by Alane Adams
“Please, everyone calm down!” the official shouted. “We are searching the land for crops that have not been destroyed.”
“Our children starve!” a man shouted, holding up a small child for him to see. “What are you doing to end this cursed sun?”
“The High Council is even now sending an emissary to Odin,” he replied. Immediately the crowd quieted.
“A Son of Odin has returned to us. We must all place in him our hope that he will be victorious and return with a cure for the curse.”
“The witches are a plague on the land!” another man shouted. “We should kill them all.” There were loud shouts of approval at that.
Sam looked over at Mavery. She looked pale.
“Don’t listen to them,” Keely said. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll find a way to fix this.”
Sam stared at the sunken faces of the children, swamped with guilt. “I should have listened to Rego and gone directly to Asgard.”
“Then you wouldn’t have the compass,” Keely pointed out. “And you wouldn’t have all of us to help you. Together we can figure this out, Sam. I know we can.”
Leo added, “She’s right, Sam. We are stronger together. We need to keep moving. The faster we get to Asgard, the faster you can stop this.” He pointed at a distant set of hills. “We should head to high ground so we can see which direction to go. We’ll be able to find cover in those trees.”
They pushed on somberly, staying out of sight, with Leo in the lead. No one spoke. As they wound through the woods, a terrible odor reached them, carried by the afternoon breeze.
“What’s that smell?” Mavery groaned, wrinkling her nose.
Leo stopped the group and sniffed the air. “It smells of death.”
Sam dreaded what they would see when they crested the hill. They pushed on till they reached the top. He drew up his horse at the horrible sight before them. Black shapes littered the hillside below: cattle that had fallen over dead where they grazed. The earth was barren of life. Sam didn’t need to look up at the grotesque face of the sun to know what had caused the herd to die. The poisonous effects of the solar curse were spreading.
He swallowed back fear, feeling his heart jerk erratically in his chest.
“Are we too late?” he choked out. “Are we next?”
“No. It’s not going to come to that,” Keely said firmly.
Behind her, Mavery wrapped her arms around Keely’s waist. The little witch looked scared but didn’t say anything.
Leo stared at Sam from atop his horse, his dark eyes showing nothing.
“Stop staring at me,” Sam said gruffly. “I’m fine.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Leo said. “It’s just who you are. I blamed my father for making me the son of a chief, but that’s just the way it is. Your mother is a witch. You can’t change that, only accept it and figure out what it means for you.”
Leo was probably right, if your life was as simple as being the son of an Umatilla chief. Kicking his horse hard in the ribs, Sam rode ahead, feeling like he had been lashed with a whip.
Howie made a game out of keeping the rathos from biting him. He stocked up on his meager food supplies; moldy bread crusts were easy to pass up, and after having older brothers steal his food on a daily basis, Howie was used to skipping meals. One of the rats was larger than the others. It led the charge when the rathos swarmed. Its left ear was torn off, probably lost in a fight.
“Hey there. I’m calling you Bert,” Howie said, tossing it a large piece of crust. The rathos looked surprised, sniffing it suspiciously, before picking it up and gnawing on it. Howie threw more bread crumbs until Bert was sated and scampered back out of the dungeon, taking the other rathos with him.
The next time one of the monster rats bit him, Howie gave the cold shoulder to the boss rat when he came sniffing around for food. “Suck it, Bert. Your boys bite me, you get nothing.”
It took only a day before the big rat figured it out. After that, it attacked any of the vermin that wanted to gnaw on Howie.
“You’re learning, Bert. Brains are better than brawn,” Howie said, breaking off a large piece of crust from his meager dinner tray and feeding it to the salivating creature. “Find me a key out of here, and I’ll personally deliver a pizza for you and your buddies. Stuffed crust, extra cheese, whatever you want.”
The sound of clapping echoed in the hall outside his cell. “Well done,” a girl said. She was slender and tall, her face pressed against the bars. “But what are you going to do when you run out of bread?”
Howie sat up, pushing his glasses in place to see better. A visitor was exciting. Especially one who didn’t seem prepared to torture him. The rathos greedily pawed the air for another piece of bread.
“What do you care?” Howie said, playing it cool. He tossed the boss rat his last piece of bread.
“My mother’s rathos are ravenous. One day you won’t have enough and they’ll eat you alive,” she announced. “Unless you starve first.”
Howie gestured to Bert that mealtime was over, and the big rat squeaked loudly, then led his army back to the hole from which they had come.
“Not much of me left to eat,” Howie joked. “Who’s your mother, anyway?”
“Endera Tarkana.”
Howie couldn’t help it—he snorted with laughter. But the young witch wasn’t amused.
“Why is that funny?” she asked coldly.
Howie pushed up his glasses, remembering every evil thing Endera had done. “Because Endera’s not just a witch; she’s like the Godzilla of witches. Not only did she try to feed me to her pet spider, she turned my English teacher into a lizard and . . .” But before he could get the next sentence out, Howie realized he was alone. The girl, whoever she was, had left.
That night, Howie fell asleep with the image of Endera as a mother floating in his mind. He had a nightmare he was being chased by her children: a pack of rathos as large as buses. Howie ran for his life down the street as they chased him, their spiny whiskers bristling over bared teeth.
He awoke with a shout as his breakfast was noisily shoved through the slot in his dungeon door. At the end of his dream, one of Endera’s children had finally caught him, dangling him in the air with one paw, about to drop him in its gaping mouth. He shook off the cobwebs, shuddering at the images that peppered his brain. He pulled the tray toward him, expecting the same thin gruel and moldy bread, but this time there was a hot scone and an extra-large serving of moldy bread. He bit into the scone, savoring its buttery sweetness, and found he was chewing on something that tasted like paper. He spit it out and looked at the scone. There was a note tucked inside. The corner was chewed, but the words were intact.
My mother is not a monster.
Howie smiled and shoved the entire scone into his mouth.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sam awoke in the morning to the sun rising over the horizon. The foursome had made camp the night before near a stream, in a small clearing away from any nearby farms. The sun sat low in the sky, like a bloodshot eye, mocking him with its red cast. More veins had sprouted, branching and twisting across its face. Sam turned away, running his hand through his hair. He felt gritty and dirty all over. He hadn’t bathed in days.
The sound of rushing water reached his ears. Sam had a sudden desire to get clean, to wash away all the filth and grime. Leaving the others to sleep, he made his way down to the water. A bend in the stream had formed a swimming hole. It looked cool and inviting.
Sam slipped his shirt over his head, undid his pants, and set them on a rock, along with his boots and his father’s pouch. Goose bumps rose up on his skin as he stepped to the edge, and, with a whoop, he ran and dove under.
The water did more than cleanse his body—the bracing cold cleared all the restless thoughts from his mind. He surfaced, swam out a few strokes, and floated on his back. For the first time since he had been blasted through a rock into Orkney, Sam enjoyed a moment of peace. The dawn sky looked purpl
ish, the red and blue mixing to make streaks of lavender. The day was ahead of him. Anything seemed possible. He ran his hands back and forth across the surface, floating idly.
Something brushed against his leg, but he paid it no mind. Probably just a fish, he thought. If it was anything like the perch in Indian Lake back home, it would be nibbling at his toes next.
Suddenly, bony fingers grabbed Sam’s ankle and jerked him down. He flailed, trying to stay afloat, but whatever it was had a firm grip and dragged him below the surface. Sam thrashed and kicked, precious air bubbling from his mouth and nose as he fought to get free.
Opening his eyes under the water, Sam saw several shadowy figures twining themselves around him.
Wraiths.
They trailed their skeletal fingers around his torso and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek with their ghastly lips.
He tried to swat them away, but they kept coming. And then a face emerged from the ghostly mob. His father, swimming straight at Sam. He looked pained, confused. His lips were moving. Sam strained to hear what he was saying.
“Why don’t you come, Sam?” he said, looking anguished as he moved toward Sam. “Why? I’ve been waiting for you. Son, please. I need you.”
Sam tried to reach him, kicking furiously at the bony hand holding his ankle. Here was proof at last: his father was really alive. He had to get to him. He kicked harder, reaching down to pry the fingers off. He freed his ankle and began to swim forward as fast as he could. He stretched his fingers out to his father’s, but before he could touch him, his father’s image dissipated in a cascade of ripples as someone dove in and disrupted the water.
Leo’s arms wrapped around Sam’s midsection, dragging him upward. Sam wanted to hear what his father was saying. He fought and twisted against Leo, but Leo was stronger and Sam was nearly out of breath.
As they broke the surface, Sam turned and swung his fist at Leo, landing a blow on his cheek. “Why did you do that?” Sam shouted.
“You were drowning!” Leo said, treading water and looking at him like Sam had lost his mind.
“My dad was there. He was talking to me.”
Leo shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone. You were alone.”
Sam dove defiantly back down and searched. The pond was murky, but visibility was good. The wraiths were gone, along with his father. Sam floated a moment, feeling bereft. Then he surfaced and swam for shore, not waiting for Leo to follow.
Throwing on his clothes, Sam ran through the brush back to camp before Leo could catch up. I saw my father, he told himself. He was alive, as Emenor had said, and waiting for Sam to help him.
Back at the camp, Mavery and Keely were making breakfast: a roasted squirrel Leo had trapped the night before. Ignoring the girls, Sam threw his saddle on his horse. Leo came back, dripping wet, and spoke quietly to Keely. She nodded and then came over to where Sam stood.
“Leave me alone,” he said, before she could speak.
“What’s going on, Sam?”
“Nothing.”
He focused on tightening the saddle cinch.
She put a hand on the saddle, staying him. “Leo says you took a swing at him?”
Sam stared straight ahead. “He surprised me, that’s all.”
“He was just trying to help you.”
“Help me?” He turned to glare at her. “The wraiths showed me my father. He was speaking to me.”
She looked at him with pity. “You don’t know it was him. It could’ve been a trick.”
“You weren’t there. You don’t know anything.”
He tried to muscle past her onto the horse, but Keely held her ground. “Talk to me, Sam. You’ve been acting weird, even for you. You hardly talk to anyone or smile.”
“Have you seen how people are starving because the sun is poisoning them? Not a good reason to smile, Keely. Have you forgotten I created that sun?”
His anger swelled, making him breathe heavily.
She paled but remained steady. “No, but Sam, you need to calm down. Please.”
He looked over at Mavery and Leo. They stood by the fire, staring at him warily.
“Calm down? Did I mention my father is trapped in a stone and wants me to come help him but I don’t know how?” He stepped closer to her. “Do you know how that feels?”
She stared back into his eyes, not flinching. “No one’s blaming you.”
He let out another bark of laughter. “Well, I do! My best friend is going to be eaten by a giant spider if I don’t steal some horn from Odin. And even if I do, I could make things worse than the red sun already has. So maybe you’re right—I should just lighten up.”
Keely gripped his arm tightly. “I’m not the enemy, Sam. I’m here to help you.”
“You wanna help me? Then leave me alone!” Ripping his arm loose, he put his foot in the stirrup, leaped on the back of his horse, and gave it a swift kick.
Sam had come a long way in his equestrian skills since that first day in Orkney. His rear was no longer sore from bouncing around all day. But not long after he rode out of sight, guilt began to prick at his conscience.
If he was honest with himself, Leo and Keely were just being good friends. And he had overreacted, as usual, to their efforts to help. He knew he should go back and apologize, but Sam was reluctant to face them, scared of what they must think. He pulled up his horse, wrestling with what to do.
“Hello, Samuel.”
Vor’s soft voice took him by surprise.
The Goddess of Wisdom stood next to his horse, her hand on its bridle, rubbing its nose. Her long blond hair fell over her shoulder. She wore the same gauzy gown of snowy material that flowed to her feet.
“Vor, I saw my father,” he blurted out.
She turned her pale eyes toward him. “You saw what the wraiths wanted you to see. Be mindful of the path you are on, Son of Odin. I see great darkness before you.”
“I’m trying. But I have to help my friend if I’m going to get this right. And my father. I can’t just leave him in that stone.”
“I cannot influence your decisions, Samuel, but think before you act. The darkness grows inside you. If you give in to it, there will be no deliverance.”
Her image shimmered and then dissolved into a thousand white butterflies that fluttered away through the barren branches of the trees.
A girl’s scream made Sam’s horse rear up, nearly unseating him.
Keely, Sam realized.
The scream was followed by a snarling screech that echoed through the woods. He pulled hard on the reins and kicked the horse, forcing its head around and digging in with his heels.
Charging back down the trail toward camp, he ran head-on into a creature unlike anything he had ever seen.
Black as night, with wings that spanned the length of its body, it towered over Keely, stalking her on two legs. Its beak was lined with razor-sharp teeth that glistened with blood. It had a long, thin tail with a spike on the end that looked like it could impale him with one jab. It looked to Sam like a cross between a winged dragon and a giant raptor.
Leo shielded Keely and Mavery, an arrow notched in his bow. On the ground before them, a horse lay dead, its stomach ripped open.
Sam tore the pouch holding Odin’s rock from around his neck and swung it around his head, driving his horse in front of the beast, cutting it off from his friends.
“Demos mora dinfera!” he shouted, feeling the ancient words come to him as his rage rose up. A few feet from the creature, he slid off the horse, which bolted away.
The beast slithered a forked tongue at him.
“Demos mora gestera,” Sam said, calling it to stand down. He swung the rock harder above his head, trying to drive back the beast. The wind began to rise as Sam’s pouch gained unnatural velocity and became a blur of motion like the eye of a tornado.
The beast tossed its head, unleashing another angry screech.
“Sam, watch out!” Mavery shouted, pointing upward.
Another wi
nged creature dropped from the sky with a thud, landing next to its mate. They stalked the kids from both sides, their tails swishing and jabbing. Sam stood in front of his friends, still swinging the rock and relishing the tide of darkness rising up inside him.
A strange heartbeat echoed in his head, slightly out of sync with his own. Hungry thoughts of destruction flashed behind Sam’s eyes.
Somehow these creatures were connected to him. He could feel their rage, their hunger, their call to join them. It was sickening and exhilarating all at once.
Blocking out the darkness, Sam closed his eyes and swung the pouch holding Odin’s rock and then threw it down on the ground with all his might, shouting, “Fein Kinter tentera demos morte!”
As the rock hit the ground, the earth shook and split open, forming a wide crack that ran from his feet, across the clearing, to the beasts.
In tandem, they launched themselves at Sam. He swung his hands over his head, gathering the energy around him, and threw his palms forward at the beasts as he repeated, “Tentera demos morte.”
A bolt of green energy shot across the clearing singeing them in their chests. The creatures shrieked and pulled off, veering into the sky in tandem, before turning to dive-bomb again.
The other kids stood transfixed, staring helplessly as the battle unfolded.
Grimly, Sam stood his ground, swirling his hands around, using his powers to draw on the energy in the air. Like a living thing, it shimmered around him. For the first time, he felt in control of the magic tingling under his fingertips, waiting to be unleashed. Someone came to stand next to him.
Mavery.
He nodded at her as she started to follow his moves, saying the words with him. “Together, on my count!” he shouted.
The beasts descended, leading with their fierce talons. As they closed in, Sam began to count.
“Ready, set, go!”
Mavery and Sam stomped the ground and threw their hands forward at the same moment, their magic in sync. A ball of witch-fire exploded from their palms, a burst of light that incinerated the beasts this time, destroying them in an emerald blaze of crisping flesh.
