The Best of Deep Magic- Anthology One

by Jeff Wheeler

  Danai swallowed the last of the roll as she ducked into the narrow dirt alley leading to the back of Merdrid’s shop. Her blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail dripped down her back, soaking a circle on her blouse. She regretted not taking a little time to dry it after the bath. At least she smelled fresh, like the soap Merdrid gave her for her birthday last year. Jinderberries and honeyblossom. Merdrid was going to tease her mercilessly. Danai only used the sweet-smelling soap on special occasions, and with her birthday coming tomorrow, she would likely get a fresh cake of the special soap. Danai peered through the window in the back door, hoping to see the handsome soldier, while she caught her breath. Instead, she saw Merdrid crumpled on the floor by her worktable.

  Merdrid sobbed. The sound halted Danai and broke her heart. The sweet, grandmotherly woman who had cared for Danai and her father for the past five years had been a rock. Danai placed a gentle hand on Merdrid’s back and knelt beside her. For a minute, Merdrid’s body shook with sobs, and Danai consoled her without words.

  Finally, Merdrid looked up, eyes swollen and red, cheeks wet and shiny. “I have failed you, Sis.”

  Confused, Danai scooted to where she could see Merdrid better. “You’ve never failed me, Merdrid. What happened?”

  “The soldier and the emissary.” Her voice quavered as she struggled to put words together. “They came on a mission from King Evenricht. They took it.”

  Danai patted Merdrid’s leg and leaned in. “What did they take?”

  The older woman took a deep, stuttered breath. “My mortar.”

  Danai cocked her head to the left. “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have another mortar in the shop. If not, we can get another from the merchant.” Danai used her best comforting voice, one she might use if she was coaxing a wayward goat into a pen.

  “You don’t understand, Danai.” Merdrid’s tears were now flowing from eyes that showed anger and loss. “Without that mortar, many of my potions, powders, and poultices will lose their effect.”

  The last of her words lingered in Danai’s mind. She just sat there, going numb at the thought that her father’s poultice would not work. “But why is that mortar so important?”

  “I was going to explain this to you before your birthday tomorrow, and I feel horrible that this is how you found out.” Merdrid’s eyes released their tinge of anger and showed nothing but compassion toward Danai. “My recipes are sound, and the cures and crafts I make would be of high quality without the mortar, but some of them require something more than herbs, roots, and berries provide.”

  Merdrid continued. “The mortar is made of a special stone that came from a very rare and deep mine—the mine caved in a very long time ago. The stone that was found is called by several names: hearthstone, bloodstone, oathstone, and mantle rock. It has the power to bind people to their oaths and give power to those who vow to use it for their promised purpose. This power is called, vivos sanguine in an old tongue, or vosang, for short. It means ‘life blood.’ ”

  Voice quivering, Merdrid went on. “The truth of the stone remains unknown to most, but not to the emissary and his protector. The king sent them to gather any remnants of that stone and hold it in a treasury to add to the king’s wealth. Unfortunately, where it is now going, it cannot help people who are in dire need. Like your father.”

  There it was—the fear carving a hole in Danai’s heart, put into words. It was an old wound that was tearing open. Danai’s eyes blurred with her own tears.

  “Oh, Sis. I am so sorry. You must think I am a fraud. I am embarrassed that I needed something beyond my own abilities to help my patrons.” Merdrid looked away and crossed her arms tightly. Silence loomed for many long seconds. Merdrid continued. “I didn’t want to let them take it, but they threatened to arrest any who stood in their way or prevented them from taking the bloodstone. I was so afraid that I did nothing to stop them.”

  A wave of darkness and despair threatened to overwhelm Danai, but what kept it at bay was the image of her father lying on his bed, suffering from fever, and straining in vain to talk to her. She would stay strong for him, at least until all hope was gone. “I will get it back for you.” Danai’s words were dry and brittle like old parchment.

  Merdrid coughed out a little laugh. “Danai, I wish you could, but they will already be heading south to the highlands of Gretford. I overheard the young man tell the older that the horses were ready. Even as fast as your feet are, they cannot keep up with the king’s horses.”

  Danai thought a moment. “The highland road winds its way through the cedar woods on the east slope of the valley. That way will take them the rest of the day to reach the rim of the highlands to our south.” Danai wiped the wetness from her own cheeks, relieved that the plan in her mind had somehow stopped the tears.

  Merdrid shook her head gently. “Even if you follow them on foot, it will take you until midmorning tomorrow to reach the rim. By then, they will be farther down the road. Besides, the soldier wasn’t alone. He had a knot of five others with him. No doubt they will be watching the road behind. Even if you did catch them, how would you wrestle the mortar away?”

  Danai offered a weak smile. “The answer to the first problem solves the second. At least I hope so. If I climb the table steppe on the southern slope, and continue over the face of the rim, I could be there by an hour after nightfall. Well, if I leave right away, I could.” Merdrid shook her head, but Danai continued. “I have made the climb many times and know it well enough to finish the ascent in the dark. The solution this plan offers is that it places me in the roadway beyond the shelter of the tall pines. It seems unlikely the men would camp out in the open of the highlands when they have tall, sheltering pines to protect them from the vicious winds that abuse anyone who lingers on the long plateau. They will be watching the road behind them, but might pay less attention to someone coming from the road ahead.”

  Merdrid labored to stand, pulling herself up with the help of a firm grip on the worktable. It wobbled a little, but held together. She shuffled slowly toward a high shelf holding a row of bottles of various sizes. She reached up on her tiptoes to grab a slender red bottle with a cork stopper. “I’m a fool to let you go. But I know how stubborn you can be. Besides, your interest in this matter is every bit as important as my own.” Merdrid grunted a little as she turned, and favored her left knee. “I might as well offer what help I can.” She held the bottle out to Danai.

  Danai had asked about the bottles before and had received little information for her queries. “What is this?”

  “That particular elixir will help you get into camp unseen and get out safely as well. It has a powerful memory block, so none of them should remember seeing you if they do catch a glimpse. I warn you that your own memory might also be shaded. Unfortunately, it won’t help you find the mortar, so that part of the job will be up to you.”

  Danai gripped the cork stopper to pull it free.

  Merdrid yelped. “Not now, girl! There is one dose in that bottle and you want to drink it no more than ten minutes before entering the camp, which will give the potion long enough to take effect. Mind you, those effects will only last for a couple hours, so you must be sure when you drink it you are ready.”

  Danai could feel the blood flush her cheeks. “Sorry, Merdrid.” She was ready to sprint up the face of the southern steppe. Then, she remembered her father. What she was doing was dangerous, and if she failed, they both were in dire trouble. She wanted to tell him good-bye, but knew if she went home, she would only worry him. Still, he was expecting her to be home that evening with the poultice. Even if she succeeded in recovering the mortar, she would not return until morning. He would need help before then.

  “Sis, I can see your thoughts linger with your father. That is one of your tender strengths.” Merdrid’s weak smile comforted Danai, who was just glad to see the older woman had stopped crying herself. Merdrid continued. “I will visit him with supper and sit w
ith him while you are away.”

  Danai thought her eyes were getting plenty of water today. “Thanks.” She choked out.

  A few minutes later, Danai set a fast pace to the south, shouldering her pack, with a full waterskin at her hip.

  * * *

  Shortly after dusk, when the few street lamps in the sparsely populated Brasin valley had begun to flicker, Merdrid waddled up the cobblestone roadway to the shanty where Danai and her father lived. She carried a maplewood bucket with too many cracks to be watertight, which held a bowl of soup on bottom and a napkin full of rolls on top. After a perfunctory knock (Merdrid knew Danai’s father could not respond, much less get up to answer the door), she entered. The home was pitiful. Small, adorned with furniture that seemed to stay upright by force of will alone, and smelling of illness. She reached a stubby-fingered hand into one of her several belt pouches and flung a large pinch of powder into the air. The powder ignited into a sizzle of sparks that quickly dissipated. Although the powder seemed gone, the smell of lilacs lingered in its place. Merdrid nodded contentedly.

  “Well, well, Haimer. You are looking rather ill tonight.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Haimer lay in bed, eyes open and wary. His mouth tried to move and muscles in his neck strained, but words and sound failed him.

  “Fret not, good man. I am here because Danai is on an errand for me. We had a run of unfortunate luck this afternoon that required her help to make it right.” Merdrid sat the bucket on a table near Danai’s father and pulled the items out one at a time. “I promised her I would bring you dinner and explain that she would be out late tonight.” Merdrid sat on a stool, but it groaned loudly enough that she put it aside and knelt on the floor near Haimer’s head. “I won’t be surprised if she is not back before you fall asleep for the night.”

  Tears leaked from Haimer’s eyes and he squirmed in the bed.

  “Steady. Don’t worry so. Danai will be home tomorrow morning when you wake up, I have no doubt. Trust me when I assure you that I have a very keen interest in that young woman. Almost as keen as yours.” Merdrid’s smile did little to comfort the man. She pulled a spoon from the bottom of the bucket and dipped it into the creamy soup. As she waited a moment for the soup to cool, she said, “Once Danai is back, we will complete the poultice, and then you can have a nice visit with her.” Steam still wafted up from the spoon as Merdrid lowered it to Haimer’s mouth. Her other hand gently steadied his shaking chin, and she smoothly slid the spoon in and tipped it up.

  Haimer’s shaking slowed a little and his eyes relaxed.

  “Did you expect my cooking to taste foul? Perhaps I should be offended.” Merdrid chuckled at the man. “One doesn’t get so portly as this without knowing how to make food that tastes good.” Merdrid turned sideways on one knee to exaggerate her girth.

  The more spoonfuls she put in, the more content, then tired, his eyes seemed. Merdrid chewed on a roll. If she had to answer honestly, she would have admitted she always intended the rolls to be for her. A half hour after she arrived, Haimer was asleep and she had fulfilled her promise to Danai. At that point, she went above and beyond her promise and cleaned the bed pot for Haimer.

  Merdrid popped another roll into her mouth, gobbling this one whole as she quickly put her things away, leaving the bowl in the bucket on the table and reaching into another belt pouch. Certain the man was asleep, Merdrid popped a pickled root into her mouth and pulled a wide, shallow silver bowl out of her pack. The surface of the metal gleamed and reflected like a freshly polished sword. She set the bowl on the floor, then pulled a dull brown bottle out of her robe pocket. The contents were bloodred as she poured them into the bowl. The liquid in the bowl turned clear when she added a bottle of water. Checking Haimer once more, she squatted on the floor and began to hum a catchy tune.

  * * *

  Danai cursed as the darkness made handholds more difficult to find. She had pushed herself near her limit in arriving beyond the southern steppe and more than halfway up the face of the mountain before true dark was upon her, but upon her it was. She was pleased that her waterskin was still bulging with water. She had used enough to avoid a light head or exhaustion, but still had plenty for the rest of the climb with some left for the return trip. Clouds had moved in near dusk, which would make the climb harder, but might aid her when she found the men’s camp.

  The urgency of acting—her father’s dire need—had put her on her path to find the handsome soldier’s group with little thought or planning. She had one potion she did not really understand, the cover of night, some skill in moving quietly through wilderness, and a knowledge of the area. The things she lacked filled her mind and sprouted doubts like cattails on a meadow pond. She had no weapon aside from a short-bladed root knife. That was just as well because she did not know how to use a weapon or fight. She did not know the strength of the men she sought, other than the fact that there were at least six soldiers counting the handsome one. She did not know if they would even camp, nor was she certain they would be coming along the highland road anywhere near where she would emerge. She also did not know where the mortar would be kept and how she might secure it. What if it was in a locked wagon? Would she be able to find the key and pilfer it?

  The doubts offered one benefit. They occupied her mind so she could climb quickly. Often she found that when her brain worked on a problem, her hands and feet seemed to find their own way up a slope. Even in the dark. No more than an hour after true dark, she neared the rim. Danai decided it was time to worry less and focus on the task before her. The wind had picked up, and gusts buffeted her body against the rock face, then threatened to pull her off. She slowed to be more certain in her movements and made sure she had three points of contact with the rock at all times.

  Coyotes called from peaks along the ridge. She was not terribly close to them, but just hearing their cry was like a splash of icy water to the face. When she was twelve, a pack of coyotes had followed her as she was on a climb by herself. Her father would scold her every time she came home from a climb alone, telling her to make sure she had a companion, but she never cared to find one. They would slow her down and make her talk when she did not want to. The evening the coyotes followed her, she regretted being alone, but not enough to change her practice. They followed for nearly an hour, getting closer and closer until she reached the safety of the valley. Ever since then, the cry of a coyote sent a shiver along her spine.

  Finally, Danai pulled herself over a jagged ridge and onto the plateau above, hearing a tear of fabric as she made it to safety. It was a pretty big rip on the stomach of her blouse. Her favorite blouse. She shook her head in disgust. She had worn the blouse because she wanted to look nice for the handsome soldier. It had been an impractical choice for a work shirt and an even less suitable choice for climbing attire. She only had three other blouses, and resolved to mend this one when she got home.

  As she stood, a gust of wind pushed her toward the cliff, but she was ready and leaned into it. Scanning around, she found a small cropping of rocks and quickly sat on the downwind side to catch her breath and drink a little water. It was then that she felt the first stinging droplet of cold rain. She mentally added “only bringing a light jacket” to the list of problems that was growing. Danai took solace in the fact that she had made it to the top of the climb before rain fell. It would have been a much larger problem if she were still on the wall.

  Moments later, with her light jacket offering a meager defense against the rain and cold, Danai found the highland road and turned left. She stayed to the side of the roadway, where her form would be more difficult to spot. In the dark and rain, she would be even more concealed.

  After looking for what seemed like an eternity, she was relieved to reach the beginning of the woods. The next stretch of roadway would be the most likely place for a camp. Danai slowed, walking quietly despite the muting rainfall. The drops became bigger, though still cold, and soaked her clothing to the skin and drenched t
he ground below all but the thickest of evergreens.

  The smell of wet earth was comforting, but the chill numbed the comfort and Danai’s fingers. She breathed on her hands, hoping her warm breath would restore feeling. A little farther down the road, Danai decided that if the rain continued and she got any colder, she would be unable to open the stopper on the bottle Merdrid had given her. She reasoned she had to be near the camp. Trembling fingers found the bottle and pulled it out. Relieved that it had not been damaged when she scrambled on the rocks, she walked slowly for a short while, looking around and listening. Hoping to find the camp. After thinking it through a little longer, she pulled the stopper and swallowed the contents. It tasted like vinegar and mint and would not find a place in any of Danai’s cooking recipes.

  For the next few minutes, she looked at her hands, felt her face with them, and even bit on one of her numb fingers. Why hadn’t Merdrid explained what the potion would do? She could not perceive a difference in herself, but Merdrid had warned that it would take a while to work.

  Time continued to pass, and Danai worried that she had gone too far down the road, mumbling to herself, “Why would I have thought they would camp right along the road? Far more likely, they would be well off into the seclusion of the woods.”

  “Far more likely indeed.” A deep male voice behind her answered.

  Danai nearly added to the wetness of her clothes at the shock she felt, and did jump more than a little. It was only due to her quick reflexes that when she spun to see who belonged to the voice, she did not fall in the mud. Gone was the soldier’s crisp uniform. Gone was the charming smile she had imagined on his face. Gone was the feeling of security she associated with the king’s soldiers. The man before her was still handsome, but a heavy cloak with a hood covering his head draped him in darkest black. His eyes, which she had not been able to get a look at in the shop, were dark and serious. He was tall. More than a half foot taller than she, and that placed him above most men in the valley. His shoulders seemed broader than before, but that might have been because of how close they were in the nighttime storm, or it might have been the thickness of his heavy cloak. She envied the warmth that cloak would provide. In contrast to the wetness on her outside, Danai’s mouth felt like a desert—she said nothing.