“One night here is much longer there,” Salem explained quietly. He turned to Lois. “I had thought that maybe he was taking his time and training Maria. I never knew about any dragon…”
“Yeah, something like a Rogue and Dragon Tongue,” Claire said, remembering.
“Oh, no,” Agnes said. “The Rogues have been gone for centuries. If the Dragon Tongue are back and plan to raise one…”
“They’ll raise them all,” Salem finished.
Lois put her wand back in her pocket, stretched her arms high above her head, and laced her fingers together. They cracked loudly.
“Did you hear what town, girls?” she asked.
“Ashland…or Ashtown?” Claire said. She furrowed her brow, trying to think.
“Ashbourne!” Tabby said. “It was Ashbourne. I remember because I thought they said Airborne, then I thought of dragons flying, airborne, but ash like fire, and—”
“Okay, Tab,” Claire said, “enough with the mnemonic devices.” She rolled her eyes. “She used to do this in high school. It was so annoying.”
“Well, her annoying tendencies may have just saved your friends’ lives,” Lois said. “Thank you both, and I’m sorry about kicking you in the ribs.”
“No problem,” Claire said, waving a hand.
Lois turned to Agnes and Salem. “You know what has to be done.”
They nodded gravely.
“It will not be an easy task,” Lois said. “Hardly ever is, and I wish I could come with you.”
"You can't?" Salem asked, disappointed.
"I can't," Lois answered. "But if you run in to trouble, you know how to reach me. I have duties to perform at the PDA, and a husband and a partner to get back to or they'll have my head."
Salem nodded. He understood. Agnes stepped forward and hugged Lois. Salem joined in, too.
“We’ll succeed because we are stronger together, Lois,” Agnes said, smiling somberly. "Don't you worry."
"Oh, I know you will," Lois replied. “Just like the old days.”
“Wait, you’re going after them?” Claire asked Salem, interrupting the farewells.
Salem, looking at her, nodded.
“Then we’re coming, too. Right, Tab?”
Tabby didn’t even hesitate. The run-in with the Arachnid was the furthest thing from her mind, though the pain was still present. “Yeah, count us in.”
They could tell by the set expressions on the girls’ faces that there was no denying these two Earthlings.
Ah, well, what better group to save the day then these four? Lois thought. It will all be okay. I'm here if they need me.
Chapter Fifteen
Maria opened her eyes to see a deep orange, flickering light bouncing through the cave’s exit. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it felt like more than an hour; her body was reinvigorated. She shot up from the rock, not even waking up the snoring Sherlock, who was sprawled out on his back, before rushing to her grandfather.
“Maria!” Gramps said. He did not look much better, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
She hugged him and laughed.
Sherlock perked up, rolling over. He rose like he had in the days of his youth and bounded over to Gramps and Frieda.
Oh, my GOD! I thought I was never gonna be able to listen to you snore again! What would I have done without you?
“He says he missed you and he’s glad you’re back,” Maria told her grandfather.
“I’m glad I’m back, too, Sherlock, and I’m glad you’re back. Never run off like that again, my dear friend,” Gramps answered.
I won’t! Never again, I promise. I just heard a Raffin growling, and a bunch of squirrels chittering all mockingly. I couldn’t help myself.
Maria didn’t have to tell Gramps what he said. She saw him read it in the Bloodhound’s eyes. “It was not an easy journey,” he said, turning to look at Maria.
“You’re telling me,” Maria said.
“We saw terrible things,” Freida took Gramps’s hand and squeezed.
“So did I,” Maria said. She wanted to tell them all about the Trials of Antenele, but knew it was not the time. There was a town possibly under siege by a dragon; people needed saving there, and from the world in between. Maybe when this was all said and done, she would speak of it—though she never wanted to relive that terrible experience.
“I’m just glad we are all right,” Gramps said. He brushed Maria’s hair away from her face, and then turned to walk down the mountain pass.
“Wait, Gramps, don’t you think you should rest up a bit?” Maria called after him.
He smiled and looked up at the towering white tree with its full red leaves. “I shall rest enough when I am dead. Come on, you three, we are not far.”
They went on.
By the time they cleared the mountain, Oriceran’s two moons were high in the sky, shining brilliant white light down upon them. Frieda helped guide them through the rocky landscape with her flames.
As they came out of the mountain pass, Maria saw a black lake shimmering with moonlight behind a sleepy town.
“There it is,” Gramps said, pointing. They all paused to look, standing on the last rise of the mountain before they reached the ground. “Ashbourne.”
Relief undid the knots in Maria’s chest. The town was all right; it wasn’t burned to ashes, and no dragon flew above it, roaring and breathing fire onto the citizens below.
“Our luck may not have run out yet,” Gramps said. “Ashbourne and Gelbus the Gnome await us.”
“And the secrets to the world in between,” Maria added.
Freida’s flame grew, painting the rocky path with orange light.
“Yes, and the villagers waiting to be saved.” Gramps led the way, and Sherlock padded behind him, sniffing along the path.
This is good, being back with my family, Maria thought, especially after what happened in the Cave of Delusion.
Then she heard something. Though she wasn’t sure if it was real or if her mind was playing tricks on her, the sound was unmistakable: it was the distant roaring of some great beast. Perhaps the same beast she had dreamed about; the one who shook the trees and blocked out the two moons.
That beast, she now knew, was a dragon.
FINIS
Author Notes - Flint Maxwell
October 26, 2017
Thank you for reading all the way to the end of The Midwest Wanderer. I still can't believe this is a thing, you know, readers actually reading my work. I've published about a dozen books since I started this author gig and the feeling of getting a good review or having one of you wonderful readers reach out to me through Facebook or email hasn't lost its luster, nor do I think it ever will. So thank you for all you do for me. Without your hunger for stories, there would be no Maria, Ignatius, or Sherlock—and my life would be especially boring if I never got to write about that talking Bloodhound again.
I read each and every review for book 1. They were all mostly great, and the ones that would be considered bad weren't exactly that bad. I tried to incorporate some of the suggestions you all had into this book. In book 1, Maria was really just a normal nineteen year old girl so I wrote her how I thought she would talk and act even though I've never exactly been a nineteen year old teenage girl. Now, Maria has grown a lot since she defeated Malakai on Main Street, and I think that's evident in book 2 by the way she carries herself and leads the group toward Ashbourne despite all that's thrown in her way. She will continue growing throughout the rest of the series, that I know for sure, and Sherlock will continue doing things he shouldn't be doing…such as marking his territory on Gnomes.
You know, while we are on the subject of Sherlock, I should tell you about his creation. While growing up, I've always had a lot of dogs as pets. When I was in the third grade, I begged my mom for a dog. I mean, begged. She was reluctant to give in, knowing she'd probably be the one who had to take care of it since I was so young, but she did eventually give in. My m
om and I drove to Hartville, Ohio one winter evening to a barn that was selling puppies for $50. My mom told me I could take my pick when we got there. I still remember the smell—unpleasant—and the straw strewn all over the floor. The puppies were a mix between Beagle and Lab (a weird mashup, I know) and they all seemed so lively and happy to have company. Naturally, I didn't pick any of these puppies. No, I saw one of them nestled away in the corner, looking quite glum. She was a black Lab with the floppiest ears I've ever seen. I picked her much to my mom's displeasure and named her Cupcake.
Cupcake sat on my lap the whole ride home. Of course, she peed, too, but I didn't mind. She was nervous, but as I looked into her eyes, I could tell she was happy enough. When we got home, Cupcake adjusted slowly, often hiding under a chair in our living room, and there was talk of taking her back to Hartville in exchange for one of the more-livelier puppies, but I wouldn't have it. Third-grade me put his foot down and said she'd come around.
And boy did she ever. Cupcake was soon knocking over the trashcan, chewing shoes, snatching pizza out of our hands, and even on one terrifying occasion, eating paintballs. She had an iron stomach, though. Most of what she ate never bothered her. So for Sherlock, I took this trait and gave it to him. After Cupcake got a little older, my mom caught what I call 'Dog Fever,' and before I knew it, the small house was filled with puppies. At one point we had seven, all of them mostly small ankle-biter types. It was, as you probably assumed, mayhem. But man, was it fun as hell.
So when Martha and I brainstormed Maria's companion, I naturally thought a cat would be the best pet for a witch, an idea that Martha promptly rejected, and rightfully so. A cat? Talk about cliché. We went with a dog instead, and I didn't know he was going to have telepathic abilities until I started writing the first draft of book 1. I knew he was going to communicate with Maria somehow, but had no idea how. The simple answer is magic, but the more complicated answer as to how Maria can hear Sherlock's thoughts is coming in book 3, so stay tuned.
Cupcake passed away almost three years ago. She lived to be close to sixteen years old. She was my first best friend. I think about her everyday. I've actually never cried as hard as I did the day she was put to sleep. But I know she's up there in doggy heaven with a full trashcan to snack from and endless supplies of socks to chew and rip, watching over me. And that gives me comfort.
These days, I still have two of the original seven dogs living with me, Louis and Lola, while the rest are happily at home with my mom. Louis is a Brussels Griffon and Lola is a round, fluffy mutt with Pug and some other breeds mixed in—I don't know for sure, but I do know both of them are cute as hell. I also have three cats, but they, like cats often do, mostly keep to themselves—Kevin, Claire, and Melinda.
As always, I'd like to thank a few people who were instrumental in helping me put this book together. Martha Carr and Michael Anderle for recruiting me into this wild world full of magic, Jen McDonell for editing, Andrew Dobell for putting together the cover, the rest of the Oriceran Universe authors for being so encouraging and helpful doing the process of creating, and most importantly, as I've stated earlier, the wonderful people who read the book when it's released. Thank you.
Flint Maxwell
Author Notes - Martha Carr
October 29, 2017
Cold weather moving in… Texas style. That means a jacket has now become necessary. Can’t help thinking of Flint Maxwell in Ohio where this would be considered spring and plenty of people would be in short sleeves and flip flops. They’d call this brisk! I grew up in Philadelphia when I was young and I still remember a blizzard that came up to my waist. My parents still let us go out into it. Different times.
We had the elaborate snowsuit and you went outside and stayed out till you couldn’t stand it any longer. Hours. My feet and hands would be numb and it was hard to pronounce any consonants. Once we got warmed up by the fire it was hard to talk ourselves into going back out again – at least for a few hours. That’s where Flint is busy creating stories about witches and wizards and the world in between… It’s all about the layers Flint! Wrap up and stay warm… we have so many more books to go on this Oriceran adventure!
Publisher Notes - Michael Anderle
October 30, 2017
First, thank you for reading our stories, even about dogs with iron stomachs. That you read this book all of the way through and now are reading my little publisher notes is both special, and confusing.
Why it is special is obvious I would think, who wants to read anything by the publisher? Confusing…well, uh, the same reason!
Who wants to read anything by the publisher?
As the publisher of the Oriceran Universe, I get the opportunity to see authors (hopefully) changed by their involvement in this effort and the feedback from amazing fans. I get to see them come out of their shell as we all work together in a supportive environment.
Writing can be damned lonely. I remember writing my first books in a vacuum. The first few fans were amazing, giving me back much-needed feedback and suggestions as I moved forward.
I know that a lot of fans spoke to me (as an author) and mentioned how they missed getting a chance to talk with their favorite authors. Certainly, some of that is due to how much of a pain it was to send letters so many years ago.
You know, the time before email? (Dark Ages for Sure!)
As a very new publisher, I’m encouraging those authors involved with LMBPN to go out there and communicate with fans. If they do, they may find the Fountain of Wisdom. Or at least the (water) Fountain of Wisdom.
So many times, as an author, when I have a question I just go to fans and ask.
Now, as a publisher, I think I need to figure out how to make this happen. I’ve no idea how to make this stuff work for LMBPN Publishing… But I will.
I hope.
I have a lot of ignorance, and I think it stems from not knowing the desires of readers. Please reach out to me on Facebook on the KurtherianBooks Facebook page if you have ideas related to how a book publisher could do something cool for you, the readers and fans. I’m interested to hear and see if maybe, just maybe…
We can change the face of publishing together.
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheKurtherianGambitBooks
The Midwest Whisperer
Chapter One
The gates to the town of Ashbourne stood tall and foreboding. Maria ran her fingers over the shape of the music box in her satchel, and then turned toward the rest of the group, beckoning them forward.
They used a nearby hill outside of the town as cover while they scouted the town. The mountains were now behind them and they could all but smell the water of the lake drifting along the night breeze.
Can’t I have another breather? Sherlock asked.
“You just had one. You were snoring up on the mountain,” Maria replied.
Yeah, but we’ve come a long way since then. I’m hungry.
“We’ve gone down the mountain, which is much easier than going up the mountain. And you’re always hungry. What’s new?”
Maria glanced at Frieda, who was helping Gramps down the hill. He looked weak and frail after what happened when they arrived on Oriceran via his portal, but Maria kept telling herself that he was strong.
She had learned Gramps’s nickname while they walked and urged him to tell stories of old to distract him. That nickname was ‘Ferod,’ given to him in Dominion and used among the others that guarded the king.
‘Ferod,’ Maria; remember what it means. Your grandpa is a stubborn ‘Old Bull’—a little kooky, sure, but never one to give up. Especially with so many lives hanging in the balance.
She was hoping to get him to talk about the past, the glory days; it was, she knew, the only thing that could take his mind off of whatever pain was currently coursing through his body.
She paused and waited for Frieda and Gramps to catch up to her and Sherlock. The air was cold
er than it had been near the mountain—something she thought was quite odd. The chilly weather brought along dark thoughts, which she willed away with a smile.
When Frieda and Gramps finally caught up, Gramps smiled back. “Oh, dear, Maria, you’ll have to forgive me. My age is showing. Come, come—to the gates we go.” Gramps pushed ahead, shedding Frieda’s support. Frieda gave Maria a reluctant look, as if to say she was sorry, but Maria knew her grandfather was as hardheaded as she was. There was no need to be sorry. The two women took a couple of hesitant steps after him.
Sherlock’s energy had come back, and he bounded past all of them.
“Sherlock!” Maria hissed.
Too many good smells! Sorry!
Maria could only shake her head. When the Bloodhound reached the fence, he started sniffing all along the iron.
Fish! No…dead fish! Even better. And…and…beef? I smell beef. And butter and oils. Weeks old trash dumped into the lake! Mmm! He paused, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils. Oh, it gets even better…blood!
She froze on the spot so abruptly that Frieda and Gramps stopped, too. Maria’s heart sank.
“Blood? Blood, are you sure?”
Sherlock inhaled deeply again.
Yep, blood and sweat and steel.
“This is no time to joke.”
I’m not, Maria. Don’t act surprised…this is why we came here, right? To battle the bad guys?
Maria nodded, her senses heightening. She thought she could smell the blood and sweat and steel herself. She walked over to Sherlock and then crouched, sticking close to the shadows thrown by the gate. She motioned Frieda and Gramps over.
Midwest Magic Chronicles Boxed Set Page 41
