The Magic Shop

The Brimlets





Once they had a chance to gear up, Elba led the group outside the room, and then underneath the restaurant. The cave seemed darker than before. Marcus wondered if that was just because he knew what was waiting for them.

The pool of green-lit water reflected off the walls, but seemed much calmer this time, probably because there were no spirits or skeletons to be seen.

“Very good, then,” Elba said as she took a deep breath and traced her cigarette-like brim along the rocky wall. Magic sparked from her brim and seared an opening into the wall.

They pushed Mirella in front, leading the group through the obscure passageway. Marcus heard the familiar crackle of old leaves beneath his feet, and then saw the slivers of light peeking through the fractures in the dome-like ceiling belonging to the old coliseum in which he first met the Kabbahl.

They arrived at the summoning spot minutes later, and with a wave of her brim, Elba caused the totem to appear. She continued to mouth the words she had before until flames burst from the totem, filling the room with smoke. Then, they heard a loud crack, and Marcus knew it was done.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cyril thundered, patting himself down and examining the room. Apparently he was still realizing that he had been summoned. “Again?”

He looked angry.

“I told you,” Kapriana said adjustingher hat. “You should have killed them the first time. At least then we would have been done with them.”

“They summoned us twice?” someone whispered from the balcony.

“The audacity!” another said.

Elba cleared her throat. “We would request a private audience with Your Grace,” Elba said, scowling at the other members of the Kabbahl, a flicker of jade-colored light flashing across her eyes.

Nicodemous slammed his fist on the balcony. “We are the Kabbahl. You speak to one, you speak to all.”

“Enough,” Cyril said with a dismissive wave. “You have summoned the Kabbahl, and you’ll address all of us.” Nicodemous failed to conceal a smile. “Your ability to call upon us verges on abuse, Crypt Keeper. Justify yourself.”

“We must know what progress you’ve made against our original complaint,” Elba said. “Also, to aid you—”

“She wants updates?” Kapriana asked, throwing up her arms. “Like a weather report! Well, I’ll give you one. Your future is very cloudy, with a high chance of execution.”

“You must have more than this, Elba,” Cyril said. “I cannot continue to stay my hand.”

“Well, if you have no progress to report,” Elba said coolly, ignoring everyone but Cyril, “I’m pleased to report that we do. We’ve captured one of the perpetrators.”

Cyril shot to his feet and leaned on the balcony. The murmur in the room was swept away by a cold silence.

Elba gave Caleb a nod, and he in turn took Mirella by the arm and pulled her from behind the others, guiding her to the center of the room, beneath Cyril’s gaze.

“Who is this?” Cyril asked. “He wasn’t with you last time.”

“Caleb Fith, Your Grace,” he said, “and I have been through much to bring this criminal before you to justice.”

“But you’re—” started Nicodemous. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unconsciously lifting a finger slightly at Caleb.

“Alive, yes, Nicodemous, but no thanks to you and your traitorous ways,” Caleb said.

“What’s this?” Cyril asked, stiffening a bit and jerking his head around to give Nicodemous an incredulous look. “No more cryptic talk. Speak clearly.”

“You mustn’t stand for this, Cyril,” Nicodemous said. “They have challenged your authority, our patience, and our ways. Listen to the council of your Kabbahl and destroy these pests.”

“Or,” Var said in an oily voice, “just let me loose on ‘em Cyril, Your Grace.” He scratched his hairy arms. “They’re just a few small snacks; shouldn’t take me too long.”

“Hold your tongue, the lot of you,” Cyril said to the others in the balcony. “Who is this that you’ve brought before the Kabbahl, Caleb,” Cyril asked, “and what is her crime?”

“Mirella Fith, Your Grace,” Caleb said, “and her crimes are many. We desire only the justice of the Kabbahl.”

“So we’ve been told,” Cyril said. “And you, Mirella Fith, what do you have to say to this?”

“There are most assuredly criminals here, my lord, but the crime lies with them. They have robbed me of that which is most precious, and irreplaceable. They have taken my children, and robbed me of time I with them that I will never get back. I didn’t even know them when I first saw them all these years later.”

“These accusations, all of them, are very grave indeed,” Cyril said as he pushed himself away from the balcony and paced around his throne.

“Who cares about the accusations,” one of the Kabbahl said from the balcony, “which one dies already?”

“I will not be coerced into hasty judgment,” Cyril snapped. “Are we nothing if not for the people?” He sighed, “I will not undertake this alone. You shall all be tried by the Kabbahl Tribunal.”

“There is no time, Cyril,” Nicodemous said. “We must be about more important things that—”

“Like what, Nicodemous?” Cyril asked wearily. “Mining more Uribrim? Garnering more magic? We cannot keep putting off people for projects.”

“This isn’t a project, it’s a calling,” Nicodemous said indignantly, then his voice became instantly soothing. “Remember, having all the magic in one place will help you maintain order and keep the peace. They can’t kill for magic if you have it all.”

“The old ways still exist, Nicodemous. Every man should have his measure, and nothing more,” Cyril said.

“All of it,” Nicodemous said in a softer voice, his eyes wide and his gaze distant. “The decision, you recall, was unanimous.”

“Don’t patronize me, mule,” Cyril said, “Your fate still rests with me.”

“Very well, My Grace,” Nicodemous said, bowing mechanically before settling back down into his chair. A restless murmur ran over the rest of the Kabbahl.

“As I understand it then, there are several accusations, and several parties condemned to die,” Cyril said.

“Condemned to die?” Marcus asked.

“Guilty until proven innocent,” Caleb whispered to Marcus, “and you’d do well to keep your mouth shut until you are called upon.”

“Don’t we get a lawyer or something?” Ellie asked.

“The only representation in the Tribunal is the witness,” Anabell said. The Kabbahl is above the need for lawyers.”

“Oldest accusation first,” Nicodemous said mechanically, like he was bored.

Despite clearing her throat, Mirella struggled a moment to continue. “Winston and Charlotte took our children from us. My husband’s family… stole our children.”

“This is a serious accusation,” Cyril said. “Do you have any proof of this?”

“The blood potion we used to track the children is on the floor at Nevada State hospital. It has a sample of their blood and can show you the relation.”

“Surely you are aware, Mirella, that the use of blood magic is prohibited,” Cyril said, narrowing his glance.

“Not when it comes to my children,” she replied.

Cyril turned his attention to the grandparents. “Do you deny this?”

“Your Grace is keenly aware of Sol’s past,” Winston said. “The children were in harm’s way. What would you have had us do?”

Wiping his face with his hands, Cyril let out a deep sigh. “And what of Sol? Where is he?”

“What other accusations do you bear against these people?” Nicodemus asked.

“None. I just want my children returned to me,” Mirella said, “and for justice to be served for all the years lost.”

“And you, Winston and Charlotte Fith, what complaints do you have against Mirella?” Cyril asked.

“And Sol,” Caleb added.

“Very well, Mirella and Sol,” Cyril said impatiently. “Now you’re wasting my time.”

“The list is long, Your Grace,” Winston said, “but we could start with the crimes against his brother—my son, Caleb, which left him near to death for nearly as many years as we have had the children.”

“Let’s not forget murder outside of a formal challenge,” Charlotte said. Marcus figured it must have been pointless to talk of murder for magic, as it didn’t seem to faze the majority of the Kabbahl. Too many of them were Dun-Bhar.

“And cruelty to magical animals, such as the Phoenix,” Anabell said.

It wasn’t until the children spoke that there was even a rise out of the Kabbahl. “And they were handing out magic,” Ellie said.

“Mag—what did you say?” Cyril asked, rising slightly out of his chair. “‘Handing out magic’? What do you mean?”

“She said that they were trafficking magic,” Caleb said. “The same thing that I discovered many years ago. The same thing that put a rift forever between me and my brother.”

The balcony erupted with laughter. “Give magic away?” Var asked between snorts. He wiped an eye. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“Preposterous!” someone else said.

A shadow passed over Nicodemous’s face, and then he raised his eyebrows suddenly, as if he had pricked a finger.

Cyril motioned for silence. “You’re serious then? You mean to tell us that you saw someone actually giving away magic? It is our nature to seek it out and to hoard it, so please enlighten us. Why would anyone give it away?”

The room was silent.

“We don’t know,” Caleb said. “But—”

“Mirella, explain this to us, please,” Cyril said. “Tell them that this is,” he paused, obviously searching for the right word, “well, pure madness.”

Mirella paused a moment, “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. Who would give away something so precious, something we seek with such vigor?”

“You liar,” Ellie said. “You yourself handed me a vial of magic at The Magic Box. I was in your tent, remember?”

Marcus wasn’t sure what he felt for his mother in that moment. He thought how sad it must be for her to not have her children, for her family to have been broken up, but everything he witnessed of her and Sol didn’t exactly inspire confidence. He felt confused.

“There,” Cyril said with chuckle, “at least that matter is settled.”

“No it isn’t,” Caleb said, “not at all.”

A hush fell over everyone. “Excuse me?” Cyril said, indignation finding its way into his normally even voice.

“Your Grace, you heard the child,” he stopped a moment as Cyril rose slightly from his chair, “and the Kabbahl has hardly even questioned her, let alone Sol. He’s at least an accomplice, if not the key to this whole mystery.”

“We’ve asked enough questions for such a crazy idea,” Nicodemous said, answering for Cyril. This earned him a wicked glance.



“We have questioned her enough, Caleb. The idea really is absurd,” Cryril added plainly. “Besides, he’s not even here.”

“Then send for him, Your Grace,” Caleb said. “You could have him brought to us easily. Surely the Kabbahl would hold a fair trail? If this is truly happening, think of what it could mean.”

“Are you hard of hearing? We shall not send for him,” Nicodemous interjected, punctuating his statement with his fist on the balcony.

“You will stop making proclamations and interrupting me, Nicodemous,” Cyril boomed.

“What do we do now?” Marcus asked softly. It seemed that they had come all this way for nothing. The Kabbahl would end this their way.

“There is only one thing we can do,” Caleb said to himself, “and I have to do it.”

“What do you mean?” Ellie asked.

“I invoke a magical challenge,” Caleb said loudly, with a bit of pomp. The rustling in the balcony simmered with confusion, then stopped. “And you must honor me this.”

“A magical challenge?” Cyril asked.

“What sort of challenge?” Var asked.

“I challenge Sol Fith, my blood brother,” he took a deep breath, and continued, “to a duel of the brimlets.”

“What are you doing, Caleb?” Anabell screamed. She covered her face and mumbled, “I just barely got you back.”

“This is ridiculous,” Nicodemous said. “Surely you aren’t thinking of honoring this request, Your Grace?”

“He has to,” Var said, almost bouncing in his seat, mouth agape. “I get the leftovers.”

Cyril stood up and circled his seat, mumbling to himself, then he kicked his seat. “Are you sure you want to do this? Waste more of our time with these silly tricks of yours? I trust you know the price?”

“My request has been made,” Caleb said. “Justice must be served.”

Cyril screamed as he unsheathed his brim. “Then you’ve taken your life into your own hands.” He stabbed his crystal sword in the air.

A thunderous crackling of light exploded in the sky outside, followed by a whirl of wind that began to fill the place where they stood.

“Get back,” Charlotte said, pushing her hair from her face, her voice shaky as she pushed the children to the edges of the room. The other adults slowly retreated to the sides of the room as well, Anabell the last to leave Caleb, who ultimately stood alone in the center of the great, coliseum-type hall.

Lightning flashed all around them, sending a crack echoing throughout the room.

Marcus flinched.

A beam of light gathered above them so brilliant, and so bold that Marcus and Ellie shut their eyes tightly, and even covered their ears.

When Marcus opened his eyes, he saw that Caleb was no longer alone. Sol had appeared on his hands and knees, disoriented, and angry, next to him.

“Wha—” Sol started. He shook his head and took in his surroundings. His eyes settled on the balcony and on the Kabbahl.

“What’s the meaning of this? Why am I here?” Sol asked as he got to his feet. As if by instinct, his hand searched for his cane, which still hung from his belt. “The law protects us from such a summoning. I demand—”

“You have been challenged to the brimlets,” Nicodemous said with a sigh, “a duel of sorts. For the old ways there is no magical law to protect you. Magic seeks magic, sometimes at the cost of blood. We were obliged to—”

“Must I banish you just to be rid of your foul interruptions?” Cyril asked. “Do it again, and I swear you will meet an ugly fate.”

“Men of the Kabbahl,” Cyril said, “please administer the brimlets.”

“Wait,” Caleb said. “First, I implore you, question Sol about his bottled magic.” Sol looked shocked at the mention of this.

“So that’s your game, is it?” Cyril said. “You just wanted us to call him here so that we would question him, didn’t you? Well, I’m very sorry, Caleb Fith, but you asked for the brimlets, and we must settle the matter at hand. I’m afraid when you’re done, there will be only one of you left to question. If you want it to be him, then you have a sacrifice to make.”

“You brought me here?” Sol asked, confused.

With a wave of his hand, Cyril summoned two men, each appearing on opposite sides of Caleb and Sol. They marched forward and extended to each brother a crystal case.

“Surrender your brims,” the men said in unison.

Caleb handed his over first. His brim was a translucent orb, its blue magic floating and swirling inside it freely. The man held it in his hand and waited.

Sol stared at the crystal box, hesitating, then yelled, “Why is it your wish to die at my hand, Brother? It didn’t have to be this way.” Then he complied. He detached his cane from his belt and handed his staff to the man in front of him.

The summoned men set the brothers’ brims on each box respectively. They mumbled something strange and curious before the magic in each brim finally lifted up and peeled away begrudgingly from each brim. The magical tendrils worked their way into each respective box, lighting them brilliantly, as if each contained a small star.

Once their magic had been extracted, the summoned men allowed Caleb and Sol’s brims to fall to the ground, something so personally offensive that it would have normally earned the ire of the brim bearer, and then opened the boxes. Inside each box lay a perfectly crafted crystal gauntlet filled with their magic. These were no ordinary gloves as they had the appearance of hard crystal, but not the properties thereof. They were not stiff like traditional armor, but rather lay flat like standard gloves.

“Behold, the brimlets,” the summoned men said.

Var clapped his hands and licked his lips like a child in a confection shop.

“This is a test of your magical strength and prowess,” Cyril said. “Each of you brings to the challenge only the magic he possessed, and the magic he has come to understand. Place your brimlet on your right hand, letting it become one with you, then clasp brimlets, letting them make you one, just as the magic that binds us all together.”

Cyril gave a ceremonial wave of his hands. “The old way is clear, and has but one rule. One of you will lose his second most prized possession today. Spill blood if you must, but not the magic.”

Then the Kabbahl erupted of one accord. “There can only be one.”

“Promise me, Cyril,” Caleb said, “that you will question him when this is finished.”

“We can’t let him do this,” Marcus said. “Grandpa, what can we do?”

“Nothing,” Winston managed as he pulled a sobbing Anabell in close. “Nothing.”

“Begin,” Cyril said.

Caleb and Sol each lifted their brimlets from their cases and placed them on their right hands. Beads of light, blue and red respectively, ran up each man’s arm and faded into their shoulders. The brimlets grew larger, and stiffened. The two summoned men bowed, and then took several steps backward and faded into the shadows.

The two brothers stared at each other, the magical light from the brimlets exposing their hatred for one another in the deepened shadows of their faces. A red rim of magic creeped up from the ground like a moat of blood, and encircled them.

“It didn’t have to come to this,” Sol said. “You could have joined me.”

Marcus could see that they were talking, but he couldn’t hear a word they said. It was like the magical ring closed them off from everyone else.

“I couldn’t be involved in your wrongdoing, Sol,” Caleb said as his arm started to shake, like some invisible force was grabbing at his brimlet. Sol’s arm responded similarly, and with a look of surprise, their arms lifted up and dragged each of them to the center of the circle.

“This could have been different, Caleb, but you just tried to get in the way,” Sol said as he pulled back, trying to get in a few last words. “I must finish what I started.”

The brimlets, like two strong magnets, lurched them both forward, and despite their resistance, flung them together. The brimlets connected, locking in place as if they were two pieces to one whole, then they fused together. The brothers came together with such force, and so unexpectedly, that they collided, heads butting, knocking them both to the ground.

“What? Over already?” Var yelled with a hearty laugh. “Come on, put up a fight!”

Caleb and Sol, dazed and groggy, managed to get to their feet a moment later, still bound together by the brimlets. Sol came to his senses first. Gnashing his teeth, he charged at Caleb, pushing him back. Caleb, surprised, staggered until he crashed into the space above the blood circle. An invisible, aerial wall lining the space above the blood circle burst out in flame at the contact, and Caleb cried out in pain. Once he recovered, he pushed back angrily on Sol, but did not move his larger brother very far.

Caleb looked down at the brimlet on his hand. Then, as if some thought he had been working on for some time finally registered, he closed his eyes and something extraordinary happened. Caleb’s brimlet began to glow with the blue color of his magic. Soon the color and brightness grew more and more intense. Then he opened his mad blue eyes.

Veins of magic emerged from his brimlet and crawled up Sol’s arm, overtaking him. Sol’s eyes widened, and his facial muscles spasmed. Then he screamed out in agony.

Marcus jumped up in the air. “Yes,” he said, pumping his fist. Then Ellie grabbed his arm with both hands and held it down at his side.

“Oh, no,” Ellie said.

Sol clenched his fingers until his knuckles showed white, and made a fist that looked like a sledgehammer. He punched Caleb’s face with his free hand, destroying his brother’s concentration and disrupting the magical attack he had injected into Sol’s body. Then he bore down on Caleb, forcing him to his knees.

“My turn,” he said, and then he screamed again. Marcus realized that his father’s scream wasn’t agony at all, but hot anger, like a war cry. Someone was going to die.

“This time I will do it properly,” Sol said as thick, jagged threads of vicious magic leapt violently along Caleb’s arm, leaving a glowing red trail up his shoulder and neck that looked like veins of molten lava. Caleb writhed and groaned as his body began to shake and sweat.

“Stop this,” Marcus screamed at the Kabbahl. “He’s killing my uncle Caleb.”

“Your uncle knew the risk when he demanded the challenge,” Cyril said. “This is your uncle’s own doing, young man.”

For an instant, everything was quiet outside the blood circle as if the spectators had taken a collective breath. Caleb began shaking his head, fear passing over his face.

“Do something,” Ellie said, breaking the silence as Sol pushed Caleb onto his back. “There has to be something someone can do!”

In that moment, just as his fear left his stomach hollow and crawled its way bitterly up the back of his throat, something crazy occurred to Marcus. He would rather die than to see his uncle return to his former state, or worse, to stand by and witness him murdered.

“I challenge Sol Fith to a duel of brimlets,” Marcus announced. “Right now.”

“What?” Cyril asked.

“No!” Charlotte said, hitting Winston on the shoulder. “You can’t let him do this.”

The former silence quickly evolved into a fervent clamor amongst the Kabbahl.

“He can’t,” said one Kabbahl member, “he’s not of age.”

“This is a ploy to stop the challenge,” said another. “We can’t let this happen.”

“It’s rare for anyone to make a challenge of this nature, let alone challenge someone involved in a challenge presently,” Cyril said. ”This is unprecedented.”

“I can challenge him,” Marcus said, “and I have.” He picked up a rock off the ground and threw it at the balcony. “The old way says it’s my right.”

Cryril thought a moment, considering Marcus. “Why do these things always happen during my reign?” he sighed. “Do you have a brim?” Cyril asked. “And do you really understand the consequences of what you are asking, boy?”

“Yes.”

“You realize that I won’t allow someone else to take your place?” Cyril added, “Even if they challenge you… I want this over with.”

“Yes.”

“Then, as I said to your uncle, your blood is on your own hands.”

Cyril drove his brim, the crystal sword, into the air and, much to the confusion of Caleb and Sol, the blood circle faded away and the brimlets ceased to work, disconnecting them.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Sol asked, his face still red hot with rage and blood lust. Caleb, still lying on his back and shielding his face, panted and bled on the floor.

“Sol, you have a new challenger,” Cyril said, “and I will not allow another challenger to interfere. Someone will die.”

Then, the brimlets’ light dimmed, and then faded away. With no magic they came loose from the two men’s hands and fell to the ground, lifeless and harmless.

Anabell ran to Caleb and started to pick him up off the ground. Winston followed her to help. They threw his arms over their shoulders and carried him back to the others.

“Challenger?” Sol asked. “What is going on here? I already had one, and I was virtually done with him.” He scowled, and then kicked Caleb’s brimlet, sending it sliding across the ground. “Who is this challenger?”

“Marcus Fith,” Cyril said, “your son.”

“No,” Sol said, “I will not fight him.”

“It’s the old way,” Cyril said, thrusting his brim sword into the air, “and it must be obeyed.”

“But we’ve only just found the children,” Sol said.

The two brimlet bearers appeared again from the shadows, walking in uncanny unison, and collected the brimlets.

“Your brim, please,” Marcus’ bearer said as both bearers extended the magic gauntlets to Marcus and Sol respectively.

Reaching into his pocket, Marcus removed his brim. The idea of being without it was altogether strange at this point. As he reluctantly handed over his brim, he couldn’t help but feel nervous too, like when you are waiting for a filling at the dentist’s office.

His feeling of nerves gave way to sickness as Marcus watched the magic drained from his brim only to retreat inside the brimlet. His magical strands twisted and writhed their way into the glove and drew a murmur from the balcony. His brim rolled off onto the ground.

Marcus took his brimlet first. If this was his chance to end this once and for all, he wanted to take it. He wanted to get rid of Sol and to protect the others, and he knew only he could do it.

To the touch, the brimlet felt leathery and malleable, even though it appeared to be as hard as glass. It was almost as if his eyes were deceiving him, but he had become accustomed to that feeling by now. He slipped the cold material on his hand, and the crystal stiffened up immediately.

Then he felt the power surge.

Magic coursed through his veins, up his arm, and through his body. He felt alive, like a live wire let loose to whip around and electrify anyone within its reach.

Then Sol, still panting, put on his brimlet again, and suddenly Marcus’s arm became a little heavier as if a heavy chain was now connecting them together and weighting them down. The draw to reach out to Sol and grab him with the brimlet became stronger; frustrating him like a scratch in the middle of his back he couldn’t quite reach.

A fiery ring, its color crimson red like blood, slowly emerged from the ground around them. The air around them became electric—a little heavier, a little hotter—and Marcus could feel the ominous presence of their enclosure.

And they were alone.

“Why did you do this, Son?” Sol asked. “This was a horrible mistake. There is no way out of this now.”

“Don’t call me ‘Son,’” Marcus said. “You have no right.”

By a force unseen, Marcus’s brimlet jerked up, taking on a life of his own. It lurched and shot out at Sol, meeting his brimlet in the air with a loud crack.

Marcus was ready for this, as he had seen Caleb and Sol crash into each other, and he had determined that he wouldn’t make the same mistake. He leaned away as the brimlets clashed and connected. What he didn’t account for was that Sol would think of this too—that, and Sol’s strength.

All at once, the brimlet became hot, and Marcus felt as if his arm would burn off. Then, unexpectedly, Sol lifted him up, turned him over, and slammed him on the ground.

Marcus yelled as a sharp pain webbed across his back. He was just a boy. What had he been thinking, egging on a Dun-Bhar like that?

“Son, don’t make me do this,” Sol begged. “Once you give in, it’s difficult to go back.”

“The old way must be obeyed,” Marcus said sarcastically, annoyed that Sol still called him ‘son’, “and you must pay for your crimes.”

“The only crime,” Sol said as he pinned Marcus down a little harder, “is that you were stolen from us.”

“What do you call what you did to Uncle Caleb?” Marcus asked between short breaths. “You almost killed him, and left him a mere shadow of his former self.”

“My brother was involving himself in things he shouldn’t have been,” Sol said. “Sometimes you trip across something and it blows up in your face.”

“What could he have possibly stumbled on that would have caused you to do that to your own family?”

“You’ve felt it before, Marcus,” Sol said, easing the pressure on him ever-so- slightly, “the magic, haven’t you?”

He did know the temptation, the lust of the magic. This made Marcus think for a moment. If Sol had really only wanted Caleb’s magic he would have drained him dry and left him dead. “But you didn’t finish him off. Why?”

Sol looked disconcerted by this question, and Marcus felt him almost pull away. “What do you mean?”

“If you only wanted his magic, why didn’t you just take it? You obviously want him dead,” Marcus paused. “Or do you?”

Without warning, the look of fear that had briefly appeared on Sol’s face was replaced with anger. He lifted Marcus up slightly off the ground, and slammed him back down again. Magic darted out from Sol, through the brimlets and into Marcus. “That line of thinking will only put you in a place where your uncle was.”

Marcus groaned at the pain, and when Sol heard it, he hesitated a moment. He did care, if only a little, and Marcus would use that to his advantage.

“See, Grandpa was right. He did save us. You just wanted to kill us, so kill me if you want me dead so much.” Marcus knew he had pushed the right buttons by bringing his grandpa into it.

Tears welled up in Sol’s eyes, and his face grew red. “I don’t want to hurt you, can’t you see?” Sol said, shaking him. “That’s why I started all of this! They took you from us, and I had to find a way to—”

“Started all of what?” Marcus asked. “Tell me. I deserve to know the truth before I die.”

Sol stopped and took a deep breath, then slapped the ground next to Marcus’s face. The echo hurt his ears.

“Please understand, Marcus, that I can’t help having magic,” Sol said. “I was born with it; with its curse. I use it, and I have to have more. Its like I drink it, and I’m still thirsty. I want to be the only one to feel its power running through my body. I sense it in people, and all I want to do is take it.”

“Why didn’t you kill Caleb?” Marcus demanded.

“Because he would tell Elba,” Sol said in one gasp. “She governs our dead; speaks to them. Surely he would have told her. She always gets them to talk.”

“Tell her what?” Marcus asked, his mind racing to understand what was so important that he couldn’t risk her getting it from the dead. Then it hit him. “About the magic?”

For what seemed like a while, Sol said nothing, he just breathed heavily through gritted teeth. “I didn’t want to hurt other magic users, Marcus, especially my own children. So when my research lead me to a way to use a small portion of my own magic to create a synthetic magic of sorts, a magic I could give to non-magic users, I had to do it. Caleb discovered this, and threatened to expose me.”

“What’s the point in providing magic to non-magic users?” Marcus asked. “For money? Or just to have a long, influential I.O.U. list?”

Sol nodded, then swallowed hard. “Yes, all of that, I suppose, but you must understand, it was really to keep you safe, Marcus.”

“How does you distributing magic to non-magic users make me any safer? If it anything it makes it worse. I was at The Magic Box when they killed—”

“Because it grows in them, Marcus,” Sol said sheepishly. Sol waited for Marcus to light up with understanding, but that confused him even more.

“Think, Marcus,” Sol said. “I have a whole group of influential humans who would do whatever I ask because I have the magic.” He tried to hide a grin. “What they didn’t realize is that once they used that magic, they had magic too, swelling and growing up inside them, just like you and I did when we matured.”

At that moment it became clear to Marcus. His father would hurt, or even kill; of course he would, he was Dun-Bhar. He just wouldn’t harm his own children. “So you gave them this magic just so you could harvest magic; drain it from them later as it grew stronger in them?”

Sol hung his head, and for the first time, Marcus saw him as an old and tired man. “It was the only way to keep you safe and to feed my appetite for magic.”

“How do you create this magic?” Marcus asked.

“The phoenix, of course,” Sol said. “I really should have seen it earlier. It’s the only magical creature with the properties to regenerate magic. It’s just the ingredients are hard to come by.”

“Phoenix bone?” Marcus asked.

Sol nodded slowly. “Then you had to go and do this with the brimlets, Marcus. We could have started over together.”

Without warning, Marcus’s arm began to convulse. Burning pain ran up his shoulder, and then his neck. “I’m so sorry, Marcus,” Sol said, a tear running down his cheek into his mouth, which was full of gritted teeth. “I’ve fought all these years to prevent this very moment, and now you’ve forced my hand. I have to think of your sister now.”

Bearing down on Marcus, Sol yelled a horrible noise that none outside the blood circle could hear. He let free all the years of anger and frustration he had obviously been carrying around, and unleashed it on Marcus.

“No, Father,” Marcus bellowed, and he knew when Sol didn’t flinch at the title of Father that he would die. His father had spoken his mind, made his peace, and moved on, just like he had before.

The pain was too much to bear, and Marcus felt that he would break at any moment. He trembled as he tried to focus his thoughts and his emotions on the piercing magic that Sol was boring up his arm and toward his vital organs.

He had to send magic back, like a game of tug of war. Marcus put all of his energy and thought into the magic, but it just didn’t seem to be enough. Then it occurred to him that he was missing one thing.

His emotions.

It had been his emotions that had always triggered his magical episodes. He reached deep, and thought of his father’s betrayal and what he had done to their family, to Caleb. The anger in him swelled. He thought of how disappointed Ellie would be if she learned the truth, how many years Anabell had sat at Caleb’s side in the hospital, Anabell being perfectly normal. That was love. He thought of the children at school who had made fun of Marcus and Ellie for having “old” parents, and not younger ones like the rest.

Screaming, Marcus jabbed his brimlet-bearing arm back at Sol with surprising force, drawing a look of shock from him. Sparks of blue tendrils tried to push back the red, vein-like tendrils of magic that assaulted Marcus, but it merely managed to slow them down.

Then something else happened; something that neither of them fully understood.

Marcus’s magic changed. The blue tendrils he had become familiar with were overcome by dark threads of shadow, and became sickly and black. Horrible black wisps moved along Sol’s arm and took on a lustrous, liquid shimmer, like an oil spill.

Marcus looked around to see the Kabbahl and his family pointing through the field above the blood circle, obviously noticing something different. He couldn’t hear them, but he recognized the expressions of alarm and dismay.

They had seen the shadow magic.

This time Sol howled in anguish, and Marucs thought that he might rip his arm off with the force with which he was trying to pull away. “What is that?” he spat as he swiped at the brimlet with his free hand. “What are you doing to me?”

In that moment, Marcus didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He had been pinned down, trapped by his oversized father. Now he felt power, raw and unwieldy, but pure and unmitigated, and he liked it.

“Son, please,” Sol said, his voice gurgling as if the oily shadow had now made it into his throat. “You’re killing me.”

Marcus wanted to be free of all of this, however he could achieve it. He didn’t sign up for this. He was tired of his parents, of this other world he knew nothing about that tried to kill him at every turn. But the magic…

“It’s too strong,” Marcus said as more and more of the shadow magic leapt from his brimlet to Sol’s.

“Make it stop,” Sol said, “please.”

What happened next, Marcus wasn’t sure if he saw or heard it first. Everyone outside the blood circle seemed to stop paying attention to them as they shot to their feet. The invisible, fiery field above the blood circle shattered in a puff of smoke and the brimlets disconnected, and fell to the ground. All around them, and all at once a ferocious, inhuman shriek enveloped them.

The far wall exploded in fire and smoke, launching debris and raining soot down on the entire place. The ground began to shake and Marcus wondered if there had been an earthquake. Then a familiar, throaty voice echoed in the hall.

“Who defies the old ways and makes a mockery of magic?” the voice said from behind the cloud of smog and pollution the explosion created.

“That voice isn’t speaking to us, is it?” Cyril asked, spitting dirt from his mouth. He stared at the Kabbahl, almost daring someone to justify this intrusion. Then he lifted his brim and yelled into the darkness. “I swear by all that is magical that you shall die a horrific death the instant I see you. Show yourself, and I might speed up the process!” The Kabbahl erupted with cheers and jeers.

“You dare swear by magic in my presence?” the voice said. “Magic is something you apparently know very little about. You freely violate its laws and selfishly mock its intentions. You have corrupted a whole generation, and now I have finally returned to correct your misdeeds.”

“What could possibly justify this level of audacity?” Nicodemous asked.

“Stop yapping,” Cyril said, “and do something about this nuisance for us.”

The flames came first. Random streams of fire leapt out from the shadows, followed by balls of flame.

“Whatever it is,” Cyril yelled, pointing his brim at the collapsed wall, “kill it quickly.”

Var jumped off the balcony before Nicodemous even flinched. Various members of the Kabbahl followed, making their way to the hole in the wall until the ground shook violently again.

Then Marcus saw a large, golden bird, which could have easily been mistaken for a dragon, fly into the room.

What Marcus saw next didn’t scare him, but shocked him even more than the beast’s entry. Everyone, including Cyril, fell to their knees, gasping and bowing down before the beast.

“Mighty Ovix,” Cyril said grandly. “Your Majesty. I… I had no idea it was you.”

“It’s been too long, great dragon,” Nicodemous said, oilier than normal. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Silence your insincerities,” Ovix said in a low, throaty voice. ”I’m in no mood for your empty niceties. Where is the shadow magic? It must be properly destroyed before it brings down wrath and destruction on us all. I know it’s here. I can smell it from miles away.”

Sol coughed, and turned to Marcus, realization surfacing on his face, but he said nothing.

“Perhaps we could address this another time, Your Majesty?” Nicodemous asked. “You see, we were in the throes of a trial of sorts. It was great fun in the moment.”

“If it is judgment you seek, than you shall be judged,” Ovix said. “Nicodemous, your heart in particular is as black as the substance I seek.”

Cyril looked uncomfortable at this line of talk, and moved quickly to change the subject. “Surely there is no shadow magic here, Your Majesty,” Cyril said. “We would have—”

“Your ability to sense magic for what it is abandoned you years ago,” Ovix said.

“I must confess that this is—” Cyril started.

“Where is the man-child?” Ovix asked. “The one that freed me from the bonds of the shadow magic that held me captive all this time?”

There was no fear in Marcus even though the flaming dragon was easily the largest, most powerful thing he had ever imagined. He was bigger than he was before, and could probably incinerate him with a sideward glance. He felt connected to the dragon somehow, so he stepped forward without hesitation at Ovix’s request.

“Here I am.”

“Where is the shadow magic?” Ovix asked. “The magic you freed me from?”

“I didn’t mean to use it,” Marcus said sheepishly, “not exactly. When they put the brimlets on me, the shadow magic was there, mixed with my own.”

“Show me the magic,” Ovix commanded.

Marcus collected the brimlets from off the ground and held them up for Ovix to see. The dark, oily tendrils of the shadow magic still writhed on the surface of the brimlets and inched closer to Marcus once he touched them.

“The use of this kind of magic has been forbidden since magic began,” Ovix said. “It must be collected and destroyed.”

“Look,” Marcus said, “that’s totally fine with me. I wasn’t—”

Ovix raised a giant, flaming claw, causing Marcus to swallow his words, then the dragon plucked a scale from his body. He opened his mouth, lined with flaming fangs, and blew white fire onto the scale, melting it. He shaped the scale, which, once melted, looked like Uribrim, into a sphere. “I have fashioned a vessel for this magic, and must travel far to the shadow lands to see it properly destroyed.”

Extending the sphere he had just created, Ovix’s eyes lit up a cold blue, and the shadow magic that once crawled on the brimlets shook free, evaporating into shadow again, and found its way to its vessel.

“Thank you, great Ovix,” Cryil said, placing a hand over his heart. “The slightest rumor of shadow magic in our midst would have caused the people to panic and revolt.”

“These people are no longer your concern,” Ovix said. “I have returned, and there is no longer a requirement for a Kabbahl.”

“But they need us,” Cyril said, “and they are used to our governance.”

“Not to mention we are also in the middle of a trial,” Nicodemous said. “Surely we can complete this one last duty before—”

“This is no trial,” Ovix said. “You have a semblance of the old ways, but you misunderstand, and the result is mockery for your own gain and pleasure. But this isn’t why I am here. I have come for the one who brought the shadow magic from the shadow lands and bound me all this time. He must stand trial and face the consequences of this dangerous betrayal.”

“What?” Cyril asked. “Someone here, with shadow magic?”

Nicodemous, silent, took a step back and fell into his chair.

“No,” Ovix said, breathing deeply through his nostrils, “the smell is gone. The shadow is contained in the vessel. But I will have the traitor.”

“How will you know who it is?” Cyril asked.

“The loyalty of shadow magic is earned by blood sacrifice,” Ovix said, “but it is fickle. At the time I wondered how the boy could recall and unbind the shadow magic from me. He so easily contained it. But not until now, until I saw him fight in the blood circle, did it become clear.”

“It could not have been Marcus,” Winston said. “He’s just a—”

“Judgment is mine, old man, and my judgment is true,” Ovix said. “It is one of his parents.”

“No,” Mirella said, covering her mouth.

“For this shadow magic to respond to the boy and to have leapt so easily to his father, it is clear that this shadow magic obeyed the bloodline.” Then, with one mighty sweep of his arm, the dragon scooped Sol up and raised him up to look him in the eye.

“You must pay for what you’ve done.”

“Please great Ovix,” Sol said, “these children need a father.”

The dragon was silent for a moment as his eyes swept his surroundings. He seemed to consider the Kabbahl, the grandparents, and then even Elba.

“We’ve spent our lives looking for our children,” Mirella said. “They were wrongfully taken from us. We just want our children.”

Ovix took a deep breath. His exhalation seemed to heat the room up considerably. “What you want doesn’t matter any longer. You are lucky to be alive. What matters is what they want.”

Marcus and Ellie exchanged confused looks.

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked.

“What Sol has done makes him mine. He will pay most severely for his crimes,” Ovix said. “Now it is given to you to decide what will become of your new magic, who you will go with, and who you will become.”

The build up to this moment must have been too much. Tears began to stream down Ellie’s face uncontrollably, but without hesitation she ran to Charlotte and Winston, and wrapped her arms around them. “I love you grandma and grandpa.”

Predictable, Marcus thought. Ellie always played it safe. This would make his decision even more difficult. They had always been together.

“Ellie, please…” Mirella said, putting her hand over her heart. “You would abandon your own mother? I thought you said if you were in my place you would have never left your family?”

Ellie said nothing. She just buried her face in Winston’s arms.

Marcus still wasn’t sure what he felt about Mirella. He certainly didn’t expect, at the end of all of this that they would simply get to choose the outcome. The children never got to choose. “So, if we… I mean, if I went with you, Mirella… Mother… where would we go?” Marcus asked. “How would that work?”

Mirella’s countenance brightened with hope. “There’s a place far from here, Marcus, a magical place… somewhere we could start over, away from all this. I could teach you whatever you wanted to know about magic.”

“What are you doing Marcus?” Winston asked. “After everything, after all this, You’d just abandon us?”

“You must choose, Marcus,” Ovix said.

In silence, Marcus considered everything they had been through. Their grandparents had always been there for them, and had loved them, despite the mischief, and the poor decisions they had consistently made. And they had been through it all… together.

Then Marcus searched his feelings for Mirella and Sol. He didn’t even really know them, but what he knew of them, he didn’t like… mostly. Yes, they had shown themselves to be ruthless and cold in everything… except him and Ellie. He was sure he had seen good in them, he just didn’t know if he could trust it.

“Please, don’t leave us, Marcus,” Charlotte said. “Come home.”

Marcus pursed his lips, and slowly made his way to his grandparents. This was his family, and he couldn’t be the one to break it up, no matter how tempting it was to know his true mother. He had seen enough, and just wanted to go home.

“No,” Mirella screamed. “No. We’ve just found each found each other.”

Charlotte and Winston’s eyes welled up, and they nodded their heads. Charlotte opened her arms, and Marcus ran into her tight, warm hug.

“We’re so proud of you, Marcus,” his grandma said.

“You did well today, young man,” his grandpa added as he joined them and tousled his hair.

“It is done,” Ovix said.

Ellie hugged Marcus, and kissed him on the forhead. “No, it isn’t,” she said loudly.

Ovix rose up to his full height.

“I love you all,” Ellie said, her eyes swelling up with tears. She stepped away from her family. “I’m sorry.”

“Ellie?” Charlotte said. “But—”

“I’ve spent my whole life wondering what my parents were like, and if I were like them.”

“Ellie, don’t be silly—” Anabell started.

“And now I’ve found my mother,” she said. “You can’t expect me to just let that go.”

“What? You’d break up the family?” Marcus asked. “Are you nuts? Mirella’s a killer!”

“I choose Mirella,” Ellie said, “and it’s not silly. She’s my mother.”

“But—” Marcus started again.

“Enough,” Ovix said. “It is done. She has made her decision.”

“Thank you, Ovix, for letting me make my own choice,” Ellie said to the dragon before turning back to the rest of them. “I’m so sorry, but please understand. I just need to know my mother. She just lost her husband. I don’t want her to be alone.”

Charlotte burst in to tears. “Don’t leave us,” she mouthed.

Mirella’s lip began to tremble, and she shook her head, blinking hard. Ellie approached her mother, and took her hand. “Don’t make me regret this,” Ellie said. “Please.”

“We’ll go far from here, Ellie,” Mirella said softly. “We’ll start over. Whatever you want.”

“You may leave,” Ovix said. Taking a deep breath, he unleashed a burst of blue flame that twisted and swirled until it settled on the ground in the form of a flaming, oval door.

“This will take you wherever you would go,” Ovix said.

“Come on,” Mirella said with a big smile, grabbing Ellie’s hand. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

The two of them walked through the flaming portal and disappeared, the flames collapsing and evaporating behind them.

“Where did she take my sister?” Marcus asked, frustrated. Ellie didn’t even look back. Maybe that made it easier.

“To a land far away from here,” Ovix said. “You made your choice, Marcus, and she made hers.”

“Now to the matter at hand,” Ovix said, turning his majestic head to the Kabbahl. “The reign of this council has come to an end.”

“But,” Cyril began, “there is so much left to —”

“Be gone,” Ovix said, and in that instant a loud cracking echoed throughout the great hall, and the members of the Kabbahl disappeared in a cloud of evaporating smoke.

“Where did they go?” Marcus asked.

“It is no matter,” Ovix said. “They will go where they can no longer cause harm.”

“Thank you great Ovix,” Elba said with a slight bow.

“And now I must go,” Ovix said. “I must attend to this,” he lifted Sol up in his clutches, “and find the others of my kind… if they still exist. Clearly, order and balance must be restored to our world.”

With that Ovix opened up his vast, flaming wings, and lifted off the ground.

“Until we meet again, young Marcus,” Ovix said with a slight nod.

“Not if I can help it,” Marcus said under his breath.

“I thought you might have learned by now, that sometimes there are things you cannot help. You must do the best you can with what are you are given. But remember, where much is given, much may be expected.” With that he turned, and flew away, carrying Sol through the same hole he had appeared through.

“Come here,” his grandpa said, pulling him in for a big bear hug. “Thanks for choosing us.” Not a moment passed before his grandma wrapped her arms around Marcus too; and so did Caleb, and Anabell. It almost felt like one big happy family. Almost…

“Here,” Elba said, “You dropped something.” She handed him his brim.

Marcus considered it. He marveled at how such a small and simple thing could wield such power, and cause so much harm.

“You keep it,” Marcus said pulling his grandpa’s arms tighter around him. “I’ve had enough of magic for now.”

“But your magic…” Elba said, which earned her an immediate wave of dismissal from Marcus’ grandma.

Somehow Mirella and Sol had managed to break up their family again, and it was all Marcus could do to hold back the tears.

It was a lot to take in, and he never really had a chance to stop and consider everything that had happened. This had been some kind of adventure, for sure. But it wasn’t the same without his sister, Ellie. The love he felt from his family, the hug he was enveloped in at that moment wasn’t the same either.

He would find Ellie one day, wherever she was. He would bring her home so the family could be complete.

“Let’s go home,” Marcus said, his voice heavy.

Elba opened the portal, and led the way back. Caleb and Anabell fell in line, and Marcus’ grandpa and grandma followed.

Marus hesitated.

“Aren’t you coming?” his grandma said turning back.

Marcus wanted one last moment where his sister had been, to take it all in. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he said a moment later. “I’ll pull up the rear.”

Then Marcus realized that if he allowed himself, he could stay there forever trying to capture every feeling, every detail. He was holding on to anything he could, and that would only make it harder. With a sigh, Marcus fell in line with the others, and to make it easier, he didn’t look back.


The End



About the Author

Justin was born with an active imagination on a naval base in Spain, but has spent most of his life in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains of Utah. He is bilingual, and has lived all over the world. He has four children; two boys, and two girls, and an enduring wife. He doesn’t have any pets that he’s aware of, but his children have been known to hide things under his bed.

In his free time Justin loves to read, write, and play games. He enjoys his close friends, and loves to make people laugh. To learn more about Justin, or his work, you can visit him at www.justinswapp.com