Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  About the Author

  International bestselling author, A. R. Johnston is just a small-town girl from Nova Scotia, Canada, looking to share her tales with others. She is known to write mostly urban fantasy, though she goes where the muses lead her and you never know where that may be. She is a lover of coffee, good TV shows, horror flicks, and a reader of good books. She pretends to be a writer when real life doesn’t get in the way. Pesky full-time job and adulting! Sign up for her newsletter at

  arjohnstonauthor.wordpress.com.

  Don’t forget to grab your copy of the next anthology in this amazing set—Wayward Magic.

  The Mouth of the Dragon

  Rumors

  Devorah Fox

  When his ship goes off course, King Bewilliam and his knights venture into an unknown land in hopes of gaining practical guidance to reach their destination port. Instead, the people they encounter have heard only of the mysterious fabled land of Perooc and its magnificent treasure rumored to satisfy every desire. Even those who refute Perooc’s existence live lives shaped by its denial. Others devote themselves to the attainment of its treasure. Yet no one admits to knowing its location and how to reach it. An empiricist, the king wants nothing to do with magic. In pursuit of his own ends, however, he finds himself breaching the gates and plumbing the hidden passages said to lead to Perooc and the acquisition of its secret power.

  I drew inspiration for the three stories of “The Mouth of the Dragon” from “The Parable of the Palace,” a chapter in “The Guide to the Perplexed.” A masterwork of religious philosophy by Moses ben Maimon (aka Maimonides), a medieval rabbi, the “Guide” seeks to resolve the conflict between metaphysical and secular knowledge.

  Devorah Fox

  Aboard the Emperor’s Fancy en route to the port of Hewnstone, the ship's hold filled with food for the famine-stricken Chalklands, King Bewilliam and his knights become blanketed in an impenetrable fog.

  They rescue a man adrift in the miasma, a wizard searching for the fabled land of Perooc. Guarded by a dragon, Perooc’s magnificent treasure is reputed to satisfy every desire. When the fog clears, the king and his cohorts discover themselves gravely off-course and venture to a nearby landmass.

  The king’s hopes to find people who can guide them to port are dashed by recalcitrant denizens of Here and There who have never heard of the king’s realm or of the port. They warn him not to dare seek the mysterious Perooc, a perilous mission from which no one has returned.

  Chapter One

  Robin leaned back in his chair to feel the sun on his face. The breeze filled his nostrils with the signature smell of salt and sea. His cat, Meeyoo, lay stretched out on a sunlit spot of the deck.

  This was the way to travel on an ocean-going vessel, he thought, much better than the last time he sailed. Estranged from his throne, he was then not King Bewilliam, but a vagabond and a fugitive. Forced to reinvent himself, he'd bargained his way aboard a battered cargo ship, bartering for passage with service as a deckhand. The work kept him so busy for the majority of the trip that he failed to notice anything other than the task at hand. Then came that storm and the sea monster…

  After that onerous passage, he reclaimed his throne but kept souvenirs of that trying time: a humble but handy rucksack, his feline companion, and one other item: a name. Robin.

  “Robin” was the moniker chosen by the alter ego who emerged during those desperate days. Plucky Robin employed talents the king didn’t realize he had. Though restored to his rightful place, he never fully surrendered that secret second self. To everyone else, he was “Sire,” “Your Majesty,” and “King Bewilliam,” but in his mind he was Robin who persevered through trial after trial.

  Robin settled deeper into his chair and stretched out his legs. He owed much to that scrappy, resilient persona but being king had its advantages. He would not labor on this voyage. This time plenty of hands attended to the work of sailing: his trusted knights, an experienced cartographer, capable sailors, and servants. They would arrive safely at the port of Hewnstone in no time. They would unload their cargo and continue onward by land to his Bell Castle.

  If only he could relax, but they couldn't return to the Chalklands too soon. The kingdom’s subjects were desperate for the ship's cargo, the first delivery of food to relieve the famine that decimated the realm. The job of rebuilding would be daunting but he was eager to start. He had done it before; he'd do it a second time.

  As well, he worried about how the realm had fared in his absence.

  The ship's rocking motion and ruffling sails lulled him into a doze. Robin closed his eyes. His muscles slackened. Troubling thoughts drifted away on the wind.

  The cooling of his cheek nudged his vigilant soldier-sense. He cracked open one eye. The sunlight had dimmed. A passing cloud, Robin told himself.

  Or was it the gryphon, an elusive guardian everyone alleged shadowed the king? He had never seen it, although Sir Maxwell claimed he did. A mythical beast with a lion's body, the head and wings of an eagle, and a snake for a tail. If such a creature existed it would be a land animal and unlikely to be this far out at sea, Robin reasoned.

  He closed his eye and tried to regain his tranquility.

  He no sooner became aware that his skin seemed moist as well as cool than came a murmur.

  “Sire?”

  Robin mentally swatted it away as if it were a fly. Who dared to disturb the king, he wondered.

  “Sire?” came the voice a second time, and louder.

  Recognizing it as that of Sir Maxwell, his youngest knight, Robin sighed and opened both eyes. The figure standing before him was blurry and the king blinked to clear his vision.

  The knight bowed. “I'm sorry to bother you, Sire. The helmsman said to alert Your Majesty. We have encountered a fog bank.”

  The king sat straighter and looked about. His vision wasn't blurry, the air was. A towering opaque white mass as tall as a snow-covered hill enveloped them in an impenetrable haze.

  “Helmsman Tychor says that because of insufficient visibility we must check our speed until it passes or until we pass through it. He wanted Your Majesty to know why we slowed.”

  “Thank you.” The king dismissed the knight. The air grew damper and the fog so dense that he could see nothing a few feet away. Meeyoo disappeared in the thick mist. Anxious, Robin rose from his seat thinking to take refuge in the solidity of his cabin. He skidded on the slick deck and grasped at the rails to steady himself. The sea and sky merged into one cottony cocoon. With nothing to reckon by, he lost all sense of motion or direction. An object adrift on the water's surface close to the ship made him dizzy. Robin couldn't tell if he was moving or if it was or if neither of them was.

  He spied something through a sheer spot in the fog. As if through a veil, he made out another floating object. It seemed too big to be a bird. Was it a large fish, a whale, or a monster? His racing heart beat faster.

  “Sire?”

  The king realized that Sir Maxwell stood but a few paces away.

  “Does Your Majesty see it too?”

  “Something's out there, Sir Maxwell. Can you tell what it is?”

  “It would appear to be someone in a vessel.”

  Robin frowned. “Out here?” They had seen no other ships since they left Sea Gate.

  Sir Maxwell handed the king a spyglass and pointed across the water. “Your Majesty should be able to see him.”

  Robin adjusted the glass's focus. He discerned something denser and darker than the fog, what appeared to be someone in a ship's boat roughly a league away. “He has no sail. How did he travel all the way out here? Not with a paddle, surely.”

  “I caught a glimpse of him, Sire. He flailed his arms about. I got the distinct impression that he is in trouble. Perhaps he had a sail and lost it or it became damaged.”

  “Ahoy,” came a disembodied voice. “Help. Can you help me?”

  “Sire, someone is out on the water,” said Sir Maxwell. “Should we attempt a rescue?
”

  The sea breeze thinned a spot in the veil of fog. Robin squinted into the spyglass trying to bring the distant figure into clearer focus. Was it a man? All the king could make out was a person in a robe and headgear, with long hair or a veil. Was it a woman? The figure was a tiny speck against the vast sea and sky.

  “We're not that far ….”

  “Try to keep him in sight, such as it is. We will consult with the helmsman.” Robin gingerly dismounted the slippery steps from the aftcastle and fumbled his way across the deck to the helm.

  Helmsman Tychor half-turned. Without taking his hands from the tiller, he cut something of a bow. A tall reed of a man, he appeared as if he could be blown over by the merest gust. However, his sovereign, Empress Alexandra, had assured King Bewilliam that the man's experience and competence would deliver them to Hewnstone without incident.

  “Your Majesty was apprised of the danger presented by this fog?” he asked.

  “We were.”

  Helmsman Tychor grunted. “I hope it blows away soon. Stalled like this, we will not make port until after dark. It will make docking treacherous.”

  “We may be able to make up time once we break through this fog. Meanwhile, there is a man seemingly adrift.”

  “Your Majesty wishes to rescue him?”

  “We would be reluctant to leave him if he is in trouble and we could have rendered assistance.” The king glanced behind him. “It would appear that he drifts close to us. We move slowly, the seas and wind are calm.”

  “Your Majesty speaks as one who does a fair amount of sailing.”

  Robin had been drafted to take the Orion’s tiller and kept it on course through a ferocious windstorm. However, the Emperor's Fancy was under his command and that was all Tychor needed to know. “Hold her steady and we'll endeavor to aid him.”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Tychor's narrowed eyes and set jaw communicated his displeasure.

  At the king's command, anyone, not otherwise engaged, found his way starboard. Meeyoo stuck her furry face through the rails.

  The distance closed between the ship and the target and the king identified a single person in the boat without sails. Not a woman, unless she somehow managed to grow a long white beard. A wine-colored robe cinched with a braided belt covered the lone sailor from neck to ankles and a wide-brimmed peaked hat shaded the wrinkled face of an elderly man.

  “You are in need of help?” Sir Alan called.

  “I am, good sir. I would be ever so grateful,” came the hoarse reply.

  Crew members lowered a rope ladder, scrambled down, grabbed the boat's lines, and secured them to The Fancy. The boat's passenger struggled to climb the ladder. He was so feeble he needed to be lifted aboard. “Thank you.” The man's gaze swept the assembled crew. “You saved my life and for that, I am in your debt.” He bowed to each one. When his eyes fell on Robin, he dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty.”

  “King Bewilliam. Of the Chalklands,” said Sir Albert.

  “And the Palisades,” Sir Maxwell added.

  “Rise, good sir,” Robin said.

  “I … I cannot.” The man caved in on himself and appeared about to plant his face on the deck. Sir Albert and Sir Alan each put a hand under the man's armpits and raised him.

  “He's probably parched,” said Dame Deidre. “Hungry, too.”

  “Take him to the mess. Give him food and drink,” Robin commanded. “And put us back on our original course.”

  His knights half carried the man to the grimy lower midships. Hunched over the table, the strange man sucked on a ship's biscuit and gulped some watered wine.

  “Slowly now, good sir,” said Dame Deidre. “Take it easy.”

  Nourishment revived the man such that he could straighten his torso. “Again, I thank you for your kindness,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “How came you to be in such dire circumstances?” Sir Albert asked. “So far from land, alone, in such a small boat?”

  The man drank more. “Yes, I owe you an explanation. I am Ofan. I am a wizard.”

  A wizard. King Bewilliam’s throat tightened and his belly cramped. Magic. He did not like magic. Like many rulers, he had seers and soothsayers at court and consulted them but never found their pronouncements to be of much help. Facts, figures, the testimony of witnesses, the opinions of experts, those were valuable aids in decision-making. Now here he was, on a ship in the middle of the ocean, with a magician. He frowned, then told himself he needn't be concerned. Ofan couldn't be much of a sorcerer. Had the man any magical skills at all why had he not conjured his rescue?

  Meeyoo twined around Ofan's ankles. The man reached under the table to stroke her. Robin wondered if she was attracted to him because of his occult nature. Cats were reputed to be the natural familiars of magicians. For that reason superstitious people avoided cats. King Bewilliam harbored no such irrationality.

  “I am indebted to Your Majesty for my rescue. I wish to give you a gift.” Ofan glanced down and patted his chest and hips. “Ah.” He unwrapped a ribbon from his wrist. “It is small, a mere token, but I wish Your Majesty to have it.” He moved to drape it over Robin's neck and chuckled hoarsely. “Hmmm, too small.” He stroked his beard then held up a finger. “Perhaps…” He slipped it onto Meeyoo's neck. “Perfect fit,” he said with a smile.

  Meeyoo lifted her chin and squeezed her eyes, looking as pleased as a cat could look. From the smooth lavender-colored ribbon a charm dangled: a tiny brass key.

  “I had been seeking a treasure,” Ofan explained.

  “A treasure?” Sir Maxwell's eyes grew big and bright. “A chest of gold and jewels?” He faced his companions. “Out here, the high seas are the province of pirates. Perhaps they've hidden away plunder.”

  “A treasure so magnificent it will satisfy your heart's every desire,” Ofan continued. “You will never want for anything else.”

  What Robin wanted was to get this ship and its cargo to Hewnstone and on to his needy people.

  “It is secreted away in a remote mysterious land known to few.”

  “What land would that be?” James asked.

  Robin suppressed a grin. A cartographer, James would want to consult his maps and update them if necessary.

  “It's called Perooc.”

  James said, “Never heard of it.”

  The wizard smiled weakly. “Few have.”

  Sir Maxwell's eyes grew wider and his lips parted. The other knights lifted their chins and raised their eyebrows.

  “So you were chasing a rumor.” Sir Alan scowled.

  The man replied, “It is no rumor. Perooc and its treasure exist. Few have the commitment to seek it. Those who make the attempt are sorely tested. Only the stalwart can triumph over the trials.”

  The knights squared their shoulders. Champions all, they had yet to fail to meet a challenge. Robin sighed. As if they hadn't already been through an ordeal, the mere suggestion of an escapade whetted their appetites. But there was much work to be done at home. Adventure would have to wait.

  “Those who made that journey didn't return to tell of it. The treasure is guarded by a dragon,” Ofan wheezed.

  “Definitely a trove of jewels and gold.” Sir Maxwell nodded. “Dragons hoard such treasure.”

  “Where is this Perooc?” James asked.

  “Close. It should be close.” The wizard coughed. “I had hoped to reach it by now. I thought, another league or two.”

  “Is that how you came to be out in the ocean?”

  The man nodded.

  Robin glared at the alleged magician. A lone man in a ship's boat. Where was the larger vessel to which it belonged? Sir Maxwell spoke of pirates. Had brigands attacked Ofan's ship and if so, were they close behind? Or had Ofan committed a shipboard crime and fled with avengers in pursuit? Bringing him aboard may have put everyone on the Fancy in danger.

  A servant appeared halfway down the steps and bowed. “Sire, Helmsman Tychor asks to speak with Your Majesty.”

  R
obin gritted his teeth anticipating Tychor's report that outlaws threatened. The king emerged from the hatch to find the fog had cleared. Somewhat relieved, he hastened to the quarterdeck. “Since the fog has lifted, have we resumed our journey to Hewnstone?” He gazed about. “The sails haven't been raised.”

  Tychor pressed his lips together. “We would be, Sire, if I knew where it was.”

  Chapter Two

  Robin frowned. He pointed. “That land? That's not Hewnstone?” Robin had not himself spent much time in the port city.

  Tychor handed the king a spyglass. “No, Sire. I have sailed to Hewnstone many a time. That is not it. That is not it at all. I don't recognize it. That coastline is unfamiliar to me.”

  What lay against the horizon did not resemble a bustling port city. A broad flat sandy beach devoid of wharves, docks, or buildings of any kind stretched toward a slight rise bearded with short green foliage. The fog bank hung above it. Robin would have taken it for a deserted island if not for the dark mass at the fog's center. He adjusted the spyglass for a better view. He thought he discerned a construction, a wall perhaps. “It looks much like a walled city or castle in the distance.”

  The helmsman didn't respond.

  “You really don't know where we are?”

  Tychor hesitated before answering, “I don't.” The king perceived how much it pained him to admit it. He needn't be troubled. Tychor's job was to get them where they were going. The course was the responsibility of the captain who for this voyage was Robin.

  The knights had drifted up from below-decks. They clustered near, first in baffled silence. Then Dame Deidre asked, “Have we arrived?”

  “Is that the port of Hewnstone?” Sir Maxwell asked.

  “It doesn't look like any port I've ever been in,” said Sir Albert.