Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Chapter Eight

  Thing popped out of the hole in the rubble and collided with a Guard. The man toppled, taking the three climbing up behind him down with him. A luminous crystal bounced away from the Guard, taking with it all the light in this tunnel. It went bouncing down the rock pile, throwing some truly interesting shadows as it messed with the Guards’ eyesight but not his.

  Good. Thing didn't need light. He could see five bodies well in the infrared spectrum and hear them too. Shouted orders mixed with screams as he ran roughshod over several fallen Guards then launched himself into the air again. Dale, he called.

  “Here, Father!” Dale chirped in their language.

  Follow me, son. No more talking. Mind-talk only from now on. Thing fumed as he veered around a stalactite.

  I hear and obey. Dale sounded entirely too cheerful.

  And what was with all that formality? It wasn't like Dale. Maybe it was a phase the youngster was going through. Thing chose to ignore it. He had larger problems right now.

  There's just one problem, Dale said.

  What’s that? Thing asked, but then he saw it, or rather them and a whole lot of red. Three winged, cat-like creatures wrestled with a floating red blanket with blue squiggles painted on it that had gotten snagged on something. What did you do? Thing didn’t want an answer to that question, nor to deal with this sort of snafu right now. He had loved ones to spirit away on the very object caught up in the mess.

  “It was his fault.” Dale pointed to Yarn while Mixie picked at the blood red threads wound around her mate's claws and a carpet of needle-thin crystals covering this part of the ceiling. The trio had let the blanket fly too close to the ceiling.

  Thing didn't even want to know how his adopted son had gotten snarled up in this. He should have sent Crispin to supervise them. Just stop. Nobody move. We're running out of time.

  Rather than untangle the inextricable, Thing tore the threads caught on the crystals and on Yarn’s claws and snapped off some of their protrusions until the blanket floated freely again, but it trailed a disconcerting number of threads by the time Thing had freed Yarn.

  That couldn't be helped, so Thing grabbed one of the red tassels with his feet and glared at the others to do the same. Mixie and Yarn brought up the rear where they were unlikely to get into any more trouble if they followed instructions to the letter. Dale grabbed the tassel on the corner opposite Thing.

  When he was certain they were ready, Thing dove off the ledge they’d perched on, and the blanket floated along behind them, following as they towed it. Good, the old float spell was still active on it. Now, if only this blanket would stay together until they’d all escaped.

  “Where are we going? Mom and the others are that way.” Dale pointed over his shoulder at the rubble choking the tunnel they’d just left.

  There was no way they could take their only means of conveyance capable of carrying a full-grown man through there. Surely, they’d realized that? One glance proved they hadn’t. Kids today, they were always questioning him. Thing ground his beak in frustration. Why couldn't they just trust that he knew what he was doing?

  “He's right, Dad,” Mixie said. “And my baby is with them.”

  “Furball is fine. He's with your mother. We go this way because it’s better.” And that was all Thing had to say on that matter, so he switched to mind-speech. No more talking out loud. There’s Guards below and ahead of us. We don't want them to hear us.

  Dale gave him a frightened look, and Mixie was just as jittery as her brother. Thing could feel his daughter’s apprehension as he took them around a bend, and he understood it. Nulthir was the one human they'd come into regular contact with, but he wasn’t a good representative of his people.

  Far below, Guards moved about, alert for trouble. His coterie flew about thirty-five feet over their heads through deep shadows. Mixie flew on silent wings just like Thing did, so even if the Guards did hear the flap of Dale’s or Yarn's wings, they'd see nothing. None of them had bows or any ranged weapons, so his family was in no danger from below.

  The transept ended finally, and they turned left into a large cave full of cells. A narrow aisle wound between them. Some cells were occupied; some weren't, but there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to that, or not any Thing could fathom from looking at them.

  Something’s going on down there, Mixie sent. Good, she’d followed his instructions and confined her comments to mind-speech.

  Keep going. There's another tunnel. Your mother is in there. She’ll guide you. Thing reached out to relay his plan to Amal as he pulled his wings in and dropped down to get a better view of what the Guards were doing. Nulthir would need to know when he regained consciousness, and Thing was curious about all the rushing to and fro below.

  The Guards dashed from cell to cell exclaiming something. Instead of trying to parse their echoing shouts, Thing skimmed their minds for the salient details, and what he found had him diving down for a closer look into one of the cells the Guards had just left. Bars formed three of its walls with the stone wall of the cavern making up the fourth. Inside the cell, a scraggly man of indeterminate age lay in a heap on a pallet. The inmate breathed shallowly and stared blankly into space as he drooled and twitched involuntarily.

  Thing perched on the bars forming the cell’s ceiling and peered into the cells alongside this one. Their occupants were in similar states. Could a disease spread that rapidly? Thing didn’t think so. More likely, they’d been hit with the same dark magic as Nulthir, but his friend had some protection thanks to his markings, and these inmates hadn’t.

  Thing had seen enough to report back to Nulthir when his friend awoke, but he stayed put when he heard the cell door creak open to admit someone. What have we here? Thing wondered.

  The stranger crouched before the stricken inmate. He wasn’t a Guard. Guards didn't wear flowing yellow robes, and they couldn’t afford the white lumir crystal clutched in the man’s other hand. The paler the color, the more expensive the stone. The newcomer extended a bony hand and laid it on the inmate’s furrowed brow. The fella relaxed and exhaled something the stranger sucked in.

  What had this guy done? Thing watched as the robed stranger left the cell and entered the next one. He watched the guy perform the same ritual, but this time, Thing switched to mage sight and saw a vague gold glow where the robed man stood that was barely perceptible against the inanimate objects in the cell, as if all the robed man’s light had turned inward. How strange. Magic was always externally focused, at least the sort Nulthir had always used was. What sort of magic was the opposite of that?

  What was this guy doing to the inmates? Thing silently hopped over to the next cell to watch the process again. This time, he was determined to catch something he could report back to Nulthir that would make sense of what he was seeing.

  “Neeeeeeep!” Furball screamed, startling Thing.

  He mantled his wings to keep from falling then flapped them to lift off while calling for his mate mind-to-mind. Amal! But Thing couldn't touch her mind. He screeched in surprise and fear and put on a burst of speed. Whatever that robed man was doing could wait, his family could not.

  Chapter Nine

  Nulthir awoke to pain. Every part of him ached and burned with magic. He had too much of it, and the excess bounced around inside him, alternatively freezing him, burning him, and delivering painful shocks as he rolled off something hard and plummeted into darkness again. Oops. He wasn’t supposed to roll over. There was a reason for that, but it escaped him.

  “Neeeeeeep!” Furball screamed from his pocket.

  “Furball? What are you doing in there?” Nulthir traced the leaf and the warlock’s six-pointed star in the air. “Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone.” Magic trailed from his fingers in bright sparks. Some glowed a pale green shading toward gold, but darker patches were eating the light. How strange.

  Runes drawn directly on the air had never worked for Nulthir, so this was nothing new. It did slow
his fall a little, probably not enough to matter though. He needed a medium to hold the spell long enough for it to take shape and catch him. His clothes had been full of enchantments, but they were gone. That attack had stripped all of them away including the one he’d cast to protect Furball.

  “Cast a spell before you hit the ground!” Crispin shouted. His claws dug into Nulthir’s shoulder, puncturing the leather epaulettes. His claws drew a rivulet of blood as the brave owl-monkey-cat pumped his wings and tried in vain to slow his fall, but Nulthir was too heavy, and gravity had him in its jaws. But the blood—that Nulthir could work with. There was a dark power simmering it from the attack.

  Nulthir dimly remembered his mother saying something about blood being the pathway to darkness. But he had no other options right now, so he dipped his pinky into the blood and traced a leaf, but it resisted the warlock’s six-pointed star, which always pointed up toward the sun and the Eternal from which all power flowed. The blood forced him to draw its inverse, a downward pointing six-pointed star that called to the dark rather than the light.

  Nulthir rubbed it out. He refused to wear the devil’s symbol, not even to save himself. A flash blinded him, and a pop of displaced air almost deafened him as Nulthir landed on something soft—a floating blanket, which was also falling. He was too heavy, and its float spell was failing. The runes he’d drawn on it years ago were fading away.

  Nulthir fumbled in his utility belt as the blanket tilted, and he slipped off. He landed feet-first, thank Fate, and the runes inscribed on his knee-high leather boots protected his ankles. They absorbed the shock of his fall as he wavered, and Crispin flapped his wings madly to help stabilize him, but Nulthir was too weak to stand. He sat down hard as Crispin’s claws retracted, and he fell on his rump and blinked up at the Guard rounding the bend.

  Nulthir touched his breast pocket to hide Furball, but it hung slack and empty. Furball must have teleported away. Maybe he’d gone back to their flat where they all belonged. But knowing his luck tonight, Furball had probably teleported himself into the arms of trouble. Well, the little fella would have to fend for himself for a little bit. Nulthir was in enough trouble, and more of it was clomping toward him brandishing nightsticks.

  “Who goes there?” the Guard asked as he held a pebble-sized lumir crystal up that barely gave off any light at all.

  “Nulthir, I’m a Guard.” Nulthir bowed his head partly out of respect and out of weariness and a desire to keep his eyes hidden until someone could confirm they weren’t glowing.

  Magic was supposed to make its user’s eyes glow only while using magic. But Sarn’s eyes had glowed all the time. Since meeting that kid, Nulthir had been more careful about hiding his eyes after using magic just in case that glow lingered, or the magic left some other sign of its use. One could never be too careful in a country that spurned magic in all its forms.

  Tell them a wall collapsed on you. There was a structural instability in it, Amal prompted him. Her voice was a welcome addition to the confusing tumult in his mind right now.

  Nulthir did as she advised. The Guard said something, but the tunnel—was he in a tunnel right now? —began to spin. His shoulder throbbed where Crispin had accidentally gored him.

  I’m so sorry about that, Crispin said. His sincerity was touching but not necessary. The owl-monkey-cat had tried to save him, and that was an admirable goal.

  Nulthir tried to send that thought to Crispin to allay his little friend’s guilt, but nothing happened as usual. His mind just didn't transmit. It was telepathically inert. But somehow, Nulthir could still receive at times. Maybe the two types of magic bouncing around inside him were boosting his nonexistent mental gifts. Anything was possible.

  Nulthir, I need you to focus. Listen to my voice and say exactly what I tell you to. Are you ready? Amal sounded like she stood right behind him. Maybe she did. Everything was spinning and starting to slip away again. Nulthir slumped down and threw his arm over his closed eyes just in case the magic fighting each other inside him was somehow visible in his eyes, and their struggle might be. Magic wanted to be seen.

  Nulthir? Tell the Guard you don’t have a concussion. You don’t need a healer. You just need to rest. Ask the Guard to give you leave to do that. Nulthir! Amal pulled him back from the dark veil falling over his sight.

  Nulthir opened his mouth as Thing’s voice echoed in his head, repeating what Amal had said. Words tripped off Nulthir’s tongue in short staccato sentences like the ones Thing favored, but Nulthir wasn't the one forming them. They must have been the right ones because he heard something that sounded like a dismissal.

  I spoke for you, Thing said.

  “You can do that?” Nulthir asked.

  Yes, but only because you trust me. Don’t move, Thing warned when Nulthir felt hands under him.

  Guards surrounded him. Hadn’t they just dismissed him? Why weren’t they leaving him alone? Nulthir was confused. If he dared to lower his arm, he might catch a glimpse of them and discover their intent, but his arm was a heavy weight pressing against his eyes, and he was so tired and dizzy.

  Don’t move, Thing reminded him mind-to-mind. His friend sounded closer than before, and Nulthir realized the owl-monkey-cat’s plan.

  “Don’t hurt them.”

  Thing didn't reply, but he didn't need to because one of the Guards screamed practically in Nulthir’s ear, but the fellow let go. They all did as Thing circled around for another pass.

  Chapter Ten

  Amal watched in horror as Nulthir fell. Furball screamed, then a flash blinded her, and a loud pop announced the kit’s imminent arrival. Furball appeared out of thin air and slammed into her breast. She snapped her arms closed around him before he could fall. “You’re safe.” She stroked his shivering back. But Nulthir wasn’t.

  Crispin dove after him, but he wasn’t strong enough to arrest Nulthir’s fall. Only Nulthir could save himself, but he wasn’t coherent enough to do that. Nulthir hit the ground and crumpled. Amal scanned his thoughts for any new pains or injuries other than his shoulder wound but didn't find any. Nulthir wasn’t well, but he wasn’t any worse off than he was before he fell. Thank the Creator for that small miracle.

  But they had a new problem. Guards spilled out of the darkness and surrounded their downed friend. Only Nulthir couldn’t concentrate enough to get rid of them. Amal didn’t have her mate’s facility with mind-reading groups of humans, so she zeroed in on the leader, a broad-shouldered man leaning over Nulthir.

  “Zarek,” the leader called, and Amal cursed. Zarek was the healer. That fella had to stay away from Nulthir. A healer would recognize him for a warlock, especially if Amal was reading the leader’s mind right. This healer had a touch of magic himself. But the leader didn’t really want the healer to look at one of his Guard’s either. Amal tried to discover why, but the leader shied away from thinking about that.

  Thing? I need your mind. Amal reached out to him as she thought that, and he linked up with her. He was ever at her service, her knight in feathers and fur. Read this man and tell me what you find.

  Will do. I’m coming. Be ready, Thing replied, but he closed off his mind, giving her no hint of his plan.

  Amal handed Furball to Thistle. He fussed at the exchange then quieted as her adopted daughter stroked his head. Be ready for what? Amal demanded but got nothing back.

  Ornery old owl. Thing could be so damned secretive at times it was maddening. Amal plugged back into the doings below in time to feed Nulthir some lines that should assuage the leader of this contingent of Guards until his mind slipped from her grasp. Damn it.

  Amal waited for Nulthir to parrot back her last instructions until finally he did, but his voice sounded off. His diction wasn't as crisp as it usually was. Then she realized why—Thing had taken over and was speaking through him. Amal hadn’t known her mate could do that. Before she could comment on that, screams erupted from below and a long, eerie, ‘who, who, who.’

  That must be what Thing
had meant by ‘be ready’. He planned to chase the Guards away, so they could spirit Nulthir away unseen. Well, Amal couldn’t let her mate have all the fun, and she was tired of hiding in the shadows. Her bum wing made steering difficult, but Amal jumped anyway and joined her son and mate. She kept her claws retracted as she swooped gracelessly down on a Guardswoman. She was too old and pale to be Iraine, and Amal was relieved it wasn’t her. She struck the woman in the shoulder, toppling her. The Guardswoman went down hard and stayed down. The woman had probably been knocked out cold by the stalagmite she’d bounced off. Oops. Well, that Guardswoman shouldn’t have messed with Amal and her family.

  “They’re gone or in the process of going away,” Mixie said from above. “Where’s my baby?”

  “Here, I have him.” Thistle held Furball up as she stepped off onto the floating blanket Mixie, Dale and Yarn were towing. It sank as they flew down but remained three inches off the floor.

  “Wake up, Nulthir. We need you one more time then you can rest.” Crispin gently nudged his non-wounded shoulder.

  Nulthir winced as he opened his eyes. They were black rimmed in a dark blue. Not good. The eyes were the mirror of a mage’s power, and his was sick and twisted, but he saw the enchanted blanket and fell onto it. The blanket dipped down under his weight then again as Amal hopped on beside Thistle, who was still holding Furball.

  “You have to refresh the spells in the blanket. They’re fading,” Amal prompted, but Nulthir just kept looking at her blankly as if she was speaking a foreign tongue instead of the one spoken by the humans who dwelled in this land. Her diction wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t usually have any difficulty understanding her. “Nulthir?” Amal touched his face. He was burning up with a fever.

  Thing hovered over his friend and asked something she couldn’t catch mind-to-mind. What on earth was her mate up to now? Amal would get it out of him later. Whatever Thing had done had worked. Nulthir blinked, and there was more sense in his freaky eyes.