Something had happened.
She hated herself for not being there, for not protecting her family. The Arachnids had ambushed them. She should’ve known the Widow would foresee their coming; now they were all paying for it.
Maria clenched her hands into such tight fists that her knuckles cracked loud enough to make Sherlock jump. She was angry. Her skin glowed that peculiar blue that she had become accustomed to, but she was a leader, and a leader had to keep a level head.
She bent down and ruffled Sherlock’s fur. “I know, I know, you're scared. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. If we stick together, we can beat them, just like before. We can kick the Widow’s ass.”
Sherlock looked at her sheepishly.
“Aw, turn that frown upside down, Sherlock,” Maria said. This time her tone was jovial enough, even though it was hard to keep the sadness out of it. All she could think about was her grandfather, Salem, the Arachnids, and the desire for revenge boiling inside of her.
I’m sorry, Maria, Sherlock said.
Maria patted him once more and turned to head back into Low Way. When she entered the private room, Agnes saw the look on her face, and her flesh went pale.
Frieda put a hand over her mouth. “No,” the dark witch gasped.
Maria nodded. “The Arachnids took Gramps, and Salem is hurt.”
Agnes and Frieda rushed over to Maria and put their arms around her, embracing each other in a group hug. Gelbus got off the chair and waddled over to them. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and squeezed tight.
“How can we find them?” Maria wanted to know. “Oriceran is a huge world, and I’ve only seen, like, one percent of it.”
“Didn’t your grandfather tell you?” Agnes asked.
The young witch stared blankly at the older one. She had no idea what she was talking about. It seemed her grandfather didn’t tell her much of anything these days; when he did, it was often too late and so surprising that she hardly believed it.
Agnes pointed to the crystal hanging around Maria’s neck.
“Ah, yes,” Gelbus said. “The communication crystals can be used as a beacon.”
“A tracking device, to put it in simpler terms,” Agnes added.
Maria had almost forgotten. Salem had told her, but she knew to take what the wizard said with a grain of salt—most of the time, that was.
Frieda breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at the ceiling. “Thank the two moons,” she whispered. “Thank the flames.”
“All we have to worry about is Salem being able to activate—” Agnes began, but was cut off by the bright, blinking light around Maria’s neck. She smiled. “He and I are often on the same wavelength, it seems.”
“Okay, the light’s blinking, but I see no GPS on here, so how the hell do I get to him?” Maria asked.
“You open a portal,” Agnes said.
“But I’ve never opened—”
Agnes shook her head. “It is time you learned. Such a strong witch as you should have no problem. You have to believe.”
Sherlock barked. See, what did I tell you, Maria? You have to believe. Good things happen when you believe.
She nodded.
“When the portal opens, as long as you have the crystal in your hand, it should show us the way,” Agnes said.
Maria gulped. Opening a portal. Gramps had said that was one of the most difficult things a new witch could do, and rarely did they do it right. Sometimes, when things went wrong, you could wind up in the world in between. She couldn’t risk getting stuck there now. Not with everything on the line the way it was.
“Concentrate,” Agnes said. “Listen to your magic.”
Maria closed her eyes. In her right hand, she felt Agnes’s smooth fingers interlocking with hers; then Frieda took her left hand, her palm slick with sweat, fingers trembling. Despite her fear, Frieda offered Maria words of encouragement, words the girl was grateful for.
“You can do this, Maria. You are stronger than any other witch I’ve had the good grace of knowing. I have seen it in my flames,” the dark witch said, and Maria thought to herself that she should stop calling Frieda a ‘dark witch’. She was anything but dark.
You’ve got this, Maria! Sherlock added.
Her eyes were still closed, and she didn’t want to risk the consequences of opening them, but she imagined Sherlock and Gelbus side by side, the Gnome’s small hand wrapped around Sherlock’s paw.
“Focus, focus!” Agnes’s voice grew more distant. There was a sound like thunder rumbling far away, and a crack of lightning so bright, Maria saw it behind her eyelids. “You are in control of the magic, the magic is not in control of you. You can do this, Maria! You’ve got it! That’s it!”
A million arms tugged Maria in all different directions. She let out the breath she’d been holding, only to scream soundlessly.
Sherlock barked, sounding far away and louder than the rumbles of thunder and the cracks of lightning.
Then—it all stopped.
A cool breeze blew Maria’s hair back from her brow, though some stuck to her sweaty skin. She heard leaves rustling, branches crackling against one another, and Agnes shouting, “Good job, Maria!”
She opened her eyes.
No longer was she in the private room of Low Way Family Fun Center, though she could still see into that room via the portal that she—yes, she—had opened. Gold sparks of light ate away the darkness and the moonlight until Maria let go of something. Not physically, but something inside of her mind. The portal disappeared, and with it went the view of the inside of Low Way. A deep pang of sadness filled her heart. Oriceran was great and mysterious and cool—all that and more—but she’d always be an Ohioan, no matter how nasty the winters got, or how bad the sports teams usually were. She’d miss it. She had the feeling that she wouldn’t be back in the Midwest for a while…if ever.
Then the thought vanished.
Opening the portal had taken most of her thinking power away. She wasn’t quite sure why she was there in that clearing, on the edge of the Dark Forest. The nasty Dark Forest that she never wanted to see again for as long as she lived.
Then Agnes screamed, “Salem!” and it all came flooding back to her like a repressed nightmare. “Salem!” she heard Agnes again. “Oh, my sweet Salem.”
“I-I’m all r-r-right,” he croaked.
He certainly doesn’t sound all right, Maria thought. She rushed over to the wizard. He was leaning against a body. At first glance, it looked like a boulder scorched by fire, but the smell was a dead giveaway. It was a corpse.
Arachnid, Sherlock’s voice was shaky. His body shook as well, and Gelbus offered a comforting hand on the scruff of the Bloodhound’s neck.
“A dead Arachnid,” Maria said firmly.
“What happened?” Agnes asked.
“Ambush. They had a s-scavenger leading them,” Salem answered softly.
“Scavenger?” Agnes growled. “Useless people.”
“He wa-was half wizard and half Elf. No, no, if it w-wasn’t for h-him I w-wouldn’t be talking to y-you now.” Salem shuddered, and a stream of bright red blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
Agnes put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here now. You’re okay. I’m going to get you healthy.”
“I know, honey,” Salem said with a solemn smile, blood running from his gums and down between his teeth. He looked up at Maria now, that smile evaporated, replaced with a look of sadness. “I’m sorry, Maria. They took the Jewel and Ig. I should’ve been stronger—”
Maria shushed him. “Don’t, Salem,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
It’s mine, she thought to herself. I should’ve been there for you guys. None of this would’ve happened if I had been there.
“I care about the Jewel, but I care about you and Gramps more,” she said, placing a hand on top of Agnes’s as it rested on the wizard’s shoulder. The witch smiled at her. “Besides, the Jewel is worthless without the music box.” Maria tapped the bag
she had around her shoulders.
“Thank you, Maria,” Salem said. There were tears in his eyes. “But I shouldn’t have been weak. I let us get ambushed, and they took my best friend, my brother.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get him back,” Maria promised.
“We’ll get him back,” Salem corrected her, trying to lift his hand up to squeeze Maria’s. The motion was lost to the pain, and he grunted as his arm fell, useless.
“No, you need to get to Earth and rest.” Maria looked at Agnes. “Take him back and take good care of him. We’ll be needing an ice cream party when this war is over.”
Agnes’s lip quivered. “Maria?” she said, her tone afraid.
“No,” the young witch said. “No, this is my war. I can do this. Salem needs you almost as much as he needs to rest and recover.”
Frieda stepped up, putting her arm around Maria. She was warm to the touch, and the feeling helped calm the nerves firing away in Maria’s brain. She was grateful for the witch at that moment. “And I’ll be there to help,” Frieda said.
Maria eyed her. “No, Frieda. This isn’t your war.”
“It is now. For years, the Arachnids have tormented my family. It’s time for a little payback,” she said.
Just as Maria was about to protest, Frieda spoke again. “I love your grandfather, Maria. I know that might be odd for you to hear from me, but I’ve never felt a love so strong in my long life. He is special. I’ll die before I let the Arachnids win. There’s no talking me out of this.”
Maria smiled, her heart warming as her own love for Frieda grew. “I won’t.”
Me, either, Sherlock said, stepping forward with Gelbus next to him. I don’t like those spidery bastards. They scare the hell out of me, but I’m not dying without ripping one’s balls off. Do they even have balls? Maria, watch out. I need to do some investigating.
Maria put a hand up. “No, you can’t sniff around for Arachnid balls. But thank you.”
No one thought it an odd thing for her to say. By that point, they were all used to Sherlock’s antics.
“I’m coming, too,” Gelbus said.
Maria looked the Gnome up and down. “Gelbus, are you sure? You’ve done your part in this story. You’ve helped me beyond belief, and I’ll be forever grateful to you for that.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got a taste for battle now, Maria. There’s no going back. Besides, it beats being stuck in the library, inhaling dust and answering silly questions about secret love potions. Gone are the days of people reading anything of substance. Also beats being drunk off my ass, and the inevitable hangover the next day. I’ll finally get to do some good. I’ll finally get to be a part of something worthwhile.”
Maria hesitated then took a deep breath. A dark witch, a Gnome, and a talking Bloodhound—Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, Maria thought with a smile on her face.
Frieda looked to her, her mouth a grim line, lips bloodless. “There’s no denying us. We’ll come whether you want us to or not.”
“I know,” Maria said.
Agnes said, “Are you sure, Maria?”
Salem tried to get up, his grunting giving way to soft screams of pain. He wasn’t going anywhere on his own, that was certain.
“Yes,” Maria said. “I can handle this.”
Frieda put her own hand on Maria’s. “We can handle this.”
They helped Agnes lift Salem. He was heavier than Maria expected, especially with him looking so thin all the time.
“Maybe the ice cream business is starting to catch up to you,” Maria mused. Salem laughed at the joke, though his laughter quickly broke into a coughing fit, and flecks of blood sprayed out from the back of his throat.
Agnes opened a portal. Maria glimpsed the inside of Salem’s house, which she hadn’t seen in years; she thought he never stayed there, because he was always at the ice cream shop, but according to the lived-in look present in Salem’s bedroom, she was wrong.
Before they went through, Agnes turned to Maria. “If you need anything—any help, anything at all—you know how to contact me.” She held up her communication crystal. Salem had given his to Frieda.
“I do,” Maria said.
“Godspeed, Maria,” Salem wheezed. “You’re stronger than us all. J-Just believe in yourself. In here.” He tapped where his heart was, and Maria smiled, nodding.
They went through, and the portal closed, showering them in gold sparks.
It was then that Maria noticed the body at the other side of the clearing. She knew who it was instantly and wasn’t surprised. She was, after all, why Gramps and Salem had come in the first place—and after the fighting that had taken place, she doubted anyone would’ve laid her back in her resting place.
But Maria was surprised at how much sadness there wasn’t. She felt fine, normal.
Frieda was talking to her, saying something about where the Widow’s lair was in the Dark Forest, but Maria hardly heard. She was already walking toward the body wrapped in a dirty canvas sheet.
Dimly, she heard Frieda call after her, and then Gelbus say, “No, let her. She needs this.”
It was true. Maria did.
She came upon the body. It was not as covered as she had originally thought; the face was visible, but it wasn’t much of a face at all. The skin that was still pasted to the skeleton was ashy and dry. Cheeks sunken in. Eyeballs gone. The jawbone jutted out from the old flesh, opened in an eternal scream of despair. It was an image straight out of a horror movie, but Maria wasn’t scared.
She knelt down and put her hand on her mother’s cheek. Freezing cold. Ice. Maria blinked, and tears fell down her face, landing in the nearby dirt, which drank it greedily.
“Mom, I’m sorry we never got to know each other.”
As she touched her mother’s corpse, she realized it had been nearly two Earth decades since she’d felt her mother. It hit Maria that she didn’t remember her mother alive. She only recalled feelings; feelings of love and warmth and family.
Maria lifted the bundle off the ground. Her mother’s corpse weighed next to nothing—she was, after all, just bone. Still, as Maria looked down, she could see the beauty evident in Zimmy’s features, even in death.
She laid the bundle in the ground. She then kissed her fingertips and laid them on her mother’s forehead. With fresh tears in her eyes, she used the shovel to bury her mother. Time went by quickly, and before she knew it, the hole was covered, and the earth patted down.
Maria looked at the bald patch and whispered, “I’ll not let you down, Mom. I’m going to get Gramps back, and I’m going to get the villagers out of the world in between. I’m going to pick up right where you left off.”
She turned around, tears still coursing down her dirty cheeks. Gelbus and Frieda ran to her, and hugged her tight. Sherlock nudged her hand and licked her fingers.
As they parted, the happiness of family overtook Maria.
“Now let’s go kick some Arachnid ass.”
Chapter Nine
“You do not have the Jewel of Deception,” the Widow said. It wasn’t a question, and her tone was oddly calm as the ground shook with her voice.
Jinxton stood in front of her. He wasn’t scared. At least, not as scared as he should’ve been. Yes, he’d lost the Jewel of Deception, but that was the cost of doing business with a scavenger. The only problem was the Widow might blame Jinxton for the loss, when the truth was that it was all of their faults.
Never trust a scavenger.
But Jinxton had a beautiful consolation prize.
He hadn’t brought the wizard into the Widow’s lair yet, afraid Ignatius Mangood might somehow escape his binds and kill the Widow and his captor. No, he left him back in the shadows, ready to grab on a moment’s notice. He knew he’d need to grab him, too, because the Widow would no doubt threaten him with death, like she had done so many times before.
“No, my Queen. Harry betrayed us. Knocked me unconscious—”
She scurried down the
web, jumping the last ten feet to land on the dais. The lair shook so much that Jinxton thought the roof was going to cave in. Beside him, bones clattered with the vibrations. The Blood Tree’s leaves rustled—
Leaves? He saw the leaves earlier, but how did it have leaves? A tree like that wasn’t supposed to have any. Jinxton wondered. It was another thing to add to his growing list of what-the-fuck. Among that list was how did the Widow move so quickly, as if he she were centuries younger? Or as if the dark magic she gained from the Orcs’ sacrifices had allowed the Blood Tree to give her more power. As if the Widow needed more power.
“You allowed yourself to be bested by a mutt?” the Widow asked. ‘Mutt’ was her way of describing a half-breed. In Harry’s case, half-wizard and half-Elf; two of the worst races on Oriceran, in the eyes of the Widow.
“I…” Jinxton began.
He didn’t know what he was going to say. The truth was, yes, he had allowed himself to be bested by a mutt, and he should’ve been prepared for that. He had never liked Harry, never trusted him.
Instead of explaining his side of the story—there was not much to explain—he decided to pull out the big guns, hoping it would get the Widow’s sickly green eyes off of him. He could feel them boring into his soul—or what he had left of it.
Turning toward the entrance, he yelled, “Bring him in!”
“Bring who in?” the Widow yelled.
Two Arachnid guards dragged the unconscious wizard by the arms, answering her question. Those eyes—all eight of them—opened wide in surprise.
“Why, Jinxton, you shouldn’t have,” she said in such a sweet and high voice, Jinxton found he wanted nothing more than to cover his ears.
“I did, my Queen,” he answered. “All is not lost. The scavenger is traceable, and now you have Ignatius Mangood in your possession to do with as you please.”
“Imagine the power the Blood Tree will give me once its roots drink Ignatius Mangood’s blood!” the Widow cried. “How sweet. How delicious. Perhaps I will drink his blood myself.”
“As you wish, your Highness.” Jinxton waved the guards toward the large stone steps. They didn’t bother to lift Ignatius up as they ascended toward the dais; each step knocked loudly against the wizard’s knees.
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