The Best of Deep Magic- Anthology One

by Jeff Wheeler

  ANTHOLOGY ONE

  Staff:

  Brendon Taylor, Charlie N. Holmberg, Jeff Wheeler, Kristin Ammerman, Steve R. Yeager, and Dan Hilton

  We’d like to thank our First Readers:

  Susan Olp, Ashely Melanson, Mike Abell, Greg Garguilo, Elicia Cheney, Junior Rustrian, Tyson Dutton, Crystal Fernandez, Krysia Bailey, Melissa McDonald, Loury Trader, Hollijo Monroe

  The stories in Deep Magic are works of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2018 Jeff Wheeler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by Steve R. Yeager

  Deep Magic logo & cover design by Deron Bennett

  Copyediting by Wanda Zimba

  E-zine design by Steve R. Yeager

  www.deepmagic.co

  CONTENTS

  THE APOTHECANT

  By Brendon Taylor | 18,800 words

  IMPERIAL GHOSTS

  By Arinn Dembo | 13,000 words

  THE BEESINGER'S DAUGHTER

  By Jeff Wheeler | 21,600 words

  SALT AND WATER

  By Charlie N. Holmberg | 12,000 words

  THE WAXING DISQUIET

  By Tony Pi & Stephen Kotowych | 6,000 words

  PIRATE READERS

  By James Van Pelt | 4,300 words

  THE MOST REASONABLE HOUSE IN FAERIE

  By Dafydd McKimm | 7,000 words

  THE WIZARD'S GRANDDAUGHTER

  By Christopher Baxter | 11,500 words

  LADY OF WAR

  By Caitlyn McFarland | 12,100 words

  BETWEEN EARTH AND EXILE

  By Laurie Tom | 9,100 words

  WHAT HE OFFERED THE RIVER

  By Aimee Ogden | 3,100 words

  LULLABY FOR THE TREES

  By Sarina Dorie | 10,000 Words

  LEVI'S PROBLEM

  By Brendon Taylor | 9,300 words

  HER GLIMMERING FACADE

  By Eleanor R. Wood | 6,000 words

  THE TARIFF

  By Allen Shoff | 6,100 words

  THE PRICE OF HEALING

  By D.K. Holmberg | 8,600 words

  AUTUMN AT THE DRAGON'S CAVE

  By Kathryn Yelinek | 6,000 words

  MONGREL

  By Maria V. Snyder | 4,800 words

  THE DRAGON BETWEEN WORLDS

  By T.E. Bradford | 8,500 words

  METAMORPHISTRY

  By Jeff Wheeler | 7,500 words

  A THEFT OF WORDS

  By D.K. Holmberg | 13,800 Words

  MOONBODY

  By Scott Hughes | 7,500 Words

  PAWPRINTS IN THE AEOLIAN DUST

  By Eleanor R. Wood | 3,800 Words

  THE APOTHECANT

  By Brendon Taylor | 18,800 words

  DANAI WALDERS HAD climbed every peak in the mountains surrounding the Brasin valley by the time she was twelve. Now seventeen, she continued to climb almost daily. Her strong fingers and nimble feet had earned her a reputation for being part mountain goat, while her stubborn mind and disregard for rules or parental commands earned her a reputation for being part ox. Both were well deserved. All of her nicknames, which were admittedly terrible, played on one or both of these traits, and all came from her father: she-goat, nanny ox, and the mule spider. Danai’s favorite nickname was the one he had begun calling her the summer before everything in her life changed: Pugnox. Her father, who had a love of words and language, explained that it was derived from an old tongue, and referenced someone who was stubborn and liked to fight.

  Danai counted it as good fortune that no one but her father had ever called her Pugnox, and she had not heard the name since her mother died five years earlier. She would walk a path of burning embers to hear her father call her any of those ridiculous nicknames once more. Losing her mother to the blue moth plague was devastating. That tragedy alone would have been more than a young woman should have to bear, but it was also that summer when her father contracted the same illness. She went from having two loving, attentive parents to having one ill father in constant need of medication and bed rest. Yet, she also learned to be strong and to be content with little, and she was still able to find happiness in the world inside and out of her shanty of a home.

  She had even found a job that provided enough income to cover their needs and that was actually the perfect job for her. She worked for the apothecant, Merdrid Knaevel, who knew more about herbs, poultices, and healing than the physicians from the big city. Thanks to Merdrid, Danai’s father received medication each month that kept the plague at bay and allowed him a brief respite from the pain.

  It was her father’s poultice, the poultice that would treat him and seven other members of the valley who likewise suffered from the blue moth plague, that put Danai on the tallest peak over the Brasin valley on a late spring morning. Little purple flowers from the elusive pintiach tree were an essential ingredient. This time of year, only the most adept climber could retrieve them. Hence, Danai’s value to Merdrid was realized. The elderly, portly Merdrid huffed when walking up the short flight of stairs from the cellar. Climbing a mountain was unthinkable. Not only was Danai able to climb any mountain around, but her mind stayed focused on the specific flower, root, or berry Merdrid required, and she nearly always returned with the correct item and amount. If she did not find what Merdrid wanted, it was because it was not there to be found.

  Notwithstanding the cool of the morning leaving tendrils of fog around the tall evergreen trees in the valley below, Danai felt rivulets of sweat roll down her back between her shoulder blades. Her muscles strained to pull her body up the vertical face of granite. She felt a sharp shift followed by a terrifying crumble as her left handhold gave way. Her body swayed as she sought purchase with her right foot, and the fingers on her right hand gripped their hold more tightly. A few whispered counts helped calm her nerves. She felt the gentle breeze and warmth of the sun, and forced thoughts of aching arms and shoulders out of mind. Focusing on each place to put a hand or foot, she continued her ascent. A short while later, she reached the ledge where a large cropping of pintiach bloomed beautifully.

  Danai filled her belt pouch with purple flowers before she gathered a handful of heather berries and sat in the sun with her waterskin to relax. The pintiach flower was the last ingredient Merdrid needed for the poultice that would relieve her father’s pain, and even enable him to wake and speak for a few precious moments. His disease left him with little energy and almost no ability to communicate. The windows of clarity the poultice brought when first applied were the only golden treasures Danai had. She loved Merdrid for giving those to her.

  The tartness of the berries lingered on her tongue, and the red from their juices stained her fingers. They were some of her favorites. She thought about gathering enough for a pie, but decided against wasting the time it would take to gather that many. Besides, she had no bag or sack to hold them. And her pockets would be a soggy red mess if she tried to climb down with berries inside. Ultimately, thoughts of hearing her father speak that evening pushed all other ideas out of her mind. As soon as her limbs regained their strength, Danai slipped over the edge of the rock wall and methodically descended.

  The an
cient brass bell that dangled from a wire hook above Merdrid’s door clanged as Danai entered the apothecary. Danai had mentioned to Merdrid several times in the years she had been her assistant that the bell looked worn and dirty. Merdrid always defended the bell with a smile, declaring the age and wear were called patina, and that it made the bell even more valuable than a new one. Danai liked the bell, but the smell of the shop was what made it her second home. It was like freshly turned soil, harvested vegetables, ripe fruit, and a flower garden in bloom. At least, in Danai’s mind that was how it smelled. If she was honest, she would also admit it smelled a bit like a burlap bag of moldy mushrooms and mud from a barnyard.

  “I’m in the back, Sis.” Merdrid’s voice cracked.

  “Coming.” Danai hustled down a root-crowded aisle.

  Merdrid scraped the underbark from a section of kiltenmoss brush with a short, stout bone-handled knife. Her favorite. “You look a shabby mess! Sweaty face, hair mussed, and blouse untucked.” The older woman chuckled without moving her eyes from the section of bark. It was one of several odd things about Merdrid. She always seemed to see Danai without needing to bother herself with actually looking.

  Danai glanced up and saw strands of her blond hair dangling in front of her eyes as she unconsciously tucked in the loose tail of her shirt. “You didn’t even see me, Merdrid. That was a lucky guess.”

  “It is my business to know everything that happens in my shop. Of course I saw you.” Merdrid put the knife and bark down on the table and smiled with a nod as her eyes confirmed what she had said. “Just be glad that I was too courteous to mention your smell.” The older woman waved a short-fingered hand in front of her nose as if to ward away the smell and squinted.

  Danai’s own nose dipped toward her right armpit, and she took a half step back. The older woman was right. “Perhaps I should take a quick bath before working in the shop.”

  “Perhaps you should. But if you leave the pintiach flowers on the table, I can prepare them for the poultice while you bathe.” Merdrid pulled her heavy stone mortar from the shelf under the table and gathered the bark shavings into its bowl.

  Danai chided herself for momentarily forgetting the importance of the day. “What makes you so sure I found the flowers?”

  “Sis, I already told you. I know what happens in my shop.” Merdrid looked serious for a moment, with her stone-gray hair carefully pulled into a bun secured by two mixing rods. “Besides, you would not have been smiling so much had you not found them.”

  Danai could not argue with that. She loosened her belt pouch and placed the flowers gently on a clean section of the table near the bark. “When will the poultice be ready?”

  “By nightfall if we stop yapping and you clean yourself enough to get some work done.” Merdrid winked as her hands worked the pestle in the mortar. “Danai, let me give you two compliments before you go. You have earned them.”

  Danai had started turning toward the front door, but stopped. Compliments were rare from Merdrid, and always sincere.

  “First, I have never seen a young woman who stays as consistently cheerful as you, when life gives you few reasons to be so.” Merdrid’s look was serious.

  “Well, I get to climb all over the valley and am blessed to work with . . .”

  “Hush!” Merdrid stopped her. “I’m giving you a compliment. Let me give you the second one.” Merdrid paused long enough that Danai began to feel the urge to fill the silence, but she forced herself to stand still. Seemingly satisfied, Merdrid continued. “Second, I have never seen a young woman willing to sacrifice so much of herself for her family. What you do for your father is truly remarkable, Danai. These two things make you very rare, not unlike the pintiach flowers from your pouch.”

  “Thank you.” Danai remembered the way her mother taught her to receive a compliment when she was a little girl. This seemed to please Merdrid.

  “Am I correct to believe that you would do most anything to help your father?”

  “Of course!” Danai nodded.

  Merdrid paused for a moment, and Danai made herself stay still. “Sis, what if I told you I have been working out a way to heal your father completely from his illness, but it would take a bit of a sacrifice from you?” The look in Merdrid’s eye was a mix of sparkle and something else.

  Danai’s stomach clenched with ice. She had long beaten down any hope that her father might recover, since Merdrid and everyone else in the valley assured her that was not possible. Yet, Danai knew that Merdrid would not mention a possible cure unless she had found one. Merdrid would never hurt her like that; she was certain. Still, she did not want to open herself to that level of pain, and let hope creep in where she had safely locked out emotion for so many years. “You are serious, aren’t you?” Danai’s voice was a whisper.

  Merdrid’s mouth turned into a small smile. “You know I would not say such a thing unless I thought it was possible. Only possible, mind you.”

  The front door bell clanged as a customer walked into the shop. Danai clenched her hands into fists at her sides, angry that they might be interrupted right then. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the most handsome face she had ever seen. A dark-haired, tall man, about twenty years old, in a crisp gray uniform with green-and-gold trim walked toward them with an older well-dressed man behind him. Her nose dipped once more toward her armpit, and she frowned.

  Danai refused to think of herself as beautiful. When she was a child, she always felt beautiful, in part because her mother’s compliments were effusive. Mother always praised her for her golden hair and gorgeous eyes. Danai believed her at the time because Mother was a beautiful woman. She too had blond hair and blue eyes. She too had a dimple in her left cheek. The biggest difference beyond the gentle wear of years was that Danai’s younger face bore a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Mother had promised those would fade by the time Danai became a woman.

  Mother had not been right about the freckles fading; however, Danai believed her beauty had faded—her hair seemed paler, her eyes less dazzling. Even her dimple now looked too deep to be pretty. Danai wondered how much of the way she had viewed herself as a girl was shaped by her mother, or if she had truly been prettier as a child. Certainly a person’s looks can change, but she felt that was one more unfortunate turn of events that followed the summer her mother died. She knew she was not ugly, but believed most people would describe her as plain or pleasant. Neither term was what a young woman strived to hear.

  She decided right then that if she was going to meet this handsome soldier, it would not be as grubby or smelly as she then was. She might not turn all of the young men’s heads in the valley, but that did not mean she would stop trying to look her best.

  Merdrid hustled in front of Danai and whispered as she went by, “Slip out the back and get cleaned up. We can talk more later.”

  With another quick glance at the man in uniform, Danai sighed and did as she was bid, sincerely happy the shop had a back door.

  Danai would not want to admit it, but she sprinted the two cobblestone blocks to her home tucked behind the town well. She almost forgot how weak the front door was and nearly broke it off its hinges as she bounded into the small main room.

  “Father!” Danai dropped onto the stool next to her father and held his hand.

  He startled from sleep, and looked at her through drooping eyelids.

  Danai could see his concern. “I have great news! Do not worry. The poultice will be ready tonight, but that’s not even the best part.” She smiled and waited to make sure his eyes confirmed that he was alert and listening to her. Satisfied, she went on. “Merdrid hinted that she may have found a cure or at least a more effective treatment for the plague.” She reconsidered whether she should have told him about the possible cure, but decided she was right to give him a little hope. This way, he could be ready to talk about the possible cure when the poultice was ready that night. She also thought about telling him of the handsome soldier, but decided
to keep that bit of news to herself.

  Father’s eyes closed for a moment and he seemed to shake his head from side to side. Danai decided he must be overwhelmed, as she was, at the hope of a cure. She stood and pulled her hand from his. “I need to clean up and hurry back to the shop. Merdrid needs me.” She poured the remaining water from their bucket into the pot and stoked the wood-burning stove to at least take the chill off. “I will fetch fresh water to fill the tub and get you a drink while the pot heats.”

  Several minutes later, the tub was a little more than a quarter full and the water in the pot was at least not cold. Danai helped her father sip down a glass of water, smiling and telling him about her climb that morning. It would have taken a full pot of boiling water to make the tub temperature comfortable, but Danai could not wait that long. After she added the water from the pot, the tub water went from icy to frigid. At least she would stop sweating. She pulled the curtain for privacy and made quick work of the task. She had taken colder baths before, but they had been accidental and involved mountain springs.

  Before leaving, Danai changed her father’s bed pot and helped him take a few more sips of water. She brushed long strands of graying brown hair back from his eyes and felt the heat coming off his forehead. He had a low fever, which was not unusual, so Danai ground some bitter bark into his water and helped him drink. It was not a high fever. She had long experienced his conditions and knew which signs should cause her to worry. This fever would likely respond to the bitter bark within a few minutes. She felt guilty about leaving, but could not get the image of the handsome soldier out of her mind. Besides, she had a hunger to know more about Merdrid’s cure.

  Danai kissed her father gently on the forehead and promised to be back by evening. She grabbed a hard roll to eat on the way and rushed out the front door like a rabbit with a coyote on her tail.