Missing Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  Crying openly now, Dee curled on the ground next to Cenrick. His huge, comatose body didn’t react. She placed her cheek across his chest, listening as his heart struggled to beat.

  The Mage shimmered, then solidified as he came closer. “You must cover him with your essence. Quickly.”

  Again Mort’s mage’s form faded to smoke, as though he was barely there. Was he only a figment of her imagination?

  But Dee didn’t have time to concern herself with that. She wanted Cenrick back, she wanted her partner, her friend, she wanted…

  “The other half of your soul.” Words echoing in the silent meadow, the Mage disappeared in a puff of mist.

  The other half of her soul? Cenrick? And she? Not possible, though part of her couldn’t help yearning that it be the truth. She wasn’t even Fae. Even if she believed in this soul-mate stuff, she would think the soul would only split into two of the same species. She was human. Cenrick was not.

  Still, if Mort thought she could help him… If she was his only hope…

  She crawled on top of Cenrick, covering him with her own body, willing him to respond. Once she was prone, face to his face, chest to his chest, exhaustion seized her.

  Dizzy, she inhaled Cenrick’s beloved scent – beloved? – and let her eyes drift closed. Holding him close to her, Dee slept.

  * * *

  The early morning breeze tickled his nose. A hint of sunlight danced along his eyelids.

  Cenrick stretched, yawning.

  He’d had the worst dream. A machine, and Natasha and his soul—he opened his eyes, inhaling Dee’s light, floral scent. Dee! She slept tucked into the curve of his arm, the shadows under her eyes telling him of his exhaustion.

  A bird screeched in the sky above him. He started, glancing around. Though he could have sworn he and Dee had fallen asleep on the couch, they weren’t in her living room. Instead, they were lying on the cold, hard ground, in a meadow of dead and dying flowers.

  In Rune. Land of the Fae. His home.

  He sat up, nudging Dee awake.

  Memory came flooding back. It hadn’t been a dream.

  He’d been locked into the soul stealing machine. Dee had rescued him. He’d used the last of his energy to send them to Rune.

  “Cenrick?” Dee came instantly awake. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded and she kissed him. When she did, he tasted the salt of tears.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Yes.” She sniffed. “I thought you were gone, lost forever. One of the soulless.”

  He kissed her back, swift and hard. “Almost, I think. But you, you brought me back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we?”

  “The last spell, the one you tried to use on Natasha, somehow instead, the magic sent us to Rune.” “Home..” Standing, he helped her to her feet and looked out over his home. “Dee, something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look around. Rune is not the same.”

  A second later, she saw what he meant.

  A fine mist fell from a thick fog which hung over the air like a shroud. The riotous carpet of flowers had vanished. Even the grass had lost its emerald luster. Everything seemed dull… and fading.

  “What’s happened?” Dee turned a slow circle. “Are we even in Rune? Remember what happened that one time? Maybe be got sent somewhere else.”

  “This is Rune.” His voice was firm. “I know my home.” He tugged at her arm. “We’ve got to get to the palace in a hurry. I’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

  Together, they ran.

  “Look.” Skidding to a halt, Cenrick groaned. “Look at the palace.”

  The palace. Dee gaped up at the gray monstrosity looming above them. “What’s happened to it? It doesn’t look the same.”

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. The crystal palace now appeared to be made of dull, cloudy glass. Instead of the glittering, magical structure full of magic and light, the structure could have come straight out of some grainy, black and white Dracula movie from the forties.

  Dee shook her head. “Are you sure we’re in Rune?” she asked again.

  Heart pounding, he didn’t answer, just kept urging her along.

  They hurried up the steps. The huge, ornately-carved, double glass doors were open, as though the place had been abandoned in a hurry.

  Abandoned? Nearly running, Cenrick made a sound of dismay entered the great room. Inside, the colorlessness was even worse. He shivered. All this dirty grayness brought a chill, somehow.

  Like the chill brought on by Natasha and her machine.

  Their footsteps echoed painfully as they hurried down one long, twisting hallway after another. The further into the palace they traveled, the colder the air. Cenrick couldn’t get warm, and Dee couldn’t seem to stop shivering. She’d wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

  “Is it winter here?”

  “No. This coldness isn’t normal either. Something terrible has happened.”

  “The palace is deserted. No one’s here.” Cenrick turned a slow circle. “Where in the name of the Goddess are they?”

  She could only shake her head, a dreadful foreboding filling her.

  They continued on. In each hall, doors had been flung open, some cracked. Inside, rooms were in various states of disarray. “Either the Fae became completely untidy, or everyone had fled in a mass panic,” she said. “It looks like they tossed a few possessions into a bag and fled. But why?”

  “Why exactly.” Grim, Cenrick clutched her hand. “This looks like they expected a natural disaster of epic proportions.”

  Finally, they stopped in front of one single, closed door. Dee’s shivers had communicated to him, and he clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “This looks familiar. Is this—?”

  “Mort’s room.” Cenrick cleared his throat. “I hope he’s here.”

  Raising his first to knock, he froze as the door swung slowly opened in front of him.

  “Enter,” a voice boomed from within.

  Inside, a fire blazed.

  “Warmth!” Dee’s sigh of relief was audible. She squeezed his hand, tugging him into the room and the blessed, wonderful warmth.

  When he stopped, she tugged her hand free and continued on to the hearth, stretching her arms out to the fire.

  “Mort?” The room appeared empty. Cenrick saw no sign of the mage. “He’s gone.”

  “But I heard him.” Dee looked around. “That’s what happened when we first arrive here and you were so ill. I saw him and heard him, but he vanished like a wisp of smoke.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Me either. But this room feels the best.” Keeping her back to the fire, Dee took in the room. “The entire castle is gray, but not in here. Whatever creeping malady had affected the rest of the palace, it hasn’t made it in here.”

  She was right. Rather than the overwhelmingly depressing shades of gray which permeated the entire atmosphere, Mort’s sleeping chamber and workspace glowed with a vibrancy of fabrics and colors. In addition to the roaring fire in the hearth, the room was also lit by the light of hundreds of fragrant candles.

  In short, like normal.

  Movement in the shadows caught his eye. A hooded figure stepped forward. His appearance might have been menacing had his robe not been made of a rich purple material that might have been silk. Still, since this room and his clothing was the first hint of color they’d seen since arriving, the man appeared to glow with vitality.

  “Mort?”

  He lowered his hood. “Not Mort. It is I.”

  “Father?” Cenrick’s heart sank. His father’s appearance had him even more worried. “What are you doing here, alone in this room? Where’s Mort? For that matter, where is everyone? What’s happened here?”

  Never taking his eyes from Dee, the older man shook his head. “The palace is empty,” he said simply, as though that was explanation enough.

&nbs
p; “Empty?” Cenrick’s sharp tone belied his panic. “How is this possible? Where’s Mort?”

  “He has gone.”

  “He was here when we first arrived,” Dee put in. “He spoke to me.”

  “When was this?” Lowering his hood, King Roark’s piercing blue eyes swept over them. He swept back his mane of curly white hair and smoothed his flowing beard.

  “Yesterday.” Dee lifted her chin, looking at Cenrick for confirmation. “I think.”

  “Impossible. He has been gone several days.”

  “Gone where?” Cenrick stepped forward, drawing his sire’s attention.

  “To consult the Oracle.” The King turned the full force of his piercing blue gaze on his son. “Since you left, things have steady worsened. More and more Fae have returned to Rune as husks, stripped of their souls. We could no longer keep such a thing hidden. The people have panicked.”

  “Left?” Cenrick asked. Such a concept was incomprehensible. “They’ve abandoned their home?”

  “Yes. For the first time in many Millenniums, the Fae have deserted Rune.” The King’s bleak tone matched his son’s.

  “Where have they gone?”

  King Roark sighed. “Some have gone to the forest of Zanbar, but most traveled across the Plains of Lothar, to hide in the mountains of Kilian.”

  “What about the damaged ones?”

  “Mort has taken this latest batch to the Oracle.” Again the King’s bright gaze found Dee. “Now, who is this? I sense great power in her. I thought I knew all of my subjects, but I don’t recognize you. Son, are you going to introduce us?”

  Cenrick sighed. “Father, she’s not Fae. This is Dee Bishop, a human woman. Dee, allow me to present my Father, King Roark of Rune.”

  Dee’s expression nearly made him laugh. Cenrick could tell she didn’t know the proper protocol for meeting a king. Should she bow? Curtsy?

  Finally, she settled for dipping her head in a gesture of recognition. She gave a visible jump when the older man took her hand and kissed the back of it.

  Again, the King’s bright gaze showed his approval. “Exquisite, my son. Your taste equals your brother’s. But do not lie to me. I know Fae power when I see it.”

  Quickly, Cenrick explained what he’d done.

  “No. No spell could work so well on a human, not here. Not in Rune. She’s Fae.”

  Dee and Cenrick exchanged a glance. Finally, Dee shrugged. “If believing that makes you happy, then I’m glad.”

  “But this is not a social call.” Cenrick went on to detail as concisely as he could what had happened to bring them to Rune.

  When he’d finished, the King appeared to have aged twenty years. “I had hoped you’d come with better news.”

  Heart heavy, Cenrick turned to Dee. “We must go to the Oracle. Perhaps together, she and Mort can come up with an answer.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “Father?” Cenrick touched the older man’s sleeve. “Will you come with us?”

  “Nay.” Pride and another, more sorrowful emotion flared in King Roark’s eyes. Replacing his hood, he shook his head. “I will not leave my home. As long as one Fae remains here, the magic will not entirely desert Rune.”

  “I swear to you, I will find a way to stop this.” Cenrick clapped his father on the shoulder.

  “I know you will, son. But you’d better hurry. If you take too much longer, I’m afraid it will be too late for us all.” He stepped back in to the shadows.

  Cenrick held out his hand. Without hesitation, Dee took it. He began speaking the words to send them to the Oracle.

  When they reappeared at the edge of the Oracle’s mountain, they saw the gray lifelessness had reached the boundaries of the fields, even here, though the mountain itself still retained the normal hues of sepia and earth. And the number of hollow-eyed people milling about had quadrupled. Or – he did a hasty re-estimate – worse. There were now so many, even the Oracle could not contain them within her caves.

  Above them, a shadow. A screech. With a swoop of massive wings, the hawk flew over them, landing on an outcropping of rocks.

  “Tinth.”

  The bird cried out in reply. Taking off, she flew low, leading them towards the Oracle’s cave.

  “At least Mort sent his pet hawk.” Cenrick told Dee. “And he does not bid us hurry. I know not to fear for him if the bird leads us so slowly.”

  Hand in hand, they climbed silently. When finally they gained the summit, Cenrick helped her make the last few feet, pulling her into his arms.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Her heart-shaped face was cloaked in shadows and gold, courtesy of the flickering torches.

  Never had he found a woman so precious, so lovely.

  He told her so.

  She smiled a wan smile. “Maybe it’s time you remove the spell that makes me appear Fae.”

  Shaking his head, he leaned forward and kissed her. “Not yet. And your beauty has nothing to do with the spell.”

  She sighed. “Let’s go.”

  Tinth called out her agreement.

  No one, neither the Oracle nor the Mage, nor some hollow-eyed Soulless Fae, came out to greet them. Every few feet, more torches flickered along the stone walls, the flames sending shadows to beat back the encroaching grayness from above.

  Holding tightly to Dee’s hand, Cenrick led the way up the steps and into the Oracle’s cave.

  At the entrance, Dee hesitated. “Even here, something is different,” she mused.

  He sensed it too. Sniffing the air, he realized the air was no longer heavy with the spicy fragrance of the Oracle’s incense.

  “There is no perfumed scent, like before.” Dee’s words confirmed his fear. “Only the damp smell of cold earth, and stagnant water upon stone.”

  “Something else,” he told her. “The silence – there are no wind chimes tinkling, as they were the last time we came here.” He tugged her forward. “Come on. At least the torches still burn normally. Let’s find the Oracle and Mort and learn what’s happened.”

  Traveling the narrow passageways, finally they came to the great cave.

  All was ominously silent, save the steady dripping of water from some internal stream. Still no one came to meet them.

  Only Tinth, circling above, reassuring him that all was secure.

  Dee squeezed his hand. “I know I’ve only been here once, but this feels wrong.”

  “I know.” He’d begun to get used to her intuitive understanding of all things magical. “But I trust the hawk. She would not lead us down here if we were in danger.”

  Still, when they reached the inscribed, double stone doors, he hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” Dee asked.

  “One does not usually enter the Oracle’s home uninvited.” Heart heavy, he pulled the handle. The heavy stone groaned as the door began to swing slowly open.

  The huge room was only dimly lit. No smoke burned from the numerous incense braziers, and only a few of the hundred plus candles were lit. Even the hearth fire, though burning, seemed dispirited, the weak flames giving little light and even less heat.

  It felt as if the grayness had made its way here already.

  “You have come.” At the head of the room, on the seldom used dais, the Oracle waited. Hooded and cloaked as usual, the red of her burning eyes even seemed duller. At her side, clothed in black, sat the Mage of Rune. His hawk flew to him, to perch on the back of his chair.

  “Come closer.” The Oracle’s voice carried across the distance.

  The Oracle sounded so… old. And tired. Exchanging a glance with Dee, Cenrick led the way forward.

  “About time you got here, boy.” Mort stood as they approached the dais, holding out his arms in welcome.

  Cenrick hugged him. “What has happened? I’ve been to Rune and the palace is—.”

  “I know, I know.” Mort waved him to silence. “Things have gone to hell in a hand basket. Everything’s bad. We’ve got to fix it. But first, what brings
you here?”

  Again, Cenrick told the story of his capture and Natasha’s claim of power.

  While the Oracle remained silent, the Mage appeared most interested in Cenrick’s physical reaction to her machine.

  “So this thing, whatever it is, takes all your strength.” Mort stroked his beard. “And then, somehow, this human woman absorbs your magic into herself?”

  “That’s what she said. I barely made it out of there with my soul intact,” Cenrick admitted, glad he still held fast to Dee’s hand.

  “But your theory was correct? For some reason, as long as Dee touched you, the effect was negated?”

  “Yes.”

  Mort turned his attention on Dee. “You look different. Your aura – it’s as if you were Fae rather than human.”

  “He put Fae glitter on me.” Dee stepped forward. “So Natasha’s associates wouldn’t realize I was human. We were trying to trick them into capturing me, believing I was Fae, so we could find the machine and destroy it.”

  “What happened?”

  “They got Cenrick instead.”

  “Yet,” the Mage still studied her. “This is more than a spell. You truly appear to be Fae.”

  “That’s what father said.”

  Mort nodded, his gaze still on Dee. “But you were unaffected by this machine?” He watched her closely. “You felt no pull, no weakening of your strength?”

  “No. But then, I’m human, not Fae.” Her grip on Cenrick’s fingers tightened. “And I never even got close to the machine.”

  Mort shook his head sadly. “I can’t believe one errant Fae brought such a thing up our people.”

  Grim, Cenrick had no choice but to agree. “Mick. We haven’t been able to locate him either.”

  Now the Oracle spoke for the first time since bidding them enter. “Talmick is here.” Her voice sounded weary and forlorn.

  Cenrick stared. For his lifetime, his fathers, and many centuries before that, the Oracle had always been all-powerful. Now she sounded defeated, beaten.

  “Talmick?” Dee asked, not recognizing the name.

  “Talmick is Mick’s real name.” Cenrick squeezed Dee’s hand before he turned his attention back to the Oracle. “What do you mean Mick’s here?”