Charley Baluja, Period 1, 9/23/21

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a very small family that lived in a very large house. The halls of this house were long and twisting, but the family within would always find their way back to each other, playing all manner of games and going on grand adventures. The parents of this house loved each other as a bard loves his songs - warmly and without restraint - and they raised their child on stories.  

One day, the mother of the small family got sick. She was no longer able to sing of distant lands or dance around the hearth - most days she didn’t remember her own child’s name. Her husband watched her fade away, bit by bit, until her weak flame sputtered out on a cold winter’s night. 

The child wept for years, but their father couldn’t hear them. He would spend all of his days and all of his nights staring out the northernmost window, dreaming of her. Cobwebs and dust mites took over their home, and the child sold all of their belongings just to feed themself and their father. Over those long years, the only item they couldn’t bear to part with was a worn card deck with fading pictures, drawn by their mother’s hand. 

Eventually, their father remarried, and he was happy for a time. His new wife and stepdaughters moved in, filling the house with life. 

For a year they were happy together, but this couldn’t last. The father fell back into his stupor and began to fade away once more. He locked himself in the house’s east wing, refusing to come out and refusing to talk to his family. 

The stepmother, ashamed and frightened, had to start working. She would work all day for scraps of food, which she’d serve to her husband with a tired smile. Whatever remained would be given to her daughters, leaving the child to fend for themself. 

Every night when she got home she would turn a blind eye to her childrens’ mischief. Her twin daughters would torture the poor child, stealing their food, tearing their clothes, and wrecking their room. On one memorable winter’s night, the sisters locked the child in the living room with nothing to warm them. The winter wind made its home in the room that night, creeping into every corner, and the child had to sleep on the unlit hearth’s jagged coals to avoid the wind’s bite. When the sisters opened the door the next day, they found the child covered in soot and shivering violently. From then on, they called the child Ashes and nothing else. 

Ashes began to sleep in the hearth every night, as it was the only place that felt safe. They would dream of escape, of distant and magical lands, like the ones in the stories their mother told them. Every night they would take out their card deck and practice tricks, over and over and over again. They would perform for an audience of threadbare chairs and sagging tables, their voice barely above a whisper. Then, and only then, they would allow themselves to smile. 

One day, Ashes’ twin sisters were surprisingly distant. They spent all day whispering to each other and passing a paper back and forth, wide smiles stretching across their faces. When their mom got home they ran up to her, dropping the paper as they went. Ashes picked it up, reading it in a whisper to their audience of decrepit objects: “Come one, come all, to the great King’s Circus! In town for three nights only.”

Ashes peeked at their stepmother and sisters as their stepmother reluctantly handed them a silver coin each, enough for three nights’ admission. The sisters shrieked with glee and ran off, not even bothering to thank their mother. Ashes approached quietly, and looked at her stepmother. She was staring into the distance and wringing her hands, her lip trembling. Ashes stepped forward and their stepmother jumped, her eyes boring into them. She shook her head before they could even speak. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We don’t have enough.”

Ashes nodded and fled, holding back their tears until they got to the hearth. When night fell, her sisters left for the circus, looking happier than Ashes had ever seen them.  Their mother despondently watched them go out the northernmost window, and Ashes swallowed back more tears. Ashes rushed to clean the soot off of their body and put on their best clothes, and in the mirror they looked like a new person. They decided to trail behind their sisters, hoping for a mere glimpse of the King’s Circus. 

The road to get there was long and dark, and Ashes began to shiver. Along the way they heard low and pained cries coming from behind a tree, and they peeked around to investigate. An old woman was lying on the ground, grunting to the night sky. “Do you need help?” Ashes asked, facing the woman. The woman nodded and Ashes helped her up, bringing her over to a nearby bench. After a few minutes, the woman felt strong enough to walk on her own and Ashes was relieved. 

“Where were you going, dearie?” Ashes’ face warmed and they looked away. “I was going to the circus, but I don’t have any money.” 

The old woman laughed and patted Ashes’ hand. “Oh child, you don’t need money! Just find the juggler and give him this bell and he’ll let you in.” She handed Ashes a small bell with a wink. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?” 

The woman nodded and smiled, “Go quick! The show’s about to start!” 

Ashes took off with a run; if nothing else they would have this to remember: the feeling of wind rushing past them and carrying them towards bright lights in the distance. When they made it to the circus, the air was dancing with sounds and smells - candied apples, popcorn, lilting voices and a jubilant violin. At the gate, a man in a checkered costume paced the grass, looking for something in the dim firelight. 

Ashes ran to him, pressing the woman’s little bell into his gloved hand. His face lit up like a summer sunrise, and he hugged them, sweeping them off their feet. “Oh thank you! My lucky bell has been found!” 

He led her to the main tent, and they spent the rest of the evening meeting the other performers and singing songs around the campfire. Before the sun rose, Ashes ran home. They hid in the hearth before their sisters got back. 

The next night they followed their sisters again, finding the old woman on their way. This time they talked to the old woman for hours, and helped her pick flowers in the moonlight. When they were done, the old woman favored her with another wink and a blue flower. “Give this to the soothsayer and she’ll let you in.” 

Ashes rushed to the circus, finding the soothsayer’s tent. The fortune teller was young, a shadow of an adult. Ashes pushed the flower into her delicate hands and she burst into tears, whispering thanks in a language Ashes had never heard before. 

Again Ashes sang and danced the night away at the King’s circus, and again they rushed home when the night was over. 

On the last night, they walked to the old woman with a heavy heart. “What’s wrong?”, the woman asked, and Ashes burst into tears. “Once the circus is gone, my life will be dim again,” they cried. The woman’s face softened, and she tapped Ashes’ chest pocket. “Tonight, my dear, perform for them. Show them what you can do.” Ashes looked at her, and their heart filled with an emotion that had been long dead to them: hope. 

They ran to the circus for the last time, and set up between the soothsayer’s tent and the juggler’s stand before the show. They smiled at Ashes, and Ashes began to perform. They had enough tricks to last all night, and they ran home as the sun’s rays touched the tops of the trees. In their haste, they dropped one of their mother’s cards: the king of hearts. 

Unbeknownst to them, the ringmaster had been watching their performance. That morning, he announced to the town that the circus would be performing for one more night, and that they were looking for the talented kid that had impressed them with their card tricks to join them on their travels. 

The ringmaster went from house to house, seeing if anyone could perform like Ashes could. Eventually, he got to Ashes’ house, where their stepmother greeted him at the door. “My two daughters have been at the circus every night, you’re welcome to see if your mystery performer is one of them,” she said. “My youngest child hasn’t been, so it can’t be them.” 

Ashes watched from behind the door as their sisters tried to do card tricks. Their sisters looked desperate. Ashes could tell that they also felt the allure of the circus, perhaps just as acutely as Ashes did. After they were done, the ringmaster shook his head sadly. “This was the last house, I don’t know where that child could be.” 

With as little sound as possible, Ashes stepped into the room. Standing in front of the hearth, they shook off as much soot as possible and ran through their tricks. By the end, the ringmaster looked as happy as a bumblebee. He handed them the missing card, the king of hearts, and exclaimed, “Child, you must come with us! We need folks like you in our circus!” 

Ashes looked to their mother and sisters. Their mother stood behind them, mouth agape, and their sisters looked scared and a bit sad. “Can I go?”, they asked, and their mother nodded. Ashes hugged her, and nodded to her sisters. They ran to say goodbye to their father, who stared straight through them when they entered his room. They left the king of hearts by his bedside, a promise to return. 

The ringmaster led her back to the circus, where the people they had met recognized them instantly. That night there was much merriment and celebration, as the star of the show was the King’s Circus’ newest member: Ashes the Card Mage! 

In the audience, Ashes saw the old woman for the last time. She winked at Ashes from afar and blew the performers a kiss before melting into the night’s inky darkness. 

Ashes lived with the circus for a very long time. Every three months they came back to their large house, showering their family (even their stepsisters) with stories, gifts, and news. They were able to give their family enough money to thrive, and that made everyone joyful again. 

With their new life stretching enticingly ahead of them and their old home taken care of, Ashes, and everyone else, lived happily ever after. 

The End :)

- Charley