Seasons of Magic Volume 1: Seasons of Magic

By Selina J. Eckert

The heat of summer, the colors of fall, the chill of winter, and the fresh breath of spring... This collection combines the first year of the Seasons of Magic standalone fairy tale retellings into one volume, including bonus content from the very first story.

 

Inside, find:

 

Of the Clouds

Shaman-in-training Quri has only ever known her master's hut... until Sumaq arrives and shows her what she can be. Does she dare defy everything she's ever known to be free?

 

Pumpkin Spice Pie-Jinks

Pie witch Reese was never a risk taker... until she quit her job to open a magical bakery. But with the bakery one bad week from going under and two mischievous sprites intent on making her life difficult, can she pull through to win the contest that can save her business?

 

Freeze Thaw

Talia was meant to be her clan's next leader... until an evil sorceress trapped her in a millenias-long slumber. When archaeology student Owen accidentally wakes her, he wakes the evil right alongside her. Can they stop the sorceress and save Talia and her people?

 

All That Glimmers

Hallie, reeling from the loss of her best friend, struck a bargain with the Fae. Now they are back to collect... unless she can strike a new bargain to change their terms. If she can't, she may just be trapped in the Spring Court forever.

 

Of the Clouds: Behind the Story

Take a behind-the-scenes look at Of the Clouds, previously exclusive to the paperback edition of the Rapunzel retelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Selina J. Eckert
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954466098

Selina J. Eckert

Selina is a biologist-by-day, writer-by-night native of Pennsylvania. She lives with her husband, dog, and two cats and spends her time writing, reading, creating art, and dreaming about fictional worlds. Besides writing and sciencing, Selina also runs an author support business, Paper Cranes, LLC, that provides editing, consulting, and mapmaking services to authors, writers, and students. She has written two fairy-tale retelling short stories that were both finalists in Rooglewood Press short story contests and a fantasy short story, “Queen of Mist and Fog,” available through her newsletter.

Book preview

Seasons of Magic: Volume 1

Selina J. Eckert

Copyright © 2021 by Selina J. Eckert

Of the Clouds copyright © 2019 by Selina J. Eckert

Pumpkin Spice Pie-Jinks copyright © 2019 by Selina J. Eckert

Freeze Thaw copyright © 2020 by Selina J. Eckert

All That Glimmers copyright © 2020 by Selina J. Eckert

Behind the scenes content copyright © 2020 by Selina J. Eckert

selinajeckert.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [e-mail].

e-book ISBN: 978-1-954466-09-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-954466-14-2

First e-book edition July 2021

First paperback edition July 2021

Book design by dragonpenpress.com

Cover Image: Deposit Photos

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Table of Contents

Of the Clouds

Pumpkin Spice Pie-Jinks

Freeze Thaw

All That Glimmers

Of the Clouds: Behind the Story

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also By Selina J. Eckert

Of the Clouds

A Rapunzel Retelling

One

CRASH!

The red clay pot shattered into a million pieces. Dust billowed down from the shelf, engulfing Quri and Chuki in a thick vermillion cloud. They coughed, and the dust spiraled away from them in lazy swirls to settle on every nearby surface.

Quri turned to her mistress, an apology already on her lips, but the coating of red dust on Chuki’s face plunged her into laughter instead.

I’m so sorry, Mistress! she choked out between coughs and laughs.

Chuki glared at her, and Quri flinched, expecting to be scolded or punished. Chuki was strict, harsh even, rarely smiling or showing her pupil the slightest bit of praise. But to her surprise, Chuki chuckled softly to herself, the wrinkles around her eyes almost hiding their dull navy color. I did much, much worse when I was your age.

She waved a finger, and the dust congealed back into a cloud, rising even from their skin, and the pot pieces reassembled themselves. Quri choked back her laughter, sky-blue eyes wide.

Chuki glanced at her. A few more years, and you’ll know that one. A good shaman needs to know mending spells, after all.

Can’t I learn it now? Quri asked.

Not yet, young one. You aren’t ready for more advanced magic. Focus on your studies.

Quri felt her heart sink into her toes, but she did her best to hide it with a nod and a forced smile. Chuki’s response had been the same for the last twelve years, since she had started learning spells at the age of five. Always not yet, even though Quri had already mastered most of the basic spells. When would she finally see how much Quri could learn? When would Chuki stop seeing the child she used to be and start seeing the competent magician?

Thankfully, Chuki was distracted by a knock on the wooden door behind them, otherwise Quri’s expression might have given away her rebellious thoughts.

Together, they turned toward it. Chuki crossed the packed earth floor in only a few steps, flinging the door open in one swift movement and allowing the chirping of the evening insects into the small home. Their hut was on the edge of the village, just outside the reaching branches and claws of the jungle, set apart from the neat roads and homes of the Inti. Just the way Chuki liked it.

Yes? Chuki demanded, peering out into the golden light of the setting sun. What is it?

Quri settled back in the chair at the table, fiddling with the page of the open spellbook. She had been trying to merely change the color of the pot, not destroy it, but she wasn’t sure where her spell had gone wrong. She scanned the steps of the spell while she pretended not to listen to the whispered words at the threshold.

Well if he’s so sick, why don’t you just take him home? Chuki hissed.

The journey is too difficult for one in his condition, the stranger replied, voice steady and strong. Quri would have been shaking in her sandals if she stood in his place, confronting the most powerful and feared shaman the Inti had seen in many years—or so the villagers whispered behind Chuki’s back. And there was good reason for them to fear her. But, remarkably, he held his composure. He’s likely to die if we try to find help there. You’re our last hope.

And what makes him so special? Chuki retorted.

He’s the heir to the Kumya. Let him die, and war will be upon your heads, I can promise you that.

Quri sat up straighter while Chuki simply looked exasperated, backed into a corner. War was bad for their health, or so Chuki had said time and time again.

She leaned sideways in her chair, trying to see past her mistress to the men outside. There were at least two, one of them holding the limp body of a boy who couldn’t be much older than Quri. The evening sun set their gold jewels on fire, nearly blinding her. None of her people, not even their own chief, dressed in such extravagance. Instead, they focused their efforts on intricate beadwork, leaving the gold and jewels for the temple and trade.

The limp boy had the dark eyes beneath fluttering eyelids and raven-black hair of a Kumya. Why would the prince be here?

Chuki finally sighed. Very well. Bring him in. But only he can stay! The rest of you must leave.

The men exchanged a glance, expressions grim, then nodded at her. Chuki stepped aside, and the man carrying the prince strode through the door. Chuki shuffled in front of him in her creaky, hunched-over posture, clearing various pots and magical implements out of the way, then gestured toward Quri’s cot near the hearth. Quri jumped up and hurriedly stowed away the bits and pieces of her art projects and spellwork into a shining wooden box under the bed, making room for the ailing prince. If she hesitated too long over any task, there would be a punishment for her later, probably scraping out the hearth’s chimney. It was long overdue for a thorough cleaning.

The man set the boy on Quri’s clean blue blanket, and then Chuki was upon him, waving her hands at him like a squawking bird, hurrying him out the door. He stumbled past Quri, barely sparing her even a glance in his haste to escape, and then he was back on the stoop. Chuki slammed the door behind his retreating form, barely giving him enough time to clear the threshold.

The hut fell into the dim evening light, the sounds of the jungle softer as they were shut out, and Quri began lighting the lanterns around the walls. Chuki would need all the light they could bring for the examination and preparing a treatment, and the sun would be below the forest canopy and surrounding mountains soon. As Quri lit the lanterns, Chuki leaned over the boy, grunting as her hands danced over his still form, checking pulses and energy as she went.

Once the lanterns were lit, Quri joined her mistress at the bedside. She wasn’t ready to learn healing yet, or so Chuki kept telling her, but she still wanted to absorb all the knowledge about it she could glean. It would likely be fewer than ten years before she took the shaman’s place among the Inti.

She examined the boy with her eyes as Chuki examined him with skilled hands, trying to see what her mistress saw. But all she saw were those closed eyes, painted in bright blue and gray, like a stormy sky, like his people’s namesake. His long, dark hair, once neatly plaited and glossy but now frizzed and dull with illness. She almost reached out a hand to stroke the shining skin of his cheek, dusted with gold yet ashy and flushed, but she restrained herself. No need to draw Chuki’s ire needlessly.

Quri stepped back from the cot and clutched her hands behind her. She wanted to learn healing desperately, but Chuki demanded she wait. Only Chuki would decide when she was ready.

Still, the thought of doing something as difficult as medicine gave her pause, made her heart flutter with anxiety. The body was a delicate thing, and an untrained shaman could destroy with nothing more than a misplaced look.

Chuki finally turned from the boy and clapped her hands together. Quri!

Quri jumped, standing up straighter and dropping her hands to her sides. Yes, Mistress?

He seems to have a simple imbalance. I would prefer to fix this quickly so he can get out of my house! Start the pot.

Quri hurried over to the pot hanging above the hearth fire and poured a jug of water into it. Then Chuki joined her, a kit of fragrant herbs held delicately in her hands.

Two

SUMAQ HAD NEVER felt so overheated, not even training with his father in the middle of summer. Sweat coated his skin, drenched his clothes, and still his flesh flamed like the sun. He tried to grasp a thought—any thought—that was clear and coherent, but his mind was nothing but fuzz and slime, too light to catch and too slippery to hold.

Light grew around him, and he winced as the darkness was chased from the room. He could just barely make out two figures bustling around his body, placing cool things on his wrists and forehead, forcing vile liquids down his throat.

And then he plunged back into the darkness of fevered sleep.

***

The most beautiful sound he had ever heard pulled Sumaq from sleep. Singing, light and sweet, happy like the song of a bird. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head.

He lay on a cot with a sky blue blanket pulled up to cover his chest, his arms folded over his stomach. The room around him appeared to be a one-room hut, one door opposite him and another across the room, a hearth near his head, and a few small pieces of furniture scattered across the packed earthen floor, including a second cot. A large window next to the far door looked out over a manicured garden and the dark edges of wild jungle.

Despite the two cots, however, he only saw one person.

One beautiful, petite young woman.

He focused on her, watching her dance and twirl as she sang and cleaned. Or maybe she wasn’t cleaning. She returned to the table at the center of the room several times, pointing to a page in an open book, then continuing her song.

The words of her song began to push past the beauty of the melody, and he picked out a number of words he wouldn’t have expected: color, material, fire, light.

He sat up. The girl gave another twirl on a sustained note of fire, then jumped as her eyes met his.

Oh! she said, flushing a most attractive shade of red. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were awake. She shoved stray strands of her long black hair behind her ears.

Sumaq pushed himself up, wincing at the weakness in his arms. No, please. I was enjoying your singing. He paused, thinking of the words he had heard. Just what exactly were you singing about?

She flushed a deeper red, the shades blossoming onto her neck and arms. I was practicing. Memorizing spells.

He blinked. Spells? Are you a shaman, then? Do I owe you my thanks for help—

His words were cut off by a fit of violent coughing, and the girl rushed over to him with a pitcher. She poured out a cup of clear, cool water and pressed it into his hands. He drained it quickly. It had an herbal tang to it, but it stopped the fit.

I’m not the shaman. I am her apprentice. She took the empty cup back from him and returned it and the pitcher to the table.

And does this apprentice have a name? He wiped at the mucus streaming from his nose. That was attractive.

Quri. She looked down at the floor as if afraid to meet his eyes. He wished she would look back at him. She had beautiful eyes of sky. And you are the Kumya prince.

He blinked again. Yes. But you can call me Sumaq.

Very well, Prince.

Sumaq. He kept his eyes locked on hers, wanting her to see how serious he was, as if his eyes could speak. He didn’t need a title. He had enough bowing and scraping to deal with back at home.

She hesitated, glancing at the door, then nodded her head, those beautiful blue eyes coming back to his. Sumaq.

Just at that moment, an old, hunched figure burst through a door at the back of the hut, muttering something under her breath. The sounds and wet, earthy scents of the jungle followed her inside. Quri jumped, returning to a chair at the table, and ducked her head over the book. The woman paid her no mind, just went about arranging plants to hang from rafters, joining legions of other drying herbs.

Sumaq’s heart sank. He’d lost his chance to talk with the girl, but judging from the ache in his lungs, he would be here a while longer. There was still time to learn more about her, spend more time with her. He had used up most of his energy in that short interaction, anyway.

No one said a word to Sumaq, so he lay back on the cot with a disappointed sigh, falling into a sleep filled with dreams of song and Quri’s bright blue eyes.

Three

QURI GLANCED UP from her spellbook, feeling Sumaq’s presence as he approached. His breathing was ragged and shallow, clear indications that whatever imbalance he suffered was still fighting with his body, and she jumped up to pull a chair out next to hers at the table.

Don’t strain yourself, she said as he settled into the seat.

I’m all right, thank you, he replied, voice hoarse.

She poured him another cup of Chuki’s herbal tonic and set it in front of him. Drink. It will help.

Thank you.

Quri sat down, peering back at her spellbook.

But she could feel Sumaq’s eyes studying her. She read the same line three times before she looked back up at him, straight into those stormy eyes.

Can I get you something else? she said.

Where did you learn to sing like that? he asked.

She blushed. Sing like what? I’m not sure what you mean.

You sing like a bird. Haven’t you ever noticed? You have the same cheer, the same love of music they do.

Like a bird, is it? came Chuki’s voice from the door. A basket was slung over her arm, full of vegetables from the market. If she has enough time to sing, then surely she has too much time on her hands.

Quri flushed again, feeling the heat of embarrassment and shame seep into her ears like fire. Sorry, Mistress.

Yes, well. You can clean out the hearth if you have time enough to chat about birds instead of study your spells.

Quri’s heart sank as she imagined the piles of ash that would need to be swept, the soot-blackened stones that needed scrubbing. But if she sighed, Chuki would only assign her more work for complaining.

She dropped her head toward her spellbook, closing the pages slowly. Yes, Mistress.

Chuki glared at her as Quri stood from the table and dragged her feet to the well outside, slowly filling a bowl with water. She carried it back to the hearth, dropping a white powder in and swishing it around until it foamed and bubbled. By now, Chuki sat at the table, stripping leaves from plants and crushing them in a granite mortar. The scent of grass and herbs slowly began to permeate the stale air of the hut.

Here, let me help, Sumaq wheezed, kneeling down next to Quri in the hearth. This is my fault, anyway.

Quri clenched her teeth, glancing over her shoulder at Chuki’s hunched form at the table. I don’t think that’s a good idea, she whispered.

Nonsense. He grabbed a cloth from the bowl of water and began scrubbing at the bricks to his left.

What’s all that whispering? Chuki turned in her seat, bones creaking.

Sorry, Mistress, Quri said. If he didn’t leave her alone, she’d be scrubbing the entire hut tonight instead of only the hearth. Part of her was furious...and yet part of her was touched by the gesture. What prince was so kind as to help an apprentice with chores?

You, boy, Chuki barked. You should be in bed. The sooner you are well, the sooner you’re out of my home!

Sumaq held up a hand, flashing the shaman a bright white smile. I am fine, Shaman. A little exercise will do me some good, I think.

Chuki glared. Who’s the healer here? Get back in bed!

He passed Quri a sympathetic look, and she took the cloth from his hand. Already he was shaking. How could she have been so blinded by his kind spirit that she neglected his health?

Mistress Chuki is right, she said. You aren’t ready for chores.

Chuki growled in Quri’s direction. And you aren’t ready for healer’s work.

Quri leaned back on her heels. But if you would only teach me—

No, Quri. You are not ready. Especially if you continue to fraternize with the patients!

Sumaq stumbled back into Quri’s cot, breathing heavily. I’m the one fraternizing.

I didn’t ask you, Chuki snapped his way. Now, lie down and get some rest before I strangle you!

Quri widened her eyes at him, silently pleading for him to listen to Chuki and drop the argument. If he kept this up, Chuki would give her the garden to tend tonight, too. And she really didn’t want to be looking over her shoulder for jaguars all night.

Thankfully, he settled back on the bed, though his face conveyed every bit of his displeasure. She gave him a small smile, then turned back to the hearth.

***

Sumaq tossed Quri the ball from where he was propped up in the cot. No, really. You’ve been her apprentice all your life? Is she your mother?

Chuki was out in the jungle, gathering the harvest of herbs and seeds for the coming month and leaving Quri and Sumaq free to talk openly. Quri’s mistress had made it quite clear that she was only to speak to Sumaq for matters of health. Besides, Quri’s fingers were still raw from all the scrubbing she’d been forced to do, and she wasn’t sure a conversation about birdsong was worth the blisters.

Yet here she was, talking to him yet again. She couldn’t help herself. He was good at conversation. And if she was honest with herself, she enjoyed the attention. He had a way of speaking that told her how important her words were, how much he cared. He really listened.

Chuki never listened to her like that. Her mistress barely heard two words Quri said most of the time.

Quri caught the ball, a small piece of leather stuffed with straw. No, she’s not. My parents sought her help in conceiving, but the payment was their firstborn. Me. Or so I’ve been told. Chuki needed an apprentice, and my parents were able to go on with their lives and have more children. She threw the ball back across the room. And Chuki is approaching the end of her life. She was desperate for a replacement, so I’m important to her.

Don’t you wonder, though? What your life could have been? Do you even know who they are? His dark eyes pierced her soul, and she flushed with embarrassment.

Truthfully, she did wonder. She wondered all the time what her life could have been, what it could still be if she wasn’t tied to the shaman. If she wasn’t already slated to be the next shaman.

And as for her parents...well, every time she went to market or had time to wander the town, she watched all the people walking by, imagining their lives. Imagining how she might fit in their lives. What else would she do with her free time? It wasn’t like Chuki allowed her to have friends. Shamans are solitary, Chuki would tell her. We have no friends. We have no family. We are power, the might of the gods personified. As if friends and family reduced one’s power.

She turned her eyes back to Sumaq. Sometimes, she admitted. I pretend when I see people. Pretend that maybe they are my parents, and I live with them. Imagine life as it might have been. She took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts back into the corners of her mind. But that doesn’t really matter. Chuki cares for me, teaches me. She says I have a real aptitude, that she chose her apprentice well.

He threw the ball back to her. And she treats you well?

She caught the ball and immediately returned it. He had already seen the punishments Chuki handed out when disobeyed or displeased. As long as I listen to her.

The ball hit his hand with a loud smack, and he leaned forward, holding it exactly where he had caught it. He studied her carefully, not speaking for several moments. And when she is simply displeased, she mistreats you? When you’ve done nothing wrong?

Quri