Forgotten Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 3)

by Melinda Kucsera

  Forbidden magic.

  A form of wayward magic that was so destructive, so terrible that it had been outlawed long before the High King ever forbade magic in general. A magic that could drive you insane just by tapping into it, and that had persuaded many a sorcerer to jump to his or her death, driven by a madness beyond comprehension.

  The kind of magic that the Coven of Wizards, over a thousand years ago, already decided should never be used again.

  I moved away from the casket, as if jolted by a bolt of electricity. I had to be wrong. Of course, I was wrong. The smell could be anything. Logic demanded it was simply the body decaying at an unnaturally fast pace, as Cullyn had explained.

  Still, every fiber of my being screamed that magic was lingering near that casket, near Freya’s body, and that whatever had happened to her, magic was involved. But for what purpose? Why? And most importantly, by whom?

  Feeling faint, I stepped away from the coffin, and gestured for Cullyn that he could close the lid.

  “Are they all like that?” I asked him. My legs felt wobbly, and I had to focus to keep on standing straight.

  In two days, a man locked in a cage in a nightmare world had taught me that I had access to wayward magic, and then I learned that in the very place where magic should not exist at all, someone was practicing the most dangerous form of wayward magic: forbidden magic.

  When entering the Red Keep, I thought I had walked straight into the lion’s den but it turns out there was something far more dangerous than lions inside these walls.

  “Yes,” Cullyn replied. “Why? What is it?” His eyes darted left to right as he scanned my face.

  Can I trust him?

  I met his gaze and tried to appear calm while my heart raced in my chest. Balling my hands into fists, I stood up straight. Calm down.

  “It’s nothing,” I said with a blank face. “Nothing at all. It scared me a little, that’s all.”

  Cullyn frowned and kept staring at me, obviously trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or not. “You’re hiding something from me,” he said eventually.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but then closed it again. If I told Cullyn that I thought forbidden magic was at play here, what then? Would it evolve in chaos, with every Red Priest under the roof trying to find a magic wielder amongst them—the most likely suspect being yours truly, who would only get saved of suspicion by the fact that this had been going on for much longer than the small amount of time I had spent inside the Red Keep?

  How could I tell Cullyn that one of the people in his congregation was not just a magic user, but by far the worst kind of mage, someone wielding magic so rotten that it had been forbidden for centuries?

  “I…” I tried to find the right words. Even though I didn’t know him that well, lying to Cullyn felt wrong. On the other hand, how could I trust him? He hadn’t exactly kept it a secret that he hated magic wielders, and this would only fuel his hatred.

  “You don’t trust me,” Cullyn said matter-of-factly. “Which I don’t exactly blame you for, but if you know anything that could shed some light on this…” He gestured at the closed casket, the final resting place for Freya, “then tell me. Please.”

  “You said this is your God’s doing,” I countered. “Then maybe you should ask your God what is happening to his disciples.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I sat back down, an unnatural cold chilling me to the bone.

  I thought my worst nightmare would be to face the Red God, but if my suspicions were correct, I was about to face something potentially worse.

  Forbidden magic.

  Chapter Three

  Cullyn and I kept vigil for the rest of the day. Around nightfall, more grey robes came swarming in, and I spotted Reslyn and Tamrin. Everyone looked stoic, some a little pale, but like this morning, no one shed any tears.

  Under the guidance of Cullyn, who had uttered only a handful of words to me for the remainder of the day, we took turns digging a hole in the soil of the graveyard outside, in which Freya would be entombed forever.

  I was glad the monotony of digging up dirt at least gave me some purpose, while allowing my mind room to think.

  Perhaps the library of the Red Keep had some books on the topic of forbidden magic. But what were the odds the fanatic Red Priests hadn’t burned those volumes yet, in an effort to rid the world of magic? Secondly, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the library of the Red Keep; I couldn’t even join my fellow students there for runecraft.

  Without access to knowledge, I could only rely on what my mother had taught me about forbidden magic, which was next to nothing. I only had one other alternative, which sounded very pleasant.

  I could ask Veritas. He seemed to know his way around wayward magic, so perhaps he knew a thing or two about forbidden magic as well. Downside was that I still didn’t completely trust Veritas.

  I handed my shovel to Thor, who took over digging from me while I moved aside. We all stood outside wordlessly, while a drizzle of rain poured down from the sky, soaking our clothes. The Goddess of Death didn’t collect a soul until twenty-four hours after their death, and I wondered if Freya’s spirit was still lingering around.

  I looked at Cullyn and caught him staring at me. My heart nearly tumbled out of my chest.

  He’s just staring at you because he’s suspicious you’ll do something reckless or dangerous, I told myself, while I kept staring at him. He’s not interested in you. You’re a mage, and he hates mages.

  Yet, the part of me that wasn’t rational and didn’t use its brain but rather its heart, hoped that maybe, just maybe, he was looking at me for a reason other than that he didn’t trust me. That the connection I had felt this afternoon, when we had held hands, was real and not a figment of my imagination.

  After what felt like an eternity but was only a few seconds, Cullyn pulled his gaze away and focused on the burial site. “Looks about ready,” he said. “It’s time.”

  Six disciples lifted the coffin carrying Freya’s remains and lowered it into the grave.

  Reslyn appeared next to me and squeezed my hand. “She’s in a better world, now.”

  I blinked at her, wondering why the half-Elf had come to give me comfort, when I realized tears were rolling down my cheeks.

  Gasping, I lifted my hand to my cheek, touching the wet substance.

  I focused on Cullyn again, realizing he was looking at me curiously.

  As an Empath, I felt the emotions of everyone around me. Of the stoic disciples trained to keep the pain hidden inside. I felt all of it, if I wanted to or not, and like a sponge, I absorbed their pain. These tears weren’t mine—they were theirs.

  What they couldn’t let go, I couldn’t keep in.

  If only Cullyn didn’t realize my tears were due to the remnants of my powers still being accessible to me, rather than safely locked up, sealed by the rune the Red Priests had burned onto my forehead.

  Tamrin started singing, a song I recognized as one of the most sung funeral hymns in the Seven Kingdom. The shapeshifter had a beautiful, melodious voice.

  The song told of strength, life, love, and forgiveness.

  The rain drizzled on while Tamrin sang of birth and rebirth, which was beautiful and tragic at the same time, and I cried a river of tears for a girl I barely even knew.

  Chapter Four

  One by one, the other acolytes vanished back inside the Red Keep, retreating to their rooms. Reslyn and Tamrin were the last to go, after I urged them to, leaving just Cullyn and I.

  Something had changed between us. I felt the change of energy the moment Reslyn and Tamrin left. Maybe it had been our conversation this afternoon, or him noticing my crying earlier, but something had shifted, and I wasn’t entirely sure yet if it was good or bad.

  “Why did you cry?” Cullyn asked suddenly, shattering the silence of the night. “You didn’t know her that well.”

  “I…” I licked my lips. “I feel others’ emotions quite strongly.” The explanat
ion sounded stupid, but what could I tell him? That it was because I still had access to the magic I wasn’t supposed to have, and I was an Empath witch?

  “Clearly.” He didn’t seem convinced by my response.

  I sat down, despite the rain having soaked the soil. I wanted to feel grounded, connected to something other than the flimsy emotions of others. Me. I needed to connect to myself, to my emotions, my own being.

  Cullyn sat down next to me. Every inch of where his arm touched mine was on fire, alight with a sensation I had never felt before.

  Being an Empath meant it was difficult for me to make out where my emotions ended, and someone else’s began. I couldn’t make out if the butterflies swarming in my stomach were conjured by my own feelings, or if what I felt had somehow blended with what Cullyn was feeling.

  The pale moon reflected on the Red Priest’s features, and I resisted the urge to touch him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “For how rude I was to you at first. I… It wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have treated you that way.”

  His apology took me by surprise. “I… I lied,” I blurted out. “I mean…” Pulling my knees to my chest, I continued, “I think something magical killed Freya. When I told you nothing was wrong this afternoon, I was lying.”

  “Something magical?” Cullyn frowned. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because of how she died, and what happened to her corpse. Just a general feeling.” I shrugged, not quite knowing how to explain to him without telling him I could still sense magic.

  “The Red God’s powers killed her,” Cullyn said. “Not magic.”

  “Do you trust me?” I asked him suddenly.

  “I don’t really know you that well yet, but I want to trust you.”

  His honesty touched me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I want to prove to you that you can trust me.”

  “It takes a while before I trust someone, Saleyna. Especially since you’re…” He seemed to struggle to find the right words. “Since you’re one of them.”

  “What if I’m right?” I asked him, my voice hoarse. “What if Freya’s death is not the Red God’s doing, but the work of something wicked that has infiltrated the Red Keep?”

  “You’re wrong. Altheia would know. She’s the High Priestess.” A drop of rain landed on top of Cullyn’s nose.

  “She doesn’t know magic. Not the way I do. I…” I had to be careful of what to say next. “If you trust me, then don’t close my door tonight. Don’t lock it.” If he left my door open, I could sneak into the library and browse for any books related to forbidden magic.

  Cullyn opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His gaze travelled to our interlocked hands. “I can’t do that.”

  “No one else is locked up in here. Why do you lock me up?”

  “If you transcend to the white rank, then your door can be left open at night,” the Red Priest said. “Not sooner.”

  “If I’m not treated like the others, how will I ever be accepted by the Red God to participate in the initiation ritual then?” I asked him. “And if I am, and we feel—like we did yesterday with Freya—that I won’t survive, will you let me go then?”

  I was careful to remind him that we, both of us, had felt last night that Freya wouldn’t survive. Cullyn had suffered the same sense of foreboding as I had, a remnant of the magic that had once flown through all the creatures living on this planet, but that the Red God and his priests were too blind to notice.

  Perhaps boundaries for magic use needed to be established, and forbidden magic I could certainly agree led to nothing but despair, but to go from that to banning all magic…

  “I… I don’t know.” Cullyn yanked his hand away and stood up. “You’re coming too close, Saleyna. There are lines we shouldn’t cross.”

  I veered up straight. Cullyn tried to guard his feelings, but I sensed his emotions flaring up in the same way mine did. Two dancers moving on a rhythm only they could hear. “Why?”

  “Because it’s dangerous to do so,” he whispered. “Because it won’t end well.”

  “Cullyn…” I spoke his name like a prayer and reached for him at the same moment he reached for me.

  And then a shrill, ear-piercing wail exploded from Freya’s grave.

  Chapter Five

  I clamped my hands to my ears and dropped to my knees, trying to drown out the horrible sound cutting through marrow and bone.

  “What is it?” Cullyn asked as he knelt next to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t hear that?” I grimaced as I tried to block out the noise.

  “I don’t hear anything.” Cullyn held on to my elbows and tried to help me stand up.

  As sudden as the noise had erupted, it stopped.

  I dropped my arms and looked at Cullyn apologetically. “I…You’re sure you didn’t hear anything?”

  “Nothing. You look pale, though. Maybe you should sit down.” He tried to help me, but the moment I turned around, I gasped for air and covered my mouth with my hand.

  Freya.

  Sitting on top of her freshly dug grave, her hands digging into the soil, the pitiful form looked exactly like her corpse did: a withered skeleton of skull and bone.

  “You… You…” I pointed at the ghoul digging into the dirt. “You see that, right?”

  “I don’t see anything.” Frustration crawled into Cullyn’s voice. “What is it, Saleyna? What do you see?”

  “Freya’s ghost. Or a monster. Or a mix of both.” My arm shook, fear washing over me.

  Cullyn bit his bottom lip. “We kept vigil next to her, we buried her, her spirit shouldn’t be lingering around here. She should’ve passed on.”

  I swallowed hard, gathering my courage. Freya, or what was left of her, was still digging furiously into the soil, as if she wanted to exhume her own corpse. She probably didn’t realize she was dead or wasn’t ready to accept it yet.

  “Freya.” I tried to get her attention, but she didn’t react to her own name. Grimacing, I put a hand on her shoulder.

  The ghoul startled and turned around abruptly. The hideous skull was inches away from my face, those empty eye sockets chilling me to the bone.

  “Freya,” I repeated now I had her attention. “You’re dead. You shouldn’t be here. We prayed to the Red God that he would take you to the light.” Which was the least he could do, given his own ritual killed her, but of course I didn’t say that out loud.

  The ghoul shook her head, her long hair dancing around her skeleton face. “I can’t. No light.” She grabbed my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin. Her strength was overwhelming, otherworldly. “Killed me,” she screeched. “Murdered me!”

  “Who killed you?” I asked her, moving along with her erratic movements so she would keep her attention on me. “Tell me.”

  “Red God. Not. Initiation.” Freya frantically jerked her head from left to right. Her fingers were leaving bruises on my skin. “Not… sacrifice.”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t an initiation ritual that you were put through, but a sacrifice?” I asked her, each word another revelation I didn’t want to hear. “But why?”

  “Red God.” Freya’s claws drew blood now, so hard was she pressing into my skin. “Cage. Betrayal.”

  She rattled off the words like a child being forced to remember a rhyme in class. “Betrayal. Betrayal!” she screamed now, chattering her teeth. Closer and closer, the skull approached me, those eye sockets peering into my soul. “Sacrifice!” she screeched, her mouth inches away from me.

  I tried to pull back, but Freya gripped me like a vice. “Sacrifice! Betrayal!” She screamed the words, repeating them like a cadenza of death, each time louder and louder in a horrible crescendo that shattered my eardrums.

  Pain was all around me. From her nails drawing blood to her voice wailing like a banshee. I closed my eyes, trying to drone out the terrible sound and the pain and…

  Suddenly, the pressure was gone, and the screeching stopped.

&
nbsp; When I snapped my eyes open, Cullyn stood in front of me, panting. He held up his hands, as if he had pushed someone away. Freya. He had pushed her off of me, and she had vanished.

  I collapsed to the ground. Cullyn stood next to me in a second, wrapping his arms around me. I felt cold, so cold, as my teeth chattered in my mouth and goosebumps appeared all over my arms.

  “What did you see? What did she say?” Cullyn asked while he held me in his arms, sharing some of his warmth with me.

  “I saw Freya,” I told him. “A ghoul-like version of her. A ghost. Something that shouldn’t exist. And she…” I closed my eyes, trying to banish the ghastly memory. “She told me that it wasn’t an initiation ritual at all.”

  Cullyn’s eyes popped open. “Then, what was it?”

  I took a deep breath, staring at the mound of dirt where seconds ago, I had seen the most terrifying thing I had witnessed in my entire life.

  “A sacrifice,” I replied. “She was a sacrifice.”

  Chapter Six

  Veritas scolded me for not being focused enough. It was the tenth time he had said the exact same thing—that I should ignore all other thoughts in my mind and focus on one thing only. My magic. Channeling it, balancing it, controlling it.

  But whenever I tried to balance my magic, the haunting image of Freya’s ghost popped back up in my mind, and my concentration vanished like snow in the sun.

  “I’m sorry,” I said when I failed again.

  “What’s troubling you?” Veritas crossed his legs. He was sitting opposite of me, our knees nearly bumping into each other. He still looked perfect in every sense of the word; a being so flawless it shouldn’t exist.

  But personality-wise, he wasn’t particularly patient, although he tried his best to be. I got the impression that he tried to be a lot of things that didn’t quite come natural to him: kind, patient, caring. Sometimes I wondered if he was just being kind to me because he had no one else to talk to, or because he saw me as a means to an end.