Carnival Souls

The Riddle

           

Owen made his way along the back edge of the carnival as Jacks had taught him to do so many weeks ago. Was it weeks or months now? he wondered. He was startled to find he had no idea. There was no way of keeping track in the spirit world. Not when he could barely tell day from night or how long they lasted. How many days had he lost with brother here? How many stories had been taken away from Ethan? How many bad pick-up attempts and crass jokes and basketball games had he missed with his friends? He stubbed his foot on a tent stake and cursed as his toes throbbed. Focus, he told himself. The time didn't matter at the moment.

He was on his way to the carousel. He didn't have a plan in mind really, other than to comb the ride for any clues to the first part of Zabaria's damn riddle. "The answer to the past is held within the carousel." He hoped it was more literal than she led them to believe and that he could solve it on it own. With Lira going rogue and none of the veterans of the carnival willing to talk with him, he was flying nearly blind. And he didn't have the slightest idea of what to look for.

Lira's new desire to work on her own was troubling and hurt more than he cared to admit. So much for being in this together, he thought. But he couldn't sit around twiddling his thumbs while she was doing whatever it was she was doing. He needed to act now, even if it was on his own, because otherwise he would sink.

Owen made it to the green-and-gold tent that was across from the carousel and peered cautiously around the flap. The carnival was nearly empty. Only a few spirits wandered about, moving from stalls to rides without much urgency or care. The lights were low, meaning the carnival would soon shut down. Owen had debated with himself at length about when would be best to inspect the old merry-go-round: during Flow when the carnival was busy and he was more likely to blend in, or Ebb when there were fewer spirits about to be curious as to what he was doing. He had chosen the latter after recalling Lira's story of the spirit who had attacked her when she first tried to walk the fairground alone. Not to mention, this was the time he would usually be walking to Genzel's and would be passing the carousel anyway.

Now, as he approached the ride, he realized he hadn't been here since the night he followed Lira and watched her play. How long ago it seemed now.

The ride stood empty, the horses currently out to pasture behind Genzel's house. Owen realized for the first time that it was the only ride he had never seen a spirit on. He walked casually up to the wooden platform, hoping it would look like he was just admiring it.

As he strode around it, he was again struck by its beauty. The gilded poles and crenellated top gleamed in the dull light and even the old, worn down wood seemed to shine with an impregnable resilience against time. He stepped up to the platform, remembering how he had done so without hesitation the night he was taken. For a moment, he let himself wish it would begin to turn and take him away from all of this. When the ride remained firmly in place, Owen sighed and set to work.

First, he inspected the poles that were regularly interspersed along the ride, checking their stability, feeling along their grooves for defects or inscriptions. When that yielded nothing, he turned to the floor, looking to see if the wood or grain changed at any point, letting his hands run over it to check for trapdoors or loose boards. Nothing. He found the same with the ceiling although he wasn't tall enough to check for hidden hatches.

Next, he turned to the body of the machine itself. It was adorned with gilded, oblong mirrors that caught the light from the bulbs on the crown of the ride and threw it back out into the evening, making the whole thing glow. In between the mirrors where whorls of random designs in reds, golds, and dark blue, their only purpose seeming to be aesthetic in nature. Owen squinted, trying to decipher a pattern or hidden message, but all he saw was a colorful design on a carnival ride meant for children. The only thing that gave him pause was when he pressed his palm against the panel and realized they weren't just painted on; they were carved. Like tiny figureheads carved into the body of a great ship, he trailed his fingers along them, feeling the grooves and divots and marveling at how long it must have taken someone to do this. He continued to walk along the ride, grasping at straws that maybe the three-dimensional carvings were like braille and he could read something with his fingertips. But he was left just as empty-handed as before. He didn't even have splinters to show for his careful inspection; the carvings were almost unnervingly perfect and smooth as though they had been recently sanded down.