Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  Fallon squinted to see; the faint bird was perched upon a hanging branch. It resembled a great owl, only it had red feathers and streaks of black on its wings, which contrasted against its white underbelly. “It’s majestic.”

  Pip flew over and landed on Antolin’s shoulder then. “A unicorn and a Bloodlark… Quite a lucky lass you are!”

  They walked upon that road for what felt like an age. Antolin hummed a melodic—entrancing—tune. Fallon felt herself swaying her head from side to side, walking in a deep, deep daze. The world was lit in a soft blur of vivid light and she could hear nothing but his soothing song.

  The fireflies glinted overhead, turning to long streaks of slow light as she walked by. The butterflies landed and rested upon her shoulders and arms as she walked, step after step.

  The sky faded to a blue blur passed the dancing trees.

  But then, as if waking from a deep dream, she looked up to see Antolin standing right in front of her, with his dark eyes opened so wide it startled her and she let out a quick scream. His mouth opened wide, exposing what she saw for the first time as pointy, sharp teeth.

  “You can’t go that way!” he said.

  “What?” she asked, breathing quickly. “What way?”

  “You walked off,” he said. “It took me forever to find you again. Why’d you walk off?”

  “Walk off?” She looked around to see she was at the precipice of a wide canyon, and the sky was a deep, heavy gray, thick with clouds, obscuring the setting sun.

  “You can’t go this way,” he said. “It lives there.”

  Her brow furrowed as she scanned the area.

  “It. It!” he said, now holding onto her shoulders. “Shadine would never forgive me if you fell into its arms.”

  “What do you speak of? What’s out there? I don’t see anything but the gorge, and the desert…”

  He sighed. “I’m only happy I found you when I did. It’s just up there, it’s something everything in the Fae fears; we fear it more than the pull of the afterlife.”

  She continued looking out but saw nothing.

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s head back. I’ll show you some wonderful creatures, puzzling hedge mazes, griffins that live on the highest cliffs.”

  “I want to know about what’s there,” Fallon said. “What could someone as knowing and adventurous as you be afraid of…”

  He closed his eyes, dropping his head. He took a deep breath, and then raised his head back again to give her a cold stare. “That’s where the Centurine lives. No one goes there. No one.”

  “The Centurine?”

  He spoke rapidly: “Yes, yes, the old wizard who was cursed by a demon, and the only thing he could do to escape the horrible nightmares it created in him, was to eat the demon. Turning him into a clear lake full of fish, drinkable water in this barren wasteland, and a silver-haired goddess who swims in it, singing the most beautiful song ever written…”

  “That sounds lovely,” she said. “What’s so wrong about a beautiful thing like that? What’s to be afraid of?”

  “You cannot go there,” he said. “You can never go there. Trust me. It’s there for all time, and for those who look to the water’s edge, a dark fate grips you tightly with its shadowy talons.”

  It was then that she at last caught a glimpse of a sparkling lake in the distance as a single ray of light shone down on its glassy waters.

  Her bottom jaw dropped, and she slowly crept toward it.

  Antolin grabbed her and held her back with both arms squeezing her. “No, you can’t!” he said. “I swore to protect you. Don’t look at it. Close your eyes!”

  The princess heard the most enchanting tune she’d ever heard in her life— it was the beautiful singing of a woman in a voice of smooth silver. It made her feel lighter than a feather swaying in the breeze, more pleasant than a blooming red rose, and reminded her of the days with her and her family gathered around a warm fire in the cold winter months of the castle.

  “I want to see, if only for a glimpse!”

  “No, Princess Fallon!” He pulled her back with all his might, but the power of the Centurine pulled her more strongly. It was beginning to wrap itself around her like a silent spider’s web. “You can’t go, I promised. I promised.”

  A fiery rage swelled in her as she fought to break free.

  “No, let me go. I command you!”

  He pulled her back as strongly as he could muster, with heavy beads of sweat trickling down his brow. “No! You can’t. You can’t leave me like this.”

  Pip flew in and pushed her back with all her might. “Listen to Antoline! You can’t! You just can’t!”

  “Let me go!” Fallon said as the tune flowed through her like a sacred, lost love. “I just want a peek. I just have to dip my toes in. I have an unquenchable thirst. How long have I been in this barren desert?”

  Antoline leaped in front of her then, pushing her as the gravity of the lake reeled her in.

  “Listen to me,” he said feverishly. That same fury and lust for freedom was erupting in her. She could feel the sweat dripping down her arms under her dress. “Look at me!” His voice broke out like thunder. Princess Fallon then paused in surprise. “I’ve been tempted too, you know. It’s like an opioid you can’t break free from. I know. I know…” His dark eyes lightened with a calming gentleness.

  “I just wanted a quick look, that song, it’s quite enticing.”

  “Fallon,” Antoline dropped to a knee. “Our time is short. I’ve appreciated our time together so. You see… I’ve been here so long, so very long… to have a friend like you has really been a shining light to me in the cold darkness of the countless years I’ve been here. I wanted to show you more. There’s so much more to see!”

  “Is my ten years over?” A strange delight brimmed up in her.

  “Listen,” he said with his hands grasping her tightly. “Before you go—I need you to know, that…”

  A heavy mist floated into her mind at that moment, and a desperate, feverish worry arose on Antoline’s face.

  “No, no, not now,” he said. “You can’t go. I don’t want to be alone again…”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to my family.”

  “Don’t go,” Pip said. “We’ll have more fun times, come back to us.”

  “We could be your family too,” Antoline said, still holding onto her hands as the mists turned to a wavy daze of bright lights.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything. I’ll always remember you. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

  “Fallon!” Antoline’s voice trailed off as a deep, dark black rolled over Fallon. It was as if she was fading into a dream… or awakening from one. For when she did awaken, she was so ready to be curled up in her soft bed, with her mother and father standing over her with their warm smiles. She was ready to go back to the quiet life of dancing lessons, playing her white-wood flute, and dining with the handsome prince.

  However, when she awoke, she opened her eyes to find herself standing in the middle of her room, with her hands embracing the sides of the black obelisk. She took her hands back, and as there was no one in her room, she heard commotion out on the streets. She looked around the room; everything seeming in order—except one thing… she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror at the end of the red-painted room.

  She was entranced by her reflection as she hadn’t seen it in so many years. Walking toward the ovular mirror, she was soon standing right before it. Princess Fallon ran her fingers up to feel the crow’s feet beginning to form, the wrinkles on her forehead showing their first signs, and as her hands glided up her head, she gripped two small, white horns growing on the top of her head. In her own eyes she saw a look of utter horror in her hollow, wet eyes.

  “No…” An explosion on the western edge of the castle ripped her out of her thoughts. She rushed to the window to see a legion of invaders at the castle’s gates once again. “It can’t be… Not now… Not this soon…”
>
  She shook her head from side to side, with her fingers intertwined with her golden hair.

  “I’ve just returned. Why now? Why now? This can’t be real. This is just a dream, it’s only a dream.”

  Another explosion from a catapult rocked the city, and a face she hadn’t seen in far too long ran into the room. It was her handmaiden, Celeste, with troubled eyes.

  “Princess Fallon!” she gasped. “Oh no, why have you come now? They’ve returned again. What timing, what horrible timing. Come dear, come, we’ve got to get you to your mother. She’s been crying for an age since you left. You must see her; you must see her at once!”

  “My mother… she’s still alive? She’s still alive!”

  Fallon is back home after all those years, but with another siege underway, what is the princess going to do this time? Find out in Wayward Magic.

  About the Author

  Having grown up in the suburbs of Kansas, but never having seen a full tornado or a yellow brick road, C. K. Rieke (pronounced Ricky) has been told more than their fair share of times while traveling, ‘You’re not in Kansas anymore.’ They just respond, ‘Never heard that one,’ with a smile.

  Early in the ’burbs, they found their passion for reading fantasy stories. Reading books with elves, orcs, and monsters took their young imagination to different worlds they wanted to live in.

  Now, they create their own worlds. Not so much in the elves and orc vein, but more in the heroes versus dragons one— there’s a difference, right? Yes, they grew up with The Lord of the Rings and tons of R.A. Salvatore books on their shelves, along with some cookbooks, comics, and a lot of video games, too.

  Other passions are coffee, good beer, and hanging around the gym. To find out more, please visit CKRieke.com. Don’t forget to 1-click Wayward Magic.

  The Catch

  Gwendolyn Woodschild

  “The Catch” follows a well respected Viking named Brandur who is just trying to live a good life of fishing, sailing, and loving his wife. When he returns from a fishing trip to find his village in shambles and his fellow villagers at their wit's end, Brandur is ready to call upon his warrior past to cut down all that threaten his home and loved ones, only to discover that the enemy isn't one he can cut with an ax. The enemy is as hidden from sight as it is his weapon, and Brandur must brave his own past to discover his heritage in order to save his home and loved ones.

  Life always throws unexpected things at people, and what shows their true character is how they handle the situation. I like discovering people's truths, seeing what makes them tick and uncovering who they truly are. Writing this story has been my own voyage following Brandur while he faces harsh realities and new enemies while attempting to stay true to himself. Would I have been as brave as Brandur if the roles were reversed? I would like to think so.

  Gwendolyn Woodschild

  Brandur had put his days of adventuring and being a Viking behind him, happily trading his ax for a fishing net. One day he returned from sea to find an unseen danger attacking his village, terrorizing his neighbors, and his beloved wife in the middle of the chaos attempting to prevent an all-out panic. Frustrated over his inability to do anything about the danger, Brandur decides he must face the hidden truth of his past and unearth his buried talents in order to save his home and loved ones.

  The Catch

  The perfect day was the herald to the end of all my days. My knörr Silver Storm and crew were sailing back home after a good catch, the sun was deliciously warm, the sea spray was refreshingly cool, and the Njord blessed winds were filling the dragon sails of the ship to the brim, letting us leave the oars as we cut through the swells. There would be plenty of work for all once we got back to Darlthveit and the other sailors and I took full advantage of the opportunity.

  As the land neared I climbed the bow of the ship in anticipation, the sea might have owned my soul but another owned my heart.

  “Almost there!” I yelled to those behind me. “Start pulling the sails up, drop the oars, I see... Smoke?”

  Boulders landed in the pit of my stomach. It was too warm of a summer’s day, even in the cooling sunset, for there to be many fires, and that much smoke rising could only mean one thing.

  “Armor up!” I roared as I hopped down and ran across the ship to my chest. “Half of you row us in, the other half armor up then switch with the first. Be prepared to land on your feet and attack as soon as we touch, drive the boat onto the beach to the south side. Make speed, the lives of our loved ones may very well depend on it!”

  Chain mail and padded leather was donned, helms placed, and weapons were readied. Whoever was attacking would get a nasty surprise of forty-seven battle-ready warriors flanking them. Orm Ulfson and I waited together at the prow, both of us carrying war axes in each hand. The tall, lithe man radiated a sense of calm anticipation.

  “Torhild,” I said in a harsh whisper. Orm nodded.

  “She is a strong and fierce woman, she was chosen well.”

  Orm’s dusky blond beard waved in the wind as his hand clamped onto my arm as my own bear mitt wrapped around his, the pale green of his tunic matched his determined eyes as they frowned on me. Both of us gave the other a wide grin that was half snarl. We were ready.

  “Land ahead!” I shouted over the wind as I climbed the bow and turned to face my crew. I pulled one of my battle axes out of my belt and raised it into the air. “Someone decided to go viking in our home, our village, threatening our people. Will we stand for this?”

  “NO!” forty-six voices roared their answer. Forty-six angry men and women, all battle-trained, more than half battle-hardened.

  “We are Norsemen, we are warriors, and we will not stand for such an insult! What will we bring to those who are stupid enough to threaten us and ours?”

  “DEATH!”

  We landed with a lurch, those of us on the edge used the momentum to launch themselves off the sides. Like the sea we poured forth onto the beach and stormed into the village, blood lust and the promise of death rode our battle cries.

  The scene we were greeted with was not what we expected. The shock of the sight made my crew and I pause as one in disbelief.

  Four scattered huts were on fire, all were away from the central mead hall and towards the edges of the village. Buckets of water were being rushed over from the stream that ran through the village as men, women, and children worked together to try to save the buildings from their blazes. A few people were curled up in fetal positions, gibbering in terror, their colorful tunics or overdresses torn. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the very center of the column of sailors which made all of us jump as we spun to face the noise, prepared to cut, stab, and bash the source without a moment’s hesitation.

  There was only air.

  “Brandur!”

  My heart sang at the sound of my name coming from her lips. Disheveled, carrying an empty bucket, her red overdress soot-stained, and her golden-red waves in a tangle, Torhild had never looked so beautiful to me as she did then. We ran to each other and embraced each other tightly, my chain pressing into her as her bucket bounced on my back. She smelled of raspberries, smoke, and sea as I buried my face into her hair.

  “Alas my dear Brandur, misfortune has struck the village,” Torhild sighed into my neck. “Here, have the sailors help put out the fires. Once things settle again I’ll announce an emergency Thing to be held.”

  Even before I turned to relay the order, my sailors dispersed into the disorganized chaos that was Darlthveit with Orm at their lead. His unshakable aura of calm lending the confidence the shaken sailors and villagers were in dire need of.

  “What happened, my dearest?” I gently pushed her back and held onto her strong, well-muscled shoulders and looked into her sky blue eyes in the failing light of the sun. The darkness under them and the pinched brows further accentuated the stark cheeks and deep-set eyes within her oval face, and her long, thin nose flared with each exhausted breath.

  “An enemy has
come, my dear husband, one that we don’t know how to fight, for they are unseen. The enemy cannot be touched or driven away, and it has been slowly driving the village mad. Today, an hour before sunset, four different huts’ fires were driven from the hearths. Yesterday Aleifr Einarsson’s house collapsed. Every night, since you left three days ago, we have lost someone while two more are driven mad by the screams. I fear that somehow we have angered the gods, the landvættir, or worse.”

  “Torhild, what you speak of is utter madness! How could we have angered Odin and his kin? Or the nature spirits? We live good lives, we honor the laws of the gods, we make offerings, and are kind to the land. There has to be an actual enemy, all of this must have some sort of explanation.”

  Something struck the back of my bowl helm with a quiet ting. I immediately swung around with my axes in hand, my anger and blood-lust boiling out in a wave, only to see nothing. I looked down. At my feet was a small pebble lying in the dirt, a plume of dust settled around it. I circled in place, looking for the culprit who would dare to jokingly toss pebbles at someone in a time like this.

  “This is what I mean, there is no one there who could have tossed that. The pebbles and sticks coming from nowhere are what started all of this,” Torhild rested a reassuring hand on my arm to stop me while she shook her head in defeat. “Come my husband, let us help where we can.”

  Everyone was soon gathered into the mead hall once the fires were under control. The fires in the two hearths and the torches only did so much to light the dim, smoky hall. My Torhild waived forth the Speaker of Law, grizzled old Trygve, who was hunched and stooped with old age. He relied on the strong arm of his apprentice to navigate onto the low dias. Trygve’s lean, wrinkled face, hooked nose, and deep brow earned him the nickname Old Eagle, though the children weren’t frightened by his avian appearance. He handed out sweets and toys too freely for them to have any fear of the old man.