“Kind of like the Dothraki in Game of Thrones?” Maria asked.
Gramps arched an eyebrow. “Maria, you know I only watch General Hospital and Days of Our Lives. I don’t bother with such fodder as Game of Thrones. A bid for power, for sitting on the throne, is not a game at all.”
“Okay, Gramps. Sorry, I forgot. But just know you’re really missing out on some good television.”
Gramps smiled politely. Maria knew he’d never get around to watching Game of Thrones. She’d tried really hard to get him to watch Breaking Bad, and he’d made the same argument. Oh well, his loss.
“Your mother was a brave woman. After the Arachnids attacked the first time, she stepped up when no one else would. Not even the king.”
“The one I saw dead on the floor of the throne room?”
Gramps nodded. “Your father.”
“Oh, my God. That was my father?”
“Yes. He was murdered in cold blood. For what? For power. See, Maria; it is no game.”
Maria’s head spun. Get ahold of yourself, Maria, she thought. You never knew them in all your nineteen years. You can’t be sad. You don’t get sad.
“All because of this,” Maria said, pulling the music box out of her bag. She opened it. The sweet music drifted along the air. Now it didn’t sound like gibberish to her; now it was dear to her heart. She may not understand the words, but she understood the melody’s importance.
“Wars have been fought for much less,” Gramps said. He brushed the wood with the back of his hand. A tear sliced down his cheeks, riding the wrinkles.
“Do you really think Malakai is after us?” Maria found herself asking, her head still spinning.
“It’s hard to say. Bringing someone back from the dead is no easy task. If anyone is capable of doing it, however, it is the Widow.”
“ ‘The Widow’?” Maria asked.
Sherlock’s lapping was the only sound between them for a moment. Gramps rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand.
“The leader of the Arachnids. The one who wants the box.”
“The leader? I thought you killed the leader; Korrin, or whatever his name was,” Maria said. Her chicken sandwich remained untouched in front of her, getting cold. She thought about pushing it over to Sherlock, whose brown face was now covered in whipped cream and milkshake, but decided not to.
“I killed the generals of her army, including Korion, but she is the one pulling the strings. Think of them like a colony of bees.”
“Bees? I thought they were like spiders.”
“They are. But bear with me. A beehive has a queen bee. The others do everything in their power to serve her. They work, they mate, they live for her. The same goes with the Arachnids. All of them live for her. And if Malakai has been reanimated, it will have been the Widow’s doing.”
“Malakai,” Maria found herself saying. The grip on her silverware grew tighter. “What happened to him? Why did he turn?”
“Ah, my dear, it is a long story. One I won’t bore you with. The short of it is that the Widow’s influence stretches further than I originally thought. I found Malakai on the edge of the Dark Forest, as if one of the Arachnids had birthed him and known he was different, but couldn’t bring themselves to kill him.” Gramps sighed. “Neither could I. The others in our village called me crazy for bringing an ancient enemy into our tribe. But, you know best, Maria, that—”
“You have a kind heart,” Maria finished, smiling.
“Yes. Sometimes, apparently, too kind.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Maria said. “You did the right thing by taking him in.”
“Did I? It is a choice I’ve had to live with for many, many years, across worlds and time and space. One that is proving to haunt me, even here on Earth where I thought I would be safe—where I thought you’d be safe, Maria.”
“I am safe.”
“Not as long as you have that.” He pointed to the music box. “I only wanted to give you something that belonged to your mother. I only wanted to see if you possessed any of her power. And it turns out I may have bitten off more than I could chew. Not only are you powerful, but you are the key to saving an entire village of people. I’m so sorry, Maria; so sorry for placing this burden on your soul.”
“Gramps, don’t blame yourself. I’m fine. We’re fine. The village will be fine. We’ll save them.”
Gramps hung his head. His hand absentmindedly stroked Sherlock’s fur.
“Thank you, Maria,” he said. “Thank you for being so understanding. I know how odd all of this must be. You are handling it mighty well.”
“It is…and it isn’t,” Maria decided. “Somehow, it feels…right.”
“As it should. You are truly one of us.”
Maria eventually ate her chicken sandwich. It was cold, though. She wound up giving three-quarters of it to Sherlock. He ate it in about one and a half bites.
They left the coffeehouse and headed back to Gramps’s Firebird. Maria looked over her shoulder at the plaza and the violet sky behind it. Will it be the last time I see it? she wondered. She hoped not. Still, the allure of adventure was high. Getting out of Ohio had always been her ultimate goal. She was not only accomplishing it, but she was exceeding it by getting completely off the planet, which still seemed weird to her—and perhaps always would. Though there was no denying the fact that she felt like she was going home.
Inside of the Firebird, Maria started the engine. Gramps didn’t protest when she went around to the driver’s side. In fact, he’d seemed quite happy to let her, this time around.
“I want to go see Claire and Tabby before we go,” Maria repeated.
“That’s quite all right.”
Sherlock barked. He really liked Claire. Now that Maria could communicate with him, she had found out that Sherlock might’ve even had a crush on her best friend.
“But there is one more thing I must give you before we go to Oriceran,” her grandfather told her.
“What?”
“It is a surprise, but I think you are going to be very happy.”
Maria smiled. “You know I don’t like surprises, Gramps. Last time you gave me something, it made me sneeze magic and came attached with a giant spider creature who wanted to kill us.”
“Oh, trust me, Maria, you are going to like this much better than the music box.”
“Are you giving me the Firebird? Now, that would top every birthday present in the history of birthday presents!” Maria shifted into reverse and backed out of the Walmart parking spot very carefully.
“No. I will be buried in my Firebird, Maria,” Gramps said. “You know that. It’s in my last will and testament.”
Maria rolled her eyes.
“No eye rolling while driving!” Gramps shouted, and then quickly offered a smile to let her know he was joking.
“Well, if I’m going to like this surprise so much, maybe we should stop at home first.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Gramps said.
Maria turned onto the road and headed back to their house. Sherlock snored in the backseat. The food coma had hit him hard.
***
Maria pulled into the driveway not long after. Gramps was much more lenient on the way back. Too bad I can’t get the Firebird as a gift. I look pretty damn good in the driver’s seat; almost as good as I look on that little pink bike I rode to the ice cream shop yesterday. She laughed quietly to herself. Kidding.
“Am I gonna have to close my eyes again?” Maria asked as they walked up to the house. Sherlock lagged behind, his stomach practically dragging on the ground. “And please don’t wear a party hat this time.”
“No promises,” Gramps said. He opened the door. The familiar smell of vitamins and those weird Oriceran spices hit Maria full-force, comforting her. “Wait here. I’ll be down with it in a moment. I don’t think Sherlock wants to miss it.”
Yeah, no way I can get up the stairs, Sherlock grumbled. Maria laughed and patted him on the head.
Upstairs, Gramps hardly made any noise. He isn’t trying to find something long forgotten…? The thought alone unnerved Maria.
Soon, he came back down the stairs. They creaked under his weight, and he no longer whistled. He held something in both hands, holding it out in front of him. Each step was careful, as if he was too afraid of falling and dropping whatever it was. Maria couldn’t see what it was; it was covered in a velvet sheet, the edges fringed.
Maria stood up and wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans.
“This right here is very dear to my heart,” Gramps said.
“Was it my mother’s?”
Gramps shook his head. “No. This one is mine.”
“Oh, boy,” Maria said under her breath. She could only imagine what it was. The eye of a newt, some weird Oriceran voodoo doll; maybe a necklace of garlic to protect her around the giant, bloodsucking spiders…or was that only for vampires?
Gramps took a knee. He looked like an ancient quarterback trying to run out the clock during the Super Bowl.
“Take the cover off,” he instructed. “But be very careful. Very careful.”
Maria hesitated. “It’s not going to bite me, is it?”
“No. Go on.”
She grabbed the velvet and pulled it away. The silver blade caught the light above, reflecting it. The room lit up like the Fourth of July.
Maria put a hand to her mouth.
“Gramps, is that—?”
She couldn’t believe it. Duke had shown her in his vision: Gramps had wielded this sword like a freaking Jedi wielded a lightsaber.
“Yes, Maria. It’s my sword.”
The hilt was wrapped leather, oily black, almost brand new, and golden brass. It ended in a circle, where a creature that Maria had never seen before was emblazoned in the metal. The cross guard formed a T, and the ends flared outward. They were also carved. It reminded Maria of Excalibur, the sword wielded by King Arthur.
It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. It was—
“Yours,” Gramps said softly. “It is all yours. I can no longer wield it. Take it.”
Maria reached out for the hilt.
Just don’t poke your eye out! Sherlock added. I can totally see you poking your, or my eye out with that thing.
As her hand wrapped around the hilt, visions of Oriceran exploded in her mind. Tall mountain ranges. Two moons. The Dark Forest. A drooling maw full of sharp, crooked fangs.
Still, it felt right, like driving the Firebird had felt right.
“Are you s-sure?” Maria asked.
Gramps nodded. His eyes gleamed as bright as the smooth metal of the sword. “It is only destiny. Your mother would kill me. She wanted you trained in the ways of magic. But, Maria, I see something else in your future. I see you conquering all facets of the magic that runs through our homeworld. You will be more powerful than either me, or the Queen Witch. You will avenge your father and all those lost in that great battle so many years ago, and you will save those trapped in the world in between.”
“Geez, talk about a lot of pressure,” Maria muttered. She lifted the sword. It was surprisingly light, for how large it was. A cool confidence bolted through her. She was no longer Maria Apple, the girl who spent her days at Rolling Hill Mall serving popcorn, and who spent her nights with her nose in a book. Now she was Maria Mangood, heir to the Queen Witch, Avenger of Dominion, Bridge Between Worlds.
You actually don’t look as ridiculous as I thought you would with the sword, Sherlock said, sounding surprised. You actually look…cool.
“Gee, thanks,” she turned to face the Bloodhound.
“Sherlock, be nice to Maria,” Gramps added.
“Yeah, be nice to the girl who has the sword and the ability to use it,” Maria grinned.
Did I mention that I love you, Maria? And you’re the most awesomest person I’ve ever had the honor of conversing with.
“I’m the only person you have had the honor of conversing with.”
Sherlock did the canine equivalent of a shrug and said, It’s the thought that counts.
“Here, there’s more,” Gramps said. He produced a scabbard and a belt from one of the staircase’s steps. They were stitched together, the color of the brass hilt. Maria put it on and cinched it around her waist. It fit perfectly.
“Good thing I’m tall,” she said.
“Just like your mother and father,” Gramps said.
She put the sword in the sheath, and then drew it fast. It came easily and smoothly from its scabbard, almost as if it was propelled upward by…magic.
“We will work on many techniques in Oriceran. There are old friends to visit and places to see, but you must never neglect your training, Maria.”
“Great, it sounds like school all over again.”
“I’m serious, dear. The art of the sword is not one to take lightly. When we go through the portal—”
“Portal?” Maria interrupted. “Not lying this time?”
“How else did you think we were going to arrive on Oriceran? Did you think we could drive there?” Gramps barked laughter. “Portal, yes. We will take a portal to Oriceran, and things will be much different for you there. You are in touch with your magic side already, but on Oriceran, you will be surrounded by magic. You may feel a sort of sensory overload.”
“Wonderful,” Maria said,sarcastically. She sheathed the sword again. It felt like nothing around her waist and she began to take it off.
“What are you doing, Maria?” Gramps asked, his eyes bugging out.
“Well, you can’t expect me to go driving around Akron with a sword around my waist. The cops will shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Never mind the law. They will look the other way, I will make sure of it.”
“Magic?”
Gramps smiled slyly.
“Okay, I’m going to say my goodbye to Claire and Tabby. Do you want to meet up here, or…?”
“Not here, no. At Salem’s.”
“Oh, right. It’s a kemana. Or katana. Whatever that word was.”
Gramps smiled. “We will need to use the magic there to open the portal. It will not be an easy task; Salem and Agnes will have to help us.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there at…how does eleven sound?”
Gramps nodded. “Give me the music box, though. I don’t want you losing it while frolicking with your friends.”
Maria squinted at her grandfather and said, “Ew, Gramps, we don’t frolic. Whatever the hell that means.” She pulled the music box out of her bag. It weighed more than before…again.
She handed it over, and then turned and headed for the door, patting her thigh in an unconscious gesture for Sherlock to follow her and, equally unconsciously, Sherlock did.
“Maria,” Gramps called after her.
“Yeah, Gramps?”
“Keep that sword close, and keep your eyes peeled. Evil is afoot. I can sense it. It aches in my old bones.”
Maria nodded. “Don’t worry, Gramps. I got this.” But as soon as she turned away and went out the door, she patted the hilt of the sword, hoping it would give her courage.
It didn’t.
Evil was afoot. She could sense it, too.
***
Malakai had swung by the ice cream shop and, before he was twenty-five feet within its entrance, someone said, “Hey, Felah! Hey! Where have you been?”
Malakai ignored it and kept walking, but the voice got louder.
“Hey, where you been? We’ve been missing you down at the shop! That Tone still giving you trouble?”
Malakai stopped and turned around. It was daylight…barely. He wore the guise of the Silver Griffin named Felah Fyre—not only the clothing, but the skin and face, too.
“Felah? You feeling all rig
ht? You look a little gray.”
The man crossed the street. He was an old man. For a moment, Malakai, the one who’d died on Oriceran, thought it was Ignatius Mangood, and his still heart seemed to kick; but it wasn’t. This man was too short, too weak in the jaw.
“Don’t you recognize me?” the man asked.
“I’m sorry. Not feeling well,” Malakai answered, but it came out in Felah’s high-pitched tone, a perfect imitation. The amazements of magic knew no bounds. He gripped his belly and said, “Womanly troubles.”
“Ah, geesh, I don’t want to know that,” the man said. “I get enough of that at home. Well, I hope you feel better.”
Malakai nodded and began to walk in the direction of the ice cream shop again.
“Oh, hey, wait! One more thing,” the man said.
“Yes?”
“Tonight’s the night, okay? I know you covered for Ig after his granddaughter blew up that damn clown figure at Downview, but we need you to cover for us just one more night, okay?”
Malakai tilted Felah’s head.
“They found marks on Ig’s door. They think that putrid Arachnid is coming for the music box. We are sending the two of them back to Oriceran tonight, so you guys down in the Griffins will detect a pretty big influx of magic. Keep Tone and the hounds away from here until you know for sure they’re gone. We can’t have any attention drawn to us.”
Felah’s memories flooded Malakai’s brain. It was a thunderstorm inside of his head. Salem. That was the name of the wizard in front of him. Salem. He knew, because the witch he had overtaken knew.
Play it cool, a voice warned. Play it cool, or I’ll disembowel you.
It was the Widow’s voice. For the first time in a long time, Malakai felt fear. He shouldn’t have, but he did.
“Yes,” he said in Felah’s same sweet voice. “No problem, Salem. I’ll keep you guys safe from prying eyes.”
“Great. Thank you so much, Felah. We of the Old Farts’ Society owe you one.”
Malakai forced a smile, and it burned his face, his true face. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he found himself asking. Instinct. That was what it was. Instinct overtaking his body and mind.
The Midwest Witch: The Revelations of Oriceran (Midwest Magic Chronicles Book 1) Page 16