The Legends of Orkney

by Alane Adams

  Catriona started singing in a soprano voice, joined by her recently released sisters. They sang in an ancient language Sam faintly recognized, drawing their combined strength together into a crackling ball of energy that floated over their heads, growing in size until it was as large as a hot-air balloon.

  Gael stood next to Sam, chanting, trying to augment Sam’s magic. Sam felt the other Eifalians do the same. Leo came to his side, joined by Keely.

  “Take her out!” Leo shouted.

  Catriona and her sisters released the lethal sphere of witch-fire onto the Orkadian forces. Sam stepped forward in front of his friends and flung his arms wide, letting the blast penetrate his chest. It knocked him back a step, taking his breath away and sending jolts of electricity through his bones. He almost fell, but a stubborn need to prove himself to Catriona made him dig his heels in. Odin’s Fury was in his blood, he reminded himself. He could beat her.

  Sam pushed back against the enormous blast, and, slowly, he began to drive the blaze of energy away from him and back at the witches. He took a step forward, pushing with both arms, sending all of his magic into his hands, and finally, with a cathartic cry, he shoved his palms forward and said, “Fein kinter dispera!”

  A great crash of light erupted over the battlefield. The witches’ mass of energy shot up into the sky in an emerald blaze and then collapsed on itself like a black hole. When it did, the battle was over.

  The witches had all disappeared.

  Chapter Fifty

  Sam ran straight to Howie. The boy lay like a limp dishrag on the field where the Shun Kara had attacked him. He turned Howie over, hardly expecting his friend to be alive. Howie’s eyes were closed, and Sam couldn’t tell whether he was still breathing.

  “Howie, say something,” he said.

  His glasses lay next to him, and Sam slipped them back onto Howie’s face. They were cracked and dirty, but he at least looked like himself when he had them on.

  “Howie, come on, man. Don’t leave me here alone.”

  Howie stayed limp, unconscious. Keely and Leo knelt down next to him. Leo bled from a scratch on his cheek, but otherwise seemed okay.

  “Sam, I think he’s gone,” Keely said softly, her voice trembling.

  No. No. No, Sam told himself. Not now.

  Sam shook him hard. “Come on, Howie—snap out of it. Or I’ll feed you to the Shun Kara.”

  No response. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Howie coughed once, his eyes still closed, as he mumbled, “Can’t a guy take a nap around here?”

  “Howie! You’re okay!”

  He opened his eyes blearily and let out a sigh. “The How-master lives.”

  “I am so sorry for dragging you into this,” Sam started, but Howie cut him off.

  “Dude, chillax. We’re good. Besides, the witches weren’t all bad. There was this cute one who visited my cell. I think she liked me.”

  Sam chuckled. “You fell for a witch?”

  “Did I mention she brought me hot scones?”

  Around them, soldiers were being helped to their feet. The bodies of the sacrificed Orkadians marred the grassy hillside. Too many were left dead on the battlefield. As for the witches, Sam saw no trace of them. Those who had perished had vanished, along with the surviving witches, probably back to their fortress on Balfour Island. The Balfin ships had already lifted anchor and set sail.

  Rego strode over to Sam, limping a bit but in one piece.

  “So you had to free the stone witches, didn’t you, lad?” he started in. But he was interrupted by a whirlwind that tackled Sam.

  “You’re alive! You did it! I knew you could. I wish you would’ve let me help,” Mavery babbled on, grinning up at him with a tear-streaked face.

  Sam looped his arm around her shoulder and faced Rego, waiting for the lecture. The condemnation. The blame. He had really screwed up.

  “Let me guess. Gael and Beo want me dead again?”

  But Rego just snorted. “Dead? No. They’re not happy those witches are loose, not by a long shot. But no one’s blaming you this time.”

  “Really? They’re not?”

  Rego’s whiskers twitched. “That’s only because I convinced them you could help us defeat the stone witches. So they’re willing to keep you alive. For now.” He winked at them and walked away.

  “Sam, I really need to go home,” Keely said.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing my parents again,” Howie said, sitting up.

  “I know how you guys feel,” Sam said. “I want to go home, too. See my mom, take a hot shower, sleep in my own bed. But the portal that brought us here . . . we can’t go back that way. The stonefire’s been destroyed.”

  “Sam, you still have some of Odin’s Fury in you,” Leo said. “Maybe you can open another portal?”

  Sam’s eyes went to the center of the Ring of Brogar, where the last remaining stone stood. He walked toward the towering stone and ran his hand over it. He felt a shimmer. Could he do it? It shimmered again, and his hope soared.

  He turned and looked at his friends. “Leo’s right. I think I may have just enough left. Are you ready?”

  Keely nodded rapidly. “I’m so ready for a bubble bath. Send me home, please!”

  Leo stepped forward with an uncharacteristic grin. “I’m ready to see my dad and the rest of my family.”

  Howie slapped Sam on the back. “Dude, enough of these medieval times. Let’s go play some Zombie Wars and eat Chuggies until we puke.”

  Sam grinned at the thought of the good times ahead in Pilot Rock. For extra measure, he pressed the pouch that held Odin’s stone to the standing rock and murmured another spell.

  “Fein kinter, portola, portola envera amica,” he said, and placed both hands on the large chunk of granite.

  The rock began to vibrate, growing warmer beneath Sam’s hands. The hard surface began to soften, wiggling like Jell-O. Then, at his feet, a ring of fire burst into life, circling the stone and sending flames licking up the surface. Sam stepped back with the others as the flames burned more brightly.

  “It’s working,” said an excited Keely.

  The solid gray stone shifted into a transparent veil, and Sam could make out another field—it looked like the football field at Pilot Rock Junior High—just on the other side of this new stonefire.

  “Go,” he said, looking at his friends.

  Keely stepped up, and Leo helped push her into the stone. She disappeared from sight, and then Sam saw her tumble onto the field of grass. Howie rubbed his hands together and then took a running dive, joining Keely in a heap on the sports field.

  Leo nodded at Sam, then followed. “See you on the other side,” he said, before disappearing.

  Sam readied himself to follow, when a voice stopped him.

  “You’re not leaving us, are you?” Mavery asked.

  He wavered. On the other side of the stonefire, he could see his friends waiting for him.

  “Please, Sam. The witches will ruin everything if you leave.”

  Sam clenched his teeth. He was torn.

  “Come on, Sam,” Keely called from the other side, holding one hand out. “Come home with us.”

  But in that moment, Sam made a decision. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his hands off the stone. As the surface shimmer started to fade and the veil lost its transparency, Sam could see the confused looks on his friends’ faces.

  “I’m sorry, guys. They need me here. Tell my mom I love her.”

  “Sam, wait—don’t do this,” Keely pleaded, her voice muted and slightly distorted by the closing stonefire. “We need you, too.”

  But the rock sealed up, and the tantalizing view of Pilot Rock was gone.

  Rego’s voice came from behind Sam. “You did the right thing, lad. You’re home now.”

  Sam surveyed the battlefield—the rolling green hills, the blazing yellow sun—and wondered if he could really call this place home.

  There was no time to worry about that now. He had to bury his father and
figure out how they were going to defeat the stone witches, because one thing was certain.

  The battle for Orkney wasn’t over.

  The End

  For Ben

  Volgrim Fortress

  Ancient Days . . .

  Prologue

  The red sun hung like a blister on the horizon. Lingering crimson streaks of sunlight spread toxic fingers over the land, snuffing out every form of life they touched. By the next day, all living things in Orkney would perish if the poisonous curse afflicting the sun was not stopped.

  Desperation gripped Catriona as she kneeled before her father, Rubicus, the powerful Volgrim he-witch she adored and feared. He was a massive man, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard trimmed to a sharp point. Deep grooves were etched in his face, like someone had chiseled them. His heavy brocaded coat, embroidered with silver thread and emerald stones, exuded nobility. He sat on his throne, an intricately carved work of black marble embellished with twisting shapes of Omeras in flight. The spike-tailed winged creatures that graced the Vol-grim crest were as fierce and dark as the witches they served. Scattered around him were dozens of discarded tomes he had been poring over.

  “Father, what is your plan?” Catriona grasped his rough hand and brought it to her cheek in search of comfort.

  Rubicus jerked his hand free. “Plan? You think I planned for this?” He stood, pacing the chamber they occupied in their stone fortress overlooking Skara Brae. Rich murals lined the walls depicting ancient battle scenes. A fire burned in the fireplace, even though the day had been searing hot. Rubicus thrust a boot in the fire, dislodging a log and sending sparks shooting upward. “I was supposed to become a god! I cursed the sun. It rains death down on this realm. Odin should bow to me!”

  Rubicus and Odin had been rivals for centuries. Each vying to best the other. The curse on the sun was Rubicus’s latest attempt to outdo the god. To earn a spot next to him in Valhalla. But the curse had quickly spiraled out of control, like a raging fire fanned by winds. And now, all of Orkney was in danger of extinction.

  The sounds of a battle raging outside the walls drew Catriona to the window. She stared down at the hordes of Valkyrie warriors amassed outside their fortress gates. The Valkyrie were guardians of the gods, Odin’s private army. Immortal female fighters that were relentless in combat. They wore gilded armor and rode atop white horses whose thundering hooves made the very ground shake. Leading the Valkyrie was Odin himself, resplendent in an ornate breastplate and bearing a golden sword.

  Nearly every Volgrim he-witch was engaged in defending their home, even those too young for the fight. Like Catriona’s brothers. Green witchfire lit up the battlefield, but their enemies’ numbers were far greater. Odin appeared unbeatable. He waded effortlessly through the line of he-witches, his sword flashing and glinting in the last rays of sunlight, making his way toward the gates. Even Rubicus’s guardians, the famed Safyre Omeras, a specially bred line of the black-hearted creatures who breathed fire and were loyal only to Rubicus, were being brought down by the flaming arrows launched by the Valkyrie.

  “Odin advances,” Catriona said, gripping the ledge of the window tightly. “He bears a strange sword.”

  The odious god swung the weapon in a mighty arc. In a flash of blinding light, the golden blade cleaved through an entire line of he-witches guarding the entrance.

  Catriona turned away in horror. Rubicus joined her, taking in the sight with an angry hiss. “Odin wields the Sword of Tyrfing. Forged by the black dwarves in Gomara, deep in the Skoll Mountains. Its blade never fails to cut down its opponent.”

  Catriona’s heart clenched. She clasped her hands, searching the battling masses. Where were her brothers? Her uncles? Surely their great magic would protect them, even from Odin’s powers. Another Safyre tumbled from the sky, crashing into the ground with a spray of dirt and screeching agony.

  “We must help them, Father. Go down there and fight,” she pleaded.

  Rubicus laughed harshly. “And share in their fate? Look at them. They fall like stalks at harvest.”

  Catriona turned to stare up at her father. “Surely you won’t abandon your sons?” Maksim. Leonis. Young Jinmar. Their faces floated into her mind. Even a selfish brute like Rubicus would not forsake his own flesh and blood. “You are responsible for this curse,” she reminded him, then instantly wished she could take back her words at his sudden flash of rage.

  He flung his hand out and flicked his wrist.

  Immediately, an invisible iron band cut her airway off. She gasped, reaching for her throat.

  His eyes were burning emeralds as he stepped closer to her. “I did this for them!” he shouted. “Odin wishes to throttle our power. Force us to bow down to him. I will never kneel before him, and neither will they, do you hear me?”

  Catriona futilely tried to draw a breath in, but Rubicus’s magic was too strong. She nodded, hoping to appease him. Black spots appeared behind her eyes before he relaxed his hand. Catriona sagged in relief, dragging in air. But she was undeterred, desperate to save her brothers. “Then let your sons inside our fortress. You’ve locked them outside the gates, fighting a war that can’t be won.”

  The lines in Rubicus’s face grew deeper as he clenched his fist in frustration. He kicked at the discarded tomes. “I was trying to buy time. To see if I could find a way to end this curse, but I failed. It has grown too powerful for me to control.”

  Catriona was at a loss. Her father had always been invincible. “What will happen?”

  “We will perish. Everyone and everything in Orkney. Unless . . .”

  “Unless what, Father?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw as he clenched out the words. “Unless I die, and every he-witch along with me. It is our blood that formed this curse. Our blood alone can end it.”

  Catriona recoiled in horror. “No. There has to be another way. What if we went to Sinmara?” Sinmara, maven of the underworld, had given Rubicus a ruby ring that had helped create the curse on the sun.

  But Rubicus appeared resigned, his eyes distant as he watched the last glimpse of the shimmering sun drop below the horizon. “There’s no time. Odin will be inside the gates in minutes. We have shown him we are a threat to his precious mankind, and now . . . now he will erase us from existence.” Rubicus turned to face Catriona. “You are my last hope. I must die for you to live, to carry on our line.”

  “No,” she said, clutching his arm. “I can’t bear to lose you.”

  Rubicus cupped her face with his hands. “Fear not, Daughter, we will rise again. It may take generations, but the world has not seen the last of the Volgrim witches. Mark my words: one day we will rule mankind in place of Odin.”

  Catriona grasped his cold hands and spoke with a certainty she had never felt before. “I swear, Father, on all I hold true, that your line will live on. I will make it so.”

  Pride brightened her father’s grim face. “I may not be able to save your brothers, but you can save your sisters and cousins.” He clapped his hands loudly.

  They turned to look as a line of young girls entered from Rubicus’s private chambers. In front was Catriona’s knock-kneed sister, Agathea, sporting that ugly streak of white hair she’d had since age twelve. She held baby Vena, who squalled inconsolably for the mother who had died giving birth to her. And their cousins: Bronte, the oldest of the group, a sworn spinster and master of potions. Then spindly Beatrixe, mute since the day Rubicus had stricken her silent for talking back to him. The other three cousins, Paulina, Nestra, and Ariane, huddled together in a tight knot.

  Catriona’s resolve hardened as she studied them. She would take them into hiding. Run from Odin until she grew strong enough to destroy him.

  There was a pounding on the door to their fortified tower below them. The young witches screamed in fear.

  “Rubicus!” It was Odin. His booming voice shook the walls with rage. “You will answer for this curse upon my world!”

  Rubicus swept Catriona close, pressi
ng a kiss to her forehead. “Take them, my darling daughter, and run. Keep them safe.”

  She looked up at him. “Where can we go? We are hated by all in Orkney.”

  He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. Outside, the thunder of beating wings could be heard. A shadow darkened the window as a Safyre Omera landed with a thud on the sill. Rubicus gripped Catriona’s arms. “Go to the farthest ends of the earth if you must until you are ready to strike.” He strode to a cabinet in the wall and opened the door. He took out a small jeweled chest and raised the lid. Inside, on a velvet bed, was a dagger made from black obsidian decorated with ornate carvings and a polished silver hilt. He lifted it reverently and then quickly sliced deeply into his palm. As blood welled up, Catriona paled.

  Her father murmured words, waving the blade over his palm. The small pool of blood began to swirl, then a thin trail lifted up, twisting and wrapping like a snake around the blade. Crimson smoke billowed out and enveloped the knife in a cloud. Rubicus murmured faster, his eyes fierce as he circled the knife over his palm until the cloud dissipated in a sizzling clap of thunder. When the air cleared, he put the weapon back in the case and handed it to Catriona. “The last of my dark magic is contained in this blade. With this you can defeat Odin.”

  Excitement seized her. She wrapped her hands around his, clasping the blade. “Then let’s do it, Father! Kill him now!”

  But the Volgrim he-witch dashed her hopes. “The dagger is powerful, but it is no match for the Sword of Tyrfing. And it won’t end this curse on the sun. The time for revenge will come, Catriona, and you will execute it in my name.”

  He grabbed his sword down from the wall and strapped it to his waist, then drew the giant blade.

  The door crashed open as Catriona herded her charges to the window, loading them onto the back of the Safyre. She took one last glance over her shoulder as her father flung himself at Odin. Up close, the god was as broad-shouldered and fierce as Rubicus. Blue eyes blazed out from under bushy white eyebrows. Odin swung his golden blade, aiming straight for Rubicus’s head.