With the final word, she closed her eyes. Please, mother. I need your help. The white stone at her chest sent out a blinding light into the center of their ball of witch-fire, and with a sudden whoosh, the two balls became one, turning bright white and growing even larger as it descended on the he-witch.
Vertulious backpedaled, trying to escape it, but he couldn’t outrun the ball of white fire that consumed him. His arms spread out as he was held in the center of it. They could see his body shaking and jerking about inside the glowing ball of fire.
The teardrop stone glowed brighter and brighter at Abigail’s chest until, with a blinding flash, it exploded, shattering the necklace into pieces that fell at her feet.
Abigail dropped her arms. The other witchlings did the same, all panting with exertion.
The massive ball of witchfire winked out.
Vertulious swayed left, then right, then fell forward. From the pocket of his robe, a red apple rolled.
“We did it.” Abigail looked at Endera. For once, the girl gave a small smile, then quickly looked away. Glorian whooped and slapped Nelly on the back.
Safina frowned. “What’s he doing?”
Abigail turned. Robert had walked over to the unconscious Vertulious, taken the gauntlets and Belt of Strength off him, and strapped them on.
“Robert—no!”
“Release the hammer,” he shouted at Utgard-Loki. The giant opened his hand, and the hammer flew to Robert.
“Now I’m going to fix things.” The boy raised the weapon. “I am going to erase this parasite from this world—scatter him in so many pieces he will be nothing more than dust motes in the wind.”
Vertulious raised his head, still weakened from the witchlings’ attack. His hand reached for the apple, but Robert kicked the fruit aside. He stood over the he-witch, prepared to release the hammer, but Abigail stepped between them.
“No. You cannot use that against a witch.”
Robert waved the hammer at her. “Step aside, Abigail, or I will throw this right through you.”
“No, you won’t … you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will start a new war, and then it will never end. I will deal with him, I promise. Put it down.”
Robert wavered, then lowered the hammer.
Abigail turned to Vertulious. “You can’t win. Surrender, and we’ll find a way to make peace.”
The old alchemist staggered to his feet. His hair hung over his face, and his robe was singed and torn. “They will destroy us all,” he said to the witches, who stood staring. He took a lurching step forward. “We cannot surrender now.”
“No. They will make peace, won’t you?” Abigail pleaded as Lord Barconian rode up and dismounted from his horse. The Orkadian soldier looked torn.
“Father, peace is what we want, is it not?” Robert asked.
He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes. We will make peace if Hestera will agree.”
“No! Hestera is not in charge of this coven. I am!” Vertulious shouted, calling up another ball of witchfire. He tried to fling it at Lord Barconian but a bolt of lightning struck the ground at his feet.
A golden-haired god broke through the throng of soldiers, riding on a chariot pulled by two fierce-looking goats. He skidded to a halt, jumped down, and strode over to them.
“Hand over Mjolnir now, or none will leave this field alive.” Thunder rumbled, and lightning swirled over their heads.
Robert set the hammer down, then took off the gauntlets and Belt of Strength and handed them over to the god. Thor strapped them on and held his hand out. The hammer flew to his hand, and he quickly sheathed it at his side.
Thor breathed a sigh of relief before turning to glare accusingly at Abigail. “You stole my hammer and deceived me using the name of a dear friend.”
“I didn’t want to,” Abigail said. “It was for a good reason.”
“To what end? To use my hammer for war?”
“No, to stop a war!” she cried. “Please believe me. I wanted to find a way to bring balance. Vertulious had too much power—without Odin’s Stone, there could never be peace.”
“You are a witch, are you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“And did you not steal it that your coven might destroy these innocent people?”
“No!” Hugo and Robert said at once.
Robert stepped forward. “I am Robert Barconian, Son of Odin, and I stand for her. She wouldn’t let me use it to finish off that one.” He pointed at Vertulious. “She said it would only bring more war.”
The god frowned at the huddled figure, his brows drawing together. “Who is that? It can’t be …”
“That’s Vertulious,” Abigail said. “An ancient alchemist who was brought back to life.”
“Of course, I know him.” Thor stalked forward, gripped Vertulious by his robes, and hauled him close. “He stole one of my father’s sacred apples. I confronted him, but he disappeared into some kind of spellbook.”
“This spellbook.” Abigail retrieved the spellbook from where she had placed it. “He’s the reason Odin’s Stone was destroyed. He discovered the formula to create an apple of the gods.” Clasping the spellbook, she picked up the apple that had fallen from Vertulious’s pocket and handed it to the god. “It restored him, and then he planted a tree with the seeds. He’s determined to wage war with the Orkadians.”
“So you thought it all right to use my hammer to settle things?” Thor rolled the apple around in his hand. “My father should have never brought these islands into this realm. I’ve told him that many times.”
“But he did,” Abigail said, “because he cared about the people. Even the witches,” she added. “There were those that saw good in them.”
“Well, they were wrong, weren’t they?” Thor said. “Look at where you are now—all I see is the same power-hungry evil that has always been there. I don’t see any good witches.”
“There aren’t many,” she agreed. “But surely one is reason enough to hope.”
Chapter 29
The god stared silently at her. “The matter of war shall not be settled with my hammer. You must find a way for agreement among yourselves, or I will have to report to my father that his experiment of bringing magical creatures into Asgard is a failure.”
“We can agree, right, Robert?” Abigail turned to him.
“That’s up to your coven, isn’t it?” he said.
“And your father.”
Lord Barconian stepped forward. “I am always willing to discuss peaceful negotiations.”
“The witches will never stop,” the Eifalian named Gael said as he joined them.
“No, the witchling is right,” Lord Barconian said. “Where there is one who believes in peace, there is hope. Hestera, what say you to another chance at harmony between us? Resume our lives and coexist?”
Hestera hobbled forward, leaning heavily on her cane. “War was never my idea. It was always that Vertulious.”
“Madame,” her lieutenant pleaded at her side. “The Balfin army is the finest in the land. We can defeat them with our sheer might.”