Here is Where I... Wield a Really Big Sword

Chapter 1

Here is Where I . . . Mindlessly Snipe a Decent Amount of Orcs While Howie Shares Some Choice Intel

I get off the bus and fetch the mail before going inside. Mom and Dad won’t be home for at least another hour. I ignore the note detailing the chores Mom wants me to knock out before she gets back. If I time it right, I can be working on them when she arrives; it always looks better to have her witness me doing my chores.

I grab a Gatorade and head up to my room, or, as I like to call to it, my Fantasy Lair. For a while, back in eighth grade, I’d hung some rusty chains over the door and referred to it as my Dungeon of Despair, but that hadn’t gone over well with Mom. I’d ditched the chains when she’d started voicing her concern that I was falling in with the wrong crowd. A quick peek at her tablet’s history had shown me her concern was whether I’d wind up a goth.

Dad gets my fixation with fantasy. He’d been into it himself at my age. He’d gotten me to try some of his authors―Alan Dean Foster, Andre Norton, and the series with dragonriders on Pern―but only Norton’s barbarian wasteland novels had proven of much interest. Oh, also Sterling Lanier’s two books about his hero, Heiro, were ones I grudgingly admired.

My fantasy obsession involves much more media than his―mostly because his choices had been limited growing up in the seventies. I immerse myself in video games, movies, television, books, and comics that are heavy on dragons and wizards and light on lengthy chapters that dwell on history and whose house a certain champion comes from. Fantasy that spends page after page detailing the geography of a realm and the lineage of its inhabitants drives me nuts.

But other than playing fantasy games on my PS4 the last few weeks, I haven’t done much else with the genre. There’s a mighty big reason why.

I’m living it.

Well, not directly. More like watching it from the sidelines. Maybe afar is a better descriptor, listening in on the magical doings of others. A very specific set of others. Folks that go to my school. A group that I’m not a part of. A rather exclusive club.

They’re involved in magic. I’m certain of it.

I really need to talk to Howie. He’s wanted to tell me something ever since lunch, but he hadn’t been in our last class and had been a no-show on the bus. All he’d sent was a text that hinted he had new intel about the group.

Howie Holt’s my best friend, and the only other person to suspect that magic exists in the real world. We’re both pretty geeked out by the prospect.

I could call him, but it’s much more likely he’s playing around online. The first hour after school is generally our cool-down period, mostly us in our respective homes glued to video games and engaging in some multiplayer action. Makes perfect sense. Beats waiting for him to answer a text or call. Howie has a tendency to leave his phone elsewhere when he’s gaming.

I move through the upstairs hallway. I ignore the pile of laundry by my door and swing open my bedroom door with a little too much flair, almost knocking over the statue of a chimera in my haste. Thankfully, the door only bangs against my desk, and the prized beast that is a representation of Travis Franklin from the Island of Fog Legacies series wobbles from the impact, but doesn’t drop.

I slide on my headset and recline in my game chair. I flick on the television, power up the console, and activate my game controller.

Seconds later, I have Howie on the other end as I start up a match in Demon Journeys 2. Howie joins in as well, and soon we’re blasting away at the other team.

I say, Why didn’t you take the bus?

Dentist appointment. His warrior carries a sniper rifle and a big sword. Demon Journeys 2 is a mash-up game, think Call of Duty meets World of Warcraft.

I have mine outfitted with a flamethrower and a mace. Just a few more carnage points, and I can level up. I jump into a Void Pit and teleport behind an enemy patrol. I torch half of them before they hurl spells and magic bullets at me.

Howie covers my retreat. Get wrecked, enemy of my enemy!

You going to talk about your new intel? I ask.

Howie dives through a Radiant Whirlpool that shimmers a few hundred feet above us. It grants him temporary Berserker Armor, and he drops down into the enemy’s ranks and begins to melee. I snipe from a safe distance.

Overheard Bri and Roman talking about something tonight. Going to take on some husk fiends. Scott believes there’s a pretty big nest of them.

My phone goes off, alerting me to a text I need to read.

It’s from Scott. Not to me directly. Howie hacked into their group chat about a week ago, and we can see what they’re texting. Howie worked his tech magic so they can’t see us as part of the group. He’s clever that way.

10:00 over by the Earlhouser’s farm. Back by the silo.

Howie says, You reading it?

Yeah, looks like something’s definitely up. I take out five orcs, the last two with gorgeous headshots. Remember that text from three days ago?

The one about rooting out an ifrit from the girl’s locker room?

That operation had been a nighttime one as well. We’d almost gone, but Howie’d gotten cold feet about breaking into the school. Plus, from what we could tell online, ifrits were nasty creatures. Part of me wanted to be selective with our first magical encounter, aim for something that might involve a little less mayhem.

Husk fiends don’t sound that bad. Not that I have a clue as to what they are.

What’re you thinking? Howie sounds terrified.

I say, We should follow and finally get proof.

Howie’s voice has graduated to panic-stricken. Do we have to? I can’t come tonight. Gotta help Mason Edwards with his Science.

Until ten o’clock?

He needs a lot of help, Howie replies rather dryly. Besides, we agreed we’d step up when they took on something not so dangerous like a pixie or elf infestation.

I’m tired of waiting, Howie.

Promise me you won’t go without me."

I hesitate. This is our chance.

Gideon?

I won’t go.

You swear you won’t show up there at ten tonight?

Nope. An orc with a rare Augment Helm bludgeons me from behind, and I die. I reappear in the area of the moat nearest the wooden outpost’s front entrance. Several turrets are engulfed in flames. Not my doing. I’m much more responsible with my flamethrower. I char flesh whenever possible. I’m no sloppy arsonist.

Another time, okay? Howie says. I swear we’ll get to the bottom of what they’re doing.

Howie’s warrior dies and respawns in the moat next to me. I make my character do a silly dance and salute him. Gotta go do some chores before my mom gets home. See you at school tomorrow.

I shut down the console and tuck away the controller and headphones. I march downstairs and start emptying the dishwasher.

The possibility of magic becoming a part of my life is within reach. I don’t want to wait for the next opportunity. What if that’s something every worse? Like a squadron of dragons strafing the large outdoor patio of the mall’s food court? Or a gaggle of frost giants tossing blizzards about down by the Dairy Queen?

Maybe they aren’t looking for any new members. I can hear Scott Holloway turning me down with his patented confidence and sympathetic gaze: Sorry, Gideon Thump. You’re an underclassmen and a laughing stock to boot. We don’t have an opening for a jester. Afraid our membership’s full up. Now sit still while we wipe your memories of what it is we do.

Iknow it would be him breaking the news to me. He’s the leader of the merry band. The others are his eclectic entourage, each offering a specialty that aids in whatever his magical mission might be. Mason strikes me as the second-in-command for the most part; Bri has a way of pushing her own agenda from what I can tell. Both Mason and Bri have to be warriors. Not sure what Roman brings to the table, but my guess is he’s their resident spellcaster. He certainly doesn’t look the part of a fighter like the others.

I need a way in. What’s my angle?

But I really can’t do anything tonight. I gave Howie my word.

Abruptly, I stiffen. A very appealing workaround to my promise pops into my head. I said I wouldn’t show up at ten over by the Earlhouser’s farm. I really don’t even know where that farm is, to be honest. I’ll need to follow one of them over. My best bet is Scott.

A plan solidifies in my head. While I don’t know where he actually lives, I do know he volunteers most nights at the soup kitchen just a few blocks from here.

I’ll just go down and wait for him to get off. Follow him until he winds up at the farm. There, I’m not showing up at ten, really. Scott is pretty good about arriving early to things, not that I’m his secretary or anything. It’s just something I’ve noticed.

Pleased that I’ll be honoring my promise in a way, I work hard to finish my chores. I’ll skip out of dinner and stake out the soup kitchen. Figure getting there around six should time it right. If Scott takes a car to his destination, I’m screwed. I can’t drive yet. Taking my bike won’t work. Harder to duck out of sight on it. No, I’ll need to hoof it and hope for the best. I shouldn’t worry. While Scott drives, he seems to like to walk most places from what I’ve seen. Maybe I’ll luck out and this farm isn’t that far away.

I fix myself a sandwich and continue with my chores, certain that tonight will be very revealing.

Chapter 2

Here is Where I . . . Illustrate How Insignificant I am Compared to One Scott Holloway

He’s the hero, the guy darting across the rocks and neatly avoiding getting his feet wet in the small creek he just forded with Norwegian flair. A genuine world-class savior if the last month of my extensive skulking and eavesdropping is to be believed.

If I’m caught trailing him, it’s not going to be good for me. Called out as a stalker by the coolest, hippest, trendiest, Instagramiest (Is that even a word?) student at Edenton High will obliterate what little social standing I have.

Despite standing at the edge of popularity quicksand, I’m downright excited. This is the night. Scott Holloway and his crew have been meddling with dire forces. And I don’t mean texting in Mr. Lordalmighty’s (not his real name) class. It’s all coming to a head here tonight. Major craziness.

I’m talking something out of a big budget Hollywood movie or at least a premium channel show with a decent effects budget.

Scott and his entourage are going to stick their noses into magic. Like the Scooby Gang but better dressed and groomed. I’m totally geeking out about the prospect of having a run-in with magic tonight. Me, the biggest fan of all things fantasy other than my good friend Howie.

I’m serious. This is not me hero-worshipping the guy who’s hands down Division One material in at least three sports and yet kind to all woodland creatures and geeky underclassmen alike. He’s got popularity and hasn’t let it go to his head, which, by the way, sports the best hair in all of south Florida, including Miami.

Of course, being ignored and off the radar is my forte. Forgettable and overlooked are my wheelhouse.

Me, I’m a nobody. I’m Gideon Thump, self-appointed and unsanctioned chronicler of covert magical happenings in the small town of Edenton. Beats locking myself in my room and playing Destiny every waking moment.

I’ve been listening in on his conversations in class. Howie covertly hacked into his group chat so I could read all their back and forth. In Gym, which he has with Mason and Bri, two of the headliners in his little magical band, I’ve caught dribs and drabs of their goings-on when I’ve been on their team for volleyball and such. No clue what a were-wasp or a harvest spawn are, but they were apparently the recent capers the group foiled.

From my snooping around, Scott and his three associates lead a crusade against dark rampaging creatures intent on the enslavement of humanity. I don’t have any concrete evidence that this is so. For all I know, their hush-hush conversations of taking down orcs in the library and slaying cafeteria dragons several midnights back could just be the vivid accounting of some silly game they play together, but several factors have me thinking otherwise.

One, Scott Holloway’s eyes glow a bright orange whenever he executes his almost otherworldly moves on the court.

Two, Howie told me he thinks they spared one of the dragons they fought recently and have it holed up in Scott’s garage attic. Haven’t confirmed or denied the dragon detail as I’m still working through some lockpick tutorials online before hazarding a B and E.

I cross the stream a full minute after Scott. Good thing as I slip twice and my splashing is quite noticeable. No worries as Scott’s already pulled pretty far ahead. His track coach would be so proud.

I hike up the leafy incline, dropping to my knees at least four times. When I crest the hill, expansive wet patches on my pants draw attention to my knobby knees.

Scott’s flashlight sweeps side to side only a hundred yards down and to my right, panning across an expanse of wire fencing.

Something is off about this expedition. The text he sent his gang a few hours ago had set the start time of their operation at ten o’clock sharp and clear across town at an abandoned barn. Something about flushing out a mob of husk fiends. So why is he out here on the Coleman property at a little past eight?

It’s not like Scott to dupe others. He always does the right thing.

Even back in seventh grade when big, bad, held-back-twice Morris Gunder had threatened to bust him up if he told the teachers on Gunder’s extortion practices in C Lunch, Scott had exposed the truth. I felt a connection from that. I had been one of Morris’s victims, giving him my lunch money in favor of keeping my nose properly configured in the center of my face. Bad enough I had such horrible acne. Adding a warped proboscis to my look would’ve made me one of the Untouchables.

He scales the fence, the hood of his winter coat snagging on the top. He pulls it free and continues on. So strange. It’s the middle of summer and at least in the eighties. I’m sweltering in jeans and a t-shirt. Why’s he running around in pretty much a parka and snow boots?

I make it to the fence and size it up. Scott had made climbing it look to be a breeze. He’d even done so without having to drop his flashlight.

I listen carefully, fearing he’s doubling back and about to catch me red-handed.

Nothing. I have to get a move on if I hope to keep up.

I roll my eyes and claw my way to the top. I awkwardly straddle the fence, my crotch regretting the move almost immediately.

I shove off the fence, swinging my legs wide in the hope that the pokey, stabby portions of the fencing won’t plunge through my denim.

I land on my side and grunt. I grab at my left leg and bite my tongue. A gash along my inner thigh is already bleeding. Thanks for protecting me, blue jeans. I stand and fiddle with the frayed opening in my pants. Guess I’ll be needing a story to tell Mom why my second best jeans are out of commission. Or I can simply tuck them in the garbage on Trash Day, no one the wiser.

I hear cursing ahead of me and know that he’s close. You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth, Scott? Of course, he probably has a good reason to use such colorful language. Maybe he’s squaring off with a frost giant or a really big mutant caterpillar or something.

A part of me hesitates. Do I really want to see what’s happening? Do I want to make all my wild imaginings real? Ignorance is bliss. I mean, the rest of my class seems perfectly content to go along with their lives unaware that there’s magic trying to storm the gates, that Hell and all its demonic ilk are just a hop, skip, and a jump from ransacking our peaceful planet.

Maybe it’s wiser to hang back, just listen to his exploits tomorrow when he walks into homeroom as if he didn’t just save all of reality but rather spent a night working out or reading poetry. Or working out while reading poetry. That’s so Scott Holloway.

I take a step back, suddenly feeling no need to witness whatever this is firsthand. I’m reasonably sure he’ll text about it.

This sucks, says someone behind me.

I spin around to stare into Scott Holloway’s eyes.

They’re glowing the brightest orange ever, and not in a good way.

Chapter 3

Here is Where I . . . Urge Scott Holloway Not to Do Anything Rash

Scott’s flashlight is off. Not much need for it what with the glow his peepers are currently putting out.

Uh, hi, Scott. Nice night for a stroll.

His eyes narrow. Twin death rays slicing through me seems like a horrible way to die. No way he’s going to do that. He’s the hero.

He rubs the back of his head, and his eyes dim, letting the moonlight do most of the heavy lifting of setting the mood. You shouldn’t be here.

Absolutely. Sorry my little walkabout crossed yours. What are the odds?

He turns away from me. You followed me.

Okay, yes, I’ll have to cop to that. I didn’t know what else to say. Definitely sharing that I know all about his magical missions isn’t going to earn me any points.

He points vaguely to a spot in the woods ahead. It seems impossibly dark there. I’ve already started. I don’t have time to send you away. It’s going to open any second now.

What’s that?

The gateway I spelled into being.

Oh. Really pictured myself more eloquent when I finally confronted Scott about his exploits.

You’re a smart one, Gideon. Why are you so nosy?

What? No, I just―

You don’t think I notice you tuning into my conversations with Bri, Mason, and Roman?

Maybe fessing up to a teensy bit of spying at school is in order. I don’t have to confess to reading their texts, right? Well, I have to admit to finding some of your topics a bit out there, but I just assumed you guys were playing some sort of game.

It’s not a game.

A muffled thunderclap erupts from the dark part of the forest where Scott expects a gateway to appear. The spot’s no longer in shadow. There’s a faint green light coming from beyond the thickest wall of shrubbery I’ve ever seen.

No, not a game. I grin. Sure seems like flashlight tag, though. Little effort to recapture your lost childhood? Trying to recreate fond camp memories?

Shut the hell up, Gideon. You have no idea.

I stiffen and then relax. This is my opening. You’re right. I don’t. Something strange is going on with you and your friends. All kidding aside now. I draw in a breath. You guys are mixed up in magic. You save the world.

He looks at me, his eyes no longer glowing. Just those inescapable baby blues that make the girls swoon and swear allegiance to Scott’s Twitter feed. Worlds. We save a lot more than one.

I stand corrected.

He shoves me forward and, with a sour look that’s a little judgy of my athletic ability, makes it clear I better keep up. We run toward the green radiance ahead. Can’t leave you here. The leaf mummy that lives nearby is sure to come investigate any magic intruding on her territory. Summoning a gate is pretty hard to hide. She finds you, you’re toast, or at the very least you’ll wind up her thrall.

Can’t say becoming anyone’s thrall is one of my life goals. My left shoulder crashes into a spindly tree, but I keep going. Not that I have much choice. Scott isn’t letting up. I definitely don’t want to fall behind.

The breeze kicks up, buffeting us from all sides. Weird. Pretty sure that’s not how the physics of air flow is supposed to work.

Scott glares at me again. Not a fan of how many harsh looks he’s giving me. He’s normally so gregarious and generous with the smiles and warm grins of acceptance. Try not to throw up. Dimension hopping is never easy the first time.

We burst through the thick shrubs into a small clearing. The wind is sweeping into a five-foot-wide hole hanging in the air. The edges of the portal are coursing with probing tendrils of green energy.

Scott stops and halts my progress with a flat hand to my chest. Make your jump clean. Don’t touch the gate’s aura.

The green stuff? I’m freaking out, but I can’t let Scott see it. An honest-to-gosh portal to another world is floating in front of us.

Yeah, the green stuff.

He grabs me by the shoulders and moves behind me. He’s going to push me through.

Hands out, and be ready to land and roll. Hope it’s just ground on the other side and not an ocean.

Wait, shouldn’t we poke our heads through and have a looksee first? If we spot waves, maybe you call up another gate.

A moan comes from our left.

Scott looks at me. She’s almost here. I didn’t go through the protocols to be on her territory. She’s not going to be happy.

Even greatly unhinged as I am right now, I know he’s referring to the leaf mummy he mentioned earlier. I’m just an attention-to-detail kind of guy. Will she come after us?

No, the curse keeps her confined to the earthly plane. He tenses his arms. Now let’s go.

Aye-aye. With that, I stumble forward, a good deal of my momentum courtesy of the hard shove Scott employs.

I jump into the air, ducking my head and pulling my feet up to avoid the portal’s aura. I slide through the gate, praying that the other side grants us solid ground.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Why am I barreling forward and not running off to wet myself? This is seriously messed-up stuff. But it’s magic, something I’ve always wanted in my miserably mundane life.

Something about being around Scott emboldens me. I don’t want to avoid opportunity.

One thing’s for sure . . . hanging with Scott Holloway opens doors.

Chapter 4

Here is Where I . . . Discover I’m Underdressed for Popping into Another Dimension

We don’t splash down in a large body of water.

It’s a much softer landing into a significant snow drift. I shove the snow aside and dig my face out of it. I rock back onto my knees and hug myself, already shivering in just my jeans and t-shirt. It’s got to be in the twenties, and this Florida boy never could stomach the cold all that well. My visits to my grandmother in Pennsylvania during the winter never enamored me to the white, fluffy stuff. Mostly because my corn-fed cousins to the North loved to make me the focal point of their