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

by Melinda Kucsera

  No response, not even an echo, and that was peculiar since he now lived and worked under a mountain. How could his friends have gotten so far away they couldn't hear him? Or was he the problem?

  They'd been right there a moment ago when he’d used the last of the wild magic to recast the float spell on that blanket. Nulthir couldn’t believe he still had it. Laughter bubbled up, but it tasted bitter. Either Thing, Amal, or one of their kids must have grabbed it before they’d escaped from Avenia, the treehouse village deep in the enchanted forest where he’d grown up. Where were they?

  Nulthir hadn't felt this alone since he'd met Thing. He wasn't the most psychic human who’d ever walked the earth, but Thing had more than enough of the mind gift to reach him no matter what. So why couldn't he hear his friend?

  Maybe something in this darkness was blocking Thing's call. Nulthir squatted down but his fingers encountered the same cold stone that was everywhere under Mount Eredren. Was he still somewhere in the prison? Or worse, lost in his own mind? Because that would explain the lack of echoes and the sinking feeling in his chest.

  Ahead, the darkness thinned, and a lighter spot amid the gloom blossomed. Maybe that was the exit? Nulthir staggered toward it. "Thing? Is that you?" Nulthir headed for that bright spot until it took on a matronly shape. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” He swiped a hand through the woman-shaped wisp of smoke running toward him.

  She caught his hand and glared up at him. Nulthir stared down at his mother in horror.

  “What you believe matters little in this place.” Her hooded eyes branded him a traitor for not acquiescing to her machinations like a good son ought.

  “What are you talking about?” Nulthir tugged his hand but couldn’t free it from her iron grip. Mother had always been wickedly strong. She'd brought seven sons and six daughters into the world. Nulthir was the seventh son and the youngest of thirteen children, lucky him.

  “You can’t escape your fate.” Her long bone-white nails dug into his hand. Blood welled in the half-moon cuts she made.

  “You’re not here. I left you in Avenia.” And Avenia was enough leagues away that not even she could reach him magically. Nulthir pried her fingers apart until he could escape her grasp.

  His mother threw her head back, and her fangs flashed as she laughed. They were a terrifying new addition. What the hell had she been up to since he'd left? “You can’t escape me. Blood is power, and you’re the blood of my blood, bone of my bone. Ashes to ashes, my son, until you're dead and dusted, you belong to me.” She licked the blood off her nails—his blood which she’d drawn with her claws.

  “Thing! Where the hell are you?” Nulthir put the full weight of his need into that shout. Thing had helped him defeat his mother once. If she was back and not just reaching out from afar to take advantage of a bad situation—wait, that had to be it. Nulthir had worked with more magic recently than in all the months since he'd left home. His mother must be using that to zero in on him.

  After all, magic was the life-fire of the universe, and magic users could get very bright when they worked magic. That must be what had happened.

  “It’s your magic,” a still, small voice said as if imparting a great secret. “The darkness cannot take you if you don’t let it. Fight it.”

  “Who said that?” Because it wasn't his mother. She wanted him to embrace the darkness, not reject it.

  Nulthir glanced behind him. Two pale beams of light intersected for a moment. In their comforting glow, the darkness peeled back, and he saw himself pale and gasping for breath on the bed in his flat under Mount Eredren. Thing was beak-to-nose with him and staring into a pair of unfathomable black eyes. There were no whites left. Dark magic was taking him over.

  "That's not me. Thing, help me." Nulthir turned away from the sight.

  “If you let it take over, it will. But only if you let it. Fight it, and it cannot win,” that still, small voice said.

  Behind Nulthir, a brilliant cross pulsed. It wasn't a symbol he recognized, but Nulthir felt its power, and it was good. “Who are you?”

  "A friend to those who fight the darkness. We'll meet again, someday soon. Until then, fight until there's only light left." The voice and the glowing cross faded from sight, but both lingered just on the edge of perceptibility. Nulthir wasn't alone against his mother.

  “What do you want with me?” he asked her. It was the one question he hadn't had time to ask the last time they'd clashed. But then, she'd been trying to stuff a demon into him.

  “For you to become my dark star, as cold and sharp as winter, as deep as a moonless night and as terrible as the quakes that shake the earth." She licked her lips in anticipation. "You take that darkness in like I taught you. You cross the line twixt light and dark, good, and evil. Power lies on the other side, son. Take it back to your dear old Ma. Become a dark flame in the Eternal Shadow’s forge.” Her hand landed on his wounded shoulder where Crispin had accidentally gored him. She squeezed that wound, drawing blood.

  “You’re not really here. You can’t be. You’re not that powerful.” Nulthir wrenched her hand away from him. It faded into a wisp of smoke, and so did she because she was just a figment of his fractured mind. “I broke your power when I sent the demon you summoned back to hell.”

  “But you’re still dimming just as I planned. I wrote it all on your skin, every spell, every step to become my dark champion. You can’t escape that. It’s already begun.” His mother grinned in triumph.

  “What do you mean I’m dimming?” Even as he asked that, Nulthir felt the import of that word. Dimming was a bad thing for a magicker of any stripe, and it sent a cold shudder through him. That meant his magic was changing from the light he’d always worked with to the darkness she’d always planned for him to wield.

  Nulthir turned his mage sight on the root of his magic and gasped in horror. That flame inside him was guttering. Its light was streaked with black, and that couldn’t be good. Magic was light, so was life. Its opposite was death, or was it?

  “You can’t escape your fate,” his mother said as the gloom evaporated to reveal the bark-covered wall of his closet-sized room in the family treehouse in Avenia-on-the-Boughs.

  The treehouse groaned as the boughs of the enchanted tree bearing it aloft shivered in the wind. Sap rushed in the great tree's veins and under it, the soft thrum of the ancient tree’s magic beat a slow rhythm. Nulthir missed that damned tree. Oh, how he hated living and working underground so far from everything green and growing.

  "This isn't real." Nulthir crushed the red coverlet in his hand. The one he'd inked with flight runes when he was small and flying seemed like a grand adventure. This was just a comforting memory from a time before his life had gone to hell.

  A small black hand appeared as Thing climbed onto the bed. “She will not win. Don’t even think that,” Thing chided him, and Nulthir was never so happy to see the owlish cat creature who was his oldest and dearest friend.

  “You heard what she said?”

  Thing gave him a look. Of course, the owl-cat had heard. “She’s not here. She’s just a memory. She said all that stuff before when that demon tried to possess you. Your mind is just replaying it.”

  “Then how did I end up back here?” Nulthir gestured to the room. It was where he’d grown up with Thing, and those years had been happy until they’d ended on his twenty-first birthday. Thing raised a tufted eyebrow as if the answer should be obvious. “You brought me here? Why?”

  “So, I could reach you. Every heart has a home. This is yours, and I’m part of it. I have power here.” Thing puffed his chest out in pride and invited a caress.

  Nulthir obliged him. “Because I trust you?” Thing bobbed his head. “What do we do now? You heard what she said. Her plan is written on my skin. I can’t take my skin off. It’s kind of attached to me.”

  “We'll find a way, but you must wake up. We need you conscious.”

  “How? I’ve been trying to wake up from this nightmare, bu
t nothing happens.”

  The bed vanished, and Nulthir was standing again. This time, he was wearing an old but well-padded leather jerkin over his guardsman uniform. Thing sat on his shoulder, his feet—claws carefully retracted—gripped the large rings sewn into the epaulets.

  Thing pointed, and everything faded to gray then a fuzzy orange light. “He’s back.” He was a black blur against the orange one.

  "Oh, thank the Creator," Amal said from somewhere nearby.

  "What now?" Crispin appeared to his right and laid a gentle hand on the gauze covering his wounded shoulder.

  “Now, we must keep him here.” Thing elbowed his son out of the way.

  "How do you plan on doing that? You heard what my mother said. I didn't escape her plans for me. I only delayed them." Nulthir punched the mattress in frustration.

  All those months of wandering and hiding, and they'd all been for nothing. Tears burned his eyes, but he didn't care. He was twenty-two, and that was too young to become a monster.

  Thing patted his arm. "Don't despair. We'll find a way." I didn't save you just to lose you. Have a little faith in your friends.

  That dangerous twinkle was back in his friend's eye. Uh-oh, Thing was up to something. Only time would tell if that something could save him, but Nulthir trusted his winged friend. "Do what you must."

  I always do, Thing sent. He patted Nulthir's arm again then turned away like a general to marshal his family. But it was too late for that.

  Darkness seeped under the door to the corridor that connected all the flats on this level, and that darkness was coming for him. Nulthir opened his mouth to shout a warning, but invisible hands grasped his throat and squeezed. Help me, Thing!

  Chapter Three

  Iraine slipped away from the crowd of blue-coated Guards surrounding the yellow-robed flesh mender. He had a wandering eye that gave her the creeps every time it drifted sightlessly in her direction. Iraine felt that eye upon her as Mart crooked her calloused fingers in her direction.

  Oh goody, Mart had another job for her. Please let that job not involve the flesh mender again. Once was enough. Iraine crossed herself, just in case, as she jogged passed the holding cells to Mart's side. Her footsteps echoed, but so did every squeaking hinge and whispered word in this cave.

  Mart chewed on a leaf. Its minty scent was a welcome addition to the rank odor emanating from the inmate the older Guardswoman gestured to. “You grab his head and shoulders. I’ll lift the feet, and Blossom—”

  “I'll hold the cart steady. Can’t have the body wagon rolling off without the body, now can we?” Blossom cracked a smile at her grim joke. She was whip-thin whereas Mart was more solidly built.

  Mart ignored Blossom’s attempt at humor. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I got him.” Iraine slipped past Mart into the cell to take up her designated end.

  “Go. Hoist this sorry sack of cold meat up.” Mart heaved as she spoke.

  Iraine lifted her half, and the emaciated man rose off the damp ground. The three crosses she wore clicked softly as she carried him. They reminded Iraine of her earlier ordeal, and she wished she’d worn an even dozen. One could never have enough divine protection, especially given recent events.

  “He’s a heavy one.” Iraine held on despite her shaking arms. How many more bodies would she have to carry before they let her go home for the day? This was the seventh one. “Did he say what did him in?” Iraine didn’t want to say that mender’s name lest she summon him and his wandering eye. It was something with a Z, Zarek, maybe?

  “No, we mere mortals don’t rate an explanation.” Blossom turned her head and spat in the direction of the low voices further down in the cell block.

  “Hold him steady. Don’t let his head loll. This one’s not dead yet. Let’s keep him that way, ladies.” Mart shuffled sideways, and the weight of their twitching burden shifted until Iraine bore the lion’s share of it again.

  “God, he’s heavy.” Iraine grimaced as her knees wobbled.

  “We’re almost there. Bloss, get that cart ready. We’re coming out.”

  “Could you take more of his weight?” Like before this guy flattened her? Iraine gave Mart a pleading look, but it rolled right off the tough old Guardswoman.

  Anything a man could do, Mart always did better, even when no men were watching. And there usually weren’t any down here since most of the prison Guards were women. The few who weren't were in the infirmary dealing with an assortment of bruises from their run-in with the 'bird monsters.'

  Iraine bit back a laugh at that. She'd met the so-called ‘bird monsters.’ They were about two feet tall and quite intelligent, not the towers of feathers and teeth described by the victims of their attack. The truth usually didn’t make the rounds down here. Let the other Guards believe the 'monsters' they'd faced were ten feet tall and shot lightning out of their eyes if that kept them away from those mysterious shards.

  Iraine groaned as Mart stopped and fiddled with the cell door, leaving her holding most of the guy's weight again. But this time, her knees buckled, and she planted her butt on the cold stone floor.

  "What did you do that for?" Mart glowered at Iraine over her shoulder, and her dark brows drew together into an angry line.

  "Why did you let go? I told you this guy's heavy." Iraine rubbed her stinging eyes with her gloved hands. She was so damned tired. Her shift should have ended hours ago, but it hadn't because the Guards were shorthanded again. That seemed to be their default state.

  “This is men's work.” Blossom tapped her fingers on the cart to hide their shaking. She was as exhausted as Iraine. Maybe even more so since the Guardswoman had at least two decades on Iraine.

  "Agreed." Iraine regarded the inmate sprawled across her lap. He was still breathing shallowly. At least he'd stopped twitching. But he still weighed more than she could deadlift without help.

  "Yeah, but do you see any men lining up for this duty?" Mart planted her fists on her ample hips and made a show of looking around for volunteers.

  Mart had unsettling eyes for a non-magicker. They were the same dark brown as Iraine's, but there was a strange gleam in them independent of the luminous crystals scattered around to light the cell-lined cave. The wrinkles bracketing her eyes only accentuated their strangeness, forcing Iraine to look away.

  Everyone had secrets, especially down here in the bowels of Mount Eredren. It wasn't her place to pry into them.

  "Well, do you?" Mart asked. She was drawing this out. Maybe she also needed a rest.

  "No, I don't." Iraine rubbed her face again, but she couldn't scrub away the need for sleep.

  “Then you'd better get a move on. On three, help me lift him." Mart squatted down until she could thrust her hands under the inmate's splayed legs. Of course, she'd take the lighter end again.

  But Mart did have seniority, so Iraine suppressed her frustration. When Mart shouted, 'three,' Iraine did her level best to spring to her feet while lifting three-quarters of her body weight. While her arms screamed in protest, her thoughts drifted back to Nulthir. No one had seen him since the 'bird monsters' had appeared, but that was many hours ago. Iraine gritted her teeth and staggered forward.

  Nulthir was her only witness to those strange events earlier, and he’d better live long enough to explain them. Iraine had big dreams, and they didn’t include hauling around bodies until her arms fell off.

  “Steady as she goes. Just a little farther. Do you have the door? Iraine?” Mart snapped, wrenching her from her reverie.

  “Yes, I have it.” Iraine wedged her foot against the cell door, so Mart could exit. Then she sighed in relief when Blossom’s strong arms took some of the weight from her.

  “My, he is a heavy one. What’re his bones made of? Lead pipes?” Blossom winked, and Iraine could have hugged her.

  The three of them lifted the oversized man onto the cart with ease now that they had more room to maneuver. As soon as he was settled, Iraine leaned against the now empty cell to ca
tch her breath and surreptitiously check how many cells were still occupied by the dead or dying: six. Damn.

  “Good job, ladies. Take five while I find out where this one’s going.” Blossom nodded to the man overflowing the cart. His legs dangled off the side, but there wasn’t much they could do about that. The cart was four feet by two feet, and this fella was close to six feet in height.

  “Is he the last one we need to move?” Iraine hoped for a yes. She needed to find and question Nulthir.

  “At least until the undertaker gets here.” Mart wiped her brow with a blue handkerchief she produced from her pocket. It matched her uniform, which still looked as crisp as it had when she’d started work last night. So not fair.

  Iraine was dirty and disheveled from picking up bodies for the last several hours and crawling through debris. At least her braids were still in place. They wrapped around her head in a sort of crown, keeping her frizzy black hair out of the way. She patted the ties that secured them. “In that case, would either of you mind if I took a break? I’m famished from all the work.”

  Mart waved for her to go. “Take an hour, actually take two. I don’t think the undertaker will show up before then.”

  "Thank you." With that, Iraine strode into the ever-present gloom down here where the sun never shone, and it swallowed her.

  Now, to grab lunch and get some information. But there was one problem with that plan. Iraine didn't know where Nulthir was. But there were ways to find people, even if they didn't want to be found. Nulthir probably didn't since he had those creatures to look after.

  But this was Shayari, the land of enchanted forests, there was always someone who knew how to bend those enchantments to their will. That spell needed something of his to lock on to. Iraine doubled back to where she'd found Nulthir passed out many hours ago. It wasn't far, just around the next bend in fact. Hopefully, he'd left something behind—a thread, a button—anything would do as long as it was his.