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

by Melinda Kucsera

Should she get them though? It would be easy to turn her tired mind to other pursuits. But should he? Thing considered that.

  Don't stop her. If she can find answers, let her. She's like Nulthir, strong and tenacious. Water plinked into the puddle Crispin leaped over.

  What if she tells someone about us? Thing turned his head one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to see his son's face. The only human he trusted was dying from dark magic. Thing wasn't ready to trust another human.

  I trust her. She promised she wouldn't speak of us, and she won't. Crispin kept his thoughts locked down, and his face turned away, but his true feelings still showed.

  Thing sighed. He'd read no overt desire to do them harm. No, Iraine wanted to catch the person who'd masterminded the attack on the prison and its population. Her thoughts were consumed by that.

  Fine, I'll leave her be because you asked me to. Thing supposed one more human knowing about them was a small price to pay if it took a powerful opponent off the board.

  Thank you. Do you know if the others are okay? Crispin glanced at him, and there was gratitude in his eyes.

  Thing had kept his mind pulled in, so his awareness only encompassed the area around them to concentrate his power. That came at a cost though. His bond to his mate had been reduced to a soft murmur in the back of his mind. Thing could bring it to the fore again and turn up the volume, but that meant stretching his thoughts up through the levels above him and opening himself up to the thoughts of all the minds in between him and his mate.

  It wouldn't take long to isolate his loved ones from that tumult, but Thing could lose his tenuous hold on the thief who was still some distance ahead. He might not be able to regain that hold thanks to those shards and the mind trapped inside them. Better he concentrate on catching up. They still needed to know as much as they could about those shards and their purpose. That information was crucial. Thing felt it in his heart of hearts, and that organ never lied.

  Besides, Amal was a strong female. She didn't need him to pull her feathers out of the fire. She was quite capable of saving herself. I'm sure your mother is fine.

  Chapter Eight

  “Quickly! Drag him into the light!” Amal shouted when no one came flying to her aid. They were all in the next room except for Thistle. Not helpful. Kits today. Amal shook her head and barked another command, this time mentally, and her family snapped to it finally.

  We’re coming, Dale sent from the next room.

  Hurry, son. I can’t hold them. Amal slashed through another shadow with her tail this time, cutting it in half. But its tell halves just merged back together and came at them again.

  Amal reached under Nulthir's tunic for the dawn rune and lifted it as high as its leather thong would let her. Its soft bluish light fell on the shadows, driving them back, but they didn’t dissipate. Hellfires, what would it take to defeat them?

  Thistle rushed to her side and wrapped her prehensile tail around Nulthir’s upper arm. “Help me pull.”

  Amal copied her and kept hold of the dawn rune, but its glow was waning. The magic that lit it was almost spent, and Nulthir was in no shape to reignite it. Nor was it doing more than delaying the inevitable.

  “You can’t stop me this time.” The shadows converged on a single point. “In fact, you didn’t stop me last time either. You just delayed the inevitable,” a gravelly voice said.

  “What is that?” Thistle pointed, but she kept on backing away and pulling with her tail.

  “Just a shadow, that’s all.” At least that’s what Amal hoped it was. But in her heart of hearts, fear burned. Where were her children?

  We’re coming. The door’s stuck. Dale sent a mental picture of Mixie pounding on the rune that operated the door, but nothing happened. Why isn’t it working? Nulthir renewed it only yesterday.

  Might the shadow have something to do with that? It laughed as it lunged for Nulthir again. Amal launched herself at the shadow and shredded it with her claws. But its remnants floated back to the darkest corner of the room adjacent to the door her family pounded on to respawn. But that door was made of good Shayarin oak from an enchanted tree. It wasn’t coming down without a battering ram, and none of her kits had one.

  “Break it down if you have to, just get out here and help us. We’re losing him,” Thistle called.

  “Pull harder! We have to get him into the light.” Amal wrapped her tail around Nulthir’s upper arm again and pulled for all she was worth.

  “I am pulling.” Thistle grunted. Her pinkish eyes were narrowed to slits. “He’s too heavy. We can’t move him without help.”

  That was true. Nulthir was about a hundred and eighty pounds of adult male. Nor was he a small man. He stood a shade over six feet in boots. Add in the gear strapped to his utility belt, which increased his weight by about ten pounds, and they had a problem. She and Thistle were about two feet tall and weighed in at twenty pounds.

  “We need to lighten the load.” Amal scampered over to his belt and undid it. That reduced his weight by about ten pounds. She rid him of a few more pounds by stripping off his gauntlets and his steel-toed boots.

  “I’ll get the door.” Thistle let go and wrapped her tail around the nearest chair. She swung up onto it then up onto the dresser and leaped off. Her pregnancy made her a little ungainly in flight, but she didn't have far to go.

  “Be careful. That shadow is massing for another attack.” Amal pointed to the darkness veiling the only exit from Nulthir’s flat. It was growing darker and larger as the minutes ticked by. Where was it gaining strength from?

  Thistle hit the rune on this side of the door to the other bedroom and it swung open, spilling kits and grandkits into the room.

  “Get the little ones back inside and put something down to stop the shadow from going under it," Amal shouted over the questions her kits asked.

  "Dale, Mixie, Yarn—help us, we have to get him into the sunlight.” Thistle waved to Nulthir, and the three largest of her kits ran on all fours to help Amal. Thistle landed beside them, bringing their total to five.

  Six, if Amal counted tenacious little Mirla. She was more kittenish than the other grandkits, but she was the eldest of that generation. Mirla dug her feet in and pulled with the rest, and Nulthir started to slide. Thank the Creator, because that shadow was coalescing into a roughly human shape with horns and claws. “Come on. Pull. we don’t have much farther to go.”

  More of her children and grandkits joined in, even Furball though what good he could do was anyone’s guess. But Nulthir slid into the sunlight finally. It fell full upon his face, and his skin smoked. His eyes flew open. They were black swirling pools.

  “That’s not Nulthir in there!” Dale shouted as he reared back, his back arching like a cat as a hiss escaped his beak.

  Indeed, it wasn't Nulthir's mind in control. A stranger looked out of his eyes until he blinked, then the darkness stilled. Pain replaced victory in them. His skin was graying. His hair had hardened into black spikes that wept blood as he writhed in agony.

  “Reverse! Pull him back!” Amal shouted. Her wing was also smoking, but she kept pulling.

  “What’s happening to him?” Mixie brushed a lock of hair away from his face.

  That was a good question, but Amal didn't have the heart to answer it. She wished Thing would return. She had a feeling it might already be too late for Nulthir.

  “Are we going to lose him?” Thistle whispered, but there wasn't a creature in the room who didn’t hear her question. Thistle hadn’t known Nulthir long, only about a year or so, but Thistle cared as deeply as the others.

  “Not without a fight. I’m not giving up. We’ll find a way.” Or they would all darken with him. If this was his curse to bear, they would shoulder it with him. Family stuck together. But Amal hoped Thing returned before that happened.

  “Neep!” Furball shouted. The kit bounced up and down on the windowsill of all places just inches from a long fall into a sunny morning.

  “Someone get him down from
there before he falls.” Amal gestured, but she needn’t have worried.

  Mixie swung past her sibs and their mates. She snatched up her baby and froze.

  “What do you see?” Thistle asked as she let go of Nulthir.

  “Hope.” Mixie pointed into the sunshine.

  “Keep pulling. We have to get him out of the sunlight.” Amal pulled, but she was one of the few still pulling. Nulthir was almost out of the light. “Just a little more.”

  “Maybe she can help,” Dale craned his neck to see around his sister and his brother’s mate. Their bodies blocked most of the sunlight coming in through the window, easing Nulthir’s pain. But he wasn’t out of danger yet.

  Amal climbed over him and slapped the backs of the heads of all three shirkers.

  “Ow, Mom, what was that for?” Dale rubbed his head and gave her a sour look.

  “He needs your help, and so do I. Gawk later. We need to move him out of the light.” Amal chivvied them back to the task at hand. Before she joined them, a flash of silver moving against a sea of green outside caught Amal's eye. “That can’t be who I think it is.”

  “What if it is?” Dale said between grunts of effort. He was the strongest of her kits with burly arms and legs and a stockier body than her or Thing.

  “Shayari is vast. The odds of her being here are astronomical.” Amal shook her head sadly. In her heart of hearts, she wanted that silver spot amid the green to be more than the sunlight dappling the leaves of the enchanted forest that surrounded Mount Eredren on three sides. “It can’t be the Queen of All Trees.”

  “Why not?”

  Amal turned at the question and wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Why can’t she be here?” Nulthir asked in a shaky voice.

  Everyone stopped. He rolled onto his stomach with help from Dale then tried to push up to his hands and knees.

  Amal held her hands up in a stop gesture. “You have to stay out of the light. It hurts you in this state.”

  “Aye, magic is light, and so is she.” He flopped onto his stomach again and lay there panting from effort. “I would see her if she is there. Just once. They say she was our Queen long, long ago. I would see her before….”

  “Don’t say it. You’re not dying.” But he had a point. Amal yanked a blackened feather from her bum wing. Wishes were like feathers. They both flew. Maybe this one would too.

  Nulthir laughed bitterly. His voice was changing, growing more sibilant. “I am dying to everything I ever was. That’s what this darkness is. It’s changing me.”

  “Maybe you need a miracle.” But Amal was all out of those. Her wing smoked in the sunlight as she stared at the blackened feather in her hand, imprinting it with just one wish. Then she cast the feather out of the window, and the runes on the wall around it didn't ignite. They let it pass out into the sunny morning. Fly true, little feather, fly to our sylvan Queen.

  The wind snatched it up and carried it away. Maybe it would reach the Queen of All Trees, and maybe it wouldn’t. Amal wouldn’t count on that. But she felt better after enlisting such powerful aid, even if it was an extreme longshot.

  “There must be something we can do.” Thistle draped an arm around Amal’s shoulders and turned her away from the sunlight scorching her numb wing.

  “There’s nothing,” a scratchy voice replied as Nulthir turned his head in a way it was never meant to. His eyes were swirling black again and filled with a stranger’s intelligence. “You threw me out once. You won’t again. This body is mine.”

  The creature that was not Nulthir sprang up on all fours. Black fangs extended from his bleeding mouth.

  “It’s not yours!” Dale rammed into his calf and knocked his leg out from under him, momentarily unbalancing the creature that had overtaken Nulthir. But Thing wasn’t here to oust the mental intruder.

  Where are you, Thing? We need you! Amal screamed into the darkness between their minds. She hoped he heard because this was beyond her skills.

  Chapter Nine

  To avoid Mart, Iraine had cut across the prison to a stone wall that looked like all the others in the prison, except this one housed a magicked doorway. She pushed on the fourth protrusion from the left of the nearly invisible seam, and part of the stone wall swung open on magical hinges. Those crazy Litherians had thought of everything when they’d built this place.

  Iraine waltzed out of what would be the postern gate into the gloomy cavern the prison squatted in. The door closed on its own with a soft click. In front of her, a narrow footbridge spanned a frothing moat. It was just wide enough to fit both her feet at the same time and it had no railing. Safety wasn’t a concern for its ancient builders. Fear skittered up her spine on cold bird feet and Iraine shivered.

  You can do this. Just one hundred steps and you’re across. Or she could run around the side of the prison to the larger bridge in front of the main entrance. But then, someone might see her. Iraine swallowed the bitter taste of fear. The rushing water was too loud in her ears, and it stank of fish.

  Iraine rubbed her arms through her sleeves to combat the sudden chill in the air and took a deep breath to calm her nerves before running across that narrow bridge as fast as she could. Once across, she kept running all the way to the Low Market, the de facto center of the Lower Quarters.

  Unlike many of the tunnels down here, all the ones leading to the Low Market were well-lit by clusters of glowing lumir crystals and relatively free of obstacles. Thank God for that.

  Iraine skidded to a halt as the tunnel she'd been following suddenly ended at a cavern so large, she couldn’t see its other side. Columns held up its lofty ceiling where stalagmites and stalactites had met. Inside, the aptly named Low Market sprawled in a multi-color sensory experience. Tents of every color competed for space along the narrow aisles winding through the market. Despite the early hour, some stalls were doing a brisk business.

  They were probably peddling illegal substances because the shoppers and sellers alike both fled when they glimpsed her blue uniform. Oops. All Guards wore the same uniform no matter where under the mountain they served. Iraine had always appreciated that. But she was a prison Guard, she had no jurisdiction outside of that prison. Time to blend in and stop drawing attention to herself.

  Shop owners and customers alike visibly relaxed when they saw her pulling coins out of the utility belt riding low on her hips. Now, she was just one more eager shopper searching for a deal. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept an eye on the stalls she passed, but she didn't see the one she needed. Where the hell was Esmeralda? This was a fine time for her to take a morning off.

  "Can I help you?"

  Iraine spun to face the woman who'd walked up behind her. "There you are, Essie. I was just looking for you."

  "I take it you need something." Essie rocked back on her heels so she could look up at Iraine.

  Essie was a diminutive woman shrunken by age and sharpened by wisdom. Her slanted eyes seemed overly bright, but that was probably the glow of the lumir crystal overhead making them appear so. What Essie did wasn't precisely magic. It was magic's cousin. At least that's how Essie had explained it. Iraine had never really cared about the particulars, but this morning she did.

  "You'd be right about that. Have you eaten?" Iraine smelled barbecued meat, and her stomach grumbled.

  Essie shook her head, and a black lock escaped the complicated updo. "Business has been slow today."

  "Then I'll buy you a bite to eat, and you can help me with a small problem." Iraine gestured to a nearby food cart. She could smell the fat sizzling on the burner, and her mouth watered for a taste of the cooking meat. Mmmm.

  "I'll do what I can, but it all depends on your problem." Essie leaned on her crystal-topped walking stick. It looked like a wizard’s staff. Her dark tunic and trousers only added to the effect.

  Iraine nodded. She'd expected Essie to say something like that, but right now, she had food on the brain, and thoughts of biting into a juicy hunk of meat consumed the bul
k of her attention. Iraine stepped up to the yawning cook and noted his station was reasonably clean. Good, because she was too hungry to seek out another vendor.

  "I'll have some of that." She pointed to the chicken roasting on a spit over a red-glowing crystal.

  "Make that two. It looks quite good," Essie added from behind her.

  After they received their order—which came on a stick with a basket of fried potatoes and onions—they found a table and sat down to eat.

  "Well, don't keep me in suspense. What do you need?" Essie asked after Iraine had bolted her first meal in only God knew how many hours.

  In between sips of a piping hot tea, Iraine explained, leaving only the bird creatures’ intelligence and their ability to talk out. A promise was a promise, but there was no harm in telling Essie those creatures were with the man she needed to find.

  "Let me see the feather." Essie held out a tattooed hand for it and accepted it with a nod. "It's small, but there's a bit of magic in it." Essie raised an eyebrow at that. She knew Iraine hadn’t told her the whole story.

  “I found it by that object I told you about. Some of its magic must have transferred to it.” Iraine ate the last bite of potato and hoped her lie went unnoticed. That feather was magical because it had come from a magical creature, but that wasn't something Essie needed to know. Iraine glanced about for a napkin but didn't find one.

  “Here take this,” Essie handed her a napkin.

  “Thanks. Won’t that bit of magic help with what I need you to do?” Iraine wiped her hands and set the napkin down. It was now or never. Either Essie would cast the finder spell for her or not.

  "It may." As Essie turned the tiny black feather over, shimmering threads wound around her fingers and the feather, uniting them into a strange weaving. "You're a strange one. The good book says not to suffer a witch, but you do more than suffer one. You're paying for my services." Essie's eyes settled on the three crosses around Iraine's neck.

  Iraine touched them. They were her touchstones in troubled times, but this wasn't one of those. The Guards were where she belonged just not their prison unit. She could do the most good in a higher echelon of their brotherhood, and wasn't that what life was all about? Doing the most good you could before you kicked the bucket?