Deep magic second coll.., p.12
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 12
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
“Is that why you smell like a campfire?”
He frowned. “What’s a campfire?”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It felt so good and so freeing. So right.
“Never mind.” Camille shook her head. “It’s not important.”
“Maybe not, but this,” he nodded to the pier beyond, the mix of shacks and newer, brighter, shinier restaurants, “this is important. They’re not going away, but neither are we.”
“But the barrier is.”
“It’s my job to find out why and to stop it. At least, it was. Until I met you.”
“I don’t . . . I mean . . .” Words, suddenly, seemed rather difficult.
“You.”
He leaned in and that strand of hair curled toward her. Brushed her cheek. Made her go warm and cold and something else entirely, all at the same time.
“You helped me see, or I should say, Dirk Pitt helped me see. It’s not what my father or the Board believes—either one world or the other. Maybe they can blend. Coexist. I don’t know.”
“Your magic. It’s come back, hasn’t it?”
“It has.”
Like hers had done, the moment she stopped denying herself. Even though that person wasn’t the one her family wanted her to be.
“I think you can,” she said. “I think you can find a way. To fix this.”
Even now she felt the barrier slipping over her feet, then pulling away again. Like the ocean. The slight shimmer and zip of magic, then the crackle of car horns blaring and engines rumbling.
“Maybe I can. Or maybe I just need a little help.” He slipped closer. The brush of his shoulder turning into a touch . . .
A touch, where his hand then took hers. Barely really. But a pinkie finger counted in her book. And so did that look he gave her. Still intense, still powerful, but more. It sent another rush of heat to her face. Made her head swirl from magic and something else too. Deeper and just as terrifying.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand. I mean, I’m not my sister. Not Lily-Anne or even—”
“As far as I’m concerned, you have the most important Rowan magic of all.” He turned her toward him, lifted her hand, and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.
A kiss she really did feel to her toes.
“The kind that helps people find their dreams,” he said. “And themselves. Now that I have, I have no intention of ever letting go.”
“Good.” She slipped her hand farther into his. Squeezed it. Couldn’t believe she was standing here, the lesser of all the Rowans, holding Lord Blakenmage’s hand. “Neither do I.”
Not of him. Certainly not of herself.
ABOUT CHRISTEN ANNE KELLEY
Christen's short fiction has appeared in the anthologies: When Dreams Come True, Fiction River: Risk-Takers, and Fiction River Presents: Legacy (writing as Chrissy Wissler). Before turning to fiction, Christen also wrote many nonfiction articles for publications such as Montana Outdoors, Women in the Outdoors, and Jakes Magazine. In 2009, Inside Kung Fu magazine awarded her with their ‘Writer of the Year’ award.
Website: www.parentsandprose.com
Facebook: facebook.com/ChristenAnneKelley
AUGUST 2018
LEVI'S PROBLEM
By Brendon Taylor | 9,300 words
WHEN MY MIND finally began to clear, I took solace in the thought that I had expected my memories and cognitive processing to work like a bicycle with square wheels. It was a funny thing to think because I had never ridden a bicycle. At least from the puzzle of my memory, I thought that was true. Yet it was comforting because I recalled my grandfather using that phrase often. My second thought was less comforting. With my mind otherwise a mess, my mission beaconed like a solar flare – I had landed on an alien terra to explore a potential alternative to Earth for the survival of my species. Such prospects came with the definite possibility that death might find me at any moment. I pushed that thought out of my mind and remembered another phrase, “One man’s exploration is another’s invasion.” I could only hope my work here would not be viewed as the latter.
My first problem was to find a safe place to rest while the gears in my mind fully engaged. Unfortunately, I had no idea how long that would take and whether parts of my faculties would be permanently lost. My heart told me that the great risk had been worth taking, and that the sacrifice I was making came at a price worth paying. This was yet another thought about as comforting as a paper parasol in a thunderstorm.
The terra was dense, the atmosphere thick and viscous, and the ground beneath me clung and released my steps like tapioca pudding. No, more like flan. Now, those were unusual thoughts. In the decades since genetic modification had begun, food, nutrition and hydration had changed. The thoughts of those “foods” seemed like they belonged in my grandfather’s head because they had never been in mine.
At that thought, a piece of my mind puzzle snapped into place. I should have a neurolink to allow communication. I searched my thoughts trying to will a connection to someone. Anyone.
“Levi?” a voice whispered, resonating not in my ears, but within my mind. A familiar voice.
“Grandfather?” The word formed as a thought. At least the neurolink seemed to be working.
“Hearing your voice feels better than April sunshine in a daffodil meadow.”
I laughed in my mind and the sound caught me by surprise. It sounded different in the neurolink, like a chipmunk chittering. “Do you keep a bagful of folksy phrases with you at all times, Grandfather?”
“Do you think I should?”
“You never seem to run out.” My mind was still more porous than a sponge, but connecting to my Grandfather’s strong, happy voice soothed me. A calmer mind would mend faster.
“Statement!”
“What?”
“You can’t recover with another question now. You made a statement – I win.”
Another memory fit into place. Grandfather loved to play a game of questions that came from an old play, “Rosencrantz and…somebody… Are Dead.” I was not familiar with the play and couldn’t remember who that somebody should be, but the game of questions was a favorite of Grandfather’s.
“You shouldn’t pick on me when my brain is mush, Grandfather. Besides, shouldn’t I be connecting to a commanding officer about the details of my mission?”
“Of course, how rude of me… don’t you think?” Grandfather waited until I chuckled before moving on. “It is precisely because your brain is mush that you are communicating with me first. Until you regain your faculties, protocol dictates that you link with a familiar person who can help you recover.”
I searched my mind for any other neurolink and found none. Admittedly, I was not sure how to even search for other neurolink possibilities. Guildenstern. That was the other somebody in the old play. “I’m trying to recall how the neurolink works. You put the thought about the square-wheeled bicycle in my brain, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for a while now. We weren’t sure of when you would reach terra and arouse from stasis. I could only communicate once you were conscious, and could only speak to your active mind. Perhaps your sub-conscious felt me reaching for you and my genius wordsmithing was its finest option – the persimmon among the pigs, if you will.” Grandfather’s chuckle sounded familiar, not at all like a chipmunk. That was unfair, but welcome.
“Since when is a square-wheeled bicycle ‘genius wordsmithing’?” What Grandfather said about only being able to communicate with a conscious mind rang true. I was also pretty sure that only willing participants could neurolink. You could not force a connection if a person did not want it. At least I thought that was true.
“Harumph.”
“You said the word, ‘Harumph,’ Grandfather. You’re supposed to just make the sound.” My laugh still sounded like chittering in my mind.
“Very well, Levi. We might as well continue through the protocols before I make any more mistakes.” Grandfather’s tone said he was not offended. “First, however, are you someplace safe and comfortable?”
I had almost forgotten I was on alien terra, and surrounded by new wonders. The viscous atmosphere seemed to sway a little around me. I was glad my feet were anchored so I would not be swept away, but even more relieved when I tested and found I could move them. The landscape was lush with formations of purples, lavenders, reds and salmons. I could not tell if it was flora or some other form of biota. The thickness of the atmosphere limited visibility, but I felt as though I was in a beautiful cave, with no apparent threat of harm nearby. I chose a dense pinkish-red formation and sat, finding it squishy, but firm enough to support me. “I’m comfortable now, and see no sign of danger.”
“That’s good. Research indicated you should not face hostiles, but research from this distance is not always as accurate as we would like.”
“How long was my transport? My mind is very fuzzy about my travel.”
“Ah, protocols, Levi. Let me go through the questions to assess your recovery. Then, we can cover your questions.”
“How was the question game you played on me earlier part of the protocols?” I protested in jest, hoping my tone translated through the neurolink.
“I will humor you by reviewing the first two protocols. One, establish connection with subject and confirm subject is aware of who he and his contact are. Two, using familiar words or phrases, bring up a memory that will comfort the subject. Really, Levi, I am very pleased with how quickly you are recovering.”
“Well, I don’t want to be the gnat thinking he’s a mosquito.” Yet another of Grandfather’s phrases. I was not particularly troubled that I could not think of what that phrase actually meant. I suspected with my full faculties intact, I would still be at a loss for that one, but it seemed to be an appropriate thing to say to Grandfather.
He chuckled. “I should think not. Progress, I tell you. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.”
The light in the vicinity darkened slightly as the atmosphere thickened. I tried to locate the source of light to determine why it was growing darker by the minute, but failed. I was considering whether it was some sort of ambient light when a dull humming grew louder and changed into sounds that resembled language. “Hold on, Grandfather. Something is changing around me.”
“Are you safe where you are? If not, move on.” Concern quavered his words.
I yearned to hear the language, but it was like the muffled sounds of speaking under water. Then, movement caught my attention. At first, I caught only glimpses, like the shadow of a cloud, but then I saw an actual form. I felt the numb thrill of discovery tempered with the terror of facing an alien in its world alone. It was small, which was only a minor comfort. It was the size of a large rabbit, which also happened to be the size of a wolverine. Other than sharing the same size, this creature was in no other way similar to a furry mammal. A shiny, slick coating of silver and amber gleamed from an internal light within the thing. It had neither limbs nor head, but seemed to move with purpose by some unseen method of propulsion. The sound of language returned, but I could not tell if it originated in the creature or elsewhere. Direction of sound was difficult to distinguish. Of course, that might be because my brain was still spinning like a gyroscope.
“Levi?!” Grandfather’s voice was frantic. “What is happening?”
“I’m not alone, but I believe I am safe.” The lack of fangs and claws was definitely comforting.
“Do not engage it. Get to a safe place so we can coordinate. You are not ready for contact yet.” Grandfather’s voice was a forced calm – the kind of tone a parent used when a young child strayed too near a river’s edge.
I checked for my gear, to secure a weapon or other protective device, not knowing what I had. I discovered I had nothing. Aside from a hard suit, that somehow allowed movement, I possessed no gear. “Grandfather, can you tell me why I have no gear, or does that question have to wait until after your blasted protocols, too?”
“Retreat to a safe place and we will get through your questions and the protocols. You have all the gear you need, even if it is not with you immediately. I will guide you to your base of operations very shortly. Please get to a safe place.”
If it was not for Grandfather’s concern, I would have felt almost comfortable with this little alien. The small creature seemed to have a level of intelligence that was intriguing. If it was capable of communication, I needed to know and find some way to assure it that I was not a threat. The last thing I wanted was to provoke it into acting rashly, or gathering the other proverbial villagers with pitchforks to deal with me. I decided Grandfather was right about gaining my wits and regrouping before engaging. If I had a base of operations to find, that would be a far better place to gather my answers and acclimatize. I made the universal, well Earthly, sign of peaceful assurance by raising both hands and speaking calmly to the shiny, little thing, “I mean you no harm.”
Honestly, I was a split second away from promising that I came in peace when the cliché choked in my throat. The words I spoke sounded garbled to my ears. I worried that my brain might have the effects of a stroke that would allow thoughts to flow more freely than my motor skills could handle. The fact that I actually spoke or attempted to speak Earth-based English and expected my words to be recognized caused me even more concern. Grandfather was definitely right about retreating.
I stood and took several steps back, cautiously placing each foot to make sure I had the coordination and dexterity to move without falling. I was successful. The formations around me loomed taller and thicker the further I moved back. I felt like I was retreating to the depths of a cave. The shiny thing followed. I saw more movement behind it, and other, similar forms followed us in. At least they did not have pitchforks. The rumble of what I perceived as language grew louder. It did not sound threatening, but neither did a hunter’s soothing tone sound threatening right up to the instant he pulled the trigger.
“Levi? What is happening?”
“I’m pulling back and searching for a safe place to communicate. I don’t think these things mean to harm me, but I’m being careful.”
“Let me know when you are secure.”
That was when my back reached the wall of the cave, and I found myself between two large formations that felt firm to the touch. I gripped the sides, thinking I might try to climb up, or launch myself out if the aliens got too close. I thought I could jump over them, but I decided that would be a last resort. I had never been much of a jumper – realizing that felt good in the sense that I was remembering more, but bad in the sense that my limited physical skills left me with fewer options.
The creatures came closer, moving at a slow, but steady pace. There were at least five of them, all bobbing along toward me, perhaps fifteen feet away. They were now close enough for me to see how they moved. The shiny surfaces were covered by hundreds or thousands of little hair-like appendages that moved each creature along like a millipede in the shape of a globby duffle bag.
Subconsciously, I pushed my back against the wall. I expected it to feel hard as rock, but it was more the texture and firmness of cheese. It was not lost on me that much of this planet was reminding me of food. No doubt the long transport to this world was accomplished in a form of stasis that deprived my body of real food for a long time. I still had no memory of the trip, but if I was in stasis, that would not be surprising. Cheese, I could work with. The wall was soft enough that I could push into it. I thrust my arm in, and was pleased that my hand reached through the thick resistance into an opening beyond.
The creatures were almost upon me as I took a deep breath and pushed into the wall. As soon as I took it, I realized the deep breath was pointless as my suit had a breathing function built in that would allow me to survive on the new terra until a safe atmosphere could be established in the base. Although my conscious mind did not recall the mechanics of my suit, my logical brain knew it had to be true. I pressed into the wall. At once, I was enveloped in darkness with a tinge of maroon. Perhaps it was the pressure of the walls threatening to burst the vessels in my eyes that made me see maroon, because a moment later, I was through the solid barrier and found myself on a far brighter landscape.
I looked down, and located what I hoped was the ground many hundreds of feet below. I clung to branches of strange plants secured to a vertical wall that was otherwise smooth. I longed to find memory of climbing skills in my brain, but suspected I would find little there. Fortunately, the trees seemed to offer an easy route down, as long as my arms or grip did not give out before I reached the bottom. The air was thinner and brighter in this area. Better yet, the strange creatures seemed to be stopped in the cave. I kept an eye on the wall next to me and saw that it had sealed back upon itself – nothing else came through.
As I began a cautious descent, I reached out via neurolink. “Grandfather?”
“Levi!” His voice dripped with genuine concern. “Are you safe?”
“Yes. I am now. For a moment there, I was feeling about as safe as a termite in a pocket watch.” Another Grandfather phrase, but one that sparked a real memory. I knew that pocket watches were all antiques, but recalled Grandfather talking about having one as a child. I struggled to remember how old he was, but could not place it.
“Well, I’m glad you are past that now. Have you hunkered down somewhere?”
“Not yet, but I have good visibility and no threats are nearby. Grandfather, can I ask you an odd question?”
“I suspect you will whether I allow it or not. How about we make a deal – you get your odd question and then we continue with the protocols?”
“Agreed.” My foot nearly slipped as I lost focus on my climb. I had already realized the branches were wet in some places, which led me to wonder about rain or other climate issues I might encounter. “How old are you, Grandfather?”
“Older than a Neanderthal’s uncle.” The old man chuckled.
