by R. D. Henham
“I have no idea what the boy’s babbling about, master wizard.” Worver straightened, ignoring the dart. “He’s always blamed me, you know, for his father’s fall. This is all a nasty trick to get even with me for what he sees as his family’s failure! You know as well as I that Jace was going to fall from that rope before you arrived—you saved his life! But Jace is stubborn, and he’s vengeful enough to make all this up just to get Belen’s attention. Everyone knows he has a crush on her, and he’d do anything—including lie, cheat, and steal—to show off for her.”
Jace’s heart fell through his feet. He felt his face turn red as Belen blinked and looked at him, and even redder when Cerisse looked away. “That … that has nothing … to do with this!” he stammered. Belen looked surprised, but the worst thing of all was the pitying softness in her stare. Jace’s vision blurred and he pushed past Ebano angrily. “Stop blaming me!”
“Ah, son, the truth hurts, doesn’t it? It must be hard. You know she’s a dragon? Belen is older and more mature than you will ever be, and she’s far more powerful. You’re nothing but a little circus tramp, barely a tenth her age! Of course she’s not interested in you. Now end this charade, get out of my wagon, and we’ll all let bygones be bygones.” Worver preened while Tsusu’s hissing laughter echoed faintly in the shadows.
“You shut up!” Cerisse snarled, pushing the tip of her dart against Worver’s throat. “Jace is wonderful. He’s smart, and he’s brave, and even Belen would be lucky to have him!” Her outburst was unexpectedly fierce, her red hair lashing back and forth like a tiger’s tail.
“Cerisse! You can’t believe this ridiculous tale. Master Mysos, I assure you, this is all fantasy!”
“Very well, I’m willing to accept that.” Mysos folded his arms.
“You are?” Worver brightened
“Of course. But just in case, why don’t you show me what you’re wearing around your neck?”
The ringmaster’s face fell. “Surely that isn’t necessary.”
“I think it is. In fact, I insist.”
Worver’s hands fumbled as he slowly raised them to his neckline. “Master Mysos, of course I’ll do anything you require. I only ask that you be gentle on the poor boy when you realize what a liar he’s being. It isn’t his fault, you know. His father’s tragic fall, the pressure on Jace to redeem an entire family filled with failures and reprobates—”
“Hey!” Jace yelped, stung again.
“I’m trying to do what’s best, my boy. Here we are, my necklace.” Worver pulled it out of his neckline with a quick tug. “You’ll see it’s everything you expected—and more.”
The thin cord around Worver’s neck was unassuming, made of light leather looping down to a wooden trinket on the end. Jace had been anticipating something more grand—a holy symbol of Chislev, perhaps, or a magical token—but instead, it was only a child’s whistle made of wood. Before anyone could react, Worver lifted it to his lips and blew.
Light instantly coalesced around him, blinding them all. Jace heard a scuffle. Tsusu’s thin laugh darted down from the rafters, bounding to the floor and away. He heard Cerisse scream, and then came Ringmaster Worver’s voice, smug in the white nothingness. “Obey me, my pukah minions.”
As the brilliance faded, six bright lights became more distinct, swirling in patterns around Worver’s heavy form. “Kill the boy, the girl, and the hypnotist. Use your magic to make the dragon girl forget again. It seems your little spell fails under too close inspection. Oh, and erase the White Robe’s memories too. Make sure he signs that contract.” The fairies turned on Mysos and the others, unable to resist the command of the whistle’s wielder.
Worver smiled, twisting his mustache as Tsusu leaped up on his shoulder. Jace could see that the monkeylike creature already had blood on its hands, and the girl on the floor wasn’t moving. Worver stepped backward through the curtains at the front of the wagon where Cerisse had come in. “Oh, and clean up when you’re finished, my little pets. We can’t afford to have any loose ends.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
he pukah dived toward them with thin, shrill screeches, claws outstretched, and wings buzzing. The inside of the wagon reflected their brilliant light from brass fixtures to mirrors to glass. Anything and everything bright became illuminated like a hundred candles as the pukah rushed forward.
Jace yelled to the others, “Don’t hurt them! They’re slaves, it’s not their fault!” He didn’t know if Mysos would listen or if Ebano would understand, but Belen would know what to do. He looked for any way he could fight, picking up a bucket to swing at the pukah that launched itself into his hair. With a scream, Jace flinched away, swinging the bucket wildly in an attempt to trap the creature inside.
The pukah was far too quick for him, dodging under the lip of the bucket and renewing its attack. Its wings left silvery patterns in the air, scattering dust across Jace’s shoulders and face. He tried not to breathe in, but was unable to avoid it, and a strange lightness tickled through his lungs.
“Don’t breathe their dust!” Belen was yelling. It seemed tinny and far away. “It’s magic!”
Magic? Like Belen’s dancing. Pretty. Shiny too. Jace looked down at the bucket in his hands and tried to remember what he’d been doing. Feeding some animal? Getting water? That seemed like a strange thing to be doing inside one of the wagons. Was he about to go on stage? Tightrope walking with a bucket. The idea made him giggle. He should go find Cerisse and tell her about it. Maybe she’d juggle buckets in her next act too.
A stiff wind nearly knocked Jace over, slamming him back against the wall of the wagon. The bucket tumbled from his hands, forgotten, and sparkling dust swirled past him, cleared away by the wind. Jace looked up and saw Mysos standing with one hand outstretched, wind whipping his pale robes about him. “Thanks,” Jace managed, and the mage nodded once. “Where’s Worver?”
“Outside.” Belen was kneeling by a fallen figure on the floor. “Cerisse—she’s badly hurt.”
The same cold, horrible feeling Jace felt when he was falling swept over him now.
“Duck, Jace!” Mysos yelled before the young man could ask more, and Jace instinctively did as he’d been told.
A pukah swooshed past his head, carrying one of Worver’s cooking knives. That would have taken off an ear at least! Jace yelped and reached for his sword, but Ebano knocked his hand aside.
“No room.” Ebano glared. “One must use the right tool for the right job.”
Another giggle bubbled up uncomfortably in Jace’s throat. Ebano almost made sense that time. Stumped, Jace looked around for the bucket again as another pukah carrying a pair of sharp spurs swept toward Belen. She screamed, throwing up her arm, and the pukah swooshed past, leaving three long bloody scrapes from shoulder to elbow. Two more were fighting Mysos, scattering their dust all about the White Robe, trying to catch him in their spell. Mysos continued controlling the wind, trying to avoid the sparkling residue and also keep the pukah off-balance in the air. “If they take his memory”—Jace pointed—“we’re all done for! Ebano, don’t you have any spells left?”
The hypnotist shook his head. He spun and began tearing apart the ringmaster’s bed, tearing away the sheets and blankets. Mystified, Jace turned back to the fight, swinging his bucket through the air and doing his best to hold his breath. Worver was getting away, he realized.
“All my offensive spells would either burn the wagon down or kill the pukah,” Mysos called out. “We have to find a way to capture them.”
“Yeah, we’re working on it!” Jace scowled, swinging the bucket wide.
One of the pukah thunked into the bucket, but before Jace could slam something over it, the fairy kicked against the side of the metal with enough strength to rip the handle out of Jace’s hand. It fell to the floor, bucket, pukah, and all. Jace leaped atop it, holding the bucket down with all of his weight as the pukah kicked and slammed into the little metal container. Dust puffed out from beneath it anytime the bucket tipped
up—which was a lot. “Got one!”
Belen, who was huddled over Cerisse on the ground, was bleeding from a number of scratches. Mysos stood over her, using his wind powers to keep the dust away, but he could do little against the physical attacks of the pukah, who tore at him and Belen with ever-increasing desperation. They hurled knives, flew close with blunt weapons to strike and bash, and trilled dust into the air with their sparkling wings. Sooner or later, there would be so much dust in the air that Mysos’s spell wouldn’t be much use.
“Jace!” Ebano called. “Let go. Take this!” He gestured wildly, flapping a big, thick quilt in the air. Trusting the dark-skinned man, Jace let go of the bucket, releasing a very disoriented and very angry pukah. Jace lunged for one end of the blanket, grateful that he had good balance as he was forced to dodge through the mess of slippery dust and rolling goods all over the wagon floor. He grabbed ahold, and Ebano grinned. “Sweep!”
Sweep? That was his big plan?
Then with a flash, Jace understood. Ebano began swooshing the blanket through the air, twisting it back and forth with Jace as the central point. The wide flaps caught around the pukah, and Ebano would twist again, catching the little creatures up in the folds of cloth. It was like a strange dance with Ebano bounding through the wagon, sweeping up the pukah and twirling the blanket about. Jace tried to follow him, helping to hold the folds shut when Ebano caught one, laughing out loud at the strangeness of it all. Mysos began to shift his wind control, blowing the pukah into the blanket with each swoop of his arms. When the blanket was full, Ebano took the other end from Jace, wrapping up the pukah inside and tying the ends of the blanket into a firm knot.
“Jace!” Belen cried. “We’ve got to get Cerisse help.”
Leaving Mysos and Ebano to catch the rest of the pukah, Jace knelt beside Belen on the floor. Cerisse was unconscious, her auburn hair dark with blood. There was a wound on her chest, near her shoulder, and despite the fact that Belen had twisted cloth against it and bound it as best she could, Cerisse’s face was far too pale, and her breathing was slight.
“It’s all right.” The words tumbled out of Jace’s mouth in an uneven rush. “We’ll get her to the stone. We’ll have the pukah heal her. They healed Ebano, she’ll be fine. They can’t hurt Cerisse. She’s got to stay.”
“Jace.” Belen caught his arm before he could scoop up Cerisse to carry her. “The pukah can’t help her. The stone can’t do anything unless its owner commands it, and Worver has the whistle.” She didn’t say what she was obviously thinking—that every moment they sat here, Worver got farther and farther away.
Worver. Jace surged to his feet. “We have to stop him. Ebano, Mysos, can you handle the pukah?”
“Go, Jace,” Mysos answered. “We’ll tie them up and do what we can for Cerisse.”
Ebano agreed, nodding to the girl on the floor. Jace grabbed his arm, regardless of the writhing quilt Ebano was clutching. “I’m coming back, Ebano. All right? Do you understand? I’ll return. Don’t let anything happen to Cerisse. Don’t let her die.”
Ebano’s eyes sparked, and he seemed taken aback. “Return,” he repeated. Then, a slow nod. “This one understands.”
“Good.” Belen said. She was already halfway through the curtains when Jace caught her elbow. “Belen, are you sure you want to do this? If Worver finds a way to catch you or get that forgetting dust on you again—”
“If I don’t go, I can’t avenge the people of Angvale. And anyway”—she managed a faint smile—“I can fly, and you won’t catch him on foot.”
“Fine.” He smiled, keeping his hand on her arm. “We’ll go together.”
They ran to the clearing outside the big top, the only place on the circus grounds where there was enough room for a dragon. They were only a few feet from the opening to the main event, and Jace could hear the crowd inside, roaring over some fantastic trick. Belen focused herself, slipping between forms with a graceful gesture. Her body glowed and shimmered, the silver of her hair smoothing over her skin as her luminous gray eyes caught the light. She grew smoothly, too fast for the eye to follow, wings lifting from her sides to catch the wind. In only a moment, she was a dragon again, regal and resplendent, the sun shimmering from her scales as if they were the fine armor of a Knight of Solamnia. Jace couldn’t help but take a moment to look at her. She was so beautiful, so graceful and real—but even as he did, he felt his heart give a little twinge. Cerisse was in danger.
Belen lowered her forearm, allowing Jace to climb up onto her leg and pull himself to her back. He buried his hands in her silvery frill once more, wrapping his legs tight about her shoulders as the dragon shifted its weight for a lunge. They launched into the air with a single push of Belen’s back legs, her massive wings pounding the air as she gained altitude. In the wake of her takeoff, the big top fluttered and tore, canvas ripping wide along the seams under the thrust of the wind swept by dragon’s wings. Jace could hear yells inside, followed by screams and oohs as the main canvas fell away. A thousand faces stared up at them, ignoring the circus act to watch the glittering silver body of the dragon swoop into the sky.
“Worver’s Amazing Celestial Circus of Light,” Jace muttered to himself with a smile. “Now with real dragons.”
“I see his wagon!” Belen called back after only a few moments of flight. “He’s got the stone too! Poor Hautos. Looks like Worver dumped him and everything else out onto the ground so the wagon would go faster. Worver’s all alone in there!”
“That’s good news, right?” Jace had to scream the words. Belen had never gone this fast before. The wind stung him, making his eyes tear up and reddening the skin on his cheeks and hands. He held on for dear life, ducking behind her long neck to keep out of the worst of it, feeling her wings sweep back and forth with more power than he’d imagined.
“No! The wagon’s going very fast. He’s headed for the woods. You remember how thick they are?”
“You couldn’t land in them?”
“More than that! I can’t fly beneath them either, and we won’t be able to see the wagon from above the trees. We have to catch him before he gets to the trees! Climb down onto my leg again so you’re closer!”
Jace did so, hand over hand as if he were going down the ladder from his tightrope. He tried to think of it the same way, just another step after step, safely clinging to the stability of Belen’s leg. “And then what? He’s not just going to stop when we get to him.”
Belen was silent for a moment, the sound of her beating wings filling Jace’s ears. “Then you’ll just have to jump.”
Jace froze, his fingers tightening around Belen’s leg. Jump? Was she serious? They were forty feet up, and they’d have to stay high or Belen would crash into the trees. That was a farther fall than he had from the tightrope during his quadruple tuck with no net! Jace thought of his father, remembering the long moment before he struck the ground, the sickening crunch of bone. “I’ll never make it!” he screamed, but the wind tore away his words and he wasn’t sure the dragon heard him.
Jump. He’d launched himself from the dragon’s wing to the chimera, but that was different. That was like being on a high wire, trusting your footing, being ready for the next step. It wasn’t the same as hurling yourself straight at the ground—or worse, at a moving wagon. What if he missed? What if he didn’t miss? Neither was a good result.
They pulled up behind the wagon, swooping closer with each rush of Belen’s mighty wings. Jace tensed, trying to measure the distance. He might live. He might not even break too many bones. But still, the idea of jumping … just … falling …
“It’s time, Jace!” Belen tried to stabilize her flight as low as she dared, the tree line of the woods rushing closer with every passing second. He could see Worver at the front of the wagon, looking up over his shoulder in terror as the dragon swooped low. Tsusu clung to the top canvas, shrieking in excitement, lashing its odd grayish tail eagerly as the wagon rocked and bounced toward the woods. Jace gulped. �
�Jace! Don’t be afraid to fall!”
“Belen, I can’t—”
“Just do it!”
He had to trust her. It was the only way—the only way to catch Worver, free Angvale, get the stone back, and help the circus and his friends. The only way to heal Cerisse.
Clenching his muscles and gathering his courage, Jace let his fingers slide from Belen’s scales. He leaped toward the wagon, keeping it firmly fixed in his mind as the place—the only place—he was going to land. Right there. On the canvas. Right on top of that squirming little beast, Tsusu, if he could help it.
Free-falling through the air, Jace had all the time in the world to watch the world go past. He thought he’d be afraid as he felt everything spin out of balance around him, but it wasn’t like that at all. Jace spread his body as wide as he could to slow the speed of his decline. He’d fallen before, from high wires and trapezes, but never like this—this was almost like flying. When he fell from the wire, it was a mistake, a flaw in his technique or a problem with his balance. He hadn’t messed up here. He wasn’t wrong, or broken, or less than the other performers for falling. He’d chosen this to save his friends. No matter what happened, the feeling was liberating.
Never look at the ground, his father had taught him. Not even when you’re falling. It never helps.
Jace gulped. Was it bad luck to be thinking of his dad at a time like this?
The wagon rushed up at him with amazing speed, the trees of the forest smacking his legs and arms as he fell. He hadn’t realized how close they’d been to the forest—how nearly he’d come to missing their only opportunity.
When Jace slammed into the wagon, he closed his eyes and thought of Cerisse. She’d be so mad if he didn’t make it home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
he wagon lurched from Jace’s impact. The axles broke and the canvas around the top of the arched storage area shrieked and collapsed. The horses screamed, redoubling their speed despite the fact that two of the wheels were now lopsided, causing the wagon to careen wildly from one side of the road to the other. Worver barely hung on, clinging to the reins with one hand while he drew his short whip with the other.
