Carnival Souls

Souls and Spirits

"Baleros is dead, isn't he?" said Atlas, after Bebinn disappeared down the hall. It was more statement then question; one that spoke of acceptance rather than worry.

Lira did a kind of pirouette on the spot, still reeling from Bebinn's callous demand and subsequent dismissal. The sheet music fluttered to the ground. Atlas was in the same position, regarding her in an unsettlingly motionless way.

"What makes you say that?" asked Lira. Her dilemma of the unreadable sheet music was momentarily forgotten as she looked at the girl again; this time taking stock of her thin legs clad in black leggings that cut off at the ankle paired with a simple, white tunic belted at her tiny waist.

Atlas motioned to the violin still hanging limply in Lira's hands.

"You're here," she said simply. Her words curved with the slightest trace of a Spanish accent.

"I didn't kill him," said Lira, quickly, suddenly afraid the girl might seek revenge for her friend. "Bebinn—she—"

"I know," Atlas interrupted. "He wasn't the first. Nor will he be the last."

Young as the girl looked, she spoke with the quiet assurance of someone much older. Even the measured expression on her face hinted at a maturity beyond her physical years.

"How old are you?" asked Lira, suspiciously. Her arms ached to set down her belongings, but she dared not move further into the room until she knew who—or what—she was dealing with. "Are you one of them?"

"I'm ten," said the girl. She still had yet to move; her hands remained clasped in front of her and even her head held its slight tilt. Lira shifted uncomfortably, as though she could make the other girl move by force of thought.  "And no, I'm not a spirit. I'm a human like you."

"Then, what's wrong with your hands?" Lira blurted out. Even as the words left her mouth, she knew how rude she sounded. Her mother would be appalled.

At the thought of her mom, Lira's heart twisted like her blood vessels were hardwired to her emotions. Would she ever get the chance to roll her eyes at her mom's gentle reprimands again?

Atlas looked down at her hands, which she had finally raised and turned over. Large streaks of red curved like scythes from the center of her palm to the back of her hand to form a sort of blossom. It reminded Lira of the henna tattoos offered at the carnival earlier that day. Atlas merely shrugged.

"The spirit world does something to our pigment after we are exposed to it for a long time. The others have similar marks. You will too, eventually."

Lira glanced quickly at her own hands expecting to see red creeping up her skin, but it appeared unchanged, smooth and white except for where sun exposure had bitten her and left behind freckles.

"There are others? Kids you mean?"

Atlas nodded.

"Where? What do they do? Were they taken too?" she demanded breathlessly. The familiar coils of anxiety began to creep around her limbs, locking over her wrists and ankles like shackles. Shallow breaths rattled in her thin chest and the blackness of oxygen deprivations flickered in her peripherals.

A warm hand on her wrist brought Lira back to the present and her vision cleared to reveal Atlas mere inches from her face.  Lira leapt backwards, dropping the sheet music so it fluttered to the ground. The close encounter had allowed her to see that Atlas's dark eyes were tinged crimson as well.

"It will be all right," said Atlas gently and Lira actually found her accented voice soothing, like hot chocolate laced with cinnamon. "Bebinn is fair to those who do good work."