The ogma stone, p.1
The Ogma Stone, page 1
Praise for the Author
Praise for the author’s
The Legends of Olympus series
“A recommended purchase, especially for libraries that already own the first title or where Greek mythology is popular.”
—School Library Journal
“An adventurous page turner.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“. . . a magnificent book with an exceptional and imaginative storyline that will keep you turning the page.”
—Kids Book Buzz
Praise for The Eye of Zeus
“With twists, loyalty between friends, and its cast’s cleverness, the middle grade fantasy The Eye of Zeus hits all the right notes.”
—Foreword Reviews
“This charming and brilliant novel is superbly plotted and will win over readers . . . Phoebe’s voice is dead on and authentic, as are those of her friends. The author’s masterful prose and style serve the story instead of merely taking center stage . . . This author and novel are ready for prime time and the big time.”
—Publishers Weekly, BookLife Prize Critic’s Report
“This first installment in Adams’ Legend of Olympus series is a nonstop, fast-paced adventure with an engaging, brave, and resourceful protagonist; fans of Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series, in particular, will likely enjoy it.”
—Kirkus Review
“A great addition to any library collection, with a fiery, smart protagonist readers will love.”
—School Library Journal
“Alane Adams delivers a sensational twist on Greek mythology with an adventure full of heart, action-packed moments fit for the legends, an emotional journey, and the strength of friendship . . . The Eye of Zeus is the perfect adventure that will give children a passion for mythology, a love of adventure, and introduces them to fun twists on classic myths.”
—Readers’ Favorite, five stars
Praise for the author’s
The Witches of Orkney series
“An enchanting new book full of magical mischief and adventure, Alane Adams’s The Blue Witch is guaranteed to please.”
—Foreword Clarion Reviews
“Adams’ concise prose delivers a quick read that’s packed with colorful characters and subplots.. . . Returning illustrator Stroh’s bold black-and-white artwork, as in the previous book, perfectly captures the author’s stunningly detailed world.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Copyright © 2024 Alane Adams
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address SparkPress.
Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint,
A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC
Phoenix, Arizona, USA, 85007
www.gosparkpress.com
Published 2024
Printed in the United States of America
Print ISBN: 978-1-68463-184-1
E-ISBN: 978-1-68463-185-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023915565
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 Henry Thomas
May you grow up to love reading.
q Prologue r
Ancient Days
Isle of Galaway
The Dagda watched from the hilltop as the battle raged below. Tongues of white fire streaked across the battlefield. His people were being cut down like stalks of wheat by the Fomorian barbarians who wanted power at any cost. Not even the mighty Zel, shadow elves with fearsome power who fought on the side of mankind, could stop their advance. The Zel used their shadowing abilities to forge themselves into deadly weapons against the Fomorian sorcerers, who wielded magic with a ferocity he’d never seen.
The Fomorian leader, Balor the First, possessed a power- ful weapon, a malignant eye that could blaze a path through the ranks. If it didn’t tax him so completely to wield it, the battle would already be over.
Next to the Dagda, his brother Ogma put his hand on his shoulder. “At this rate, there will be no one left alive.”
“They can’t help themselves,” the Dagda sighed. “The Fomorians hunger for power while our people fight to survive.”
“There’s a way to put an end to this you know.”
The Dagda frowned. As leader of the Tuatha de Danann, he recognized that though they were not as power- ful as some of their brethren gods, their responsibility to those under their charge was no less. But he shook his head. “You know the gods are not meant to intervene in the workings of man.”
Anger mottled Ogma’s face. “Imagine there are only bodies left on the field. Would you stand by and do nothing as your people all die?”
“If it became known what we possessed, even the noblest of them would go mad to possess it,” the Dagda snapped back. “You should have never brought it into the world of man. The risk is too great.”
“Leaving it behind was worse! Imagine what would happen if it fell into the hands of someone more powerful than you and I. The gods are always squabbling, eager to find a way to one up another.”
“You should have never pried into their secrets,” the Dagda retorted. “T’was folly.”
“In their vanity they couldn’t help but share their secrets knowing that I alone could read what was written. But I fear you may be correct. It is too much power, one that presents a grave danger. Only now it is too late for regrets. Not when we can use it to save our people.”
The Dadga shook his head, his voice cracking as he spoke. “What if . . . what if they don’t want to be saved?”
“Then they are fools. If we do not act, who will remember us? Who will be left to carry on our traditions?”
A cloud passed over the Dagda’s lined face. “It is opening a cauldron of trouble.”
At the slightest hint of hesitation, his brother seized the moment. “I will find a way to turn the tide.” He stepped back, revealing an oblong stone the color of blue lapis standing knee-high next to a narrow stream. The stone was inscribed along every edge with Ogma’s secret language.
The Dagda stared at it, his heart filled with fear and the knowledge that Ogma was right. “When it is finished, we must destroy it.”
Ogma hesitated, and then nodded. “Agreed.”
He knelt in front of the stone, running his fingers over the words, muttering to himself until he found what he searched for.
“Beathra.”
As he spoke the word inscribed on the stone, it glowed as if lit by an internal fire.
Ogma pressed his palm against the stone and closed his eyes. “May the power of the gods let life be restored to my people so that they might rise up and take arms again.”
A sharp wind blew across the field. Then a loud wail escaped the stone, filling the air with a screeching sound. The fighting paused as all turned at the interruption. Even Balor lowered his eyelid, chest heaving as he studied the new threat.
The stone suddenly went quiet. The Dagda waited, his breath caught in his chest.
Would it work?
Would it change things?
Or make them worse?
And then at his feet, the stream bubbled up and rivulets of water broke the dry earth and zigzagged their way toward the plain. Down on the field, the Fomorian warriors were growing restless, unaware of the rivulets of water that found the lifeless bodies of the Dagda’s people and arrowed directly into their agape mouths.
Tired of waiting, Balor roared, “Attack!”
But before his army of sorcerers and trained soldiers could move, one of the fallen men sat up with a shuddering gasp, rubbing his head. Then another. One by one, scores of Zel and the men and women who’d fought with them climbed to their feet, looking around in a moment of confusion and then realizing where they were, searching for their weapons as ready to fight as they were before they were struck down.
The newly reformed army surged forward, overrunning the depleted Fomorians and sending them into a hasty retreat.
“Did you . . . are they . . . immortal?” the Dagda asked fearfully, awed by the power.
“No. Life was restored to them, but they remain mortal.”
From his vantage point, the Dagda caught sight of Balor. He stared directly at them across the valley, even though the distance appeared too far for a normal man to see.
A shudder ran through the Dagda as Ogma crowed out their victory. Balor knew they had interfered. He would poke and pry until he discovered their secret.
“Quickly, Ogma. Destroy it.”
Ogma nodded. Raising the stone over his head, he brought it down on a boulder, aiming to shatter it, but the stone bounced off unharmed. Again and again he tried to break it into pieces, even taking his chisel to it, the same chisel he had used to inscribe the words into, but the stone remained impervious to their efforts.
“It won’t be destroyed,” Ogma said. “It’s gained its own powers.”
&nbs
q Chapter 1 r
Kingdom of Galaway
Present Day
Seeth stood on the edge of the barren cliff, his face turned toward the sun as cool mist dampened his skin. Far below, the ocean crashed against the base, beating itself senselessly against the impenetrable stone. Inching his feet forward, Seeth let his toes pass over the edge. He teetered above the dizzying drop, heart pounding in his chest, and then spread his arms wide and let himself fall.
Wind whipped against his cheeks and burned his eyes as he plummeted down the face of the cliff. He held his arms open, feeling like a wild bird in flight. Near the bottom, he folded his body into a pike position, holding it for a long moment before stretching out into a knife blade to pierce the water in a smooth move. The cold struck like an iron fist, leaving him gasping. He surfaced, shaking the hair from his eyes then looked back up the cliff. A distant russet-colored head appeared peering down at him.
Seeth punched the air with his fist. “Now you, Dewan!”
His best friend Dewan stood hesitantly on the edge. He turned his head away, as if he were speaking to someone. Then suddenly Dewan tumbled into space, arms flailing.
“Dewan, be careful!”
His friend was falling perilously close to the jagged walls. What had he been thinking? He should have vaulted out away from the jutting rocks. Then Seeth had his answer.
Arkin.
His brother’s dark head peered over the edge. Seeth did not have time to yell at him. Shifting into his shadow form, he shot up the cliff face in a black streak and covered an outcrop of rock, hardening his shadow into a protective layer to take the brunt of the blow. Dewan bounced off his back and careened down, hitting the water with a loud slap.
The breath was knocked out of Seeth, but he released the rock, shifting back to his human form, and dropped to where Dewan floated face down. He turned his friend over. The boy was pale and unmoving. Seeth grabbed his chin, shaking him hard.
“Dewan. Come on.”
Relief filled him as Dewan coughed, thrashing the water in sudden panic.
“What—what happened?”
From high above the clifftop, laughter rang out. Arkin stood pointing down at them. A slender woman with long black hair perched next to him, her hand on his shoulder.
Silvana. Arkin’s latest conquest.
Seeth’s stomach coiled with dislike. Silvana was Fomorian, a nasty race of sorcerers who had been banished to Skellig Rock, a small island just south of Galaway centuries ago after being defeated in battle. Her father, Balor the Third, remained in power by virtue of possessing a single malignant eye that could incinerate a man where he stood. The eye, a product of a secret potion created by ancient druids, had been handed down from father to son.
Silvana had arrived on a ship one day six weeks ago announcing her intention to foster goodwill, and now Arkin followed her around like a puppy dog, seemingly blind to her bewitching tactics.
“Ignore him,” Seeth said. “Come on.” They swam to the bottom of the cliff and pulled themselves up on some rocks, shaking off the water like wet seals.
“You saved me.” Dewan shivered from the cold. His pale skin was covered with a liberal dose of freckles. Red hair sprouted in wild disarray from his head. A bloody scrape ran along his leg.
Seeth put his head between his knees, trying to slow his heart rate. His brother had nearly killed Dewan. That was too far even for Arkin. “It was nothing. Forget it.”
“What’s it like to shadow?”
Dewan was one of the ordinary human folk who called Galaway home. Seeth was a shadow elf known as the Zel, one of the few left.
He shrugged. “It’s like leaving everything in this world behind. You feel free, like you have no weight, and you can run as fast as an arrow shot from a bow. But with practice you can forge yourself into the hardest weapon.”
Dewan looked slyly at him. “But can you kiss a girl when you’re nothing but a shadow?”
“Maybe you should ask your sister,” Seeth flashed back, grinning as Dewan punched him on the arm. “Come on, race you back to the top.”
“No, we are not jumping again,” Dewan groaned, but Seeth had already leapt to his feet and started jogging up the narrow trail.
He ran quickly, his feet light and sure on the slippery stone, hoping to catch his brother before he rode off. At the top of the trail, Seeth spun in a circle, but there was only the sound of fading hoofbeats and mocking laughter carried on the wind. Sitting down to wait for Dewan, he stared out over the mottled blue sea.
At twenty, Arkin rarely acknowledged Seeth’s existence unless it was to remind him how unworthy he was. Born six years apart, Arkin was the rightful heir to the kingdom of Galaway. Seeth was just an afterthought, a product of the union between his father, King Lucius, and the kind nursemaid who had cared for Arkin after his own mother died giving birth to him. Like Arkin, Seeth had lost his mother before he could crawl. The poor woman had fallen to her death in a tragic accident.
Seeth tried to like his brother, but Arkin had hated him from the moment he’d been born. At the age of two, Seeth had nearly drowned after an unseen hand pushed him into the sea. At four, Seeth had been left on the open moors in a freezing storm. By the age of six, Seeth had learned to avoid Arkin, but the torment continued, and now he was taking it out on Seeth’s friends.
Arkin could do nothing openly to harm Seeth while their father lived, but what would happen when their father passed? The king was old now, sick with a cough that never ended. The blustering winters of Galaway took a toll. Tucked away in this remote corner of the Ninth Realm, it was like they were a forgotten land, overlooked and ignored by all.
These tiny Aran Islands: Galaway, Skellig Rock, and the Druid’s island, Tartus, had been dragged into Odin’s Ninth Realm when Odin had banished magic from the world of men. Their ancient gods, the Tuatha De Danann, had sent their islands along to protect their magic. Seeth knew they were meant to feel grateful, to have been allowed to preserve their way of life, but at times the world felt small, as if time stood still more than it passed.
The Fomorians had long ago been defeated in battle and driven out to Skellig Rock to live in exile. But with the Tuatha gone, the Fomorians hatred of Galaway had grown until it had erupted in yet another protracted war that had only ended when Seeth’s father had struck a deal that had terrible consequences.
Seeth sighed as Dewan caught up to him, out of breath and red-faced. He would deal with his brother when the day came. For now, there was a cliff to dive off.
q Chapter 2 r
Seeth’s quarters were located above the stables. The small room suited him just fine. It was warm and dry, and the horses were good company. He woke at sunrise to visit with his father. Jumping down the ladder to the barn floor, he pumped water into a basin and splashed his face as the rooster let out the first crow of the day.
It was best to visit before Arkin arose. Seeing Seeth with their father always upset him. Seeth had taken to visiting as the fingers of dawn crept across the moors, wheeling his father to the terrace to watch the sun break over the purple heath. They would talk endlessly about the tales of Galaway back when his father had fought in the great battles against the Fomorians, before the peace treaty had been forged.
He bit into an apple as the king recounted an old memory. “Those Fomorian devils called on the kelpies, Seeth. Have I told you about the kelpies?”
Seeth smiled. He had heard the story a hundred times, but he shook his head. “Tell me again.”
His father settled back in his chair, watery blue eyes shining in a heavily lined face that bore the scars of battle and age. Wispy gray hair flowed over his shoulders, but he held himself stiffly upright as he told the tale. “The Fomorians had these devil horses that were monsters. You could always tell a kelpie by its mane. It would be dripping wet as if it had just come from the sea and tangled with seaweed. It would invite you to jump on its back with its siren call, but you must never ride a kelpie.” He shook a wavering finger at Seeth in warning. “They head straight out into the sea, galloping across the waves as if they can fly. Then they dive down and take you to their underwater lair to eat the flesh from your bones.”
