him. The boiling rage the red sun had ignited erupted into a fire that blazed from his eyes, sending a line across the clearing, toward the swarm of bugs.
“Elie nistrasa liem golum!” he roared. Raising his arm, Sam held his hand up and thrust his palm forward. A burst of witch-fire leaped from his palm and splintered the tree across the clearing. The swarm ascended, as if heeding his warning, then turned in unison and flew away.
Sam sagged, his energy spent. Mavery had lost consciousness. Her face red and swollen, she was bleeding from dozens of puncture marks on her arms and legs. He lifted the girl into his arms. She was dead weight, an enormous strain on his overtaxed muscles. He felt woozy, teetering on the verge of unconsciousness himself, but he was determined not to give up. It was his fault Mavery was out here. He made a vow to himself that she wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t let her.
He started walking—more like staggering—toward the distant castle. His arms burned with the strain of her weight, and his throat was parched, but he somehow kept putting one foot in front of the other.
Sam’s own body had endured hundreds of bites that oozed blood and swelled up, making him look grotesque and leaving his skin tingling with numbness. Beneath his feet, the ground leveled out into a trail of hard-packed dirt. . . .
A road. He stepped onto it and kept moving. One foot in front of the other.
His arms were quivering now under Mavery’s weight, threatening to give way any moment. The sun blazed down on his head. The insect bites had left him feverish. But he kept telling himself that he couldn’t let Mavery down. He wouldn’t. She had faced the wraiths for him, come back for him. So Sam pushed himself forward.
Until he stumbled over a loose stone and his arms finally gave out. With a pitiful groan, he crumpled, dropping Mavery on the ground in front of him.
She lay there, still and pale. She hadn’t moved since she had been attacked. Gripped with sadness, Sam just stared at her, not even sure she was still alive. He wanted to cry but didn’t have the energy.
Feeling dizzy, he let his head drop to the hardened dirt next to Mavery. The Tarkana Fortress couldn’t be far. They would help Mavery. She was one of them—a full-blooded witch. The poor girl didn’t deserve to die, not like this.
Sam’s eyes closed. Under his cheek, a deep vibration rumbled in the ground. His eyes fluttered open long enough to see a group of men on horseback, their bodies encased in dark armor, galloping toward him.
Rough hands lifted him from the ground. He struggled feebly, trying to tell the riders to take care of Mavery. Then something hit him over the head and everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As consciousness flickered inside him, Sam slowly became aware of his surroundings. The first thing he felt was cold stone biting into his hips; his back rested against a rough wall. Then he felt his head throbbing from the lump he had received. He could smell the pungent salve someone had slathered on his bites, but they still itched like crazy.
Cracking open his eyes, Sam saw a floor littered with rat droppings and filth. His wrists dangled painfully from chains clipped onto rusty wall rings. An old wooden bucket sat in the corner, with the smell of an outhouse wafting from it. Clearly, he was in some kind of dungeon.
“Samuel, how nice of you to come calling.”
Sam raised his eyes and looked into the smirking face of Endera Tarkana. She sat on a chair in front of him, wearing a long, high-collared red dress and looking like a cat that had just slurped up a bowl of rich cream.
“I knew you would join us sooner or later,” Endera gloated.
“Where’s Mavery? What have you done with my friends?” He strained against his chains. “I swear if you’ve hurt them, I’ll make you pay.”
She lifted his chin, smiling. “Mmm, there’s that temper I find so endearing.”
He jerked away from her cold touch.
“What is your interest in that grubby imp?” she continued.
“Mavery’s my friend. You better take care of her—not dump her in the ocean like garbage.”
Endera smiled. “I saved her life, and that’s the thanks I get? She’s feasting on moldy bread as we speak. And your friends, they’re having the time of their life. Just yesterday, your girlfriend was bitten by one of my rathos. What you call rats, but oh so much bigger and nastier, with teeth the size of . . . well, you get the picture.” She waved her hand carelessly.
“Let them go. Take me instead.”
“Dear boy, I have you already,” she crowed. “And I’ve every intention of sending your friends back to their pathetic life of grammar lessons and homework . . . just as soon as you do me one little favor.”
Sam knew there was nothing little about this favor. “Why would I help a witch like you?”
She pouted. “Is that any way to talk to your auntie? How is my sister Abigail, by the way? We used to be like two peas in a pod.”
Sam lunged forward, rattling against his chains. “My mom is nothing like you. You’re evil and cruel. You turned Mr. Platz into a lizard.”
She gave a little shrug. “I turned that pudgy little teacher into a fearsome monster. He should be thanking me for giving him a taste of real power. As for your mother, she was supposed to deceive the Son of Odin, not marry him. Abigail and I might not be blood sisters, but in the coven we’re all one big family.”
“What did you do to me back in the woods?” Sam shuddered as he recalled her tearing into his soul with her powerful magic.
“I gave you a little push, is all. A crash course in magic. Your mother should have taught you how to use your powers, but she was scared to find out who you really are.”
“I know who I am. Just because I have witch blood doesn’t make me like you. Mavery and I, we’re different. We can choose to do the right thing with our magic.”
“The red sun says differently. Have you seen it lately? It’s bursting with poison. I swear two new veins popped up when you took on those nasty biters. The High Council thinks we caused the red sun to return, but you and I both know”—she leaned her face in close—“it was all you, Samuel.”
Sam didn’t try to deny it, not after Jasper’s words.
Endera leaned forward. “You should have died when I dropped that Deathstalker in your crib—I was so hoping you would. But you survived, and do you know why?”
His heart skipped a
beat. He feared the answer.
“It’s because you were meant to be one of us. The day you turned twelve, you didn’t just gain your powers; you declared your true nature.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first red vein appeared on your birthday. I remember the day vividly. Poor Ronnie Polk took the brunt of your anger, but here in Orkney, we felt it as well. And when I looked up into the sky and saw that first poisonous vein, I knew. I knew who was responsible and that it was my duty to bring you home to your family. Your real family.”
“You’re not my family.”
“You belong here with us. Why do you fight your true nature?” Her voice was hypnotic, and he couldn’t look away from the gleaming green of her eyes.
Sam’s hands clenched at his side, his fingernails digging into his palms as he clung desperately to his truth about who he was. “Vor told me I get to choose which path I go down—”
Endera hissed at the mention of Vor’s name. “I don’t care what that pompous goddess says; she’s a puppet of Odin. You are a Son of Rubicus; you share his temper and his flair for a big, splashy curse. You can’t deny the connection when you look at the sun. That hunger you feel, the thirst for power.”
Sam squirmed. Her words were like ants under his skin. How did she know so much about him? How he felt, how he thought?
“Tell me, Sam, when you look into that throbbing red face, aren’t you just dying to devour the whole world?”
There was silence. A drop of water fell from the damp ceiling.
Sam shook his head and looked away. He kept shaking it in denial, hoping Endera would end this torment.
“We should not be enemies, Samuel. We are more alike than you realize.”
“I want to see my friends. And Mavery. You better not have hurt her.”
“Or what?” Her voice was cold.
He answered, challenging her with his eyes, “If I am a Son of Odin and Rubicus, I . . . I probably have powers even greater than yours.”
Endera’s eyes sparked with fury, and Sam realized he should have kept his mouth shut. Color flashed in her cheeks, and her hand tightened into a trembling claw on her lap. The witch had the same hair-trigger temper as he did. She muttered something ominous under her breath, and Sam heard tiny feet skittering on the stone. Something knocked the wooden bucket over. And then he saw them. . . .
Rathos. Her army of giant rats. More than a dozen of them poured into the cell out of a hole in the wall and ran around Endera’s chair. Their brown, hairy bodies brushed up against his feet and legs, their beady black eyes coveting his tender flesh. They were twice the size of normal rats, and their jagged teeth looked as sharp as a piranha’s.
One of the rathos ran up Sam’s leg inside his pants, its slimy feet skimming along his skin, tickling the hairs. He writhed, trying to stop it, but his hands were chained in place.
“Knock it off!”
“You have such power, boy—make them stop.”
The vicious rat bit down on the soft part of his thigh, making Sam cry out in pain. Another ran across his chest and up to his neck, biting down hard on his ear. He could feel warm blood flowing down his neck.
Sam thrashed, trying to get away. “Stop it! Make them stop,” he pleaded, as a swarm of rathos ran up his legs, toward his face.
Endera hissed at them, and the filthy rodents dispersed, disappearing back into the hole they had emerged from.
She leaned in, her finger jabbing into his chest, paralyzing him with that venomous magic of hers. “You will never have greater powers than I. You will serve me, and I will decide whether you live or die.”
When she finally withdrew her finger, Sam gasped, drawing in precious air. “I’d rather eat worm guts than serve you.”
The witch snapped her fingers. A guard appeared at the door.
“Kill the imp,” she said.
“Wait, no!” Sam lunged forward, straining at his chains until the rusty metal cut into his wrists. “Don’t hurt Mavery. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’ll do whatever you want.”
The guard waited. After a long moment, Endera waved him away.
“When you’re feeling better, we can discuss the price for your friends’ lives.” She left, sweeping her skirt in a garish swirl of red silk, and the door clanged shut behind her.
Endera leaned against the cell door, dragging in a deep breath of satisfaction. It had taken longer than she had expected, but the boy had broken, precisely as she had hoped.
A rustle of skirts and the telltale tap of a cane alerted her she was not alone.
“Hestera, what brings you to the dungeons?” Endera asked, clenching her jaw to affect a normal tone at the unexpected sight of the old crone.
“I wanted to see the boy for myself, interrogate him.” She made a move with her cane to brush past Endera, but Endera blocked her way.
The older witch bristled. “Step aside, Endera.”
“You may enter, of course,” Endera said, as lightly as she could. “It’s simply, when the rathos attacked the boy, he grew queasy, and you know how children are. He made quite a mess in there. I thought to leave him to wallow in his own filth, to teach him a lesson. But please”—Endera stepped to the side—“perhaps you would enjoy the challenge?”
Hestera hesitated, her gnarled hands gripping the knobby, emerald-topped cane. “I’ll wait until he’s cleaned up. But I warn you, Endera, if he is not who you say he is, the coven will tear him to pieces.”
Endera looped her arm in Hestera’s and walked the old witch down the cobweb-laden hallway, out of earshot of the boy’s cell.
“Hestera, I swear on my life, he brims with a power I have never felt before—I daresay power that will one day rival ours. And he is on the edge of joining us. I can feel it. He will go to Odin and receive the power needed to free our sisters.”
“Why do you care so much about Catriona? She was a horrid creature. As cruel and merciless as her father, Rubicus.”
Endera stopped to grip Hestera’s shoulder. “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly. But Catriona holds what’s left of our ancient magic. She can free us from being under the thumb of every living creature in Orkney. Or would you wait until they hunt us down and exterminate us like rathos?” Endera’s voice rose to a high pitch.
Hestera tapped her cane vigorously. “We shall not go quietly, Endera. You are right to remind me of the threat. If the boy can deliver, then we will have the advantage.”
Pleased, Endera patted her arm as they continued on. “I have a plan in mind to ensure he betrays Odin. When he does, he will have nowhere to turn but us.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Keely lifted her head from a fitful nap when her dungeon door opened. A swarthy guard dressed in black leather regalia dragged a young girl into the cell, tossed her on the thin pile of hay, and then left, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him and keying the lock with a dispiriting clank.
The girl smelled like eucalyptus. Insect bites spotted her face and arms. Her skin glistened with some kind of salve. She sat up, looking woozy and confused. One eye was nearly swollen shut. When she saw Keely, she scooted back.
“Who are you?” the girl asked suspiciously.
“I’m Keely.”
Her face lit up. “You’re Sam’s friend. I’m Mavery.”
Keely crawled across the stone floor as far as the chain around her ankle would let her and knelt in front of the girl. “You know Sam?”
“’Course,” Mavery scoffed. “We’re partners. I’ve been traveling with him for days. I brought him to Balfour Island.” She scratched at the bites on her arms, leaving long red marks.
“He’s here?” Hope flared in Keely. Sam was going to rescue them. “Howie,” she shouted, “Sam’s come for us!”
Howie let out a whoop from his cell. “I knew my man wouldn’t let us down!”
“Where is he?” Keely asked.
Mavery shrugged. “Don’t know. I kind of blacked out when the biters started draining me.” She held
her arms out, showing raised bumps from what must have been some nasty bloodsucking insects.
“So he’s probably a prisoner, too,” Keely said, her hope fizzling. “Those witches are horrible. I wish I could throw them all from the highest tower.”
Mavery’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? That so? I’m a witch. You gonna toss me over?”
Keely moved back a safe distance. “You’re one of them?”
“Yeah, I’m a horrible witch.” She waved her hands in the air, mocking Keely. “Be careful, or I’ll turn you into a pig.”
It took a moment of terror before Keely realized the girl was kidding. “Very funny. If you’re a witch, what are you doing locked up here?”
“Maybe I’m spying on you,” she said, brushing her dirty dress down over her knees.
Keely doubted that. The girl was young and looked genuinely frightened by her circumstances. Not much of a threat. Keely began to regret her harsh words, but before she could apologize, Howie shouted from across the hall, “Does she know where Sam is?”
“No,” Keely and Mavery answered at the same time.
Mavery glared at Keely. “I told Sam coming here was a mistake, but he wanted to save his friends. So whatever happens to him, it’s your fault.” Then Mavery turned on her side and curled up, folding her arms and closing her eyes.
Keely didn’t know what to think. The girl said she was a witch, so she could be lying about Sam. But if she wasn’t lying, then Sam was in trouble, and no help was coming for Keely and Howie. Sighing in despair, Keely rested her head back against the stone, fighting the tears. She would give anything to be home in her own bed, away from this nightmare.
It seemed as if Keely had barely closed her eyes when the clanking sound of keys awoke her again. Two guards rushed in, and one hauled her to her feet while unlocking her chains. Mavery yowled like a wet cat, kicking at the other guard as he dragged her away.
“Get your hands off me,” Keely said, yanking her arm free. “You don’t have to be so rough.”
In the corridor, Howie was already unchained, looking skinny and pale.
