The Midwest Wanderer

by Flint Maxwell

  When she cleared the gates, they slammed shut behind her. Reflexively, she wheeled around. The graveyard sank, bleeding away into a dark mist.

  “Okay, Maria, one down, two more to go. Sherlock, I’m coming for you. Don’t worry; when I get there, I promise you can pee on all the Gnomes you want.”

  She turned back around to find the darkness was gone, replaced with a burning light of orange and red. Maria took a step and quickly stopped, her heart plummeting, and threw herself backward.

  The ground was gone.

  Where the walkway should’ve been, there was just a large gap, empty space for hundreds of feet until it ended in the sweltering magma below. A chunk of rock broke off from the edge and fell. It landed in the magma with a splash, quickly followed by a sizzling. Maria, now sitting, shook her head.

  “Okay, how the hell am I supposed to get across that? Killing skeletons was one thing, but I’m not superhuman. No way I can make that jump.”

  Not with that attitude, my dear, Gramps’s voice answered.

  “Gotta be another way.”

  She looked around. Behind her was a dead end. The corridor was narrow enough for her to be able to touch the walls to either side.

  She got up, walked over to the left wall, and ran her hands along it. The stone was firm, and jagged enough she could get her hands into the cracks and crevasses.

  I’ll have to climb. I’ll have to shimmy over like fucking Batman; except how often does Batman have to do it over a sea of lava? Probably never.

  Then, aloud, “This is ‘thrill’. Gotta be. Or it could be ‘will’. Whatever it is, I don’t fucking like it.” She stepped onto the rocky ledge and grabbed ahold of a knob of rock a little to the right of her foot. Already, the pain biting into her palm was sharp.

  Three sideways steps later, she was over the orange abyss, the heat reaching up to bake her from below.

  This is fucking crazy.

  Sweat poured off of her. Each time she shifted her hands, she felt her grip on the rock getting looser and looser.

  When she was halfway to the other side, her foot slipped out from beneath her. With a fair amount of pain driving into the flesh of her palm, she screamed.

  But she held on.

  Then, at three-quarters of the way—so close she could see that the pinprick of light was now bigger on the other side—she slipped and fell.

  Screaming the whole way down, she stopped abruptly, the wind knocked out of her, her head rebounding off of something hard. There was no splash, no magma consuming her body; none of that.

  She opened her eyes and saw the orange light still dancing on the cave’s ceiling in front of her.

  “What the hell?”

  She rolled over slowly on her side, and her breath froze in her lungs when she realized that she was hovering above the lava, as if she were lying on a see-through floor.

  “This is impossible,” she whispered.

  Magic, her grandfather answered in her head.

  Even more slowly than she rolled over, she sat up. With her left hand, she knocked on what seemed like thin air. Its hard surface made a clink-clink sound when she did it.

  “This is just crazy.”

  Now she stood up, her arms out to her sides for balance. But she didn’t need it, which she realized as she took a cautious step forward. The air was not air at all—it was as hard as the rock bridge she had come from; harder, maybe, than the ledge she had fallen from.

  As she righted herself, she saw the other side of the bridge. It was slightly above her. Nothing she couldn’t reach by jumping.

  The sensation that she was walking on thin air never left her, even after taking eight or so steps.

  “Thrill,” she said. “This has gotta be thrill.” Though she felt nothing close to a thrill. Each step was a test in terror, but it was one she was currently acing.

  That was, until she got closer to the other side of the bridge and decided to speed up her pace. Suddenly, she heard crackling below her feet, and it caused her to stop. She looked down and saw the very air she was walking on fracture. Spiderweb-cracks branched out from beneath her soles.

  “Oh, shit. Not good.”

  Then the sound of breaking glass filled her ears. It started behind her and, like a flash fire, began to chase her. She moved with such speed, it was as if she were not putting any weight down at all.

  The pieces of whatever she had been walking on fell to the lava below, getting swallowed up by the flames, splitting and cracking as it turned into rising smoke.

  Maria realized, almost too late, that she wouldn’t make the jump to the other side of the bridge. She had to think fast, just like Gramps had taught her.

  And she did.

  She pulled the sword out of its sheath and planted it on a piece of un-cracked air, which looked like nothing at all; using it in much the same way a pole vaulter uses their stick, she planted the point into the surface, feeling it give as she launched herself into the air.

  But it was enough.

  The shattering of glass below her, the lava swallowing up the pieces—Maria grabbed onto the edge of the other side of the bridge with one arm, her sternum pressed up against the rock, digging into her. She threw the sword up and over with her right hand to free it, then she clawed at the edge, using her nails to get some purchase as she kicked her legs and tried to find a foothold.

  The glass floor below her was completely gone. She was suspended over nothing but the lava and her impending doom.

  “Not today,” she wheezed, and with one great pull, she scrabbled up to safety. She lay there a moment, catching her breath. Laughter rippled through the warm air, and it was quickly followed by slow clapping.

  “Wonderful job, Maria. You have officially gone farther in the Trials than most of those who’ve set foot in my mountain. That is something to be proud of, in and of itself. So remember that when you fail during round three.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Maria muttered. No time to rest. Must keep going. Not only for Sherlock, but for the village, and Gramps, and now Frieda. Man, the crew just keeps getting bigger and bigger. More eggs in the basket. It’s a good feeling, living for something other than myself.

  Slowly, she got to her feet. This time she wasn’t surprised to see that the rocky bridge in front of her dissolved like the graveyard had done after it served its purpose. Now she stood in the village of Dominion. The King’s castle—my father’s castle—brooded in the background.

  This was not the Dominion Maria had seen on the two occasions before. The first time being in Duke, the dead soldier’s, memory, and the other time being when she, Gramps, Tabby, Claire, and Sherlock had traveled to the ruins the first time she remembered setting foot on Oriceran.

  Now, the sky was a brilliant blue. No clouds. It was warm, but not so hot that Maria would start sweating. There was a light breeze in the air that brought the sweet, rich smell of fall—leaves, grass, and spices that reminded Maria of pumpkins and pecans and Halloween.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind Maria.

  She spun around, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Quickly, she realized she wouldn’t need it. The woman standing in front of her was no threat. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did—the woman standing in front of her was Zimmy Ba, Ignatius Mangood’s daughter, the King’s wife.

  “Mom?”

  “That’s right, Maria.”

  Maria couldn’t control herself. She rushed forward, and the two women embraced. She was so warm, so real, so alive.

  But how? How can this be?

  Maria burst into tears of joy as the women separated.

  “Oh, my, you’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” Zimmy said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Mom,” Maria said, “how are you here? How am I here?”

  “Maria, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are here, the both of us, for the first time in nearly twenty Earth years. Together.”

  She was r
ight.

  Zimmy swept her hand over the village. “See this, Maria? This wonderful village where we were going to live and grow and love one another?”

  Maria took it all in until Zimmy snapped her fingers, and the beauty was gone in the blink of an eye. Arachnids marched down the fences. Fire raged across the land. Buildings crumbled. Maria had drawn her sword, but Zimmy put a hand on hers and said, “No, Maria, you do not need that.”

  Maria had no choice but to listen to her mother. It was the only time she had ever been given the opportunity to listen to her mother, and she was going to take it. As quickly as the village had changed into a burning graveyard of destruction, it changed back to its original peaceful state.

  “Maria, see that? See how it changes? That is because of you. Because you are a shining beacon of light in a time of darkness. Because you are so pure and good and wonderful.”

  Tears welled in Maria’s eyes. “Mom,” she moaned.

  “Do not cry, my dear daughter. There is hope, yet. Hope because of you. I must go now, Maria. I must go on to the afterlife. But I will be waiting for you; though I won’t see you for a long, long time, know I will always be watching over you.”

  Maria whimpered. “But I can’t— I don’t…Mom, don’t go.”

  Zimmy turned, her colorful skirts swirling around her. “I must, Maria…unless—” She turned back around, her happy expression morphing into one of grim satisfaction.

  “Unless what?” Maria asked. “Unless what?”

  “Oh, no, Maria, I can’t ask you that. That wouldn’t be fair of me.”

  Maria’s eyes lit up. “Anything, Mom. Anything, please. Please, tell me.”

  “Take out your sword, Maria. Take out your grandfather’s sword.”

  Maria listened. The steel glimmered in the sunlight, the rays dancing along its edge.

  “Good, Maria, good. Now hand it over to me.”

  Maria hesitated.

  “What is it, daughter? Do you not trust your mother?”

  Something had changed in Zimmy’s eyes. The deep color drained away until all that was left were tar-black pupils.

  “I—” Maria began.

  Don’t listen to her, Maria. Don’t. It’s a trick. Remember the Trials of Antenele; this is a test. Only a test. Her grandfather’s voice pleaded from somewhere so deep inside her head, that she could barely hear and understand it.

  Zimmy held out her hand. “Please, Maria. It will only hurt a moment; then, my dear daughter, you can join me for all of eternity. Mother and daughter, together at last. I promise I will go straight for the heart. The pain will bleed into pleasure as death takes you and the void claims us.”

  Maria drew her hand away from the thing posing as Zimmy Ba, and those black eyes turned red and heated; the voice coming from within growing distorted.

  This was not her mother.

  “Maria Apple, you will listen to me! Give me that sword and die honorably!”

  The tears poured down Maria’s face. She took a step back and raised the sword. “Never!” she shouted back, and swiped the blade downward in a long slash, connecting with the thing’s shoulder.

  There was no blood, no severed limbs, no screams of pain.

  All that entered Maria’s ears was the sound of a great pane of glass, shattering beneath her blade. Zimmy Ba’s image crumbled, along with the background of Dominion, the blue sky, the swaying trees.

  Maria fell to her knees, crying. The sword hit the ground in front of her, which was not ground at all, but a pile of shards of splintered world glass.

  Maria bowed her head.

  Will, she thought. The final test. Sheer will, and I have passed. But I will kill the man of the mountain for using my mind and my dead mother against me. Mark my words, I will kill him.

  She looked up, and when she did, the skeleton man with the staff stood in front of her, the throne looming behind him. He rested the staff against his body and clapped slowly.

  “Congratulations, Maria Apple. You have made it through the Trials of Antenele; you have done what no one else has done before. You have done the impossible.”

  “Fuck you,” Maria said. “And give me back my dog.”

  The man of the mountain didn’t look the slightest bit offended. In fact, he smiled, and Maria thought she saw a sick kind of pride in his eyes.

  “Fine, Maria. I shall give you your dog back.”

  “Unharmed.”

  He nodded. “Yes, unharmed.”

  “And you will let us pass toward the Land of Terran on the other side of the mountain. You will leave my grandfather, Ignatius Apple, and his traveling companion, Frieda, the dark witch, alone. They will come out on the other side unharmed.”

  “Details, details,” the man said, twirling the fingers of one hand. “But yes, Maria, I shall do all of that.”

  “Good, now never let me see your face again, because the next time, I do, I will kill you,” Maria said. She stood up shakily. Had she not been drained of all energy, she would’ve slain him right then and there.

  The man of the mountain threw his head back in laughter, and he lifted his staff. The air shimmered and lit with flame. Sherlock appeared out of nowhere. Maria rushed to him. She petted him, but he didn’t wake up. With her right arm, she set his head into her lap. “Sherlock! Sherlock!”

  No response.

  The tears were back—had they really ever left?—and she hugged him close and tight, thinking the man of the mountain had lied, and who was she to trust a dark conjurer of such cheap tricks, anyway?

  “Sherlock, wake up, please. If you wake up, I’ll round up all the Gnomes and Raffins and dead squirrels and trash ice cream that I can find, and you can eat until you pop or pass out.”

  His eyes fluttered and opened. Tongue snapping back into his mouth, he said, What? Did I dream that? Or—

  “Sherlock!” Maria hugged him again, tighter this time.

  Oh, no…

  Sherlock passed gas loud enough to echo off the cave’s walls.

  Sorry about that.

  “You know, I don’t even care. You can do that all you want.”

  Really?

  “No, please don’t.”

  I heard it! That’s, like, a legally binding verbal contract.

  “Maybe on Earth, but we’re on Oriceran. I don’t think the same rules apply here, buddy.”

  Sherlock rolled over onto his feet and shook himself out. Drool flew in all directions, some even splashing onto Maria’s face, but Maria didn’t care. She was just glad that Sherlock was okay.

  The man of the mountain was gone; so were his throne, his staff, and his terrible laughter. What took his place was not the pinprick of light. No. The pinprick had changed into a doorway. Maria and Sherlock walked toward it. As they got closer, they could smell the outside world, the clean, crisp air, the leaves, the trees, the dirt, and the rocks. No longer did the cold and damp sink into their bones.

  “Don’t go running off yet,” Maria said.

  Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, Sherlock replied.

  “Whoa, that’s a first. Never thought I’d hear you say you learned a lesson. ‘Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,’ and all that.”

  You can if you get kidnapped by some weirdo with a penis-shaped stick, like some kind of unsettling Gandalf.

  “A penis? Did it really look like that? I couldn’t tell.”

  Eh, maybe.

  Maria laughed. “Ah, good ol’ Sherlock.”

  They reached the opening and saw another white tree nearby. This one was full of leaves; it didn’t appear that even one had fallen off yet. They were a crisp and vibrant red, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the blue sky.

  Can you see the town from here? Sherlock asked.

  Maria was climbing up a boulder, trying to get a better look. She wasn’t having much luck. “No,” she answered. “Just more mountain. We’ve got a bit of a journey before we’re there.”

  Let’s go.

  “Nuh-uh, buddy. Gotta wait fo
r Gramps and Frieda. Believe me, I want nothing more than to get to that town and save those people if they need saving, but we are a crew. We can’t go at it alone. It took almost losing you for me to realize that, and I’m not going to let that happen again.”

  But Sherlock wasn’t listening. He was pacing back and forth, his head on a swivel, tail between his legs.

  How do you know they didn’t get hurt or something in there? he said. Oh, God, Maria, what if they’re captured like I was? Who’s gonna feed me!?

  “They’re not.”

  How do you know?

  “I just do.”

  He eyed her warily, but Maria didn’t give him any reason to not believe her by her expression.

  She sat down and patted the spot next to her. “Come here, boy. We have to wait. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  Sherlock padded over, his tail finally gaining momentum and swinging wildly. It was hard for him to resist Maria’s invitations because—even though deep down he knew there wasn’t—the animalistic part of his mind thought there were always treats involved whenever he was a ‘good boy.’

  Sherlock lay down, curling his body into a ball, while Maria leaned against the rock and stroked the Bloodhound’s back. Sherlock even set his head down on her thigh and looked up at her with pure love and admiration.

  She slipped him a treat.

  The wind blew, and soon they both drifted off to sleep while they waited for Ignatius and Freida. Lord knew they needed it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  On Oriceran, the quest was in full swing. Maria was battling her way through the Trials of Antenele, while Freida and Ignatius made their way through the Cave of Delusion, seeing their own personal ghosts and demons. Yet, despite Ignatius’s injury, he remained strong, and he eventually led Freida toward that pinprick of light at the other side of the mountain.

  But Lois didn’t know any of this.

  On Earth, the hours grew later. Lois, the Muffler twins—in all their oddness, she still found their company comforting—Agnes, and Salem played 500 Rummy deep into the night, until the sun began to purple the dark sky. She did not feel tired, though she kept taking her glasses off and rubbing her eyes, thinking about Earl. It sucked to leave him, but she had to do what she had to do, and they had both known that this task given to her from Lacey Trader was not going to be an easy one.