Eldren had to connect the dots and figure out what was going on here. Whose side was Ardos on in the war between the church and its lords and the witch-kind? Why had Ardos brought him here and how? How did he seem to know the ringmaster? He had to take charge or he would never get answers and maybe never get home.

“I need some better explanations,” he said. He looked squarely at Aberforth and then at Ardos. “And I need them now. Can we talk privately?” He stared pointedly at the tortoise, who nodded.

Aberforth looked at Ardos and then nodded, too. “Fine. But I will remind you that we are rather short on time. The gray cloaks have no love for our carnival — they view us as a symbol of drunken revelry and self-indulgence. They will come for Baltran as soon as they clear the rest of the streets.”

Eldren carried the turtle over to the far end of the circus tent out of earshot of the others and set him on a wooden bleacher.

“I want some better answers, Ardos. None of this is making any sense. Why did you fake your death after the poisoning?” he asked the wizard.

The tortoise looked up at him and sighed. “My body was destroyed and crippled by the poison, leaving me unable to use magic. I needed a fresh body, capable of transforming mana — the essence of cosmic energy — into spells.”

“I asked before and got a vague answer. Why possess me and not some other wizard?” Eldren pressed.

Ardos turned his wrinkled green head and beady eyes toward the floor.

“Ardos. Answer me. The truth.”

“The soul cleaver spell I performed to separate my essence from my body required that my new body share blood with my old body. It had to be a relative. Or, so I thought.” He gestured a turtle leg in the air.

“It’s an unsanctioned magick?” Eldren said. “The soul cleaver spell?”

“Yes,” Ardos said. “Even more forbidden than unsanctioned magick. It is, other than to you and I, an unknown magic. A forgotten spell.”

“The Imperator said that’s not possible,” Eldren said. “He told me that all the spell words are cataloged. They’re either in the shrines overseen by the Iron Square or they’ve been stolen by the witches. Is that true?”

“Not quite,” Ardos said. He sighed and Eldren could tell he was debating what to say next.

“The full truth,” he reminded Ardos. “Or this quest ends here and I’ll turn myself and you into the Iron Square.”

“There is a small group of us,” Ardos said. “Part of a secret order called the Archivists of Avendum. Our members scour old texts and tomes, lost to the darkest places of the world, for hints about spell words that escaped the notice of the Iron Square. Spells that were purposefully hidden from them during the Arcane Crusades.”

“If you’re a member of a secret society working against the church, why did you become an official court wizard?” He had learned enough now to know that the Assembly of the Magi and spell shrines were controlled by the church.

“What better place to gather knowledge of your enemies’ movements than behind their lines?”

It was a fair point. “Okay. So, your magic backfired. You said before that the only way to fix it is another spell that the Iron Square doesn’t teach wizards. So you want me to eventually learn that spell?”

“Ideally,” Ardos said. “Once you are more powerful.”

“Which happens by visiting spell shrines?”

“To upgrade or learn new spells, precisely,” the wizard said. “Each shrine is a dungeon of sorts.”

“Okay. Another question — do we all have stats and levels? When we were running, Ink said that the guards we fought earlier were probably only Level 2. That sounds like some sort of game.”

“Those of us who have been awoken understand the way that our vital statistics and power levels function,” Ardos said. “The Iron Square blinds most people to understanding the world around them.”

That didn’t make a ton of sense to Eldren but there were more important questions at hand.

“So I get experience for killing monsters and completing quests? And ten experience points allow me to increase my level? I just leveled up.”

“Yes. And each level you gain permits you to learn one new spell or upgrade one spell. And, as I told you already, the more powerful you are, the more difficult the tasks you must complete to keep earning experience.”

“Great. Last question for you,” Eldren said. “You know how to travel between my home world and this place. You visited my father and you brought me here. How do I get back home?”

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

This was the question he had been building toward. It was clear to Eldren that he was embroiled in a centuries-old conflict between wizards, witches, secret guilds and organizations, and an oppressive church. But amidst it all, learning magic might be his best hope of getting out of this world.

Ardos turned and looked up at him.

“That’s not a topic we should—”

“Answers, Ardos. I’ve been tortured, imprisoned, and nearly killed. I’ve been dragged along here for enough time. I’m not doing anything else until I get the truth.”

The tortoise sighed. “The Archivists made a mistake. We trusted someone we should not have and the Iron Square discovered and took the spell word for the plane walking spell that allowed for traversal between different worlds. I’m sure it’s now locked in their vaults in the Capital, along with the cure to my soul-cleaving predicament. But that is not how you were brought here. The contract brought you.”

“But I can’t get home unless we get into the Iron Square’s vault and get your plane-walking spell back?”

“Unfortunately,” Ardos said. “I am sorry, Cam.”

That was a gut punch. His ticket home was locked in one of the most secure places in the entire world of Aldimea, guarded by religious fanatics who wanted to hunt him down because they thought he was a witch-kind spy. He took a deep breath.

“No, you’re right Ardos. You shouldn’t have brought me here. I wasn’t exactly happy in my world but certainly felt better than I do here. And you certainly should not have tried to possess my body. But thank you for the truth and the apology.”

He stood up.

“One more question, actually,” he said, frowning. “Do you not know the ringmaster?”

“No,” Ardos said, hesitating. “But I have heard—tales.” He paused on the last word darkly.

“Is he dangerous?” Eldren asked.

“If the tales are true, very,” Ardos said.

Eldren stood for a moment, thinking. Then, an idea came to him. He scooped up Ardos and headed back toward where Ink, Baltran, and Aberforth stood.

“Done with yer chit-chat?” the dwarf asked.

“Almost,” Eldren said. He turned to Aberforth. “You said you hoped we’d keep your secret.” The ringmaster stared at him. “We can keep it. For a price.” The man’s eyebrows went up.

“A price?”

“You teach me a spell,” Eldren said confidently. “I’ve reached Level 2 and have an open page in my book.”

“Eldren!” Ardos exclaimed.

Eldren ignored him. The witch-kind ringmaster looked him over with a curious gaze as if he was seeing Eldren for the very first time. He considered the idea silently.

“What makes you think I can teach you a spell?”

“I know witch-kind learn magick differently. They keep their spell words secret. I want to learn yours.” He pronounced the word ‘magick’ with a heavy consonant at the end, as Harper Mickson had done.

“You’ll be hunted by the church as a witch-kind!” Ink said.

“Aren’t we already being hunted?” Eldren asked. He was tired of running. To fight back, he needed magic and he couldn’t afford to wait until they found a spell shrine to start learning.

Ink dropped her protest and the ringmaster nodded. Eldren rummaged in his backpack for the pad of paper he had used to play back in the game store and the marker he had signed the contract with. He handed them to Aberforth.

“You can write your rune words on this,” he said. The ringmaster took the paper and marker and sighed.

“You’re sure,” he asked. “Ardos, have you told him that our magick is — different? It will change you.”

“I don’t need his permission,” Eldren said.

The ringmaster looked at him and then scribbled something on the pad and passed it back to Eldren.

Eldren held the paper and took out his spell book. He turned to page three and pointed at the page. This time, however, he gasped as a pain shot through the hand holding the paper. The pleasant warming sensation of learning the first spell was replaced by an icy cold trickling sensation running down his arm and through his chest down to the finger pointing at the spell book. A splitting headache erupted behind his eyes. It was so intense he almost closed them. A purple and black set of threads twisted itself out of his fingers, more erratic and twitchy than the golden and purple threads from when he had learned double jump. They slithered onto the spell book page and wriggled into letters before liquefying into ink and absorbing into the paper.

Snake Oil Level 1 Magick

This spell imbues the caster with significantly heightened charisma and a bewitching and alluring charm. The spell effects last for fifteen minutes or until another spell is cast.

Eldren rubbed his watering eyes.

“Be careful how much you use that,” Aberforth said. “Magick draws from a different, more visceral, and primal energy than ordinary mana. Using it too much can fundamentally alter your very soul. That is why I left my Coven tribe behind and created this.” He gestured around them at the empty circus tent.

“How do I know how much of the primal source I have left to use?” Eldren asked.

“You don’t,” the ringmaster replied.

The sound of voices outside of the tent drew their attention as Eldren tucked his spell book back in his bag.

“I have one more favor to ask,” the ringmaster whispered urgently. “Take Baltran with you.”

“What?” Eldren and Ink cried out at the same time.

“His only family is this troupe of performers. We cannot take him with us. We pass freely through these lands by the grace of the Iron Square, even if they despise us. But if we harbor a murderer of one of their soldiers, our entire company will be at risk.”

Eldren considered the request. On one hand, the dwarf was hot-headed. He hadn’t considered any of the consequences and was, quite literally, the definition of ‘shoot first and ask questions later’. On the other hand, having a fighter traveling with them while he was still learning elementary magic would probably prove useful. Especially in completing the spell shrines.

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Baltran, you can come with us.” The dwarf looked up and shrugged again.

Eldren grabbed his belongings and he, Ink, and Baltran followed the ringmaster to the far side of the tent, where another opening flap was closed.

“Out the back and over the palisade behind the tent,” he said. “Don’t let them see you.” He shook Eldren’s hand. “Good luck finding whatever it is you seek, Eldren Pendergast.” He opened the flap and they spilled out into the early morning. It was easier to boost Ink over the palisade with Baltran’s help and soon they had all dropped down on the other side, out of view of the tent.

As they turned to dive back into the wilderness of Bakavia, Eldren heard the shout of soldiers from the carnival tent and screams. He tried not to imagine what had happened but an hour later, as they crested a rocky hill a ways away from town, he looked back and saw a plume of dark ash and smoke rising against the morning sky above Yarko Village.