Fainaru Circus -- Chapter Five

I inhale sharply, hold the breath, and draw the bow across the strings once more. The sound that comes out is purer, in a way, but it isn't mind-blowing and elegant like Joker's. He chuckles, and I feel Vical's glare drilling a right big hole into the back of my head. It's kind of weird how, the stronger a person's emotion is, the easier it is to tell when they're looking at you.

"You've almost got it; at least you aren't screeching like you used to." Joker smiles, running his bow down the strings to produce a sound so soft and melancholy, my jaw drops. It ain't fair; I'm surprised he ain't up on the stage, performing for royalty by now. Actually... why isn't he?

"Joker, if ya' play so well, why don't you play for royalty and them sorts of people?" I ask, trying once more to pull an angelic note from a shaky hand holding a wobbly bow. It ain't working, as one might imagine.

Joker tilts his head, considering. "Well, when I first started out, I did play for a noble family quite often."

"Just the one?"

"And their friends." Joker frowns. "I eventually moved on, deciding I didn't like staying in one place as a puppet to the rich."

I nod. Makes sense, actually; the rich can be so irritatingly arrogant, I--hey, I wonder if Lith was once a noble's daughter or something? That would make even more sense. "So you started the circus?"

"At the tender age of 14, yes, I started Fainaru Circus." he sings, leaning back roughly against a bag of extra tent material. The burlap bag lets out an enormous poof of dust and animal hair, which flies everywhere around us. I sneeze, but he just sits back and relaxes. 

I'm still processing the whole time range thing, though."Wait... 14?"

"Yep," he smiles, shaking his head as I try to repeat the notes he plays. 

"Joker, how old are you?" I ask, getting kind of giddy. I mean, this is sort of like the perfect conversation for this. I've never asked, and there's never been a proper time... it's almost like he's handing it to me, in a way.

Joker's eyelids close slightly, and that devious, half-hidden smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I am only as old as the time that guides me; only as wise as the experiences I've collected; only as productive as the performances I work to maintain."

"Is that a riddle?" I ask bluntly, my heart falling. Dang it; what with the suspense and everything, I really want to know!

Joker shrugs, reaching forward to adjust my hand on the bow as I drag it back and forth on unwilling strings, their torment made obvious with every screeching cry of protest. I'm trying, violin! I'm trying...

"Not really, but I suppose you could take it that way. I'll go ahead and tell you I'm not the wisest, nor the most productive, nor even the oldest."

"You used to tell me that there was always someone better than you at something." I huff, seeing through the joke he was about to pull. He sighs dramatically, laughing as he throws his hands in the air, leaving his bow and violin in his lap to rest. 

"Exactly! It doesn't narrow it down at all, does it?"

Still chuckling, he picks back up the violin and strums the strings with his fingers. I am surprised to see him play the little instrument like a quiet guitar of sorts.  It's mesmerizing, and I am transfixed. 

I hear someone clear their throat, and we both look up. Vical stands, eyes squinted up in partially-hidden anger, and I freeze. I try and give her a smile, but she knocks it away with a turn of the head, like a swordsman parrying an attack. "Joker, Tammy's done it again." She growls, arms crossed and posture stiff. She cocks her hip to the left--one strange thing she and Joker have in common--and purses her lips.

I don't think anyone else in the group knows about what Joker did except for me, Vical, Joker himself, and Lith, the poor thing. To be honest, I think Joker is allowing himself to go unanswered for because he don't remember doing it. Sort of like how I haven't been able to remember my visit to the town yet. The other day we were talking, and he mentioned how the color red stands out to him all of a sudden. I've noticed it, too. 

Joker nods, stands, and bows theatrically toward me, holding out a hand. "My lady?"

I take his hand, snorting--the day someone calls me 'Lady' is the day someone don't mistake me for a boy. It ain't happening, obviously--and brush my pants off. As he and Vical head out of the tent, I trot behind them; Tammy is our animal tamer, after all, so it's always interesting to see what's she's up to. She has this... knack, I suppose... for attracting animals and taming them easily. They're still wild and all that, it's just she was born with this scent on her or something. It's real confusing how she explains it, so I still don't get the details, but I think I've got the basic idea. To animals, she smells like them enough for them to get along with her, I guess.

It doesn't take us long to reach the outskirts of the camp. The accursed raining starts up again--it sure does rain a lot the closer we get to the mountains and the forests surrounding them--as well all gather around the tall, subtly-muscular woman that is Tammy. She tosses short, ragged black hair out of her eyes, eying Joker as he--and the rest of us--look at what stands before us. 

It's a big wolf, is what I'm thinking. Unnatural-looking, too, what with its red eyes and sleek-looking black fur. The tail is a little too long, and the mutt almost seems as if it can control it more than just the basic wagging and tucking. It flicks side to side in serpent-like movement, like a cat's tail. Vical stares cautiously at it, and I see Lucky--Tammy's extremely lucky apprentice, considering Tammy found him as a baby just before a rabid wolf ripped into his skull--hovering just behind the animal tamer, a hand on her arm. Worry makes his face scrunch up, and I think I know why. Even Tammy seem apprehensive and unsure, and when I look at Joker, I know something's up.

This wolf ain't natural. Joker has a blank, lost look on his face, but his eyes tell me he's thinking up a storm in that brain of his. He studies the animal as it parts its jaw, transforming its facial expression into a sort of jagged half-smile. It looks like a human gesture, even as the dog cocks it's head to the left. 

Joker is in that iconic pose of his, hands loosely on hips and hip jutting out to the left in a female-looking pose. Eyes darkening, he turns his head to Tammy. "What did you do?"

"It came." She says simply, shrugging, her harsh, raspy voice struggling to support words. Tammy never was able to talk very well. Joker nods, but I'm confused.

He turns back to the wolf that stands five feet from the first tent. It blinks, analyzing Joker as he steps closer, holding his chin high. The wolf's smile widens as it falls onto its side, rolling over onto its back as it wags its tail furiously. I look into those human-looking eyes and see something that scares me. Emotion. I see human emotion. Recognition, happiness, apprehension, love, and regret. They flash like a moving-picture-show, and it startles me. Joker has always told me that there are things I'll never understand. This is one of them, I suppose.

Joker grits his teeth, and we can all tell he's suppressing something as he lifts his arm and points away from the camp. He whispers something, and the wolf's smile disappears as it stands carefully. Tail tucked between its legs, it backs away, head low to the ground, ears pressed against its head.

Just as suddenly as it appeared, it is gone. I blinked and missed the fast little beast, to be honest. Joker goes back to normal, calling for everyone to set up for the next show, but I can feel the tension and mistrust that swirls inside of everyone. 

I feel it too, in the bottom of my gut. It ain't right, that wolf responding to Joker that way. Tammy was uncomfortable, which is utterly new--she loves animals, and I've never seen her get nervous around one like that. Still, we have our duties, so I go back to practicing. 

As the notes I create get steadily smoother, my mind grows all the more filled with confusion, questions, and that sickly, oozing red.

*****

I hear our Mistress snort, slamming her hand on the armrest of the throne as she laughs hysterically. Pulling her hands from the vertical pool of water, she shakes her head and opens her eyes. I tilt my head, and feel my sister follow. 

"Mistress?"

She looks to us, and I hold steady. Gesturing at my sister, she smiles. "Anaria, get me some wine. This is just... brilliant!" She wheezes, and another laugh is dragged from her throat. 

My sister leaves, and I dare to speak. "Mistress, what did you see that amuses you so?"

"Anarkyn, I saw Death. The Lady Death faced rejection, and it warms my heart." Touching a hand to her chest, the Mistress smiles faintly, a far-away look in her eyes. "I never knew one such as me could hate with such a passion. I suppose it's only natural, though, wouldn't you say?"

"Life must always deny the company of Death." I recite dully, remembering my last master. The time I spent under his service was quite different; he fell in love with the previous Death some millions of years ago, and they were both removed from the cycle permanently. I try not to miss him, as I have not missed any Masters or Mistresses before him, and continue on with my duties. 

"True," she sighs, taking the wine from my sister's hand. She looks back and forth between us idly, taking sips from the glass as she turns in her crystal throne. Crossing her legs over one side of the armrest, she leans back and yawns widely, swirling the liquid, watching it reflect off the light and dance in amber patterns. "You two look so alike, it's queer. Sometimes I can't even tell the difference, despite your difference in gender."

I say nothing, and neither does my sister. She remains silent as she must. I shall forever be blind, and she shall forever be mute. We are forced to stay close together to make up for each others missing senses and abilities. It keeps us united so that we can never be separated. I do not know why, only that it is so.

"Fate hasn't contacted me in a while, has he?" the Mistress ask quietly, more to herself than anyone. I frown. 

"He needn't speak to you unless the chains of the cycle become tangled, and he is bound by duty to do otherwise."

The Mistress snorts loudly, flicking pale white-blond hair away from her neck. The strands stall in midair due to a slight lack of gravity, which gives this place a light, airy feeling. "You know he talks to Death. That worm manages to attract all kinds of attention, the dark little mutt she is." Our Mistress's whispers are dark, and I worry. Life may hate Death, and Death may hate life, but not over another living being. That is forbidden.

"I beg you watch your tongue," my sister softly calls, and I know she has heard my thoughts. 

The Mistress says nothing as she kicks her feet, the white silken fabric that wraps covers her body flitting about with very movement. How angelic it is here. And yet, how dark the Mistress has become.