by Alane Adams
Past Praise for Alane Adams
For the Legends of Orkney series
The Legends of Orkney series has won over 11 awards and finalist titles, including 2017 Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards: Gold Medal, Best Book Series—Chapter Book
For the The Red Sun:
“ Percy Jackson meets Norse mythology in this captivating and unique adventure.”
—Foreword Reviews (4 stars out of 5)
“ The Red Sun is a roller coaster ride of adventure, Norse mythology, magic and mayhem. Between Sam facing awesome villains in the magical realm of Orkney to teachers turning into lizards, I had the best time doing the voiceover for the audiobook. Don’t miss out on this terrific story!”
—Karan Brar, actor on Disney’s Jessie and Bunk’d
“ Alane Adams weaves a rollicking tale of adventure, filled with magic and mayhem, in The Red Sun, first in the Legends of Orkney series. Adams combines elements of Norse mythology and Umatilla tradition to send her young protagonist, Sam, on a unique quest to find himself and to save the entire realm of Orkney in the process.”
—Clarion
For Kalifus Rising:
“ Sam’s internal struggles and focus on the dark side of his witch heritage are reminiscent of Anakin Skywalker and will likely appeal to fanboys and fangirls, particularly as he ‘must face the darkness inside.’ Combined with strong female leads, both heroic and villainous, the ever growing and changing cast of characters has something for everyone. Fantasy, mythology, a touch of romance, and enough sword fights and battles to appease even the most action-hungry make Kalifus Rising a well-rounded, solid choice for those craving a new type of adventure.”
—Foreword Reviews FIVE STAR review
“ Adams is a master of exposition, never letting it slow the narrative by immersing it in rapid-fire dialogue . . . Indelible characters, both good and evil, and a rescue storyline that refuses to dawdle.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“ This series will do well with the Percy Jackson crowd and fans of Norse mythology.”
—School Library Journal
For the Raven God:
“ A fast-paced, satisfying capper to a trilogy that’s sure to enchant fans of adventure-driven fantasy.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“ A fantasy-filled tale of courage and redemption, revenge and remorse, The Raven God captivates with colorful characters and rich Norse legends.”
—Foreword Review
“ Gorgeously written, The Raven God delivers a fresh, lively fantasy with enough twists and turns to keep a young reader captivated. Sam, Mavery, and Perrin, tasked with saving Odin, make for delightful heroes. Set against magical ships, powerful witches, and determined armies, the three must summon both courage and smarts if they are to reach their goal. In the end, the three discover that the power of friendship is perhaps the greatest weapon of all. A magical read filled with other-worldly beings both good and evil—and always entertaining.”
—Jennifer Gooch Hummer, award-winning author of Girl Unmoored and Operation Tenley
The Blue Witch
Copyright © 2018 Alane Adams
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint,
A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC
Tempe, Arizona, USA, 85281
www.gosparkpress.com
Published 2018
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-943006-77-9 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-63152-461-5 (e-bk)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954280
Illustrations by Jonathan Stroh
Interior design by Tabitha Lahr
All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For Maddux
Prologue
The two riders raced through woods shrouded in mist and hanging moss. Odin, the most powerful god in all of Asgard, urged his steed Sleipnir on. Sleipnir’s eight legs pounded the ground sounding like drumbeats. Wind whipped at Odin and the woman grip-ping his waist.
Vor, Goddess of Wisdom, spoke in Odin’s ear. “Hurry,” she urged.
“Sleipnir can’t see.”
Vor whispered a string of words and the clouds above them parted, allowing the full moon to light the way. Odin clucked to Sleipnir until the thunder of hooves was deafening.
A burst of blinding green light led them to a clearing where a cloud of acrid smoke hung.
“We’re too late,” Odin said.
A black-haired woman wearing a heavy cloak lay sprawled on the forest floor. Odin took in the burn marks and deep scoring of claws that marred the trees. A battle had taken place here.
Odin helped Vor down. The seer’s pale blonde hair flowed in a curtain down her back. Her sightless eyes were milky white, yet she saw more than any other being in Asgard.
She knelt by the woman, checking for signs of life, then shook her head.
A baby let out a wail.
Odin searched for the source of the noise, parting a swath of bushes. Tucked into the nook of a hollow trunk lay a babe swaddled in a blanket. A glowing bubble of energy encircled her. He waved his hand, wiping away the protective field, and lifted the child.
The baby fretted, reaching up to grab Odin’s beard. He gently pried her fingers away and held her out.
“Well?”
Vor placed a hand on the baby’s head, then nodded. “This is the child I saw in my vision.”
A heavy weight settled on Odin as he cradled the child.
And so it begins.
“She can’t stay with us,” Vor said softly. “When the other gods find out what she is, they will banish her.”
Vor spoke true. The witches were the least liked of any creature in Odin’s nine realms. Long ago, an ancient he-witch named Rubicus had cursed the sun and nearly destroyed every living thing. His daughter, Catriona, had carried on his vengeance, waging war with mankind until Odin had no choice but to rid mankind’s world of magic forever.
The benevolent king of Orkney, Hermodan, had offered part of his kingdom as sanctuary, a handful of islands that Odin could lift from earth and cast into the Ninth Realm. Every magical thing, creature, stick, and stone had gone with it, including the witches. Odin would have left the hateful witches behind to lose their powers forever, but Hermodan had believed there was some good to be found in them.
Odin smiled down at the babe. She had fallen asleep in his arms. Downy raven hair covered her head.
Poor thing. Too young to have already suffered so much loss.
He looked at Vor, deciding. “I will send her to the Tarkana Creche. She is one of them. They will see to her upbringing.”
Vor grimaced. “They will turn her into a witch.”
“She is already a witch.”
“I mean they’ll turn her into one of them, a heartless cold fish.”
The babe opened her eyes, giving Odin a sleepy smile. Emerald eyes stared back at him. But in the center of her pupils there was a spark, like a shining star. Something hopeful stirred in him.
“Perhaps she’ll be the one to change the witches,” he said.
Vor’s face softened. “Time will tell. Who will take her to them? The witches despise you; don’t put that on her.”
Odin whistled softly, and a small green-furred creature emerged from the trees. It had long floppy ears, almond-shaped eyes, and s
pindly limbs. It scampered across the clearing and dropped into a low bow.
“Yes, Your Highest?”
Odin placed the babe in the furry creature’s arms. “Fetch, I am entrusting this child to you. Take her to the Tarkana Creche and leave her with a witch named Old Nan. She has a soft spot in her cold heart.”
Fetch nodded, bowing low before scurrying off with the baby.
“Do you think she will be safe?” Vor asked.
Odin watched them go with a pang. “The prophecy has begun. Until it is completed, we are all in great danger.”
Chapter 1
Abigail marched toward the iron gates of the Tarkana Fortress, holding her chin high. She wasn’t going to cry, not today, even though Old Nan had tied her braids so tight her scalp stung.
The Creche wasn’t her home anymore.
The other girls had been fawned over by proud mothers as they gathered their things and tried on crisp new uniforms.
Abigail had sat on her bed, waiting quietly.
Honestly, it didn’t bother her that she didn’t have a mother. A witch didn’t have much use for one.
Newborn witchlings were left at the Creche to be raised by lesser witches like Old Nan. Mothers visited three times a year: once on Promotion Day, again on a girl’s birthday, and a special visit on Yule Day, when they would bring a small gift and drink cinnamon cocoa by the fire.
Those days, Abigail hid in the shadows, watching as the other witchlings glowed under the attention of these strange and powerful creatures.
At age nine, witchlings were sent off to the famed Tarkana Witch Academy, inside the coven’s walled fortress, to be trained in the art of witchery.
She came to a stop outside the entrance, gripping her small valise in one hand. Gloomy clouds had gathered in a knot overhead. Her new uniform itched her neck, and she tugged at the collar.
All she had to do was take two steps, and she would be inside the gates and on her way to becoming a great witch.
She tried to slide her foot forward, but it stubbornly remained stuck in place.
A pair of girls rushed past, practically flying through the open gates.
Glaring down at her foot, Abigail whispered, “Don’t be a silly droopsy-daisy. Today is a new beginning.”
Her foot wavered in the air like a dowsing rod, but before she could take the step, someone shoved her to the ground.
“Outta my way!” a stout-faced witchling bellowed. A lanky girl skulked alongside her.
Glorian and Nelly. The two were part of a trio that stuck together like tree sap in summer. Which meant . . .
Yep.
Behind them, a girl sailed along with her nose in the air as if she were royalty. Endera. The most horrible witchling in the entire Tarkana coven.
Endera paused to smile sweetly down at Abigail. “Aren’t you clumsy as a blind sneevil?”
The other girls snickered, and the trio swept on through the gates.
Abigail picked pebbles out of her torn stockings, biting back tears. They had been friends once, she and Endera, but something had changed. Now, Endera treated Abigail as if she were worm dust.
Abigail stood, gripping her valise, and started limping toward the gates, when a rumbling growl made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Turning her head to the side, she spied something rustling in the bushes. Something large and hairy. She could just make out a pair of eyes watching her—dark eyes that glowed with malice.
Her throat went dry. She couldn’t move. If she took another step, she was certain that thing would pounce on her.
And then a stern woman with a pointed chin appeared at the gate, beckoning Abigail with long fingers.
“Move it along, child, or you’ll find yourself locked out until next year.”
The thing in the bushes quietly retreated, and Abigail could breathe again. She quickly moved inside the gates.
A throng of chattering witchlings, all clutching suitcases, was assembled in a courtyard in front of an imposing gray building with GREAT HALL carved into its head-stone. Across the courtyard, an overgrown garden invited exploring with pebble-lined walking paths that wound through the mass of brambles and trees.
Next to the Great Hall, a bronzed sign announced the Tarkana Academy, a maze of low buildings with arched corridors lined with classrooms. Older witch-lings hung out of open doors, whispering and staring at the new girls.
The stern witch who had bidden Abigail inside climbed the steps of the Great Hall. She turned at the top, her gaze moving slowly over each of them. Silence spread as the girls waited for her to speak.
“Welcome, firstlings. I am Madame Vex, headmistress. Make no mistake, this is not the Creche. You will not be coddled here. We have assembled the finest teachers to instruct you in the art of witchery. Do well, and you will move on. Fail to impress, and you will be sent back to the Creche.”
Her eyes fell on Abigail, lingering.
Abigail swallowed the lump in her throat as Madame Vex went on.
“The witchling with the highest marks on Yule Day will be named Head Witchling of her class, a great honor that I myself once claimed. Now, before you meet your teachers, let us go over the rules. Rule number one: no running, ever. It is unbecoming a witch. Rule number two: never go into the swamps outside these walls without permission. A wandering girl could get lost, or worse. Rule number three: no one is allowed into the dungeons. They have been closed for centuries and are overrun with hungry rathos.”
She stepped to the side, and behind her, four witches of varying ages marched out of the shadows of the Great Hall.
Madame Vex extended her arm. “Madame Barbosa will instruct you in your ABCs—Animals, Beasts, and Creatures.”
Madame Barbosa wore a flowing gown of multi-colored stripes. Her face had a feline look, with high cheekbones and slanted eyes. She flared her skirts out and dipped in a half curtsy.
Madame Vex moved on to a bone-faced woman with not an ounce of cheer.
“Madame Arisa will be your Spectacular Spells instructor.”
Madame Arisa sniffed a greeting and then snapped her fingers, disappearing in a cloud of purplish smoke.
The witchlings all gasped.
Up next was a plump witch with a wide stripe of white running through her raven hair.
“Madame Radisha will be teaching you Positively Potent Potions,” Madame Vex announced.
“Welcome, witchlings, welcome.” Madame Radisha waved her hands in the air. Her fingers were covered in dazzling gemstone rings.
Last was a wizened hag bent over nearly double. Gnarled hands rested on a four-legged contraption strung with the bones of tiny animals.
“The History of Witchery will be taught by our eldest member, Madame Greef.”
The old witch bobbed her head, baring blackened gums in a toothless smile.
The headmistress turned back to the girls and clapped her hands. “Pair up and find a partner to room with. Madame Radisha will escort you to the dormitory. You have one hour to unpack and then assemble in the Dining Hall.”
“Quickly girls, find a match,” Madame Radisha trilled.
Witchlings scrambled, linking arms and pairing up. Abigail hunted for a friendly face. She spied Minxie, a cross-eyed girl who had sometimes eaten lunch with her back at the Creche.
Abigail waved and Minxie began to raise her hand, but Endera stepped in between, shoving Minxie toward another witchling.
Abigail let her hand drop. The lawn cleared until she was the only girl left.
Madame Radisha put an arm around her shoulder.
“Lucky you, the odd girl out gets the attic room,” she said brightly. “Perfect fit for one, and you don’t have to share.”
She marched Abigail over to the dormitory tower, a tall round building with bands of ivy wrapped around gray stone.
They ducked through a low door and entered the main room. Bookshelves crammed with thick tomes lined the walls. A couple of low sofas and tables were occupied by older girl
s studying. In the center of the room, a narrow set of spiral stairs led to the upper floors.
“Top of the stairs, dear, you can’t miss it.” Madame Radisha gave Abigail a gentle shove.
Abigail dragged her valise up floor after floor, ignoring the giggling girls who ran room to room, shouting out dibs.
At the top, she pushed open a narrow door. The room was dusty and lined with cobwebs. It held a small iron bed, a rickety desk, and a pile of bedding.
She set her valise down and began to unpack, thinking about that beast in the shrubs. It might have been a Shun Kara. The fearsome black wolves roamed the woods on Balfour Island.
Thankfully, she was safe inside the walls of the Tarkana Fortress. Nothing could get to her in here.
Chapter 2
Abigail glumly swirled the spoon around her bowl of porridge. Two weeks into the term and she still hadn’t made a single friend. It was like she had some kind of contagious disease. If a witchling so much as glanced Abigail’s way, Endera found a way to scare her off.
A shadow fell over her. She looked up with a hopeful smile then let it drop.
“That’s my seat,” Endera said.
“That’s right. It’s her seat, so shove off,” Glorian said.
“Or else I’ll be peeling your eyeballs loose,” Nelly added, waggling skinny fingers tipped with sharpened nails.
Abigail looked around the Dining Hall. There were two other empty tables. “There’s plenty of space, Endera.”
“That’s not the point. You’re sitting in my spot.”
Abigail sighed. She could argue, or she could move. She got up, lifting her tray, and headed for an open table, but Endera stuck her foot out. Abigail went flying, landing facedown in her bowl of porridge.
Anger rippled through her, sending strange tingles of energy down to her fingertips and toes. The other girls giggled as she got to her feet. Sticky bits of oats spattered her face.
Endera opened her mouth, probably to flap on about how Abigail was clumsy as a blind sneevil.
