Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  “I know the perfect way,” Maria said.

  “Come, tell us outside,” Gramps said.

  Frieda shivered. “Yes, please. I don’t like being around all this…death.”

  They went outside. The courtyard in front of the prison keep was bare; no reinforcements had been sent.

  It’s because they have bigger fish to fry than worrying about a prisonbreak. They know once the dragon takes to the sky, we are done for. The beast will burn down the town and devour us all.

  “What’s your plan?” Gramps asked.

  Maria scanned the horizon. In the distance, not far from the shores of Lake Fever, a large wooden barrel stood higher than most buildings. It seemed that no matter what planet one was on, that was the structure used to hold the town’s water supply.

  Whether the Dragon Tongue was using magic or real fuel for the fire, Maria knew their plan involved the lake. Whatever fuel they chose, it wouldn’t be able to withstand thousands of gallons of water being poured onto it. At the very least, they might be able to drown the Dragon Tongue, but that might be wishful thinking.

  Gramps followed her gaze and brought a hand up to his chin. “The water tower?"

  Maria nodded.

  "It’s crazy enough that it may just work," Gramps continued.

  “By dousing the flames on a lake?” Frieda said, incredulous. “You know water isn’t supposed to be flammable in the first place, right? Yes, magic and all. I’m just saying it seems like a lot of work for little payoff. Why not just storm the beach and fight?”

  “We’re vastly outnumbered.” Gramps looked to Frieda. “Were we at full strength, I may give more thought to that approach. We got lucky once back there,” he pointed to the prison keep. “But I do not wish to test my luck again. At the very least, it will create a much needed distraction and buy us more time.”

  Maria nodded.

  Sherlock growled, Then we better get a move on.

  “Sherlock’s right. We better get going," Maria said.

  “We shall split up,” Gramps ordered. “Frieda and I will hold the ground forces off so you can get to the tower, and Gelbus and Sherlock can create a distraction.”

  Ruh-roh, Sherlock said.

  “That was a pretty good Scooby-Doo impression,” Maria said. “But don’t worry; you’re the master of distractions.” Please, let them be okay. Please, let this work…

  That’s true. Sherlock and Gelbus, two natural-born troublemakers!

  Maria stepped forward, drawing her sword. It was amazing how comfortable it now was in her hand. “Let’s go. Our time is short—”

  Sherlock’s growling cut her off. The Bloodhound looked toward a dark alley between the prison and a guard tower. Shadows danced across the ground, stretching toward them.

  It’s never easy, is it? Maria raised her blade. Gramps and Frieda prepared for a battle. Sherlock bared his teeth as Gelbus hunkered down on his back.

  But no enemies came out from the shadows. It was the mayor, Penelope; she had left the prison keep. Behind her walked a few of the townspeople Maria recognized. They had come back, and they now held weapons. Nothing great: broomsticks, shovels, picks, small daggers…one man had a bow that looked ancient and close to falling apart.

  “We’re not much,” Penelope admitted, “but this is our town. And we aim to take it back.”

  Maria smiled. “It will not be an easy battle; the risks are high, and many could lose their lives.”

  Gramps looked on the rag-tag group with the same pride as he had done earlier when Maria had done the right thing.

  “We know that. We’re prepared to lose our lives for our great town.”

  “Very well, then,” Maria said. She stuck her hand out to Penelope; the dirt-streaked older woman took it. A new alliance was forged.

  We’re gonna need all the help we can get.

  The now-larger group went north, toward the water tower and Lake Fever beyond.

  Chapter Seven

  After Claire and Tabby decided to follow Salem and Agnes after Maria, they'd gone through a dreaded portal to the Light Elves' Kingdom. Lois stayed behind, but she had said she was only a call away.

  Now, as wave of nausea hit Claire, she thought maybe she should've stayed behind, too.

  No, can't let Maria do this alone. She's more than my best friend—she's family, Claire thought to herself as she, Tabby, Salem, and Agnes were lifted into the Light Elves’ castle. Going by way of portal wasn’t the best form of traveling, but she decided it was much better than floating toward an invisible castle.

  Yep, that’s right, Claire—invisible, she thought. So weird.

  There they met an Elf, a real, live Light Elf named E’olin. Claire thought he was quite attractive until Salem commented that the Elf had been around for hundreds of years.

  Never thought I’d wanna get with an Elf…especially one so…old.

  But the real thrill of it all wasn’t the handsome Light Elf or his equally beautiful friends; it was the fact that the castle was invisible.

  Tabby and Claire stood in a room that had been nonexistent, staring up at the high-vaulted ceilings, gawking like two nerds at their first Comic-Con.

  “No time to gawk, ladies,” Salem said. “Time is short.”

  That it was, Claire knew.

  She snapped out of it and nudged Tabby with her elbow. “Your mouth is hanging down to the floor. Might wanna close it before some weird alien bug flies inside and plants a tree in your stomach or something.”

  Tabby arched an eyebrow. “That’s…oddly specific. Have you been writing stories again?”

  Claire shrugged as Agnes and Salem walked past her to the corner of the room.

  Stairs manifested out of nothingness, and the wizard and witch took them first while the girls followed behind.

  “I might be,” Claire mused. “How does that plot sound?”

  “Gruesome.”

  “Oh, you know me so well.”

  Once they reached the top of the staircase, both girls fought strong feelings of vertigo.

  “Come on, you two,” Salem urged. “To the library we go.”

  The reason they were at the library was to look for maps of Oriceran—more detailed ones that showed every charted village, big and small, from the ruins of Dominion to their destination: Ashbourne.

  Neither Salem nor Agnes had ever been there. Salem had thought he’d heard of it once long ago, having heard the legend of the Rogue Dragons, and learning where one—Odarth the Bright— fell, but the town had gone by a different name back then, one he couldn’t remember.

  A Gnome greeted them at the library’s entrance. He wore no hat or flower.

  Salem cocked his head. Always the blunt one of Senior Citizen Magic Brigade, Salem asked, “Greetings, my Gnome friend. Where’s your hat and flower this fine night?”

  The Gnome scowled, his upper lip rising to bare his teeth. “Long story, friend. And not a happy one.”

  A smell radiated off of the Gnome, rank and cloying. Salem and Agnes turned their heads slightly to avoid the smell as politely as possible—but Claire, unaware of what politeness was in any world, burst out, “Dog pee? Is that dog pee, I smell? Yuck!”

  “Claire,” Salem hissed.

  Claire looked at him wide-eyed. “What? I mean, it’s kind of nice; reminds me of home and stuff. Are there dogs here?”

  Now the Gnome was red-faced, and it was Tabby’s turn to elbow Claire.

  “Ow!”

  “Can it,” Tabby hissed.

  “What?”

  The Gnome sighed. “I see you’re not from here.” He looked at Agnes and Salem like a disappointed parent. “I suppose you two already know the consequences of bringing an Earthling to Oriceran?”

  “Checked it with the royal family,” Salem lied.

  “I’m sure you have. No matter; it’s not my business. I am just a librarian, not the border patrol,” the Gnome said.

  “Border patrol! Hey, we have that in America,” Claire said.

/>   “Keep your voice down, child,” Agnes interrupted.

  “Yes, please, I am not in the finest of moods,” the Gnome said. “I’ve already had a hand in banning someone from the library; I do not want to do it again.”

  “Do tell, my friend,” Salem prompted.

  Dog urine? Banning? He had a hunch already.

  “Not to mention the old wizard who tried to bribe one of my compatriots with fake currency. You’d think he would know it’s in a Gnome’s DNA to never spill our secrets.”

  Salem chuckled and leaned toward Agnes. “Sounds like Ignatius. Kooky old man, always thinking he can do the impossible. Gotta say, I admire him for it.”

  Agnes smiled and urged the Gnome to go on.

  The Gnome did, relaying a story about a young woman, an old wizard, and an Earth creature known, according to his books, as a Bloodhound. The Bloodhound had an unhealthy obsession with the Gnomes, wanting to prove his dominance after being frightened by one of the grumpier librarians. He had hopped up on their circulation desk and lifted his leg, bathing the unlucky Gnomes in his urine.

  “Sounds like Sherlock,” Claire agreed. “On behalf of his antics, we’re sorry.”

  “Yes,” Salem echoed, “we are most sorry.”

  “No matter. It beats having Centaurs roaming the stacks, I suppose.”

  Salem had seen a Centaur upon first arriving in the library. The beast clung to the shadows, but it was hard for one such as him to go unnoticed.

  If this little fellow only knew…Oh, well, not my job to tell him. And what’s so wrong with a Centaur trying to gain a little knowledge? Nothing at all, Salem thought.

  “We need to look at some maps,” Agnes said. “Could you direct us, please?”

  To her right, Claire and Tabby had wandered off. They were examining the large, dusty, leather-bound books on a nearby shelf.

  Tabby yelled and jumped back, falling into Claire. “Did you see that?”

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “Those eyes! There’s, like, some bird creature in there!”

  The Gnome sighed and shook his head.

  “That’d be the Raffins, girls,” Salem said. “They won’t bother you unless you bother them, and gods forbid you ever give them food.”

  The Gnome put on his best fake smile—which wasn’t very good at all—and said, “Come. The maps are right this way.”

  Another room manifested itself out of nowhere.

  Claire and Tabby stared at their surroundings with their mouths gaping. Neither one of the girls thought they’d ever get used to this; Claire wondered if it would be okay to use all the weird stuff she’d seen in Oriceran as the basis for one of her stories. She supposed it would be—fiction was as much the truth as it was a lie. She thought she’d heard that somewhere, maybe from some great writer, but couldn’t pin down who had said it.

  The room they’d entered was large and circular, and looked as if the walls had been papered with maps. Some were old and weathered, their edges torn and jagged with age. Others were fresh and bright, reflecting the room’s soft, white light. In the middle of the room were three tables holding heavy books.

  “What kind of map are you looking for?” the Gnome asked.

  “Well, my friend, I’m not exactly sure. Do you have anything from the olden days?”

  “We have any and every map you can think of, from all the lands,” the Gnome answered. He wore an actual smile on his face now—this was a Gnome who loved his job.

  “We need a detailed map of the northeastern section of the world. One that shows all the rivers, lakes, and towns from here to Trevilsom,” Agnes said.

  Salem was grateful for her. She was always one to get down to business, while Salem often dallied around, too worried of what the future might hold.

  “I have just the thing. Follow me.”

  The walk down to the far side of the middle table felt like nearly a mile to Tabby and Claire, but they hardly noticed the burning sensation in their legs. They were too awestruck by the large room. It made the Akron Public Library seem like the size of a phonebooth.

  “This is too cool,” Claire said, flipping through one of the books as Salem, Agnes, and the Gnome flipped through another.

  The maps within the book were beautiful, hand-drawn creations. Each detail was sketched with care. On the maps were words—names of cities, villages, kingdoms, rivers, and oceans—that neither of the girls could pronounce.

  “There it is,” Salem said, pointing to the word ‘Ashbourne’ on the map. It was located not far from the Light Elves’ Kingdom. "We could take the scenic route if time wasn't so short. Alas, it is."

  Behind the town was Lake Fever, and the old tales Salem had learned in his youth came back to him. In the tale, the lake wasn’t called ‘Fever’, but ‘Ash Lake’—a more appropriate title, given the town’s name.

  “We know where we need to go now,” Agnes said. “Let’s do it.”

  The Gnome smiled again, this one as genuine as the last, and replied, “I’m glad I could be of help to you. If there is anything else you need, just let me—”

  “There is one thing,” Salem interrupted. “It’s going to sound silly, so try not to laugh.”

  “Oh, I would never. It is but my job to grant all requests of those who enter the library; at least the ones I can fulfill, that is.”

  Salem nodded, thinking, Of course. You have to say that.

  “I need a book on the legend of the Rogue Dragons.”

  The Gnome’s face went blank, his smile vanishing in record time. “Rogue Dragons? You mean the silly tall tales told by children?”

  Salem offered a weak grin. “Exactly the ones I mean.”

  The Gnome rolled his eyes. Claire saw it and gained a little more respect for the odd creature. She was, of course, the queen of eyerolls, and the Gnome’s wasn’t half bad.

  “I will see what I can do,” the Gnome said. “I’ll have to look. If you don’t mind waiting, that is.”

  “Not at all, but we’re in a bit of a hurry, so please don’t make us wait too long,” Salem was jovial enough, but he put an edge to his voice to let the Gnome know he wasn’t joking.

  The Gnome led them out of the circular room, and the rest of the library manifested once they were past the threshold.

  Meanwhile, Agnes found a pen and copied the map down crudely on the back of her hand. She didn’t trust either hers or Salem’s memory enough to remember it. They were getting old—no way around that.

  Once the map was copied to her satisfaction, she rushed to catch up with her companions.

  It took the Gnome longer than Salem liked, but that was mostly because he ran the odd request through the other Gnomes.

  They each knew the legend of the Rogue Dragons to be just that—a legend, and the secrets of those dark times were kept in the vault with countless other secrets. However, refusing to grant the wizard and witch’s request when he’d already deemed it a ‘silly tale’ would just raise suspicion. The library didn’t need any more suspicion, and if it got the visitors out of the library quicker, then what was the harm?

  The Rogue Dragons would never rise again. In order to do so, one must possess the Dragon Rites, an ancient book made from the skin of the Rogue Dragons’ victims. The book was millennia old and long gone; lost, if not by the hands of evil men, then by the sands of time.

  The Gnome found the book containing the legend in the hidden stacks and sent it to the wizard, who—despite being caught off guard as he studied the witch’s rendition of the map—snagged it with a speed that belied his age. Much to the Gnome’s displeasure; he was hoping to gain some revenge for the incident with the dog.

  This odd group was somehow associated with those first travelers and the pee-happy beast that they carried along with them. Maybe a knot on the wizard’s forehead would’ve eased the Gnome’s pain and embarrassment of the incident—at the very least, a paper cut.

  But revenge would have to wait. The Gnome supposed that, in due time, hi
s anger would subside. After all, the beast that had done such a horrendous thing to he and his colleagues was just that—a beast.

  “Thank you,” the wizard said, bringing the Gnome back to the present. “I’ll have this back in no time.”

  The Gnome smiled. Ah, my revenge is imminent. Maybe not in the form of physical violence, but psychological. “I’m sorry, my friend,” the Gnome said with an edge, trying to mimic the tone the wizard had given him upon requesting the book. “That book is not allowed to leave the library.”

  The wizard began to raise his voice in protest, but received a sidelong glance from some passing Elves, and lowered it before he drew any more attention to himself and his band of travelers. He put his knuckles on the circulation desk—which had been scrubbed clean and sterilized with magic and the Oriceran equivalent of hand sanitizer—and leaned forward.

  “Give us a break, please,” Salem begged.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” The Gnome waved one of his compatriots over. This Gnome wore a hat with a flower. The flower was currently smiling, but as it, and the Gnome who wore it, got a good look at the wizard at the desk, it bared its teeth.

  “I’m sorry. Such books are ancient relics, and cannot be checked out,” the new Gnome said.

  Salem rolled his eyes, a gesture Claire appreciated, and relented. “Fine, we’ll be just over there.”

  “If you try any funny business,” the Gnome with the hat said, “we will find you and punish you.”

  Yeah, give him a late fee, Claire taunted in her mind. That’ll show him. She leaned forward, her eyes boring into the two Gnomes’, and in a low voice she said, “Not cool, my little friends. Not cool at all. I’m totally gonna slander you in my next story.”

  The hatless Gnome opened his mouth to retort, but Tabby cut him off. “Good luck finding us with your Elven lawyers!”

  With that, the two girls turned around, leaving Agnes alone at the desk. The witch stood there awkwardly. “Sorry about all this,” she offered with a weak smile. “Don’t worry. Nothing will come of the book, and no one will read the Earthling’s stories.” Then she turned and headed toward the table where Salem currently sat, leafing through the pages of the old tome.