Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  His gaze wouldn’t meet hers, not quite, and he shifted his body to face the fire. The ooze had burned a poisonous path between them without even touching them, and Shara curled her fingers into fists.

  She wanted to hate him for it. Not because he’d said it, but because he was wrong. Any Amaskan would’ve done what she had, and he knew it. As usual, he blames me for whatever goes wrong. Is it because it’s easier? Or does he truly believe me untrustworthy?

  A twig lay to her left that she picked up and used to draw circles in the dirt. At some point, Bredych slept, using his cloak as a blanket. She did, too, though the night’s chill woke her several times, and a few candlemarks before sunrise, she woke with a dry mouth and a hungry belly.

  He’ll never admit it, but my brother’ll do whatever he has to in order to be Grand Master, including ruin my reputation. Maybe Eli was right. Maybe the Order with a bad leader is no Order at all.

  There’s Justice, and there’s the wrong kind of Justice.

  Shara picked up the twig she’d dropped earlier and used it to scratch a note in the dirt.

  Brother,

  Ya don’t trust me.

  Leaving to find answers. Don’t follow me.

  -S

  She made sure to dig the letters deep so the dirt wouldn’t brush them away, and then stood with one last look at her brother. I’ll return, though it may not be for you. I need to find my place in this world without ya.

  Quiet as the woodland creatures, Shara walked away from the camp toward the East and wherever that path would take her…

  First Tovias burned and then Lachail, but it’s not a curse that haunts Shara of the Order of Amaska. It’s her brother. Rather than face him and the destructive path he’s carving through the Little Dozen Kingdoms, Shara flees her home in hopes of finding out what it means to serve Justice. Will she find the answers she’s seeking, or will this new man in her life bring more destruction down upon those she loves?

  Find out in Forgotten Magic: Magic Underground Anthologies Book III.

  About the Author

  International award-winning and bestselling speculative fiction author and artist Raven Oak is best known for Amaskan’s Blood (2016 Ozma Fantasy Award Winner, 2016 Epic Awards Finalist, & 2019 Reader’s Choice Award Winner), Amaskan’s War (2018 UK Wishing Award YA Finalist), and Class-M Exile. She’s an active member of SFWA and has short stories published in multiple anthologies and magazines. Raven spent most of her K-12 education doodling stories and 500-page monstrosities that are forever locked away in a filing cabinet.

  When she’s not writing, she’s getting her game on, indulging in cartography and painting, or staring at the ocean. She lives in the Seattle area with her husband, and their three kitties who enjoy lounging across the keyboard when writing deadlines approach.

  For more information about the author, please visit: www.ravenoak.net.

  Don't forget to grab your copy of Forgotten Magic for more fantasy adventures.

  Ariana’s Choice

  H. M. Jones

  In “Ariana’s Choice,” young Ariana is thrust into adulthood when her powerful magic gets out of hand. Wayward Magic, to me, means that the magic either goes awry or the magic maker goes awry. Both of these scenarios are true for Ariana, whose magic is the reason for her solitude and for her new, strange adventure. Mostly, “wayward” in this story, implies that Ariana must find her own, very different way in life. One that is quite unexpected.

  H.M. Jones

  When Ariana is pushed out of her home of thirteen years and thrust into a dark and dreary forest, she cannot help but worry that, magic or no, she may not survive. Taking shelter in a cave, she stumbles upon a new friend and an unknown destiny. Follow Ariana as she finds her way in a strange, new world.

  Ariana’s Choice

  Ariana stood in front of the glade at the edge of her father’s property, her knees shaking and her stomach turning. She felt Ruthie’s warm hand on her shoulder, but had eyes only for the dense, dark forest stretched out like death’s cloak before her.

  “There now, Lass. You mustn’t be afeared of what you don’ know, only careful of it. Don’ eat anything you don’ know is edible. Some forest mushrooms are poison, though they don’ look it. I packed ya enough food for a week, if yer not wasteful.”

  Ariana turned to Ruthie. “I don’t know how to survive in there, Ruthie. Can’t you just tell father you saw me enter? I can make my way in another town, or another country...”

  Ruthie shook her head, interrupting her. “I never said much about yer ma, my Lady, because your father forbade it. But I met her. Yer father came to the inn where I used to cook before he hired me on. She was with him, and from the looks of her she was pretty far along. Waddled like they do when they are about to let the child out. That night, I was cleanin’ up after closin’ the kitchen and I heard yer father wailin’ for help. I ran up the stairs. He grabbed me and pushed me into his room, where yer ma was doubled over in birth pains. She had ya right there that night, with my help. Yer father was useless, o’course, so I sent him to the hall.”

  Ruthie sighed. “Ya were a beautiful baby. Quiet. Dinnit really fuss or nothin’. Curious ice blue eyes, pale like yer ma’s. They left the inn the next day, but ya stayed in my heart, lass. And wouldn’ ya know it, just a few weeks later, word came to me that a Lord Grey from the next village over was looking for a cook who could nanny, too. I remembered your father’s name, Lord Georgio Grey. I never knew yer ma’s name. I never saw her again. But when he hired me he said I was not to mention the lady to him, that she’d left to be with her kind. He said it like that, not ‘her family,” ‘her kind.’”

  Ariana stared at Ruth in amazement. Part of her felt betrayed and part of her felt thankful she hadn’t known all of this. It wouldn’t have made her life any easier.

  “Course, it wasn’ easy raisin’ ya, even if ya were a quiet mite. Strange things happened when ya got riled. We had to take on Annabeth by the time you were four, and her only a handful of years older. I needed all the help I could get.” She smiled and tweaked Ariana’s nose.

  Annabeth wiped at her eyes. “You were a good girl, Lady. Just different. Not bad, though. I remember one day you were playing with a button on my blouse and the button turned into a butterfly. You clapped and giggled, not knowing that what you did was out of the ordinary. It scared me, then, but it was the most beautiful butterfly, with teal and purple markings. None of your spells were ever bad around me n’Ruth, not even when we made you dress in those stiff petticoats. Course, something happened to the petticoats…”

  Ariana giggled. She was only eight when her father asked Annabeth to dress her in a fancy ball gown for a local dance. He almost never let her interact with anyone but Annabeth, Ruthie and various bribed tutors. He had her maid put a very stiff layer of petticoats on Ariana, which she absolutely hated.

  When Annabeth was done fussing with her, Ariana pouted and said, “I wish petticoats were made of clouds, so they didn’t itch and chaff so.” And that’s what they’d become. Her skirts billowed out, filling with soft, moist clouds that dampened her satin dress, ruining it for the ball.

  “I know I’m different, but what has that got to do with me going in there?” Ariana nodded in the direction of the woods. They were supposed to be impregnable. How was she, a girl who had no experience in the world, supposed to succeed where no adults had?

  Ruthie turned Ariana’s chin towards her. “Lass, that thing that’s different in you, that’s magic, and it can’t be hid from the world like yer da was trying to do. Yer too full of it. And that power will make ya stand out in a way that scares the people of this world. That’s not a life I want for ya, child.”

  Annabeth sniffled. “It’s not fair, my Lady, but she’s right.”

  Ariana shook her head, tears spattering her cheeks. “I don’t understand how sending me into the forest to die is any better. I expect it of my father, but not you two.”

  “There now, lass, we don’t
expect you’ll come to harm in the forest. The Black Forest is not dangerous to the fairy folk, only to us humans. No Will-O-the-Wisps will be able to catch ya astray, no tree sprites will be able to sneak up on ya and hold ya prisoner in their oaks. The fairy folk are the most respected folk in the Black Forest because they have powers beyond compare. The mischievous spirits will not try to trick a fairy child, no matter her innocence.”

  Ariana frowned. Ruthie loved telling stories of fairies, sprites, and mythical creatures, but Ariana never thought she’d believed them. “That’s...that’s just kid’s stories. I’m...I have a human father. And...how can you know what my mother was?”

  Ruthie shrugged. “I can’t explain it. I can only tell ya that I’m sure, my girl.” She hugged Ariana around her skinny shoulder with one arm. “Mayhap yer not all fae. Don’ seem to matter much to the magic. It’s strong with ya. Please trust me, and trust yer instincts.”

  Suddenly, the sounds of hooves, braying hounds and rough voices filled the air. Ruthie grabbed Ariana, hugged her firmly and planted a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes ran with tears, but they were set in determination. “Lass, yer meant for big things. Don’ forget me. I love ya.” She hung the food basket over Ariana’s skinny arm.

  Annabeth held her hand out to Ariana, who took it. Her maid transferred something from her own hand to Ariana’s. Something cold and metallic. Ariana peeked at it. It was the shiny metal compass that appeared out of nowhere after her nap.

  Annabeth pulled Ariana to her in a quick embrace. “I think that little trinket is important, Lady. Keep it safe. I’ll miss you so much. Take care of yourself. Be cautious and brave. I love you, and I’ll miss you so.”

  Ariana’s voice failed her. Her courage failed her. Her throat was too full of fear and tears. She shakily stuffed the shiny compass into the pocket of her carpet bag that held the spare bit of parchment her father gave her. She couldn’t move her mouth to tell the women she loved them, too, more than she loved her father, who was never the parent they were to her. She couldn’t bring her heavy feet to flee to the forest, though the sounds of hounds and angry men were growing ever nearer.

  Annabeth hung the heavy bag she’d prepared over Ariana’s shoulder, kissed her cheek then said, “They come to kill you, Lady. They’ll call you a witch and burn you. Go now!”

  Ruthie, tears streaming down her face, pushed her charge towards the forest, unsticking Ariana’s feet. And once they were unstuck they wouldn’t stop. She ran, not able to move her lips to make the words that would speak her pain and love to the women who sobbed at the edge of the glade. She collected her feelings of loss and love into a fuzzy pink ball inside her hand as she ran. She didn’t know how she did it, but she felt it fill her palm. She threw the cottony ball over her shoulder, not looking back. She knew without looking that it would fall at Ruthie and Annabeth’s feet. It was their gift and they would receive it.

  The hounds brayed at her heels; the horse’s hooves shook the earth behind her. She could hear the hatred in the hunter’s voice as they called, “There’s the little witch! Seize her!”

  Their anger was palpable. Fear thrust her feet forward. She’d used too much of her power to be able to stop the men, but they would not be able to catch her once in the forest’s folds. The Black Forest still frightened her, but Ruthie had never steered her wrong before. If she said Ariana would be safe there, she would.

  She was so close to the forest now, she saw the telltale thorn bushes that grew at the foot of the forest, extra discouragement for stupid humans. Ariana couldn’t stop running, or the hounds would have her. She could feel their breath on her heels, so much faster than their masters. Their frenzy was palpable. If she stopped, she was theirs. So she ran with abandon into the waist-high sea of thorns, her eyes shut tight against the pain that was sure to come.

  Only, it didn’t. The brush parted before her and closed behind her. She heard the yelp of a hound and the curse of an angry man aching for her blood. She tripped in exhaustion onto the pillowy underbrush of the forest’s floor. She braced herself for sharp stones, broken twigs and firm ground. But the Black Forest cushioned her fall, cradling her child with the most comfortable moss and fluffiest leaves. The twigs scampered; the stones rolled out of her way.

  Ariana lay in the spongy bed of foliage, her chest heaving, her eyes running and her head pounding. She felt the forest sigh around her. More brush hugged her, like the arms of the mother she’d never known. She shut her ears to the sounds of angry hunters. She shut her eyes to the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. She allowed the forest to cradle and comfort her in her grief.

  Ariana curled up in the soft underbrush for some time, crying until the tears dried upon her face. Finally, she sat up in her mossy bed, rubbed her eyes and looked around her. From outside, the Black Forest, like the name implied, seemed impenetrable and dark. Once inside its folds, it was certainly dimmer than in the high noon sun, but it was not as dark as Ariana expected. Sun shone in patches through the canopy of the trees, alighting the forest in greenish-yellow beams that made everything they touched glow.

  The trunks of trees, fallen leaves, branches and skittering birds were lit in a fuzzy warmth from the peeking sun. She guessed, however, that at night the forest would be almost impossible to navigate. She needed to find a place to rest for the night before night truly fell.

  She stood unsteadily. The underbrush that had cushioned her released itself back to the floor of the forest with a sigh. She gathered her food basket and the few parcels of cloth-wrapped food that had spilled from it as well as her carpet bag full of clothing, and ventured deeper into the Black Forest. She spared no thought for turning around and leaving it. She felt safer walking into the unknown than facing the known terrors of a world that would not accept her.

  She walked with little aim or purpose over fallen branches and trees, around holes dug by forest creatures and past scratching squirrels and foraging birds, when she started to notice the glow of the sun through the trees dimming. Her stomach growled and her feet, in the tight black dinner shoes she’d been forced to wear to greet the Count, ached.

  She’d hoped that if she kept walking her purpose in this strange place would simply come to her, like her magic had. Only, it didn’t. The Black Forest was vast and her experience of the outdoors was limited to the hedge and vegetable garden behind her father’s manor.

  She spied a flattish rock ahead and decided to rest her feet and look through the contents of the carpet bag to see whether Annabeth had packed her more sensible walking shoes. The dainty black slippers were covered in forest muck, and the thin soles were leaving her feet feeling abused by every small stone she stepped upon.

  She rummaged under the top layer of dresses and located a sturdy pair of brown walking boots in her bag. She silently thanked Annabeth and went to replacing the mucked-up black dress shoes with the more sensible brown boots. After lacing the boots she held the dirty black shoes up in dismay. What was she supposed to do with them? If she put them in the bag with the other contents, everything would be soiled.

  Then, Ariana remembered the large side pocket where she’d stowed the useless parchment her father held for her and the little silver compass Annabeth has saved. She unbuttoned the pocket and removed the parchment and locket, placing them on the rock next to her. She shook the black shoes, attempting to dispel a little of the grime, before placing them in the side pocket and buttoning it.

  That done, she turned her attention to the little compass hanging from a silver chain. It was cold to the touch, an unassuming-looking compass, which, from what she could tell, was not actually working properly. That is, she knew that she’d been heading west when she went into the forest and hadn’t changed her direction, but the compass’ hand was pointing to the black mark that usually meant south. It hung perpetually limp, as though it were broken.

  She sighed, picking up the spare parchment, somewhat yellowed with age but still holding together well. She frowned at the piece of paper her f
ather had concealed from her. The blank, useless thing.

  What had he said about it? That it was to be used with a tool and her own power? Used how? She had a hard time keeping anger with her father from clouding her thoughts. Yes, he’d been inept at protecting her. Yes, he’d been unhelpful and dishonest about her mother and the strange gift she’d left Ariana. But what did it matter? He wasn’t a good father, but his ineptitude was no longer her main problem. She could be angry at him after she found an acceptable place to sleep and eat for the night. She could wallow then.

  Right now, she needed, with every fiber of her being, to be safe. She felt desperation sit heavily in the pit of her stomach. Only, she had no idea of where to look, what direction to take or what to do when she got to this imaginary safe place. She’d been waited on her entire life, never allowed to roam from her own front garden. How would she survive in a quickly darkening wood, with a limited supply of food and no idea where to go?

  Despite her best efforts, she felt her throat tighten in the tell-tale way that meant she was about to cry again. Moisture welled in her eyes as she fought the urge to give up. Her weakened power purred in the back of her mind, but what good was her power at a time like this? She stared at the piece of parchment her mother left her, rubbing its waxy texture between the fingers of her left hand. The compass rested on the surface of the map, but it was no longer still. The compass hand wiggled as if deciding where to point, though Ariana had yet to move.

  She narrowed her eyes at the compass, focusing on her need. Her father had said something about her power, combined with the correct tool and the parchment. Had the tool been this seemingly broken compass? Perhaps it wasn’t broken. Maybe it just needed a little power to work properly.