Magic Hunters: The Rising Rebellion

By Jill Williamson and Brad Williamson

Ever since Hunter accidentally banished magic, a rebellion has been growing in the Story Realms. The rebel leader holds Izzy captive in Rapunzel's tower as he amasses his army. Meanwhile, Hunter climbs the beanstalk in hopes of tracking down objects that will enable him to restore magic to the Story Realm

• Language: English
• Publisher: Novel Teen Press
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781955843102

Jill Williamson

Jill Williamson is a novelist, dreamer, and believer. Growing up in Alaska led to love books, and in 2010 her first novel, By Darkness Hid, won the Christy Award. She loves working with teenagers and gives writing workshops at libraries, schools, camps, and churches. Jill lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. Visit Jill online at www.jillwilliamson.com

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ABOUT MAGIC HUNTERS: THE RISING REBELLION

Ever since Hunter accidentally banished magic, a rebellion has been growing in the Story Realms. The rebel leader holds Izzy captive in Rapunzel's tower as he amasses his army. Meanwhile, Hunter climbs the beanstalk in hopes of tracking down objects that will enable him to restore magic to the Story Realms. As he travels in and out of different worlds, he faces trolls, gargoyles, and a giant who is determined to stomp him flat.

To survive, Hunter and Izzy will need the help of new friends, Jack and Alice, who each have goals of their own. As obstacles between them multiply, will Hunter and Izzy ever be reunited? Or will this quest demand the ultimate sacrifice?

To you, dear reader.

Enjoy the adventure.

Dear reader,

You hold in your hands the second book in a series that’s very different from any other that I have written. The primary reason for that is because I did not create this series. At least, not at first.

Our family had just moved back to Washington state. My husband had been working a night job, and one night, shortly after he had left for work, he called me, slightly frantic.

Can you go outside and see if there any papers in the street?

Papers? I asked.

Just go look, he said.

Still on my cell phone, I got out of bed, slipped on my shoes and coat, and walked outside. As I crossed the grassy lawn, I clearly saw on the dark asphalt, a sheet of white paper.

I see something, I said.

And when I picked it up and turned it over in my hand, I was met with a delightful and extremely curious site.

It was a map.

Not just any map, friends. It was a hand-drawn map of a fantastical storyworld.

I confess, my heart leapt a little in my chest at the site of such a thing.

What is this? I asked.

Nothing, my husband said.

Doesn’t look like nothing, I said.

He sighed. I’m writing a book, he said. But it’s not finished yet. I was waiting to tell you until it was done.

What is it about? I asked.

Later, he said. I have to get to work.

I ended the call and took the map inside. I examined it fully. Brad eventually told me he was writing a story that combined all the fairytales he could think of. Of course, I instantly started considering the market, what similar titles had already been written, and whether Brad’s story was different enough.

This is why he didn’t tell me from the start.

Regardless of what anyone had written before, Brad was excited about his story. Even better, he was having fun writing it. He completed drafts for two books in a planned trilogy and was partway through book three when his computer crashed. He lost everything. The books, skits, songs, and screenplays he had written over the years, and his work-in-progress on book three.

Everything gone.

Not all was lost, however. You see, whenever Brad completely finished a work, he emailed it to me to read. While he hadn’t sent me anything on the third book, I did have copies of books one and two. Still, the computer crash discouraged him, and he shelved the project, never to pick it up again. Years passed by, and he became more interested in screenwriting than writing novels.

Fast forward to January 2021. Amazon unveiled their upcoming Kindle Vella platform. This would be a place for writers to publish serialized stories. I desperately wanted to play with this new format of storytelling, but I was working full-time as a fifth grade teacher. I didn’t have time to start writing a new story and publish weekly episodes.

As I bemoaned this to Brad, he said, You can have Magic Hunters. I’m never going to do anything with it.

We went back-and-forth about this. I told him I might have to make changes as I revised. He said he didn’t care.

Are you sure? I asked him.

He assured me that he was, and that is how this story found its way into your hands. I took my husband’s books, revised them for Kindle Vella, then once each story was complete, I took feedback from my beta readers and revised it again. That is the version you now hold in your hands.

Brad and I hope you enjoy the second installment of Hunter and Izzy’s adventures.

Jill Williamson

MAP OF THE STORY REALMS

Climbing

The beanstalk was taller than it looked.

Hunter’s arms ached. Climbing twenty feet up a tree in Uncle Wilrick’s yard did not compare to the hours he had spent scaling this enormous beanstalk.

Down near the bottom, the leaves had been dry, yellowed, and curling from the lack of sunlight and rain. He had expected that the vines and leaves would change the higher he climbed, turn vibrant green and thick enough that he could stand on them. And while there were some leaves that looked healthy, most of them were just as yellow and dead as the ones on the bottom.

He hoped the beanstalk would live long enough for him to complete his quest.

At the next big leaf, Hunter sat on the base of the stem and leaned against the trunk to rest. He took off Merlin’s sugarloaf straw hat and wiped his sleeve across his brow. Once he caught his breath, he looked down on a ground of patchwork fields and farms.

The first few times he’d tried this, the height had left him lightheaded. Now he was used to it. He could see no sign of Merlin’s cottage through the thick forest of trees.

He had left Jill, Merlin, Queen Belle, and the soldiers at the bottom of the stalk ages ago. Surely they were back to the cottage in Nottingham Forest by now. He hoped the queen and her men had already left to find Izzy.

Izzy. Out there somewhere with Rikard. Did the man really plan to marry her?

Not wanting to think about something so awful, Hunter turned his gaze to the north. The castle in Camelot rose stately above the treetops, its scarlet and gold flags waving. To the west, Mt. Grimm sent a steady trail of smoke into the sky. All around, a beautiful view.

From the location of the sun overhead, Hunter guessed it was close to midday. He removed his pack, reached inside, and pulled out a perfectly ripened pear. The fruit brought a smile and a wash of fond memories. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it, though. Instead, he set it on the leaf in front of him and drew out a piece of bread.

I’m sorry, Izzy, he said to the pear.

How could he have let her be taken? Why had he just stood there and done nothing to help?

Because he wasn’t strong enough. Or smart enough. Or brave enough.

He sighed heavily, fighting the grief that tore at his heart.

I’ll come find you. I promise.

The pear did not reply. A piece of fruit was no substitute for his Pear Partner. Hunter missed the sound of Izzy’s chatter. She never ran out of things to talk about. With no memory, she found everything new and interesting.

As Hunter ate his bread, he tried not to imagine the worst for Izzy. His thoughts drifted to his father, and he wondered if Queen Belle would really be able to help. Izzy and his father: two people he cared about unfairly held captive.

It should have been Hunter in prison, which was why he had to fix what he’d broken. Restoring magic was the only way to free his father, even if doing so erased the Izzy that Hunter knew and turned her back into Princess Izabella of Fleur de Lis.

He suddenly felt foolish, sitting halfway up a giant beanstalk. It felt like running away. Izzy had been taken, and there were undoubtedly hundreds of magical objects lost all over the Story Realms. He only needed to find five.

Five Class A magical items, he reminded himself.

Maybe he should have returned to Elurra, explained all this to King Florian, who could have had his historian identify the right items. After all, the soldiers had stopped the magic mirror and several other treasures from being drawn into the magical storm cloud. It was possible there were Class A items in the castle back home.

Possible, wasn’t good enough, though. Which was why he’d decided to climb the beanstalk. Hunter couldn’t waste time wandering the Story Realms when Izzy was in danger.

If he could find help in the outer realms—in a realm that still had magic and wizards with memories intact—he could much more quickly locate the right kind of magical items needed for the countercurse. Then he would be able to help Izzy that much sooner.

He pulled out Merlin’s book, To Counter a Curse, and read over the pages Jill had marked. Once he found the five Class A items, he had to take them back to the undercroft in the Elurran castle, then recite a countercurse, part of which was the original curse. The rest, Hunter had to come up with on his own.

According to the book, it needed to be two lines of the same meter used in the original curse. Rhyming increased the power of the spell, as well, so Hunter had been thinking about what words rhymed with the original curse: From east to west, from south to north, remove magic from this day forth.

Pest, rest, behest, nest, jest…

His stomach growled. He sighed and closed the book. He would have time to compose the rhyme later. He tucked the book back into his pack, right next to Bastien II, the wooden warbler bird Hunter had carved for Izzy. She had left it at Merlin’s house, and Hunter hadn’t wanted to leave it behind.

He sighed, still hungry. The bread had not been enough. He glanced at the pear.

No, he said. You are not for eating. You go back in the bag.

He wrapped the pear safely inside a spare shirt where it might not be bruised. He thought about munching on some of the dried meat Queen Belle had given him, but stopped himself, thinking it might be better to save it. Who could guess how long his journey might take?

Instead, he looked around for one of the massive bean pods he’d seen hanging from the vine as he climbed. A few feet over his head, several dangled from a branch. The pod nearest the stem was longer than he was tall and swelled with the imprint of several fat beans inside. If Hunter had to sleep on the beanstalk tonight, perhaps an empty bean pod would make a nice bedroll.

He pulled on his pack, Merlin’s hat, and willed his arms and legs back into action. From below, there was no way to grab the oversized bean pod while still holding onto the vine, so he climbed until he reached the middle of the pod, then straddled the stem of another leaf and pushed his fingers into the bean’s seam.

The green flesh crunched like the bite of an apple, and moisture coated Hunter’s hands. The shell was much thicker than he thought it would be, but he managed to wrest open a gap in the seam long enough to reach inside and pluck off a bean the size of his head.

He settled the bean in his lap, leaned forward, and took a bite off the top edge. Hunter had never liked beans when his father told him to eat them, but this huge, raw bean tasted sweet and cool on his tongue. He ate until he felt full, amused that he’d left only a dent the size of his fist in the bean. Seemed a shame to waste so much food, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to carry the bean, either.

He removed his knife from the sheath on his belt, carved off a wedge, and wrapped it in his pack with Izzy’s pear. He pushed the rest of the bean back into the pod, then stood, ready to climb again.

He reached overhead until his fingers found a good grip on a vine, then pulled himself up. As he did, the vine shifted, throwing him off balance. His feet slipped, and he fell. He barely remembered to squeeze the vine he was holding as he swung out away from the stalk, winding around to the other side. As he neared a large leaf, he released his grip, terrified for the few seconds it took his body to soar through the air.

He landed hard on the leaf, falling flat on his stomach. He lay there a moment, eager to catch his breath and be certain he was safe. The leaf trembled beneath him, and it took a bit to work up the courage to stand.

Hunter took a cautions step toward the stalk and paused when his gaze fell on a wooden board lying on the leaf. No, not a board. A door. Just beyond it, near where the stem connected to the beanstalk, a wooden chair sat overturned.

Where had these items come from? Hunter looked up and saw nothing out of the ordinary, save a humongous beanstalk, of course, twisting higher and higher until it seemed to disappear into the soil of the island of Cormoran floating in the sky above.

How could the island remain in the sky when magic had been lost? Hunter could only guess that the island lay beyond the borders of the Story Realms.

He supposed the door and chair might have fallen from the island, but they were regular-sized. Human-sized, anyway. Not massive like the beanstalk, its bean, or anything belonging to a giant.

As he was looking up, he saw movement. An apple? A growing apple.

A falling apple.

As it got closer, Hunter realized it was too big to be an apple. Perhaps a watermelon?

A prickle of fear knotted his stomach. He needed to move out of the way, but which direction should he go?

Too late. He cringed, bracing himself as the object thudded beside him on the leaf. It was an apple, after all, though it was green and as high as his knees. Before he could decide whether or not to touch it, it rolled off the leaf.

Hunter’s heart pounded as he leaned out over the edge to try to see where the apple had landed. He could see no sign of it.

All morning, Hunter had been steadily ascending the western side of the beanstalk. He was on the eastern side now, and as he continued to climb, he found jagged planks of wood, a tattered quilt, and a three-legged stool. In contrast to the regular-sized oddities, two more giant apples fell. He also climbed past several enormous chicken bones wedged into the vines. A few smaller bones lay on some of the leaves.

Who could have eaten such a chicken? More importantly, was it still around? Hunter climbed another few steps. Somewhere on the beanstalk above, a ferocious growl shattered the stillness.

Hunter scanned the vines above but saw nothing that would make such a noise. He was still too low for the sound to have been coming from the island up above.

When no more apples fell and the silence continued, Hunter decided to go back to the other side of the beanstalk.

He studied the vines overhead and grabbed one that twisted toward the west. A deep breath and he swung around to the opposite side of the beanstalk. This time, he managed to land on his feet.

He continued on as quietly as possible. Exerting so much energy after a long day of climbing made it challenging to keep his breathing soft and silent. Each time a vine creaked or his boot landed too hard on a leaf, Hunter glanced up to see if anyone or anything might be watching. Slowly, the island above grew nearer.

He’d never been so weary. As he pulled himself higher, his arms ached in protest. Each time he released a vine and reached for another, his fingers cramped. Stretching toward a particularly high vine caused his back to spasm, and he bit his lower lip to keep from crying out.

When Hunter reached a fat portion of the beanstalk, he felt certain he had climbed as high as that growl had come from. He wanted to check the other side of the beanstalk, yet he didn’t dare swing over on a vine for fear of landing on some horrible beast. Unfortunately, the width of the beanstalk made it difficult to simply walk around.

He extended his hand toward the next vine but it was just out of reach. He was going to have to jump for it.

Just as he sprang into the air, the growl came again, this time, just overhead. His fingers missed the vine, and his foot slipped off the stem from which he’d leaped. For the space of one gasping breath, everything seemed to move in slow motion, then Hunter felt himself falling.

Prisoner

Izzy blinked, her eyes tired from staring into the forest, desperately seeking signs of movement through the trees. She sat wedged into the front corner of Rikard’s wagon, struggling against the scratchy ropes binding her wrists as she kept watch for her mother.

Too many hours had passed since Izzy had first escaped. The ants Merlin had given her had eaten though her bindings. She had slipped from the wagon and found her mother—passed the ants to her. But Rikard had caught Izzy. Put her back in the wagon and tied her wrists and ankles with fresh ropes. Then, because of her near escape, he and two dozen of his men had separated from the greater portion of his troops. The latter—including her mother—headed for Elurra in hopes of leading astray anyone who might be searching for Izzy.

Someone like Hunter.

Izzy didn’t want to admit that Rikard’s strategy might work. And she had no idea if the ants had helped her mother escape or not.

She wished she’d kept a couple of the ants for herself.

If her mother managed to escape, Izzy had no doubt she would come for her. Izzy couldn’t wait around, though. Her hands tingled from the awkward way she’d been holding them, so she shifted to her knees and leaned back. She set the ropes on the sharp edge of the wagon box and dragged them back and forth, picturing fibers breaking, willing them to do so.

You’re not trying to leave us, Your Highness.

Izzy stiffened, turning her head enough so that she could see Rikard watching her from where he sat beside the driver on the bench. In her short memory, Rikard had always been handsome, well-dressed, and sophisticated, his bald head waxed, his face clean-shaven, his clothing impeccable. Currently, he had the haggard look of a beggar. The stubble of graying black hair coated his face and the back of his head below his ears, and dirt and blood soiled his uniform. She eyed in particular the blood stain on his shoulder where Izzy had cut him in the battle outside Merlin’s cottage.

She wished she’d had better aim.

From the moment Izzy had escaped from that burlap sack with no memory of who she was, Rikard had been chasing her, calling her a princess. She hadn’t believed him at first, but it turned out he had been telling the truth about that, at least.

Why would I want to break free, Monsieur LeGume? she asked. Your company is so engaging.

A smile lit up Rikard face. It’s a relief to see you back to your charming self, Your Highness.

You do know that Hunter will rescue me, right?

Rikard’s chuckle drew laughter from his men. I wouldn’t put too much faith in your pint-sized hero. I’ve defeated him before, and even if he does manage to find us, which he will not, I can easily defeat him again.

Hunter had not lost to Rikard before. Rikard had cheated. Believe that, if you must, monsieur, but I promise Hunter is going to surprise you.

Rikard’s grin turned to stone. Halt! he yelled.

The wagon jerked to a standstill, causing Izzy to lose her balance and slam against the wagon box.

Time to split up, yet again. Rikard swung down from the driver’s seat. Hawk, find the princess a horse. He gave several more orders, most of which Izzy did not hear as her thoughts were consumed by another man climbing into the back of the wagon, his gray eyes fixed on her. It was the Britannian man who had held a knife to Mother’s throat. Stringy black hair and a drooping mustache hung to a scruffy chin. His narrow, long nose seemed to hang off his face, as well. This must be Hawk. He looked like he were melting.

He hauled Izzy to the end of the wagon and passed her down to a strapping young man with airy, golden curls and a wide smile. The pair loaded her, side-saddle, onto the back of a brown and white horse. Izzy struggled and kicked, but the men overpowered her.

Easy, now, the younger one said. I’ve got you. He held her waist as Hawk set about tying her wrist bindings to the saddle horn. Just hold still a moment more. If you’re not careful, you’ll be hurt.

She would be hurt more if she didn’t escape. Let me go!

Can’t do, Princess, the young man said. "I mean, I could. But then the captain would be frightful angry, and he’d take it out on me. You understand. It’s not my idea."

Hawk cinched the knot. Stop talking to her.

Izzy finally stilled. She dare not leap off this animal with her hands tied to the saddle.

Rikard mounted a black stallion, and Hawk handed him the reins of Izzy’s horse. They set off again—only five of them this time. Hawk and the friendly young man led the way. Rikard followed with Izzy, and one other man trailed behind with two pack horses.

The rest of Rikard’s party traveled east, perhaps to meet up with the first group, perhaps to enact some wicked errand for their master. Izzy took in the location of the sun in the sky and determined that her group was still heading south. She smiled as she remembered arguing with Hunter about how to tell directions from the sun.

From the limited conversation around her, Izzy soon learned everyone’s name. There was Hawk, and Rikard, of course. The young man with the charming smile went by Starkey. And the man riding in back with the pack horses was called Bert or Bertram—Izzy had heard both.

After some time, they came to a crescent-shaped lake Izzy recognized. She and Hunter had passed through here on the way to Merlin’s cottage. Hawk led them west along the