Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  But if she had listened, she did not show it.

  Her own thoughts were on what she could do next.

  Show me, she willed the Blood Tree. Show me my next move.

  Nothing happened.

  The tree was spent. It had shown her more than it ever had. Perhaps Orc blood was rich in nutrients, or perhaps the Blood Tree just had a penchant for their sickening taste. She didn’t know, but she did know she was out of Orcs and out of options.

  She turned to Jinxton and saw the fear written on his face. Compassion came over her. It was an alien emotion that she hadn’t experienced since long before being changed by her meddling with the world in between, and her sacrifices to an ancient, dark magic.

  “Go,” she said to him. “Go and leave me in peace while I think on our next move.”

  Jinxton didn’t protest. He bowed slightly and crossed the legs protruding out of his upper torso in the sign of the Arachnids, then turned and left.

  When he had gone, and the Widow was left to the great, empty silence of her lair—the only company being the piles of bones and corpses in the corner, and the Blood Tree in front of her—another emotion gripped the back of her mind. Sadness.

  “My King,” she said quietly to the Blood Tree. If there was any way for Arazon, the Great King of the Arachnids, to hear her on this mortal plane, it was through the Blood Tree. “My King, what do I do? The music box is no longer in sight, and the Earthling bitch grows stronger as my army and I grow weaker. I fear I will never again see you in the flesh. I fear that—”

  The tree opened up in front of her, the trunk splitting down the middle. Inside, she saw a beating heart, lungs expanding and contracting, veins, and nerves.

  “What is this?”

  The tree closed again, and from it came the deep, thrumming voice of her long-lost king.

  “The answer is simple, my Queen.”

  “Arazon?”

  She inched forward, sliding her massive body closer and closer to the opening in the wall that contained the Blood Tree.

  “It is I,” Arazon replied, his voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

  “Where are you?”

  “You know where I am,” Arazon’s voice said.

  Slowly, the Widow brought her arm up to her breast where her massive heart beat wildly.

  “Yes, in there, my Queen, but I am also in here.”

  “The world in between.”

  “Yes. And there is a way you can get me out.”

  “I’ve been trying for many years, my King. I have. And I dream of you every night. I long to be in your arms again.”

  “You will be, my Queen. You will be, but time is short.”

  “How so?”

  “A great enemy rises here. He has only spared my life because of what I promised him.”

  “Spared your life, Arazon? How so? One cannot die in the world in between.”

  “No, they cannot, but they can suffer. This dark enemy knows power beyond what our minds can comprehend. I do not doubt that it possesses the ability to cast me out and kill me in the mortal plane, and I have no doubt that the dark fiend will send me wherever it so pleases when the afterlife dawns on me.”

  “No,” the Widow said, breathless.

  “ ‘No’ is right. I do not want that any more than you do.”

  “Tell me what to do. Tell me where I need to go.”

  She could already feel the connection between her and her lost love slipping away. The sacrifice given to the Blood Tree would only last so long; soon it would need more blood to carry on. She was prepared to give it her own. Though her blood was tainted and might be rejected by the great Blood Tree. It might even be taken as an insult, and the tree would never impart its wisdom and power to her ever again. She couldn’t have that.

  Instead of telling the Widow what to do, her lost king showed her.

  The air shimmered once more as the tree disappeared and gave way to a completely different environment. In the image, which was nothing but a lightning flash of information that seemed to last an eternity, the sun beat down upon a clearing. Mountains rose in the background, mountains the Widow remembered from her days above the surface. Surrounding the clearing were abnormal trees, tall, brooding, ominous.

  The Dark Forest. Ashes, it has been too long since I’ve looked upon my own domain.

  Something caught her eye. It was a strong figure in a dirty, gray robe. On his back, the great sword that had slain her people in the first Spider War gleamed in the filtered light, despite the shadow hiding the man.

  “Ignatius Mangood,” the Widow growled.

  There was something in his hands, as well. If not the sword, then what?

  He stabbed the earth with a soft grunt, stamped down on the instrument with the sole of his boot, and grunted again. He is digging. But what for?

  Then, as if the gods had heard her mental question, Ignatius shifted, letting his shoulders stoop. With the back of his forearm, bare because his sleeves were rolled up, he wiped the sweat away from his brow. But the Widow was focused on the bundle lying next to him, opposite of the growing pile of dirt. A smile came over the Widow’s face.

  A loved one.

  “Daughter,” the King’s voice answered, startling the Widow. “His daughter, Zimmy Ba.”

  “Ah, yes, the one who came into possession of the music box. The one who thought she was powerful enough to manipulate the world in between,” the Widow cooed.

  Aren’t I thinking the same thing? Manipulating the world in between so I can reunite with my loved one? She ignored the thoughts in the back of her mind.

  Ignatius Mangood started to sob. He brought one dirty hand up to his eyes, leaving a dark streak down his cheek.

  The Widow loved it. She relished it.

  “I’ve not shown you this for your enjoyment, my Queen,” Arazon said. “I’ve shown you because in this vision of the past, there is an element that is pertinent to your success.”

  “What is it, my King?”

  The answer came in the form of a glowing mote of light. It was red, as deep a red as blood, but it shone like the sun itself. The Widow saw it plainly through the sheet covering the corpse of Zimmy Ba.

  “The Jewel,” the King said, “the Jewel of Deception. There, around her neck the Jewel hangs.”

  “What is it?”

  “The key to using the music box, to wielding its power.”

  Dimly, the Widow wondered why she had not known of this before; why her king had not given her that knowledge. She shook it off. Perhaps he has, and I’ve forgotten. It has been so long since I’ve heard his sweet voice, so long since the Blood Tree gave me what I needed.

  Ignatius crawled out of the hole. His robes were practically more dirt than fabric. His beard had gone from the white of clouds to the black of soot. He bent low next to the wrapped bundle and sobbed again. Slowly, he pulled Zimmy into his arms. The Jewel no longer shone, but it was there. The Widow could even feel it calling to her now, in the real world, the world outside of the vision. It was hers.

  “You will need the music box. They are worthless without one another,” the King said.

  “But what of the young witch? Her powers, to my understanding, were activated by that music box,” the Widow said, thinking back to Malakai and how she had seen him slain through his eyes, through the dark magic that revived him.

  “The music box is a strong artifact,” Arazon replied. “It was enough to jumpstart Ignatius’s granddaughter’s powers, but she is the anomaly. She is more powerful than your average witch.”

  Fear struck the Widow’s heart. Ignatius himself came from a long line of strong wizards. But the young witch hadn’t come up on the Widow’s radar herself until whatever magic the music box contained activated her powers. If the powers were strong enough to disturb the Widow from her hibernation, then she knew the young witch was something to fear.

  “But you needn’t worry,” Arazon said. “Without the Jewel, no matter how much power t
he granddaughter possesses, she will never be able to access the full potential of the music box. Get the Jewel for yourself. I suggest sending your best soldier; Jinxton, if you can spare him.”

  “I can, but where—”

  The shimmering screen shook violently as the view panned outward.

  Dagger’s Pass. The Widow recognized it by the jagged rock opposite the freshly dug grave. The nearby mountains seemed to have exposed roots in this part of the world, and one looked exactly like a dagger. Legend prophesied that the man big enough to pull the dagger free from the earth would rule Oriceran. So far, none had shown they were large or powerful enough. No matter. The Widow knew the spot from her years above the surface. No doubt Jinxton would know it, too.

  “There, her body lies. Dig it up; get there before Ignatius Mangood realizes his mistake. Then send the Jewel back,” Arazon instructed.

  “And the rest will fall into place,” the Widow said with a laugh.

  “Correct, my Queen. It will only be a matter of time before Ignatius and his granddaughter arrive at the gravesite to retrieve the Jewel—”

  “And all they will find is an empty grave…”

  “And an army of your best soldiers to bring an end to Ignatius Mangood, once and for all!” Arazon boomed.

  “It’ll be like killing a sleeping vampire in broad daylight,” the Widow added.

  Her fear and uncertainty were gone. She looked to the now-empty clearing. The dirt was packed and rounded where Ignatius had dug. The sun went down, the trees swayed with a light breeze. Time went on.

  A sadness invaded the Widow’s massive heart.

  “Arazon,” she said. It was not often she used his real name. Not when he had ruled, not even in death, but she used it now. “Arazon, I miss you. When will you come back to me?”

  Silence.

  Then, “My Queen, I—”

  The shimmering screen vanished like a permeating wisp of smoke; tendrils diffused as a deep quietude settled over the lair. A buzzing had left her ears, stilling the Widow’s massive body. She had not noticed it was there until it was gone.

  “Arazon!” she yelled, her great legs reaching out to where the magical screen had been.

  There was nothing but thin air.

  “Arazon!”

  The Blood Tree’s wood stopped glowing. No longer did it look like the magical wonder it had before.

  The Widow collapsed, shaking the lair. She let out a great, rippling scream that was heard across the majority of the Dark Forest. Birds were roused from their slumber and sent to the dark sky, their little hearts beating nearly out of their chests. Some experienced massive heart attacks, falling out of the sky and landing amongst the scattered, dead leaves, where time would take them back from where they came—the soil, fertilizing new life.

  “Jinxton! Jinxton!” the Widow shrieked.

  Running footsteps echoed throughoutt the chamber, but the Widow barely heard.

  “My Queen? Is everything all right?” Jinxton began.

  “NO!” she bellowed. “Everything is not all right.” She turned her face toward him.

  His lips parted as a silent scream crept up his throat. By the gods…

  From the Widow’s great eyes, a gooey, radioactive substance dripped down her face, riding the swell of her cheeks and dropping into her mouth and off of her chin.

  Is she…?

  She was crying. All his years in the Widow’s service, and he had never seen such a thing. Something had upset her so much that she was crying. Jinxton thought her devoid of all emotions; whatever emotions were present in her had been stamped out by the dark magic that consumed her soul.

  “Round up your best men,” the Widow ordered through her sickly green tears. “You’re going to Dagger’s Pass.”

  “Yes, my Queen,” Jinxton replied.

  He learned it did not do one well to ask the Widow questions. When she wanted something done, you did it. Plain and simple. He stood there, waiting for more orders, but none came. In fact, nothing came at all except for the Widow’s horrible sobs.

  “Go!” she shouted.

  “Y-Yes, my Queen.” Jinxton turned to leave the lair.

  He went no more than five steps when the Widow yelled his name once more. The bristly hair on his legs stood on end, and a chill overtook his body, as if ice had been injected into the base of his spine.

  “You will need a scavenger.” The way she said the last word, one might have thought there was poison on her tongue.

  “A scavenger, my Queen?”

  “Yes, call the half-Elf, half-wizard. What was his name? You know, the one that owes me a favor.”

  A bad taste filled Jinxton’s mouth. He knew all too well, and he was not too fond of any scavenger; those magical beings who slunk around in the shadows, finding, stealing, digging up artifacts only to pawn off later for their own personal gain. To Jinxton, a scavenger was sacrilegious to all things magic stood for. And Henry, the smooth-talking charmer the Widow spoke of, was nearly insufferable.

  If I get the chance, I’ll disembowel the half-blood, Jinxton promised himself.

  “I’m sorry,” the Widow said. “I am not myself. There is much for me to impart on you for this quest. Ignatius Mangood, and perhaps his granddaughter, seek the same jewel we do. It may be a dangerous mission.”

  “Nothing we can’t handle, your Highness,” Jinxton answered.

  He thought he saw a smile stretch across the Widow’s face.

  Something definitely happened in here with the Blood Tree, something I don’t think I’d be able to wrap my head around.

  The Widow proceeded to tell Jinxton about the mission; about Zimmy Ba’s corpse and the Jewel of Deception, about how they were to wait for Ignatius and then attack. She did not care how many of her children would have to die in order to gain the music box. Further, because the box would not work without the Jewel, they would need to fight for both. If the box was not with Ignatius, then Jinxton was to bring back the wizard or witch as a bargaining chip.

  “Do not come back without them,” the Widow warned as he left the lair. “If you do, I will have your head on a pike, and I will feast on your body until all the blood is gone. Understood?”

  Jinxton nodded, but he thought the Widow had a touch of a smile on her lips.

  Now to get ahold of that bastard Henry and try to keep him in line. Jinxton took in a deep lungful of the night air, sweetened with the smell and taste of decaying things.

  Chapter Three

  Gramps riffled through the contents of the chest as Maria pushed her way into the back room. Everyone was out front except for them. Salem and Agnes were preparing a pre-war feast of buckeye ice cream and vanilla wafers. They also ate leftover pizza and chips. They couldn't just live off of ice cream all the time. Pizza and chips were the closest thing to real food Salem had in the store. Joe was loving it. He had a smile on his face so wide and happy, it had taken a lot of resolve for Maria to leave him at the whim of Claire and Tabby's teasing so she could comfort her grandfather.

  Comfort, Maria? Is that really what you’re doing back here?

  The answer was a definite ‘no.’

  “Gramps?” she said lightly.

  He didn’t hear her, or at least, he acted like he hadn’t.

  “Gramps, I want to talk to you.”

  He jumped, startled.

  Laughter carried in from the main room of the ice cream shop, sneaking under the door separating Maria from the rest of the wanderers. Then came Sherlock’s barking, and Gelbus’s high-pitched “Don’t lick that, Sherlock!”

  Maria shook her head.

  “Talk?” her grandfather said absently. “Talk? Maria, we mustn’t talk. You should be out there with them, enjoying your time.” The look on Gramps’s face said he really didn’t think there was much time left.

  It hurt Maria to see him like that. He was usually such a happy man, so full of life, but now, he was…grave.

  I would be, too, if I were tasked with digging up my d
ead daughter, Maria thought as she inched forward toward Gramps. She wanted to hug him. He was always so accepting of hugs, but right then, he seemed to cringe away, like a hug was the last thing he wanted.

  The contents of the chest were dumped all over the table. He had been attempting to organize it and failing miserably. Gramps was not one to organize much of anything.

  Maria saw crude sketches of Arachnids, weapons, brooding fortresses she was both curious about and frightened of, and hastily scrawled maps of areas with lots of trees and mountains that she thought was the Dark Forest.

  “You should come out there with me,” Maria suggested when she realized her grandfather was just waiting for her to leave.

  “I will be out there in a minute. I need some time to…”

  She put her hand on his arm. His robe was singed, still smelling of dragonfire and ash. Warmth radiated from him. His look didn’t soften at her touch.

  This is not good. Not good at all.

  She figured it would be better if she just came out and said what she needed to. No point in prolonging the inevitable.

  “Gramps, I want to go with you.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “Not a chance, Maria. You are too valuable.”

  “What if there are enemies?” she asked. Her grip on his sleeve grew firmer, yet he made no notice.

  “There are always enemies in the Dark Forest.”

  “But it’s not the Dark Forest! It’s Mom’s grave; all that’s left of her,” Maria protested.

  “Near enough to the Dark Forest! And you have more of your mother than her grave,” he tapped his chest, above his heart, “in here. Besides, the Widow already knows my plans; she’s known about them ever since that business with Malakai. She has even sought us out through a portal, and caused great injury to my magic.”

  “No, that’s impossible. There’s no way she could know,” Maria said.

  “Do not put anything past the enemy, my dear. For all we know, there could be a traitor in our midst.”

  Maria’s mouth became a grim line. “Traitor? Gramps, you can’t be serious. Gelbus is our friend, our ally.”