Carnival Souls

Silent and Dark

They arrived like shadows, silent and dark, shifting shapes on the horizon line. An undulating ocean tide creeping closer in increments, backlit by the purple-orange velvet of the starless spirit sky. Lira watched them approach from her window. She should have felt relief, a sense of impending freedom, but the tears running down her cheeks were salted with dread and apprehension. Bebinn had no intention of giving up her carnival and she had no intention of letting Lira leave for the human world—not when she could lead an army of spirits for her. Lira was a puppet master only in name, someone with far more power pulled her strings. No matter what she wanted, she would play for Bebinn tonight and fight against Zabaria.

Lira pushed open her window, wishing that a breeze would come through and dry her tears, cool her neck. But nothing came through the window except the tense silence that had descended upon the fairgrounds when Bebinn closed down the carnival. Nothing moved and in the dead air it felt like the very world was about to collapse.

She wondered where Owen was and what he was thinking. She had not seen any of the others since the night Atlas had betrayed her, confined to her room, her meals brought to her by Atlas herself. Whenever the tiny girl entered, Lira turned her head away and refused to look over or speak until she had left. Sometimes Atlas merely set the tray down and moved back through the door without a sound; sometimes she tried to talk with Lira, chatting away like nothing at all had happened. Once, she lost her temper and upended Lira's stew on the floor, shouting that Lira was being selfish. Lira ignored it all.

She had done her best to mop up the stew with an old shirt, but the floor was still sticky where it had been and it was beginning to smell.

Lira had spent most of the last few days alternating her time between keeping watch at the window, hoping to spot Owen or one of the others, and sitting on the floor plucking at her violin and trying to come up with a plan.

She wondered what the others knew of Zabaria's impending arrival. Would Bebinn force them to fight against the spirits? Or would she keep them locked up and out of the way so they could continue their work once the carnival reopened?

Owen wouldn't stay locked up, she thought with a wane smile. He would find a way to be there. But thinking of him in the midst of battling spirits, most with claw and tooth and whatever other deadly body parts they had, made her smile fade and her stomach clench. It would be better if he wasn't there.

Shame crept hot up her neck at her next thought. She didn't want him to see her fighting for the other side either, regardless of whether he knew she had no choice. A shudder went down her spine and she turned away from the window.

Reaching for the pitcher of water on her desk, she took long deep pulls, feeling her empty stomach expand. Next to the pitcher, a single sheet of clumsily scrawled music lay. She used a finger to retrace the notes, feeling the marks where her pencil tip had punctured it. She had spent most of the previous night awake, trying to see the music in the writing, but it was hard to tell if she was getting it right when she had never done it before. Most of it was crossed out and what little she had kept was barely coherent. It floated disjointed in her mind like the sparks of light in the air, flaring bright and hopeful one second and fading the next.

She was just finishing the last of the water when there was a sharp rap at the door and Bebinn entered. She was dressed as she always was, in a long dress, this time a deep charcoal grey, trimmed with lace. A sapphire sparkled at her throat and her deep auburn hair was pulled back into a braided bun. She was not dressed for battle because she would not be fighting; there were others to do that for her. Lira too was dressed in her usual garb: black leggings, a long white tunic, and barefoot.

"Come," said Bebinn in a brusque tone. "It is time." Bebinn did not seem nervous in the slightest. Instead, she seemed almost impatient, as if this whole thing was nothing but a nuisance she would like to be done with quickly.