A MEDDLE OF WIZARDS
by Alexandra Rushe
Genre: Fantasy
Pub Date: 1/9/2018
Welcome to Tandara, where gods are
fickle, nightmares are real, and trolls make excellent bakers . . .
fickle, nightmares are real, and trolls make excellent bakers . . .
Raine Stewart is convinced she’ll die
young and alone in Alabama, the victim of a chronic, mysterious
illness. Until a man in a shabby cloak steps out of her mirror and
demands her help to defeat a bloodthirsty wizard.
young and alone in Alabama, the victim of a chronic, mysterious
illness. Until a man in a shabby cloak steps out of her mirror and
demands her help to defeat a bloodthirsty wizard.
Raine shrugs it off as a
hallucination—just one more insult from her failing body—and
orders her intruder to take a hike. But the handsome figment of her
imagination won’t take no for an answer, and kidnaps her anyway,
launching her into a world of utmost danger—and urgent purpose.
hallucination—just one more insult from her failing body—and
orders her intruder to take a hike. But the handsome figment of her
imagination won’t take no for an answer, and kidnaps her anyway,
launching her into a world of utmost danger—and urgent purpose.
Ruled by unpredictable gods and
unstable nations, Tandara is a land of shapeshifters and
weather-workers, queens and legends. Ravenous monsters and greedy
bounty hunters patrol unforgiving mountains. Riverboats pulled by
sea-cattle trade down broad waterways. And creatures of nightmare
stalk Raine herself, vicious in the pursuit of her blood.
unstable nations, Tandara is a land of shapeshifters and
weather-workers, queens and legends. Ravenous monsters and greedy
bounty hunters patrol unforgiving mountains. Riverboats pulled by
sea-cattle trade down broad waterways. And creatures of nightmare
stalk Raine herself, vicious in the pursuit of her blood.
But Raine isn’t helpless or alone.
She’s part of a band as resourceful as it is odd: a mage-shy
warrior, a tattered wizard, a tenderhearted giant, and a prickly
troll sorceress. Her new friends swear she has powers of her own. If
she can stay under their protection, she might just live long enough
to find out . . .
She’s part of a band as resourceful as it is odd: a mage-shy
warrior, a tattered wizard, a tenderhearted giant, and a prickly
troll sorceress. Her new friends swear she has powers of her own. If
she can stay under their protection, she might just live long enough
to find out . . .
“Raine?
Get back here. You need to see this.”
What
now? Raine thought, closing the door. Hurrying into the library, she found
Mimsie standing by the window, her slim form shining in the dim light. The
ghost raised her arm and pointed to the mirror over the mantel. The glass
rippled like wind-tossed water.
Raine gasped in shock as the
billowing folds of the mirror parted and a man with shoulder-length auburn hair
stepped out. He held a brilliant jewel in one hand and he was dressed in some
sort of costume—a tattered brown cloak, a knee-length rumpled brown tunic worn
over loose leggings of the same color, and scruffy brown boots. He was
handsome, Raine’s stunned brain realized, but he was not the man on the ship.
Oh, no. This was an entirely different
apparition. She stumbled back, tripped on the hem of her pajamas, and crashed
to the floor with the grace of a hippo . Ignoring her aching rump, she gaped at
the stranger.
“Do you see what I see?” Raine
asked Mimsie, her gaze on her brain’s latest manifestation. Boy, when she had a
meltdown, she had a doozy.
“If you’re talking about the man
in the funny getup, absolutely,” the ghost said. “Call the police.”
“And tell them what? ʼScuse me,
officer, could you send someone over? A man just broke into my house through
the library mirror? They’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”
The man gave Raine a quizzical
look and said something in a strange language. He waved the jewel at her and
took a tentative step closer.
“Forget the police,” Mimsie said
with a hiss. “Run. I’ll create a
diversion.”
Raine scrambled to her feet and
backed toward the door, her gaze on the stranger. He spoke again and the jewel
in his hand flared, bleaching the library walls white. Raine’s muscles went
stiff and hard as rock. She froze, unable to move, pinned to the floor like a
bug.
“Let her go,” Mimsie screeched.
She flew at the man, passed through
him, and came out the other side, but if the intruder noticed, he gave no sign.
With a despairing wail, Mimsie disappeared, leaving Raine alone with him.
Closing the space between them, he lifted Raine’s arm and examined the splotch
on the underside of her left wrist. She stared at him, dizzy and disoriented.
His hands were strong and uncallused, and his palms were hot against her skin.
He felt awfully real for a dream.
No matter, she told herself. Tomorrow morning when I wake, he’ll be gone.
The stranger regarded her, his
gaze troubled. “There must be some mistake.”
English, the man had spoken
English, though his accent was peculiar. He released her and stepped back. “You
are not what I expected, but you have the mark.” He stroked his chin. “Still,
best to be sure.”
He waved the stone again. Raine’s
petrified muscles relaxed without warning, and she crumpled to the floor.
“Allow me to introduce myself.”
The man bowed. “I am Archimedes Brefreton, a wizard of the order prime. You may
call me Brefreton, Bree, or Red—anything but Archie, which I detest. What is
your name?”
Wizard? The guy was a total
nutter. Correction: she was the
nutter. She’d had a complete brain melt.
“There’s a good girl.” Brain
Tumor Boy gave her an encouraging smile. “Tell me your name.”
Raine struggled to her feet and
straightened her pajamas. This was ridiculous. She would not be controlled by a lump on her brain.
But, to her fury, the words tumbled
out of their own accord.
“Mary Raine Stewart, but that’s
my adopted name,” she heard herself say. “No idea who my birth parents were.
They left me on the steps of Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church when I was a baby.
My father’s aunt raised me after my parents died.”
She stamped her foot and glared
at this latest fancy of her beleaguered brain. “Stop that. You’re making me
talk and I don’t like it.”
“Then I suggest you stop fighting
me and cooperate.” He looked her up and down, taking in her ashen complexion,
frizzy locks, and gaunt frame. “You are unwell?”
“Wow, someone give Captain
Observant a free T-shirt.”
“What ails you?”
“Ding, ding, ding. That’s the
fifty-million-dollar question. The only thing the doctors know for sure is that
I’m dying.”
“Dying? Inconvenient, to be sure,
but hardly insurmountable.” He brandished the gemstone at her. “Do you know
what this is?”
“You got a shiny rock. Yay.”
“It is not a rock. It is a god
stone and very powerful. With it, your vitality can be restored.”
“Uh-huh.”
Talk about denial. She was so
desperate to be well that her psyche had cooked up this garbage. Pathetic.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand. “Help me
save my homeland and you will be made healthy and whole.”
“Mister, I wouldn’t go to the
corner store with you, even if you were real. Which you are so not.”
His handsome features hardened.
Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her close. “You are under a misapprehension.
You have no choice. One way or another, you will
accompany me. There are more lives at stake than your own.”
Lifting the jewel, he began to
murmur in that strange language, and the mirror over the mantel shimmered and
pulsed in response.
Something clattered outside the
window, and he turned with a start. “What the–”
Good old Mimsie. She’d promised
to create a diversion and she had, rattling the garbage cans around and making
one hell of a racket.
Raine jerked free of the man’s
hold and punched him in the nose. Hard.
“Ouch.” She shook her throbbing
hand and glared at him in outrage. “What gives? Dreams aren’t supposed to
hurt.”
He winced and prodded the bridge
of his nose. “Now, see here, young lady,” he said as she drew back her fist.
“Do not—”
Raine took another swing at the
man. He cursed and made a defensive move, and her fist glanced off his upraised
arm and slammed into the jewel. It blazed bright as a miniature sun and flew
into the air.
A tremendous wind howled through
the library. Books tumbled off the shelves. Vases and bric-a-brac crashed to
the floor. The couch skidded across the room and Mimsie’s favorite Queen Anne
chair smashed into the wall. Raine was lifted off her feet like a papier-mâche
doll and tossed toward the mantel mirror. She screamed in helpless terror as
the glistening surface of the glass parted like a pair of grotesque lips and
swallowed her whole. She tumbled, head over heel, through darkness.
Stars melted around her. Down,
down she plummeted, toward a distant shard of light. The splinter of brightness
widened, and she caught a fleeting glimpse of mountains and an ocean of trees.
Then something slammed into her head and Raine knew no more.
Alexandra Rushe was born in
South Alabama, and grew up climbing trees, searching for sprites and
fairies in the nearby woods, and dreaming of other worlds. The
daughter of an English teacher and a small-town judge, Rushe
developed a love of reading early on, and haunted the school and
local libraries, devouring fairy tales, myths, and tales of
adventure. In the seventh grade, she stumbled across a worn copy of
The Hobbit, and was forever changed. She loves fantasy and
paranormal, but only between the pages of a book—the flying monkeys
in The Wizard of Oz give her the creeps, and she eschews
horror movies. A psychic friend once proclaimed the linen closet in
Rushe’s bedroom a portal to another dimension, and she hasn’t
slept well since. Rushe is a world-class chicken.
South Alabama, and grew up climbing trees, searching for sprites and
fairies in the nearby woods, and dreaming of other worlds. The
daughter of an English teacher and a small-town judge, Rushe
developed a love of reading early on, and haunted the school and
local libraries, devouring fairy tales, myths, and tales of
adventure. In the seventh grade, she stumbled across a worn copy of
The Hobbit, and was forever changed. She loves fantasy and
paranormal, but only between the pages of a book—the flying monkeys
in The Wizard of Oz give her the creeps, and she eschews
horror movies. A psychic friend once proclaimed the linen closet in
Rushe’s bedroom a portal to another dimension, and she hasn’t
slept well since. Rushe is a world-class chicken.
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