Carnival Souls

Bebinn's Children

Lira--Present day:

Lira could remember in agonizing detail what it was like to realize that Bebinn did in fact own her. That she was trapped, with no hope for escape and an uncertain future. It was like being kicked in the teeth, burned alive, frozen beneath the ocean all at the same time; until your nerves were so fried you were numb and you had accepted in a bleak manner that you would walk around with a rope around your neck and the possibility that the ground would open up and let you swing.

So she could sympathize with Owen's position--but she didn't. Or more specifically, she didn't allow herself too. If there was one thing she had learned in her four years here, it was that sympathy was in short supply. Nor did it really help if you happened to find some.

And so it was in a removed state, practiced and cultivated from hundreds of similar nights, that Lira watched Owen go through the same stages so many others did. She stood by, a part of the background, hating the fact that she was a part of it at all. It hit her again, as it so often did, that she now belonged more to the carnival than the human world.

She tuned out Owen's anger, the repeated questions and the demands to be returned home. The way in which Bebinn relished in his misery made Lira sick.

As their exchange went on, Lira wondered yet again why Owen was here. Unless she had grossly misjudged his age, he should have been too old to hear the violin, much less respond to it. The music was constructed carefully to lure children whose souls and minds were impressionable, susceptible.

Owen, who looked to be about sixteen, may have legally been considered a child, but the law had nothing to do with it.

So why? wondered Lira. And more importantly, how?

Her only clue was the new bit of information she had picked up from Bebinn--Owen was to be the new carousel carver. Genzel, the current carver, had seemingly been with the carnival for eternity, had probably sprung into existence with the carousel itself. An old, stooped man, he was not owned by Bebinn in the same way as Lira, Atlas, and now Owen, but Lira suspected she had some control over him or he would have walked away long ago. He kept mostly to himself and used words sparingly. In all her time here, Lira had had maybe one conversation with him.

But still, it didn't explain Owen's appearance.

Lira was jolted out of her thoughts at the sound of her name. Bebinn was looking at her expectantly and Owen looked seconds away from tackling the witch to the ground. Lira hoped he wouldn't; Bebinn was much stronger than she looked.

"Sorry?" asked Lira.

"If you're done day-dreaming," said Bebinn with an edge to her voice. "I'd like you to get Owen settled in. He can have Baleros's room."

Lira flinched at the name. She hadn't heard it spoken in nearly four years and even now it brought goosebumps to her arms.

"And after, take him to see Gentzel," added Bebinn. "I will need you again tomorrow."

"But--" protested Lira. She never worked two nights in a row. Especially after the effort tonight had cost her, she'd be lucky to stay conscious enough to show Owen to his room.

"That was not a request," snapped Bebinn. "Lydia has informed me that she is running low. We will need more by tomorrow night."

Bebinn's words didn't mean much to Lira outside the clear order that Lira would be playing again tomorrow night. Lydia was another one of Bebinn's human captives. She worked in isolation, in a room off of Bebinn's living quarters. The young girl sometimes joined Lira and Atlas at dinner, but if ever asked about her work would either fall silent or leave altogether. Lira couldn't even guess at what the girl did behind those locked doors. The only thing she did know was that Lydia's work was dependent on Lira's and the connection made Lira ill with speculation.