Wayward Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 2)

by Melinda Kucsera

  A cacophony of noise assaulting Finyaka’s ears pushed him out of the Between as if he were one of the camels being shouted at by the drovers. Labourers grunted over boxes and lashings. Camels bleated their greetings to the rising sun.

  Someone sat near Finyaka, their strong body odor mixed with the ever-prevalent smell of camel. Wool prickled his back and arms. Insects buzzed around him and tickled his skin where they landed.

  Most of all he felt the warmth of the Great Sun, Anuu. Light be praised, I am alive. Something must have gone wrong with his choice if he wasn’t dead. Either that or the afterlife was a merchant’s caravan. He concentrated on his environment, basking in its nuances, and afraid to open his eyes in case this was another test of his worthiness.

  “I have invested quite heavily in the well-being of this supposed mage-priest,” said a nasal voice from somewhere by his feet. “Recompense for my efforts is more than fair is it not, most wise one?”

  Finyaka had no idea who was speaking or to whom he spoke, but he sensed one of them had been touched by the Radiance.

  “If your strays are indeed who you say they are, Nahdas,” she said, in a strong, matronly voice, “then I concur. However, you should find contentment alone in the knowledge that you have helped a mage-priest of the Great Sun.”

  Finyaka recognized her voice. She had sung the Great Song to him and he had submitted himself unto her and the others in the choir. Am I mistaken? Am I dead?

  The woman’s words captivated him. Which strays did she speak of? Who was Nahdas? How am I able to sense the Radiance of the dead?

  “Oh,” replied the nasal man, “I am jubilant in knowing I have done my duties before the Great Sun, but a man does not sustain himself and his family on piety alone.” He sounded rehearsed, comical even. Finyaka chuckled impulsively.

  “He’s awake!” Matasa’s shout of joy filled Finyaka with a jubilance he hadn't known in a long time. The woman called for water. Unseen hands seated Finyaka upright. The woman’s powerful presence remained, her soft hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to look at her. It was as if he had looked into the heart of the great Sun. All that registered was a bright light.

  Matasa gasped and the sniveling man exclaimed, “By the Light.”

  The soft hand withdrew. Another took its place.

  “What happened to his eyes?” Matasa’s concern was evident in his tone and his reassuring squeeze on Finyaka’s shoulder.

  “I am not sure,” the woman replied hastily. “Let me investigate? I need to go to the village. Retrieve a few…items from my home. You stay here in master Nahdas’ tent. Do you understand me?” Her tone broached no reply.

  Fabric swished away from Finyaka. A tent flap opened upon the sounds of a bustling caravan camp. Finyaka’s sense of the woman’s Radiance diminished.

  “What about my recompense?” The nasal man hastened behind her. After a fleeting gust of wind, the flap shut out the village sounds again.

  How can I be inside? I feel the presence of the Great Sun upon my skin. Warmth on his skin pulsated. His Radiance felt renewed, connected to his every fiber.

  “Matasa?” Finyaka searched for his cousin with his right hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Matasa leaned in and gave him a fierce hug.

  “I thought we had lost you to the stars little cousin.”

  Warm tears fell against Finyaka’s cheek.

  “I walked among the stars,” Finyaka said, “in the land between the Light and Darkness. Sinaya was there. She helped me understand my Radiance. I have overused my gift, cousin. She said that I need to show restraint if I am to survive its cost.”

  “You used your Radiance liberally, though I, for one, am glad of it. Are you able to walk?” Matasa’s firm hands helped Finyaka to his feet. “We made Onubaki this morning. The lady that left, that was Asho, the mage-priest we were sent to meet. She’s willing to mentor you!” Matasa hugged him again and started ushering him across the tent.

  Finyaka stopped. He had to tell his cousin what had happened, although it pained him to do so.

  “The Great Sun Anuu gave me a choice.” He tried to sound as wise as Sinaya had, knew he was most likely failing at it.

  “Oh? Then perhaps you should discuss it with Asho when she returns. I, too, have news for you.”

  Finyaka eased himself out of Matasa’s arms. “I know what has been asked of me.”

  “Amazing!” Matasa said. Once again, Finyaka found himself in the older man’s tight embrace. “Praise be the Great Sun! What does the Light have in store for us?” Matasa’s enthusiasm both warmed Finyaka’s heart and made it difficult to say what came next.

  “Matasa,” Finyaka said, “I need to go to the Golden City alone.”

  Matasa pushed him away, saying, “But we have done so much together.” Finyaka’s arms flew out, seeking something to brace himself against. He trembled, still weak from his ordeal. “Why would the Great Sun take you from me now? Does Anuu know how much I suffered for you?”

  “I don’t know why.” Finyaka struggled to keep from feeling the hurt Matasa projected. “All I know is Sinaya said I have to defeat the Darkness before the three bands which bind the Golden City are destroyed.”

  “Nothing in that statement says you need to do it by yourself!”

  “I can’t explain it Matasa. I…” Finyaka faltered. His cousin’s defiant protest gutted him. Matasa had not been there, in the Between. Finyaka didn’t know how to make him understand.

  “You are drunk with your own power,” said Matasa. His voice dropped to a menacing low. “You’re no better than the rest of your family.”

  His words hit Finyaka harder than any of his father’s slaps to his face. The sound of Matasa leaving the tent spurred Finyaka into action. He rushed toward the village’s commotion, bumping to objects as he found his way. As he burst into the bustling encampment, he slammed hard into someone and toppled to the ground. The chaos around him assaulted his senses.

  “Hey now, watch where you’re going,” The obstruction hefted Finyaka to his feet. He looked in the direction of the man he’d collided into. “By the Great Sun, what has happened to your eyes?”

  Finyaka stumbled free of the man’s hands. There was no way he could tell where Matasa had gone. “Matasa!” he yelled; his voice lost in the chaos of the crowd.

  Vitriol consumed Nahrem’s sensibility. The growing feral part of himself, the part that wanted nothing except Finyaka’s blood, paced in his brain like a caged tiger. After all the beatings he had endured the night he stole into the caravan, one would think that he should’ve had no mind left. Yet the torture he underwent steeled something with him, something evil.

  The sweaty man who smelled of alcohol, the guards called him Sondha, had given him a sun-forsaken drink yesterday before the caravan departed. The tincture was supposed to heal his wounds. Nahrem spat it out. He wanted to feel everything.

  Pain fed the Darkness within, and the Darkness knitted his injuries, or so Nahrem believed. The pain would get him out of this tent, one that reeked of the old oil-burning the brazier that barely warmed the small space overnight. The pain told him that his wrists, though bloodied and tied together, were still capable of movement. Each wriggle against his bonds felt like a sand snake sinking its fangs into him. But he still had feeling. That meant he was capable of movement. He thought of the countless times his father had made his point by yanking on Nahrem’s ear so hard that he cried, or worse, forced back tears to prove his strength. Even tiny actions cause great damage.

  Haraz, the guard who’d discovered Nahrem that fateful night, whipped back the tent’s entry flap. He ducked his head and strode inside, fist poised at the ready.

  “It’s awake,” said the sunlit figure behind him. Nahrem welcomed another dull pain in his hip as the guard kicked him. All else seemed distant.

  “Can’t believe Nahbas didn’t let us kill him.”

  Nahrem smiled. He recognized the other guard as Ahken, the fourth guard that night. Obviously, the one
whose legs Nahrem had slashed still wasn’t able to walk. His inner darkness celebrated its first victory; second if he counted Sinaya.

  “Nahbas wants to get a good coin for the supposed adherent of Anuu, or his golden armband. Once we deliver the mage-priest safely, then Nahbas will decide what to do with this beast.”

  Both laughed, one from inside and the other from outside the tent.

  A plan unfolded in Nahrem’s brain. He tensed his upper body without drawing attention to his muscles. Making a show of moving his feet, Nahrem pretended that he was trying to sit up.

  “Stay put, camel-dung, or we’ll forget what Nahbas said.” Haraz aimed a rough boot at Nahrem’s chest.

  With agility that caught the guard unawares, Nahrem grasped Haraz’s boot. He twisted forcefully. His bindings cut deeper into his own flesh. He hardly cared. A satisfying snap of bone rewarded his effort. The evil inside fueled his need to be free at any cost.

  Haraz yelped in surprise, then with pain.

  “What the Light just happened?” exclaimed Ahken.

  The tent flap began opening. Barely balanced on one foot, Haraz’s bulk blocked Nahrem’s exit. Nahrem spun out his lower leg. He knocked over the brazier. Burning oil cascaded across the tent and Haraz’s body. Sundried fabric burst into flames. Haraz screamed in terror. He attempted to snuff out the grease fire by rolling about on the ground.

  “Are you mad?” Ahken shouted at Nahrem, drawing his sword.

  Already on his feet, Nahrem bent over and charged Ahken. His shoulder rammed into the larger guard’s midsection. Ahken dropped his sword, winded. Both spilled through the entryway. In the aisle between the closely packed tents, Nahrem slammed his forehead against Ahken’s nose. Blood sprayed between them. Nahrem drove his knee into Ahken’s groin. He used Ahken’s coiled body as leverage to stand.

  Spreading flames crackled around him. Menacing black smoke brewed overhead. Across the busy camp, shouts of alarm arose in the wake of Nahrem’s mayhem. Heedless of his own safety in the surging fire, Nahrem bolted from tent to tent searching for his son-of-a-goat-brother who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

  As if presented to him by the Great Sun, Nahrem saw his brother dashing toward him. The dark power controlling Nahrem salivated over its upcoming third victory. Ignorant of water that magically appeared from the sky to put out the fires, he let out a blood-curdling scream and ran straight at Finyaka.

  Finyaka couldn’t find Matasa anywhere in the camp, despite the blinding whiteness of his chosen vision. He pushed farther into the camp. With each determined step, he gained confidence in his new world view. Anuu protected his bare feet from burning on the hard, sun-heated earth between the tents. He inhaled deeply. Fresh charcoal coated his tongue. Shouts of, “Fire!” and, “He’s escaped!” mingled with the popping of burning wood. Finyaka dashed ahead, more intent of Matasa than ever.

  He heard Asho singing the same song he’d heard Sinaya humming over water. Mage-priests needed to sing or hum to wield their magical power. The practical side of Finyaka’s brain knew that Asho wasn’t nearby. She’d said that she needed to go back to her home, which, presumably, wasn’t in the encampment. Yet, he heard her singing with such clarity, it was as if she stood beside him.

  A blue torrent of energy leaped into the whiteness of Finyaka’s sky from the edge of the encampment. He skidded to a stop, wondering that he should be able to see anything at all. Understanding dawned in him as the magical energy crossed overhead. I can see Asho’s Radiance. She sings to produce water with her Radiance so she can quell the fire. She must not have reached her home because of the fire.

  Her blue Radiance peaked in its arc, then sharply descended. The impact of Asho’s Radiance brought everything in the immediate vicinity into Finyaka’s focus. He momentarily made out the outline of a shuddering tent and heard hissing, like when he’d douse a watch fire with water on the herd plains. That heartbeat of clarity revealed a nimbus of a figure racing at him.

  It’s Matasa seeking me out!

  The runner’s feral scream pierced the blinding whiteness of Finyaka’s vision like a shooting star in the deepest night. He had misunderstood. That person, the source of that anger, must’ve been Nahrem.

  Finyaka calmed inwardly. He directed his Radiance at the place where he’d seen the nimbus of his brother. Power flowed from Finyaka like a golden light. It met a wall of seething evil so intense, he dropped to one knee struck with overwhelming nausea. By all that is sacred what was that?

  Finyaka had no time to think. He drew himself upright, calling on Anuu to find the power within him. Energy gathered in his hands, rushing from the core of his body as his Radiance built up. Sinaya’s warning buzzed in his head as his legs turned into pins and needles. He hadn’t recovered significantly from his trails with Anuu. He shouldn’t be using this much of his Radiance.

  Finyaka had no choice. I must risk death or die.

  His Radiance shot forward through the whiteness of his vision. It collided into Nahrem like a dazzling golden light. He became as visible to Finyaka as he had when they were at home in their village.

  Nahrem’s body flung into the air as Finyaka’s Radiance knocked him back several strides. Where it touched Nahrem, pitch-black roiled. An entity unto itself, it pushed back against Finyaka’s Radiance like the battering of a storm against tent sides.

  Sweat drenched Finyaka. The intensity of his concentration burned his outstretched hands. Faint outlines of people ghosted at the fringes of his Radiance. He paid them no attention. He couldn’t. Whatever evil compelled his brother grew bolder.

  “Why do you continue to fight me, brother?” Finyaka asked through gritted teeth. His heart rose into his throat. Finyaka pushed his bodily limits of tolerance for this struggle.

  “I hate you, doe!” Nahrem’s words sliced open Finyaka’s soul.

  Nahrem’s nebulous form steadied himself. He took a step forward in mid-air. The pitch-black of his loathing spread, reaching for Finyaka through his Radiance.

  Finyaka strained for focus, surprised at the strength of the thing engulfing his brother.

  Nahrem landed another step against the Radiance, then another. Finyaka faltered. The pitch blackness crawled forward like voracious bands of locusts. The distance between them, and the amount of Radiance therein, shrank. Finyaka had been wrong. He couldn’t do this on his own. Matasa, where are you? I need you!

  “Nahrem, your obsession is destroying you!” From his knees, Finyaka redoubled his efforts despite the terrifying numbness that consumed his own body. He pushed his Radiance forward and gained precious inches.

  “And by the Darkness, it will kill us both!” Hysteria fevered Nahrem’s answer. He and his broiling miasma of malevolence won another step forward.

  Finyaka reached a tipping point. His Radiance had drawn so much of his bodily strength that he felt nothing of himself. The warmth of the Great Sun began fading from within. Words failed him. The magnitude of his power waned. If the evil he struggled against connected with him directly, Finyaka wasn’t sure what would happen. Can Nahrem kill me if I am already dead?

  “I will not let you win!” Nahrem vaulted forward. His venous aura surged against Finyaka’s faltering Radiance.

  Finyaka had nothing left to give for his Radiance. His inner Light dimmed to a single ember. The world gifted to him by Anuu, a mage-priest’s world he had not yet explored, disappeared into a grey fog.

  Warnings of fire spread faster through the caravan than the progression of the fire itself. Bodies flew in every direction bearing buckets to and from the only source of water in the village, the oasis. The bedlam in the camp was not nearly as confusing as Matasa’s whirlwind of emotions.

  Matasa hurried through the aisles looking for Finyaka. He cursed himself as he did so. Finyaka had been selfish, insisting that he, alone, had the power to heal a magical rift. Given a sliver of power, he’d demanded more, just like his brother and father. But he did save my life and he’s never wronged me befor
e. Could it be that Matasa had acted hastily?

  By Anuu, he couldn't just leave his blinded cousin to blunder his way to his death through a camp in chaos. If Finyaka died here, Matasa wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. If Finyaka continued to push Matasa away and keep his mage-priest’s magic to himself, Matasa would kill him. Not actually kill him. I’m not like Nahrem.

  Matasa rounded a corner. The scene before him stopped him in his tracks. Nahrem hovered above the ground, held there by an invisible force. Directly in line with Nahrem, Finyaka held out his hands, fingers white-knuckled with strain. Matasa did a double-take. Everyone knew wise men and women moved small objects with their Radiance. None of the wise folk had the power to move something as big as a person. Matasa had been moved by Finyaka’s Radiance before, had seen it in action, but never had the strain been so great on his cousin. He wasn’t ready to exert himself like this. He remains weak from our ordeal at the Jut with his father and brothers. What kind of wise man did Anuu want Finyaka to become?

  Behind Nahrem, water coalesced from the sky and doused tent flames. The mage-priest, Asho, must be singing the Song of Water to bring her Radiance to the aid of those fighting the flames. The life-saving substance thundered into the tent, sending people sprawling through the hissing shambles. Nahbas won’t be happy about that.

  Nahrem walked forward, leaning in as if pushing against a strong wind. His hands were bound at the wrists by bloodied ropes.

  “Why do you continue to fight me, brother?” The anguish in Finyaka’s cry broke Matasa’s heart. Even now, with his cursed brother still trying to kill him, Matasa’s youngest cousin sought his older brother’s love. Bright orange light had erupted from Finyaka’s eyes, a display, unlike any other mage-priest Radiance Matasa, had witnessed previously.

  Matasa moved to help, then shook his head. When will I get it through my thick head that he doesn’t need me? Matasa turned his back on Finyaka’s plight. He could see now that his once little cousin didn’t need him anymore. The Great Sun was right. If anything, he would be more helpful to the merchants and Old Sondha who had saved his life when he’d given everything he had to rescue Finyaka.