The Best of Deep Magic- Anthology One

by Jeff Wheeler

  He looked up the street and Kira looked after him. She thought she saw Hyp, standing with a disheveled appearance, his shirt untucked and his pants wrinkled. Something about him seemed different from the last time she’d seen him. He smiled and waved at Galen, pointing to his stomach. Galen seemed not to notice.

  Kira thought she saw Ms. Rubbles hurry down the street as well, then decided she must be mistaken. When she had last seen her, Ms. Rubbles had needed a cane and had a soft sheen of sweat across her face. The woman Kira saw looked different, more relaxed and younger than Ms. Rubbles.

  Her father took the page from Galen and held it up to the gray light, frowning as he read it. “If this works, then the Guild might pay dearly for the secret. I wouldn’t be surprised if we can trade the remaining parchment for . . .” He looked over at Kira. “But you don’t want to go to Annendel, do you?”

  She coughed, feeling a bubble of blood come up with it. “It won’t change anything. And I’m . . . I’m just so tired.” She was relieved to finally admit it, but she hated the look on his face. “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered. She knew that the healing she could find in Annendel was not the healing she needed. What she needed—what her family needed—was nothing more than time together. No healer could help her with that. All that she wanted was to return to Duras, to be a family, for whatever time remained.

  Kira grabbed her father’s hand. He did not pull away as he so often did. She smiled up at him and, after a moment, he smiled sadly back at her, finally seeming to understand what she needed.

  Her father handed the page back to Galen and then nodded. He stepped over to her and slipped his arm around her shoulders, holding her up. He let out a pent-up breath, deflated and defeated. His voice came out as a whisper as he said, “Then let’s go home.”

  About D.K. Holmberg

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author D.K. Holmberg lives in Minnesota and is the author of multiple series including The Cloud Warrior Saga, The Dark Ability, The Endless War, and The Lost Garden. When he's not writing, he's chasing around his two active children.

  AUTUMN AT THE DRAGON'S CAVE

  By Kathryn Yelinek | 6,000 words

  Shaya, my dragon, my master, my friend, had been away for two weeks when the storm hit. An early autumn squall barreled down the mountains and buried our valley in ankle-deep snow. Once the storm had passed, I drew on my boots, wrapped myself in my dragon-feather cloak, and went to check for damage.

  Snowmelt dripped from bowed pine branches. It beaded off my cloak as I checked on Shaya’s cave, its door still locked. The cattle were safe in their meadow, and the greenhouse undamaged, its glass panes glittering. Everything looked tidy.

  Blue jays shrieked as I strode past the springhouse, on the way back to my cabin. Below their noise, a woman moaned.

  I spun. In summer, villagers trudged the day’s walk into the mountains to seek Shaya’s healing. But for the last month, the only human voice I’d heard had been my own baritone.

  Against the eastern wall of the springhouse, lit by golden sunlight, a woman huddled in a cloak too thin for the recent storm. Snow crusted the hem of her dress. Ice glistened in her black hair at the edge of her hood. Beneath it, her lips showed blue.

  I dropped to my knees in front of her. “What’s your name? Are you hurt?”

  She muttered something incoherent. Her cloak rustled; it seemed she tried to turn toward me, but her movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.

  “It’s okay,” I said, and hoped it was true. Shaya wasn’t here. I could only pray my meager healing skills would be enough. I reached for her hand. “You’re safe. I’ll see you get warmed up.”

  Her fingers wouldn’t grasp mine; her skin felt cold to the touch. She was past the point of shivering. In desperation, I lifted her bodily from the ground. As I did, her hood slipped back. I gasped. I was staring into the face of Bleu Chandler, daughter of the village’s late candlemaker.

  Bleu, the only woman I’d ever loved.

  * * *

  Dragons are funny creatures when it comes to trespassers on their land. Shaya tolerated the villagers who sought her out because she enjoyed their reverence, and they never stayed past sundown. Me, her latest human companion, she welcomed because I was useful. She needed someone to uncork the wine, dry the herbs, and corral the cattle—all tasks difficult to do with four-inch claws. The arrangement suited me. Still brooding over my broken heart, I preferred the company of a dragon to the pitying stares of villagers.

  Or I did, until Bleu’s pale face emerged from that hood.

  What will I tell Shaya? I fretted as I peeled off Bleu’s wet things (keeping my eyes averted as much as possible) and slipped her into my best tunic and trousers. Behind us, the hearth fire poured out heat. When will Shaya be back? I wondered as I tucked Bleu (and a bed warmer, not me) into the cabin’s single cot, under my dragon-down blanket. Already I imagined Bleu staying.

  My cabin suited a bachelor hermit who needed only a cot, a chest, a table and stool, and a hearth kept burning with dragon fire. Still, two could fit. Plus, my braided rug cheered up the room, and on a shelf over the cot, I’d laid out my collection of birds’ eggs. Bleu had always loved things that flew.

  While I boiled mint tea, thinking she would like the smell, I listed in my head ways to spruce up the cabin. As I poured myself a mug, Bleu shifted on the bed.

  “Ryeland Baker? Is that you?”

  Her voice was throaty, deeper than I remembered. My heart didn’t care. It pounded against my ribs, and suddenly I felt seven years younger, a lad of eighteen.

  I turned, wiping my palms on my trousers. She looked older than she should have for a woman of twenty-four. Gray streaked her hair, and her flushed skin stretched thin over sunken cheeks. Life with the Sisters of the Ever-Burning Hearth must have been hard. Still, she was more beautiful to me than any woman in the village.

  And she was looking at me as she once had, as I’d hardly dared to hope that she would, as if she’d found the one thing that would make her happy. “How are you back in town? Did you leave the dragon?”

  To my shame, I didn’t answer. Let her think for a little while that she’d made it back to the village. “How are you feeling?”

  “Warm.” She nuzzled the top of the blanket. Once, she’d nuzzled me like that. “And pleased to see you.”

  That was my Bleu, direct as always. I poured a mug of tea to give myself something to do and took it to her. “Think you can drink something?”

  She nodded and pushed herself up. She arched an eyebrow at finding herself in my tunic, but she took the mug. I sat on my stool and sipped tea, content for the moment to sit beside her, smelling mint. I remembered our engagement night, lying beside her by the village stream, watching stars shoot across the summer sky.

  When only dregs remained in my mug, I asked, “Will the sisters come after you?”

  She shook her head. “They let me go, said my service was fulfilled.”

  I coughed. I put my mug down quickly. I’d dreamed about that, but those dreams had faded years before. “I thought you had eighteen more years.”

  “I’d rather explain only once. Could you get my parents?”

  I bit my lip. I asked, “Didn’t anyone write you last winter?”

  She frowned. Slowly, her gaze never leaving my face, she set her mug on the blanket, her fingers still wrapped around the mug’s sides. “Why should they have?”

  “Your parents”—how I ached, being the one to tell her—“passed at midwinter. Pneumonia.”

  Her eyes widened. She pressed a fist to her mouth. Seven years before, I would have gone to her, would have hugged her close and stroked her hair. Now, unsure of our relationship, I only cupped her hand in mine, feeling helpless and sad. They had been good folks, her parents, and had been as devastated as I was when the temple tither selected Bleu as payment.

  “The house was sold to pay for the funerals,” I said after a time. “There’s nothing left, I’m afraid. But you
can stay here. For now,” I added hastily.

  She stared out my window, her thin hand gripping mine. I wondered what she was thinking, if she could find solace in the sight of sun and sky. I hated to think of her alone in her grief.

  She shook her head. “It’s nice of you, but I can’t stay, can I? The dragon won’t let me.”

  Of course she’d figured it out. “You can for now. Shaya’s away on research.”

  “How long until she gets back?”

  My heart leaped. Maybe Bleu would consider staying. “I don’t know. She’s always back before full winter, but other than that, I can’t say.”

  She chewed her lip. “I’ve imagined finding you again for so long. I can’t believe I’m here. But I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  “No trouble. I’d like to have you here.”

  “You never did have good taste,” she teased, the same as she had years before.

  And just like that, the years disappeared. She was my Bleu, I was her Ryeland, and our love was our own. Her lips looked as soft as ever. It had been so long since we’d kissed. I leaned toward her.

  She stopped me with an upraised hand. “It’s too late for that, dear one.”

  I blinked. Had I imagined the look in her eyes? “Why?”

  She took a deep breath. “I won’t stay here long enough to become a burden.”

  Instantly my body went on alert. I knew, in the twisting of my gut, that I wouldn’t want to hear what she was about to tell me. Yet I couldn’t turn away.

  “You’ll never be a burden,” I protested.

  She met my gaze. “Ryeland, the sisters let me go because I’m dying.” She pressed a hand to her side. “I’ll be buried alongside my parents by the solstice.”

  * * *

  The hard lump in Bleu’s side lurked just below her ribs. It was a ravenous lump, sucking her energy and appetite. And hope. Seven years cloistered inside a temple had withered her belief in miracles.

  “I just want a little peace,” she told me the next morning, her face turned toward the window. “I want to see the sky and the clouds and to watch the birds streaming south. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll see Shaya fly.”

  “You can’t give up!” I banged my spoon. “It might not be too late. Shaya could still heal you.”

  She shook her head. “I know my body. This is beyond even dragon healing.” She pushed her bowl away. “I don’t want to prolong this. I’m not scared of dying. It’s the long decline that terrifies me. Promise you won’t let me linger.”

  “I can’t promise that.” Losing her once had broken my heart. I didn’t think I’d survive a second blow. “At our engagement, I promised to care for you. Don’t you remember?”

  “You must have something,” she continued. “Some plant to end my pain when it becomes too much.”

  “Just hold on until Shaya gets back. Please.”

  She pressed her lips together. “The pain’s not too bad yet.”

  I breathed out. I wasn’t going to lose her, not if I could help it. And for now: “Let’s get you under the sky.”

  I wrapped her in my dragon-feather cloak and helped her hobble outside. We stepped into a world topped by a crisp autumn blue. She beamed. A man would risk much to see that smile.

  At her direction, I helped her sit on a stump just outside the cabin door. With her back to the wall, the sky and the valley stretched before her. Her smile grew wider.

  With that smile in mind and after I was sure she was tucked securely in the cloak, I walked to Shaya’s greenhouse, glinting behind the kitchen garden. Almost too small for Shaya to enter, the glass ceiling reached twice my height. Inside grew our cold-hardy herbs and greens.

  Usually I enjoyed puttering in the dirt and tending the dragon fire in the central clay oven. Never before, though, had I entered without some task from Shaya to do.

  I paused at the entrance and scanned the sky. My fingers tingled; I felt as though I stood at the entrance to a king’s unguarded counting house. Once inside, I stole through the heat to the raised beds with herbs that Shaya used for stomach pains.

  I snatched sprigs of feverfew, licorice, and chamomile. Even though I was alone, I hid them in a basket and slunk back to the cabin. While Bleu dozed in the sun, I steeped them in a tea. Then I paced the cabin, twisting my hands. Yes, I had stolen the herbs, but I’d done so to fulfill my vow to Bleu. Surely I could care for her until Shaya came back. Then Shaya would cure Bleu and let her stay with me, right? I crossed my fingers and prayed to any god who would listen.

  Around noon, Bleu shifted on her stump. She was awake.

  I brought her a mug. “Something for pain.”

  She raised an eyebrow at the smell but accepted the mug. Before she took a sip, she pointed over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

  I knew what she was pointing at before I turned around. Sure enough, she pointed to the railed platform perched at a dizzying height in an orange-leafed oak tree by Shaya’s cave. My head spun and my stomach dropped just thinking about its distance from the ground. I had to lean against the cabin wall.

  “The treehouse.” I was proud that my voice didn’t wobble. “One of Shaya’s former companions built it.”

  Her gaze lingered on it. I imagined that she breathed in the sight of it more than she breathed in the air around her. A cold dread crept down my spine.

  “What’s it for?” she asked.

  “Fun, I guess.” Although I could not imagine anyone enjoying climbing that high. “Get a dragon’s-eye view of the world.”

  “Is it in good repair?”

  I shuddered. I knelt beside her. “Please don’t think of going up there.”

  She blinked. A frown creased her forehead. “You’re still not good with heights, are you?”

  I shook my head. My face grew hot.

  “It’s okay.” She rubbed my shoulder. “I should be able to get up there without you going. A pulley, maybe.”

  “Half the boards could be rotted through!”

  She scrunched up her face. Then her gaze swung back to the treehouse. I don’t think she realized it, but she licked her lips.

  “Don’t,” I said. Panic made my voice rough. “It’s not safe.”

  The breeze blew feathers from her cape around her chin. I realized I’d grabbed hold of the cape edge, was holding on for dear life.

  “All right.” She slumped back against the wall.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Only later, after the heat had left my face, did I realize she’d never explicitly promised to stay away from the treehouse.

  * * *

  A dragon does as a dragon wishes. Shaya had winged away on many trips during my seven years with her. She left when she wanted and returned as she wished. Never before had I gone to my knees, praying for some sign of when she’d return.

  Over the next three weeks, the nights turned colder. Skeins of geese honked their way south. The walnut trees dropped their leaves, and the sugar maples deepened from orange to red. Bleu grew thinner and thinner.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said one evening when I roasted chestnuts. Their earthy smell filled the cabin.

  “You haven’t eaten all day.”

  She shrugged. Her dress, which I’d washed and patched, hung around her like a loose blanket.

  “You have to eat to keep your strength up.”

  She glared at me. “I’m not hungry. Stop asking.”

  Dread coiled in my stomach. The next morning, I took the iron key from the ring at my belt. It was cold in my hand, an accusation, and I knew I would pay for what I was about to do. Still I strode across dead leaves to Shaya’s cave. For the first time, I unlocked its door without her beside me.

  The cave was massive, stretching high overhead and deep into the mountainside. I felt as small and unwelcome as an ant without her there. I hunched my shoulders and stole past the towering bookshelves and strange models that littered the front of the cave. Toward the back, where the air grew cooler and smelled faintly of salt, I slipped into one
of the niches that held the most valuable medicines.

  I lifted my lantern to see the shelves. My hand shook, causing the light to scatter over the vials. I took a deep breath. Bleu needed this; my tea wasn’t working, and the gods only knew when Shaya would come back.

  Ancient labels named the contents of each jar: serpents’ tongues, bezoar stones, even rock dust from the walls of her own cave, since dragon caves were said to have life-extending properties. Those I passed by, preferring a white stone jar at the far end of the second shelf. I pulled it down and uncorked the top. Inside was enough powdered unicorn horn to buy a castle.

  My breathing sped up to hold such a treasure. Luckily, I didn’t need much. Even a tiny quantity could counteract poison and seal wounds. What better than unicorn horn for an internal hurt that was eating Bleu alive?

  “Shaya forgive me,” I whispered as I helped myself to one of the small cloth bags she gave to visitors. Into it I poured about a dram of the powdered horn. All the way out from the cave, I dreaded a claw on my shoulder, a low growl of Thief!

  Bleu, on the stump by the cabin door, caught one look at my face as I returned and asked, “What’d you do?”

  I froze. The pilfered bag hung awkwardly from one closed fist. I should have made up a story. Yet it was a relief to be caught. I blurted, “I got you some unicorn horn.”

  Her face softened. She didn’t ask where I’d gotten it. It must have been obvious. “Dear one, that was kindly meant, but I’m not going to take it.”

  Anger drummed in my ears. “You can’t give up!”

  “Can’t I?” Sunlight gilded the circles under her eyes. “The tea’s not working. What makes you think this will?”

  “It’s stronger.” A statement, or a prayer? “Much stronger.”

  “All I want is to sit in the sun and enjoy what time I have left with you. Not run after every possible cure.”

  “Just try it, please. Shaya has to come soon.”

  She held out her hand, and I folded my fingers around hers. How very tired she looked.

  “It means that much to you?” she asked.