Duality by Rowan Erlking (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📖

Bernum stepped back from the curb, watching the spooked merchant urge the driver to go faster towards the hilly district. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, Bernum continued on his way towards the market, thinking again over what kind of demon Malkia had summoned, with only a passing sensation of pity for the missing steward.

Finding supplies for the magic show took the greater part of the morning. And creating a better show plan with a semblance of variety occupied most of the afternoon. So by sunset when the amphitheater started to fill again, Bernum had a number of entertaining tricks to perform, saving the most dramatic ones for last. He also worked on his exit so he would not have to stagger out of the ring covered in soot.

“The wizard better,” the little man said when Bernum had finished the second magic act of his life, still dusting off the parts of his robe where he had been singed.

Blinking down at the man, as the applause died down and the ringmaster announced the flying man, Bernum replied with a snort, “Yeah? So why did he just ditch you guys?”  

He marched from the tent flaps.

“He no leave us!” the little man shouted, following Bernum all the way to his chest in the hate ward. “He no gone!”

Bernum looked back. “Really? Then where is he? Why isn’t he with you people?”

The red haired warrior stepped into the open space. “He’s out there trying to help us, Magician.”

Lifting his eyes to her, Bernum frowned. “What do you want now?”

Tilting her head back, she glanced at the Blue Lord who waited just on the other side of the corral for the llamas. “We have a proposition. But we need to speak in private.”

Blinking at her, Bernum glanced once at his magic chest inside the hate ward. It was sitting fine, untouched. So he shrugged and led out a hand.

The Blue Lord pointed to another part of the animal area. “There is more private.”

Bernum looked over at the dark corral the man had indicated and frowned. “And smelly,” Bernum said, turning back to them.

“Then no one will follow us.” The KiTai woman marched past him to the dark corner.

Rolling his eyes, Bernum nodded. All three of them walked into the dark corral. The ponies that usually resided inside were currently in the prep area to go in the ring after the “amazing flying man’. The ground itself was wet with muck and rank with odor.

“So, what is it?” Bernum set his hands onto his hips.

“We have a job for you,” the woman said while sharing looks with the Blue Lord. “You do as we say and we won’t, well, tell the merchant about your relationship with his wife.”

Bernum blinked, taking a step back. “You…what? Are you serious? I don’t have a relationship with Omoni’s wife!”

The Blue Lord chuckled, folding his arms. “So, brother and sister is not a relationship?”

Stiffening, Bernum raised his chin.

Grinning, the woman nodded. “The merchant would be interested in that little detail you have been keeping from him—very interested.”

“What do you want?” Bernum said so acidly that they both shifted back.

Leaning in just slightly, the Blue Lord whispered, “We want our travel documents. That merchant has them.”

Already Bernum rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest with a huff.

“We know you are good at summoning things,” the woman said. She was smirking. “You have proved that again and again with your magic act, as well as with that chest. We just want our belongings out of that greedy merchant’s hands. That’s all we ask.”

“Ask?” Bernum raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t asking. You are blackmailing me. And what good would it do you to tell Omoni about me anyway? You’ll still be stuck in the same net, only this time I’ll be stuck here too.”

They returned the look, their lips set in straight lines. The Blue Lord leaned nearer, whispering, “Omoni would have found out earlier if it weren’t for us. You owe us.”

Bernum blanched, taking a step back. “You…you bumped off the steward, didn’t you!”

The Blue Lord merely smiled.

“He overheard your ill-hidden conversation,” the KiTai warriess said. “You should thank us.”

Taking another step back, Bernum fought the pounding in his chest that was telling him to run. “You’re killers.”

“Warriors,” the woman corrected with a nod.

Bernum just shook his head.

The Blue Lord whispered, stepping closer. “You owe us, Magician. Summon our documents.”

Still shaking his head, Bernum shoved his sleeves up to his elbow, grabbing a hay rake. He turned it upside down and immediately drew a circle on the ground, putting in markings in the muck. He then looked to the dangerous pair. “If I do this, you’ll leave me and my sister alone—right? I know you asked her to do this for you already. She told me all about it.”

They shared looks, surprised yet not by much. If anything, he had raised in their regard a smidgen.

“She also told me,” Bernum said as he finished the last of the written part to the summoning spell, “that she failed to get them before Omoni found they were missing. If I get pegged for stealing these documents, I’ll send a plague on all of you.”

Smirking, they shared another look.

Bernum muttered the words to the summoning spell, jabbing the end of the rake into the muck while facing north. They could feel a faint ripple underneath their feet as it went out. Expectantly waiting for the floor to open up with a pile of something, what they got was a sudden lurch and then a popping splurt that sprayed the three of them with dung as the circle itself cracked apart.

Wiping his face off with his hand and tossing the muck to the side, Bernum peered down at the circle.

“Huh.” He set his hands on his hips then walked around the broken up mark. “Well, that’s never happened before.”

“Maybe you did it wrong,” the woman suggested. “Maybe you need to get your book.”

Bernum looked up at her with a flat frown. “I don’t need my book. I have that spell memorized.”

“Then why did you look it up before?” She peered at him narrowly.

Rolling his eyes, Bernum swiped over the marking with the flat side of the rake, clearing the ground. He started to write up the spell again.

The Blue Lord nudged the woman, “It was all an act. Look at him. He’s just like the witch wife.”

Bernum’s head popped up in a glare at him. “Don’t call her that. She’s not a witch, and she is not his wife.” He lowered his eyes to the ground as he drew the markings once more. “She’s a magister, just like me—or a magister-in-training at least. What she knows, I know. We’ve been exchanging ideas for years.”

The two foreigners stared at him with even more bemused fascination. Bernum had drawn up the spell a little larger, filling out all the marks then reciting the words very clearly, this time calling for the chest or cabinet the documents were in, since clearly they had been packed away in a be-spelled container.

The ground rippled once more.

All three leaned in, waiting—only this time Bernum felt the ripple reverse and hopped away from the circle before it sprayed him again with muck and snapped apart.

“What is wrong with you?” the woman shouted, wiping herself off. She stomped across the broken spell circle. “You can summon your stupid magic box! Why can’t you do this simple thing?” She had drawn her sword, looking likely to use it.

Bernum staggered backward, raising his hands up in front of him but not retreating from the corral just yet. “Hey! What do you want me to do? Summon the room next? Obviously there is a powerful spell inside the room where your documents are kept, making it so I can’t summon anything from it.”

“You’re lying!” Her sword point moved closer to his chest.

“What are you going to do? Stab me over it?” Bernum held his ground. “You don’t really want to end up with a dead person on your hands or you would have taken out the merchant already—or aren’t you a warrior?” His chest heaved angrily, him hoping that his hate ward could hold up against a be-spelled sword. He knew KiTai weapons were etched with spells to increase their killing power. He could see it along the blade as it pointed just inches away from his collarbone.

The KiTai woman lowered her sword, casting a look over at the Blue Lord. The man just shook his head.

“No. We’ll find another way.” The Blue Lord then turned. He walked out of the muck, taking off his breastplate to clean it along with his tunic. Bernum watched him climb through the corral fencing back into the cleaner area.

With a stomp of her foot, the Kitai woman withdrew from Bernum also. “Fine. We’ll play it that way. But watch your back, Magician. You still owe us.”

Swiping his clothes once more, Bernum sniffed himself and grimaced. He glanced over the fence at the gathering circus performers that were already whispering in the company of the Blue Lord, sharing conspiring looks. It didn’t bode well, not at all.

So discomfited by the leers and snarls directed towards him, Bernum backed out of the pony corral and climbed over to the exit flap. It was best that he get home anyway. Lingering wasn’t something he enjoyed, especially now that they might expose him and Malkia.

Oh, Malkia! Bernum hurried outside. He had to get a letter to Malkia quick.

Jogging along the road, the cool wind lifting off the sea with the cries of evening gulls resting on the roofs of the neighboring houses, Bernum did not stop until he was at least two blocks from Omoni’s amphitheater. There he caught his breath, clasping his side. Everything had been going so well and now this. Blackmail. Bernum shook his head, clenching his teeth together. There was no way he was going to let those foreigners ruin his chances to free his sister.

He felt his pocket for his keys, then groped them, blinking with remembrance that he had left his keys and his other belongings in the magic chest during his show. The chest was back at the circus in that hate ward. Emitting a moan, Bernum pivoted on his foot and trudged the long way back to the circus tent. When he arrived outside the tent, he drew in a breath, thinking of the problems he would have just trying to get past those obnoxious circus clowns. He wondered, slightly, if it would be better if he tried to summon the chest from the hate ward—but he didn’t want to cause a stir on the street if anyone saw him. However, as he thought on it, Bernum crouched down then slid through the crack in the open tent flaps so as not to disturb them, hoping to sneak back inside unseen.

Bernum kept his head low. Crawling, he maintained one eye on the recognizable figures just beyond the large stackable boxes and the stacks of hay bales. He counted five of those foreign performers. Then, with a blink, he recognized Merchant Omoni standing with four of his bulky guards. All four were carrying Brein Amon style rifles, standing stock still, though their beady eyes were watching the circus members like hungry Dobermans.

“…lately. Now I know I sent him here to keep watch on my investment. So I will repeat, where is my steward?”

Bernum held his breath, watching the Blue Lord maintain his rock hard jaw and icy glare.

“And I told you, I last saw him here, last night.”

Omoni shook his head. “My magician scryed for my steward, and he is not anywhere near here.”

The circus performers flinched, some of them looking to Bernum’s chest.

“Not that one!” Omoni snapped. “My real magician! And he claimed that every time he scryed for him the stone hit different places all around the city! What did you do to him?”

“If you think I dismembered him, I didn’t,” the Blue Lord said.

Bernum noticed that the truth bell