Majik: The Beginning

by Jack McGlame

Overview

In the lands of the magical valley Majik, rules are ancient, beasts guard the barriers, and a struggle for power pushes forward. Young Wilhelm Redheimer, nephew to the king and the youngest magistrate of the courts, must sneak away from his castle prison to pursue his interests in a good challenge and magic. All Wilhelm wants is to be free.

As Wilhelm escapes to explore another day with his best friend, Tibed, he dreams of becoming a wizard and living in a place where the magic is real every day. Both he and Tibed have heard the stories about the forbidden Hidden Valley of Majik, where people perform sorcery, tame wild creatures, and even possess a black dragon. Not to be deterred by the kings warning to stay away from the valleywhich is rumored to be dark, wicked, and riddled with witch and warlock alikethe two boys set off on a dangerous quest to seek the truth where they soon encounter dragons, witches, and other young wizards.

In this entertaining fantasy tale, Wilhelm must learn the ways of the people of the Hidden Valley in order to realize his dreams. But he is about to discover that in the game of magic, all roads lead back to the beginning.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781475932881
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	07/17/2012
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	132
File size:	280 KB
Age Range:	13 - 17 Years

About the Author

Jack McGlame was born in Vancouver, British Columbia, where, at age seven, he accepted his first job working at Playland. He has worked at carnivals and casinos for most of his life. Jack now lives in Alberta, Canada, where he spends most of his days writing.

Read an Excerpt

MAJIK

THE BEGINNING

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By Jack McGlame

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Jack McGlame
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3287-4

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Chapter One

THE BLIND HORSE

A small group of children played under a large oak tree at the top of a rise, laughing as they moved boldly colored wooden blocks within a box. I crouched behind a thicket of willow and watched from a distance.

The wooden box was quite large. Its top, removed and turned over, held a square of blocks, four each of the primary colors and a white or black block at each corner. Each player moved a marker block in any direction on the grid. This was no ordinary box, and the children seemed to grow more fascinated with the outcome of every turn. The colorful tapestry of children suddenly appeared too suspicious, boldly taunting any to challenge them. I looked about, frantically darting glances in all directions. I was either dreaming or had fallen victim to some sort of sorcery.

The children taunted and teased one another as they took turns sitting in a circle around the box. At every turn, they used their marker blocks to win colors, retrieved a block of that color from an opponent or the box, and ended their play by trading the valued white or black blocks for a needed color. I was spellbound. Finally, one child won all three colors.

At first, the group appeared ready to play again, but they paused only seconds before collecting the wooden blocks and returning them to the box, setting the top in place. The children silently gathered, holding hands in a circle about the box of blocks. In chorus, each child stared as if summoned to cry or in a trance; they expected some joy, and then they—and the box—vanished.

I stood and pondered for only a moment, then calmly walked over to where the children had been standing only a moment earlier. I knelt down and retrieved a piece of cloth, the design of which matched the pattern of blocks within the box.

A little girl reappeared and snatched the cloth from my hand. "You can pick any color you like, but you can't pick from me." She scurried off behind the oak tree and, once again, disappeared.

I, Wilhelm J. O. Redheimer, nephew to the king, could only stand there motionless. The child was not more than half my age, but I quickly gave up the idea of her being a sorceress. I tried desperately to remember every detail of our encounter.

accept, I am a year and three days younger, two days hence the youngest magistrate of King Eric's courts. Because my father is the only living brother of the king, and I am the youngest magistrate, I have to sneak away from my castle prison to be free in my own kingdom. And I do so against my father's wishes.

"If this is just a game, I'd like to learn how to play," I shouted after the gleeful child. I shook my head in disbelief and looked back at the oak tree to see if the site would offer some other mystery, but the children had gone and the oak tree stood alone.

"If life, magic, or even a kingdom of my own would mean starting over at every turn of events, then maybe life should be a game," I muttered as I stopped to ponder the revelations of my thoughts. I quivered, knowing that the use of the very word magic was strictly forbidden within my uncle's kingdom. The use of magic was considered indulging in the dark arts, and I wondered how I'd become a victim of sorcery.

I stumbled away from the tree and walked down to a spot where a friend and I often met secretly so neither my unforgiving father nor his peers would know of our interests in science, a good challenge, and magic.

"Are you and your people always so full of joy, or is there something in the magic you possess?" I asked my friend when I reached him. "I believe I've just witnessed an act of pure magic. Or I'm seeing ghosts. Or maybe I'm having a dream. Wake me up."

"My friend, our people have greater needs. Here you are, yet you are lost," Tibed said in his unusually remorseful "words of wisdom" overtone. He then offered me a warm hug.

I greeted Tibed with open arms and a warm smile. We exchanged stories of his family's travels every summer. His father kept our visits short to keep my one-year-older, one-hand-taller brother out of trouble. Eric, Godfrey's firstborn, was a couple of years older than Geoffrey, but he was a major source of pride and lust for the crown. Tibed and I were of the same age and often found plenty of time away from the troublesome disputes of my older brothers. Tibed and his family were gypsies, natives, or as my father would call it, "the workers of magic."

So once again, in secret, we began exploring another day and another adventure.

Tibed pointed to the drunks stumbling toward us and the ungodly men leaning up against the tavern down the road. Properly painted above the door was a sign saying "The Blind Horse."

"I believe there is something magical about a blind horse," he said as we walked. "Always bumping into trees and fences and never getting anywhere, but always with just enough magic to make it another day in a better way, though blind, ever bestowing forbidden secrets from within.

"My father tells of a game called 'Horse.' A simple game played amongst friends, whenever there may be plenty to go around, where everyone must pay a little for their share. Of course, whoever calls 'horse' would give a friend a needed ride or pay for a share."

"If you call 'horse,' everybody rides for free?" I asked.

"I like this game called 'horse.' You're already the winner because we'll all be your friends," Tibed mused.

"A house without a horse, of course, is but a broken horse. Perhaps a horse that just keeps giving is most likely a blind horse."

"You don't fool me, my mystical friend. A sign is just a sign," Tibed said playfully.

More children played along one side of the small barn house, throwing stones at the wall to see who could get closer. Others, playing with large marbles cut from stone, rolled them back and forth just behind the tavern, within a soft meadow near the forest.

A couple of gypsies practiced with marionettes, showing off their puppetry to whoever would stop to watch. The two perched themselves on a branch of another large oak in the grove. The toys danced, the gypsy pair taunting the children throwing stones with the lines of their skit about the burning of a witch.

"Where's the magic in that?" Tibed asked.

With a glance at each other, we began to walk again toward the country store and tavern. We were both anxious to reach the entrance and catch the first glimpse of the warriors and hunters gathering before the winter season.

Between the small tavern and a grassy bluff, three large black dogs were chained safely to an old tree stump. Growling at the horses and all passersby, they fed on the fleshy bones and knuckles tossed to them from within. Beyond the bluff and the tavern, I could see the mountains of Majik, a vast land ruled by nomads and warriors of the dark laws and sorcery.

"Minion, mages, familiars, and wild beasts are all part of something evil, corrupted by the lust for magic's power," Tibed said, pointing to a poster left by the king.

We stopped briefly to decide on our next actions.

"If playing a simple game can be considered some dark art of casting magic or putting one into a spell by simply inviting one to play, then I am to be a wizard, and I shall cast my conjuring, so that I, by my magic, shall rule others," I said.

"Magic comes from the heart, but the best magic is something we share," Tibed said, gesturing his own brand of wit and wisdom.

"I would be a wizard of great wonders, not a king of hatred and darkness. I want a life free of tyranny and fear, and free of dictates on how to live. I want to be a part of a world where the realm of magic can only be true and just." I stopped just short of the dogs and their leashes, bringing my friend to an abrupt halt. "What of the Hidden Valley where the secrets of magic are still told?" I asked.

"Stories have been told and retold about the lands and the Hidden Valley of Majik," Tibed said. "I've heard of people performing sorcery, taming wild beasts, and even possessing a black dragon. The mountains and its valley are a forbidden place. Majik holds magic only a warlock or wizard might receive, yet that very magic is needed to enter the realm of secrets, the very secrets your king is afraid of."

"So how do I become the sorcerer of truth, the wizard of great knowledge, or the master of magic?"

"Surely not in a place that leads men to sorcery and deception, an honor not of gallantry and the use of trickery to defeat," Tibed explained.

"I'm too young, I'm too old, or I'm beat before I'm ready to begin. My family takes turns at seating hardships, disaster, or tragedy—even comedy is always in good time," I said. "Why isn't there a place where the magic is real every day?"

He tried to look serene. "Come, let's move on." Tibed tried to push me aside and raced to the door of the tavern.

I was stronger and much faster, but I slowed before I made it to the doors first, offering my reward of first plunder, of course, to my friend.

"Magic to the last," Tibed said, and we quietly squatted on either side of the doorway.

Inside the den, a variety of players, patrons of all sorts, were scattered about large octagon tables in a loft and crowded the lower level and pub tables on the main floor. Witches and storytellers threw bones and shuffled cards. Lords and masters moved counters and markers, and warriors, hunters, woodsmen, mages, and minion boasted tales of great battles or the prized kill. Here they gathered before the fall season, for even the king himself would soon be attending to offer the annual purse for the finest of game taken in the hunt. Many had come this fine autumn day only for the chance to sit at the king's table.

"It's not the game or the fight to win, but the magic shared when people get together and help each other forget as well as remember those things that mean the most." I smiled at my friend. "My mother said that to me once."

"I've always been taught that the best magic comes from the heart. It's easier to remember." Tibed again peered in through the front doors, gazing into the shadows of the poorly lit hospitality room. Neither of us had ever been within, yet we both knew of the dangers.

"Magic to the last," I said, raising a fist. "This day is a day of a new beginning."

"Those things you see when you first walk in the door, those impressions will change your approach the second time."

The voice startled us. We both sprang away from the door as a stout man tried to pass. He was a Headmaster from the valley. Entering from behind us, he chuckled at our curiosity.

The dark man in dark robes walked discreetly into the room of antiquities and apparel of yet another world of magic. However, the warmest moment would only fall short of the taunting smile of the Innkeeper.

"Well, if it isn't the Key Master of Castle Majik himself. Martin, how have you been?" said the Innkeeper, showing the newcomer a table. There were a number of Headmasters for the realm of Majik, but the man known only as Martin was the one Key Master. Few ever saw his face outside the lairs of the castle, and this visit with his friend the Innkeeper was one of business.

"I'm waiting on a young woman, a dragon slayer from the forbidden valley. She is bringing something of grave importance, and you must let me know when she arrives."

"I'm the Key Master for Castle Majik, and I have reigned as Headmaster within the realm for the past three seasons. You're best to mark my words and let no one know of why I am here."

Martin got up and walked over to the tables of onlookers and players where he greeted a very large cat like an old friend. Tibed and I were overwhelmed by the spectacle. We glanced with open jaws and total fear, looking back at each other from across the doorway.

The room was a colorful playground for any ambition or habit of the day, yet it was also a challenge to us and our eager curiosities. Wall hangings, lamps of various shapes and sizes, kegs and skins of ale and rum, and maps and charts made from various skins and pelts filled tables at one end of the small tavern and were spread across the room amidst a gathering of woodsmen and wizards. There was also a small arsenal of hunting equipment and weapons. Items from all walks of life and for any seeking their wisdom, a parlor of magic and mayhem that became a spectacle of splendor.

Two fellows faced each other at a larger table at one side of the room. Spread across the table four swords crossed, apparently two from either opponent. The two parallel sets, vertical and horizontal, formed nine spaces or squares. Empty cups littered the table between the players.

Spectators watched as the men took turns placing cups in squares. One would set his cup right side up and the other upside down, to determine whose cups were whose.

A large saber-toothed cat rested on the floor between them. When a game ended in a draw, the ferocious beast was tossed a fresh scrap of meat carved from a freshly hung animal. Having a collar and what seemed to be a harness across its back, it quietly enjoyed the scraps as reward. No one in the room seemed to mind the company of the man-eating beast, and events within the happy little inn continued. Of course, feeding the nice kitty scraps when a game ended in a draw certainly settled the place down for a moment or two.

A stack of coins stood between two noblemen standing at the bar. They were gambling on the outcome of each coin face as it was revealed by removing the top coin from the stack.

"Somehow that doesn't seem right to be playing games with your money," Tibed said.

"The use of magic—or too much—can destroy you. Maybe you are right to take the magic instead of the money," I said, trying to ease his concern but seeing little relief in his face.

An argument ensued, shortly after, about whose coins they were. A cup of ale thrown into the Innkeeper's face was all it took to get the entire place brawling on the floor, with people tossed out of windows and carried out the very door they had earlier calmly walked through.

We could only laugh as one drunk swung at another, slamming him into a wall and knocking over tables, stools, and other drunks.

I was helping Tibed to his feet just as the barkeep came crashing out. "You children get away. This is not a place for you. Be off with you; be off with you before I fetch the dogs!"

We didn't look back and only ran faster at the howling of the hounds. We scattered into the darkness of the forest, leaving the mysteries and the magic behind.

Chapter Two

THE HIDDEN VALLEY

I tossed a boulder into a small tree not far off the road and scattered a flock of nesting sparrows. Tibed threw the first stone, challenging a match in distance. He was taller but thinner than I was and often looked pale and weak. Tibed was strong though, and fast; often he could give a contest at nearly anything. The day was a glorious one, and the sun shone brightly over the valley. The countryside was crisp and clear, but the sun was high as we walked calmly in the warmth of the afternoon. The road came to the top of a large rise overlooking a sheer stone-cut canyon.

"What if you had to decide between a kingdom of your own—a kingdom surrounded by servants, armies to dispense, and taxes to collect, most certainly a kingdom of lost hope—or a kingdom called Majik?"

We gazed across the splendors of the canyon floor, and then we began the descent into the vast canyon.

"Come hither, boy. I need to hear from you what I don't understand, and I don't have the magic to make known what is to be; magic to the last." Tibed mimicked the words of his father. Trying desperately to avoid the question, he stumbled to catch his first steps.

In the maze of rocks and pathways a cool breeze in the warm sunlight flowed above and from the meadows, making the hunt for treasure even more of an adventure. The canyon floor offered a labyrinth of paths, tunnels, and plateaus in every direction for miles.

"Stay close, at least, so I can still hear you," Tibed said. "You can get lost in here just as easily as in the forest. Stay close."

Since some of the corridors and tunnels needed some effort to remove debris or were at different heights, a climb to investigate was necessary. Tibed had found a high perch along one of the cavern walls, and wandering in a wealth of carelessness, I strayed from my companion and into an empty, dark alley. Skirting the stone walls in the darkness, I called out for Tibed, but there was no answer. I reminded myself I should have listened to the words of caution. I cried out again, but I only heard the silence of the canyon walls and darkness.

I kicked the stones beneath my feet. Stopping only once when I heard the clanking of metal bouncing off the rocks, I scurried down the corridor. I discovered an amulet on my last kick near a large opening.

A ring bearing strange markings had a single word "Majik" embedded on one side. At first, I thought the strange stone might be a keystone of some sort because of its unusual shape, but I was unaware of what it might lead to. One day I will know of such things. I rolled the trinket about in my hands, gazing at the mysteries before me. I couldn't imagine what possible secrets my new treasure might hold.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from MAJIK by Jack McGlame Copyright © 2012 by Jack McGlame. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

The Blind Horse....................1
The Hidden Valley....................9
Carnival of Kings....................17
The King's Purse....................25
Mayhem or Majik....................31
A Dragon's Egg....................37
Best Friends....................44
The Great Gate....................50
The Catacombs....................56
The Secrets....................62
Magic and Men....................70
The Challenge....................77
The Wood Witch....................84
The Magician....................90
Trigon....................94
The Chamber....................98
Majik to the Last....................101
War....................105
The Last Battle....................108
The Kingdom of Majik....................111
Majik: The Playing Field....................114
Majik....................115