Homeward (Ch. 3)
[Serial] In a world ruled by dragons, three brothers return home after receiving a call to adventure.
Table of Contents
Part 1: The Grove’s Bounty: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Previously, a lonely innkeeper named Jonas Boyle gave his three adoptive sons glowing hearth gems to call them home should the need ever arise. While visiting the capital, he came across a bounty for a thief named Horace Bartleby, who was last seen near their home town. Jonas activated the hearth gem in hopes that he might entice his boys to return home.
Last chapter, we met the eldest brother, Ryld, a surly Dark Elf fighter for hire. The gem’s summons gave him just the push he needed to quit his mercenary company, which he believed was holding him back. Now, we follow the gem’s magic to the middle brother.
Arena lanterns stung Abaddon’s eyes as he squared off against the Giant. Twenty feet tall, the creature stood arms akimbo, baring yellowed teeth. It lumbered forward, swinging with blows reaching farther than the young sorcerer’s spritely gait. Channeling the acrobatic acumen he’d learned over the past five years, he rolled to evade each blow.
“Atlas the Titan has Abaddon’s back against the wall,” Ringmaster Dogen said. The diminutive kobold clutched his top hat as he scurried across the ring, coat tails dragging. “Is it over for our Half-Elf hero, or does he hide another trick in his arsenal?”
On cue, Abbadon back flipped onto the trampoline hidden at the arena’s edge. He soared over the giant’s head; arms outstretched to create the illusion of flight.
Before he completed his descent, the giant grabbed his ankle and swung him around like a rag doll. The cheering crowd faded to a blurry haze as the giant flung him across the arena.
Rielle swooped down with the curtain rope, her wings beating. White feathers glistened like diamonds beneath the stage lanterns. As Abaddon’s flight reached its apogee, she tossed him the rope.
The Winged Elf’s gasp echoed the crowd’s as the rope slipped from her hand. Sweat trickled down Abaddon’s brow. If he didn’t act fast, he’d land on the bleachers a bloody pulp. Maybe take a few innocent carnival guests, too.
With a flash of arcane energy, he willed the rope fly to him. He’d practiced his mage hand at night, but the spell still wasn’t nearly reliable enough to work into his acrobatic routine. He held his breath as the rope snapped taut into his hand with the reflex of a viper striking its prey.
The delay made him swing wide. He curled his legs so they didn’t clobber the children in the front row. It didn’t help that they stuck their hands in the air, trying to catch him like an errant stick ball.
Once he cleared the audience, he released the rope and made a three-point landing. The Giant cocked its arm to strike, while Abbadon charged another spell. Flashing lights of every color imaginable sprayed from his palm.
The giant stumbled as the prismatic spray splashed its face, lanky arms a windmilling hurricane. The crowd screamed, shuffling to escape the giant’s impending landing. But Abbadon summoned the curtain rope again, lassoing the giant to guide its tumble safely into the arena.
The audience burst into applause as Ringmaster Dogen hopped onto Abaddon’s shoulder and held the victor’s arm triumphantly. It had been a magnificent show, one that lived up to the Dark Moon Carnival’s reputation.
Once the audience filtered out of the tent, Rielle landed behind Abbadon, wringing her hands. The astounding girl angel had been performing since she was a child, and mistakes appeared seldomly in her career. “Sorry about the rope tonight, Abi. These new stage lanterns make my palms sweat something awful.”
Abbadon laughed. “Are you kidding? Now, no one’ll believe those rumors that we stage our fights.”
“I almost forgot,” a deep voice boomed from across the arena. Atlas the giant sat up and gingerly removed a banana leaf from his loincloth. He held it between his massive fingers and dropped it in Abaddon’s lap. “I saved you some dinner.”
“Thanks, big guy. I’m starving.” Abbadon dug in. The concession stands sold strawberry duck dumplings tonight, his favorite. “I didn’t burn you with my prismatic spray, did I? I’ve been experimenting with luminosity.”
“Don’t worry. Your sparkles only tickle. But watch out, you’ve still got a sparkle stuck to you.” The giant pointed to Abaddon’s waist. The gem he kept tied to his hip was glowing.
“Shoot.” Abbadon flinched as he examined the gem, he dropped the rest of the dinner. “I-uh need to go see Dogen. Talk to you guys later.”
Rielle and Atlas raised their eyebrows at one another.
“Wonder what’s got him worked up?” Rielle asked.
The giant shrugged, popping the last dumpling into his mouth.
Abbadon found the ringmaster across the tent. The dapper kobold rested his top hat upside down while he stuffed the stage lanterns and props inside one-by-one.
The hat’s lining was made from an enchanted bag of holding. It served as the centerpiece of Dogen’s own act, which featured him removing objects of increasingly improbable size, beginning with juggling knives and ending with entire circus elephants. It also served as a convenient storage, letting the ringmaster carry the entire Dark Moon Circus on his head, save for the performers and staff.
“I was just about to send for your help.” Dogen pointed to a stack of crates. Abbadon reached for them, but the ringmaster swatted his hand away. “Not so fast. Put them away without touching them.”
“I can’t use my mage hand to lift anything that heavy,” Abbadon said.
“Better put your back into it then.”
Abbadon braced as he drew more arcane energy. Performing always left him knackered. Usually, their shows left him with only enough magic to perform simple cantrips by the end of the night, but his mentor had a way of coaxing a little more out of him.
His hand grew heavy as a stone and his temple throbbed, but against all odds he levitated a crate. It wobbled, slipping from his arcane grasp.
Dogen waved a claw, and the crate stopped mid-descent. With a flick of his wrist, it sailed effortlessly into the hat.
“Not bad,” the ringmaster said. “Your telekinesis is improving. And Rielle doubted it was ready to include in the show.”
“Did you tell her to throw the curtain rope short?”
The kobold ring master flashed a toothy grin. “I also told her to scoop you up if you choked, for what it’s worth. But I knew it wouldn’t come to that. Your talents shine brightest under pressure.”
Abbadon looked at his shoes, bashful from the compliment. He spotted the glowing hearth gem and remembered why he originally sought Dogen. “Sorry to spring this on you, but I need to take some time off.”
The ring master’s expression sobered. “You are free to leave the Dark Moon Circus. But if you do, I cannot promise to welcome you back.”
“Don’t act that way, Dogen. If worse comes to worst, just have Atlas strap on the girdle of femininity for our part of the show. That always gets a laugh. Besides, you’ve got a Kobold sorcerer, a flying Elf, and a Giant in your troop. A Half-Elf like me brings nothing to the table you don’t already have.”
“Half-Elves may not be common, but your kind are familiar enough that our audience can see themselves in you. That is a powerful thing, especially for someone gifted in the Art. My spells will forever seem an oddity to them, a strange talent of an even stranger creature. But when they see someone like you use magic, it feels so much closer, so much more real.”
“I’ll probably only be gone for a few weeks. The circus doesn’t need me that much.”
Dogen blinked, his reptilian eyes growing misty. “But I have wondered lately how much you still need my circus. When you first arrived, you gaped just like our customers whenever I cast a spell. For them, the meager talents of a hedge mage like me are enough to bring wonder into their lives. However, I fear they no longer suffice for you.”
Abaddon’s voice cracked. “What are you trying to say?”
Dogen climbed an invisible staircase and placed a reassuring claw on Abaddon’s shoulder. “You crave magic from deeper veins than I have the power to plumb. In ages past, young talents would travel to the Academy of Scion for training. Since the Academy burned, I don’t know where you may unlock your true potential. However, I am now certain that place is no longer here.”
Abbadon frowned. He knew the truth of his master’s words, even if he’d resisted that truth for months. Part of him hoped he had just fallen into a rut. Any day now, Dogen would show him another spell that rekindled his love of magic. “But you told me that a sorcerer’s path is to search for magic within himself rather than learn it from others.”
“I suppose I did,” Dogen said, contemplating his own wisdom. He spun his finger and the entire circus tent lifted off the ground. With thunderous flapping, the entire canvas swirled into the top hat like a peppermint bubble bath descending the drain.
“Very well, Abbadon of the Dark Moon. I will permit you to return …” Dogen donned his top hat and gave his student a final, wistful smile. “…but only once you find all the magic within you.”