Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Lies.”

  The witch smiled slyly again. It was a nice smile. Ignatius found he was quite attracted to it, and he instantly felt regret for being attracted to her. She was not an enemy, per se, but she was certainly not an ally.

  Now the witch sat down. “Fine, you’ve caught me. I do want something.” The smile never disappeared. “I want access to the world in between.”

  Ignatius startled and leaned forward. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Relax, no one is listening. Everyone here is too drunk or too stupid to believe in the world in between.”

  “I don’t have access.”

  “But you will.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Ignatius answered. He sipped his ale. Steam rose up his throat, escaping his mouth and his nostrils. “Why do you want access? You surely know the horrors of that place.”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “I can respect that. What if I guess your reasoning, will you then tell me if I’m right?”

  The witch looked away toward the back of the tavern. A fistfight had broken out between a mountain man and an Orc. The Orc was tugging on the man’s long beard and screeching. Bets were being made in the same manner as the bets made before Ignatius downed the Firejuice.

  “You will never guess it right, Mangood.”

  “Don’t underestimate me.”

  A few patrons sitting at the bar left to gather around the fighters. Glasses broke, a table flipped, and wood splintered.

  “I will just tell you. I do not want a round-trip ticket.”

  “Huh?”

  “I want to get in, but I have no plans on coming back.”

  Ignatius dropped his cup on the table. It landed on one of the Trolls’ toes, causing its small face to balloon in anger and turn a blazing-red color. “Sorry. sorry,” Ignatius whispered to it. He didn’t normally like Trolls, but he especially hated angry Trolls, because they grew much too big and scary for the cute creatures they were supposed to be.

  He turned back to the witch, the shock still rippling through him. “You don’t want to come back? That’s suicide, you know that, right?”

  The witch shrugged.

  “There are dark forces at work inside the world in between—”

  “And you want to join them?” Ignatius interrupted.

  The witch smiled. “I see you jump to conclusions. I never thought the valiant wizard Ignatius would do such a thing.”

  “I—uh, I’m sorry,” Ignatius said.

  “No harm, no foul. Yes, an Earth saying. Don’t be so surprised. We Woodland Witches know a thing or two about the world beyond Oriceran.”

  Ignatius cleared his throat. There was no denying the awkwardness of their conversation, but the witch seemed to take no notice of it.

  “So if I tell you that I’ll help you get into the world in between,” Ignatius said, “then you’ll help me find the Gnome named Gelbus?”

  The witch nodded then said, “I’ll do you one better, Ignatius. I’ll guide you to where he is. For you will need my guidance.”

  He never thought he’d need guidance from a Woodland Witch. Ignatius looked around the tavern at the gathered patrons cheering and cursing at the fighters. His options were, as it stood, pretty slim as to who would or could guide him to Gelbus. He sighed and stuck out his hand. The witch took it.

  “We have a deal,” Ignatius said.

  “How wonderful,” the witch answered.

  “But know, if you try to double-cross me, I won’t hesitate to show you my wand.”

  The witch laughed. “Oh, Ignatius, I bet you’d like to show me your wand.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not what I meant…”

  They shook hands. “I’m joking, of course,” the witch said.

  “Good. Now what’s your name? It’d be nice to know who I’m doing business with.”

  “Freida Storm,” the witch answered.

  Ignatius took her hand and kissed it. She may have been a Woodland Witch, but Ignatius was a gentleman, through and through.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frieda.”

  She smiled warmly.

  “Now, let’s talk somewhere a little more…orderly,” she said.

  They went outside. Ignatius kept his sleeve at the ready in case things turned south quickly. Frieda was, after all, a Woodland Witch from the outskirts of the Dark Forest. Anything from the Dark Forest was hard to trust.

  The sun blazed, a stark contrast to the darkness inside of Ves Ielan.

  When Ignatius had turned to follow Frieda out of the tavern’s front doors, one of the Trolls had jumped into his hood. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but good thing Freida did; Ignatius didn’t think he could handle both Sherlock and a Troll.

  Promptly, she plucked it from his hood and set it on an empty table. “Run along, little one,” she said in the sweetest voice Ignatius had heard her use since he had met her.

  The Troll smiled serenely, looking at Frieda as if she were his mother. Ignatius never saw someone handle Trolls better—then again, she was familiar with the Woodlands and the various creatures that probably lived around them.

  As Ignatius looked at her now, her hips swaying beneath the dark skirts that stretched to the middle of her calf, he realized, with bitterness, that perhaps he had picked up one bad habit while living on Earth—stereotyping others, being quick to judge.

  Maybe she is really a kind soul, he thought.

  Of course, he was right when he stereotyped the Troll; as soon as Frieda had pointed out the Troll’s rightful place on the oaken bar, the Troll’s serene expression transformed into something out of the far reaches of Hell, and he had blown the wettest raspberries Ignatius had seen a Troll blow. A fine spray of spittle had dotted their clothes and they both said, “Yuck!”

  Then the Troll jumped down from the table and skipped to the bar.

  Ignatius thought Freida might one day laugh about it—

  No, not now, Ignatius. You can’t be falling in love when you have such an important mission. Not to mention with a Woodland Witch; one who sees your true desires in her ‘flames.’ How many others know of your quest because of her, Ignatius? You must stay on course.

  Freida stopped and turned around, her skirts swishing in the brightness. She looked like she was dressed for a funeral. “Over here, old man—keep up.”

  Whether Ignatius was an old man compared to Freida was debatable. Woodland Witches were known to live almost as long as the magic-practitioners of Dominion; except, being so vain, they would not allow time to steal their good looks. Many a spell would be cast in the cosmetic department.

  It wasn’t her looks Ignatius was attracted to—sure, they weren’t a downside—but it was her demeanor, the way she carried herself so confidently, the way she seemed to be about a goal rather than holding grudges against her enemies—which, in the strictest sense, Ignatius was, according to lore.

  They stopped in the shade of the mountain. The rock was cool and the outlying forest was fragrant with the smells of leaves and sap and earth.

  “Now listen carefully, wizard,” Frieda began.

  Ignatius frowned. “You know my name. You don’t need to keep calling me ‘wizard,’ my lady.”

  “And there is no need for you to call me your lady, for I am no one’s lady but my own.”

  “Duly noted. Forgive me, Frieda.”

  That sly smile spread on her face once more. It conflicted Ignatius—he felt both more attracted to and more distrusting of her.

  When she saw Ignatius studying her as if she was a painting on display in some fine art museum, the smile faded, and her cheeks grew red. They both looked away—Ignatius toward the forest floor, which was littered with pine needles, and her upward, toward the top of the mountain, shielding her eyes.

  Frieda cleared her throat and spoke. “I will tell you all I know,” she finally said. “It is necessary for where our journey will take us.”

&n
bsp; Ignatius leaned forward, now honestly intrigued.

  “You may not believe me, but know, wizard—er, Ignatius Mangood—that I speak the truth.”

  “Go on,” Ignatius said, twirling his thumbs.

  “I spoke of the Dragon Tongue. Do you know of them?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have seen them in my flames. They are popping up all over Oriceran.”

  The image of a Dragon Tongue, a devout follower of the worst kind of dragons—Rogue Dragons—popped into Ignatius’s head. Their pallid flesh, eyes haunted and tinged with fire, and of course their forked tongues—a cosmetic ‘enhancement’ made with their own heated daggers. He shuddered and shook his head.

  “What is happening?” he asked himself, but Frieda took it upon herself to answer.

  “As the planets come closer and closer to lining up, not only does the magic increase, but the evil take their opportunities as well.”

  It was true. Ignatius knew it. Evil was as opportunistic as anything in the land.

  “When is the last time one of the Rogue have been seen in Oriceran?”

  “Oh, it’s been many, many years,” Frieda answered.

  Ignatius could only shake his head. He saw new battles on the horizon—the Widow and her followers, and now the Rogue Dragons of Old Legend, and if not them, at least the crazy followers of the Rogue’s Order.

  “The man who contacted your friend Gelbus was a Dragon Tongue under the guise of a normal man. Gelbus sought out his friend Elargo, who, upon correspondence, had told Gelbus Cogspark to meet him there.” She pointed to Ves Ielan. “When Gelbus arrived, Elargo was nowhere to be found, but the Dragon Tongue was there, waiting with a letter.”

  “From Elargo.”

  “Precisely,” Freida answered.

  “And you have seen this all in your flames?” Ignatius asked. His old heart was giving him quite a run for his money inside of his sternum, but he couldn’t tell if it was because the more Frieda spoke, the more he grew to like her, or because of what she spoke of. “Why does the well-being of one Gnome concern you?” He didn’t mean to sound rude, but couldn’t help that he did.

  Frieda took no notice of his tone. “I can’t help what I see in my flames, Ignatius. I see what is important, that’s all, just as I’d seen you with that pretty music box, the one of legend, thought to be lost in your village’s battle with the Arachnids.”

  “Right. Makes sense that you saw that.”

  She nodded.

  “Where was the Gnome abducted to?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t abducted, at least not yet. He was only guided to the town of Ashbourne. They knew if they abducted him this early on in the journey, it would’ve been tough getting him there unnoticed.”

  “They made him think he stumbled onto his death by accident, but why?” Ignatius asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? What are Gnomes known for keeping? What is the reason you seek him?”

  Ignatius nodded, understanding coming over him. “His secrets.”

  “Precisely. Those who worship the Rogue Dragons know the only way to raise one is by dark magic; much like the only way into the world in between is the same. What dark spells? No one knows but the Gnomes and the dead.”

  Her words sent a chill through him.

  “Now I know Gnomes are normally stubborn, but Gelbus Cogspark has a loose enough tongue as it is. I fear it may already be too late.”

  “You think they’ve killed him?”

  Freida nodded. “It is possible, yes. I have heard nothing of Rogue Dragon sightings. Surely, news of an extinct evil would travel the land fast. We are not too far from Ashbourne, as it stands, but we are not close enough to see those hateful wings take flight. And there is always the chance that Gelbus spilled his information and the Dragon Tongue were unsuccessful.”

  Legs weakening, Ignatius found a nearby rock to sit on. He put his hand to his chest, above his heart. The pain there was immense. It ached for Gelbus Cogspark and his friend Elargo, and all the rest of the fisherfolk of Ashbourne. If the Rogue Dragon had somehow risen from the grave, what was stopping it from wreaking havoc across all the land? What was stopping the Tongue from raising more? Nothing, and there wouldn’t be anything to stop it until it was too late.

  “You care too much, Ignatius,” Frieda said, obviously noting the pained expression on his face. “It would do you better not to care.”

  She may have been right. When you don’t care, there are no consequences, but Ignatius Mangood was not raised that way. He believed, like his father and his father’s father before him, that justice and protecting all those who were in need were a wizard’s sole purpose. If not, then what were they given powers for?

  He thought of Maria then, how he had raised her the same way—to be honest, valiant, and honorable—and that only further complicated the situation. His plan had been to track down the Gnome by himself, to uncover the secrets and open the door to the world in between without the music box while Maria was nestled away safely on Earth. But a dragon? Ignatius knew he would not be able to slay a dragon on his own, and he did not trust Freida enough to enlist her help when Frieda was only interested in finding the Gnome. He had barely stood a chance against Malakai, who was already dead. He would need Maria. As much as he hated to put her in danger, he would have to.

  “We must go,” Ignatius said.

  “I know,” Frieda answered.

  “I’ve never slain a dragon.”

  “Neither have I.” Freida smiled. It was not the sly and mischievous one—it was genuine this time. “But it may not come to that. We may stop them before they can raise it from the ashes.”

  “I hope so.”

  Frieda sat next to him. A strong breeze rolled through the trees, rustling the leaves. It caught Freida’s scent and sent it to Ignatius’s nose. She smelled of wild roses. It was a nice smell.

  Then, as if he were a young man realizing the existence of women for the first time, he stumbled over his words. “I-I, uh, I—” He shook his head.

  Frieda chuckled. “All right, Ignatius?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling back, finally getting control of his tongue. “I have to travel back to Earth. My granddaughter—”

  “Yes, the new witch. I have seen her in my flames as well, Ignatius. She is powerful…more powerful than even you realize.” Woodland Witches didn’t see all in their flames, but Ignatius was beginning to learn that they saw a lot.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “No, don’t be afraid.” She took his hand. His heart did a somersault in his chest. He had only been on a roller coaster once in all of his years on Earth. When Maria was younger, he had taken her and Claire to Cedar Point for her birthday. The nausea, lightheadedness, and nervousness he felt afterward were the reason he had sworn off rollercoasters for good. He never wanted to experience that feeling again, no matter how oddly pleasant the G-forces and weightlessness might have felt at times. But as Freida’s hand was in his own and her flesh warmed his, all those feelings came back and then some. “She is powerful, but she is also good because you, Ignatius Mangood, raised her. Take pride in that, and know she will always do the right thing, even in the face of temptation.”

  Ignatius offered a weak smile. His eyes found hers. They were a deep blue, like that of the Caribbean Sea; not the way he had originally pictured a Woodland Witch’s eyes to look—black and red and beady. No, Frieda’s were beautiful. Sure, it could’ve been a spell doing that to her eyes, but Ignatius didn’t think so. There was truth in her gaze.

  “Have you seen that in your flames, that she will always do good?” he asked.

  Frieda shook her head. “I don’t need to.”

  Ignatius looked out at the towering trees, gleaming in the sunlight, swaying in the wind. The two of them sat there, hand-in-hand, saying nothing.

  It was nice. It was perfect.

  After a moment, Ignatius stood up and said, “I have to go back and get her.”

  Frieda r
ose, too. She nodded.

  “Would you…maybe want to go with me?” Ignatius asked. “Since we’re partners now—not partners as in…you know.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  It’s like you’ve never spoken to a woman before, Ignatius, he thought bitterly.

  That sly smile was back on her face. “No, I understand.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I have never seen Earth.”

  “It’s beautiful. We won’t be able to stay long, but it’s better than nothing.” Better, Ignatius, he thought. Now take her hand. He did. “I’d be honored if you came along with me,” he said.

  She blushed and looked down at her shoes.

  “Well, I’d be honored to come along, Ignatius Mangood.”

  He almost said it was a date, but luckily the more mature part of his mind stopped him before he could make even more of a fool of himself.

  “I shall open a portal then.”

  They parted, Ignatius stepping forward and drawing on the magical energy present in Orcieran’s core. He sang softly. No less than five seconds later, the portal appeared, and Ignatius was looking onto his street, devoid of cars.

  “Have you ever had buckeye ice cream?” Ignatius asked, turning to look at Freida. Her mouth hung wide open; her eyes were even wider. She must have never seen a live portal before. Most on Oriceran were able to open them, but some were too scared to leave their homeworld. Ignatius didn’t blame them. The first time he fled Oriceran and went to Earth with baby Maria in one arm and the music box in the other, Ignatius was terrified.

  Of course, he already knew the answer. Freida might’ve had ice cream or something like it—though he doubted that—but she had never had the deliciousness that was Salem’s buckeye ice cream, which he currently had in his freezer at home.

  “You’re in for quite a surprise,” he said. He stuck his hand out. Hesitantly, Frieda took it. He noticed how it had gone from warm to clammy. She was nervous. Ignatius didn’t blame her.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded, her eyes still wide, studying the other side of the portal.

  “Let’s go.”

  And they went.

  Chapter Ten