The Midwest Wanderer

by Flint Maxwell

  “If the Stones were to remake that song, they’d change the lyrics to ‘You can’t always eat a hot Hot Pocket.”

  “Clever.”

  “I thought so.”

  Patsy walked up to the desk and saw the dancing Tic-Tacs. “I guess this is where being patient gets you.”

  “No, this is where being bored gets you. Big difference. Earl taught me this one. Watch.”

  The Tic-Tacs suddenly stacked atop one another, stretching about two feet up in the air. One by one, the top breath mint jumped into the open plastic box until only two were left. These two landed on Patsy’s plate.

  Lois pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You might need these after you eat that Hot Pocket,” she said with a smirk.

  Patsy smiled. “Thank you! You read my mind.”

  “Not part of my magic skill set.” Lois winked.

  The phone rang, and Patsy scrambled to the old handset next to one of the computers and picked it up. “Paranormal Detective Agency, this is Patsy speaking. How may we assist you? Hello? Hello?”

  Lois pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, still ringing, and shook it at Patsy.

  ‘Whoops,’ Patsy mouthed.

  Lois answered the phone in a friendly voice, “Not you again.”

  “Yep, it’s me.”

  It was Lacey Trader, head of the Silver Griffins.

  “I’m not in trouble, am I?” Lois asked.

  Patsy hung on to Lois’s every word, curious who would be calling Lois on her cell phone during her shift. She was almost certain it wasn’t Earl.

  “Listen, Lois, I don’t have time to joke around,” Lacey began.

  “No, you’re not one for doing that, are you?”

  “Something big has happened.”

  “Enlighten me. My worldview on what’s big and small in the magical world is a bit skewed these days, since that nasty business with the necklace.”

  For a moment, Lacey didn’t say anything.

  Uh-oh, this must be big, Lois thought. “What’s going on? What’s big?”

  She sounded serious, which worried Patsy, her eyes wide.

  “We don’t know all of the facts yet, but there’s been a big magical battle in Ohio.”

  “The Silver Griffins don’t know all the facts yet? Hmm, that’s a first.”

  “That’s where you come in,” Lacey said, unamused. “I need you to check it out for us.”

  “I’m not a Silver Griffin anymore.”

  “Once a Silver Griffin, always a Silver Griffin.”

  “So they keep sayin’.”

  “It may be nothing. There was an Arachnid sighting that most people are writing off as a hoax. The battle happened in the wee hours of the night, so there weren’t many eyewitnesses.”

  “All it takes is one smart phone,” Lois said.

  “Exactly.”

  "I don't know… I hate leaving town."

  "Please, Lois? I'd do it myself, but we're swamped."

  Lois weighed that comment for a moment, then shook her head. If there was any way to get her to travel.

  “Oh, all right, Lacey. I’ll look into it. Where in Ohio?”

  “Akron.”

  A smile broke out on Lois’s face. “Akron? Haven’t been there in awhile.” She was wondering if an old Wizard friend of hers still lived there, when Lacey interrupted her thoughts.

  “Ignatius Mangood is the one you want to seek.”

  “Ignatius! Why didn’t you lead with that, Lacey? I haven’t talked to him in…God, way too long. Ah, him and Salem and Agnes. Good people.” Lois smiled broadly.

  “Good, you know them. We’ve had some unwanted magical activity up there lately; two Silver Griffins went missing, presumed dead.”

  Her smile faded.

  “Oh, no, this is serious.”

  Patsy tugged on Lois’s sleeve, mouthing, ‘What? What?’ Lois had to swivel away in her chair to get Patsy to quit bugging her.

  “We think the threat has been eradicated, but we need confirmation; we need to get to the bottom of it before things get too out of hand,” Lacey said. “Find Ignatius Mangood. If you can’t, then find Salem; he’ll know where Ignatius is. The two are practically inseparable, according to our files.”

  Lacey knows her stuff, Lois thought approvingly. Except for one thing…

  “Ignatius goes by ‘Ignatius Apple,’ now.”

  Lacey's chuckle lacked humor. “I’ll mark that down. Just do some investigating for us, Lois. Please. We’ll owe you one.”

  “Yes, you will. It’ll be good to catch up with old friends, but, just so you know, when you first said Ohio, I was thinking ‘that’s a big N-O from me.’ No one wants to go to Ohio.”

  “It’s nice this time of year,” Lacey replied. “It’s the winters you want to avoid.”

  “Good point. All right, Lacey, I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you, Lois. Add it to everything else we already owe you. Take care.”

  She hung up.

  “What was that?” Patsy demanded.

  “Silver Griffins want me to go check out a disturbance in Ohio.”

  “Ohio? What about the Paranormal Detective Agency?”

  “Things have been slow since that business with Rhazdon; you’ll be able to handle it until I get back.”

  Patsy sighed. “I’m going to be so bored.”

  “At least you don’t have to go to Ohio.” Lois gave her a wink.

  “When will you be back?”

  “Hopefully soon, if it’s not as big as Lacey thinks. We’ll see.” Lois got up, readjusting her glasses. “Now I have to go tell Earl. That should be fun.”

  “Good luck,” Patsy said as Lois walked out.

  I hope I won’t need it, Lois thought.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Arachnids were not supposed to know fear, but the two that had barely escaped the wrath of Ignatius Mangood were scared beyond belief.

  The robed Arachnid’s name was Palentar, and his friend—whose short and stocky physique kept him out of battle and in the blacksmith’s forge—was named Queret. These Arachnids were afraid because they had to report their findings in the ruined village of Dominion.

  Rumblings around the village of Dominion were slim to none., and they had been tasked with surveying the border; the instructions handed to them by the Widow’s second-in-command himself. They had never met the Widow, nor did they want to.

  But that was going to end tonight.

  If they didn’t report their findings, their punishment might be worse than death. Of course, there was always another option—one Palentar did not find pleasing. They could run; just up and leave behind their lives amongst the Arachnids, and set out for the world of Oriceran.

  The only problem was that Arachnids were considered vile creatures, and were not well liked throughout the rest of the world. Palentar couldn’t blame anyone for not liking his race, but he was smarter than the average Arachnid, he supposed. So smart, in fact, that his wits had led him to a colonel’s position in their vast army many years ago; however, that same wit had been the cause of his demotion. He had tried—unsuccessfully—to usurp the general. The punishment was to have been death by dismemberment, but luckily, his wits had gotten him out of that, as well.

  Now he turned to Queret, scowling, his fangs protruding. They stood at the edge of the Dark Forest. Somewhere, something that sounded like a crow, but wasn’t, cawed. Creatures moved unseen except for their glowing eyes; sticks and bramble snapped beneath their feet, and low growling rumbled in the darkness.

  Ah, home. Palentar could never leave here. It would be like a fish leaving water, a bird leaving the sky.

  “What?” Queret bellowed in response to Palentar’s scowl, his eight eyes crossing.

  “This is your fault, you know,” Palentar replied. “You should’ve killed the girl.”

  “We were outnumbered! And you saw with your eight eyes the same man I saw! Ignatius Mangood…” quietly, he added, “slayer of daemons.”


  “Fool. We are not to be frightened by men or wizards. We are superior in every respect.” Palentar held up all six of his arms and motioned to his legs, emphasizing how Arachnids were better equipped than man, who had only four limbs.

  “I know we are. I’m sorry. His light magic frightened me.”

  The truth was, the light magic had frightened Palentar, too—but he was smart enough not to admit it.

  He looked into Queret’s eyes with burning intensity. “You are to tell the Widow of your folly. I will say nothing.”

  Queret raised his arms to the dark sky and screamed. It was loud enough to rattle the trees above. Black leaves fell like broken-winged birds.

  Palentar swept his robe as he plunged forward into the forest, leading the way to the Widow’s lair.

  ***

  Palentar and Queret arrived at the Widow’s lair over two hours later.

  Two Arachnid guards descended from the nearby trees, their silky webs lowering them gracefully.

  “State your business,” one of the guards said. His eyes lit up as Palentar stepped forward. “Pal, wouldn’t expect you out here. Not since…” he trailed off.

  A low growl built up in the pit of Palentar’s stomach. He knew what the guard was about to bring up. You mustn’t let him get to you, Palentar scolded himself. After all, this creature—whose name he could not remember, though he recalled the hooked scar across his face, and who probably served underneath Palentar’s battalion in the Great Spider War—was nothing but a lowly guard.

  “Our business is our own,” Palentar said.

  “Sorry, Pal, it is not. Not when visiting the Widow.”

  Palentar glared, and the two Arachnids practically had a staring contest. About a minute passed before Queret stepped forward, his voice shaky.

  “Man,” he explained. “We saw man in the village nearby.”

  “Man?” the guard prodded, and the other guard righted himself from his strand of web, obviously taking an interest.

  “Not just any man,” Queret whispered. He brought a claw up to his mouth to cover his whisper—no one really knew what things were listening in the Dark Forest. Everything was evil; everything was an enemy. Even the trees had been known to take the lives of unlucky wanderers.

  “Who?” the guard wanted to know.

  “Ignatius Mangood.”

  The guards took a step back, their claws clanking on the hard rocky ground. They exchanged a look, then looked back at Queret and Palentar.

  “I mean it,” Queret said, but it was too late—the guards had burst out laughing. Their laughter was so loud, in fact, something fled from a nearby tree, rustling the leaves and chittering as it went.

  “Ignatius Mangood is long gone,” the other guard said. “Lost in the fires of the war for Dominion.”

  “No, he’s not. I saw him with my own eight eyes,” Queret said.

  “This true, Palentar?”

  Palentar nodded solemnly.

  The familiar guard narrowed his eyes. He’s not going to believe us, Palentar realized. The only way the guards would believe them was if Ignatius Mangood emerged from the shadows, right then and there, wielding his death stick and spouting blue fire.

  Palentar turned, flourishing his robes as he did so. They made a snapping sound, like an umbrella blown outward by a strong gust of wind.

  “Queret, let us go.”

  “But—” Queret protested.

  “Come!” When Palentar raised his voice, not many were known to disobey him; Queret least of all. Arachnids such as he were dependent on others at all times. “If these guards wish not to believe us, let them. It is their flesh that shall be feasted upon when the Widow learns of the news too late,” he claimed, loud enough for them to hear.

  They turned their backs to the guards and took about five steps away from the Widow’s lair before the familiar guard spoke up in a quavering voice.

  “Palentar, wait just a moment.”

  A smile spread across Palentar’s face. He turned back around, and Queret followed suit.

  “Do you swear it? Do you swear by the Black Stars of Onaugran that Ignatius Mangood is back on Oriceran and nearby?”

  Palentar said, “I do.”

  Queret echoed him.

  The guards exchanged another look between them. This time there was no humor in it. Fear, Palentar figured, and rightfully so. Men were vile beings. More often than not, they were easily disposed of; Ignatius Mangood was the last of a dying breed. He was no ordinary man. He, like many others of the village of Dominion, before they were killed, practiced magic that was long forgotten in the ages of time.

  Ignatius Mangood had survived the onslaught against Dominion with the help of that vile queen, Zimmy Ba, and now—Palentar had seen it in his eyes back in the village—Ignatius Mangood was out for revenge.

  There is perhaps nothing more dangerous than a man who possesses the power of magic looking for revenge. It was then that he realized Ignatius had left them alive on purpose, to spread word among the Arachnids that he smelled blood—their blood.

  “Then go in, Palentar, and give your news to the Widow. Just know your safety is not guaranteed,” the familiar guard said as he and his companion both stepped aside.

  Through a circular doorway draped with webbing, the two Arachnids entered the Widow’s lair. The first thing Palentar noticed was the stench. Even to an Arachnid, it was a smell worse than death, worse than the stink of man.

  The darkness was so complete that Palentar could not, for a moment, see where he was going. Then his eight eyes adjusted, and he saw they were in a vast hallway, which led downward.

  To the Gates of Hell, he thought.

  “What if she kills us?” Queret asked, his voice was still shaky. “What if she kills us and sends us to the Great Relief? I’m not ready for that, Pal. I have a long life ahead of me. I wanted to see the mountains. I wanted to stand atop them and shout out my fealty to the Widow.” He raised his voice slightly at the last part—probably hoping the Widow would hear him. Little did he know that the Widow heard and saw most everything; though since Malakai’s death at the hands of the young witch, she had not done much of anything besides mourn—not for the death of Malakai, but for the death of her chances to obtain the music box.

  Suddenly, a high voice sang into their ears. “Oh, my children, I won’t kill you.”

  The two Arachnids froze.

  “Come, come forward, my children. Let me look upon you with my own eyes.”

  It was the Widow.

  The darkness ebbed, replaced with a cold, greenish light. Palentar nudged Queret forward.

  There had only been one other time Palentar had come close to seeing the Widow. Many moons ago, after the victory over the village of Dominion, the generals were to be honored in a ceremony and decorated with the Chains of Insanity by the Widow herself. Palentar’s part in the battle had proven to be so instrumental that he’d been invited to the ceremony as well—but as poor luck would have it, his plans to overtake the generals were exposed, and he was demoted to watch duty—which, at the time, Palentar thought was worse than being banished to the Great Relief.

  “You come with news, my children, do you not?”

  Neither of them answered until Palentar nudged Queret again, this time, harder.

  “Uh…y-yes, Worship,” Queret answered.

  “Come forward,” the Widow said. Palentar got the impression that she was speaking with a grin on her face. “No harm will come to you. That, I promise.”

  Reluctantly, Queret stepped froward, and Palentar followed. They crossed the threshold of dark shadow and eerie green light into the Widow’s chambers. The little breath they held in their lungs was forced out of them upon gazing at the Widow’s lair.

  It was as vast as the empty sky. Have we traveled so far underneath the ground? Palentar thought not, but the towering walls said otherwise. They were made of ancient rock, worn and weathered by the ages. All over the walls were webs, some old, some fresh and shini
ng. The wrapped bodies of the Widow’s victims were stuck to these webs. From the shapes, they could tell they were creatures of the Dark Forest. No men, no Arachnids—at least they hoped.

  Beneath the webs were piles of bones; some were covered in soft green moss, others were shiny with fresh blood, and some were so old, they looked as if they’d crumble into dust at the slightest touch. This struck the two as odd; Arachnids were not eaters of meat. They, like the spiders of Earth, spun their webs around their victims to drain them of their blood later.

  Is the Widow beyond that? He had, of course, heard the rumors—she was from another planet, not of Earth, not of Oriceran, but of some Great Beyond. She had come into power by feasting on the flesh of man, Orc, Goblins, and anything else she could get her legs on. But those are just rumors…right?

  The floor was of the same stone as the walls, except it was stained with the dark red and black of blood. Splashes here, splashes there. At the end of the great room were steps leading up to a platform.

  Palentar tried to imagine himself atop that platform, surrounded by this horrible smell and the corpses of dead creatures, and couldn’t do it. Perhaps that strange thing called destiny was behind it. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to stand on those steps; perhaps he was meant to hang from the webs instead.

  The thought caused him to shudder.

  The fear was back; the emotion that wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

  “Now, speak, my child Queret,” the Widow said.

  How does she know my name? Queret thought. Words would not escape his mouth. His tongue felt frozen.

  “I know all the names of those in my kingdom. Now, speak.”

  Palentar thought there was a certain viciousness present in her voice this time. He took a step backward.

  “Well, your highness, your worshipfulness…uh, well, see—a”

  Scrabbling came from above them. Palentar looked up and wished he hadn’t.

  The Widow was descending from the darkness. She was huge—bigger than any Woolenite from trunk to tail. How her web supported her massive body, Palentar had no idea. Her shadow dwarfed over them.