Majik: The Beginning

By Jack McGlame

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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475932881

Jack McGlame

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.

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THE BEGINNING

Jack McGlame

iUniverse LLC

Bloomington

Majik

The Beginning

Copyright © 2012 by Jack McGlame.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-3287-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3289-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3288-1 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 07/06/2012

Contents

The Blind Horse

The Hidden Valley

Carnival of Kings

The King’s Purse

Mayhem or Majik

A Dragon’s Egg

Best Friends

The Great Gate

The Catacombs

The Secrets

Magic and Men

The Challenge

The Wood Witch

The Magician

Trigon

The Chamber

Majik to the Last

War

The Last Battle

The Kingdom of Majik

Majik: The Playing Field

Majik

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,