Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey

by Steve Windsor

  With a sigh he pocketed the watch.

  Everyone hiked down to the runway when it was time for the plane to leave—all of the teachers came, and Leila and the six remaining students joined them as well.

  “Okay, these are for you guys,” Leila said, pulling two notebooks from her bag. “Don’t read them until you get home. And don’t get too excited; they aren’t much.”

  Tristan hugged her fiercely. “Thank you so much. I’ll miss you.”

  “We’ll be back before you realize we’re gone,” said Rusty, hugging Leila as well. “Don’t let the others bother you.” He nodded at Eli, Amber, Cailyn, Damian, Finley, and Ryan, who would be staying with her over the summer. If Tristan had to guess, he would say Damian and Ryan hadn’t been given a choice.

  “Ha,” Leila said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  On the tiny plane, Tristan and Rusty fought over the window seat; Rusty won, so Tristan had to stand up to wave goodbye to Leila.

  Evvie was the first to be dropped off, followed by Tristan. When Tristan made his way to the front of the plane, grinning at everyone, Quinsley opened the door to the cockpit and pressed a wad of cash into his hand. “It’s for a taxi,” he said. “See you in August!”

  Tristan nodded blankly and climbed down the ladder to the deserted runway. He stood motionless, watching as the plane reversed and then sped into the air once again. He felt very small and out-of-place. For a long time he could not bring himself to move, watching the sky as though searching for something he could not quite put his finger on. This place was so empty, so barren, and Tristan felt as if every ounce of vitality had been dredged from him. He could have collapsed on the spot.

  Ages passed before Tristan realized what had unsettled him.

  The bleak concrete expanse was devoid of magic.

  Though he had not noticed it while living in the rugged mountains, Tristan had become so aware of the auras permeating the forest that he had come to rely on the presence of magic. It filled him, heightening his senses and expanding his awareness of the world.

  Here he could feel nothing, and the absence was jarring.

  Summoning the last of his energy, Tristan stumbled to the airport entrance in search of a taxi. While he rode into town, past busy intersections and rows of matching houses, he tried to adjust to the uncomfortable lack of magic. There was no wilderness here, nothing to sustain the fragile power.

  Now Tristan knew exactly why Drakewell had allowed him to return home for the summer. After his complete immersion in the world of magic, he could hardly recognize this city. It was ugly and empty, and Tristan wanted nothing to do with it.

  Already he wished he could return to the Lair.

  Before he knew it, Tristan was veering down a vaguely familiar tree-lined street; his mom’s house was at the end, completely dwarfed by the mansions looming on either side. Her front lawn was already brown and withered.

  “You can let me off here,” he told the driver, handing over the cash from Quinsley. “Keep the change.” Then he slung his backpack over one shoulder and strode up the path to his mom’s front door.

  He had to knock several times before she answered. At last he heard footsteps clicking towards the door, and it swung open. There was his mom, thinner and sterner than he remembered, but unmistakably familiar.

  For a split second, Tristan wondered if his mother would recognize him. His hair was long, half of his face was torn up with scars, and he probably looked a lot more serious than before. Then his mother gasped.

  “Oh my god.” Eyes widening, she grabbed Tristan’s arm and pulled him into a clumsy embrace, where she started sobbing onto his shoulder. “Tristan, my Tristan. Where have you been?”

  Tristan’s eyes stung, and he patted her awkwardly on the back. Had she forgotten what he’d done? At last he was able to lead her inside, closing the door behind him. “Are you okay, Mom?” He guided her to a kitchen stool.

  Hiccupping softly, she nodded. “Oh, my baby. I can’t believe you’ve come home.”

  “It’s just for the summer,” Tristan warned her, but she didn’t seem to hear.

  It was a long time before his mom calmed down enough to show Tristan where he would be staying. He would sleep in the basement, in the room he and Marcus had shared when they’d stayed with her in the past.

  “It’s such a mess, I know; I’ll clean it out just as soon as—”

  “It’s fine, Mom. Really. Don’t worry.” Tristan set down his backpack and moved a dusty box off the bed. “You go back to whatever you were doing; I’ll be up in a moment.” Right now he wanted to be alone, to have space to think. He was so confused and overwhelmed that he hardly knew what to say.

  Nodding, his mom hugged him once again and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ll make your favorite lasagna for dinner tonight, okay? We’ll have a feast, you and I.”

  Tristan swallowed hard.

  Once his mom had left, Tristan closed the door to the tiny, drab basement and sat down on the old bed. Pulling open his backpack, he drew out the notebook Leila had given him and opened it to the first page. The familiar handwriting was like a draught of cold water to soothe his nerves.

  It began with a letter. As he flipped through the pages, he realized that there was a different letter for every few days of the summer. Kicking off his shoes, he crossed his legs and began to read.

  Dear Tristan,

  I wrote these letters just so you’d remember that I’ll be thinking of you all through this long summer. You’re only allowed to read one a day, so no looking ahead. I hope you enjoy yourself; I can only imagine how weird it must feel to return home after everything that’s happened to us.

  When I think of you, I’ll picture the crazy magician who grew a tree in the middle of our classroom and blew up the door of the Map Room. If I really miss you, though, I’ll just think about how much fun we had decorating Christmas cookies and roasting marshmallows.

  Tomorrow I’ll bake you a batch of chocolate chip cookies and eat them all myself. Then you’ll wish you hadn’t abandoned me here. Just kidding.

  Anyway, I can’t wait for August. Have a wonderful summer.

  Love,

  Leila

  Smiling, Tristan lay back on his bed and hugged the notebook to his chest. The Lair was still there, hundreds of miles away. Here he was a criminal; there he was a magician. It felt strange thinking of himself that way, but he had proved himself, and next year Drakewell would teach him the secrets of the Map Room.

  Besides, Leila and Rusty and Amber and all of the others understood exactly how he felt. No matter what this summer brought, he had a family waiting for him on the other side.

  About R.J. Vickers

  R.J. Vickers is a fantasy author, world traveler, and chef. Though she grew up in the US, she now calls beautiful New Zealand her home.

  To purchase "Rogue Magic," the next book in the series, click here.

  To subscribe to R. J. Vicker's email list, click here.

  The Gaunlet of Feona by Kelechi E. Agu

  Book One in the "Curse of the Seventh Sword" Series

  Davydd Miljorn is a hunter living in Gor, a small town in the kingdom of Angweleth. One day, while hunting for game, he unbeknownst to him, saves the princess of Angweleth when her carriage is attacked by mysterious assailants. This singular act, spawns a series of events which take both of them and the friends they meet, on a quest to retrieve an artifact that may just be the difference between humanity's destruction or it's salvation.

  To purchse "The War of Two Realms," the next book in the series, click here.

  To subscribe to Kelechi Agu's email list, click here.

  PROLOGUE

  The lush green grass covered the field as far as the eye could see. As the grass bathed in the sunlight that washed over the field, growing taller and taller day by day, it provided sufficient food for the animals that grazed on it, and they in turn were destined to forever be the meal of the animals that preyed on them. But today there would be no hunte
r or hunted – at least not for the animals on the field. A force of death more deadly than the fangs, claws or poison of the most fearsome predator was approaching and fast. The animals scattered as two enormous, roaring armies collided in bloody combat. Like all battles in history, this one was a massacre with the loss of life, staggering.

  At the end of the battle, the once green field was crimson red from the spilled blood of so many warriors. It seeped into the soil, forever cursing the land where such tragedy had taken place. There was no sign of life within the vicinity; all that was left, was death. She danced around happily and unseen to mortal eyes. She let out loud bursts of laughter as she withdrew the souls of man and beast from their lifeless bodies, pronouncing final judgment on them. The sun had long retreated behind the dark storm clouds that had covered the earth beneath. It was not long before the heavens opened up. Rain poured unto the land, drenching the blades of grass and washing them free of the blood that had sullied them. It was then that the soldier’s armor glistened as he navigated his way through the sea of lifeless bodies. The soldier crawled on all fours; his breath labored as he painstakingly inched forward, leaving a trail of blood behind him. His golden armor, banged up and dented, glistened in some parts, revealing its former glory. He stopped to catch his breath. His vision was beginning to blur and he could feel the life draining from him. Still, he had to move on. He gathered his strength and crawled on, while the heavens beat on him and everything else around. Finally, he had reached it. Just in front of him lay his sword. It was his one true companion in battle and how many had they won off the edge of this sword? How many times had his life been saved because his sword had stayed true? However, it was not the same today. They had won the battle and they had almost won the war... but not quite yet. He tried to reach out for his sword but his body had gone numb. His breathing became labored as anxiety took over him. I’ve failed you! I’m so sorry! It was then that a figure in a brown cloak appeared in front of him. The soldier looked up at the aged arms of the figure in the white overalls and black cloak. Even though the figure stood right in front of him, he could only just make out his features. The figure stooped low and picked up the sword, handing it over to the soldier. The soldier, finding one final wind, grabbed the sword but the strain on him was visible. After going through a bout of gut wrenching coughs, he spoke.

  “Matilom... you... finally... made it...”

  The elderly man called Matilom grabbed the soldier’s hand, clasping it reassuringly. He had tears in his eyes. “I told you I should have been by your side. But you’ve always been so stubborn.”

  “I... I...couldn’t risk your death...you know he’ll need you.”

  Matilom nodded his head in agreement. The soldier looked at Matilom, his dying eyes begging the question that weighed heavy on his heart.

  “They are safe.”

  “Good... My apologies... Matilom. I cannot leave... this with you.”

  The soldier said looking at the sword. Matilom understood. If their enemy were to get their hands on the sword, the human race was finished. The soldier scribbled something unto the blade of the sword, with his own blood. He leaned the sword in closer, and whispered an incantation. Upon whispering, the sword’s blade seemed to absorb the scribbles in blood, into itself, and it began to glow a deep red, while shaking in the soldier’s hand. He looked at Matilom, who clasped the soldier’s hand tighter before letting go. “You can let it go now... it’s okay... they are safe. I promise.”

  The soldier released his grip and the sword whizzed off skywards, disappearing in the distance.

  The soldier’s breathing got shallower as the minutes passed.

  “My... time is up... Matilom.”

  Matilom nodded slowly. “You can go home. You’ll find peace there.”

  Finally, the soldier lay still and lifeless. His grip on Matilom’s hand had gone limp but his right hand remained firmly curled into a fist. Matilom reached out and closed the dead man’s eyes. He noticed the curl of the dead soldier’s fingers and tried to pry them open, to no avail. In the distance, he could hear the support infantry approaching.

  “Your majesty! Your majesty!” They cried out as they searched the dead bodies in the field. Matilom looked back at the dead soldier.

  “Long live the King.” He muttered under his breath.

  CHAPTER ONE: A Massacre in the Forest

  23 years later...

  The market square of Gor was abuzz with activity on this sunny mid-week afternoon. Traders yelled, displayed, and demonstrated their wares and services, all in an effort to attract the attention of potential customers. Gor was one of the smaller towns in the kingdom of Angweleth. It was surrounded by the misty forest, which led into Windhaven, the next town. Despite the forest surroundings, Gor was easily accessible to foreign traders and as such, it was famous for its market days. Today was no different as buyers from all corners of Angweleth had flooded the quiet town, transforming it into a hub of activities.

  “Aren’t you done yet?” Asked the impatient soldier as the blacksmith worked on his helmet. The blacksmith turned his muscular frame around and looked at the soldier. Despite a beer gut, he was a well-built man with broad shoulders and strong arms. He looked like he could tear into the soldier and rip him to shreds if he so desired. Despite his imposing frame, he had a kind face with dark graying hair and beard. He on one hand looked intimidating and on the other wasn’t such a menacing sight at all.

  “If I was done, I’d have my money by now and you’d have your helmet.” The blacksmith replied. “You really banged this up in your drunken brawl last night. But give me a few more minutes and it will be ready.”

  The blacksmith turned back to the helmet and kept working at it. Soon the once banged up and dented helmet had been restored to its original shape and shimmer. The blacksmith turned to the soldier just as another man walked up to his stall.

  “There. That will be 5 pieces of gold.”

  The soldier shook his head, as he dug into his pouch. “You’re charging me a pound of flesh here.”

  The man who had just walked up to the stall smiled. “I told you to take off the armor, Segmiatus.” He turned to the blacksmith laughing. “He thought his opponent, who was just as drunk as he was would shoot him with an arrow.”

  “I was being cautious, Davydd.” Retorted Segmiatus defensively. “Besides, even drunken fools can sometimes find their mark, as he did with my helmet. And where were you when I needed your help? Charming the lady servers?”

  “I am a hunter, and while I occasionally indulge in certain pleasures and sins, fighting isn’t one of them. I apologize.”

  “No worries. I just pray the gods send a fight your way one day, my friend. I’ll show you support then.” Segmiatus put a friendly arm around Davydd’s neck as they both shared pleasant laughter. “Oh! Thank you for the helmet Ovar. Hopefully I won’t be bothering you with such pettiness in the near future.”

  “Not a problem, impatient young man. Stop by later on. I believe Davydd is going to be hunting for some Deer meat soon. Aren’t you, my boy?” Ovar turned to Davydd, who nodded in agreement.

  “Well then I’ll be sure to stop by. See you two at meal time.”

  Davydd and Ovar watched as the soldier walked off. When they had determined he was beyond hearing range, Ovar turned to Davydd.

  “Alright I know why you are here. You did it again, didn’t you, Davydd?”

  Davydd smiled and pulled out a small black bag he had kept in his hunting pouch. As he placed it on the table, it jingled. Ovar stared down at the bag and back at Davydd. “How much did you take this time?”

  “There are thirty-five gold pieces in there. Not that the landowner I stole it from would miss it terribly. Besides, you need it father.”

  “I know I do. But all the money in the world would be for nothing if I were to lose my only son. I cannot risk that.”

  “I understand, father. I have been, and will continue to be careful.”

  Over gl
ared at him for a while and Davydd held his breath nervously. Finally, his father spoke. “Be careful son.” Ovar picked up the black bag and hid it in his toolbox. “Now off you go, and do some real work. See if you can catch enough game to feed us and to sell as well. Earn the gold you possess.”

  Davydd laughed. “Is that a challenge, father?”

  Ovar shrugged. “Surprise me. Now off you go.”

  “See you when I get back.” Davydd picked up his hunting bag and waved his goodbyes as he walked off. Ovar watched him for a little while and then went back to work in his stall.

  The caravan made its way through the misty forest, on its way out of Gor and headed towards Windhaven, which was the next town. Windhaven was about a day’s journey from Gor, and the caravan was making good time. The caravan consisted of three horse driven carriages and fifteen horseback soldiers. The central carriage was circular in shape and adorned with beautiful golden crown patterns around its edges. Inside the carriage sat two beautiful young women dressed in green and pink-laced gowns, with golden necklaces and bangles adorning their neck and wrists.

  “That was a good visit to Gor, wasn’t it?” The lady in green asked.

  The lady in pink had a wry smile on her face.

  “Gor has always been one of my favorite towns.” The lady in pink responded.

  The lady in green pulled her dark brown hair back behind her ears.

  “Your father won’t be happy with you giving the royal family’s wealth away though.”

  “You mean the people’s wealth and gold.” The lady in pink said, rather quickly. “I don’t know what’s become of him. Ever since my mother died he’s changed. He would have been a great king. At first I thought it was me being too young to understand, but as I grew older, I realized that everything I saw was the truth.”

  “Princess.” The lady in green said. She reached out and held the princess’s hand. “Let us not speak of such things now. Even for you, speaking out against the king is unacceptable.”