Pilgrimage: Tales of the Magi Saga, #6

By Andrew Dobell

Someone's just trying to scare them. The tales of the witch can't be true… Can they???

Former TV celebrity explorer, Chris Riley has been asked to lead an expedition into the Carpathian Mountains.
Chris' career ended when he'd encountered something on his last hike into the wilderness. It killed his entire team, apart from Chris. He was acquitted of their deaths due to lack of evidence against him, but his career was over. Everyone believed he was the murderer.
Everyone apart from Teodor.

Now Teodor, a scholar of the hidden world, hires him to lead another hike to find the lost Wailing Tunnels. Ancient home of a legendary witch.
As they encounter increasingly threatening warnings, and worrying events, they realise that things might not be as simple as they had thought.
Do the Tunnels actually exist?
Is the Witch still alive?
As things turn deadly, Chris must choose between completing the mission or saving his team from something that shouldn't exist.

Tales of the Magi Saga
Taking place within the Universe of the Magi Saga, Pilgrimage fit's into the main narrative after book 4 of the central Magi Saga books, but can be read as a standalone story as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Creative Edge Publishing
• Release date: May 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227808905

Book preview

My Books

You can buy all of my books on my website, at;

www.andrewdobellauthor.co.uk

Acknowledgements

For my Grandfather, who was a continual inspiration and support. I miss you, and this is for you.

Thank you to my wife and family for their love and tolerance and help. You make everything worthwhile.

Thank you to my old gaming friends, you guys have inspired this story more than you can know. I have some of the best memories from those hours sitting at the gaming table.

Thank you to my Editors: Julie Hall, CP Bialois, Hanna Elizabeth and Crystal Wren. Your input has been amazing. Thank you.

Thank you to Vicki Blatchley for being my cover model.

Dedication

For my boys, my kids, I love you!

Language

I’m a British author living in Britain, and I write in British English with British spellings.   ;-)

1

The car bounced along the dirt road through the small town. There were very few tarmac roads in this part of Romania, and most of the locals were using horse and cart rather than cars. There were times when Chris found it amazing that there were still parts of the world that had not really caught up with the modern digital world of the west, with its super-fast broadband internet and modern luxuries, but it was also kind of reassuring and quaint that places like this were still somewhat untouched by progress.

They weren’t entirely untouched, though, as he noticed another local speaking on a mobile phone. They were everywhere these days.

The old car bumped through another pothole as Chris spotted the pub up ahead. Is that what they called these places in Transylvania? Or was it a tavern? He wasn’t sure, so he figured he’d call it a pub.

Whatever; it was a drinking establishment. And it was also where he was due to meet with Teodor. He got a sinking feeling in his stomach then as he wondered what he was getting himself into. The thoughts of what they might be walking into brought back that paralysing fear he had felt in the Himalayas about a year and a half ago. Now, he found himself just staring at the building.

‘Hey, errr... Hello? Hello?’ the driver called to him, breaking the daydream suddenly and snapping him back to reality and the realisation that the car had stopped.

The man said something to him in the local language, but Chris wasn’t sure what the man had said. He had his hand held out, though, and suddenly, the gist of the words were clear, he wanted paying.

Chris pulled out some money, passed it to the driver, and extracted himself from the car, pulling all his gear with him as well.

The driver waved goodbye to him and pulled away, continuing to bounce along through the potholes and dodge the horse-drawn carts as he went.

The street wasn’t busy, not like a London street, but there were still people going about their business; many of them looking over at the strange looking foreigner who had just appeared in their village. Further along, some kids played a game, running here and there, while a couple of older men sat smoking their pipes, their conversation paused for the time being as they eyed Chris with curiosity.

Well, he thought, no time like the present. So, he swung his bag onto his shoulder and made his way over the street towards the pub, dodging a pile of stinking horse manure as he went.

He stopped just outside the door and looked around him, noticing all the faces pointed his way, their eyes filled with curiosity about this new stranger.

Above the buildings on the opposite side of the street, the tall Romanian mountains towered high into the sky, partially veiled in mist and low hanging clouds to give them a mysterious and creepy feel.

He wondered if, in the next few days, he would come face to face with the terrors he’d met once before on the slopes of the Tibetan mountains. The thought chilled him to the bone, but he also knew it was something he had to do. He had to prove something to himself once and for all.

Chris sighed. This would be an eventful few days, of that he had no doubt.

He turned, opened the door to the bar, and stepped inside. The room beyond was only dimly lit both by the hazy light that streamed in through the dirty windows and the old electrical light bulbs that were placed haphazardly around the room.

There were a few tables on either side of him, and a few small alcoves as well. He felt like he was in some kind of western when the hero walks into the saloon and everything stops as the locals turn to look at the new arrival.

It probably wasn’t quite as bad as that, but many of the people who were getting a drink in here did stop what they were doing and look at the newcomer.

Chris smiled nervously, and started to look around wondering if Teodor would be here by now.

‘Chris,’ said a voice to his left.

He turned to face a middle-aged man with greying hair that was combed harshly back from his face. He wore silver-rimmed glasses with circular lenses and sported a neat, if slightly flamboyant, moustache and goatee beard that complimented his tweed jacket and dark trousers. But his smile and the look in his eyes was bright and welcoming; just as he’d remembered them from their last meeting back in London.

‘Teodor, you beat me here. It’s great to see you,’ Chris said.

‘It is a pleasure for me, too,’ Teodor answered in his