Carnival Souls

One Piece at a Time (part one)

Lira looked up from her sheet music at the sharp tip-tap sound of a beak against her window. A tiny green bird was peering at her through the glass. She crossed the room and released the latch, pushing the window open just enough so that the bird could flit inside. She scanned the ground below, but there was no one, spirit or human, near the funhouse. Her gaze returned to little bird who cocked its head expectantly. Though it looked like any Earthly bird, there was a distinct intelligence about its gaze.

"I don't have anything new yet," she whispered. "But I think we are getting close. Come back in a few days."

"Who are you talking to?" said a voice. Lira jumped, nearly up-ending the flower pot on the windowsill. Lydia stood in the doorway, a plate of cake in her hands.

"No one," said Lira, resisting the urge to turn and see if the bird had gone. "Just myself. It's been a long day."

"I didn't mean to scare you." Lydia lifted the plate. "I brought you chocolate cheesecake. It's your favorite right?"

Lira's heart slowed as she walked over to her desk, pulling up a second chair. "It's sure is. Thank you for thinking of me." As Lydia set down the plate, Lira's gaze darted to the window. The bird was gone.

As the two girls shared the piece of cake, Lira noticed again that Lydia wasn't wearing the usual servants' garb. Instead of the black leggings and white tunic, she wore a big blue skirt that billowed around her tiny frame like a cloud and a buttery yellow tank top that was so bright it almost hurt to look at. Lydia chatted happily, but vaguely, about her day, mentioning how much she liked Lira's playing that afternoon when she had tried to gain control of a golden eagle with onyx beak and talons that had nearly scalped her as it flew around the room. Lira tried not to grimace as she accepted the praise, remembering how the bird had stopped midflight and crashed to the ground in a tumble of bent feathers after it had tried to go for her eyes.

"I got this for you," said Lydia. From within a fold in her skirt she pulled a long, golden feather. It was smooth as silk in Lira's fingers and up close she could see it was not one feather, but a hundred smaller feathers that blended together.

"Thanks," said Lira. And for some reason she had a lump in her throat. She set the feather down at the head of her desk and plastered a smile on her face. "What do you want to hear about tonight?"

For the last two weeks, Lydia came to Lira's room every couple of days and sat on her bed so Lira could tell her things about the human world. Lira could tell that the stories were nearly the equivalent of fairytales for Lydia; she yearned for the human world the way a regular child yearned for castles and dragons and magic wands, a fleeting desire that was soon overshadowed by the reality, which overall, she didn't really mind. She had not accepted this place in the same way Atlas had. The spirit world was Lydia's home.

It was both soothing and a little sad for Lira to explain things like school and the weather and the beach to Lydia. It had an almost tranquilizing effect to talk about summer rainstorms and the little animals that frequented her mother's garden, or the snow that fell in fat, feathered flakes that wrapped everything in a soft layer of cotton in the winter. Talking about school, despite her less than fond memories of her classmates, tempered the anger she used to feel when she recalled her days spent at a desk learning history and English and science. She tried and failed to explain the smell of roses and freshly cut grass or the velvet tongue of a dog as it licked your fingers.

She found herself smiling when she described the way her mom used to hide newspaper cartoons in her lunchbox or the way her dad would narrate the voices and conversations of animals as they wandered through their yard. How even though they didn't understand Lira fully, they knew her enough.