Sian-Legend

By Diane Pelkey

In book 3 of this rebirth series, we find that Legend le Fay has matured into a fine young woman. After graduating from one of Boston's Ivy League colleges, she temporarily joins her stepmother's law firm, whose client base is predominantly court appointees. An unexpected visit from her high school love, Sinye Tse, a US marshal, immediately places them in harm's way. The high-profile criminal who's dubbed himself Ed Ward the Ogre means to put an end to this lawman's dogged pursuit. Guided by an evil slug implanted in his brain by none other than Normand, the one-eyed boogeyman, he is able to seek revenge on behalf of the haunter and rid himself of Sinye Tse once and for all.Legend finds herself back at the compound in Avalon, mourning the death of her former lover. The ruling council of elders has taken a keen interest in huntsman John-Quinn's stepdaughter. As a result, they will dictate the terms of this and any future rebirths that might be granted to this remarkable young woman.Legend's fate leads her on a path least traveled, a reunion with her Avalonian family, and a fortuitous partnership with huntsman John-Thunder, her stepfather's adoptive son. The headstrong, handsome woodsman soon finds his match in this Earth woman who appears to be unwittingly on a path of self-destruction.Add a wizard, two unusual pups, and a myriad of creatures to the mix, along with a smattering of humor, and our heroin is sure to delight the early followers of Legend le Fay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685176709

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Sian-Legend

Diane Pelkey

ISBN 978-1-68517-669-3 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68517-670-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Diane Pelkey

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

The Making of Ed Ward the Ogre

Chapter 2

Dining Out

Chapter 3

The Baby Slug

Chapter 4

Fifteen Years Later

Chapter 5

Legend le Fay

Chapter 6

A Meeting at the Capitol Building

Chapter 7

First Impressions Go Both Ways

Chapter 8

Lilly and Grace

Chapter 9

Young Lovers Reunite

Chapter 10

A Foursome

Chapter 11

Love Rekindled

Chapter 12

Mama Slug

Chapter 13

Father John-Quinn to the Rescue

Chapter 14

The Calm Before

Chapter 15

Migraine

Chapter 16

None the Worse for the Wear

Chapter 17

A Surprise Visitor

Chapter 18

Return to Avalon

Chapter 19

The Elder and the Huntsman

Chapter 20

Time to Pack

Chapter 21

John-Thunder's Place

Chapter 22

The Huntsman's Duality

Chapter 23

Weapons, Laundry, and Wolves

Chapter 24

The Calm after the Storm

Chapter 25

The Hummer

Chapter 26

A Wizard Named Ogee

Chapter 27

A Gift from Her Birds

Chapter 28

The Fittings

Chapter 29

Elda

Chapter 30

The Fair

Chapter 31

An Evening to Remember

Chapter 32

What Can Go Wrong

Chapter 33

Eek, a Mouse

Chapter 34

She Swims with the Fishes

Chapter 35

Fit to Kill

Chapter 36

Turduckens

Chapter 37

One Last

Chapter 38

The Quest

Chapter 39

Journey's Second Leg

Chapter 40

Unexpected Reinforcements

Chapter 41

The Edge of Hell's End

Chapter 42

More Creatures—and Rats

Chapter 43

John-Love

Chapter 44

Final Strategies

Chapter 45

Alone—into the Dark

Chapter 46

Package Delivered

Chapter 47

A Meeting in Chambers

Chapter 48

Congratulations, Dad

Chapter 49

Family Bath Time

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

Normand, the lazy-eyed boogeyman, stumbled into daylight, blinded by the sun. He fell to his knees when the guards pushed him along the way.

Be gone with you, cur! Consider yourself fortunate to be departing Nowhere this day! They laughed at his expense. Look! See, Gervais? He whimpers and cries like an infant!

No longer a prisoner in that vile, insane place, Normand found the wherewithal to gain his feet and hobbled off.

Fearing discovery, for paranoia festered in his mind, he kept to the edges of everywhere. He made it to the first of the three forests, Purgatory's Gate, and rested for the night. Normand hid behind rocks and shrubs. He took nourishment in whatever he found.

On the third day, the haunter entered Purgatory Proper, the middle forest. When he heard a rustling among the trees, he hid for fear of detection and then robbed a young boy of his cache. Before the youth's father could be informed of the assault, the boogeyman was long gone. Fresh baked cookies, his evening meal.

Finally, on the fourth day as he collapsed from exhaustion, Normand rejoiced. There. To his right led a path into Hell's End, the last and final forest. This was his destination. It was getting dark. He was fearful of Hell's End, even in daylight. So he chose to sleep in a heap of rubble, dining on insects and leaves that night. He promised himself at least one good meal before the hidden gold was depleted.

Come first light, he entered the forbidden woods, following a little-known path. He fell to his hands and knees, chanting as he dug into the hard ground. Please. Please. Let it be here. Please. His fingers bled from the effort, but it was worth it. There it was. There it was. Come to me, my beauties! Looking to his left and then to his right, he withdrew a small gunnysack from the pit. It is all here! My wealth! My means of retribution!

Before seeking out the bitch, Normand removed a few coins from the sack and tucked it into his filthy trews, right behind his privates. He could finally celebrate release from Nowhere and then visit the evil woman. Careful, Normand. Do not drink foolishly, or your wish for revenge shall not see itself through to fruition. Guard your coin carefully. You must not be robbed.

Again, he reminded himself to remain at the edge of Hell's End. This place frightens me almost as much as Nowhere. Get your business done, Normand. Then get yourself gone. He continued to speak aloud, as he had when exiled to the place of the damned. This in an attempt to keep from losing what little was left of his sanity, for he feared everything where he was bound.

Seedy and poorly maintained inns abound. However, it was difficult to find a place that would accept his coin. One look at the crazed, filthy man of the night and he was tossed out on his ear. Finally, not too far from his destination, Normand with the One Eye was told that they would serve him—outside. He had no choice but to accept the offer. It took little to fill his shrunken belly, which was fine. The price that he paid for a tankard of watery ale, a heel of black bread, and a third slice of venison was astronomical. He slept in the stable, on unclean hay, and set out at morning's light. Illumination in the final forest was negligible, both day and night.

Who comes to my door this beautifully dreary morning? the bitch chimed. Say it is not so. The boogeyman with one eye? The haunter they call Normand?

Yes, bitch. It is me. Please let me in. I would sit by your meager fire. 'Tis pouring, and the damp seeps into my bones!

She opened the door but would not allow him entry. Have you sufficient coin to do business with me this day? I would not have you dampen the earth within. It has taken me many years and much attention to keep my home dry. Free of mud.

Have you a cloth to offer? I have sufficient coin. He shivered.

You get what you earn in life, Nor…mand. She returned with a small square of linen no larger than three inches. Your reward. 'Tis a generous piece, considering your sorry affairs.

Keep it, you damned bitch! He was getting both frustrated and angry.

Perhaps this is not a good day. Be off with you then!

Before the woman was able to close the door, he offered penance. I am a sinful entity, yes. However, I've a pouch full of gold and shall pay well for what I seek this day, um, my lady. He changed his tone, for fear that this evil creature would indeed turn him away.

Well then, enter. But do not sit, Normand. Of all the bitches, she was the worst.

Thank you. To your shop then? He despised her. She was vile, even in his estimation. Short of stature, back curved from too many hours hovering over a black cauldron. A plethora of vile pustules seeped unchecked.

What do you seek? Crossing her arms, she stood her ground.

I would purchase two slugs. Each in its own vile. What is their life expectancy?

Forever. As long as you feed them dung once every seven days. They will dine on their own excrement from meal to meal.

What kind of dung?

Anything but human. They are repulsed by that putrid stuff. And you mustn't touch them, for they immediately burrow under the skin.

Fine. I would have two. Along with their lorgnettes, of course.

You are a sick one, Normand with the One Eye! You would watch as they do their damage then?

I would. 'Tis my own hard-earned coin, and these acquisitions are mine to do with as I wish. I would also purchase a travel stone. Say, with at least six destinations of my own choosing. They must be capable of moving from one galaxy to another without diminished capacity or damage to my person. No destruction of any sort.

And, pray tell, how do you intend to acquire so much with coins totaling six hundred sixty-six? She cringed. Those that have been resting against your insignificant privates, no less. Have you bathed at all since you were released from captivity in Nowhere? Perhaps it would do you good if I decide to turn you out into the rain without clothing.

How did you know the total sum that I carry? As to where they have been resting, 'tis none of your affair. Gold is gold. 'Twas hard earned, at that.

You impertinent pup! Do not assume that you may speak to me in such a tone and not suffer the consequences.

Beg pardon…my lady. He was immediately repentant. There are some entities here in Hell's End that pose a danger to one who carries this goodly sum of coin. May we please finish our business.

She weighed the sincerity of this being's apology. It was hollow. Nevertheless, business was business. This is my offer—one small immature slug, one fully grown, a travel stone with, er, four intergalactic excursions. That is my offer. Take it or leave. See if you might find another bitch who would do business with such as yourself. I doubt that you shall succeed in that endeavor, Nor…mand. She cackled.

Will the small slug, if inserted into a child, grow as he or she does?

Of course, it doth grow. It shall remain within its host until death do they part. Fair warning though, slugs are ineffective on witches, warlocks, huntsmen, huntswomen, and juggernauts. For those species, one must seek other ways to corrupt their minds.

Five hundred. He was hoping to keep his pockets lined with as much gold as possible. At least until such a time as he was able to seek gainful employment.

Six hundred, and you owe me four hauntings. I've a few children in mind.

Six hundred, two hauntings, and a stone that shall allow for six jaunts of great distance.

My final offer or be off with you—six hundred sixty-six gold coins and six hauntings. Your purchase—one small, one large slug, two lorgnettes, a travel stone, its value, um, six. Keep me from my evening meal any longer and I shall call forth a hound from Hell to test its teeth on your bones!

We are in agreement then. Hand me these purchases, and I shall be gone from here!

One moment while I gather the slugs. By the by, I place a metal tweezer in each vile. Use it when removing them from the liquid. As I said, the moment that they touch flesh, they shall burrow. Keep the lorgnettes in their pouches and do not confuse them. They are particular to the slug. Use of a damaged or unclean eyeglass could be misleading. Finally, I shall have my hauntings within three months. No later. Is this understood?

Yes. Is there anything else? Normand was eager to leave.

A word of advice. Although I do not care overly much for you, haunter—she leered—I tell you this. Your money would be better spent on drinking and whoring. If you think to seek revenge against the good witch, her daughter, or the huntsman, you shall live to regret your actions. Furthermore, be forewarned. Should you reveal the source of your purchase, I shall kill you, Normand with the One Eye… That is, if the huntsman or his daughter fail…

Chapter 1

The Making of Ed Ward the Ogre

He was curled up in a corner of the living room. In a—for lack of a better term—sitting fetal position. His knees were drawn to his chest with the aid of gangly arms. Lean fingers interlaced in order to tug rangy legs as close as possible. He rested his brow atop knobby knees.

This was a temporary state, meant only to gather the wherewithal to proceed with his well-made plan.

It wasn't easy for a ten-year-old boy to kill his father. To murder the sheriff of this one-horse mountain town in West Virginia. No, sir, no, ma'am.

His brother was now orphaned. He didn't consider himself suffering the same plight. You couldn't be fatherless if you never had a father to begin with. The town or state would see to it that his brother was placed in an orphanage or foster home. He didn't care one way or another. His future held no place for a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time. No, sir, no, ma'am.

His brother's father, the town sheriff, sat in the opposite corner. The officer's life's blood seeping onto a threadbare carpet. Sightless eyes, an open mouth leaking a mixture of spittle, and vital crimson fluid told of the bastard's lifeless state. How does it taste, Dad? he thought. Should have had a V8! Yes, sir, yes, ma'am. This elicited a quivering chuckle from dried, chapped lips.

The murder weapon was a 20-gauge shotgun loaded with buckshot. A piece that once hung on his grandfather's wall, next to the trophy that the old man claimed to have shot when he was nine years old. That stupid deer head was so old that it was almost bald. The sheriff had taken him out hunting on three occasions. He'd intentionally shot wide, missing on purpose. He did this because the sheriff said, After the kill, you're gonna gut it, drink some of its blood, and take a bite out of the heart. It's a rite of passage. The boy's stomach clenched at the thought. Just like it did before you puke your guts out. The youth thought about this after shooting the sheriff. About doing that to him. This only made the boy laugh more. Not a funny laugh, a sick laugh.

The boy decided that it was time to move. Time to get the hell out of Dodge, like they said in the old cowboy movies. He'd skipped school that day so that he could catch the old man coming home to take a nap. Wednesdays were his split-shift days. A perfect time to catch the sheriff alone. Nighttime was bad because sometimes he brought home a lady friend. A slut.

The boy went to the sofa bed that he and his brother slept on. He reached underneath and pulled out a backpack. It contained all the things that he deemed necessary to survive in the woods. He considered taking along the sheriff's sidearm but decided against it. That thing carried a mean kick and made way too much noise. He'd have to survive on his wits and make good use of the fake swiss army knife that he got for Christmas, the year that his grandfather died. It was used but, like anything else that the age-old man owned, in perfect condition.

Reaching under the sofa bed once more, he retrieved several lengths of thick twine. He used three of these to secure a bindle containing two changes of clothing. There was little room in the backpack for these. The threadbare blanket that he slept with at night formed a perfect pouch and would serve as a makeshift sleep time bedding. This, the clothing that he wore, and those that were packed away were clean. He had just taken them and all the family's clothing to the local laundromat the day before. It was one of his weekly chores. He would stuff all their dirty laundry into pillowcases, place these in his brother's faded red wagon, and cart it all off to the local laundromat. With a pocket full of change that the sheriff left on the kitchen table, he'd set off after school. The boy always took a path less traveled so that his classmates wouldn't see him doing a woman's work. No, sir, no, ma'am.

Instead of using three separate machines, he'd learned that if he used one of the larger ones, he could save money and stash it away. The sheriff had his uniforms dry-cleaned so that his kid didn't have to worry about how clean the clothing got. When he'd pilfered enough quarters, he cashed them in for folding money.

This boy was also responsible for the weekly grocery shopping. Again, with the use of his brother's wagon, he would go the market. There was never a list though. It was always the same. Canned spaghetti. Canned meat. Canned fish. Canned everything. Except milk, day-old bread, and margarine. They never had butter. Never. No, sir, no, ma'am. The sheriff didn't give a shit. He got to eat out all the time. And he was heard to complain, If this damned one-horse town doesn't want to pay me shit, then they can at least feed me!

As much as the boy hated canned anything and mystery loaf, he ate it all the same. He cut corners in order to steal more money, for the purpose of getting the hell out of this piss-poor town. Yes, sir, yes, ma'am.

He was running away from a place where adults abused alcohol, drugs, and children. The sheriff's kid was known to go to school beaten and bruised. A place where it was a common sight. Teachers themselves did the same to their own ankle biters.

As he layered threadbare tee shirts one over the other, the boy practiced saying his new name out loud, Ed Ward… Ed Ward… Ed Ward. He chose this moniker after giving it much thought. While doing laundry one week, he watched a portion of the movie Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters. This on the small TV bolted to the wall. In the film, the sheriff and his men were beating Gretel when, all of a sudden, an enormous ogre exited the woods and squished their heads, ultimately saving the beautiful, valiant woman. Yes, he was Ed Ward the Ogre. Someday, people would fear him too. Someday, he would walk among men who would respect Ed Ward the Ogre. Yes, sir, yes, ma'am.

Of course, the boy from a shitty little town was not stupid. He understood that, although the beast had pronounced his name Ed Ward, in truth, it was saying Edward. But this boy was in need of a first and last name. Thus, the handle, Ed Ward. Ed Ward the Ogre. Yes, sir, yes, ma'am.

So it was with this boy with the new name. This boy, who murdered the sheriff of the one-horse town, set out to make a new life for himself. A rebirth, so to speak.

With his grandfather's time-worn map of the East Coast as a guide—the old geezer never used MapQuest or anything like that—Ed Ward set out to make his mark on the world. He knew better than to bring along the sheriff's cell phone because that could be traced. His path, penciled in red, would lead him to a city called Boston. Boston, Massachusetts.

Yes, sir, yes, ma'am.

Chapter 2

Dining Out

Ed Ward kept to the woods by the side of a stream that trickled along an old logging road. There were hunters. Hunters that owned old coon dogs. They would attempt to track him. So until he worked his way far from the scene of his rage, he would forge through this narrow waterway. The dogs couldn't smell him if he stayed off the land long enough. Or at least that was what he believed. The lawmen might think that he had been kidnapped. He grinned. Maybe I'll get to see my face on a milk carton. Yes, sir, yes, ma'am.

The first night, Ed Ward celebrated his newfound freedom, consuming a hearty meal that consisted of a Big Mac, large fries, and a chocolate shake. The stupid cashier thought that he was a little kid and slipped him a toy from a Happy Meal. He, in turn, gave it to a toddler with watery eyes and a snotty nose. Let the him have it! I'm too old for this shit! Yes, sir, yes, ma'am.

Walking around the building, he retrieved the poke that he'd carefully hidden and made his bed a short distance away. The night was chilly. But so much heat was emitted by the twenty-four hours' use of deep fryers that the building seemed to emit a constant source of comfort for a jaded ten-year-old who was tired, cold, and weary.

Ed Ward wrapped himself in the threadbare blanket and laid his head on the knapsack. He gripped the pouch containing his hard-earned cash and then shoved it, hand and all, into his jeans. With the other paw, he grasped the open faux swiss army knife. Woe be the man, woman, or child that might attempt to rob him of his money—some of which he had washed in the sink at McDonald's. He could not chance spending the bills that were blood soaked. He chuckled. Couldn't leave Pa's shitty pay behind now, could we? No, sir, no, ma'am.

Chapter 3

The Baby Slug

Normand, the one-eyed boogeyman, wandered the perimeter of a dense forest in a state that humans called West Virginia. He selected this place randomly and was attracted by the fine smell of food. He was not one to fuss over the quality of a late-day meal or from whence it came. He mooched a passerby who was kind enough to surrender a sack of greasy victuals. Many a passerby gave him wide berth as if he was diseased. No matter, the food sat well in his stomach.

He might have been sight impaired, but the haunter's acute hearing was exceptional. As he tossed the useless sack aside, he heard a weak snore coming from the woods a distance from where he sat to rest. He had almost missed it. Chastising himself for making so much noise while he ate. Careless Normand, he thought, you might have missed this opportunity altogether!

Boogeymen were quite adept at silently sculking here and there. It was a must in their profession. Normand with the One Eye was no exception.

So Normand slipped directly to the sleeping boy's side. He selected the vile containing the smaller of the two slugs, remembering to use the tweezers as the bitch warned.

Once the slimy little devil was captured, Normand bent, placed it at the opening of the boy's nose, and watched as it slithered into the fissure, gradually disappearing from sight.

The boy wiggled his nose a few times but never woke. The voracious gastropod would now remain with this child until the day that he died. It would greedily dine on brain matter and corrupt the mind.

Normand was thrilled. However, he did not celebrate until he left the boy's side, exiting the forest quickly. His task complete, the bugaboo decided that, although he had just eaten, he would pander one final time prior to returning to Avalon. The second contributor was as eager as the first.

With a sweet beverage in hand, Normand, the boogeyman with one eye, toasted the witch, the huntsman, and their human daughter, Legend.

To the ones who shall suffer my champion's…my slug's handiwork! Not today. Not tomorrow. But some glorious day! This boy shall collect from you the charge for condemning yours truly to Nowhere! 'Tis the levy for your actions against me! Smiling, he drank the remainder of the libation. Vengeance too is sweet!

Chapter 4

Fifteen Years Later

The reigning governor of Massachusetts sat behind a large mahogany desk as his campaign manager paced. He was in a mood—the manager, that is.

George… George… George! You have to listen to your constituency if you want to get reelected. Statistics don't lie. You can't run on a platform that screams ‘I'll do damn well what I please!' For the love of… The nattily attired man was not being facetious, all the while reaching into his pocket for a role of antacid tablets. As he tore the paper tube far enough to net a pair, he commented, You're going to give me an ulcer!

You're too high-strung, Larry! Sit your ass down! You're making me dizzy! The politico dumped a handful of sunflower seeds onto a monogrammed linen napkin. Licking his right index finger, he pressed it to the salty snack, capturing four of the tiny treats. These he licked and then nibbled with his front teeth, an obvious sign of his agitated state.

"If you don't do something about women's votes, you're going to kiss this office goodbye! I told you that last election. But did you listen to me? No! You barely won by the hairs on your ass! And…that judgeship? You had the opportunity to sit Michelle as the newest Superior Court judge. She was the most qualified person that we've seen in eons. Instead, you chose Louis. Your cousin! For love of God! He's a moronic puke! I'm not even going to discuss that damned attorney general, other than to say that that idiot can't keep it in his pants!"

Are you finished? He nibbled on the tiny nuts throughout this tirade. George found the man annoying and pompous. Nevertheless, he paid the ridiculous asking price for this pain in the ass's salary because the guy was every opposing politician's nightmare. Better to have him in your pocket than in someone else's. And he had a point about women. He'd give him that. "I get it! Okay? Now…let's set aside the past and look to the future. I'm also concerned about the Bay State's crime rate. 2020 has been tough on our cops. We need to show our support for these men, and women, and find a way to attract more young people into law enforcement. They're sorely shorthanded and overworked. We have, in the past, encouraged high school students to consider protecting their childhood neighborhoods. But what about college graduates? Now don't look at me like I'm an idiot! How many fields are so saturated that these people can't find a job?