by Alane Adams
“Fein kinter,” he whispered, searching deep inside him for the ancient words he needed. He had to let himself go completely to tap into this kind of black magic.
“Fein kinter, tempera similus, tempera morpheus, tempera transfera,” Sam called out as words flooded his brain, and a tingle raced to his fingertips as he called on ancient Tarkana magic.
The creature before him reared back with a hiss, as if it recognized the threat in his words, then launched at him.
At that very same moment, a powerful force compelled Sam to dive headlong at the winged demon. The boy and the beast met in a thunderous midair collision. Sam’s hands hit its scaly skin and passed right through as the black-magic spell took hold and made it possible for him to meld with the creature.
Sam felt a burning sensation as his own body dissolved into the Omera’s, mixing his essence with the liquid evil, the primal blackness, of the creature. It fought him for control, but Sam kept the upper hand with a higher awareness and greater power, refusing to let the Omera be in the driver’s seat. He felt the presence of arms and stretched out his new wings. Where he had once had feet, there were now talons.
Taking in a deep breath, Sam let out a mighty roar, arching his wings at the sun.
He was demon. He was winged. And he was going to kill anything that stopped him from saving his mother.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sam felt invincible. Power coursed through his veins as he launched the hijacked demon into the sky. He felt the creature’s feelings and sensations: its hunger, its desires, its malevolent heart. Furiously beating his wings, Sam flew faster and faster. He was determined to find his mother at any cost. Movement below on the ground caught his sharp vision. Was that she?
He flew lower and spied a small animal, a meek rabbit, nibbling on the grass. He hesitated, gripped by a primal need to feed. He flew on, clinging desperately to his mission, and then the need overtook him. In an instant he changed course and dove straight down, the wind rushing past his beak as he extended his claws.
The rabbit had no idea of the danger it was in. Sam tucked in his new wings and let his body fall like a rocket. At the last second, he unfurled his wings, pulling up and stretching his claws out. Remorse hit him as his talons wrapped around the warm body of the rabbit. What was he doing? He was supposed to be looking for his mother, not hunting rabbits, but the smell of fresh blood made his nostrils flare with hunger. Before he could stop himself, he tossed the rabbit in the air and swallowed it down his gullet.
A thrill of pleasure ran through him. A few rabbits wouldn’t hurt. He needed to stay strong. Sam took to the air, scouring the land from the skies, searching for more prey. He spied a herd of deer moving through the trees. A thrill of excitement raced through him as he hunted a buck. It ran swiftly, dodging side to side. Sam flew after it, flying hard to stay on its tail, tilting left and right to avoid branches. Tiring, the buck pulled up and tried to gore him with its pointed antlers, but Sam swung his spiked tail around and knocked the buck to the ground. With a triumphant dive, Sam pounced on his prey.
After he had fed, he made a lazy circle in the sky, sated and full. With the sun on his back, the power coursing through his veins, he felt cunning and capable, as if he had landed in his own skin and this was who he was meant to be—this black-skinned demon with teeth that could rip flesh from bone.
The sun rose and set. He hunted again, gaining skills and cunning. Somewhere along the way, in the midst of hunting and feeding, Sam forgot what he was looking for, who he had been before. He forgot his own name.
He had a new name.
Omera.
Top of the food chain. Nothing in Orkney dared challenge the fearsome power of his bone-crushing jaws and deadly talons.
The creature flew a lazy spiral in the sky, feeling the rays of the sun warm his wings. As Omera, he was king of the sky and all he surveyed. Yet an unquenchable desire gnawed at him, something bigger than his hunger.
Someone, he realized. Someone who mattered to Omera.
He couldn’t recall the name, but he saw a face, pale and insignificant but persistent, pricking at him so much that he grew irritated and restless. He tried to hunt a rabbit, but it evaded him, and that made Omera even more annoyed. Ravenous and in a rage, he raced through the forest, intent on satisfying his desire.
The air carried a faint scent, a scent he recognized somewhere in the recesses of his brain. He turned and flew silently through the trees and landed in front of a wretched green creature. It had big, terrified eyes and long, drooping ears.
Pathetic, thought Omera.
One snap of his jaws, and this thing would be breakfast.
The little creature clasped its hands in front of itself, pleading, “Please, great Omera, do not eat me. My pitiful bones will surely stick in your throat and cause you distress.”
Omera growled at his prey, circling it, enjoying the way it trembled when he roared.
“I am on my way to His Supreme Being,” it continued, turning to keep its eyes fixed on the winged demon that stalked him, “to ask my master if Fetch can have a second chance. Have you, sir, ever needed a second chance?”
Wanting to pounce, to taste his furry green flesh, Omera found the words made him curiously hesitant. They sounded vaguely familiar.
Fetch took a cautious half step forward, reaching one small hand toward the winged beast. “You, sir, seem to have lost your way. Fetch can help you. Just, please, don’t eat me.” It took another step, hand trembling now, as it tentatively stroked the rough, pebbled skin of Omera’s cold nose. “You have friends, sir. Remember?”
As Fetch’s hand touched the creature’s skin, a wave of longing washed over Omera. Friends? Omera had no friends. But Sam did.
Sam, the creature remembered.
The name coursed through him with a longing and a sadness so strong, he shrieked with a sudden rage that made the leaves on the trees overhead shudder on their stems. Fetch shrank back.
“Please, sir—Fetch can help you find what you’re looking for.”
Blind with rage and pain, Sam pounced on the little pest, determined to swallow it in one bite and end its wretched chattering. With one taloned claw on Fetch’s chest, Omera opened his jaws to devour his prey, when their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Omera saw something powerful in this pitiful creature, something hidden from sight. A fire within, as if it were testing him, waiting to see what he would do. This made Omera pause, and in that pause, a calmness settled over him.
This Fetch is right, the creature realized.
Omera needed help finding what he was looking for. He controlled his rage, holding back a snarl as the little green creature hopped onto his back, grabbing hold of the spikes behind his ears.
Fetch guided him with his knees, sending Omera toward the distant mountain range that bordered the forest. Omera flew higher and higher, suppressing his hunger, letting a higher purpose drive him forward.
As they approached a jagged peak topped by a thin rim of snow, an aerie came into view. Omera landed on the ledge, seeing an unattended nest and eggs at the same time as he saw a human female.
Her arms were pinned in place against the rocky wall with some kind of mud paste that held her captive. Three eggs the size of ottomans were in the throes of hatching. The woman was to be dinner—a ready-to-eat meal so the new hatchlings could feed.
Omera’s ravenous appetite surged inside him. He could get to the human first and feast. The woman looked weak, desperate, and filthy. Blood streaked her face; her yellow dress was torn and dirty.
This is wrong, Omera felt.
But the hunger pangs overrode that thought. The woman was a meal. Nothing more.
Omera launched himself forward. One of the three hatchlings was already poking its small black head out, desperately snapping at the air, seeking food. As Omera closed in on its human meal, the hatchlings’ mother, a female Omera, zoomed out of nowhere, nearly causing an aerial collision of winged creatures. Fetch shrieked in
surprise, nearly falling off.
The female Omera had shorter, sleeker wings, but she quickly proved herself more agile than the male invader.
Omera ducked and jabbed at the female with his tail spike, landing a satisfying blow to her chest.
“Traitor!” she screeched in their shared language, then spun adroitly and whipped her tail around, ripping a tear in Omera’s left wing and sending him off course, toward the nest.
The three hatchlings were nearly out of their eggs now, and they were ravenous, nipping with sharp teeth at the invader’s legs and wings.
Omera reversed course to avoid the hatchlings, sending Fetch sliding off his back and into the snapping mouth of one of the chicks.
Fetch’s pitiful cry tugged at Omera as the chicks’ vigilant mother swooped in again. With another swing of his formidable tail spike, Omera sent the winged female spinning away.
But now, the human woman screamed as another hatchling broke from its egg and lurched toward her on wobbly legs, beak outstretched.
Confusion careened through Omera.
Too many conflicting desires. Eat. Save. Destroy.
Eat, he resolved.
He roared deep from his chest and trampled over the hatch-lings to reach the woman first, using his talon to tear her from the mud encasement.
Omera drew his prey nearer, preparing to rend her human flesh with his razor-edged beak, as he had done so many times. But when he looked down into her face, his beak an inch from her, she whispered a name.
“Sam.”
Omera stopped.
Sam.
Why did that name matter?
Shaking himself, Sam felt his grip over Omera breaking apart. He had to choose—human or demon—but he was torn. Indecision pulled him in every direction. His wings shuddered as his hold over the creature splintered, and he faltered, feeling it slip away. And then Sam was expelled from the winged demon.
The boy lay on the ground, coughing and gagging, as the feeling of being inside the Omera faded, and he came back to the present, to the aerie. There were two black-winged creatures—male and female—stalking around the nest, their wings flared for combat and beaks bared, exposing rows of sharp teeth.
All three hatchlings were now out of their shells, crying hungrily. One of them had Fetch in its toothless maw, trying to swallow him as Fetch tried vigorously to squirm away.
Sam’s mother knelt by her son’s side, running a soft hand over his forehead.
“What happened?” Sam asked groggily. “Is this real?”
“Get up, Sam. We need to fight.”
The two adult Omeras had stopped fighting each other and now circled the humans, ready to pounce. Abigail lifted Sam, and they stood back to back. Inspired by the warmth of her body, Sam regained his focus.
“Sepera tantriona,” she said. As she spoke the words, Sam felt the force of her magic. A powerful tingling swept over him as she unleashed her spell, energizing him and making his blood surge. He repeated her words, copying her magic as best he could but feeling like a novice.
The pair of Omeras leaped at mother and son as they chanted in unison and drew their hands over their heads, pulling the energy from around them and then thrusting their glowing hands forward to unleash the coiled magic.
Blasts of blue-and-green light erupted from their palms, singeing the wings of the Omeras and causing them to scream in pain as they were pushed backward and cast over the edge of the cliff, spinning into space.
Abigail turned to the hatchlings and, with a thrust of her palms, swept two of the chicks after the adults, their useless wings flapping helplessly.
Fetch and the last demon hatchling were still battling. One of Fetch’s legs was already down its gullet, and Fetch was keeping its jaws pried open with his spindly fingers. Sam gave the chick a kick in the belly. It choked and spat out Fetch; then Sam used his mother’s spell to thrust it over the edge.
Fetch sat dazed, covered in spit but alive.
They were safe for the moment, but they all knew the Omeras would be back when they recovered from the attack. Sam ran to his mom and hugged her. It was like the best kind of homecoming when she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight.
“I was one of those things. I was inside it—I almost killed you,” he confessed.
“But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to. I didn’t even recognize you. What kind of person does that?”
She put her hand on his cheek. “You are my son. And I love you very much.”
Sam closed his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, shedding tears of relief.
“I’m not,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
She ran a hand over his hair. “You’ve only conjured up my spirit. You need to let me go.”
“Let you go?”
“Send me back. I can’t leave unless you let me.”
“No. I won’t.” Anger washed over him. How easily she abandoned him. “You have to stay. I need you. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
They stared at each other. Her eyes looked bruised with guilt. “I should have prepared you better,” she said, “Your father and I, we didn’t think it through.” She gripped his shoulders. “I don’t regret a thing, Sam. You are the best thing in my life. But if I’d known, if I’d felt the kind of power you have, I would’ve prepared you. I swear it, Sam.”
Sam couldn’t stay angry at her. “I believe you.”
She pulled him close. “I will find a way back to Orkney. I won’t leave you here alone.” Then she held him away from her, her eyes boring into his. “Swear that you believe me.”
“I swear,” he said. “I know you’ll come back.”
“Then let me go.”
Sam nodded. And in that moment, as he was about to say goodbye, she shimmered in his arms and then disappeared.
Keep moving, Sam. He heard his mother’s voice in his head. You are not safe here.
A heavy sadness sapped the energy from Sam. But he knew he must get away from this nest before the Omeras returned to feed on him. Without his mother’s magic, he was sure he could not hold the demons at bay again.
“See any way down?” Sam asked, joining Fetch at the ledge. The cliff face dropped over a thousand feet into a steep ravine. No chance of climbing down.
Fetch slipped his undersize hand into Sam’s.
“The way down is easy, sir.” Fetch tugged with a strength Sam didn’t expect, and they fell over the ledge, tumbling together straight down into the rocky ravine.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
He should have expected it. The last time Fetch had taken his hand, Sam had spent hours falling through a black void. This time, it took only a few seconds before he slammed into water and went under, swallowing a gallon before he gathered his senses and kicked his way to the surface.
Cold water carried him past rocks and logs. He was in a river, and that devious Fetch was nowhere to be seen. Sam kicked and flailed through rapids, avoiding the boulders as he bounced downstream.
Several minutes later, the rapids ended, and the water settled down enough for Sam to swim to the shore and climb out. The forest was calm here, tranquil. He found himself in a familiar clearing.
There was the tree with the snake in the crook, and the rock where he had knelt and pleaded with Odin to help him. After an exhausting wild goose chase, Sam was right back where he had started. Soaking wet and despondent, he dropped to his knees in the same spot as before.
“Please, Odin,” he said wearily. “If you won’t help me, just tell me to go. I can’t take any more of your tests.”
For a moment, all sounds in the forest ceased. Even the rushing noise of the river quieted. Then the earth shook and tree limbs crackled as a powerful uprising moved rocks aside. The young sapling before him began to grow, stretching its branches, turning into a mature tree, sprouting broad leaves to create a vast canopy overhead. By the time the tree stopped growing, it towered several stories ab
ove Sam.
A loud hiss got him on his feet. The snake had increased in size as well, growing from the width of his arm to the girth of a sewer pipe. Its sinuous body wrapped around the redwood-size tree trunk. The snake’s yellow eyes fixed on Sam while its forked tongue probed the air around him, measuring the boy’s fear.
“State your busssssinesss,” the snake hissed.
“My business? I’ll tell you my business,” Sam said, feeling cranky after having been jerked around for what felt like days. “I want to see Odin. Have you seen him?”
“Sssssilence!” the snake spat, whipping its tail out to coil around Sam’s neck, choking off his air. “Ssspeak with ressssspect or ssssuffer.”
Sam tried to peel the snake’s tail off his neck, but it was useless. The blood vessels in his head felt ready to pop, and he nodded helplessly at the creature.
The snake loosened its hold and settled itself into a shimmering, red-and-gold coiled pyramid that was still twice as tall as Sam. The reptile raised its shovel-shaped head on a slender neck and stared into Sam’s eyes, waiting for him to speak.
“I am Sam Barconian, Lord of the Ninth Realm and Son of Odin,” he stated loudly. “I need to see Odin.”
“What for, Sssson of Odin?”
“I have to stop the red sun. You may not see it here, but it’s messing up the rest of Orkney pretty bad.”
The black ovals in the snake’s yellow eyes narrowed to menacing slivers. “Odin has no patience for a fool’sss errand.”
“You’re not the boss. The boss is the boss. The boy should see the boss.”
This new, manic voice came from over Sam’s head. In the branches of the tree, a bushy-tailed squirrel with fat cheeks sat nibbling a walnut at high speed, turning it over and over in its hands before tossing the bare shell to the side.
“Sssilence, Ratatosk!” snapped the snake.
But the squirrel had run around the trunk in a brown flash and disappeared from sight. Leaves rustled as it climbed higher.
“Who was that?” Sam asked.
