Deep Magic - First Collection Read online

  First Collection

  Staff:

  Brendon Taylor

  Charlie N. Holmberg

  Jeff Wheeler

  Jeremy Whitted

  Kristin Ammerman

  Steve R. Yeager

  We’d like to thank our First Readers:

  Abby Thorne

  Susan Olp

  Elicia Cheney

  Kristen Pinto-Coelho

  Lindsay Flanagan

  Philine van Lidth de Jeude

  Melissa McDonald

  Sabine Berlin

  Tyson Dutton

  Ashley Melanson

  Jorge Rustrian

  Sarah Nuslein

  Krysia Bailey

  Mike Abel

  Greg Gargulio

  Crystal Fernandez

  The stories in Deep Magic are works of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2017 Jeff Wheeler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover art by Deep Magic

  Deep Magic logo & cover design by Deron Bennett

  Copyediting by Wanda Zimba

  E-zine design by Steve R. Yeager

  www.deepmagic.co

  Contents

  Editor's Note

  June 2016

  Science Fiction

  The Perfect Specimen

  By Carrie Anne Noble | 1,900 words

  Fantasy

  The Beesinger's Daughter

  By Jeff Wheeler | 21,600 words

  The Churchyard Yarrow

  By Cecilia Dart-Thornton | 6,100 words

  The Apothecant

  By Brendon Taylor | 18,800 words

  Rain Dance

  By Steve R. Yeager | 6,900 words

  August 2016

  Science Fiction

  The Catskill Dragon

  By Stephen S. Power | 5,500 words

  Her Glimmering Facade

  By Eleanor R. Wood | 6,000 words

  Fantasy

  Claimed by the Sea

  By Beth Powers | 15,700 words

  From the Clay of His Heart

  By John D. Brown | 11,300 words

  Gretel and Hansel

  By Charity Tahmaseb | 1,300 words

  Thorns

  By Eldon Thompson | 2,700 words

  October 2016

  Science Fiction

  The Drawer

  By Brock Poulsen | 5,800 words

  Fantasy

  Juliet Silver and the Realm of Impossibility

  By Wendy Nikel | 6,000 words

  On the Other Side

  By Amy Power Jansen | 4,000 words

  Salt and Water

  By Charlie N. Holmberg | 12,000 words

  The Dragon between Worlds

  By T.E. Bradford | 8,500 words

  The Wizard's Granddaughter

  By Christopher Baxter | 11,500 words

  December 2016

  Science Fiction

  A Hundred Lifetimes

  By Walter Dinjos | 8,000 words

  Imperial Ghosts

  By Arinn Dembo | 13,000 words

  Fantasy

  Lake Heart

  By Adele Gardner | 7,000 words

  Professional Integrity

  By Michael J. Sullivan | 11,000 words

  To The Last

  By Melion Traverse | 5,700 words

  February 2017

  Science Fiction

  Pirate Readers

  by James Van Pelt | 4,300 words

  The Tariff

  By Allen Shoff | 6,100 words

  Fantasy

  Lady of War

  By Caitlyn McFarland | 12,100 words

  Waracabra Tigers

  By Gwendolyn Clare | 6,000 words

  Wizards and Wizdom

  By Ronald D. Ferguson | 14,100 words

  April 2017

  Science Fiction

  Between Earth and Exile

  By Laurie Tom | 9,100 words

  Fantasy

  Autumn at the Dragon’s Cave

  By Kathryn Yelinek | 6,000 words

  Not That Kind of Wizard

  By Eugene Morgulis | 10,000 words

  The Dealer, the Hag, and the Boy Who Dreamed

  By Clint Johnson | 2,500 words

  The Price of Healing

  By D.K. Holmberg | 8,600 words

  Order Full Issues

  Editor's Note

  Welcome to the First Collection!

  In early 2016, a group of lifelong friends decided to bring back their old e-zine Deep Magic from the ashes. They were soon joined by other awesome talent to form the Deep Magic Board and proceeded to fulfill their dream. Deep Magic was re-born.

  What you have in your hand, on whatever device you’re reading this from, is a collection of some of the best short stories that science fiction and fantasy has to offer. We literally get hundreds of submissions each month and with our able team of volunteer First Readers (seriously, who wouldn’t want to get an unlimited diet of stories!), we cull through them to find the best of the best. The gems. The nuggets of gold. The veins of mithril.

  In our First Collection we bring you just the stories. If you want to read all the interviews by industry legends like Brandon Sanderson, or writing craft articles by the likes of Jeff Wheeler, Charlie N. Holmberg, or even feast on the many book excerpts we include in each issue…well, you’ll have to buy the issue. But if you just want the stories—just the stories please!—you’ve come to the right place. In this issue we’ve put them in order they appeared in Deep Magic from June 2016 to April 2017 and included the awesome cover art that we get from all over the world.

  Enjoy!

  The Deep Magic Board

  June 2016

  Science Fiction

  The Perfect Specimen

  By Carrie Anne Noble | 1,900 words

  “If you could permit me just a few more minutes here, Trudy,” Dr. Howard Fergate said, raising his voice to compete with the shrill shriek of a nearby double-billed ostrimingo.

  A triangular golden leaf quivered in the grip of Howard’s identi-tweezers. The tweezers beeped twice and then gave their report: “Extraligus cyminaurea. Common name, golden hiccup bush.”

  He dropped the leaf. “Blast! It’s already in the records. I was certain the leaves of the golden hiccup were variegated. But, alas, the tweezers never lie.”

  Trudy sighed. It was sigh number thirty-nine of the day. Her dainty foot tapped, tapped, tapped upon the rainforest floor. He’d lost count of the taps.

  Although Howard had never been skilled at analyzing human emotions, he was quite certain that his beguiling bride was not enjoying their excursion one bit.

  The interplanetary honeymoon trip had seemed like a splendid idea. It was part of the Starry-Eyed Romance Package offered by the New Las Vegas Chapel of Love Everlasting, a deal that also included the wedding ceremony, a bouquet of tiny pink roses, a set of platinum wedding bands, and two holographic portraits. The package was pricey, but Howard had justified his expenditure with three points. One: Trudy was the first girl to show romantic interest in him since kindergarten (when Marilyn Hemple had bitten his shin in a barbaric act of devotion). Two: unlike hirsute Marilyn Hemple, Trudy was gorgeous. What she lacked in IQ, she more than made up for in beauty. Three: Trudy had enthusiastically agreed to be his bride after a mere twelve-hour courtship (this was either an outright miracle or due to a combination of
hormone levels, mimosa cocktails, and Trudy’s lack of intelligence. Also, whenever his mother’s voice echoed in his head saying, “Genius and common sense never shook hands,” Howard always did something outrageous on purpose.)

  Howard’s plan had been that Trudy would relax at the spas on planets Geros Major and Hebble while he meandered and/or hacked his way through unexplored rainforests and wetlands. He would collect plant samples from dawn to dusk and devote evenings to romancing his bride. After thirty-three years of bleak bachelorhood, his life would be the very definition of bliss.

  Instead, ever since their transport had landed on Geros Major, Trudy had followed him around like an ill-programmed robopet, looking disturbingly delicious but utterly bored.

  “You could go back to the hotel, my love,” Howard said, snapping off a glittery green twig and tucking it into a specimen bag. “Get a massage or float in the pools. Have your nails done, perhaps.”

  “But I want to be with you, dearest,” she said. She batted her feathery eyelashes and placed a kid-gloved hand on his forearm.

  His mind turned to mush.

  He dropped his identi-tweezers. He wanted to scold Trudy for impeding the progress of science, but standing there in her neo-Jane-Austen-style frock and pink satin slippers, she was simply unscoldable.

  She fanned herself slowly with a lace handkerchief. Little beads of sweat stood upon her brow like dewdrops on a Venus flytrap. “You regret marrying me,” she said, pouting.

  “Never,” Howard said. “But you must regret marrying me. I am nothing but a boring botanist with plants on the brain, perpetually searching for the perfect specimen. I fear you will have a very unexciting life with me as your husband.”

  “Nonsense.” Trudy pushed a blond ringlet back into place. “Your planty brain amazes me.”

  Howard took Trudy’s hand and led her forward along a narrow path through lush, rainbow-hued vegetation. He resolved to refocus his “planty brain.” If he could document just one or two new species, he would feel no guilt about returning to their hotel and doing whatever his silly bride desired for the rest of the day.

  “Do you love me?” Trudy asked.

  “Of course,” Howard said.

  “I am so glad,” Trudy said. “You know, when I first saw you—squinting so seriously at the leaves of the potted palm in the convention center lobby—I fell in love with you at once. The universe must have arranged the day just so. How else could a girl like me have ended up meeting the president of the Intergalactic Botanists’ Guild? If I had been one hour later, we never would have met.”

  Howard pushed a branch aside so Trudy could pass. “What did you say you were doing in New Las Vegas?”

  “I won a makeover from Monsieur Leopold’s Salons, remember?”

  “Ah, yes. That must have been an exceedingly easy day for the beauticians, my dear.”

  She giggled and squeezed his hand. “You are sweet, Doctor.”

  They stepped into a clearing. A cobalt-blue waterfall tumbled over glossy black rocks. Huge, dandelion-like flowers swayed on stalks as thick as Howard’s forearms. A family of little green geese waddled and squawked as they crossed in front of the newlyweds.

  Trudy sighed (number forty), this time with contentment.

  Near the water’s edge, Howard spied a five-foot-tall fuzzy, purple trumpet-shaped flower. He released Trudy’s hand and gestured for her to remain where she was. As he approached the swaying flower, he pictured himself accepting the Botanist of the Year Award for discovering such a glorious plant.

  “No! Wait!” Trudy cried behind him.

  It warmed Howard through and through that his bride missed him so passionately when he’d only moved a few yards from her side. Dear, silly Trudy. He’d take a hologram photo of her beside the blossom once he finished his documentation. Their future grandchildren would enjoy the photo. And what fun it would be to boast of both his besotted bride and his find at the next guild meeting!

  “Please, darling,” Trudy begged. “Come back!”

  Howard reached for the speckled stem.

  The blossom moved like a bolt of lightning, its razor-edged fangs puncturing his bicep. He heard Trudy scream as the world went black.

  * * *

  In seconds, Trudy was at Howard’s side. She picked up his machete, and with the precision of a great chef, sliced the offending monster plant into a pile of pulsating pieces.

  “Stupid Tubamortis gigantica,” she mumbled as she knelt beside her husband. She tore open his sleeve and examined the wound. From the size of the fang marks, she deduced that the attacker was of advanced age. Its poison would be slow to act, which meant that she had approximately one hour to locate the antidote among the other plants of the forest.

  She stood and scanned her surroundings for the pink kinzek bush. There had to be one close by. “I will be right back,” she said to her motionless husband.

  Brandishing the machete, she whacked her way through the dense foliage. Thorns and branches tore at the delicate fabric of her dress. Bits of leaf and shards of bark flew into her hair as she scrambled along. “So much for the makeover,” she muttered. She had not cared much for the flimsy outfit and fussy hairdo anyway.

  She trudged along, hacking and sweating like the native guide she’d followed through Earth’s Amazon just weeks ago—a burly, troll-like fellow who’d remarked in his native tongue that he would rather kiss a llama’s backside than a woman as ugly as Dr. Trudy. Would he recognize the post-makeover Trudy?

  “Where are you, kinzek bush?” Trudy called out, as if the bush might answer. Despair began to circle her heart like sharks around a wounded seal. What if she could not find the antidote? What if Howard died? She had loved him from a distance for four years, and to lose him now without telling him the truth . . .

  Trudy had meant to tell him right after they met in New Las Vegas. But then he had been so sweet and awkward and boyish, so enamored with the pretty-but-dumb version of her. No one had ever adored her before, and she did not want to interrupt him of all people. He was Dr. Howard Fergate, genius, the star of the botanical research universe.

  Yes, she was guilty of deceit. She had known from the moment she greeted him beside the potted palm that Howard did not recognize her as Dr. Trudy Irene Porter, renowned specialist in poisonous plants—even though he’d sat in the front row of her last pre-makeover lecture.

  And then they’d had too many champagne cocktails and ended up married. Even genius wilts when overwatered. Or cocktailed.

  She wondered if he would divorce her when he found out. The thought gave her a pain in the chest, as if heartache was a literal affliction.

  A beam of sunlight streamed down before her, illuminating a small pink shrub. “Yes!” she rejoiced. She yanked it up by its roots and ran all the way back the way she had come.

  Poor Howard! His face was swollen and chartreuse. She knelt beside him and shredded a dozen pink leaves with her manicured nails. She pried his mouth open and tucked a wad of them into each cheek. “Come on, come on,” she said, slapping him soundly.

  His eyes opened. With his mouth stuffed, he looked like a happy chipmunk. “Twuday, dahlenn,” he said as he sat up and embraced her.

  “You can spit that out now,” she said. “It’s done the job.”

  Howard spat. “You saved me?”

  “Yes.” She sat back on her heels and rearranged her torn, dirty dress so that its shreds would cover her thighs.

  His eyes widened. “I know you.”

  “I am your wife,” Trudy said. She was shivering now, gripped with anxiety. Would he hate her for her lies?

  “You saved me,” he said again. “You knew how because you are Dr. Gertrude Irene Porter of Wayledge University.” He smiled wide, his lips stained pink from the leafy remedy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She never cried, but she was crying now. “I was afraid to tell you. I’d never been pretty before, and the experience was so heady. At least at first. And then . . .”

 
Howard pulled her close. “Hush, Trudy.” And then he laughed.

  “What?” This was all very confusing.

  “We were introduced a few years ago at the summit on Birthingian forest preservation. I was quite smitten by you, but my shyness got the best of me. Besides, I thought you were seeing Dr. Yanglee.”

  “That old pervert? Heavens no,” Trudy laughed. “You liked me then, with my ponytail and tweed suits and practical shoes?”

  “Your ‘planty brain’ amazed me,” he said. “And you can never go wrong with sensible shoes.”

  He kissed her then, kissed her until they were both breathless.

  “Will you forgive me, Trudy?” Howard asked softly. “For not recognizing you? For not looking past the dress and hair for the true woman?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Shall we blame the champagne and vow never to touch the stuff again?”

  He stood and helped her to her feet. “I shall henceforth drink only water if it makes you happy, Dr. Porter-Fergate. Now, shall we return to the resort?”

  “While there is still an hour of daylight left? What about that perfect specimen you wanted?”

  He slipped her arm through his. “She is right beside me, my darling.”

  Carrie Anne Noble

  In the wake of her thrilling past as a theatre student, restaurant hostess, certified nurse aide, and newspaper writer, Carrie now writes novels and short stories. A member of SFWA (Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America), she enthusiastically participates in National Novel Writing Month every November. When she isn't writing, Carrie enjoys reading, napping, snacking, hosting spectacular tea parties, watching British TV shows, and spending time with family and friends. The Mermaid's Sister is her first published novel.

  Twitter: @noblebat

  Instagram: @carrieannenoble7

  Fantasy

  The Beesinger's Daughter

  By Jeff Wheeler | 21,600 words

  It was a story Rista never grew tired of hearing, yet she shivered with fear each time her father told it. The hearth crackled and cast an orange glow across the small cabin space, lighting her siblings’ faces as they stared at the storyteller, transfixed. The mood had to be right before Rista could convince her father to share the stories of his adventures from the past. As the oldest, she felt it was her duty to incite the tellings.