A Magic King

by Jade Lee

  The whole thing was one more example of how unfit he was to rule. His brother would never lose himself, but Daken had spent his whole life on self-gratification rather than the discipline that had been Tev's daily lot.

  And now with Tev dead, Daken's lacks were more than apparent.

  He glanced down at his breeches. If he scrubbed them anymore, he would rub a hole right through, then his shame would hang free for all to see. Daken sighed and pulled them on, then turned his attention to the stream and his promise to heal it. Crouching in the center where the current was strongest, he drew on his inner strength. Like a candle burning in his heart, he felt heat and power pulse within him. It was dimmer than usual because of what he'd done for the woman. It would grow darker still as he spread his power throughout the stream.

  He envisioned his inner flame burning white hot, filling his body then spreading out into the water. The current swirled about him, carrying his energies throughout the stream's course. He felt the power leave him, its heat searing through his fingertips, radiating out of his limbs until it filled the water, enriching, empowering, and redeeming the stream.

  He held the image for as long as he dared, his consciousness expanding as he purified the water, annihilating the corruption as a hammer pulverizes a seed. Then his thoughts returned to his mind, leaving his energy behind to bless and maintain the stream.

  It took hours. It took seconds. But when it was done, he felt limp and used, his energy drained, his soul barely flickering. He had given his healing power to the stream as promised. Animals and birds would thrive here for a time.

  It would take him a week at least before his healing energy would be at full strength.

  He felt the water surround him, cradling him as it urged him to the bank where he collapsed, his lower half still trailing in the tingling stream.

  He slept.

  * * *

  It took an hour before she registered his absence. After an hour and a half, she started to get concerned. After two hours, she sighed, rewrapped the blanket around her, and walked slowly to the stream.

  She saw him immediately. He was stretched out on the bank, half in and half out of the suddenly clean water. It looked as though he had been tossed there like a discarded doll.

  She made it to his side before her cry of alarm faded from the trees. Rolling him over, her nervous fingers felt for a pulse. His skin was ashen, his body clammy and damp, but his heart was strong where it beat in his throat.

  Relieved, she dropped her head, pressing her forehead to his. "Geez, Daken, I get huffy all the time. That's no reason to go into a decline."

  She took a deep breath, calming her own thready pulse before evaluating the situation.

  "First, let's get you out of this water." She knelt down at his head, ignoring the blanket as it peeled away from her skin. She angled her arms under his shoulders and pulled. No go. It was as if something held him back, keeping him in the water.

  Looking down, she realized she would have to lift his legs out of the stream. That meant entering the dreaded thing again. She clenched her jaw. She would do it for Daken, even if he was cold and arrogant, and had the annoying ability to be right just when she most wanted him to be wrong.

  "All right, Daken. Let's get you out of here." She grit her teeth and stepped toward the water. So far, this stream had caused her nothing but pain and humiliation. "Uh, I guess I should ask for permission. I'm just gonna get him out, so I'm assuming it's okay with you."

  She wasn't sure what she expected when she finally did step in. The tingling she remembered, but not the caressing warmth that swirled about Daken. It was like a soothing whirlpool bath, and she felt the energy suffusing each drop.

  He needs to rest.

  She added to the thought out loud. "Well, Daken, looks like you're gonna hang up your walking shoes for a day or two."

  He will recover his strength by morning. His power will take longer.

  "Upsy-daisy," she lifted his left leg and pushed it toward the bank. "I hope you really do get better by morning because I'm not nearly as good as you at catching and skinning rabbits. And believe me, neither of us is going to be very happy with your dried caterpillars."

  She leaned down to grab his other leg, submerging herself up to her shoulders.

  You have pained him deeply, fool. Learn quickly, so you can help each other.

  Jane froze. Her gaze darted around the bank, both sides, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes, she had conversations with herself, both silently and aloud. That was, in fact, exactly what she thought she was doing.

  Except that last comment definitely had not come from her own brain. It was from someone else.

  I am an Old One. I have lived in this stream since the world ended and began again. I was one of the first to lose my body, joining with the water.

  Jane didn't dare breathe. She didn't understand anything of what the voice said, but the losing your body stuff didn't sound like anything she wanted to do.

  "Okay, Daken. Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna get you out of here if I have to make a bulldozer out of sticks. So I want you to help me. Come on." She lifted Daken's other leg, pushing it as far as she could up the bank.

  You, little fool, are even older than I.

  Jane jumped out of the water, shook every drop off of her, then used the blanket as a towel. Her hands trembled, her heart beat like a freight train, and all she could think of was she'd lost her mind. This entire crazy world was one big hallucination left over from the one designer drug she'd taken at a party when she was fifteen.

  Of course, crazy or not, she couldn't just abandon Daken. She bent down again, planting her feet and lifting him from the shoulders. This time he slid right out, not easily, but certainly without the resistance she'd felt before. He came so quickly, she didn't have time to adjust her feet, and she landed flat on her butt with his head in her lap.

  "Well, I suppose there are worse positions to be in," she muttered.

  She stopped a moment to catch her breath, then she lingered a little longer. In sleep, Daken's features relaxed, becoming less blank, less rigidly polite. His face took on character, and she finally noticed the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. God, he was gorgeous.

  "Okay, Daken. Enough beauty rest. Help me dry you off."

  He didn't respond, so she gently settled his head on the grass while she ran the blanket over his body and breeches.

  Even lax, he was chiseled perfection. Golden skin dusted with dark brown hair, he was a study in contrasts. He said he was a doctor, but she saw the scars on his skin—cuts from swords or knives. And there was no fat on his body, just taut cords of muscle, honed to flawless precision.

  This man was no doctor. He was a warrior. Yet, she couldn't dismiss the healthy pink of her own skin where this morning had been raw burns and welts. Neither did she understand how he could talk to a stream or fill it with the sparkling purity now glistening in the noontime sun.

  But he had, and she was learning to live with her questions, accepting the impossible where before she would have shut it out with disbelief.

  "Pretty soon, Daken, we're going to have to have a heart to heart talk because I need some real answers."

  He didn't respond, but she wasn't worried. Now that he was dry, his body warming in the sun, she felt easier about him. He was not ill, just sleeping heavily, deeply, regaining his strength while she watched over him.

  Looking around, she found her costume. It was underwater, but she managed to retrieve it with a minimum of fuss and hung it out to dry. Then, she settled on the grass next to Daken and absently brushed a damp curl from his forehead. It took less than a minute for her to give in to temptation. Scooting around, she lifted his head onto her lap, then relaxed against a tree.

  Who said fantasies couldn't come true?

  * * *

  "Good morning."

  Daken looked up into the most beautiful pair of brown eyes he'd ever known. They were soulful eye
s, innocent yet mischievous, constantly surprising him.

  "Well, actually," she continued, "it's evening, but good night didn't seem to fit, not with you just waking up."

  Daken glanced around, noting with chagrin that they were sitting completely exposed beside the stream. Not only had they wasted the day, but who knew what had happened to their gear while he was napping.

  He started to sit up. "We must be going. We have tarried too much already."

  "Not so fast, Buster." She pressed down on his chest, her expression determined. He struggled against her for a moment, then dropped back into her lap, his self-discipline won over by his delightful pillow and the beautiful view.

  Still, he put up token resistance. "I've wasted so much time. And we're very exposed here. Anyone could come on us."

  "Your sword's right there."

  He followed the motion of her chin and saw his grandfather's sword within reach. He pulled it closer, his gaze uneasy.

  "Relax. There's been no one here all day. Or shall I say no people."

  "We are outside of the normal trade routes, and these are peaceful lands. Still, we can't let down our guard."

  She smiled with a wry twist to her lips. "I'd say our guard, namely you, needs to lie down for a while and recover. In the meantime, you can answer a few questions."

  He suppressed a tiny shiver of panic. Exactly what questions did she mean? She couldn't possibly know his intentions, could she?

  "Don't look at me like that—"

  "Like what?" Could she read even the smallest expression on his face?

  "Like a clam. Like you're a robot that can't be threatened into talking. I just have a few basic questions."

  He still didn't relax, but he schooled his features into an expression of uneasy patience.

  "Humph," she snorted, clearly not fooled. "Let's start with the most immediate concerns." She looked up and to his right, the opposite direction of his sword. He turned to follow her gaze and his breath caught between his teeth.

  A sleek, black pantar lay in the grass near them. She was half asleep, her eyelids closed, her tail twitching every few moments.

  "What do you call that in your language?" Jane asked.

  "A black pantar."

  "Close enough. I call it a black panther. He came—"

  "She."

  "She? It's a girl?"

  He nodded.

  "How can you tell?"

  He shrugged, not entirely sure himself. "I'm a healer. Some things I just know."

  Jane stared at the pantar, then she turned to glare down at him. "I have so many questions, I don't know where to begin."

  "You were saying she came...?"

  "Oh, yeah. She came to the river late in the afternoon. She was limping from a big gash in her shoulder that went down to her side. I... I think she was dying."

  He nodded, then he curled on his side to get a better view of the sleek cat and the new fur on her side.

  "She sort of stumbled to the water to take a drink. Then she fell in."

  "How long did it take?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "How long until her wound healed over?"

  Jane looked down into his face, her eyes almost luminescent in the evening shadows. "Twenty minutes. Maybe less. I was frozen. I know you're supposed to stay still and hope she can't see you, but—"

  "The pantars are peaceful creatures. They eat rabbits, small dogs, maybe a few thruns. They won't hurt you if you don't bother them."

  "That's sort of what I was counting on."

  "So she healed in the stream, then climbed out to rest in the shade over there."

  "Yes." Jane returned to watching the cat.

  Even from this distance, he could hear the animal's purr. He smiled and snuggled deeper into his warm pillow. Much to his chagrin, his motion brought Jane's scattered attention back to her questions.

  "Er, no. I mean, she did go rest but only after she..." Her voice trailed off.

  "She what?"

  "She came up to you and licked your face. I swear I was about to cleave her head in two with your sword."

  "More likely, you'd have missed her and gotten me," he said dryly.

  "Well, yes. Your sword is rather heavy."

  "But you didn't."

  "No. I waited, terrified out of my skull. If it weren't for you, I think I would have bolted when the creature first showed up."

  He grinned, inordinately pleased she would stay with him, even in terror. Then the thought hit that he had received homage from the pantar. This was turning out to be a great morning-night. Tev used to get homage all the time. Cats, dogs, bears, they'd all stop by to bow regally to him. But this was Daken's first.

  "Quit grinning, Daken. It's not funny. I was really scared."

  "I'm grinning because I feel good. I'm rested. I'm lying in a beautiful woman's lap. And a pantar paid me homage. Why shouldn't I be grinning?"

  Jane gazed down at him. "You really think I'm beautiful?"

  His grin grew even wider. Even his odd little fool was a woman at heart after all. "Yes, I do."

  She blushed and shifted restlessly beneath him. Then her expression changed, slipping into slight irritation. "You're trying to distract me."

  "Not at all."

  "You're much nicer this morning," she said. "Or rather tonight."

  "I'm allowing myself to be distracted. But not for much longer. I'll give you five more minutes, then we must go."

  "Go? Go where?"

  "I already told you. To Bosuny." He was losing his patience. Not with her, although from the look on her face, she certainly thought so. He was losing his temper with himself. How much time had he lost to dally with this Jane? How many people were dying on his home lands? Were there any left at all?

  "We're not going anywhere until you answer my questions," she said firmly.

  "You cannot stop me, woman, so I suggest you ask quickly."

  With his ear pressed into her stomach, he felt her grumbled oath more than heard it, but still the sound made him smile. She was so different from all the women he knew. She didn't attempt to hide herself—her irritation or her passion. She was open and free, and so very vulnerable because of it.

  "Okay. Question number one: How can a soul inhabit a stream? And how can it talk to me?"

  He rose up on one arm. "It talked to you?"

  "I'm not sure." She pressed him back down into her lap.

  "What did he say?"

  "I'm not sure." She glanced down in irritation. "And I'm asking the questions here."

  He sighed, wondering how she could have lived so long without knowing the most simple things. "A soul lives in the stream because that is its home. I don't know how it spoke to you, only that it sometimes happens."

  "Great. A non-answer."

  Daken folded his arms across his chest. "If you don't like my answers, then perhaps we could start walking."

  "Not yet. Question two: How can a cat give homage to you? And why?"

  "That was two questions—"

  "I don't care, Daken. My sanity's slipping by the second, so just answer me, okay?"

  She was so beautiful when agitated. It was as though she had no artifice in her. It struck him that she was perhaps the most honest person he'd ever met.

  "Daken!"

  "Hmmm? Oh. The pantar gave me homage because she knew I healed the stream which in turn healed her. It's really very simple."

  "But how can you heal a stream?"

  "I'm—"

  "A healer. I know."

  "A King."

  "I thought they were the same thing."

  "They are."

  She groaned.

  "The healing skill runs through the royal line. That is how you know royalty. My father was a King, but he was killed. My brother then became King, and he too, was killed."

  "Which leaves you."

  "Which leaves me." He tried not to let the pain seep through his words, but she was smart. She heard it in his voice or saw it in his features. Before h
e could sit up or stop her, she bent down, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered against his skin. "It must have been very hard."

  "Don't be sorry," he grumbled, pushing her away as he struggled to stand. "Help me get to Bosuny."

  She sighed. "You are a moody creature today."

  "I am an anxious creature who should be in Bosuny by now."

  She folded her arms across her chest, watching him with the exact same expression his old tutor used to have. "One last question. What are you going to do in Bosuny?"

  He felt himself grow cold, his insides freezing into the old patterns of anger and suspicion. He would not be stopped or deterred from his course.

  "That is none of your concern," was all he said.

  Chapter 3

  "She's following us." Jane worked hard to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

  "Who's following us?"

  "The panther."

  Daken turned around, his scowl sour enough to curdle water. Jane pointed behind them, knowing the gesture was unnecessary. He could hardly fail to see the large black cat walking silently behind them. She wanted to say the animal was stalking them, except the cat's stride was slow, almost lazy, as she moved in their wake.

  "What should we do?" Jane kept her voice low.

  "Do? We walk to Bosuny. If she wants to come along," he shrugged. "Let her."

  "But aren't there people there?"

  He stared at her like she'd just sprouted green antennae.

  "I mean, won't those people get a little upset when we walk in with a black panther on our heels?"

  He glanced back at the cat, then bent down to grab his gear. "She's a smart cat. I'm sure she can take care of herself."

  "That's so reassuring. Especially since I, too, am following you."

  Daken spun to face her, his expression dark and forbidding in the murky light. "I didn't ask for your company or hers. If you want to follow me, fine. If she wants to follow me, fine too. But don't expect me to delay my task just because you don't know an inhabited stream from a dead one."

  "Well, excuuuse me. And here I thought I'd just spent the day taking care of you. Far be it for me to expect a little gratitude."

  He advanced on her, his fists tight against his sides. "You wouldn't have had to take care of me if you hadn't walked into the stream without asking permission!" He threw up his fists and stalked away. "By the Father! Why did I get saddled with a lackwit?"