by Alane Adams
A servant offered her a tray with frosted purple grapes, but she waved him away. Those things were potent. She’d tried one and spit it out. Sam couldn’t get enough of them. One of Aegir’s annoying daughters, a blond thing with skinny legs, looped her arms around Sam’s neck. They swayed on the dance floor. She held a slender hand to her throat as she leaned in close, placing a kiss on his cheek.
That was it. Perrin felt a slow burn. It wasn’t that she was jealous. It was just that Sam was making a fool of himself, and he didn’t seem to realize it.
A hand touched her arm. She whirled, ready to bite someone’s head off. Geela stood, looking pale but upright.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Perrin said, gripping the woman’s forearm when she swayed.
“We have to leave,” the Valkyrie said. “Now, tonight.”
Perrin rolled her eyes. “Not up to me. Sam is falling in love nine ways to Sunday.”
Geela gripped her arm so tight it made Perrin wince. The Valkyrie shoved her face close to Perrin’s. The yellowed bruising was just beginning to fade. “They’re bewitching him with a love tonic. It’s in the sea grapes they harvest. There’s a reason we’re down here. Have you forgotten that?”
Perrin yanked her arm free. “No, I haven’t forgotten, but my team is a little off. You’re barely on your feet, and Sam, well, just look at him.”
They turned and watched as Sam staggered off the dance floor and was pulled into a swarm of girls vying for his attention.
“Sam is busy,” she continued, clamping down on the hurt. “And, besides, he didn’t get the map. How are we supposed to go on if we don’t have the map to Helva’s underworld?”
“We have the map,” Geela insisted. “Sam saw the markings. He has what he needs; he just has to use it when the time comes.”
“Well, you tell him that, then,” Perrin said angrily. “He doesn’t listen to me.”
Sam’s head rested on the smooth thigh of Hera, Aegir’s third daughter. Or was it his fourth? He couldn’t remember the difference between Hera and Hora. The first two, Hestia and Hirana, were easy. Hestia had long black hair and flashing eyes, and Hirana had a short bob that bounced around her shoulders and a nice smile. The rest were sort of a blur.
Sam closed his eyes, a grin plastered on his face as Hera fed him another sea grape. This place was like a permanent vacation. Everywhere he went, he found smiles and laughter. Rego would have frowned at this behavior, but the annoying dwarf wasn’t here, he reminded himself.
A tiny furrow etched into his brow.
Rego. Where is that dratted dwarf?
Probably off fighting Surt’s men, his mind replied.
Sam sat up, pushing aside the soft hands of Hera as she pressed him back into his reclining position.
“Rego,” Sam whispered aloud. He looked around. The laughter and gaiety went on, but now it was a sick whirling carnival of colors and excess. Bile rose in his throat, and the plate of fruit dropped, spilling purple grapes onto the coral floor. The girls stopped giggling. Around him, the throng of merpeople stared, but he was numb, his fingers tingling.
There were too many people in the room. They stood waiting for him to do something.
Aegir raised his glass in a toast at Sam, but Sam’s vision was blurred like he was in a long tunnel. He saw things happening, but he couldn’t move. A girl floated toward him dressed in a flowing white gown.
It was Hestia—his mind filled in her name—the eldest of the sea king’s daughters. In her hands she clutched a small spray of pink coral flowers. She looked teary-eyed and weepy as she reached his side.
Sam hated weepy girls. He never understood what it was they wanted. He turned away, but strong hands gripped his arms. Two mermen had him by the biceps and dragged him forward. Sam’s feet left the ground, and it was just as well— he could barely stand, barely string two thoughts together. They dropped him at Hestia’s side.
“What . . . what’s happening?” he finally managed, proud of the way he’d gotten the words out.
Hestia looked at him oddly, putting her slim green-tinged hand on his arm. “We’re getting married, silly. Now stand tall. Father is waiting.”
It was like someone had dumped a bucket of freezing cold ice water on his head. Sam looked up into the searing blue gaze of Aegir, who was waiting at the end of a long walkway. The mermen and mermaids had drawn back, and suddenly there was this long narrow corridor that led to an altar made of whalebone and decorated with strings of seashells.
He pulled away, but Hestia wasn’t letting go of his arm.
“I can’t get married,” he mumbled. “I’m just thirteen.”
“Don’t be silly; mermen get married all the time as soon as they’re old enough.”
“But I’m not a merman,” Sam protested, prying at her hand, but the gentle girl had turned into a fierce opponent.
“You’re going to marry me because Father says so, and whatever Father says is so,” she hurled at him, her face turning an ugly shade of tomato.
Suddenly, Sam knew he was in way over his head. He eyed the room frantically, searching for a friendly face, someone to rescue him, hoping to see someone he recognized—like Perrin, or that imp Mavery. But he hadn’t seen them in ages, and he was surrounded by a wall of mermen standing in a semicircle.
Aegir rose from his throne, waving a staff over them. “Joyous day, to see my daughter Hestia wed to this Son of Odin, our two bloodlines joined as the gods intended.”
Murmurs and shouts of encouragement greeted his words.
Sam backed away, but strong arms held him fast.
Aegir passed his staff over Sam’s head. “I hereby accept this boy into the line of seamen who have come before him. Let our joint blood flow together so that the blood of the sea and the blood of Odin may run together in your children.”
Now Sam was really panicking. His knees were wobbly and weak as boiled pasta. This had to be a dream. A really bad dream, like you get when you eat too much pizza past your bedtime and watch a scary movie.
Hestia’s face beamed as her father passed his staff over her head and promised her many fruitful years and bountiful amounts of children.
“Let any who object speak now before this marriage is binding,” Aegir said.
Sam thought he was going to pass out from nausea. He pinched his arm as hard as he could so he could wake up from this nightmare. Heck, he’d face that sea monster Jormungand again; anything was better than this. He opened his mouth to object, but an elbow caught him in the ribs from the merman next to him, and the air rushed out of him, leaving him gasping and speechless.
Then, behind him, from the corner of the room, a familiar voice boomed.
“I object!” Perrin said loudly.
There were angry whispers, but hope flooded Sam’s brain.
The crowd drew back, forming a narrow corridor that revealed Perrin. Under her curtain of jet-black hair, her face had that icy look that told Sam she meant business.
He had never been happier to see someone in his life.
“Who dares object to this union?” the sea king roared, ramming his staff into the ground so that the very walls shook.
“I do,” Perrin said, looking left to right, meeting the eye of every merman and mermaid as she slowly made her way forward.
“And what gives you the right to stop these proceedings?”
“Because he belongs to me,” she said quietly. “Always has.”
There were loud gasps. Even Sam was puzzled. What game was Perrin playing?
“Explain,” Aegir said, seating himself back on his throne. Perrin took a stand next to Sam but didn’t even glance over at him, though he was desperate for her to look at him and reassure him she was going to fix this.
“Centuries before we were born, our ancestors made a covenant that the first-born son of Catriona would wed the heir to the Tarkana throne to continue the line. He was the first of his kind. I am the heir to mine.”
“No,” Aegir said, c
learly fuming, “he is a Son of Odin.”
“Yes, but also a Son of Catriona. A great bloodline that goes back to the earliest days of Orkney. A union between us would assure the purity of the witch bloodline that will never be repeated. The scrolls were signed and sealed eons before our birth. He cannot wed another without violating a sacred covenant, which would make this union unholy.”
Hestia collapsed in a faint. Sam found himself grinning even though he wasn’t sure if he liked what Perrin was saying.
Aegir scowled, rubbing his hand along his jaw while one of his advisors bent over him, whispering in his ear.
“You have no proof of this!” he shouted, shoving the man aside.
Perrin just shrugged. “Go ahead, don’t believe me. I never liked him anyway, but it won’t change the facts, and when it is revealed, your daughter will suffer an eternity of shame. It’s nothing to me—I won’t be the one at fault. I made my claim.”
The room fell deathly quiet. Aegir’s scowl deepened. Finally, the old sea god growled, “I am calling off the wedding. The boy is not fit for my daughter. Expel these creatures from my realm. See them to the surface, and bid them away. I will not be bothered any longer by the spawn of witches.”
Aegir turned to go, but Perrin called out to him. “Hey. You have something that belongs to us.”
Aegir froze, turning slowly to pin her to the floor with an icy glare. “You dare challenge the sea king in his domain?”
“I dare, you old goat. Now, hand it over, and we’ll leave; otherwise I’m going to cut loose with some magic, and when Sam here snaps out of it, he’s going to destroy this place.” She sent a bolt of green fire over the king’s head, splintering a pretty chandelier of fine bone.
Angrily, the king grabbed his staff and held it up. For a moment, Sam thought they were going to have a full-on battle, but then Aegir lowered his arm. He reached into his robe and withdrew something that made Sam’s eyes light up.
Skidbladnir!
The tiny carving was dwarfed in the old sea god’s gnarled hands. “Take it, then, and good riddance.” He tossed it at them, letting it spin in the air as Sam fumbled his hands up to grab it. But Perrin was there, snatching it and pocketing it before Sam could stumble forward. He really was useless, he thought as the room spun.
“Perrin,” he mumbled through a mouth that tasted like sour cotton. She put her arm around him as his knees went out, holding him upright with surprising strength.
“I’m right here, idiot.”
“Where have you been?” he grumbled as she led him out.
“Watching you make a fool of yourself. Let’s get out of here before another one of these girls decides to marry you.”
“I’m going to be sick,” he said before the world spun into a black void.
Chapter 22
Sam opened his eyes. He lay on the hard surface of the deck of a ship. Skidbladnir, he recognized as he took in the tall masts. It was nighttime. The moon was out, sending a blade of white light across the ocean. The warm wind on his face was heavenly, but his head felt too heavy to move.
Last he remembered, Perrin had saved him from being married off to one of Aegir’s daughters. Now, he risked sitting up. The world spun, making his stomach heave. He tried to hold it back, but the acid bile choked him. He made it to the railing before spewing his guts into the sea. Sniggers of laughter pricked his skin.
Mavery, that imp.
He dragged in a breath of air and turned around, leaning against the railing. Perrin was at the helm. Mavery was skipping around in a circle, swirling her skirts as she whistled a tune. Geela was nowhere to be seen.
Sam stumbled back to the helm and dropped onto a cushion.
“You’re alive,” Perrin acknowledged with a snort.
“Fat lot you care,” he grumbled back. “You left me with all those girls.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
“You were kissy, kissy,” Mavery joked, puckering her lips and pushing her cheeks together with her hands and then laughing hysterically.
Sam wanted to pound her, but it would have required too much effort.
“Where are we headed?” he asked instead.
Perrin shrugged. “No idea. The ship has a mind of its own. I figured getting away from that place was the first step. Unless you want to go back? Maybe you left something behind, like your brain?”
Mavery sniggered again, and Sam gave up and grinned with them. “I was kind of an idiot,” he said sheepishly. “But what could I do? All those girls found me irresistible.”
He ducked as Perrin shot at him with a small zap of witchfire.
Geela came up quietly from down below and sat down across from Sam. She looked pale but steadier on her feet.
“Time is running out. The moon approaches its fullness. We must return to Valhalla with Odin before then.” She didn’t need to remind them what that meant. Besides their demise at the hands of the gods, Surt would soon reach Skara Brae, and it would be too late to save Orkney.
“How do we find Helva without the map?” Sam asked, seeing his good mood slip away.
He’d failed to get the one thing he needed to finish this. After days under Aegir’s spell, he could barely remember the symbols and the pathways he’d tried to memorize.
“That is up to you, witch-boy. Take the wheel and see what happens.”
“Fine. But stop calling me that.” He gritted his teeth as he looked her in the eye. “My name is Sam. I am a Son of Odin, and, yes, I am a witch, but I will not be insulted for it. My friends are witches, and they deserve your respect. Without them, you’d be fish bait at the bottom of the sea.”
The Valkyrie slowly nodded her head at him. “Sam, would you please take the wheel and see if the ship responds to you?”
Sam stood up, glad his knees weren’t too wobbly. Perrin stepped aside. Laying his hands on the wheel, he gripped the smooth wood. The ship stalled, the sails slackening, and it drew to a stop in the center of the ocean. Sam waited, curious. Everyone stood in a circle, looking around to see what would happen.
It was as if the world had gone completely still. Not a sound, not a movement, not a wave lapped at the side of the ship. The moon shimmered, flickering on and off like someone was toggling a switch. Then it changed color, the pale alabaster becoming a sickly green. It cast an eerie glow that peeled across the water until it hit the deck.
When it did, the boat lunged forward across a sea that was suddenly black and cold. In front of them, a huge fog bank loomed, rolling toward them, growing larger and larger until it swallowed them up.
Coldness settled over Sam like ice water dumped on his head. He couldn’t see his hands. Feathery trails of mist tickled his face like they were sailing through cobwebs. Mavery crept over and slipped under his arms.
Perrin created a ball of witchfire, but all it did was light up the ghostly gray fog that surrounded them. They couldn’t see where they were headed or what was in front of them.
Something solid bumped against the ship, jarring them. Mavery screamed. Geela drew her sword.
The ship bumped again, this time scraping hard against a solid object as it moved past.
“Stop the ship!” Geela called, running to the side and looking over. “We’re going to tear a hole in it.”
Sam let go of the wheel. The ship slowed to a stop. They sat in the fog, straining to hear or see through the pea soup.
“Do you see anything?” Sam shouted, leaning over the other side, trying to make out shapes in the gray.
“No,” Geela answered.
“Nothing here.” Perrin’s voice came from the front of the ship, though Sam couldn’t make her out.
Sam planted his feet, drawing his strength together and centering his mind. They needed to be able to see, or they were going to sink the ship. Running his hands in a circle, Sam braced himself for the sensation of surging energy when he called on his magic.
“Fein kinter,” he whispered, “Fein kinter ventimus, ventimus expellia.
” He kept circling his hands, murmuring the words, and pushing with his mind. A wind picked up around him, ruffling his hair gently at first and then getting stronger as his magic coiled.
“Hold on to something!” he shouted as the wind raced, swirling around them like a tornado and lifting the seat cushions, sending them spinning through the air.
Geela grabbed on to Mavery and ducked under the helm. Perrin wrapped her arms around the mast as Sam stood his ground. The roar of wind grew, spreading out until, with a loud blast, he released it across the water.
It rippled out, shredding the thick bank of fog to wisps. The girls came out from their hiding places and ran to the rail. The moon still shone a sickly green, but the way was clear.
The bad news was that tall, craggy rocks jutted out of the water like a pinball machine, each large enough to tear a hole in the ship. And, worse, beyond the rock field, a solid cliff rose in front of them, climbing more than a thousand feet straight up.
“Bring us closer,” Geela said.
Sam carefully steered the ship, doing his best to avoid the rocks. A sharp bump made him flinch. An underwater rock had scraped the hull.
Mavery scrambled below deck and then shouted, “Sam, we gotta problem down here. Water’s coming in fast.”
Sam clenched his hands on the wheel. Great, he’d broken the ship of the gods. If the gods didn’t hang him for killing Odin, this would surely do it.
Geela studied the solid rock wall and then said, “These are the gates to Helva’s underworld.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Gates? It’s a solid wall, Geela.”
“Not solid. The entrance is ahead; look.”
Sam peered closer at the wall. She was right. As they drifted closer, a pair of dark tunnels just tall enough for the ship to pass through became visible.
“Which way do we go?” he asked.
Geela nodded at him, like she had a bucketful of confidence in him. “The map is in your head. You will guide us from here. I must go help the young one stop the water.”
“Great. I’m in charge. Recipe for disaster.”
