Duality, Rowan Erlking [best ebook reader ubuntu txt] 📗

he staggered out.

Heads turned to look at Bernum again, but he already went back to his chest, preoccupied with planning his performance. He was peering into the cone hat now, thinking, then picked up his carry bag, fishing through it. They saw him take out a nib pen and an inkbottle—typical magician tools. The other performers went back to work…except one.

The red haired woman sauntered over, the skits of her thin-striped red and white sleeveless robe swishing over the tops of her tall leather boots, her hand on her sword hilt. She sat down on one of the near boxes and peered at Bernum, tilting her head to the side just a little as her inspecting green eyes watched him write yet another circle inside the deep part of the hat. The ink matched the inner lining, so only the wetness showed that something was there. Bernum hardly looked up at her, feeling safe in his hate ward.

She didn’t say anything. She just watched him. So, Bernum continued to ignore her. When he finished with the hat, he took up the scarves and laid on them the same spells he had concocted at the school, though here he still pretended he had to look up each spell in the book. Her eyes followed his finger movements, watching his lips murmur incantations then command each piece before folding them up into his pockets. All the other performers walked around them though the white-and-black haired man in the feather cloak eventually sat next to her, in fact rather close to her, with a gentle whisper in her ear. She whispered back to him but her eyes remained on Bernum.

Bernum still ignored it.

The red haired woman shifted on her seat once, to get more comfortable, but Bernum did not acknowledge it. He was now folding the paper into the shapes of birds, not quite finishing the last step though he added a drawn spell to the bottoms of each, without speaking the words to enact them. Those he stuffed into his other pocket. By then Bernum looked up, heaving a breath of relief.

“Do you think that will be enough?” the red haired woman asked.

Bernum blinked at her. Though she spoke with an accent, her Maldos speaking was perfect. He leaned closer, peering at her. “For what?”

“For your show,” she replied with a slight glance at the black-and-white haired friend who now had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin resting on one of them.

Frowning, Bernum shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never performed before.”

She chuckled, rising. “Well, you certainly seem to have an idea of what you want to do.”

“A guess,” Bernum cast back. He then leaned slightly away from her. “How come you speak Maldos so well? Have you been in the country long?”

The corner of her mouth ticked up, her lips spread in a thin line. “No. None of us had. But I am KiTai. A warriess. We learn the languages of our provinces.”

Bernum rolled his eyes, taking another step back as he huffed. “Former province. Maldos has been free of KiTai rule for two thousand years now.”

Her lip curled into a snarl. “And look what you did to it.”

This time he laughed, looking around. “Look? Ok. I will.”

He gazed over at the performance area, at the electric lights and then at the area where there was plumbing.

“Oh my! We’re better off!” Bernum then returned the glare. “Maldos is in great shape. We have the modern conveniences that Brein Amon has without all their demon problems and without your kind bossing us around. I think we have it grand. I don’t know what you are complaining about.”

She flinched. Her eyes flickered to her friend before she said, “Your laws are unjust. Your leaders are corrupt, and your people are imbalanced.”

Bernum just stared dryly at her.

“You still have slavery in your land,” she said with a disgusted huff. Then she spat on the ground. “And your women are repressed. I hate everything about this place.”

Rolling his eyes, Bernum folded his arms. “Then why don’t you go home?”

“I want to,” she said with bite.

His gaze softened some. “Then…why don’t you?”

She tilted her head back once more, her shrewd look returning. “We’re working on it.”

Bernum’s stance relaxed. Of course he knew it already. His sister had told him all about the deal she had made with their wizard. They wanted their legal papers to get out of the country.

“How come you came to work under Merchant Omoni in the first place?” he asked.

The woman blinked at him, somewhat startled that he had gone directly to the point. She nodded to herself and replied, “You understand what kind of man he is?”

Giving one nod, Bernum said, “Sure, I do.”

“You realize he won’t let you go?” she continued, waiting carefully for his response, her eyes also flickering to her man-friend who seemed to be struggling to comprehend what they were saying. “That he’ll try to own you?”

Bernum nodded again. “I know. But, uh…there is someone who will take revenge on him if I don’t make it back to my school, so I’m not worried.”

To that, she laughed. “You’re not worried?”

He shook his head.

“You’re a fool.” The woman started to walk away.

“Maybe,” Bernum called after her, stepping out of the hate ward, “But I’m not an idiot. How did you, a ‘warriess’, get trapped by a Maldos merchant?”

She looked back then turned around with her man-friend, whispering once to him. She said to Bernum, “To work in Maldos we had to pretend our ringmaster was our employer. Maldos’s so-called law does not allow for cooperative ventures like ours to exist the way we do. The ringmaster was required to hold all our legal documents and forge so-called contracts with us to make our business here legal. Omoni first just offered a venue to do our performances, but then somehow he made it so upon the ringmaster’s death he inherited all our contracts. Now, according to Maldos law, we belong to him.”

Bernum blanched, blinking hard. He was at a loss for words for a moment.

“So you see, we can’t leave without his permission—and he thinks he owns us.” She spun back around with bite, starting off again.

Bernum hopped after her. “Wait!”

She stopped, looking back though her eyes were still in a glare.

Still at a loss for words, Bernum stumbled to gather his thoughts. “I…uh…well…uh, you…yes, yes, you…you are warriess.” He then waved over to the other foreign performers that were acting like they were practicing though they really were listening in. “And they aren’t ordinary people either. Why didn’t you just run off like that wizard guy?”

She nearly pounced on him, grabbing Bernum’s shirtfront. “He did not run off!”

“Ok!” Bernum lifted up his hands. “I stand corrected!”

She let him go, huffing as she stomped away.

Bernum called after her one last time. “Hey! You know, I can fix that hate ward on your belt! I noticed it was scratched…the spell ruined…”

She halted only briefly, casting him back a glare. “I don’t need help from you.” The woman marched away with her man-friend whose gaze was mostly curious than hostile.

“Then why were you watching me,” Bernum murmured. He walked back to magic chest.

Chapter Eight: Performance

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The crowds gathered in Omoni’s amphitheater just as the sun was lowering in the sky, the smell of evening bread and curry coming from the houses as the chatter of the day died down. The circus performers were already taking their places as the vendors for roasted peanuts, fried potato balls and pastries entered the stands making their calls. Already there was a flurry of balloons fluttering up to the tops of the tent where someone waited to pop them for the finale. Bernum sat on the magic chest just on the other side of the tent flaps wringing the cone hat in his hands.

“Nervous?” 

Bernum looked up.

Omoni’s steward stood in the doorway, a clear smirk spread on his smug face.

“I…”Bernum swallowed, peeking out at the formidable crowd past the tent flaps. “I had no idea there would be so many. I’ve…I’ve never performed before.”

Chuckling, the steward glanced out at the crowd also. “Hmph. Well, that’s not my problem.” He then slapped Bernum on the shoulder, whispering into his ear. “It’s yours.”

He walked past Bernum into the performers’ dressing area. Bernum watched him, his eyes narrowing on that man’s back with a wish to send a swarm of mayflies after him. Maybe later, after the performance.

Bernum turned once more to watch the gathering crowd, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t so much worried about what they would think of him as he was about any interference from the other circus performers. Since his arrival they had done just about everything they could to trip him, throw things at him, harass him and what have you, until he grabbed his own belt and drew a hate ward around it like the warriess woman had on hers—only his would work as it wasn’t broken. He wrote it on the inside so no one would see it, but there were plenty who watched him enact the spell. In fact, there was absolutely no private place in that entire circus ground. Not one. And if what was about to happen that night was what he expected, then he needed a private place to retreat to after the performance was over.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Children of all ages!” the Maldos-hired ringmaster’s voice echoed over the din through his megaphone. “Welcome to Omoni’s Amazing Circus!”

The crowd cheered, several standing up though most were urged to sit back down as the food sellers went in and out of the rows, exchanging money for treats. There was a pungent aroma of hot roasted sausage just passing by the side of the tent opening, even as the dancing girls ran through it going by Bernum. A few winked at him before kicking their legs up high for the crowd. His stomach gurgled, but he swallowed his saliva down knowing he had to be ready to perform without any meat sauce on his lips. That would be pathetic.

But then his eyes set on what he was hoping for. It was Omoni—but not just him. It was Malkia with that wretched merchant, her eyes searching about the stands as she followed sullenly after Omoni’s first wife who looked stiff and bitter—refusing to even look back at her husband’s new acquisition. They took their seats in the padded chairs of the VIP box, Merchant Omoni bowing to a regally dressed man with several badges on his pressed suit front, then to the woman at his side who wore a fox fur wrap and trimmed gloves to protect her from the dusty elements of the circus filth. Malkia was just as finely dressed, as was Omoni’s wife, but Malkia’s face was fixed in a glare at the circus ring, still searching with hopes in what Bernum knew was a desire to never find him there. That was what he was bracing for, disappointing her.

But he also understood that she really knew he would not leave without her. She was just bracing herself for his appearance so she could maintain that facade of disgust, rather than reveal her hope for him. They both had to play a part, and it would be a