Carnival Souls

Only Chance

Owen was sent to Genzel with orders that he would not be permitted to eat until he made significant headway on the creation of his own carousel horse.

The old man answered his knocks with an expression that could melt glass. He stood back and pointed at the work bench before slamming the door behind Owen.

"Tell me, boy," he growled. "Are you a bloody fool or just plain stupid?"

"I'm already being punished," muttered Owen darkly. The last thing he wanted was to be lectured by an old man who couldn't see anything beyond his precious horses. Bebinn's threat still hung heavy around his neck.

"Being sent away without supper?" barked Genzel. "That ain't a punishment. That's a slap on the wrist, an inconvenience. Bebinn will punish you rightly, mark my words."

"I don't care," said Owen, glaring at a knife on the table.

"You should. No good comes from sticking your nose where it don't belong. Would've thought you were smart enough to figure that out." Genzel walked around to the other side of the table and fixed him in his beady gaze, determined not to be outdone by a carving tool.

"Maybe you should do more than that," Owen challenged, his head snapping up. He placed his palms flat against the table top, feeling the gritty shavings of wood press into his hands, and leaned towards the old man with a sneer. "While you skulk in here with your head pulled in like a turtle, kids are being stolen for gods know what, on horses you helped create."

Genzel stabbed a finger at Owen, nearly catching him between the eyes and forcing him to straighten up. His paunchy jowls quivered as he said, "Don't you go mouthing off about things you don't understand. Things ain't all that black and white around here."

Owen refused to be satisfied with that answer anymore. "So what are you doing here then? Why are you working for her?"

But Genzel refused to cowed. He must have known there was nothing Owen could really do to him with Bebinn threatening to drag his brother here as well. "None of your business. Your business is to carve. Now shut up and follow along. I won't hesitate to tell Bebinn."

#

It wasn't until Owen was allowed to pick up his own tools and set to work that he realized what Genzel meant by punishment. He had just placed the blade against the wood and put enough pressure on it to cut a notch when he felt a stinging pain in his left thumb. He pulled his hand away and flipped it over to reveal a shallow cut on the pad of his thumb, a thin red line as straight as if he had pressed the knife to his skin instead of the wood. It healed over even as he watched, and confused he tried to cut again.

Once more pain lanced through his hand and this time a single drop of blood slide down his finger before the cut knit itself shut. Owen grit his teeth, wiped the blood off on his shorts and tried again. Each time the blade struck the wood, a new wound opened up on one of his fingers, bleeding slightly before stitching closed.

Soon, Owen's skin was red with smeared blood and his fingers throbbed with pain and heat until it was painful to grip the knife handle. He threw it down in disgust and cradled his injured fingers. Genzel looked up from his work with a dark, unreadable look on his face.

"No point stopping," he grunted. "It'll keep happening until she reckons you learned your lesson."

"How am I supposed to work?" snapped Own, brandishing his bloody hands and the stained wood.

"Grit your teeth and think happy thoughts."

Genzel returned to his painting and Owen stooped to pick up his knife.

#

Hours later, when Owen was finally released with strict instructions not to visit the kitchen for twenty-four hours, he made sure to leave his work area a mess and took satisfaction from Genzel's displeased face. Owen tore the hem off his shirt with his teeth as he thundered his way down the porch steps. Gingerly, he set about wrapping his fingers, feeling his heart beat through his skin as he pulled the cloth tight.

About half-way down the beaten track on the way back to the carnival, Owen heard footsteps. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jacks fast-walking to catch up with him.

Owen rolled his eyes. "If you're here to tell me off for talking to the spirit—save your breath."

"I'm not," said the boy, looking over his own shoulder as if he expected someone to be following them. "I'm here to give you advice."

"I don't want that either," grumbled Owen. All he wanted was to climb into bed and sleep for the next two days.

Jacks ignored him. "I overheard what the spirit said to you. If you want to try and find Zabaria, Genzel might be your only hope."

Owen stopped, a fist closing around his stomach. Did Jacks know a way out of here? He momentarily forgot the pain in his hands, the exhaustion dragging at his eyes. Could he take as escape opportunity after what Bebinn had threatened?

Jacks glanced around again and lowered his voice so it was barely more than a whisper. "When Genzel finished his horse, he'll need to find a kelpie. He can get permission from Bebinn to take you with him. But he won't take you if you keep getting into trouble." The boy's eyes clicked back to him and Owen again felt as though a much older person was looking out of his body.

"Genzel is a prisoner too," continued Jacks. "Just in a different way. He will help you, if you prove to him you're worth helping."

"Is that why he keeps biting my head off?"

Jacks glowered at him, clearly not appreciating Owen's lack of depth. "Genzel has been here for a long time. He's the only person besides Atlas to have left the carnival more than once. He might be your only chance."

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So, any predictions about how Genzel ended up at the carnival? Do you think he'll help Owen?

Also, how do you think the pace of the story is so far? Is it too slow? Or is it okay?

Thanks as always for stopping by :)