Deep Magic - First Collection

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Watch the wagon. The square is notorious for thieves sneaking through,” Father reminded her. “I’ll see if Rubbles will buy anything.” He grabbed a rolled package of paper and a small box of inks from the back of their wagon parked near the center of the town.

  Kira nodded as the coughing fit took hold. The fit lasted longer than usual before finally easing off. She wiped a hand across her mouth, afraid she’d see blood again.

  Her father didn’t notice, frowning as he glanced up at the dark clouds. “Are you certain you will be fine?” Roughly, he placed his hand on her head as he’d seen the healers do, but didn’t seem to know what he was looking for and pulled it away.

  She shook him off, surprised that he bothered to touch her. Usually, he feared catching her wasting illness and stayed at least an arm’s length away. Besides, he wouldn’t find anything. None of the healers she had seen had been able to find anything.

  “I’ll be fine, Father. Besides, any sale you make will help,” she said. After the fit, her voice felt weak. She forced a smile onto her face rather than let him know just how weak. If he knew, he wouldn’t continue to trade. They’d head straight to Annendel, sales be damned, and worry about finding enough coin to pay for healing later.

  “Well—if you’re certain. Just watch the wagon. I think we’re close to what we’ll need. Another week, maybe two, and then we will be in Annendel.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “The parchment might bring us the rest, even without knowing its secret.”

  Kira nodded, afraid to say anything. In spite of all the hard work to find a way to get her help, nothing had made a difference. When she had fallen ill, he had become driven in a way that she had never seen from him before, determined not to lose her as they had lost her sister. But Kira knew time was getting short. Even were they to get enough money for the study in Annendel, it probably wouldn’t matter. After everything they had gone through to get the money needed, she did not dare tell her father that.

  He checked the locked trunk in the back of the wagon one more time before securing it. The trunk contained the entire savings from their trip, her last hope for healing once they managed to trade for enough money. As he ambled away, he clutched the items he hoped to sell to Rubbles under one arm, glancing back only as he neared the edge of the square.

  Kira made a show of waving, but once he was out of sight, she let out a long breath and shifted over to the cart, slipping as she climbed up. Standing even a few moments drained her, but that was something her father would not learn.

  Another fit of coughing hit her. Her eyes watered with it, and she tasted bile at the back of her throat. At least her father wasn’t there to see it; he got so worried every time she broke into one of those fits. Eventually, she worried that he would stop taking her word that she felt fine.

  As she sat, the dark clouds overhead finally made good on their threat of rain. Kira pulled her cloak up and over her shoulders, fighting the sudden shiver that worked through her. She had not been away from Amon long enough to forget the heavy rains so common that time of year, rains that made even simple daily activities difficult.

  Thankfully the rain had held long enough for her father to take supplies for a sale. If nothing had changed, at least Ms. Rubbles could be counted on to purchase some of their supplies. Every bit helped, getting them closer to being able to afford the price the healers demanded. Soon it wouldn’t matter—at least, not to her—but she kept fighting for her father. She worried what would happen to him when she finally succumbed to the illness. At least by doing something—anything—any guilt he might have could be lessened.

  A loud thunk made her turn. A small figure streaked away from the back of the wagon, quickly disappearing into a small throng of people. She looked down and saw the back of the wagon open.

  She climbed down slowly. The cold rain sent shivers through her, but her heart fluttered for a different reason. Hopefully, the wagon had just been bumped, but the reminder of thieves in the square made her heart pound. Rounding the end of the wagon, she nearly slipped, barely catching herself on slick rain-soaked wood.

  A few items were missing from the back of the wagon. A small lantern. A roll of cheap silks. And the trunk.

  All the money they had collected gone.

  Another fit of coughing overwhelmed her, doubling her over, but all she could think about was how her father would react, already seeing the disappointment on his face.

  * * *

  When the coughing fit finally eased, Kira wiped tears away from her eyes and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She knew she shouldn’t be disappointed; having the Guild of Annendel study her illness had always been unlikely to succeed, but it had been hope that she could cling to. Suddenly, even that was gone.

  She tried closing the back of the wagon to avoid everything else inside getting wet. Her arms trembled and it fell open. She did not have the energy to try again.

  “Kira?”

  She lifted her head and looked up. A tall young man with straight brown hair falling over his forehead looked at her with piercing blue eyes. She recognized those eyes. “Galen?” she asked.

  A wide smile split his face, until she started coughing again. When she finally got it back under control, he looked at her with the same expression of concern she always saw on her father’s face. “You are unwell,” he said.

  From Galen, son of Amon’s most respected healer, that simple statement made her throat tighten again. “I’m fine.” The familiar lie was easy.

  He blinked and she could tell that he wanted to say something more, but he remained silent.

  She sagged, her legs giving out as another shaking chill rolled through her. Had Galen not been there, she would have fallen.

  Galen lifted her and carried her to the front of the wagon, setting her atop the seat carefully. Without asking permission, he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, with more confidence than her father had managed. Then he touched her neck and twisted her head from side to side before resting his head on her chest and listening. Her breath caught at the familiarity and lack of concern for catching her illness.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Take a deep breath.”

  She took a shuddering breath. Her chest rattled as it so often did. So far, her father hadn’t noticed. Or if he had, he hadn’t said anything.

  Galen sat up and met her eyes. “How long have you been sick?”

  “A long time,” she said softly. She pushed up, leaning back on the wagon and turning away from him. The way he studied her made her uncomfortable, reminding her of every healer she had seen over the past year. But none had shared the same compassion that she saw in his eyes. After all the healers she had seen on the road, she wondered why her father had not taken her to see Galen’s father, Aelus.

  “You’ve been to Annendel?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “We’re traveling there now. The Guild has offered a study.”

  Galen snorted dismissively. “And how much did they quote you for the study?”

  “A hundred silver marks.” Saying it aloud made it sound ridiculous.

  “A hundred?”

  Seeing the disgusted look on his face, Kira pushed on. “The Guild is unrivaled in their knowledge, Galen. I don’t have to tell you that few have such an opportunity.”

  “Even fewer can afford such an opportunity,” he said, then climbed down from the wagon, as if suddenly realizing how close he sat to her. He wiped ink-stained hands on his brown pants, smearing crimson stains down the sides. The rain soaked them, making it look like blood running down his legs.

  “I am fortunate,” she said bitterly.

  Galen shook his head. “Kira . . .” He paused. “I’m sorry. That was poorly said on my part. Blame my father for teaching me that healing should not be something only the rich can achieve.”

  Kira glanced to the back of the wagon. They weren’t rich, but her father was determined. Nearly a hundred silver marks—half a year’s hard wor
k on a journey that Kira once had thought impossible—stolen. Any hope she might have at the Guild finding an answer stolen with it.

  Would it have made a difference to the thief had he known?

  “Would he see me?” she asked.

  Galen frowned. “Who? My father? I thought you were traveling to Annendel.”

  “I was . . . Am,” she corrected herself. “But we’ve seen every healer my father could find from Duras to the Western Plains. None has helped.”

  “And you think my father will do better than a Guild healer?”

  Kira sighed. She didn’t, but since their money had been stolen, she had no other options. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  Galen shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Kira. He’s not here. Left to collect herbs and other supplies about two weeks ago. Doubt he’ll return for another two weeks. He left me in charge, though that mostly means inventory.” He held up his ink-stained hands.

  Kira took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Of course. It was worth asking.”

  The rain started to taper off, turning into a fine mist that still left her feeling soaked. She stared across the square, worry for what she would tell her father when he returned growing stronger.

  Looking back at Galen, she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Galen laughed lightly, still watching her with his piercing blue eyes. “I had just stopped at Rubbles trying to buy paper,” he said. “Probably not the best weather to make such a purchase.”

  Kira wondered if he had seen her father. Would Galen even recognize him after his years away? But he had recognized her, even changed as she was, though she shouldn’t be surprised since she had always known Galen had a crush on her. “You didn’t find any?”

  Galen held up his hands again. “Closed.”

  If Rubbles’s was closed, then her father would return soon. And she would have to tell him what had happened. “Where else can you try?”

  A small smile crept across his face. “Theran.”

  “That’s nearly a day’s ride!”

  “Longer by foot,” he said.

  “Galen—” Another coughing fit kept her from finishing what she intended to say.

  “I don’t know what the healers have tried, but if you’re visiting Amon for long, you should stop by the shop. Let me at least give you something for the cough.”

  Kira managed to suppress the cough long enough to nod. “I’ll talk to my father about that,” she said, seeing the top of his head weaving through the crowd as he made his way back to the wagon. Already she felt her heart pounding as she thought about how she would tell him what had happened. Would they just return home to Duras? At least that way she would have time with her mother before the illness took her.

  “Do you remember how to find it?” he asked.

  There was a sincerity in his voice that pulled at something inside her. She forced another smile as she nodded. “Thank you, Galen.”

  He studied her for another moment and then started away. Kira watched him until he rounded a corner. Only then did she hear her father opening the back of the wagon, and she began to prepare for his outburst, dreading the conversation as another coughing fit threatened her.

  * * *

  Kira clutched the roll of parchment in one hand as she looked at the storefront. Little about it had changed since she had lived in Amon. The paint had faded somewhat, and the lettering seemed smaller, but otherwise, the sign reminded her of those days so many years before when she had still been allowed to move around the streets alone. She’d never had the same freedom once her father moved them to Duras. The larger city had different dangers. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to protect her from everything.

  She had not had the heart to tell him about the chest. With the rain, he had slammed the back of the wagon shut quickly, not looking inside, but she had no doubt that he would soon learn what happened. And then she would be forced to endure his disappointment.

  A fit of coughing set her shaking, then slowly eased. The fits seemed to be getting worse, each time taking her breath away for longer. That time, a little blood came up. How much time did she have left? At the least, she could take Galen up on his offer and see if he knew of anything that would suppress the cough. Perhaps his father had learned of something the Guild had missed.

  A bell over the door jingled as she pushed it open. Inside, the shop itself looked neatly cared for, rows of shelves all well labeled. That, at least, seemed different. She remembered Aelus’s shop to be more disorganized, a clutter of scents from the stacks of herbs practically overflowing the shelves. She wondered if the change was Galen’s influence.

  Voices near the back of the store made her hesitate. An older man, his voice high-pitched and shaky, spoke to Galen.

  “Do you know when he might return?” the man asked.

  Kira peeked around the end of one shelf. She saw Galen standing across from a well-dressed older man, a pained look on the man’s somber face. A narrow table was all that separated them. “I’m sorry, Hyp, but he’ll probably be another week or two. If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”

  The man gripped his stomach. “Well . . . I awoke to severe stomach pains and haven’t been able to eat anything all day. I’ve never had anything quite like it.” His voice sounded pained and his head swayed as he spoke.

  “Never?” Galen asked. There was a barely masked hint of surprise as he motioned to the table. The man crawled on top, moaning as he did, and Galen pressed his hands into the man’s stomach and twisted his ear down to listen. Once satisfied, he helped the man sit back up.

  “The pain goes through to my back and neck.” He stood up straight, letting go of his stomach. “Aren’t you going to write this down, Galen? Your father always documents my symptoms.”

  Galen let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry, Hyp.” For a moment, Kira thought that Galen would dismiss Hyp. He clearly did not think his symptoms were too serious, but then he grabbed a piece of paper, dipped a pen into ink, and quickly scratched something across the page. He slid the paper quickly off to the side. “Maybe it’s time you see the Guild,” Galen suggested, looking back up at Hyp.

  A sour noted entered Hyp’s voice. “The Guild?” He grunted and shook his head. “Your father is a better healer than any Guild member. Quite a bit cheaper too. And don’t you worry, Galen, pretty soon you’ll be there as well.”

  Galen smiled and steered Hyp down the rows of shelves. Seeing Kira, he winked. “Try these,” he said, taking a few loose leaves and stuffing them into a small bowl. “Mix them in water. It should help soothe your stomach at least. Let me know if it doesn’t work.”

  Hyp nodded. “You’ll tell your father?”

  “Of course, Hyp.”

  Hyp dropped a few coins into a bowl on the table before leaving the store with a soft jingle of the bell.

  Galen watched the door for a moment before turning to face her. Tension faded from his shoulders and his neck. When he smiled, she could not look away from his eyes.

  “You see him often?” Kira asked.

  Galen shrugged. “Hyp is a worrier. It’s been worse since my father left. I haven’t figured out what my father gives him to help him relax, but nothing I’ve given has helped so far.”

  Kira looked back to the door. “Then what did you try today?”

  “Just barberry and chamoline.” He shook his head and wiped a hand across his brow. A streak of dark ink smeared as he did. “The chamoline is soothing. Might help his nerves. The barberry may help calm his stomach.”

  Kira suppressed a smile. This wasn’t the same Galen she’d known when she was younger. That Galen had been full of chaotic energy, determined to leave Amon and explore the bigger world. The Galen standing before her carried himself confidently, seemingly content to follow in his father’s footsteps.

  Another cough threatened to come over her, and she covered her mouth and took a few shallow breaths. That was the only thing that seemed to work when the fits threatened
her. Galen’s eyes narrowed as he studied her and then he put an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the small table near the back of the room.

  “Sit,” he said. “Let me see if I can find you something.”

  “You aren’t afraid that you’ll catch this?”

  He looked at her with a strange expression before shaking his head. “I knew as soon as I saw you that you weren’t contagious. I just wish I knew how to treat the wasting illness that’s taken you.”

  Galen left her and wandered down a few of the rows of shelves. Kira looked around as he did. The hard table had a clean white sheet covering it. A few heavy tan ceramic mortars, the kind she had seen used by every Guild member her father had brought her to see, rested nearby, each darkly stained but otherwise clean. Behind the table were a few sturdy pots. As far as she could tell, all were empty. A stack of papers rested on the desk nearby, the topmost with only a few lines written on it. In a neat scrawl, she saw what Galen had written about Hyp.

  Abdominal pain. Nausea. No physical findings. Suspect hysteria. Given barberry, chamoline, and feverleaf.

  Galen returned and pulled one of the smaller mortars off the shelf. Kira did not see what he poured in before he began pounding at it with the heavy pestle. He caught her looking at the page and smiled sheepishly.

  “My father prefers to document all the symptoms and treatments. Thinks he can catalogue them sometime, make a reference that anyone can follow.”

  “So they won’t need the Guild?” she asked.

  “The Guild will always be needed for certain things.”

  Kira frowned, surprised that Galen would admit to the usefulness of the Guild.

  He shrugged. “Can’t operate on yourself. And sometimes there are unique cases that don’t have a clear answer. But often enough there is much that simple herbs can heal. I think that is his goal.”