Forgotten Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 3)

by Melinda Kucsera

  King Ase tossed another log on the fire. He hated himself for stopping but his men could stand no more. They needed to bed down for the night. How many days it had been, there was no telling. The scale landed more on the months side than days, his bones told him. Ase had long since lost count, regardless.

  His men gathered their coats and pelts into a pile and strung them from one tree to the next, building a futile shelter from the blistering winds of the Rowan Forest. Of all the places for them to settle, the Rowan Forest was the harshest. The sun beat heartily down on any man on the other side of the tree line, but inside the wood... whiteout misery.

  Ase shivered as he heard his Da’s voice, warning him that the Gods had long ago forsaken these woods. And how he found himself trapped in them, in search of his Queen.

  How could he return home without her? The kingdom would never forgive him if harm befell their beloved Queen.

  “Sire,” one of the bannermen interrupted Ase’s brooding.

  “Yes, Mac?”

  “We hae a bedding set out fer ye. Please take it. The men are worrisome.”

  “I shall remain here.” Ase tucked his white pelt over his frozen boots. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

  Mac shuffled his feet and looked down at the packed snow beneath them. “It’s been a fortnight, yer highness. Let the sentries keep watch, just this once.”

  The bannerman didn’t add that it was their job, not the king’s, but Ase heard it all the same. To deny his soldiers their right to uphold their duties was a dishonor to them all, one he’d thrust upon them for too long already.

  Ase stood and stretched his aching bones. His head pounded at the rush of cold blood. “Yer right, Mac. I’m no good te ye like this. Tell the sentries to widen the perimeter and wake me at the slightest hint of trouble.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll watch o’er them maself.” Mac held two fingers over his heart and kept them there until Ase returned the gesture.

  King Ase began to throw his pelt around his shoulders, then caught sight of Mac’s threadbare wrap, two sizes too small. The loyal soldier had been with their regimen so long as to have grown out of his clothes. A pang of pride tinged with despair tore at Ase. He held the thick pelt out to Mac who quickly shrank backward, shaking his head.

  “I willna hae ye frozen stiff when I awaken, soldier.” Ase shoved the pelt into Mac’s chest and let go.

  Mac’s quick reflexes swiped the coat from midair and had it over his shoulders before Ase turned to go.

  Moments later, Ase was under the thin shelter, huddled with his men. He allowed the sweet warmth of the mass of bodies to overtake him and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Five

  Jim climbed the big metal slide with Ridire-solas tied to his waist with an old rope he found in the barn. Last year, the slide was too high and scary. But now, Jim had Ridire-solas by his side. The rhythmic clank of the sword slapping the rail with each step made Jim’s heart thump in his chest. It sounded like the drum beat of his own theme song, like those superheroes on the television set. As he reached the last step and threw one leg over the top, he imagined an announcer with a very dep voice telling the audience that he was about to attempt a feat no other man in history was ever brave enough to try.

  The slide was as high as a mountain. The ground looked so far away; he would need to grow wings to make it down alive. Jim pulled Ridire-solas from its loop and looked up. The dragon soared over the trees, breathing fire on every kid on the playground. In the distance, he heard his Ma crying, ‘Jim, save me!’ he had one shot.

  “I’m comin’, Ma!” Jim yelled and prepared himself for battle.

  Just then, something pushed Jim from behind and sent him tumbling down the slide. Ridire-solas banged the metal edges and so did Jim’s head. The whole way down, he didn’t get one swipe at the dragon. When he reached the bottom with a thud, the air flew out of him. Kids came running from the far reaches of the playground to laugh and point.

  Big Mike slid down on top of him and growled, “I said go, dummy!” He jumped over Jim, still laying on the ground trying to breathe, but not all the way. Big Mike’s foot caught the side of Jim’s leg and twisted.

  The pain caused Jim to gasp one good time and forced air back into his lungs. It also filled him with a fire that burned hotter than any dragon’s breath.

  Jim crawled away from the slide and got to his feet. Without thinking, he whacked Ridire-solas hard across Big Mike’s back.

  Gasps and whispers rose up from the growing crowd. More than one kid said some version of ‘My mom said he’s not right in the head.’ Their words enraged Jim so much he didn’t care when Big Mike’s big fist plowed into his nose. Jim felt a pop and hot liquid oozed down his lips. A couple girls shrieked at the sight of his blood.

  “Freak!” Big Mike spat in Jim’s direction.

  Soon the chant echoed through the playground.

  Jim felt no pain, despite the blood now pouring from his face. He took a step toward Big Mike, who took a subconscious step backward.

  Jim tightened both hands around Ridire-solas's hilt. “Take it back.”

  Big Mike’s eyes widened, but both boys knew he’d never give in. Instead, he raised the stakes by shouting, “Freak!” and then whispering only to Jim, “Your stupid fake dragons can’t hurt you, but I can.” Big Mike reared back to give Jim another punch and Jim swung Ridire-solas at the last second.

  Sword and fist clashed in midair and a loud crack stopped all the clamor at once.

  As Big Mike crumpled to the ground cradling his hand, Jim leapt into the air to finish him off. A grown-up yanked him back by his shirt before he could get another swing in.

  The whole world went red and Jim heard himself screaming like a wild animal, but he couldn’t stop it.

  Chapter Six

  James barreled through the school doors. “Where’s my lad?” his eyes searched frantically for any sign of Jim, for what happened. He’d felt a little better when they first pulled up and there was no fire truck or ambulance. But now, with the lad nowhere in sight, he began to think the worst again.

  Principal Franklin’s heavy steps echoed around the corner. Jim ran toward them as the large man appeared, disheveled and with a stern look on his face. “This way, Mr. Craig.”

  “Where’s my lad?”

  “This way,” the man repeated, not kindly.

  “Is he hurt? Please, tell me.”

  Principal Franklin pursed his lips and led James to a small private room. “Have a seat,” he said.

  James entered the room expecting to find Jim laid out on a slab, dead. But all he found in the room was a table with three official looking people in suits and one short man in a doctor coat. James stopped cold. “Where’s my lad?

  One of the official men began speaking in a low, clipped manner. “My name is Ableman. I’m head of the school board. We felt it was imperative to discuss the matter with you first, Mr. Craig, seeing as how this has been an ongoing situation.” He paused to plaster a kind-seeming smile across his smooth face. “I’ve been monitoring young Jimmy -”

  “Jim,” James corrected.

  “Yes, Jim.” Mr. Ableman nodded, but cut his eyes over to the short doctor as if proving a point. “We’re all aware of the difficulties your poor son, and yourself of course, have had to endure these past couple years. Losing a parent is hard at any age, but for a small child, it’s particularly devastating. This is such an important stage in development.” Mr. Ableman looked to James with raised eyebrows as if waiting for him to agree.

  “Is my lad alright?” James looked to each person in the room, his gaze finishing on the lab coat of the doctor beside him. The name tag read ‘Emilio Cortes, Psychiatrist, Wellvue Manor.’

  James shoved his chair back, making an awful scrape on the tile floor. “Where’s my lad?” His voice was raised and shrill, but he couldn’t help it. “Where’s my lad?”

  Across from him, the only female in the room reached out a hand to rest on his forearm. In a
low, calming tone, she said, “Mr. Craig, we care about Jim, really we do.” Jim recognized her from Margaret’s funeral. She brought flowers and cards from the school. She was some kind of counselor, and he remembered her as being nice. “But we have to think of what’s best for all the children here at Ridgeview.”

  James stared at her with narrowed eyes.

  She removed her hand but continued. “We believe we are no longer equipped to handle a child with Jim’s unique requirements.” Her eyes flicked to the doctor them back at James. “We think it’s best if he receives professional, long-term, care in a more structured environment.”

  “Where’s my lad? Ye produce my boy right this instant or -” James stood, but a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

  The Janitor, James thought his name was Rupert, stood over him. The man was huge, ex-military for sure. James didn’t sit back down, but he remained still and didn’t make any sudden movements. In a calmer voice, he said, “I need to see my lad. Why are ye not tellin’ me he’s alright?”

  “Mr. Craig,” the doctor finally spoke up. “Your son has been in a rather serious altercation with another child.”

  “A fight? Ye called me from the fields over a fight? Are ye mad? Boys fight. I’m sure they’ll be pals again tomorrow. This is -”

  The kind woman’s face twisted in a pitiful frown. “Mr. Craig, Jim doesn’t have any friends. None of the children will play with him because of his odd behavior. These wild visions of battles and dragons...” She sighed. “He has no friends,” she repeated.

  “Yer sayin’ it’s his fault? Ye let these bastards hurt my lad and ye have the gall te say it’s his fault?”

  Principal Franklin rose from his chair and leaned over the table as close as he could get to James’s face. “Yes!” he yelled, spittle flying across the room. “It is his fault. He's wild and unruly and and... and dangerous! He’s expelled!”

  “Yer crazy. The lot of ye! Jim could never hurt anyone. He’s a wee lad.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Mr. Craig, he beat another child with a sword – one he said he made himself. That’s not normal behavior for a by his age. I’m afraid he’s going to need intensive psychological help.” The doctor turned toward the others. “As Ms. Westin said earlier, he needs to be watched over in a structured environment. We believe it’s best if he came with me to the hospital where he can get the help he needs.”

  “Yer all mad. I’m no givin’ ye my lad to poke and prod inside his head. He has a strong imagination is all. ‘Tain’t no harm in that. Ye bring me my lad right now.”

  Nobody moved.

  “Now!”

  Principal Franklin nodded at Rupert who opened the door.

  A young nurse came tiptoeing into the room with Jim trailing quietly behind her.

  The lad looked like he’d seen a war. Both his eyes were black, his nose packed with gauze and more wrapped around his leg.

  James snatched Jim from the nurse and bent down to inspect him further. “Are ye alright, lad?”

  Jim didn’t respond. He just started bawling uncontrollably.

  James stood and pointed to his lad. “Ye call this dangerous? Look what some little prick did to him while ye stood around wi’ yer heads up yer arses! Come, Jim.” James nudged the lad back out the door.

  “Mr. Craig,” the doctor said loud enough for the whole school to hear. “Jim doesn’t know the difference between real and imaginary. These tales of dragons and magical lands have gotten out of hand. He’s living out his fantasies and hurting real children. I must insist he come with me.” The doctor made a move to take Jim’s hand.

  James yanked Jim back and wrapped his arms around the lad. “Over my dead body!” The two marched silently out of the school, all the while James knew a hand would reach out and tear the lad from him at any moment.

  Once they were safe in Wilfred’s truck and Carolyn had pulled out of the parking lot, James turned to Jim. The lad pulled the wooden sword from under his clothes and squeezed the handle over and over as if testing its strength.

  “Ye alright lad? He didn’t hurt ye too bad, did he?”

  Jim looked up, nothing at all behind those big beautiful blue eyes, and whispered, “He’s got her.”

  Chapter Seven

  King Ase awoke to the acrid scent of black smoke. He bolted upright and scrambled for Gwrinhan’s hilt. The camp was eerily silent as he strained to hear the usual sounds of battle. All he could make out was a familiar low rumble at his side, the undisturbed snore of an exhausted soldier.

  Ase gave himself a moment to breathe and check his surroundings, forcing his heart to slow. Other than the smell of smoke, nothing screamed danger. As Ase gathered the rest of his things to step outside, he let himself calm down.

  Laughter and jovial teasing wafted into the shelter behind the smoke. All seemed well.

  “Save me any?” Ase asked the soldiers sitting by the fire and slurping on Nar broth. The men instantly straightened up and got serious. A few even tried to salute with bowls in their hands. He waved them off and told them to carry on.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Ase caught sight of the black smoke that woke him. “What’s burning?”

  “Sir?” Mac’s younger brother, Seth, asked. His face screwed up tight in confusion.

  “What did ye burn in the fire? It’s rancid.”

  Seth looked to the fire, sniffed, then back to his king. “Nothing, sir. Wood.” He pointed to a pile of logs to his right. “Same’s always.”

  Ase stepped closer to the pile, took a deep breath, then shook his head. He walked to the fire, leaned over it as close as he could bear, and inhaled. The odor nearly knocked him off his feet. “The black smoke...” Ase coughed.

  The soldiers looked to each other then back to King Ase. Seth was the only one to speak up. “It’s not black, your highness.”

  Ase stuck out his hand toward Seth’s bowl and made a gesture which clearly meant ‘gimme.’ Seth obeyed.

  Ase whispered to the bowl, “With open mind and Odin’s eye, I ask to see what is nigh.” Then he swirled the broth until it rose up the sides and threatened to spill. Once satisfied, Ase dripped the bowl’s contents into the fire and repeated his incantation, adding at the end “Show me my blood.”

  As the last of the broth sizzled in the fire, the black smoke churned above. It separated into three funnel clouds, each with its own image.

  In one, Ase saw his ailing father in a plus bedchamber, thin and pale, arms drawn and withered to his chest, ready to draw his last breath.

  In the next hung a vision of James and his sweet lad being carried forth by a chariot with no beat at the reigns. A woman in the chariot beside James controlled the conveyance with a spokeless wheel. James and the lad appeared distraught and broken. The vision sent a wave of remorse over Ase for his part in their pain. He vowed to make things right by them, but first, he turned to the final cloud.

  Queen Margaret, sword in hand, fought in a fierce battle with three heavily armored men. Sweat dripped into her eyes, yet she never lost focus. Behind her, up high on a dais, sat King Raynor and his dragon, both looking on with smiles across their faces.

  Ase swiped the smoke away and each tendril soared into the sky. One dissipated high above them as if it had nowhere to go. The other turned back the way they had come through the Rowan Forest.

  The third wisp of smoke shot through the air, onward.

  “Come! To Ravengard!” King Ase ran off deeper into the Rowan trees to rescue his Queen.

  Chapter Eight

  James sat in his favorite chair, picking at the fuzz balls on the armrest. The world felt so wring, like everyone was out to get him, to get his lad, to tear them apart. Now, to make matters worse, James could have sworn he felt eyes on him. First, in Wilfred’s truck, then later as he made the lad a sandwich, someone was watching him.

  James forced himself to take a calming breath. Of course there was no magic eye following him. He was starting to sound as crazy as they said the lad
was.

  Ah, the lad. James watched the back door leading to the yard and the barn where the lad spent all his time. Was he right to let the lad run off and play after everything that happened at the school? What else could he do? Jim saw the things he saw. There was no convincing him otherwise. He’d wasted so much breath trying to when the lad was small and the story never changed. No sense punishing the lad for something he couldna control. Maybe he would grow out of it still.

  James squirmed in his chair. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Someone was watching him right now.

  The house looked as it always had. No sign of people hiding in shadows. No magic eye or dragon lurking anywhere.

  At the thought of magic and dragons, a single word echoed through his head. “Ase. Ase. Ase.” It played over and over, drowning out all other thoughts. James knew that word. It wasn’t a word. It was a person.

  Warm, kind, loving emotions flooded James. Flashes of his dreams, fighting back to back with someone, with Ase. Everything hit James at once. They weren’t dreams, just like Jim’s weren’t. It happened. Margaret didn’t die if cancer. He took her. He...Raynor... King Raynor of Ravengard and his dragon stole Margaret from them.

  James jumped from his seat, frantic. He had to find her. He had to get back to Valonde.

  The house shifted into focus all at once. Like waking from a dream the fog lifted from his eyes. Dark, shadowy corners he’d never paid no mind to were visible once more. Down the hallway, just outside his bedroom door, stood a closet James hadn’t seen in two years.

  Chapter Nine

  Jim paced the old barn, mindlessly swiping Ridire-solas up and down the long open space. He'd really done it now. He didn’t mean to. And Big Mike sure had it coming. Big Mike had had it coming since Kindergarten.

  Jim shook his head as the memory of Big Mike starting the Freak mantra right after Jim’s Ma fake died. Things were bad enough already without reminding himself of how bad they were back then.