by Alane Adams
He grimaced. “I can’t. Helva took my magic.”
The sky darkened above them as more and more boer-cats flew over. There were at least fifty of them flying in formation, drawing tighter and tighter in a circle. Two broke off and flew left, two to the right. They kept veering off until they covered every inch of the sky, crisscrossing fluidly. Then they began to lay down a wall of fire.
Perrin’s arm was trembling, and the other witches quickly grew tired. Some of the buildings caught fire as the shield sputtered and wavered. The witches weren’t strong enough. Sam clenched his fists, wishing he could join in. People screamed and dove for cover.
They made another pass, coming so close that Sam could see the look of triumph on Surt’s face. It had to be Surt. He rode the largest boercat and wielded a flaming sword. With a mighty swing, he lopped off the top of the clock tower and sent it crumbling to the ground in a crash of stone.
More buildings caught fire as smoke filled the air. Sam had never felt so helpless and frustrated.
If only he had wings.
He grabbed Perrin. “We have to call the Omeras.”
Her eyes widened, and then she put her fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle, passing the word. The other young witches did the same.
They withstood another round of attacks that set the blacksmith shop and the apothecary on fire. The men and women of Skara Brae ran with buckets to douse the flames.
“Come on, come on,” Sam whispered. The Omeras would be nearby. His mother and the witches had ridden them back from Balfour Island.
Then a familiar whisper of wings reached Sam’s ears. Black Omeras landed in the square. Nine of them. His mother grabbed his arm. “No, Sam, you don’t have your magic.”
“I have my father’s magic,” he said, gripping the pouch. “I’ll ride with Perrin. You and Mavery stay here and help Teren defend the city. We’ve got this.”
The rest of the witches climbed on their Omeras, and Sam got up behind Perrin.
She urged the Omera into the air. The witches fell into formation behind them. He swung the pouch over his head as they prepared balls of witchfire. They headed straight for Surt. He was laying a blazing trail down over a row of buildings in the lower town.
“Come on, Odin, where are you?” Sam whispered, hanging on as Perrin banked the Omera.
A blast of fire knocked one of the witches out of the air. She fell, spinning through the sky, but Abigail caught her in a spell before she hit the ground.
They needed to take Surt out. Sam had an idea. It was crazy, but his ideas usually were.
“Bring me close to Surt!” he shouted in Perrin’s ear.
“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”
“Probably. Just do it.”
She wheeled the Omera in the sky above Surt. Two other witches engaged him with witchfire. One of them fell, and Surt turned his attention to the other.
That’s when Sam leapt off the back of his Omera, falling through the air and landing on Surt. He wrapped his arms around the fire giant’s neck and held on for dear life.
Perrin and two other witches began blasting Surt’s boer-cat with witchfire. The animal screamed and bellowed in pain as its wings folded and it plummeted to the ground. Sam held on as the beast hit face-first, digging a channel in the paving stones as it slid twenty feet before coming to a stop.
Sam had the wind knocked out of him, but the boercat had taken the brunt of the fall. A pair of meaty red hands grabbed Sam by the scruff of his neck. Surt towered over him, and then the red-skinned giant threw him off, sending him tumbling painfully across the paving stones.
Overhead, the witches continued to battle the boercats. Teren had put together some grappling hooks, and they used them to bring down the flying beasts, but there were still too many of them.
Howie was there, helping him to his feet. “We got a problem. The rest of Surt’s army is back, the ones who ran. And they’re mighty pissed.” Outside the walls of the gates, Sam could hear the marching boots.
Surt was getting to his feet. In his hands he held his famous flaming sword. Bal.
“Surrender now, before we burn this city to the ground!” he shouted, pounding his fist on his chest. “Or don’t surrender. I’m in the mood to tear this place apart. My next stop will be Valhalla. We will take the city of the gods and rule the Nine Realms of Odin.”
“Not so fast,” Sam said. “I’m afraid Odin has something to say about that.”
“Odin is dead,” Surt said.
“Naw, he was just taking a vacation in the underworld. He’s back,” Sam said.
“You lie. Where?”
“Right here.” Sam tapped his chest. He took the pouch holding Odin’s stone and dropped the stone in his hand, clenching it tight and preparing himself for what he hoped was going to come next.
It happened so fast, it took his breath away.
A crack of lightning split the air, striking the center of the square, sending up shards of stinging granite. A glowing electrical feeling spread through Sam as he transformed into that giant bear. Brunin’s mighty shield appeared in his hands. His arms stretched out, and his legs grew thick and sturdy. His eyes grew larger and rounded, and his sense of smell grew so keen he could detect Howie sweating next to him.
This was different. The first time he had been inside Brunin, Odin had been in charge. Now, the god was letting Sam be in control. It was exhilarating.
Surt staggered back.
“What is this?” he said, laughing. “Some kind of trick?”
Sam raised his head and let out a roar so loud the walls of the city shook, knocking stones loose.
Surt flinched. “Who are you?”
Sam prowled forward, pawing at the ground, turning his head to snarl.
“It cannot be,” Surt whispered. Taking another step back, he shook his head. “You’re dead. You’re dead and gone.”
Then Sam leapt, his paws outstretched, jaws open. Glistening white teeth reached for Surt’s neck, knocking him into the ground. The bear tore at the red giant, but Surt rolled to his side and scrambled away, drawing his flaming sword.
He held it in front of him, sending a bolt of searing flame at Sam, aiming square at his chest. Sam held up his shield, and the flame bounced off. The shield grew hot, but he held it up until Surt ran out of energy, staggering as his sword died out.
Surt dropped his arm, but his eyes stayed fixated on the bear. Sam roared again, this time even louder And then he ran straight for Surt.
The fire-giant lord jumped on the back of his boercat, but the beast was injured and couldn’t take off. And then Sam was there, sinking his massive canine teeth into Surt’s thigh and pulling him back to the ground. Surt’s sword clattered on the paving stones as the fire giant clutched at his leg.
Sam grasped Surt’s sword in his mighty paws and raised it. A tongue of fire shot into the sky. He was prepared to bring it down into the red giant’s heart when a voice rang, “Let him go, or the girl dies.”
Sam froze, swinging his shaggy head around. He blinked, his vision zeroing in on the scene across the square. Bellac stepped out from behind Skidbladnir. Surt’s general must have clung to the ship when they were rescued. She had an arm around Mavery’s neck with a knife pressed to it.
What should he do? Odin’s voice was silent, as if the god was letting him decide.
Sam slowly lowered the blade. The flame went out.
He felt the weight of the decision. If he let Surt go, more people would die. He was sure of it. But Mavery . . . he couldn’t bear the thought of her being hurt.
An impossible choice. Sam felt it then, the crushing weight that Odin bore every day—trying to know the right thing to do when no choice was the right one.
Before Sam could choose, a swan launched out of the sky, coming like a missile for Bellac. The impact knocked the general off her feet and sent Mavery sprawling. In a flash of gold, Geela stood before the red giant, her golden sword drawn.
<
br /> “No one harms the witchling,” she said.
Bellac snarled, leaping to her feet, and she brought her sword down at Geela.
A flash of witchfire made the giant stumble and miss.
Mavery had blasted her a good one.
Perrin and the rest of the witches added their own magic, roasting the giant in a bath of green fire until there was nothing left but a pile of ash.
A sudden stabbing pain made Sam roar.
Surt had used the distraction to draw a smaller blade. It stuck out of Sam’s back. With a whirl, Sam held the Sword of Bal up as flames shot out. He spun in a circle so fast that Surt didn’t have time to react. The flaming sword went through his armor and into his chest so hard that the point came out the other side of his massive body.
Sam staggered back. Pain made him dizzy. His hold over Brunin slipped as he grew light-headed.
A blinding light exploded in the center of the square, shooting up into the sky. It burned brightly for a moment, and then, in a wink, it was gone. In the place of the bear, Sam lay on the ground, grasping his wounded shoulder as he sat up.
Surt was dead, but the massive onslaught of boercats continued. Sam had to help fight them. Grasping Surt’s flaming sword, Sam struggled to his feet. He would burn them from the sky, ride an Omera and take them out one by one.
Before he could signal to Perrin, a horn blast sounded from overhead. All eyes turned to see a giant winged creature bearing down on them. Flames roared from its mouth as it aimed for the boercats that seemed tiny next to it. Surt’s men screamed as they became engulfed in flame.
The Safyre Omera had come.
Its leathery hide glistened black as tar. Purple streaks marked its wings, and a sharpened talon protruded at the tip of each wing bone.
On its back, Sam could make out Jey and, behind him, his father, Beo. They were grinning and whooping as they guided the giant Safyre in a broad sweep, taking out as many boercats as they could. Behind them, three other Safyres each bore a rider. They were smaller, but their belches of fire were enough to send the boercats winging away in pain.
They flew overhead, sending dark shadows across the square. The boercats and their riders put up a fight, but without Surt or his generals to lead them, they soon turned and headed across the seas, racing back to their fiery island of Musspell. Teren and Galatin led the men outside the gates with rousing cheers to chase off the remaining fire giants.
Jey landed the large female Safyre in the square, and the three smaller ones followed. He had a smirk as big as a barn as he bragged to Howie and Leo about how he had tamed the fire-breathing beast.
Keely looked pale, but she brought her healing crystal over and knelt by Sam.
“You know, I’ve seen you do some dumb things, but jumping off the back of an Omera, that might take the cake.”
“I second that,” his mother said, appearing over Keely’s shoulder to scan him head to toe.
Sam winced as Keely pressed the edges of his wound together, amazed at her healing power as the two sides stitched together. “Yeah, well, it worked. At least I didn’t almost drown everyone.” He winked at her.
She smiled. “Yeah, magic can make you do crazy things.”
Geela knelt by Sam. “Sam, we cannot delay our return to the city of the gods. They await your arrival. All is not yet settled.”
Sam nodded. “Geela of the Valkyrie, meet Keely and my mom, Abigail.”
Geela nodded at them. “Your friends may come along. The gods will wish to thank them.”
Sam looked at his mom for permission. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You will be the death of me. Go ahead. I have a city to piece back together.”
Before they could board Skidbladnir, the loud rumble of many horses thundering toward them made everyone stop, fearing another invasion of Surt’s men. But it was Joran’s army of frost giants that burst into the square, swords drawn as they pulled their horses up.
Joran searched for his wife. When he spied her, he swept down from his horse and wrapped her in his arms.
“I am sorry I am late, wife.”
The queen held back and then embraced him. “You came.”
“I am stubborn, but I know when I’m wrong.”
“Joran, there are some people I want you to meet. Boys,” she called as she waved the boys over. They were limping and battered, but defiant. “These boys were prisoners of the black dwarves. They kept them as slaves in the mines.”
Rage darkened Joran’s face. “The black dwarves will be dealt with.”
One of Joran’s men shoved forward. “Malik? Is that you?”
One of the slave boys blinked rapidly. “Papa?”
“Malik!”
The frost giant was blubbering like a baby as he swept the boy up in his arms. “I thought I had lost you forever.”
Reesa introduced Joran to the other boys. She seemed to hesitate over the last one.
“Joran, this is Eithan. He can’t remember who he was before he was lost. He hit his head in a fall. The dwarves found him at the bottom of a steep slope.” Her voice was tense, and Joran’s eyes went from the boy to her and then back to the boy.
“You don’t think—”
She put a warning hand on his arm. “I think Eithan should come home with us, see if he remembers anything.”
Joran shuddered and then nodded. “Yes. Being back in Galas will help him remember who he is.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Welcome home, Eithan.”
Chapter 39
Geela guided Skidbladnir to Valhalla, her hands sure and confident on the wheel. They flew through puffy white clouds, emerging into blue sky and an unfamiliar range of mountains rimmed with snow. A rainbow arched high in the sky, ending in a glittering gold city built on top of a cloud.
The Bifrost bridge.
The ship settled down to glide over the rainbow surface until it reached a set of golden gates that blocked their way. A man stood in front of the gate dressed in leather leggings and a heavy golden vest. On his head he wore a helmet that came down over his face, leaving only a slit for his eyes. In his hand he held a sharp pointed lance.
Geela shouted, “Hemidall, in the name of Frigga, open the gates!”
When the guard didn’t move fast enough, Geela drew her sword in a blaze of golden light. “I am Geela of the Valkyrie, and I will not be ignored. Open the gates, or face my blade!”
That got Hemidall moving. He turned and slid the lever to the side, pushing the gate slowly open.
Inside, the city lay before them at the bottom of a gentle green hill. Valhalla was a golden city. Every building was gilded with the precious metal, the spired tops glittering in the sunlight. Even the streets were paved in the golden color.
Skidbladnir floated to a stop in front of the largest edifice. They descended onto the pavement. As Mavery hopped down, Skidbladnir shimmered and groaned, and then, in a twinkle of light, it shrunk down to its pocket size, landing at Sam’s feet.
He swept it into his pocket. An imposing set of double doors made of golden metal and inlaid with silver panels opened on silent hinges as Geela led them up the steps. They entered into a large circular room lined with thrones around the edge. The seats were filled with men and women of all ages and sizes.
Odin sat on the highest throne. He was laughing at something the woman on his left said. Sam recognized Frigga from the day she had threatened him with death if he didn’t bring Odin back. She looked at him disapprovingly and then softened her face into a smile as she gave him a nod.
They were led into the center of the room by Geela. They stood in a line facing the gods. Howie was on the end, then Leo, Keely, Sam, Perrin, and, of course, the little imp, Mavery.
Odin clapped his hands, and the room grew silent.
“Thank you all for coming today. Things have been a little . . . chaotic recently. I suppose it’s time I explain what I did.”
Before he could go on, Loki walked in, followed by a tall, black-haired woman with pale s
kin the color of ice. There were gasps of outrage. But Sam had a bigger problem. He’d gotten one look from the ice queen, and he had lost the ability to breathe. His hand went to his throat as invisible fingers locked around it.
“I have come to punish the boy,” Angerboda announced. “He killed my son Jormungand, and his meddling ruined my daughter’s beauty.”
“How dare you come into my home,” Frigga hissed, rising.
Sam tried to drag in a breath, but he had no will over his own body.
“Give me the boy, or not even the strength of the gods will stop my wrath,” Angerboda said.
“Please, Angerboda,” Odin said, “It was not the boy’s fault, but mine. Let me explain. And then, if you still wish revenge, I will pay the price. Just hear me out.”
Angerboda hesitated. For that moment, another ten years were peeled from Sam’s life before she sat down and released her grip on him. Sam gasped as breath flowed into his lungs again.
Odin spread his hands wide as he began. “A long time ago, a great wrong was done. Arrogance and pride led to tragic events. My dear son, Baldur, was lost forever when Loki found his weakness and tricked him into being pierced by the thorn of the mistletoe bush.”
All eyes turned on the God of Mischief. Loki flushed, squirming in his seat. Angerboda elbowed him. Finally, he stood up. “I . . . er . . . I am . . . ahem,” he cleared his throat before blurting out, “I’m sorry, Frigga. I was not thinking, as I am prone to doing. I thought it would be fun to see Baldur lose. I did not mean to harm him so greatly. I paid a great price for it,” he added, with a pointed look at Odin.
“Yes, Loki paid the price,” Odin said. “Without giving him a chance to explain himself, I chained him in a hole for a thousand years.” He moved to stop in front of Loki. He hesitated and then put a hand on the mischief-maker’s shoulder. “My brother. It is long past time things between us were settled. You acted rashly, and I punished you greatly. I am sorry.”
Loki scowled, wiping his chin with his hand, even as tears brightened his eyes. Finally he sniffed and nodded. “You, too, brother. I’m sorry I took your son. I have missed you.”
