by Alane Adams
“If you are scared, stay here,” Jey said, shoving past him to march toward the cave.
“Hey!”
Howie grabbed him and spun him back around. “Of course I’m scared. If you’re not, you’re just . . . well, lying or stupid. Before we go running in there, we need a plan. Like, how are we going to see? It looks pitch black inside.”
Damarius growled low in his throat at Howie’s side, glaring at Jey as if, for once, the stubborn beast agreed.
Grudgingly the Falcory boy gave it thought. “We could make torches. There is sap in the green mesquite. I have my flint with me. If we wrap the ends with some cloth, they will burn a long time.”
Howie rubbed his hands. “Good, we have light. Now what say we carve a few spears while we’re at it so I don’t go in there empty-handed? If the Safyre attacks, I want to give it a good poke in the eye before it incinerates me.”
Jey stared at him for a long moment. “You are not what I expected.”
Howie grinned. “I know. I get that a lot. Come on, lets whittle some sticks and get moving; I’d like to be back in Skara Brae before Surt burns it to the ground.”
An hour later, Howie trailed behind Jey, one hand resting on Big D’s square head as they entered into the towering cavern of the Safyre Omera. The Shun Kara tolerated his touch for once, as if he, too, were unnerved by the smell of sulfur and burnt flesh that hung in the air.
Jey’s torch sent shadows looming across the stone floor. Scattered bones littered the area, a warning to the unwary who entered. Jey leaned the torch against the wall and cupped his hands to his mouth, shouting, “Father? Where are you?”
Howie smacked him on the arm. “Are you crazy?” he hissed. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“No, I’m trying to find my father,” Jey hissed back.
“Well, if the Mrs. Safyre finds us first, that’s bad news. So zip it.”
The cavern narrowed into a tunnel that headed deeper underground. With every step, the air grew colder, and goosebumps were crawling all over Howie’s skin. A distant screech made him jump.
“What was that?” he asked. The hackles on the Shun Kara were stiff under his fingers.
“We’re getting closer.”
Jey walked faster. The rocky floor was uneven. Sharp stalactites hung down. One almost knocked Howie out as he eased around it.
And then they emerged into a giant cavern. It was impossible to see how tall it was. Jey’s torch couldn’t pierce the deep shadows, but it was at least five stories high. Tunnels shot off in every direction. A rockfall scattered boulders across the floor, leaving a fresh scar in the rock wall, paler than the rest.
Jey ran toward it, and Howie scurried to keep up. Jey dropped the torch and began frantically feeling the rocks. “Father!” he called loudly. “Can you hear me?’
They listened but heard nothing.
“Here, let me try,” Howie said. He picked up a rock and banged it against one of the rocks three times.
They stood back and waited. A moment later, there was an echoing bang. Three of them.
“Dad!” Jey shouted. “We’re coming. Hang on.”
They began pulling rocks away, but with every stone they took away, two more rolled down. It was backbreaking work. Damarius stood guard as they pried away rock after rock. Howie lit their second torch as the first one burned out. After another hour, they managed to make a small opening. Howie held up the torch as Jey peered in.
“Father?” he called.
“Jey, is that you?” The voice filtering through was weak, but it was Beo.
“You’re alive!” Jey shouted.
Howie could just make out glittering black eyes as Beo glared through the small opening. “Jey, what are you doing here? I told you not to come.”
“I had to. We’re going to get you out of there.” Jey began pulling on more rocks, but his father stopped him.
“No. I want you to leave right now. The rocks are too unstable. The whole wall could come down.”
“I’m not leaving without you. Who’s with you?”
“I have five men. This tunnel leads to a dead end. There is a stream. We’ve been able to survive with the water and provisions we have, but it is too dangerous for you here. The Safyre attacked us and brought down the rockfall.”
“Don’t worry, father. I can do this,” Jey said. He began pulling more rocks away, but another tumble of rocks came down.
As they dodged the falling rock, Damarius growled, rising to his feet to stare at one of the tunnels.
Howie paused, listening. He heard it. A chuffing noise, like deep breathing. A flicker in the shadows made him go cold. “Uh, Jey, I think—”
“Quiet, Howie; we’re not leaving until we free my father and his men,” Jey said.
“Jey, you’d better have a look.”
Damarius howled a warning as the flickering shadow took shape. Howie made out a long snout with pointed ears.
“Run!” Howie shouted.
Chapter 20
Howie barely had time to shout the warning before the female Safyre stepped into full view. Even though he had seen the one Catriona had ridden, he hadn’t been this close. Damarius was going crazy, hopping side to side, barking with a ferocious warning to the intruder.
The ancient beast was spectacular, glistening black like it was coated in slick tar. It spread its wings, showing off its strength as Howie counted a dozen sharpened talons at the tip of each wing bone. Purple streaks tinged its wings. It reminded Howie of a T. rex, and it had a mouth full of teeth to prove it. Behind it, a lethal barbed tail flickered as its fiery red eyes lasered in on them.
Jey drew his knife. “Come and get me, old one. I will cut your heart out and eat it for my breakfast.”
The Safyre belched a ball of fire that filled the cavern with rolling flames. Howie tackled Jey and dove behind some rocks with the boy as the flames washed over them. Damarius yelped and followed them into cover.
After the flames passed, the walls lit up hidden crystals, casting a bright glow across the cavern.
“That is cool,” Howie said even as he wondered how they were going to survive this. He picked up his spear, realizing how ridiculously small it was against this giant. “We should make a run for it.” He eyed the nearest exit, but the Safyre moved its bulky body in front, hunkering down as it raised one lip in a snarl.
“Jey, be careful,” his father shouted through the small opening. “Try to wear it down.”
“Wear it down,” Howie repeated, thinking fast. He had watched a rodeo once on TV where the rodeo clown had distracted the bull from the rider until it was too pooped to give chase.
Time to rodeo up.
Howie ran out into the open, waving his hands wildly to draw its attention.
“Look at me, you big ugly beast. Try to catch me, ooga, ooga, ooga.” He waggled his hands in the air and then scurried away as the Safyre whirled on him and sent a blazing path of fire at him. “Your turn, Jey!” he shouted, diving behind tumbled rocks and patting out the singed parts of his pants.
“Go ahead, try to fry me,” Jey said, moving out behind the Safyre and dancing side to side on his feet. “You’re nothing but an oversized rathos with bad breath.” The Safyre screeched in rage as it whirled around and chased him down.
Howie grinned. Jey was a fast learner.
As the boy dove for cover, Howie was up. Damarius caught on to the game. He followed Howie, snapping and growling as Howie waved his arms in the center of the arena. “You’re so ugly your husband chose to be frozen rather than look at your ugly face one more minute.”
It was like the Safyre understood his words, because she grew completely still. There was silence in the cavern. All Howie could hear was the loud beating of his own heart. Then the oversized Omera slowly turned her head and growled low in her throat, a low rumbling like a lawn mower on idle. Her eyes were burning embers of coal as she glared at him.
“Oh, beans,” Howie said. He started to run, but the Safy
re was faster.
She blazed a trail straight for him and Big D. The Shun Kara was fast as the wind as it raced for cover, but Howie moved slow as a snail. The Safyre sprung into the air, flapping powerful wings as she easily closed the distance.
Howie dodged to the side, but the trail of fire followed him. He could feel the burn, the smoke at the edge of his clothes. This was it. The Safyre was going to incinerate him. Blisters started to form on the back of his neck as he pounded his feet.
A loud squeal echoed in the chamber. The Safyre nearly stumbled over its own feet as it skidded to a stop, whirling around, snapping its flaming snout shut.
Howie stopped to see what was happening.
Three more Safyre Omeras had entered the cavern. They were junior versions of the flame-belching monster in front of him. Hatchlings, Howie guessed. Two of them took flight and began laying down skimpy trails of fire, but the third one couldn’t lift its right wing. It tried, then squawked forlornly.
Out of the shadows, Jey pounced, wrapping his arms around the neck of the injured Safyre. In an instant, he had it in an armlock. His knife was pressed to its throat.
The mama Safyre screamed, belching flames at the ceiling, whipping around to fly directly at Jey. But she couldn’t very well incinerate him, not while he was holding her youngling. She flared off at the last second and settled with a loud thump in front of him, screaming her rage.
Her two other younglings settled behind her, hissing and snarling and burping out small bolts of fire.
Before he could ask himself if it was a good idea, Howie ran into the center of the cavern to stand in front of the large beast. “Hold on, just hold on; he’s not going to hurt your baby. Are you, Jey?”
At his side, Damarius appeared, butting up against Howie’s legs like a dark shadow. Howie couldn’t lie; the Shun Kara’s warm strength gave him courage when his knees were wobbly as pixie sticks.
Jey kept his arm firmly locked around the Omera so it couldn’t burn him with the belches of fire it spit out. “Why not?”
“Because that would make the mama Safyre very angry,” Howie said. He held his hands out as she roared fire over his head, singeing his hair, but not incinerating him. She was holding back.
This could work.
“Look,” he said to the Safyre, “you look like a smart lady. We just need some help, and it looks like you do, too. Your baby has an injured wing. What if I could fix it?”
She growled low in her throat, but she settled her body lower.
“Let it go,” Howie called to Jey.
“No! It’s our only leverage.”
“Someone’s got to make the first step. We can trust her; just, don’t hurt it.”
Jey hesitated. Howie didn’t think he would do it. He held his breath, and then slowly Jey lowered the knife. The Safyre waddled over to its mother. The three younglings nestled under her wings as she squared off against the boys.
Now was the moment Howie would find out whether or not he was right, or they were burnt toast.
Howie took a step closer, keeping his eyes on her, his hands in front of him. “Now, just let me look at that wing. I promise not to hurt it, okay?” He ordered Damarius to stay back as he moved closer, not trusting the feral animal to stay calm next to this powerful beast.
Damarius sat on his haunches, clearly unhappy, but he obeyed.
The Safyre growled low in her throat, but she raised one wing up. Howie stepped under it. He could feel the heat coming from her body, smell the scent of her last meal—rotten meat of some kind—and the sulfur from her fire.
The young Omera looked at him with curious black eyes. It wasn’t afraid. Howie touched its nose. He had seen Omeras before. Sam rode them all the time. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
He put his hand on the injured wing. The skin was like leather, smooth and warm. He lifted it, and the young Safyre snapped at him, sending a small blaze of fire. Howie pulled his hand back, blowing on his singed fingers.
The mother snarled at her baby, and it whimpered and then lifted its wing. Howie saw the problem. There was a wooden shaft lodged under the wing, the remnants of a spear. Which meant the pointed tip was lodged inside.
“Jey, I need your knife.”
“You’re crazy. I’m not coming near that beast,” Jey said, standing back, arms folded. He looked a little pale.
“I thought Falcory warriors weren’t afraid of anything,” Howie joked. “Come on, I need another set of hands. It has a spear stuck in its side. If I pull, it’s going to make it worse. I need to cut it out.”
Slowly and carefully Jey stepped under the shadow of the giant Safyre and stood next to Howie. The Falcory boy was shaking as he held out his knife. “Here, do what you need to.”
“Hold up its wing.”
Jey looked green, like he’d rather be anywhere else. Then he gingerly put his hands on the wing as the young Safyre looked trustingly at him.
The youngling whimpered as Howie cut into the leathery flesh. “Almost got it,” he said softly.
It squealed loudly as Howie pulled the spear tip out. Green blood sprayed his face, and he almost gagged. The mother looked alarmed, snarling as she whirled her head around. Howie managed to rip a piece of his shirttail off and made a bandage, stuffing it into the small hole. After a minute, the green blood slowed.
The young Safyre sighed and lay down, resting its head on its front talons, and it went to sleep.
Howie turned to Jey, bowing. “See, I told you—”
But Jey grabbed him. “Howie, what is she doing?” The mama Safyre was stalking over to the section of fallen rock. “She’s going to kill my father.”
But Howie had the first good feeling he’d had in days. “No, I don’t think so.”
The Safyre battered her head at the rock. More rock tumbled, but she was like a bulldozer, pushing and tossing rocks with her teeth and creating a big dust storm. When she was done, there was a large opening. As the dust settled, Beo stood, flanked by his remaining men.
Chapter 21
Sam tried to remember what he had been so upset about. Here in Aegir’s undersea palace, there were no worries, no pressure. No one getting in your face telling you to do more, work harder, stop being such a failure.
Aegir took Sam under his wing, shepherding him around and showing him all the benefits of being a sea king. It was hard to fathom that they were deep under the sea in the lavish castle of pink coral walls and floors of polished mother of pearl. Light shone down from crystal chandeliers that were lit with a phosphorescent glow.
Aegir had an appetite for entertaining. Mermaids and mermen strolled about in sparkling gowns sewn of shiny scales that flickered and sparkled in the light. Their skin was a pale green, and there were narrow ridges of flesh that ran along the backs of their arms and legs.
One of Aegir’s nine daughters explained that the ridge grew longer when exposed to seawater, giving them soft flowing fins. Tiny slits in the sides of their throats opened when submerged, allowing them to be equally comfortable in water or on land. Otherwise, they looked perfectly normal— they each had two arms and two legs—and did they know how to have fun. There were constant loud parties where music was played on a combination of blown seashells and drums made of fish skin stretched over coral tubes.
Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Mavery or Perrin and that nagging swan creature that had been hit by the falling rock. Aegir made sure his young protégé didn’t lack for anything. Platters of food were passed to him by giggling she-maidens who buzzed around him like bees on pollen.
Whenever Sam asked about his friends, Aegir offered to take him to see them as soon as Sam sampled some more of his delicious sea grapes. With a snap of his fingers, one of his countless daughters would plonk a purple fruit in Sam’s mouth, and all Sam’s cares would drift away as the delicious sweet flavor made his tongue buzz.
He wanted to rail against it, make Aegir actually do something, but words failed him. It was as though his
brain didn’t have the energy to pull them out of storage. After all, the sea king was helping him get through this misery of having failed at the one chance he had to save the world from his mistakes.
They had lost Skidbladnir, and Sam hadn’t finished reading the map, not to mention that he was having a hard time remembering all the routes he had traced, his mind a jumbled mess.
No. He’d blown it big-time, and everyone would suffer because of it. Keely would be waiting for him to return with Odin. His mom would think he hadn’t tried hard enough. The whole world would know it was his fault.
As usual.
But down here, none of that mattered. Everywhere there was color and laughter. Aegir was in the middle of throwing a party for one of his daughters. With nine of them, someone was always celebrating something. One of the girls grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him to his feet, dragging him onto the dance floor, looping her arms around his neck.
He leaned his head on her if only to get the room to stop spinning, and then he forced himself to grin. He had a right to enjoy himself. He had just turned thirteen, and he hadn’t had a day of fun since he’d been shot through rock and landed in this blasted realm. Grabbing his partner by the waist, he whirled her around, letting out a whoop as the pace of the music increased.
Boys were idiots, Perrin reasoned as she leaned against a column in the back of the room, glaring across at Sam. For three days they had been stuck down here while Sam was fawned over by a bevy of girls. Nine, to be exact. All daughters of Aegir, and all, apparently, crazy for a new but hardly handsome face.
It was like Sam had forgotten all about their mission. Geela was still recovering from her injuries. Perrin knew that if the Valkyrie had been able, they would have left immediately. But the attack by Jormungand had left wounds that had festered, poisoned by his saliva, and the hit to her head had knocked her out.
She’d tossed and turned in a fever, and it was only now, on the third day, that she’d fallen into a deep and restful sleep. Mavery watched over her. The little imp had been attached since Geela had saved her from drowning in the feeding tube.
