Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Chapter Four

  Days later, James found himself out in the fields with the rune hidden in his work jacket. His father's monogrammed handkerchief wrapped around the engraved golden amulet, yet it still radiated enough heat for sweat to accumulate on his brow. That and the jacket he couldn't risk removing, even in the unforgiving Midwestern heat. There had been too many close calls lately. The last thing he needed was for one of his men to be drawn to the run, or worse yet, touch it.

  If James was honest with himself, he didn't remember placing the rune in his jacket lining that morning. Such was the way with runes of Valonde. Once in their grip, men were powerless against them. Still, he rationalized, it had been for the best, regardless. Leaving the cursed relic home to lure Jim away would be the worst possible outcome, for all their sakes. If he fell so easily under the rune's spell, his poor lad didn't stand a chance.

  All of a sudden, one of the tractor operators screamed in pain and the ground shook beneath James’s feet. He instinctively clutched for the rune’s protection, then pulled away, thankful he’d at least had the presence of mind to wrap it in the handkerchief, whether he remembered doing so or not.

  Yells rang out all around him and the farmhands rushed toward the cries for help. James followed the sounds, all the while stumbling and tripping over the heaving ground. The mounds of dirt breathed and swirled, reminding James of the times he’d called his trusty serpent mount, Fafnir, forth, but he hadn’t done so this time… had he?

  When James reached the group of men gathered in a circle around something he couldn’t see, his training kicked in. “Move aside. What happened? Let me through.” He didn’t wait for the farmhands, clearly in shock, to obey. Instead he pushed past them, clearing a line of sight directly in to a bottomless pit.

  “Wilfred’s down there,” one of the men managed before disappearing in the cloud of smoke and dust swirling around the field.

  James looked into the churning soil and saw no sign of Wilfred, his oldest and most valuable employee. “What happened?” he asked, even as he tried to climb down into the hole.

  At first, none of the men spoke. They all turned from side to side, waiting on someone else to start.

  “Now!” James demanded. He couldn’t get a footing in the pit. The sides were smooth, no branches or roots, and the below still roiled like a boiling cauldron.

  “Um, well…” one of the younger men finally spoke. “There was this sound, like… a… monster. And the ground opened up and swallered ‘im.”

  James looked back toward the bottom of the pit. Only the tip of the tractor’s front loader poked out of the sand like a hand clawing for salvation. Wilfred was nowhere to be seen. “Someone get me a rope. I’m going in!”

  “In?” Harold, the cattle foreman, asked. “In where? There’s nothing we can do. Ye’ll die trying.”

  “I hae to save him. I cannae tell Carolyn…” James broke off, not daring to think about having to break this kind of news to a pregnant widow. “Everyone stand back. I’m going under!”

  The ground at the bottom of the pit roared, as if it heard James declare his intentions. A dark green fire raged just below the surface of the soil. The tractor twisted and melted before his eyes, and yet, James continued down.

  James couldn’t tell how he was managing to climb down into the hole instead of being swallowed whole like Wilfred. He reckoned it had something to do with the rune, though he had no time to worry if anyone saw its glow. He prayed they were too busy watching green flames eat the new tractor.

  As he lowered himself toward the fire, James whispered a quiet prayer to the Gods of Valonde, and asked for the strength of a thousand men. Then, when he’d about reached the last remnants of the molten metal, he kissed his fingers and placed them over his heart in memory of his precious Margaret. He felt a moment’s pang of regret. Their last interaction had been so contemptuous. She hadn’t bothered to see him off to work in the mornings to come.

  James shook the thoughts of his own peril out of his mind. He needed to focus.

  The heat intensified near the center of the pit, but the noise was what sent chills up his spine and tightened his grip on the clumps of dirt along the walls. James had only heard such a roar once in his life and he’d fled Valonde in hopes of never hearing it again.

  In his jacket, the rune vibrated and screamed to be released. Its yellow glow shot through the thin fabric and chased the green fire back. Several tendrils of warm golden light swirled around Jim, blocking the worst of the heat, but only some of the roar.

  The time had come.

  James let the rune lower him into the fire. As he broke the surface of the scorched earth, he held his breath, though only from instinct. Moments later, when he could bear it no longer, he took a frantic gulp of what he expected to be fire and dirt, only to find clean crisp air in his golden light cocoon.

  James searched with his hands, feeling around for anything resembling a human body. The warring lights from his rune and the dragon’s fire bounced around the pit, leaving pitch black in their absence. Seconds passed slowly, though James felt his heart pounding. He knew he was in the InBetween, suspended neither here nor there. It was the only reason—or so he told himself—he had been reckless enough to enter the cavernous hole.

  The beast hadn’t been after Wilfred. It wanted him. So there was a good chance his friend still lived, frozen in the moments before death, in a place with no time. If only James could find him.

  Then, something off to the side caught his attention. Through the flames and fumes of burnt paint and metal came a familiar scent. James had to stifle a laugh in this moment, faced with certain death and discovery, the thing that would save them both was Wilfred’s cheap cologne.

  With newfound determination, James dug through the quicksand. Electrically charged like ozone, it crackled at his fingertips. Touching one charged mound of dirt to another could cause an implosion, something which occurred all too often in the InBetween. In his former life, James burned many empty pyres for men lost to portal disasters.

  James let his Valondian instincts take over and felt his fingers carefully place the charged dirt in the correct piles after each scoop. Doing so made the rescue effort safer, though impossibly slow.

  When James felt he could go on no longer, a faint moan rose from the depths. “Wilfred?” James called. “Is that you? I’m coming.”

  A shallow cough answered, followed by nothing more.

  James frantically scratched at the dirt, not caring for his own safety any longer. But soon it became apparent he would not reach his friend in time.

  Chapter Five

  A broken man, James slumped against the protective layer of light surrounding him. He had failed. For a moment he contemplated staying in the InBetween with his fallen man. But he could not bring himself to do such a thing to Margaret and the lad.

  James willed himself to rise out of the pit with the help of the rune.

  Nothing happened.

  The rune warmed in his jacket, calling to him. Though he knew better than to give in, what more could he do? All was lost.

  James slid the rune out of the handkerchief and held the blinding object in his bare hands. Its markings twisted and rearranged once more. The deep gold encasement gave way to black etchings of a language James no longer understood.

  All at once, the cavernous hole engulfed in a golden light, revealing tunnels branching out in all directions. Ominous sounds and cries echoed through each chamber. James felt himself being drawn into all of them, spreading out into particles of light and dark.

  “Sweyn, is that you?” came a deep voice from everywhere. “'Tis about time, Master Sweyn. We hae been trying to reach—” The voice broke off.

  The rune buzzed and jumped in James’s hand. His grip loosened and the rune was seconds away from tumbling out of his hand to be lost forever. Yet he couldn’t be bothered to care. The tunnels needed him.

  “Sweyn!” This time his king’s voice broke through the ch
atter.

  James’s body snapped back whole. “Your highness.” James attempted a bow, even in the suffocating hole.

  “What in Valonde is the matter with ye? Is this why ye havena answered?”

  James could have lied and said ‘yes’, but King Ase would see right through him.

  “I hae a family now. Had…” he added with a rush of remorse.

  “Yes, I ken that verra much. And I wouldna be calling upon you if it weren’t dire. King Raynor took siege of the upper kingdoms and –”

  James broke in, putting up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Your highness, I cannae help ye.” He turned the rune and used its light to illuminate his surroundings.

  “No bother.” Ase’s voice sounded nonplussed. “I can pop ye over the threshold and everything will be perfect. Just say the word.”

  Though King Ase ranked highest in all the land, Valondian honor dictated no man shall be pulled across realms against his will. Ase needed James’s permission, and James couldn’t give it.

  “I’m verra sorry, Sire. I cannae. I promised Margaret.”

  At the mention of his dear wife, the rune brightened, then dimmed to a point where James could no longer see the tunnels. “I ken verra well that ye have Margaret and the child, but ye also have a duty to yer men in Valonde. Yer home.”

  James let the tear in his eye fall. It had waited long enough. “Please do not ask this of me.”

  Long seconds passed in silence before King Ase’s voice boomed, louder and fuming. “Verra well. If this is our last word, please give Margaret my love.”

  The light began to fade and James shook the rune. “Wait! I… I need… help.”

  The light flickered but did not extinguish.

  James continued. “I’ve a man in grave danger. Please save him. His wife is with child and…”

  The rune warmed in James’s hand. King Ase’s voice returned, softer. “Ye would ask to save your man and not yerself.”

  James pursed his lips. “I believe he came to harm because of me. Whatever beast -”

  “Raynor’s dragon,” Ase interrupted.

  “Aye, Sire. This wretched dragon crossed into my world and… my man is innocent in all this. If ye can only release him from this place…”

  “Ye’ll come to fight beside yer men?” King Ase emphasized the last word.

  James faltered. “If that is what it takes, but I implore ye to save his life out of decency and honor, not as -” James stopped himself before saying ‘blackmail.’

  The rune went black. Everything went black.

  Chapter Six

  Something brushed against James’s arm. He opened his eyes to a sky full of stars. He blinked once, then again. As those stars faded, the faces of his men smiled down upon him. Then, James's eyes went wet. One of those smiles belonged to Wilfred. He was safe. How was he safe?

  All James’s men spoke at once, slapping him on the back and asking how in the world did he get them both out alive. James had no answers, none they would accept or believe. And, by Gods, none he should admit to in this realm.

  But in their eyes, he could see it; Wilfred’s especially. These men had been touched by magic.

  It left an extra shine in its wake, a twinkle not unlike the stars above.

  Stars?

  “How…” James coughed up a thick hunk of mud. “Marg -” Another cough.

  “Whoa, take it easy,” came a voice James thought he knew but couldn’t place, accompanied by a strong hand pushing him back down onto something flat and hard. He tried to turn his head but it wouldn’t move. “Be still, young man,” the voice said again.

  “Will he be alright, Dr. Parnacky?” Harold asked the man in the white coat.

  Parnacky? James yanked his arm from the man’s grip. He had to get home to Margaret before she found out what happened. And no horse doctor was going to stop him.

  “Wait!” Dr. Parnacky and many of the gathered men said at once. James jumped up from the ground and ran.

  “Mr. Craig, sir,” Wilfred called after him.

  James stopped and stared at Wilfred. The man had not a hair out of place. A cry choked itself in his throat and he wrapped his friend in a bear hug.

  “How did you -” Wilfred tried to ask yet again, but James squeezed the words out of him.

  “Some things are better left unsaid,” he whispered in Wilfred’s ear. “Margaret…” He patted Wilfred on the back and stumbled toward the old farmhouse.

  “What in all the worlds…” Margaret’s gaze ran over him, taking in the dirt all over his body and face, in his eyes and mouth. Then it fell to the dormant rune James didn’t realize was still in his hand. “What are ye doing with that thing?” Fear and venom warred in her tone.

  James rolled the rune around in his hand. It had gone cold and silent. “It’s done,” he whispered. His throat still burned with the ionized sand and the screaming. “I said I wouldna go with him.”

  “Get rid of it.” Margaret wiped her hands on her faded apron and stepped aside to let James pass. Then she caught sight of all the lights and commotion in the field. “What happened?”

  For a brief moment, James thought to placate his wife so she wouldn’t worry. But her finding out was inevitable, and, he admitted, he needed her. The weight of all his mistakes brought James to his knees there on the front porch.

  “I have failed ye,” James whimpered. Still clutching the rune in one hand, he wrapped the other around the hem of Margaret’s dingy cleaning dress. “I have failed us all.”

  “No,” Margaret pulled her husband to his feet and held him firmly, straightening his back to stand tall and proud, though he felt no such thing. “Ye couldna fail. Yer a good man James. I’m sure it’s not as bad as -”

  James pulled Margaret into an embrace. “They saw. They all saw.” The rune hung limp between them, suspended by its last remnants of power.

  “What happened?” Margaret asked again, her voice kind now.

  “It came for me.” James started his tale and they both walked into the house. “It came for me and took Wilfred instead. I couldna let him die, not in my stead. So I…”

  Margaret closed the door behind them, shutting out the noise and faint smell of crackling fire in the air.

  Chapter Seven

  “Come,” Margaret said, leading James by one hand and their lad, Jim, by the other. Together they tucked the child into his bed and read him two stories. On this night, he and Jim both were too exhausted to ask for a third.

  Margaret roused James from the child’s bedside and helped him to their own room. They lay together, unmoving, as the night’s events played over in James’s mind.

  After a long while, Margaret rolled toward James and asked, “Are ye sure ‘tis done with?”

  He knew then that she also felt the static crackling in the air. The smell of green fire wasn’t in his mind.

  James took his wife’s hand and kissed her fingers gently. “He saved Wilfred of his own accord. I am here with ye now, woman. Take solace.” He placed another kiss on her forehead.

  “Ye need a doctor. The looks of ye.” Margaret’s eyes watered. It must be bad.

  “Are, Dr. Parnacky saw to me as best he could.” James rubbed his sore ribs. The things he’d coughed up since the pit would haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

  “Figures,” Margaret stifled a laugh. “Yer stubborn as a mule.” Then, when she could help it no longer, Margarete snorted in the adorable way she had when amusing her own self.

  “Aye, buy ye love that about me.” James ran a finger through Margaret’s long red curls and across the lovely birthmark on her cheek.

  “And the rune?” Margaret moved as if to go check on the medallion again, or maybe to see to the lad once more.

  James pulled her back toward him. “Locked away tight. Now relax. Get some sleep. Ye ken the lad will wake with the robins.” But, instead of closing his own eyes, James rested his hand on Margaret’s familiar round hip.

  Margaret chuckled. �
��After all ye went through today. I swear, James.”

  “Reminded me what’s important.” James kissed her again.

  Sometime during the night, James felt himself being pulled from the comforting darkness of deep sleep. He fought it, shoving against the bright lights and voices filling the room.

  His eyes opened.

  Blinding gold light sliced through the cracks in his bedroom door. Screams and cries of battle raged beyond the walls. Margaret’s terrified voice sounded over them all.

  James felt his wife’s side of the bed, hoping he still dreamed these things. It was empty. Panic set in, jolting him fully awake.

  Now, as he sprang from the bed and flung open the door, he heard what put the fear in Margaret.

  Little Jim, with his pale blonde hair and small wiry frame, stood in the middle of the living room with the emblazoned rune lifted above his head. His face was awash in the yellow glow. His eyes blank and black as night.

  And all the voices of Valonde spoke through him, chanting, “The Prince of Terror cannot be slain until the Venomous Serpent rests upon the tomb.”

  James stood, frozen in fear, until Margaret shook him. “Save him!” she screamed over the chanting.

  James lunged for the rune, trying to knock it from Jim’s hands. Instead, his own clamped onto the scorching hot metal. Before he could fight it, his own voice rang out in time with his son’s and those of his Valondian brethren. “The Prince of Terror cannot be slain until the Venomous Serpent rests upon the tomb.”

  As his own eyes glazed over, the world around him blurred to nothing. The familial portraits on the walls of Margaret holding a newborn Jim turned to galloping horses and clashing swords. Before him stood King Ase, weeping over a charred soldier.

  High above their heads, a dragon soared, turning the blue sky to shadow. Green fire rained down upon the battlefield.