Seasons of Magic: Volume 1
Selina J. Eckert
Copyright © 2021 by Selina J. Eckert
“Of the Clouds” copyright © 2019 by Selina J. Eckert
“Pumpkin Spice Pie-Jinks” copyright © 2019 by Selina J. Eckert
“Freeze Thaw” copyright © 2020 by Selina J. Eckert
“All That Glimmers” copyright © 2020 by Selina J. Eckert
Behind the scenes content copyright © 2020 by Selina J. Eckert
selinajeckert.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected].
e-book ISBN: 978-1-954466-09-8
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-954466-14-2
First e-book edition July 2021
First paperback edition July 2021
Book design by dragonpenpress.com
Cover Image: Deposit Photos
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Table of Contents
Of the Clouds
Pumpkin Spice Pie-Jinks
Freeze Thaw
All That Glimmers
Of the Clouds: Behind the Story
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also By Selina J. Eckert
Of the Clouds
A Rapunzel Retelling
One
CRASH!
The red clay pot shattered into a million pieces. Dust billowed down from the shelf, engulfing Quri and Chuki in a thick vermillion cloud. They coughed, and the dust spiraled away from them in lazy swirls to settle on every nearby surface.
Quri turned to her mistress, an apology already on her lips, but the coating of red dust on Chuki’s face plunged her into laughter instead.
“I’m so sorry, Mistress!” she choked out between coughs and laughs.
Chuki glared at her, and Quri flinched, expecting to be scolded or punished. Chuki was strict, harsh even, rarely smiling or showing her pupil the slightest bit of praise. But to her surprise, Chuki chuckled softly to herself, the wrinkles around her eyes almost hiding their dull navy color. “I did much, much worse when I was your age.”
She waved a finger, and the dust congealed back into a cloud, rising even from their skin, and the pot pieces reassembled themselves. Quri choked back her laughter, sky-blue eyes wide.
Chuki glanced at her. “A few more years, and you’ll know that one. A good shaman needs to know mending spells, after all.”
“Can’t I learn it now?” Quri asked.
“Not yet, young one. You aren’t ready for more advanced magic. Focus on your studies.”
Quri felt her heart sink into her toes, but she did her best to hide it with a nod and a forced smile. Chuki’s response had been the same for the last twelve years, since she had started learning spells at the age of five. Always “not yet,” even though Quri had already mastered most of the basic spells. When would she finally see how much Quri could learn? When would Chuki stop seeing the child she used to be and start seeing the competent magician?
Thankfully, Chuki was distracted by a knock on the wooden door behind them, otherwise Quri’s expression might have given away her rebellious thoughts.
Together, they turned toward it. Chuki crossed the packed earth floor in only a few steps, flinging the door open in one swift movement and allowing the chirping of the evening insects into the small home. Their hut was on the edge of the village, just outside the reaching branches and claws of the jungle, set apart from the neat roads and homes of the Inti. Just the way Chuki liked it.
“Yes?” Chuki demanded, peering out into the golden light of the setting sun. “What is it?”
Quri settled back in the chair at the table, fiddling with the page of the open spellbook. She had been trying to merely change the color of the pot, not destroy it, but she wasn’t sure where her spell had gone wrong. She scanned the steps of the spell while she pretended not to listen to the whispered words at the threshold.
“Well if he’s so sick, why don’t you just take him home?” Chuki hissed.
“The journey is too difficult for one in his condition,” the stranger replied, voice steady and strong. Quri would have been shaking in her sandals if she stood in his place, confronting the most powerful and feared shaman the Inti had seen in many years—or so the villagers whispered behind Chuki’s back. And there was good reason for them to fear her. But, remarkably, he held his composure. “He’s likely to die if we try to find help there. You’re our last hope.”
“And what makes him so special?” Chuki retorted.
“He’s the heir to the Kumya. Let him die, and war will be upon your heads, I can promise you that.”
Quri sat up straighter while Chuki simply looked exasperated, backed into a corner. War was bad for their health, or so Chuki had said time and time again.
She leaned sideways in her chair, trying to see past her mistress to the men outside. There were at least two, one of them holding the limp body of a boy who couldn’t be much older than Quri. The evening sun set their gold jewels on fire, nearly blinding her. None of her people, not even their own chief, dressed in such extravagance. Instead, they focused their efforts on intricate beadwork, leaving the gold and jewels for the temple and trade.
The limp boy had the dark eyes beneath fluttering eyelids and raven-black hair of a Kumya. Why would the prince be here?
Chuki finally sighed. “Very well. Bring him in. But only he can stay! The rest of you must leave.”
The men exchanged a glance, expressions grim, then nodded at her. Chuki stepped aside, and the man carrying the prince strode through the door. Chuki shuffled in front of him in her creaky, hunched-over posture, clearing various pots and magical implements out of the way, then gestured toward Quri’s cot near the hearth. Quri jumped up and hurriedly stowed away the bits and pieces of her art projects and spellwork into a shining wooden box under the bed, making room for the ailing prince. If she hesitated too long over any task, there would be a punishment for her later, probably scraping out the hearth’s chimney. It was long overdue for a thorough cleaning.
The man set the boy on Quri’s clean blue blanket, and then Chuki was upon him, waving her hands at him like a squawking bird, hurrying him out the door. He stumbled past Quri, barely sparing her even a glance in his haste to escape, and then he was back on the stoop. Chuki slammed the door behind his retreating form, barely giving him enough time to clear the threshold.
The hut fell into the dim evening light, the sounds of the jungle softer as they were shut out, and Quri began lighting the lanterns around the walls. Chuki would need all the light they could bring for the examination and preparing a treatment, and the sun would be below the forest canopy and surrounding mountains soon. As Quri lit the lanterns, Chuki leaned over the boy, grunting as her hands danced over his still form, checking pulses and energy as she went.
Once the lanterns were lit, Quri joined her mistress at the bedside. She wasn’t ready to learn healing yet, or so Chuki kept telling her, but she still wanted to absorb all the knowledge about it she could glean. It would likely be fewer than ten years before she took the shaman’s place among the Inti.
She examined the boy with her eyes as Chuki examined him with skilled hands, trying to see what her mistress saw. But all she saw were those closed ey
es, painted in bright blue and gray, like a stormy sky, like his people’s namesake. His long, dark hair, once neatly plaited and glossy but now frizzed and dull with illness. She almost reached out a hand to stroke the shining skin of his cheek, dusted with gold yet ashy and flushed, but she restrained herself. No need to draw Chuki’s ire needlessly.
Quri stepped back from the cot and clutched her hands behind her. She wanted to learn healing desperately, but Chuki demanded she wait. Only Chuki would decide when she was ready.
Still, the thought of doing something as difficult as medicine gave her pause, made her heart flutter with anxiety. The body was a delicate thing, and an untrained shaman could destroy with nothing more than a misplaced look.
Chuki finally turned from the boy and clapped her hands together. “Quri!”
Quri jumped, standing up straighter and dropping her hands to her sides. “Yes, Mistress?”
“He seems to have a simple imbalance. I would prefer to fix this quickly so he can get out of my house! Start the pot.”
Quri hurried over to the pot hanging above the hearth fire and poured a jug of water into it. Then Chuki joined her, a kit of fragrant herbs held delicately in her hands.
Two
SUMAQ HAD NEVER felt so overheated, not even training with his father in the middle of summer. Sweat coated his skin, drenched his clothes, and still his flesh flamed like the sun. He tried to grasp a thought—any thought—that was clear and coherent, but his mind was nothing but fuzz and slime, too light to catch and too slippery to hold.
Light grew around him, and he winced as the darkness was chased from the room. He could just barely make out two figures bustling around his body, placing cool things on his wrists and forehead, forcing vile liquids down his throat.
And then he plunged back into the darkness of fevered sleep.
***
The most beautiful sound he had ever heard pulled Sumaq from sleep. Singing, light and sweet, happy like the song of a bird. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head.
He lay on a cot with a sky blue blanket pulled up to cover his chest, his arms folded over his stomach. The room around him appeared to be a one-room hut, one door opposite him and another across the room, a hearth near his head, and a few small pieces of furniture scattered across the packed earthen floor, including a second cot. A large window next to the far door looked out over a manicured garden and the dark edges of wild jungle.
Despite the two cots, however, he only saw one person.
One beautiful, petite young woman.
He focused on her, watching her dance and twirl as she sang and cleaned. Or maybe she wasn’t cleaning. She returned to the table at the center of the room several times, pointing to a page in an open book, then continuing her song.
The words of her song began to push past the beauty of the melody, and he picked out a number of words he wouldn’t have expected: color, material, fire, light.
He sat up. The girl gave another twirl on a sustained note of “fire,” then jumped as her eyes met his.
“Oh!” she said, flushing a most attractive shade of red. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.” She shoved stray strands of her long black hair behind her ears.
Sumaq pushed himself up, wincing at the weakness in his arms. “No, please. I was enjoying your singing.” He paused, thinking of the words he had heard. “Just what exactly were you singing about?”
She flushed a deeper red, the shades blossoming onto her neck and arms. “I was practicing. Memorizing spells.”
He blinked. Spells? “Are you a shaman, then? Do I owe you my thanks for help—”
His words were cut off by a fit of violent coughing, and the girl rushed over to him with a pitcher. She poured out a cup of clear, cool water and pressed it into his hands. He drained it quickly. It had an herbal tang to it, but it stopped the fit.
“I’m not the shaman. I am her apprentice.” She took the empty cup back from him and returned it and the pitcher to the table.
“And does this apprentice have a name?” He wiped at the mucus streaming from his nose. That was attractive.
“Quri.” She looked down at the floor as if afraid to meet his eyes. He wished she would look back at him. She had beautiful eyes of sky. “And you are the Kumya prince.”
He blinked again. “Yes. But you can call me Sumaq.”
“Very well, Prince.”
“Sumaq.” He kept his eyes locked on hers, wanting her to see how serious he was, as if his eyes could speak. He didn’t need a title. He had enough bowing and scraping to deal with back at home.
She hesitated, glancing at the door, then nodded her head, those beautiful blue eyes coming back to his. “Sumaq.”
Just at that moment, an old, hunched figure burst through a door at the back of the hut, muttering something under her breath. The sounds and wet, earthy scents of the jungle followed her inside. Quri jumped, returning to a chair at the table, and ducked her head over the book. The woman paid her no mind, just went about arranging plants to hang from rafters, joining legions of other drying herbs.
Sumaq’s heart sank. He’d lost his chance to talk with the girl, but judging from the ache in his lungs, he would be here a while longer. There was still time to learn more about her, spend more time with her. He had used up most of his energy in that short interaction, anyway.
No one said a word to Sumaq, so he lay back on the cot with a disappointed sigh, falling into a sleep filled with dreams of song and Quri’s bright blue eyes.
Three
QURI GLANCED UP from her spellbook, feeling Sumaq’s presence as he approached. His breathing was ragged and shallow, clear indications that whatever imbalance he suffered was still fighting with his body, and she jumped up to pull a chair out next to hers at the table.
“Don’t strain yourself,” she said as he settled into the seat.
“I’m all right, thank you,” he replied, voice hoarse.
She poured him another cup of Chuki’s herbal tonic and set it in front of him. “Drink. It will help.”
“Thank you.”
Quri sat down, peering back at her spellbook.
But she could feel Sumaq’s eyes studying her. She read the same line three times before she looked back up at him, straight into those stormy eyes.
“Can I get you something else?” she said.
“Where did you learn to sing like that?” he asked.
She blushed. Sing like what? “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You sing like a bird. Haven’t you ever noticed? You have the same cheer, the same love of music they do.”
“Like a bird, is it?” came Chuki’s voice from the door. A basket was slung over her arm, full of vegetables from the market. “If she has enough time to sing, then surely she has too much time on her hands.”
Quri flushed again, feeling the heat of embarrassment and shame seep into her ears like fire. “Sorry, Mistress.”
“Yes, well. You can clean out the hearth if you have time enough to chat about birds instead of study your spells.”
Quri’s heart sank as she imagined the piles of ash that would need to be swept, the soot-blackened stones that needed scrubbing. But if she sighed, Chuki would only assign her more work for complaining.
She dropped her head toward her spellbook, closing the pages slowly. “Yes, Mistress.”
Chuki glared at her as Quri stood from the table and dragged her feet to the well outside, slowly filling a bowl with water. She carried it back to the hearth, dropping a white powder in and swishing it around until it foamed and bubbled. By now, Chuki sat at the table, stripping leaves from plants and crushing them in a granite mortar. The scent of grass and herbs slowly began to permeate the stale air of the hut.
“Here, let me help,” Sumaq wheezed, kneeling down next to Quri in the hearth. “This is my fault, anyway.”
Quri clenched her teeth, glancing over her shoulder at Chuki’s hunched form at the table. “I don’t think that’s a good i
dea,” she whispered.
“Nonsense.” He grabbed a cloth from the bowl of water and began scrubbing at the bricks to his left.
“What’s all that whispering?” Chuki turned in her seat, bones creaking.
“Sorry, Mistress,” Quri said. If he didn’t leave her alone, she’d be scrubbing the entire hut tonight instead of only the hearth. Part of her was furious...and yet part of her was touched by the gesture. What prince was so kind as to help an apprentice with chores?
“You, boy,” Chuki barked. “You should be in bed. The sooner you are well, the sooner you’re out of my home!”
Sumaq held up a hand, flashing the shaman a bright white smile. “I am fine, Shaman. A little exercise will do me some good, I think.”
Chuki glared. “Who’s the healer here? Get back in bed!”
He passed Quri a sympathetic look, and she took the cloth from his hand. Already he was shaking. How could she have been so blinded by his kind spirit that she neglected his health?
“Mistress Chuki is right,” she said. “You aren’t ready for chores.”
Chuki growled in Quri’s direction. “And you aren’t ready for healer’s work.”
Quri leaned back on her heels. “But if you would only teach me—”
“No, Quri. You are not ready. Especially if you continue to fraternize with the patients!”
Sumaq stumbled back into Quri’s cot, breathing heavily. “I’m the one fraternizing.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Chuki snapped his way. “Now, lie down and get some rest before I strangle you!”
Quri widened her eyes at him, silently pleading for him to listen to Chuki and drop the argument. If he kept this up, Chuki would give her the garden to tend tonight, too. And she really didn’t want to be looking over her shoulder for jaguars all night.
Thankfully, he settled back on the bed, though his face conveyed every bit of his displeasure. She gave him a small smile, then turned back to the hearth.
***
Sumaq tossed Quri the ball from where he was propped up in the cot. “No, really. You’ve been her apprentice all your life? Is she your mother?”
Seasons of Magic Volume 1 Page 1
