A
Muddle of Magic
Fledgling
Magic #2
by
Alexandra Rushe
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Pub
Date: 10/2/18
What’s
a nice Southern girl doing in a place like this?
Whisked
from humdrum Alabama to the fantastical land of Tandara by a mage who
won’t take no for an answer, Raine Stewart finds herself tangled in
a muddle of magic. A Dark Wizard is out for her blood, a demonic
golem has orders to dispatch her . . . and she stinks at magic. Being
a wizard, even a baby wizard, is harder than Raine thought.
Raine
and her companions find sanctuary amongst the famed warriors of the
snow-capped nation of Finlara, and Raine is reunited with her dear
friend, the frost giant Tiny Bartog. In short order, she unearths a
magic mirror, a dread curse, and a tragic, ill-fated love affair.
Safety,
however, is an illusion. The dreaded Magog’s Eye is still missing,
and war looms. It seems an entire world hangs in the balance, waiting
to see whether Raine will be able to harness her magic. But with a
little help from her friends, she’ll survive . . . she hopes.
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Prologue
Bedtime
for the Mablet
A
blizzard raged outside the thatched cottage, rattling the shutters like an
angry frost giant, but the boy was unafraid. His mother was strong and fierce,
and mighty in magic. She would keep him safe. Sitting at the table eating his
supper, he watched her throw another log on the fire. Sparks shot up the
chimney and fire imps danced in the flames.
“Finish
your milk, boy,” she said in her gruff voice. “Bed time.”
“I’m
not sleepy. I want a story.”
“There
are more stories than hairs on your head. Which do you want?”
“You
know, Mor. Finn and the Troll.”
“Again?”
She sighed. “I should think you’d weary of that one.”
The
boy shook his head. “It’s my favorite.”
“Very
well.” She heaved her bulk into a sturdy chair by the fire. “Come here.”
The
boy jumped down from the bench and climbed onto her lap. Settling him in the
crook of her arm, she said, “Finn and the troll, having bested the god Trowyn
in a contest of wits, were given the task of—”
The
boy wrapped his small fingers around one of his mother’s tusks. “No, Mor.
From the beginning. I want the whole story. Starting with Magog and
Xan.”
“Cheeky
cub.” The troll tickled his ribs until he squealed. “As you know, the gods of
Tandara once numbered ten.”
The
boy sat up in her lap. “I can name the gods. Brefreton taught me a poem about
them.”
“Did
he? I’d like to hear it.”
He
regarded her from beneath lowered brows. “If I tell you, I still get a story?”
“You
drive a hard bargain, but the answer is yes.”
The
boy nodded. Taking a deep breath, he recited,
Once upon a time, ere the
world was changed,
The gods numbered ten and
these are their names:
Kron the Smith, god of forge
and flame,
Seth, Lord of Darkness,
turmoil, and change.
Reba the Bountiful, goddess
of dawn,
Bringer of light and things
that are grown.
Gar, fierce Hunter, god of
rivers and rain,
Esma the Healer and easer of
pain.
Valdar the Merry of poem and
wine,
The sweetest nectar born of
the vine,
Tam is the goddess of sea,
hearth, and lore,
Trowyn the Bear—
The
boy broke off. “Trowyn’s my favorite, ʼcause he can turn into a bear,” he
confided, curling his fingers like claws. “But Finn bested him, all the same.”
“Yes,
he did. Go on.”
The
boy nodded, and continued:
Trowyn the Bear god wields
his Hammer of War,
Last come Magog and his twin
brother Xan,
They loved one another, then
Magog raised his hand.
Magog the Comely—
The
boy wrinkled his nose. “Comely makes him sound like a girl, and Magog is a boy
god.”
“Take
it up with the poet. I didn’t write it.”
“Bree
says Magog was handsome. Handsomer than Xan.”
“Aye,
Magog was beautiful to look upon.” The troll tugged one of her long ears. “By
human standards, at any rate.”
“Until
he ripped his face off.”
A
Meddle of Wizards
Fledgling
Magic #1
Welcome
to Tandara, where gods are 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.
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.
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.
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 . . .
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“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.
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1 comments:
Thank you for the lovely post!
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