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

by Melinda Kucsera

  The two couldn’t have been more different in personality and style, one the boisterous bear, the other the quiet sapling, yet the two were nearly inseparable. Martillo seemed hale of health, ate everything that he could get, while Efi had to be careful about what he ate, or he would get very sick. The two often would share food and Martillo ate the bread, fruit, and sweets that Efi couldn’t touch. Once Efi didn’t eat the right foods and he collapsed, his whole body shook and jerked out of his control.

  They both also wore matching medallions over top of whatever else they wore. Large golden disks with a bas relief of a cup in the center, with inscriptions in strange symbols that I recognized as related to what Heliodoro and his scribed used. I really should have taken the time to learn what the symbols meant. It seems like no one uses runes anymore.

  Often, they studied in a vaulted basement, their table lit by delicately worked oil lamps and candles, a plate of meats, cheeses, slices of bread, and fruits between them, and they were surrounded by rows upon rows of bookshelves with incalculable tomes on them. I enjoyed it when they spent their time there, the cool darkness made being around them more tolerable. I enjoyed being out, yet part of me yearned for the closed-off darkness of the box.

  “Listen to this, Efi,” Martillo said around a mouthful of bread. “‘Long term effects of the ghost being confined have similar negative impacts upon the ghost as it does the living. Seen in forced and accidental cases where the ghost was withdrawn and severed from all contact with other entities, living and dead, the ghosts displayed a variety of behaviors: refusal to communicate, loss of social skills, difficult time adjusting to new surroundings, easily overstimulated, and a proneness to hysterical outbursts, to name the most common.’ Brandur must still be here! I can feel his power, it all but radiates from his pendant! He studied with Heliodoro; he has to know the answers we are searching for.”

  “Señora Dolores also studied with Patriarch Heliodoro, and Señora Dolores wrote that Brandur had an unnatural hold on Heliodoro,” Efi countered while he slowly munched on a piece of cheese layered between two thin slices of roast beef. He wistfully eyed the fruit as he chewed. “She questioned what sort of influence Brandur had on him, noted in life that Brandur was a powerful warlock, and after Brandur’s failed attack Heliodoro acted as if possessed by the crazy Viking. Patriarch Heliodoro was recorded by many family members to have fits of rages, obsessions with bears, and experimented on living people in an attempt to get them to change shape.”

  “And her only issue is that Heliodoro experimented on the living, she had no qualms about killing people or abusing their ghosts after death.” Martillo huffed in disgust. “Our family has been using The Golden Cup’s archives under false pretenses, killing people, and torturing their souls for generations now. Prospering off their cruelty!”

  “Yet look at how you are decorated, you would put wealthy Jarls to shame,” I commented before I could stop myself. Both men jumped and searched around them at my remark. Efi half cowered and tried to control the contorted terror on his face while Martillo gave a wolfish grin of excitement.

  “Yes, I do enjoy my adornments, but I earned the money for these myself. I am a skilled scribe, and my illuminations are sought after widely. I’m one of the youngest with my skills and one of the few outside of a monastery. Please, show yourself. We only wish to help you and others.”

  “Help me how?”

  “Martillo, he is very powerful. This was a mistake!” Efi hissed as he slowly backed away. “He is the loudest ghost I’ve ever heard! Most can only whisper but he sounds as loud as a soft conversation. Where is his box? We should put him back before it’s too late!”

  “Efi, shush. Numerous people recorded Brandur’s volume, and his ability to make others be able to see and hear him, even when they lacked the talent or skill set to see the other world on their own.

  “Viking Brandur, we wish to free your ghost from its patra. We are trying to figure out how to undo the sambadda ritual that bound you to your pendant, undo the evils of our ancestors.”

  I stretched out from the valknut and flowed to the head of the table, forced my body to take shape step by step, detail by detail until I stood before the two in my full battle gear. The sight of the bear pelt over my helm and chain shirt made Martillo smile wider and Efi cower back further.

  “You have my attention. And why do you call me ‘Viking’ Brandur? ‘Viking’ is something you do, not a title.”

  Efi soon lost his fear of me, and Martillo almost immediately became frustrated with me when he learned that I wasn’t a knowledgeable and skilled völva, or warlock as he called it, and my inability to have more than a short conversation without getting agitated. Efi was much more patient with my recovery process, even convinced Martillo to put my pendant in my lead box and leave the lid askew so I could come and go but could have the quiet darkness to calm myself and recharge.

  The two explained that they had been chosen by the current head of the “true” Delgado family as they called it (any members that had Odin’s sight and other völva talents) and the Golden Cup Society to be founding members of the New World chapter. They had worried about bringing me with them on the giant sea boat to get across what they call the At-lahn-tic Ocean, but I stayed on the bow of the ship almost the entire voyage with little ill effect. Whatever sustained my link to my valknut helped shield me from the thundering aura of the rolling sea, though it did take a large amount of effort and concentration to not be pushed back through my connection and into my valknut.

  I missed being able to feel the spray of the sea.

  The voyage did more to heal my mind from the centuries of confinement more than anything else, though the two friends did their best to help me. Efi taught me about the strange runes that they called “letters,” and Martillo asked questions about every sambadda ritual I had ever seen, no matter what stage it was in. Overall, I had a surprising amount of freedom. When the two were asked to adventure and learn about the new world by the Golden Cup Society before the other U-row-pee-han countries taint the cultures irrevocably, the Delgado family told the two to evaluate the power levels of the souls of these natives while they were there and establish a foothold for the family. The two men said they wanted to be the only gifted ones that traveled over, with the excuse that they didn’t want to risk more gifted than absolutely necessary; the new world was still a dangerous and uncivilized place. In reality, they didn’t want anyone to find out that they had stolen me from the family’s deepest vaults. The ship was still almost to a man sailed by members of the Delgado family, but these were “outer” members of lower standing, ones that weren’t born with Odin’s sight or other gifts.

  The new world was a strange and exciting land. The trees had a different energy to them than any I had seen back home, the earth’s aura had a different feel here, and the days were incredibly long. The two friends jokingly named their settlement Libertad, to hint at their true goal’ freedom for me and the other ghosts whose patras they managed to sneak out of Spay-n. It was nestled on a cliff that faced the sea to the east, grassland to the west, with the forest to the north close enough to make hauling logs manageable.

  So many new words!

  “Well, we followed Heliodoro’s missive: Sequere Solem Ad Scientiam!” Martillo joked one night around the dinner fire. We had been in the new world for a few months, and Libertad was starting to look like a real village.

  “I know that one! ‘Follow the sun to Knowledge,’“ I translated. “Though Heliodoro always viewed himself as the sun, and everyone else wandered in the darkness of stupidity.”

  “He wrote ‘ignorance’ in his book,” said Efi, “but I can imagine what he really meant. Sometimes he slipped up when writing and wrote what he really thought. Those gems are always wonderful and hilarious.”

  “We do need to figure out one thing; how do we stop the other people who came over with us from running away?” I said. “I’m useless for building and any sort of real defense, thou
gh thankfully the natives haven’t harassed us much.”

  “Nine people have abandoned us,” Efi remarked. “And we have no idea as to why. We have plenty of food to last us, fish have been plentiful, and our garden is small but productive. There has been no aggression with the natives. I can’t think of any reasons as to why some would seek to abandon us or their death overstaying at Libertad.”

  “Which leaves only about twenty-three, other than the three of us,” said Martillo.

  “When is the next ship due?” I asked.

  “In three more months, if they find us,” Martillo answered. “If they can’t, the next ship was given instructions to start a new settlement as we did.”

  “What if we had a signal fire when they are expected? That, and the ship anchored offshore, would help them find us,” I offered.

  The sentries yelled for people’s attention and everyone poured from their shacks to see what the alarm was about. There was a bright glow to the east, on the water.

  “The ship is on fire!” Martillo yelled. “How could this have happened; we were on it today. There were five good men that were staying with the ship.”

  The flames had climbed up the mast and onto the sails, and the entire deck was aflame. Even from this distance, we could see the fire on the inside through the portholes, like burning eyes. All of the sailors and other settlers stood on the edge of the cliff with Martillo, Efi, and I watched the funeral byre of their chance to go home.

  The morale of the group dropped quickly after that. Even Martillo couldn’t keep up his usual jovial perk. Two men leapt off the cliff onto the rocks below within a week of the ship burning, and three more disappeared. No one witnessed either of those who jumped off the cliffs take their leap or those who disappeared leave.

  One early morning a native sat at the edge of the settlement. His skin was bronzed from the sun and his eyes and hair were both an inky black. He had a blue cloth wrapped around his waist that extended to his knees, with a smaller green cloth tied around his hips and between his legs. The man’s chest was bare, and he wore a blue and orange short cape without a hood. To one side, out of his reach, was a long spear.

  “Hello friend,” Martillo called from a distance. “Do you know Spanish? What brings you to our settlement?”

  “I know small Spanish,” the man replied. “Pale man from you show me talk.”

  “One of our men?” Martillo turned to Efi at his side. “Must have been one of our deserters. I wonder who?”

  “We mean you no harm,” Efi nodded to Martillo an acknowledgment as he called out himself to the strange man. “May we come and sit with you?”

  “No,” the man said flatly. “I come warn. You house demon. You need kill demon. No let demon hurt or loose.”

  “Demon, what does he mean Martillo?”

  “I don’t know, the only loose ghost we have with us is Brandur, and he is our friend.”

  “Is he?” Efi asked.

  No, I’m not. It seemed as good a time as any to finish my work. There were many abandoned homes within my range, the whole settlement was small enough where almost all the buildings were in my range when Martillo was in his hut in the center.

  The two kept talking to the native in an effort to discern the danger and why people had been abandoning Libertad while I slid away. I had discovered long ago that it was much easier for me to interact with objects that had little to no aura to protect them, so while I was unable to do much physically to a person if I put enough effort into it I could knock over a lamp.

  And draw a furrow in the sandy ground to the nearest fire to direct the oil towards it.

  The first hut, little more than wood and dried woven grass with the spaces between stuffed with mud and grass whooshed up into flames. I knew where all the lamps in the settlement were, and enough of the huts had been abandoned so my furrows weren’t noticed or disturbed.

  Second lamp down and the oil flowed through the sand to the hut that was consumed. If the huts were any further apart than the five to six paces that they were, my plan wouldn’t have worked. I knocked down my third lamp. No one had thought to go around and collect the lamps in the abandoned huts. They were too hopeful that their companions would return, and when they did, they would need the light.

  There was no need to go for the fourth lamp, the fires had grown enough to hop from one hut to another. All of the men that had sailed over were scrambling to attempt to put out the fires, to wet the huts that hadn’t caught fire yet in an effort to prevent them from burning, and to save what important items that they could. Martillo and Efi left the lone native to his own devices and ran over to save the important tomes they had stored in their hut.

  I backed away from the settlement and watched it burn with a smile. The second half of my personal tribute to the Sun and Patriarch of the Delgado family.

  The native had picked up his spear and approached the village but made no attempt to help. He stopped next to me to watch it burn.

  “Do you understand when I speak my native tongue?” He asked me.

  “Yes, I do,” I answered. “Not sure how it works, something about the language of the mind?”

  “Yes, some souls are endowed with that gift. So, why? The two young ones, the priests, they seem sincere.”

  “They are the descendants of the man who killed me to capture my spirit so he and others could use me for my spirit’s strength. I was denied Valhalla, with its feasts and friendships, I was denied my family, a wife with child and a grandmother I had only just reconnected with, and I was denied the chance to learn my true skills in life. They have each done the same thing to other people. They have others, like me, who are locked inside of objects, unable to get free. Collected over the years by the many descendants of their patriarch. They even have spirits that are totally trapped within their objects, unable to interact with the world at all.

  “This is my message to the family, to Heliodoro in whatever afterlife he is in. They ruined mine and many others’ lives and deaths, and I will make every effort to ruin theirs.”

  The native nodded thoughtfully as he leaned on his spear.

  “What is your name, my angry friend?”

  “Brandur. Brandur Berkson.”

  “Thank you, Brandur Berkson. Our priests that are gifted with the ability to glimpse the future have only seen danger and death with the people coming in the strange ocean crossing vessels. Nothing can be done to stop the devastation these travelers will bring with them but meet them in war will only speed the inevitable.”

  “Why have you been so friendly to them?” I asked. His people had allowed the deserters I scared off to live at least long enough to teach this man their language.

  “Why have you not asked my name? I asked for yours, Brandur Berkson.”

  “I have existed far beyond the lives of anyone I have ever cared about. You will die, either by growing old, war, or treachery. I have no need for another person whose name will be useless to me sooner rather than later.”

  “I feel sadness for you,” the nameless native responded. “Almost as much as I feel for the men that ran from you and stumbled upon my people. You carry much bitterness with you, take care that revenge doesn’t turn to poison when it’s on your lips.”

  “There is no poison for me now. I’m tired. I long for a world that no longer exists, people who are long dead, and I hate the two who took me out of the darkness for their own glory and ideals. They claim otherwise, but they have lofty goals like any young and ambitious person has. They wish to change the world, yet they need someone to tell them how.”

  “They might have. Most likely never will now because of this, what was done today. To answer you; my people took in those who ran away from you because they offer a chance to save my people. Not as my people are now. There will be no hope of that. Because of those who ran though, my people may adapt and survive in some way into the future. Sometimes the only hope is to become what is destroying you while you stay to your heart and people.”
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  “Good luck to you, and to your people. I’m not sure how well my friends and family fared, if they adapted, or if they were wiped out.”

  “Did you ask?”

  That question froze me. I didn’t even ask... When I stopped responding or reacting the native must have decided that he had enough of me and the spectacle of the burning village and left.

  I just stood there and wondered what I had done and who I was, and who I had turned into.

  The fires finally died down by sunset. I wandered back into the heart of the settlement. Martillo was alone with Efi laid out on the ground with tomes and metal boxes stacked all around them. Martillo openly cried over his friend, who upon closer inspection I realized was dead.

  “What happened?”

  Martillo looked up at me with a hate-filled glare, his fists were balled so tightly his shoulders shook and his palms bled.

  “What happened, what happened?” he screamed at me. “You happened! You and your damned fire, you and your total disregard, you and, and, I don’t know what!

  “Why? Why Brandur?!”

  “This is what Heliodoro had ghosts do, or tried to have ghosts do, to my village. You and Efi have both trapped spirits, both of you followed your patriarch’s work! Heliodoro made a long list of claims, the main one being he would eventually free my spirit once he figured out a way to retain its power without me attached to it.”

  “I wanted to free you with your power!”

  “After you used it.”

  “It might have taken your strength to do what was needed to figure out how to separate you from the pendant. I thought you had the knowledge, Heliodoro wrote that he confided in you but not what he confided.”