Midwest Magic Chronicles Boxed Set

by Flint Maxwell

  Sherlock whined, holding one paw up. Claire was hunkered down and tending to him.

  “We must go!” Salem said, his hands glowing with orange-ish light. “It is not safe here, Ignatius. Odarth is angry.”

  “No, not yet,” Ignatius answered. He looked at Sherlock, seeing the pain in the Bloodhound’s eyes. It was enough to make his heart shatter, but now was not the time for broken hearts. Now was the time for perseverance, for bravery, for victory.

  The wizard fell to his knees before the dog. “Sherlock, I need you to give a message to Maria. Can you do that for me, boy? Bark once if you understand me.”

  Sherlock barked, albeit a weak one, but a bark nonetheless.

  “Good, good. Now, I don’t know how strong your mental connection is with her, but you’ll need to try. You are our last hope.”

  Sherlock placed his injured paw gingerly on the ground and raised his good one toward Ignatius.

  “Yes, shake, good boy. Listen to me very carefully. Heed my pronunciation with great care.”

  The Bloodhound nodded.

  Such an odd gesture from a dog, Ignatius thought in the back of his mind. From the front of his mind, though, he brought forth the spell.

  ““Theix…grututa…fei…feir,” Ignatius said, speaking each word slow and deliberately, letting the syllables and accents roll off his tongue. He repeated twice more for good measure; once slowly, and the last with emphasis, the way a spell was meant to be spoken.

  “Theix grututa fei feir!”

  Sherlock’s eyes closed in concentration. His lip curled upward, baring his teeth in a silent growl. The dog is concentrating; by the two moons, he is!

  They watched him anxiously. Is it working? Maria was nowhere near, for the dragon had soared back up to the heavens, so far away that as Ignatius looked upward, he saw what could’ve easily been mistaken for another shooting star in a night sky full of them.

  Then Sherlock’s eyes opened. Slowly, he shook his head back and forth. It was not a shake brought on by an itch, but one brought on by disappointment.

  “Keep trying, Sherlock,” Ignatius said. He turned to Salem and Agnes. “You and I will have to find another way to reach her.”

  Salem’s mouth opened as if to ask ‘How,’ but Agnes elbowed him before the word escaped his lips.

  How was right.

  How, Ignatius? How?

  It was then that the Rogue Dragon swooped over them once more. In what seemed like super slow motion, the dragon’s belly lit up with oncoming fire. Ignatius looked on with horror. Frozen.

  This is the end for me, he thought. Before he could even protect his granddaughter. At the last second, he tried to draw on a protection spell, but realized he couldn’t. Ignatius closed his eyes, ready for death. His hand was tight around Frieda’s, and he was surrounded by those who he cared about. Could it be so bad? Death?

  Then the fire roared through the air, baking them all in its heat. Great, leathery wings sounded muffled above him.

  Ignatius opened his eyes. The fire bounced off a dome-like shape in the air.

  A protection spell! But who had done it?

  The dragon roared and ascended again into the air. The spell wore off and the dome disappeared. Gramps looked at Salem, then Agnes, and lastly Frieda. None of them had their wands pointed up. The protection spell came from seemingly nowhere.

  “Ig! Watch out!” Salem said, now drawing his wand and whirling toward the ruins of the town off the beach.

  There stood a robed figure, its face shrouded by the shadow cast from its hood. He held no sword, and no flames rippled from his hands. This Dragon Tongue held a wand—one that seemed to be…3-D printed?

  The man threw his hood back, and it was not a man at all.

  “Lois!” Ignatius shouted. As weak as he was, he tore off along the sand and hugged her.

  Laughing, Lois said to Salem and Agnes, “Did you really think I’d forget about our pact?”

  “Of course we didn’t,” Agnes answered, a smile on her face.

  “Always be there for the ones you care about,” Lois intoned. “No matter what.” Now she hugged Salem and Agnes, and even Claire and Tabby, as if they were old friends, too.

  “Thank you, Lois,” Ignatius said. He noticed the burn on her arm when she threw off her cloak. It wasn’t too bad, but it would leave a scar. “It seems the old crew is back together.”

  “It seems we are,” Lois said. “I cannot stay long. Your quest is hardly over, but I will do my best to help.”

  “Thank you.” Ignatius hugged her again. “I believe you’re right. For now, we have a dragon to slay.”

  Lois smiled. “Just like the good old days.”

  The wind and rain continued to sting Maria’s face and eyes. What felt like a soft drizzle to the wanderers on the beach, who were trying to send a telepathic message to her via Bloodhound, was a like being caught in a hurricane to Maria.

  She held on for dear life, but at least she had the sword. It did not help much in getting to the ground safely, that was for sure, but it did offer an odd sort of comfort.

  Because it is my sword, passed down to me from Ignatius Mangood, and his father before him, all the way back to Anwyn, the Dragon Slayer, destroyer of Odarth.

  How she knew all of this, she wasn’t sure. It was as if false memories of lives past had been implanted in her brain. Perhaps it was shock, the fear of impending doom about to take her life away.

  One such memory was of a young warrior, barely as old as Duke when the Arachnid Malakai turned against Dominion’s army.

  This warrior had bright eyes full of knowledge and wonder—full of magic. His name was Ignatius; that, Maria knew on her own accord. He was in a field, the fresh scrapes and bruises of sparring standing out on his skin as plainly as black ink on white paper.

  There was someone else, too, a man of middling age. He wore a long, dark beard, salted with gray.

  Son, I have a gift for you.

  For graduating from the academy? the boy asked.

  The older man smiled and bent backward to retrieve something. It was in a velvet sheath, one Maria recognized.

  This was mine.

  The boy’s mouth hung open. Your sword, father? But—

  No, ‘but’s, Ignatius. You deserve it as much as anyone. And maybe you will be able to wield its power properly. The man who many ages ago held this very sword was one of the most powerful wizards in all of the land.

  What happened to him, father? the boy asked. His eyes never left the velvet, and as the man drew the sword from its cover, young Ignatius’s eyes sparkled with astonishment.

  He did something great…he saved an innumerable amount of lives. Because of his bravery, valor, and strength, the people of Oriceran were set free before they could be enslaved.

  Did he kill Rhazdon, father?

  The older man laughed and shook his head. No, my son, it was long before that, in a time of forgotten history, one left to legend.

  Legend, the boy said, enunciating the word carefully.

  Yes, legend. The older man handed the sword to young Ignatius, the blade resting over both of the man’s palms. Ignatius reached for it then hesitated.

  What if…what if I cannot wield its power, father? What if it is too great for me?

  You needn’t worry. If you cannot wield all of its power, you will surely be able to wield some, and that is more than most people can say. I believe you will become a great wizard yourself, son. I see the power growing in you everyday, in your eyes, in your posture, in your magic, but most importantly—in your heart, Ignatius. The man raised the sword slightly. Go on, my son; take it. It is yours. My time with it is done. To a new owner it goes, as it has for generations.

  Tears formed in Ignatius’s eyes. One trailed down his cheek. Thank you, father—

  Maria! Maria! If you hear me, then listen!

  “Sherlock?”

  Suddenly, Maria was brought back to the present. If it hadn’t been for the fact she was currently f
lying through the air on the back of a giant lizard beast, she would’ve been in awe of what just happened to her.

  What happened to me? And was that Sherlock’s voice I just heard, or is the lack of oxygen up here getting to my brain?

  The dragon lurched downward again. Maria’s heart jumped into her throat, causing her to swallow it back down. Her grip was slipping on the spikes. She was tempted to throw her sword away and hang on for dear life, but something was telling her she would need her sword. The sword was special.

  ‘Passed down for generations,’ the man had said in her vision.

  A snippet of words filled Maria’s mind now, words she didn’t fully understand

  —fei feir!

  “What?” she called out and received no answer.

  Instead, another voice came into her mind, one slippery with treachery and deceit.

  You just do not give up, do you, witch?

  It was the voice of a female, and it seemed close.

  Well, let’s see if you can stay on after this!

  The dragon rolled in the air three times very fast. Maria’s stomach lurched and groaned, and for a moment she thought she was going to slip off, but she didn’t. When the dragon righted itself, Maria found herself, facing the other direction. Now her back was up against one of the dragon’s spikes, and her feet were wedged in front of her. She sat in a makeshift seat. Feeling momentarily secure, she sheathed the sword and hugged the nearby spike with both arms.

  Stubborn! So stubborn! But we shall see—

  It took Maria longer than it should for her to realize who was talking to her, but once she did, she decided to use her abilities to her advantage.

  “Odarth the Bright, you will go back from whence you came!” she spoke in a commanding voice.

  Hardly, my dear!

  The dragon shot straight up into the air and rolled, gliding upside down. Maria’s arms slowly gave way to gravity, slipping down the ridged spine. The satchel hung upside down with Maria, dancing off her shoulder.

  The music box! No!

  She had to choose—death, or the loss of the music box.

  She let go of the spike and reached out for the falling strap. She caught it before it could fall into the burning lake below.

  And Maria fell with it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Just then, the dragon righted herself. Maria’s mind acted on instinct. With the satchel in her hand, she reached inside of her mind for her magic—only catching a bit, for the distraction of death was far too much to allow her to call upon it in full-force.

  But it was enough.

  A burst of electric blue escaped her hands and propelled her upward. With a great heave, she looped the strap of the satchel around the dragon’s horns. Weightless, she floated until a sudden jerk tore through her muscles. The breath was knocked from her lungs as she slammed into the surface of the dragon’s neck.

  If you’ll not allow me to kill you, witch, then I shall do something much worse. Oh, yes…what is that I feel? Your mind is open. I can read it like a book, the sly dragon voice cooed. You feel strongly for the ones below me, the ones on the beach. I see their faces: an old man, a furry beast, another witch…and—and a Gnome! Ha! Then I shall kill them, too. This time I will try harder.

  Theix grututa—

  “No!” Maria shouted. She reached for her sword.

  Yes, draw your blade. My armor shall shatter such a puny mortal weapon. Go ahead, do it!

  Maria! Maria! Are you listening? Listen to me! Theix…grututa…fei…feir! Theix grututa fei feir!

  “Sherlock?” this time she was sure. His voice came to her fully, but so did the ripping seams of the satchel. They would not hold on for much longer.

  Theix grututa fei feir! Say the spell, Maria! I don’t know what the hell it’s going to do. Just say it so Ignatius gets out of my face, say it! Theix grututa fei feir!

  Maria gave one last heave on the satchel’s straps. She looped it over her body until she was just inches away from the dragon’s large, curved horn atop her head.

  They broke through dark clouds, and Maria, holding on for dear life, saw the sandy land getting closer and closer.

  A sudden burst of heat sliced through the chilly air and rain, coming from right beneath her. A sound like a great revving engine filled her ears.

  The dragon is pulling fire from her belly, preparing to roast my family below.

  Sherlock’s voice chanted the mantra in her head: Theix grututa fei feir! Theix grututa fei feir! Theix grututa fei feir! Theix grututa—

  Closer and closer the land came. Maria reached for her sword in its sheath. The G-force would not allow her an easy escape from the makeshift seatbelt she had made with the satchel’s strap. She would have to cut it free and fight the beast from land—a battle she would surely lose.

  Theix grututa fei feir! Now Sherlock’s voice cut out, replaced with a whine.

  As a cry of war, the anger rippling through her, the blue magic illuminating her skin, Maria shouted the words. “Theix grututa fei feir!”

  The sky opened up, the clouds and the stars parted to reveal a complete blackness, like the opening jaws of some great beast. Lightning surged from the opening; so bright that Maria should not have been able to look directly up at it without her eyes turning to goo within their sockets.

  The lightning tore through the sky. Maria’s muscles tightened—the bolt was coming right for her. Mostly out of reflex, she raised the sword into the air, not caring about the fact that she was sure to slip from the dragon and plummet however many hundreds of feet below to her death.

  Then the bolt struck the tip of her sword with a dark blue explosion. In the explosion, she saw the face of the man whose voice she had heard earlier—Anwyn, the Dragon Slayer, smiling down upon her, his eyes the stars, his grin one half-moon.

  As quick as he had come, he was gone, as the sky closed up again and the normal backdrop of distant galaxies filled her vision once more.

  But the magic wasn’t gone. The blade rippled with blue fire, causing Maria’s hand to shake with power.

  No! That cannot be. That is impossible, the dragon roared.

  Maria, still on instinct, whirled the blade in her palm with a cool confidence brought to her by the magic. With a vicious downward thrust, she struck the dragon in the top of the head. The scales broke and shattered like glass, and her blade sank deep into the beast’s brains, all the way up to the hilt.

  There was no blood, no gore, and no death.

  Instead, a link was created between her brain and the dragon’s. She could feel Odarth fighting her, trying to resist, but the sword would not have it.

  Suddenly, a barrage of images flowed through Maria’s brain. She was the dragon flying high, soaring through the clouds; she tasted her first bite of man flesh, so good; she breathed fire on a small, unsuspecting village and pillaged the charred remains of the men and women until her belly was close to bursting; she was navigating through the mountain peaks on a bright day, the darkness growing within her; she was—

  Maria opened her eyes just as the beach came up to meet her. Gramps and the rest of her family put their arms up, shielding themselves from certain death.

  “No!” Maria shouted, gripping the sword’s hilt with both hands and pulling back as if it were the joystick of flight simulating arcade game. The dragon roared as it tried to resist her, but there was no resisting Maria’s magic.

  Wings angled back, and the two of them shot straight up into the air once more.

  Holy shit, I’m in control. The dragon is mine. I’m a—

  ‘A Whisperer,’ that strange voice of Anwyn said, filling her mind with chilly confidence.

  She repeated the word again slowly as the warm air near the lake whipped at her face and sent her hair back away from her brow: “Whisperer.”

  Yes, I am a Dragon Whisperer.

  Please, give up control, Odarth pleaded.

  Maria didn’t answer. She leaned the hilt to the left and the dragon ban
ked in that direction. Pulling the sword back, they rose higher and higher until they were above the clouds again, so close to the moons, Maria thought she could reach out and seize them.

  Please! I can give you treasure, riches beyond your wildest imagination, O Great Whisperer. Please.

  “No,” Maria said sternly. The air had grown cold again. She could see her breath pluming out in front of her as she eased the dragon’s flight to a slow glide. The clouds ran out below, and far, far away the burning town of Ashbourne sat, looking like a 3-D model.

  I sense war on the horizon, the dragon said. War is coming and you’ll need all the help you can get, Maria.

  “So you know my name.”

  Yes, Maria, everyone will know your name… if you survive the onslaught.

  Maria chuckled, a cold sound that carried over the whistling wind. “It’s amazing how enemies will speak your name once they realize they’ve been beaten.”

  I am no enemy, Maria, the dragon urged. I am indebted to your service. I can be of help to you when the war comes, and I believe it is coming sooner than you realize.

  “War has already come. Look below you. Look what you and your band of delusional followers did to that poor town.”

  I was under a spell, Maria. I cannot be blamed for what the Dragon Lord called upon me to do. I was only following orders.

  “So the vile men in charge of the concentration camps of World War II said.”

  I know not of that, O Great and Powerful Maria.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  I am sorry. I mean no disrespect. I speak genuinely from my forked tongue. There is blood on the horizon—

  “Yes, dragon blood,” Maria said.

  No, I smell it in the air. Right now as we speak, the Arachnid queen searches for her lost king. Do you know where her king is?

  “I’m sure I can guess.”

  Right, you are a smart woman, Maria. The key for her to move from widow to reunited with her lover is in that satchel you wear around you. That music box. Yes, I sense its dark power. I sensed it even when I was asleep beneath the water, as my body regenerated. There are answers within that music box, but there are also questions. And some questions do not always have answers, do they, Maria?