Deep Magic - First Collection

by Jeff Wheeler

  A pale head with enormous tufted ears rises from the snow cover. Is it a large lynx, white and gray like you expect from any animal that lives with the snow?

  The head turns toward me. Compelling catlike eyes reflect the light. The beast stands. Now she looms larger than a plains lynx. The fur is peculiar, perhaps feathery, and the face isn’t like any cat I have ever seen. I swear it smiles. A cat might yawn to show its teeth but never smiles. Despite the smile, the beast’s teeth are distractingly sharp.

  Wings unfurl from its sides. Not a lynx, this is a feathered and scaled dragon, and its jaws are far too close to my face.

  Rolling to my feet, I reach for my sword. Damn. I took off the blade for comfort, and now I have no defense. Lesson learned, if I survive.

  The dragon looks up and leaps skyward. The wings take several short, quick strokes to clear the ground and then settle into a slow rhythm to carry the beast higher. The dragon pulls up its powerful rear legs as it gathers speed. Unlike a cat’s legs, the dragon’s legs are more birdlike and terminate in raptor claws resembling a hawk’s. Its tail is tufted with feathers and trails behind for stability.

  Stunned, I look to Tovenaar.

  “I think you made a friend.” The wizard stretches. “Prepare breakfast. We must be on our way. The high pass is yet far from here.”

  Confused, I review my encounter with the dragon. What had I done to make a friend? How do you make friends with a wild beast?

  * * *

  Tovenaar surprises me with his endurance. Neither the cold nor the climb slows him. However, some of my questions give him pause, and when he scowls, I wonder whether his patience is as hardy. I decide to save my questions for those moments when we rest on the trail. Somehow those moments never come often enough.

  “I thought dragons were enormous, large enough to carry off a man or even a cow.” I drop my knapsack in the snow and flex my shoulders at our next rest stop. “How can something the size of a large lynx be a dragon?”

  “Sea dragons get to be very big, some bigger than whales.” Tovenaar doesn’t remove his backpack. Instead, he scans the slope below us as if he expects to see something more than just the landscape. “Sea dragons are so large and their wings so small that they cannot fly, indeed even walking on the beach is almost beyond the power of their legs. However, they are excellent swimmers and use what remains of their wings and legs to propel themselves through the water. You’re probably thinking of cave dragons, big as a warhorse, fire-breathing, irritable. They fly well when they are young, but most prefer to retreat into a cave when they age. Few remain, outside of some isolated regions, because many societies believe that their teeth and skin have magical properties because they withstand the dragon’s fire. This makes them valuable enough for professionals to hunt.”

  I sit atop my knapsack and enjoy Tovenaar’s discourse. The wizard spins a pretty good tale despite an occasional ramble into nonsense, much more entertaining than his lectures. I often wonder how much of what he says is true or whether parts are parables made up to illustrate a greater truth. Based on his stories, some things that I once believed true are true no longer. Truth changes: disconcerting, but inevitable. Maybe that is the lesson he teaches. Maybe that lesson is more important than cataloging dragons. Or maybe he just enjoys spinning outrageous tales that bend the truth because once he starts a story, stopping him is difficult.

  “Can things have magical properties?” Time for me to change the subject from dragons. “Like a talisman or crystals or even the magic swords described in fairy tales?”

  “Yes, talismans and the likes charmed by wizards can hold magic, but just remember the third rule of magic. By the fourth rule of magic, enchanted swords cannot be iron. We shall discuss that implication another time. Back to dragons. The desert dragon is little more than an overgrown feathered lizard, although its blood is warm like a bird’s. The mountain dragon is my favorite. Very quick. Clever and friendly too. That last may prove to be their undoing if man ever comes to dwell in the high mountains.”

  “What do dragons eat?” I give up my effort to distract him.

  “Mountain dragons? Fish, rodents, usually nothing bigger than a rabbit is—”

  A loud crack followed by a deep roar interrupts. The rumble is so deep that even when I stand, I can’t locate its source. Tovenaar immediately looks up the trail.

  “Avalanche.” Tovenaar points at a roiling surf of snow cascading toward us. Before I can protest, he grabs my sword and throws it toward a nearby massive bolder. He then wraps both arms around me. “Stay close. We are under attack.”

  “By an avalanche?” I suddenly realize that even all-but-weightless snowflakes can do great damage when acting in concert.

  The bubble forms around us just before the snow arrives. The bubble is half again my height in diameter. When the snow hits, we bounce and roll until the avalanche completely packs around the bubble and blacks out all light. A last hard bounce, and my chin butts Tovenaar’s face when we crash together. I lie stunned in the dark for several minutes and then feel around the bubble for the wizard. He is breathing but otherwise still.

  “Tovenaar?” I shake his shoulder. “Tovenaar, are you all right?”

  He doesn’t respond. I need light. With nothing to burn, snapping a spark between my fingers seems fruitless. Nevertheless, I try. A quick flash illuminates the bubble and then fades to nothing. I sit and review all revealed in that brief light.

  Tovenaar has a bloody nose. My chin and jaw hurt from the same collision. We are inside a bubble. My backpack is gone, and my bow is broken. Doubtless, Tovenaar conjured the bubble to protect us from the avalanche.

  We are sealed and buried beneath the avalanche. How deep is the snow overhead? What about air? How long will we be able to breathe? Can we dig out?

  The first task is to get through the bubble. Is it strong? Strong enough to shield against an avalanche, for sure, but will my sword cleave it? My sword. Tovenaar threw away my sword. Why?

  Of course. Rule four: cold iron reroutes magic. Tovenaar used magic to form the bubble. He could not use magic close to the sword.

  Back to the bubble. How do I destroy the bubble shield before it becomes our tomb?

  Rule three: magic is not permanent. It will wear away. Tovenaar always does as little magic as possible. The bubble won’t last long.

  When the bubble disappears, will the snow collapse? Will we already be dead from suffocation? I must get us out now, but how? Think!

  If I can make a spark between my fingers hot enough to start a fire, hot enough to form a ball of flame, then why not something less extreme? More than just to warm my hands, but less than a fire. Perhaps just something glowing like the sun to produce heat. Something hot to melt the snow.

  I extend a hand toward the top of the bubble, and then withdraw it. No good. If I melt a hole through the roof, how will we climb out? If I must carry Tovenaar, it will be impossible.

  Twenty-degree, thirty-degree incline? I dare risk no steeper. I extend one hand, reconsider, and extend them both. I moderate my fire spell to produce heat without flames. My palms grow warm at the effort. Then the glow from my hands darkens into a red beam of light that illuminates the interior of the bubble. The snow outside the bubble melts at the light’s touch, but the resulting water does not drain away.

  “Good idea.” Tovenaar says. At last, he is awake.

  I don’t release the spell, but I glance back. In the red glow, Tovenaar sits on the floor of the bubble and explores his bloody nose. It looks broken. He strokes his nose twice. The bleeding stops, and his nose straightens.

  “The melted water drains too slowly.” I indicate the liquid accumulating against the bubble. “It needs somewhere to go.”

  “I’ll release the bubble. Then it will flow into here.”

  “Won’t the snow collapse on us?”

  “I don’t think so.” He rubs his beard. “It’s packed tight and should support itself like a dome. Besides, we haven’t much choice.
”

  The pale bubble disappears at Tovenaar’s bidding, but the snow dome remains in place. With rising confidence, I focus the heat on melting a tunnel. The heat rays from my palms increase the snow melt rate. Sweat from my palms sizzles in the beam. Water oozes down into the sphere, and the icy liquid soaks my boots and rises to my knees.

  Tovenaar joins my efforts. A second beam of light leaps from his hand. His ray is more focused and hotter than mine. Steam drifts into the chamber.

  Encouraged, I increase my output.

  “Easy.” Tovenaar places a restraining hand on my shoulder. “A little at a time. We have a good tunnel started. We don’t want to collapse it.”

  “The water is getting very high.” The icy liquid reaches my groin and everything tightens.

  “Yes.” Tovenaar stops his beam of heat. “We don’t want to drown here.”

  “Or freeze.” I can’t stop shivering.

  “Let’s crawl up the tunnel as far as we can. You first. You now have a pretty good feel for this heat business. Very clever, incidentally, better than fire in this case, and it doesn’t cost as much. When we get to the top of the tunnel, you concentrate on melting the next length of tunnel, and I will attempt the more subtle endeavor of keeping us both from freezing. Understood?”

  I agree and crawl two body lengths up the incline. Tovenaar follows. The melting water running against my chest, stomach, and legs is unbearably cold. Fortunately, the wool wax in my sheepskin coat seems impervious to water so that I am not getting very wet. Then, a slow warmth swells beneath me, indicating that Tovenaar is at work. Comforted, I firm my lips and apply heat to extend the tunnel so that we can climb the next leg.

  We repeat the process three times before breaking through the snow. The action leaves me drained as much from the magic as from the cold. Gasping, I exit the tunnel and collapse atop the snow. The air is the freshest I can recall.

  Tovenaar nudges me to get up. “We must find shelter and start a fire. Keeping us warm by magic will age me a year at this rate.”

  A year! How much had melting the snow aged me? Suddenly, the price of magic seems less abstract and very important.

  “Look there.” Tovenaar points to an outcrop on my right. “A cave revealed by the avalanche.”

  My left snowshoe is broken. My right is lost beneath the snow. I limp forward. “We are far above the tree line. What will we use for a fire?”

  “A dead bush or a broken snowshoe. Perhaps dry dung. Where there is a cave in the mountains, something lives or once lived. After we have a fire started, then we must retrieve your sword.”

  * * *

  The mountain dragon follows me while I trudge through the snow. She stays back too far for me to touch, yet every place I dig for my sword, she follows and sniffs.

  “I cannot find the boulder,” I shout at Tovenaar. My clothes are mostly dry, but my boots are stiff and damp.

  The dragon looks up when I speak. Is that a smile? Why does she follow me?

  “Unfortunate. The rock must be buried beneath the snow.” The wizard looks skyward as if to measure the daylight remaining. Maybe an hour of light, no more.

  I stop myself from asking why he doesn’t use magic to find my sword when the answer comes on its own. Cold iron reroutes magic. The sword is iron. It is immune to spells.

  A dwarf tree uprooted by the avalanche protrudes from the snow. I pull it loose. It should be enough to rekindle the sparse embers dying in the cave.

  Tovenaar approaches. He points to the dragon.

  “She likes you. Have you tried to touch her?”

  “What? No. Look at those teeth.”

  “Do you like the dragon?”

  “Uh, well, I’m getting used to her. She does have a cute face.”

  “Then take the friendship she offers.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Introduce yourself.”

  “Hello, I’m Eric. I—”

  “No. Introduce yourself like a dragon would. Move slowly, hands to your sides. Smile and approach her.”

  I firm my lips and straighten my back. “Yes, Master.”

  When I step toward the dragon, her ears perk up, and her wings unfold above her back as if she will make a quick escape into the air.

  “Smile, dammit, Eric.”

  I comply, and the dragon tilts her head. Her pupils narrow into vertical slits. She lifts a forefoot as if nervous.

  I stop within reach. “Now what?”

  “Keep smiling. Slowly reach out and touch her forehead. Good. That’s good.”

  The dragon’s face feels warm and feathery. She blinks and moves closer. Her breath is pungent like day-old fish.

  “What now?”

  “I’m not sure.” Tovenaar screws up his face in contemplation. “I’ve never made friends with a dragon. The stories say that you must touch minds, but what that means is a mystery to me.”

  So now I’ve got this dragon’s face in the palm of my hand, and neither of us knows what to do. A single snap of her jaws can take off my hand, but she doesn’t seem agitated. How do we touch minds?

  Mind to mind? Hoping I won’t lose my head, I lean forward and press my forehead against hers. A spark snaps between our faces, and the shock knocks me on my butt. My vision clears, and a young man about my age sits on the snow before me. He looks confused. I am confused. Has the dragon turned into a man?

  “Master Tovenaar, the dragon became a man.” The scene shifts, and the dragon reappears against a different background. “There. She changed back. Is this magic?”

  “Nonsense.” Tovenaar grabs my arm and helps me stand. “The dragon changed not at all.”

  “But I saw her become a man.”

  “Dragons are not practitioners of magic. She’s female, and I would be surprised if she could transform into a woman much less want to become a man. You touched minds, and now you share vision, the ability to see through the other’s eyes. Think carefully. Wasn’t it yourself you saw through the dragon’s eyes?”

  “Huh, well, the man had no beard and wore a coat that looks like mine. Are you sure it was me?”

  The dragon thrusts her head under my armpit. My ribs vibrate from her deep purr. It tickles and forces a smile. Maybe dragons don’t practice magic, but I feel enchanted.

  Tovenaar laughs. “The best thing you can do now is give her a name.”

  “A name? Like Mary?” Wait. An image. “She already has a name, difficult to say, but it sounds like Esmeralda. I’ll call her Esme.”

  “Excellent, a new friend is always welcome, but we must find your sword before dark.”

  “My sword. Yes.” I cast around but find no clue. The avalanche changed everything. Nothing looks familiar. “The snow may have carried it away.”

  Esme mews and backs away. With sporadic wing flaps, she hops across the white landscape, sniffs twice, and then plunges into the snow. Moments later she emerges and takes to the air gripping the hilt of my sword in one claw.

  “Praise her, Eric.”

  “Good girl, Esme.” I attempt to run after her but sink to my loins in the snow. A few snowflakes drift from higher up the mountain. “Bring me my sword.”

  The dragon circles back and lands nearby. She drops the sword atop the snow and grooms the feathers on her wings.

  I struggle through the fresh-churned snow and throw my arms around her neck. “Good girl.”

  She licks my face with a raspy tongue until I sputter and release my grip. Her head tilts up as if she hears something. Her wings spread and quick strokes lift her into the air.

  “Mountain dragons are inquisitive and smart.” Tovenaar shakes the wonder from his face. “Sheath your sword and gather up the wood you’ve scavenged. I want us secure in the cave before dark.”

  “Why hurry?” With my sword at my belt and a dragon for a friend, confidence fills me. “Do you expect more snow?”

  “If dragons are wakening from hibernation, then so are bears. The ones here are large and break hibernation hungry a
nd grouchy. Fortunately, they don’t like fire. So let’s settle into the cave and stoke up the flames.”

  * * *

  A meadow briefly flashes below, long enough to reveal five men about to enter the forest. I soar upward and glide to follow. Now the redwood giants conceal them. Far up the mountain, the forest dwindles where it approaches the tree line. My eyes are sharp, sharper than ever. The rising sun flashes above the mountain peaks. Is that the debris of yesterday’s avalanche a few miles above the tree line?

  My wings steadily beat and lift me. Exhilaration. Now for the long coast. Wait! A white hare crosses a snow drift. Eat now, fly later. I swoop.

  Suddenly alert, I sit up. I’ve dreamed I could fly before, but this is too real.

  Tovenaar is out of sight. Did he go outside? Surely, he has not left the gallery to follow the cave deeper into the mountain.

  “Master Tovenaar?”

  When had we last eaten? Breakfast yesterday? I carried the food supplies in my backpack. Tovenaar carried the bedding. My backpack was lost in the avalanche. Fortunately, Tovenaar held on to his, or we might have frozen overnight: magic loses focus when you sleep.

  A shadow blocks the light at the entrance. Brushing snow from his coat, the wizard enters the cave gallery.

  “Master Tovenaar, I dreamed I could fly and that five men follow us up the mountain.”

  “That was no dream. You saw the world through Esme’s eyes. Five men, you say? Then my brother is among them. Without snowshoes, we will never beat them over the pass.”

  “I have my sword.” Although I’ve never raised a blade against a wizard, I pat the hilt with confidence. Steel is immune to magic.

  “We will save your sword for our last resort. Fight fire with fire, I say.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They attacked us with an avalanche. An ingenious strategy incidentally, and a good lesson for today. Always leverage magic where possible. An avalanche is a perfect example of maximum leverage. I’m sure it was my brother’s idea. He is almost as smart as I am. Questions?”

  “No. Yes. I’m confused. Your brother caused the avalanche?”

  “Of course. To start an avalanche requires only a small effort. Sometimes a simple shout with no magic at all can start the snow cascading. A great effect for a small effort: leverage.”