by Alane Adams
Endera waved her hand at a guard dragging the pitiful friend of the Barconian spawn. “Bring him with us. This little brat has a very important role to play today.”
“What’s going on?” Howie challenged, searching the group of witches. “Where’s Sam?”
Ignoring his questions, Endera turned to Hestera. “It is time we brought this to an end. If Sam succeeded in his cause, he will need our help to end the curse.” She folded her hand over the emerald atop Hestera’s cane. “When I give the word, act.”
Hestera nodded, her face mirroring the bloodthirst in every witch’s eye.
“And what of the Horn?”
“Not until the red-sun curse is lifted. He mustn’t be distracted, or we will all perish. After he succeeds, then we can force him to deliver it, and then we will know which side he has chosen.”
Hestera’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Then let us be gone!”
“Tempus ferro!” Endera shouted, then thrust her fist into the sky as every witch did the same. In a green flash, they vanished, dragging Howie with them.
The Omera flew doggedly across the barren land. Sam urged her on, racing to reach the Tarkana Fortress before another person succumbed to the poison of the red sun. All he saw in his mind was Mavery’s pale face and Keely lying motionless. After hours in flight, the Omera finally tired; Sam could hear the female’s breath rattle in her chest, but she flew on valiantly. They passed over barren hills and deep valleys filled with deadened trees, and then they were over the sea and the island of Balfour rose into view.
They flew over the lower tiers of the ancient castle as Sam guided his winged beast down to a corner rampart. The female Omera was panting, her mouth covered in foam, as Sam slid off her back. He ran his hand over her neck and put his forehead against hers.
Thank you for your service.
They shared a moment where he asked more of her. Then she butted his head with hers and took off, circling overhead once before heading north.
Sam jogged across the rampart toward a wooden door that he hoped would lead him down to the dungeons. He needed to know that Howie was all right before he took on a coven of witches. He didn’t have a lot to negotiate with, but he wasn’t the same clueless kid who had been here before.
The door creaked on its hinges and opened onto an unused storage room, dusty with cobwebs. Another door led to a narrow spiral staircase that was dark and smelled like rat droppings.
The door at the bottom of the spiral staircase was bolted shut. Sam ran his hands over the hinges and pressed down on the metal, saying a few magic words. The hinge pins began to shimmy and vibrate and then popped from the hardware.
Quietly prying open the door, Sam poked out his head and peered into an empty corridor. A familiar row of cells lined the hall. This was where he had been imprisoned. At the end, he saw a flickering light and heard some loud discussions. It sounded as if the guards were having a card game.
Sam moved quickly down the hall, peering into the barred window of each cell door. The first cell was empty, as was the second. In the third, a figure dressed in dirty rags lay on the ground. He squinted, trying to make out the shape.
“Howie?” he whispered. “Is that you?”
The scrawny figure sat up, straw clinging to his long gray hair.
“Jasper.” Disappointment flooded through Sam.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the old man rasped. “Your friend is gone.”
“Why should I listen to you? You sold us out to the witches.”
“That was a mistake,” he said heavily. “I should have had more faith in you, lad. I came back here to help, but they’d already left with your friend. From what I overheard, they took him to the Ring of Brogar.”
“Ring of Brogar?” Sam’s father was there in his stone tomb, along with the old witch Catriona and her cronies. “I don’t get it. Why take Howie there?”
“Setting a trap, no doubt. You’d be a fool to go.”
“I have no choice. I need their help. I can’t end the red-sun curse on my own.”
“And once you end the curse, what then?” Jasper pressed his wrinkled face to the bars. “They know you’ll do anything to save your friend, even if it means the end of Orkney.”
Sam stared at him, meeting his gaze. His mouth opened and closed. He wanted to deny the truth, wanted to forget that he had betrayed Odin by stealing his horn.
“The witches want you on their side,” Jasper added. “They’re going to lead you down a path that there’s no coming back from.”
Sam slowly reached for the Horn tucked inside his shirt. His hands were shaking as he drew it out, lashed by his guilt, dreading the outcome that would face Howie if he surrendered it. “The witches asked me to steal this,” he said, turning the ancient artifact over in his hands.
Jasper’s eyes widened. “You know what that Horn can do?”
“Yes.”
Sam was shaking. He stared at the Horn, seeing Odin’s blue eyes twinkling at him as he placed his trust in him. “If I don’t give it to them, Howie is going to die.”
Jasper didn’t speak. After a moment, he grunted. “I’da probably stole the Horn myself if I was you. Can’t tell you what to do, lad. Just tell me how I can help.”
Sam rubbed the Horn, seeing Howie’s face, and, coming to a decision, tucked it away. “I say we go to the Ring of Brogar and end those witches.”
Jasper squinted at the boy with those sea-blue eyes. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said. Now, why don’t you break me out of here?”
Sam grinned.
Magic flowed from his fingertips as he summoned the energy needed to push aside the bolts holding Jasper’s door closed. Once Jasper was free, they moved down the hallway toward the guards.
There were three of them clustered around a small table, playing a card game with rune stones. Sam cleared his throat, and the guards looked up, surprised, then jumped to their feet, drawing their swords. Jasper dropped a wooden jug on the head of one of them, and Sam grabbed a chair and smashed it over the head of another. The last one stood his ground until Jasper picked up another guard’s fallen sword.
“Remember what I said I’d do to you if I ever got out,” Jasper growled.
The last guard turned and ran, drawing an amused snort from Jasper.
They made it to the top of the stairs, expecting to find resistance, but the hallway outside the dungeon was silent and deserted. There wasn’t a Balfin or a witch to be found, aside from the three guards they had found in the dungeons.
“They’ve all left, then,” Jasper said. “Every last one of them filthy witches. This can mean only one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re going to war with Orkney.”
They walked openly through the compound and found a pair of old nags in the stables.
“My boat is nearby,” Jasper grunted as he hoisted himself up. “And the Ring is only a short sail around the east cape of Garamond.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Sam said as he mounted his nag. He kicked the horse’s bony ribs to get it moving.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Arocky cliff pushed up from the sea as Jasper’s ship pulled into a recessed bay. There were more than a dozen Balfin ships anchored, crowded with soldiers. They stared at Jasper’s ship as it passed by but made no move to stop it. At the top of the bluff, the outline of tall, standing stones set in a broad circle came into view.
And a whole lot of witches.
Sam could make out their dark figures crowding the hilltop. The place was thick with them. They were waiting for Sam to bring them their Horn so they could call up some army of the dead and take over Orkney. Well, Sam wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Why are the Balfins on their ships?” Sam asked, as Jasper rowed them to shore in his dinghy.
“They won’t take sides until they know who’s going to win.”
They made their way silently up a narrow trail. Near the top, the s
eaman stopped and wiped his brow.
“You sure about this, lad?”
“It’s okay, Jasper.” Sam managed a weak grin. “I got this.”
The old sailor nodded with admiration. “All right, then. Go send them witches to the Fourth Realm, where they belong.”
Sam turned to him, handing him the Horn of Gjall.
“I want you to take this.”
Jasper’s eyes flared in surprise. “Are you sure, lad?” The seaman held it up, admiring the carved whorls on the Horn. “What about your friend?”
“I’ll figure something out. I can’t make things worse. Just get it back to Odin for me. But watch out for his snake; he’s as likely to swallow you whole before he asks why you’re there.”
“I can do that. I’m a Son of Aegir. Odin was fond of the sea god.”
“Goodbye, Jasper.” Sam stuck out his hand.
Jasper clutched him firmly, his hand warm and reassuring. “I believe in you, lad. You’re doing a good thing.”
Sam climbed the rest of the way to the top alone and looked down on the wide, grassy clearing below. A ring of ancient, flat-sided, rectangular stones stood in a wide loop, like surfboards stuck in the sand. He counted nine in all. In the center, an enormous, solitary stone loomed above the others.
Sam knew his dad was down there, trapped in one of those stones. He ached to find him, to save him, even though Odin said he couldn’t be saved.
Which one are you in, Dad? Sam wondered.
But first, Sam had to deal with the throng of witches waiting inside the ring of stones. They stood arm in arm, dozens of them, maybe a hundred, in all shapes and sizes, old and young, dressed in black gowns, waiting silently, their faces turned to the red sun.
In the very center, near the large, solitary stone, Endera waited next to her elder, Hestera, and the young Lemeria, who had made Sam’s feet dance not so long ago. A Shun Kara wolf stood menacingly over a small figure slumped on the ground.
Howie, Sam realized.
His friend didn’t move. Sam hurried down the hill and approached the gathering. The witches parted, creating an opening. He looked into their faces, seeing curiosity, excitement, and maybe a little fear. They had never met anyone like him, he realized, and they were curious. A sliver of longing ran through him as he marched past their silent faces. A desire to know them, to be connected to them. But he pushed that thought aside and continued into the center of the circle of stones. The witches filled in behind him, closing off his exit.
Sam stopped ten feet away from Endera.
He began the speech he had prepared. “The red sun is killing everything,” Sam called. “Not even your precious Balfour Island is safe. The poison will soon destroy everyone but those few with powerful magic. What will you do then? Who will you enslave if everyone is gone?”
“We have no intention of letting it come to that,” the old one, Hestera, said.
“Then help me end the curse,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”
Endera shrugged. “We did not cause this curse; you did, so only you can end it. Did you not see Sinmara?”
“Yes. The dark magic was in a ruby ring she wore.” His fingers curled around the ring in his pocket for security.
“Then use it, boy. What are you waiting for?”
“I tried. It’s not enough.”
“I see,” Endera said, folding her arms. “So you need our help. If only the High Council were here now to hear your plea, they might see us as something more than savages. But, alas, we are alone. Ask nicely, and we might agree.”
Sam gritted his teeth. “Please, Endera, help me end this curse. People are dying. My friends are sick.”
Endera turned to Hestera, who nodded her agreement.
“Very well,” Endera agreed. “But it must begin with you.”
Sam took a deep breath. Part of him feared that seething electricity flowing through him again. But part of him, though, the dark part deep inside, thrilled at the chance to wield such power. With all the witches’ eyes upon him, Sam slipped Sinmara’s ring onto his finger. Before he could change his mind, he thrust his fist into the sky. The ruby glittered brightly, connecting him with the red sun. A jolt of the poisonous current hit him. It raced through his body, down to the soles of his feet, making every blood vessel rage.
He kept the ruby up high. Closing his eyes, he let the magic that bubbled through his veins reach his lips as he spoke the ancient words. “Fein kinter, soleila, soleila diminus, mera diminus, mera nein kinter.” The other witches joined him in his chant, their voices rising together to fill the air.
The ruby absorbed the sun’s blazing intensity. Fire flooded his veins until his temperature rose to a boiling point. Only the power of Odin’s Fury kept Sam from bursting into flame. His eyes burned as red flames shot from them, searing the ground at his feet. His lips swelled and split. His skin felt like it was peeling off. His arms trembled uncontrollably, but still he held the ring high and repeated the spell.
Every beat of his heart sent fire through Sam’s veins, burning so intensely that he could not remain standing. He dropped to one knee, teetering, desperately maintaining the connection with the sun.
Endera enjoyed watching the boy suffer. She wanted him to break, to beg for help. The sight of Sam’s young body twisting and writhing in agony as the full force of the curse was released brought a cruel smile to the witch’s face.
“Enough,” Hestera said, raising her hand to drive the staff into the ground. But Endera stayed her hand.
“Just another moment,” she said, her eyes dancing in the light of the sun’s ferocious display.
“If he dies, your plan fails,” Hestera reminded her.
Endera watched the boy immolate for another moment and then nodded. “Very well,” she said with a flick of her hand. “End this.”
Hestera drove her staff into the ground and shouted, “Test-era Tarkana, diminus solera, diminus solera, finis, finis, finis.”
She repeated the words over and over, and on her third chant, the emerald atop her cane sent out a blaze of light that shot across the circle toward the ruby and destroyed it in a shower of light. Sam collapsed on the ground, his clothes smoldering, his skin blistered and raw.
A sudden chill filled the air.
Sam craned his head feebly toward the sun, staring in awe as it changed from red to a dark orange and then to a faint yellow.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Sam lay sprawled facedown outside the Ring of Brogar as the last remnant of the curse faded away. He wanted to soak up its unblemished warmth, but the witches weren’t finished with him yet.
“Save your friend, and give us the Horn of Gjall.” The voice was Endera’s. Hestera grasped Howie by the neck, holding him up like a sack of potatoes. “We did our part to help end the redsun curse.”
Sam lifted his head and tried to focus in on Howie. Sam’s eyes were swollen, and the heat had blistered his hands, but he was relieved to see Howie was alive, kicking and twisting in Hestera’s grasp. For now. But what would happen when the witches found out he didn’t have the Horn they so desperately wanted?
Endera held one hand out. “Give me what I ask, or your friend will pay for your insolence.”
Sam pushed himself to his feet. Blistering pain made his eyes water. He swayed slightly but managed to stay upright. “I don’t have the Horn,” he declared.
The entire coven of witches hissed collectively, but Endera raised her hand for silence. “You’re lying, child. You said you would do anything to save your friend. Give it to us now.”
“Search me.” He raised his hands. Endera snapped her fingers, and a pair of witches came over and patted him down roughly. They turned and shook their heads at Endera.
Murmurs of confusion spread across the assembly, but Endera had a cold smile pinned to her face.
“What. A. Pity.” Endera spoke with contempt. “And here I thought you were one of the good guys.” She snapped her fingers, and Hestera flung Howie onto
the ground. Endera raised her hands, zapping Howie with green fire, making him writhe and scream in pain. Hestera did the same, followed by Lemeria. They were killing Howie. Sam threw his hand forward, sending a blast of witchfire at Endera to get her attention.
“Stop it!” Sam commanded.
Endera raised a hand, signaling the other witches to pause.
“Why should I?”
“I stole the Horn, like you asked. But Odin put his trust in me, and I can’t break that.”
Endera shook her head, making tsking noises at him. “You sentenced your friend to die, your very best friend, because of some stupid loyalty to a worthless god?”
Sam knelt by Howie, rolling his friend over. Burn marks streaked his arms, and one went across his face. Howie moaned a bit but didn’t open his eyes. Endera was right—Sam’s loyalty probably was stupid—but it was too late to change his mind. Jasper was likely halfway out to sea by now.
Endera continued taunting him. “You have the makings of a real witch, Sam. You might even be more heartless than I am.” She laughed, and the rest of the witches laughed with her. “But now I am going to kill you and your friend.”
Sam considered his options. He was down to his last few cards. It was time to play his last hand and see if he could save Howie once and for all. “You can’t kill me, not with Odin’s Fury in me. So I’m going to take Howie and leave.” He reached down and grabbed Howie by the collar, but Endera’s next words stopped him.
“So that’s it? You’re leaving without even trying to save your father?”
Sam’s head came up. Dad. He looked around, remembering where he was. The Ring of Brogar. His dad was trapped inside one of those stones. He dropped Howie.
Endera sauntered over to run her hand over the closest stone. “Eventually Odin’s Fury is going to run out; it doesn’t last forever, you know. My guess is you have just enough left to free your father. Or you could escape now with your life. What do you care about a man who abandoned you, left you behind without so much as a goodbye?”
