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

by Melinda Kucsera

  Fallon was trying to figure out the riddle he was speaking. “You don’t mean you…”

  He closed his eyes and nodded.

  “You’re the wizard?”

  “Aye,” he said. “I was the one who was controlled by the last Drange ages ago until I lifted the curse. Only to be tormented far beyond what anyone can imagine.”

  “So, you mean, Antoline had taken your place? And now you’ve been returned to this form?”

  He nodded.

  “Old wizard… what can I do to take Antolin’s place? Tell me and I will do it, for he was the one who saved me…”

  He sighed. “There is no saving his soul until another Drange is born, and another defeats it. And that may be many ages from now, or it may be tomorrow, or it may never be.”

  “No, that can’t be possible. I don’t believe you!”

  “Listen to me, child,” the wizard said. “As Antoline crossed into his curse, we strode past one another from the water’s edge. He spoke to me, he asked me for a single favor, and I promised him to carry it out.”

  “What did he ask?” she said softly.

  “He asked if I would send you home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes. I’m going to send you home, child.”

  “I don’t even know where my home is…”

  “Your home is just where you left it,” he said.

  “I’m going back to my castle?”

  “I can send you there,” he said. “I still have enough magic in these old bones to carry out your friend’s wish.”

  “My mother!” she cried. “I will see my mother again?”

  His expression soured.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “With this sort of magic,” he said. “There’s always a cost, for it’s a tricky spell that few know.”

  She took a slow step away. “What is it?”

  He gave a deep breath. “Time. Time is the tricky part…”

  “What do you mean, wizard?”

  “How long do you think you’ve been in the world of the Fae?”

  “I—I don’t know. I have no idea actually…”

  “Neither do I child, neither do I. That is what I’m trying to say. You’ll only know how much time has been lost once you’re back there. It could have been a day or a lifetime.”

  “I don’t know if I want to go back, then. I don’t want to go if my mother is gone, I won’t have anyone…”

  “Princess, all respects given, you don’t have a choice in the matter…”

  “What—?” she said with a glare.

  “I made a promise,” he winked at her, “and I intend to keep it!”

  “Wait, just give me a moment to think about this!”

  He pulled a wand from his hip, twirled it above him as blue and white sparks flung from its tip. He chanted a long phrase of words she didn’t understand.

  “Just give me a moment, I’ve got to say goodbye!”

  He interrupted his chanting to say briefly, “Then say goodbye.”

  “Antolin, my friend, goodbye… goodbye…”

  And then everything went black one last time.

  If you enjoyed reading C.K. Rieke. You can read some of his over dozen full novels on Amazon and on his website— CKRieke.com.

  Read his current series, Riders of Dark Dragons, is about a trio of orphans fighting their way to survive in a world ravaged with mysterious riders on deadly dragons and a crippling civil war.

  Or read his complete five-book series, The Dragon Sands, following Lilaci as she’s torn from her family as a child to become the deadliest assassin in all the desert. When her next target turns out to be a young girl that reminds her of her own past though, things spiral out of control quickly.

  His first trilogy, The Path of Zaan, follows a young man given an ancient magic to the harshest places imaginable to save himself from the deadliest foe alive— a dark god.

  About the Author

  Having grown up in the suburbs of Kansas, but never having seen a full tornado or a yellow brick road, C. K. Rieke (pronounced Ricky) has been told more than their fair share of times while traveling, ‘You’re not in Kansas anymore.’ They just respond, ‘Never heard that one,’ with a smile.

  Early in the ’burbs, they found their passion for reading fantasy stories. Reading books with elves, orcs, and monsters took their young imagination to different worlds they wanted to live in.

  Now, they create their own worlds. Not so much in the elves and orc vein, but more in the heroes versus dragons one— there’s a difference, right? Yes, they grew up with The Lord of the Rings and tons of R.A. Salvatore books on their shelves, along with some cookbooks, comics, and a lot of video games, too.

  Other passions are coffee, good beer, and hanging around the gym. To find out more, please visit CKRieke.com.

  Great Sun Trilogy, Part III

  Bands of Iron

  William C. Cronk

  All three of my stories have been rewritten multiple times. As these drafts change and grow, parts of the story are thrown to the wayside and forgotten. Much of “Bands of Iron” was developed from those pieces that had been cast aside. In the story itself, the characters hint that Finyaka’s Radiance may be a form of forgotten magic. You’ll have to read the story to find out what their conclusion is.

  William C. Cronk

  Sinaya’s cryptic message leads Finyaka and Matasa to the Golden City where they come face to face with the people and personalities that shape the Seven People. Will they be able to stop the Darkness from destroying everything that they have come to love?

  Bands of Iron

  “Not everything Forgotten should be Remembered.”

  Proverb of the Seven Peoples

  Pottery shards whizzed through the cooling air, slicing Finyaka’s arms and hands, impacting with the sandy ground and colliding with the hill. For two days he and Asho had been visiting this small hill while the caravan they traveled with sold their wares to the Amanashi, one of the northern-most tribes of the Aboki peoples.

  “Concentrate,” the monotone command belied Asho’s usual motherly disposition. She was cleaning what little debris remained at the epicenter of the blast. The clink of pottery against stone told him another bowl was ready to be sacrificed for his training. “Again.”

  Finyaka winced as he repositioned his aching and bleeding body. He rubbed his numb hands together and reached out with his Radiance to find the fifteenth small simple bowl Asho had placed before him. How long have we been at this?

  From the relative safety of the nearby caravan camp, Nahbas’s nasal tone lofted over the makeshift practice area. “Those bowls are part of my wares, Asho. I will be adding them to your accounts, which are becoming quite substantial. I do hope the wise mage-priest remembers it is a sin to be indebted to a fellow believer.”

  Five days on the road with Nahbas was grating on his Finyaka’s nerves. All the whiny caravan master did was complain. Asho had paid the greasy man good coin so she, Finyaka, and Matasa could travel with the caravan to the Golden City. It would have been quicker to risk the road on our own. Even the caravan guards said Nahbas was taking longer than normal, stopping at every little town he could.

  Finyaka concentrated and peered into the whiteness that was his only sight. Dimly at first, but with an ever-strengthening resolution, the bowl manifested as a shadow created by Asho's radiant blue aura. “If I could feel the bowl, perhaps I could fill it,” he grumbled as he placed his fingers to his temples.

  Asho placed her hands to either side of the bowl to make it easier for him to see. “You tried that already. Remember what happened?” His fingers still itched from the reconstructive healing.

  As his Radiance touched the bowl, swirled about it, Finyaka could see it in his mind’s eyes, could feel the porous fired clay of the pottery. He lifted the bowl into the air.

  “Feel your Radiance fill the bowl. Is it filling the bowl? Concentrate.”

  Sweat beaded his forehead from th
e strain, though the chill of the night air tickled his skin. Finyaka pushed aside the distraction and envisioned his Radiance flowing into the bowl, he could almost hear it sloshing about.

  “Good! Now, turn that Radiance into water.”

  Finyaka slowly released his Radiance, pictured the slickness of the fluid slide along the bowl’s surface. It was working.

  I am worthless. The sudden thought distracted him, and his concentration slipped. The bowl shattered, scattering pottery shards with alarming speed.

  “Argh!” He threw his bleeding arms into the air.

  “Destroy any more and I'll have no product to sell!” Nahbas whined.

  Finyaka hated the nasal commentary that accompanied his every failure. He wanted to use his Radiance and squash the scrawny little man. He reached inside himself and gathered that power.

  “Finyaka!” Asho’s voice snapped him to his senses.

  He trembled as he let go of the Radiance; the normal calm within himself where he drew his Radiance from swirled with eddies of tangled emotions. Why am I so frustrated?

  “That’s enough for tonight. Let me dress your wounds.” Asho tenderly placed her hand on his forearm and he flinched. “Are you alright?” The various nicks and cuts on his arms stung as the concerned mage-priest began the Song of Healing.

  “Just tired, wise one. Thank you for your patience.” His body felt like he’d been digging irrigation channels all day in the hot sun. Every muscle screamed in torment. “Let me sleep and we can try again tomorrow.”

  “If there any bowls left,” Nahbas muttered.

  By the time they paused at the Saran Oasis along the Pilgrim’s Road, Finyaka still hadn’t mastered the Song of Water, and his regular Radiance was becoming more unpredictable.

  He was helping unload a heavy bundle from the caravan’s camels and found himself face to face with Nahbas. “Thank the Great Sun we have made the oasis! If we needed to wait upon you, we’d have all died of thirst,” Nahbas accused.

  The caravan master’s right. I am a failure. He leaned his burden against the stucco wall of the caravanserai and slumped onto the hard-packed soil. Finyaka thumped his head against the warm wall and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t let him get to you.” His cousin, Matasa, pressed a waterskin to Finyaka’s chest as he sat as well.

  Finyaka groaned and pushed the skin away. “I have done everything Asho has asked of me and I still can’t create a single element. By the Great Sun, I’m having trouble getting my Radiance to work at all.”

  Matasa uncorked the waterskin and drank deeply. “You’ve been pushing yourself far too hard. We’re a few days from the Golden City. Perhaps you should rest until we get there.” He recorked the skin and dropped it into Finyaka’s lap.

  “I need to keep trying.” Finyaka placed the waterskin on the ground between them. “Asho is going to speak with the Elder of the Order of Resolution — her and Sinaya’s Order. She wants to present me to the Council of Mage-Priests. All I need to do is create fire. If I do that, they will accept me as a novice-aspirant. Perhaps allow Asho to be my advocate, though she feels the Elder will wish to train me.” He let out a cry of frustration and thumped his head against the wall again.

  “Maybe you're overthinking all of this.” Matasa patted his thigh and Finyaka flinched. Why am I so skittish? “I'll take care of our chores. You need to rest.” Matasa stood and hefted the bundle that Finyaka had been carrying, taking it to ever-growing stack nearby.

  Finyaka was torn up inside. He was pushing people away. His Radiance, the ability to channel the power of the Great Sun, felt like it was slipping away like the sands of the desert through his fingers. He had overexerted himself when he had discovered his gift, and it had almost killed him. Yes, he had used it to save Matasa and himself from the anger of his family, but the cost had been great. He had lost his sight, giving it to the Great Sun. Finyaka had also been unable to stop the events he had put into motion by befriending the ghost dog alpha. She and her pack had destroyed his father and brothers. He had been unable to stop them.

  He opened his eyes and looked about the bustling caravanserai. Finyaka could make out the aura of Asho, its brilliant blue a beacon in the white that was his sight. She was speaking to someone with a red aura. A mage-priest from the Order of Affirmation if he remembered his teachings so far. That would be the wise one of the Oasis. Though blind to the world, he could see the auras of those touched by the Great Sun, and the Darkness which fed on the souls of those who fought the Light. That last bit he had become aware of ever since his corrupted brother, Nahrem, had tried to kill him. He shuddered and closed his eyes. Many of Nahbas’ caravan guards held that taint, as did a number of the people within the Oasis.

  Defeat the Darkness before the three bands which bind the Golden City are destroyed. His dead mentor’s words echoed in his head.

  How could he defeat that which was everywhere? He groaned in frustration. Finyaka had no idea what Sinaya had meant, and he knew of no one else who understood what he was experiencing. Even Asho had never heard of someone who could see the Darkness within someone.

  Finyaka had learned so much about himself. Asho had been pushing him from sunrise to sunset, pushing him to delve deeper into his Radiance, to seek the calm that was more and more elusive. That calm was the source of his Radiance, and without it, his emotions became the fuel. If the emotions were positive, the Light of the Great Sun would still shine through, but negative emotions fed the Darkness. That negativity would consume you like it had Nahrem.

  Finyaka could move people with his Radiance, heal broken bones, converse with animals, yet he knew nothing about changing the power into one of the elements. He desperately needed to find out how if he wished to be accepted by the Mage-Priest Council. There was no way around it, he needed to try harder. Time to double his efforts, though the current regime was exhausting.

  A familiar hand squeezed his shoulder, which he gripped with his own. “Where are we going, cousin?” Matasa’s voice sounded concerned.

  Finyaka allowed himself a smile. Matasa, ever the guardian. “I need to find Asho.”

  His cousin sighed and guided him forward. “Of course you do.”

  Elder mage-priest Sheekara stood on the balcony of his private apartments, sipping mint-infused sekanjabin from a golden goblet, greeting the Great Sun in his way. Below his vantage point, the endless lines of unwashed masses filed through the Generous Gate for their morning hand-out of wine, oil, and bread. I’ll rename it the Beggar’s Gate and make them work for their keep. Bile rose to his mouth as he watched. Most of them believe they are touched by Anuu’s protection. Ignorant beasts.

  Most were poor peasants and nomads, who had come during the Solstice for the Dance of Days. Their coin had been spent quickly and now they had no means to survive within the city. So, the Court set up these hand-outs, dipping into the coffers of the wealthy to help the destitute. It was laughable.

  Sheekara shook his aged, bald head and shuffled to the much cooler interior, passing a young apprentice-acolyte in a deep trance. Their head was freshly shaved from their Acceptance Ceremony, a gold armband sporting the sapphire of Sheekara’s Order of Resolution glittered in the morning sun. The youth was using their budding Radiance to maintain the ambient temperature of Elder mage-priest’s apartments. With some effort, Sheekara slid back the carved wooden door that led to his study. Singing the Song of Flame, the braziers burst to life bathing the room with their warm glow. Time to get to work. The condensation slick goblet made a ring on the ornate workbench where Sheekara placed it; neatly stacked tablets and papyrus scrolls now holding his attention.

  My life is nothing more than the subtle nuances of the social strategies of the Council and Court. If only I could convince the other Four Orders that we mage-priests should be the rulers of the Seven Peoples.

  He sighed. For over forty years he had been recruiting adherents from the Dance of Days to his cause. Almost every member of his Order of Resolution within the Go
lden City was loyal to him and ready to set in motion his coup. His Order were the guardians, sworn to uphold the laws of the Council and Court. The irony always made him smile.

  He held a papyrus scroll scrawled with a dozen names, the new adherents who had entered the Temple. He needed to make sure that at least a few of them had the kind of power he sought. Of the dozen or so that took the band to become novice-aspirants every Summer Solstice, only two or three had the full potential to become true mage-priests. Most understood the basics of the Song of Fire. To master the other elements; soil, metal, wind, and water, those were far more difficult.

  Those he needed for his plan had to be powerful, but he needed to be able to manipulate them. Sheekara needed them to succumb to what the Song of the Great Sun called the last element. The Darkness Behind the Light. He had studied the forbidden power of the Darkness and delved deep into its core. Sheekara no longer called upon the Radiance, he embraced the Darkness.

  A thousand smells assailed his nose and the cacophony of sounds was deafening. Finyaka’s knuckles were light as he held the camel’s bridle he walked with. The crowds entering and leaving the Golden City through the Sunrise Caravan Gate continuously jostled and bumped against him and the animal.

  “I never knew so many people could exist in one place,” mumbled Matasa as he walked beside Finyaka.

  “It is the seat of the Seven Peoples. What did you expect?” Asho walked just ahead of them, using her aura as a beacon for Finyaka to follow. Her blue glow and the faint yellow of Matasa’s gave him a point to focus on as his other senses were assaulted by the city.

  He could not see the throng of people. Auras were usually attached to mage-priests and those touched by the Great Sun… and the Darkness. Asho's aura lit some of the throngs as they passed near her. Finyaka cringed as a person passed within three strides of the caravan, the taint writhing across them like a living beast. That Darkness called to him, enticed him. Just the thought of it touching his skin made him feel defiled. He shuddered. The taint is everywhere, and I am its enemy. He needed to be prepared in case someone tried to attack them. He reached for the calm of his Radiance. All he found was turmoil.