The Magic Shop

by Justin Swapp

  “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.