The town’s bulletin board sparks with colorful notices, trying to grab the people’s attention. The calls for work in the local factories; proclamations, wishing for the person to step into the military service; signs, talking about how great the town's college is and why your kid should join.

But one bulletin, which catches the attention of ten-year-old Isak, presents the Traveling Carnival Troupe and announces their stay in the town’s center and preparations for the upcoming shows. The notice is hand-painted in bright red color, depicting smiling people in bright costumes. For some time, Isak couldn’t tear his eyes off the board.

“Mom, can we go—?” he calls out to his mother, pointing his finger at the poster.

The mother’s eyes scan the announcement, only to find the stated ticket’s price on the paper rather unpleasant, “It’s too expensive.”

She cuts Isak off, grabbing him by the hand and pushing in the direction of the market’s stalls. She traveled here from the village to buy some provisions, so making a detour for the circus isn’t on the schedule.

It was one of the instances where Isak would remember that childish resentment, that nipped-in-the-bud wish, and sometimes, on sleepless nights and out of boredom, would remind himself of that feeling — of not getting what he wanted and not receiving what he was terribly excited by. He would brush it off as nothing but a childish whim. And, maybe, that can be considered the case.

That day, later, Isak separates and runs away from his mother, while she was engrossed in picking the best tomatoes from the local farmer’s stall. Her shouts of anger don’t stop him and are not above his interest in seeing the silhouettes of the Carnival. Even if far away, even if just one glance.

Isak stops at the corner of the street, overlooking the town’s center. The Traveling Troupe and its places of amusement were enclosed by the make-shift fence and metal gates. In front of it, someone dressed in bright clothing — straight from the bulletin — stands in the front. This member of the troupe accepts tickets from the people in the large queue, gathered up in front of the gates.

People with kids, the same age as Isak, and families of all ages are laughing and buzzing in excitement, expecting to see and enjoy the Carnival show and its many entertainments.

“Isak!”

He turns back. The mother, angry grimace on her face, her hands filled with full baskets of provisions, yells out to him. And this time, on command, Isak does listen to the call. But not without throwing one last look at the colorful funfair of the carnival’s tents and pavilions.

* * *

Isak blinks a few times until his vision becomes clear and free of the clatter.

He's not in the cell deep in the temple’s chamber anymore. The pages of a diary in his hands, the damp air of the underground and the hollow cries of others — are all gone. There’s a gray plain around him — with no floor, walls, ceiling, or any other signs of bounds — the plain sprawls with no end in sight. Despite, with no source of light, he could brightly see both himself and the distant object in front of him — the gates with big letters on top: “Resenn’s Traveling Carnival Troupe” and the creature nearby, guarding the entrance.

The same gates from back then.

And the creature adorns the same bright clothes, which Isak saw on the poster back then.

“Your ticket?” it asks, lightly bowing. Its voice echoes through the empty space.

Isak is silent. In confusion, he isn't sure if he should interact with the obscure beings in this unknown place. Is it real? Harmful? Trying to help? Is everything going the way it is supposed to?

“Mhm,” the creature in front of the gates mumbles, “gentleman, your ticket?”

The guard keeps calling and calling, each time getting more annoyed. But until the end, Isak is hesitant to move. And the time, which he spent in a pure daze, only keeps getting longer.

“The rule is to open the gate, isn’t it?” the being asks, both teasing and threatening.

Something clicks in Isak’s mind. The voice of Iveta, stating the exact words, comes back in clarity. Right. That’s why he is here.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

The Penance Trial. Those warped, otherworldly turns of events, which is known only to those who ever attempted or completed them. And Isak would want to be in the ranks of the latter.

He steps closer, the gate towering over him.

“Ticket?” the creature asks again, reaching its hands in red gloves forward.

“I… don’t have one,” Isak answers. He isn’t sure if he should question the existence and the role of this being, pulled from the inside of his mind, or just play along with it for now.

“No, you do.”

Isak looks at him, bewildered.

“Check.”

Isak claps the pockets of his trousers, still soaked due to the morning rain. Something rustles. He fishes it out to see a crumpled piece of paper, titled:

"Ticket For Resenn’s Traveling Carnival Troupe.

Town of Evuitt.

Year 897."

In addition, the blurry outline of the clown, losing color and brightness is painted in the gray ink.

The creature snaps the paper from Isak’s fingers without hesitation. Raises it up as if checking against a non-existent source of light would help to test the legitimacy.

“And the kid’s ticket?”

“Kid…?”

“For your inner child.”

Baffled by the sudden remark, Isak’s eyes get wide. Suddenly, the carnival’s gates — a memory from his childhood — might be more than a symbol or just a buried memory.

“I’m joking!” the creature exclaims and laughs. “That’s what I do! I joke and entertain!”

The being proceeds to open the gate with the screeching of the rusty handles, “The way is open.”

Isak nods. The first rule is completed. The next one — to complete the task — is in order.

He enters the gates. In a moment — the traveling carnival appears on the horizon, its colors are blinding in the surroundings of the gray-shaded plain. The distant chatter of the crowd is resounding through the emptiness. He looks back — the open gates and the creature, guarding them, stay static.

Nowhere — but forward.

Soon, the tents become visible. But, as Isak notices, they don’t appear the same as the ones from his childhood. Some pavilions look different; some — are out of place; some — couldn’t be considered part of the carnival’s amusements in any reality. Yet — they are here.

Some of the people, sprawling and rushing around different tents, look familiar; some he remembers seeing in passing; some — are just strangers, or, maybe, people he had long forgotten. This world — The Limit, behind its open gates, — is dizzying and haunting. But, somehow, mesmerizing. The old unsorted memories, and the old images from the past, feel nostalgic and, as if almost, reach out its wrinkly hands, begging to remember the hints of each person and each place. With many — even morphed together.

Isak overlooks this parade, confused about where to find the required path. Or where the trial would even begin. Or is it already in progress?

“Oh! Hello!”

Isak gets startled. Another creature shows its frightening presence.

Someone, in the white overall with black pom poms for the decorations, a cap-and-bells hat, and an exaggerated facial expression — as of now, it’s excitement — cycles on a single-wheeled vehicle around him and juggles the clubs.

“Finally, we have a guest,” it announces, making one more round around Isak. “Be my friend!”

Isak moves forward, ignoring it. The enthusiasm and eagerness of these creatures alert him. He isn’t sure to which extent the objects and people are real, and if communicating with anything or changing its reaction would do any good. For now, he decides to be careful around any activity of these otherworldly creations. He guesses, they are there to keep him off the task and waste precious time. And his time is limited — no longer than two days as his earthly body won’t take much more without water.

“I see, you are confused!”

The creature on the unicycle keeps following and making rounds. And never once had it failed or stopped juggling — at the very least, Isak admits, this being has impressive balancing skills.

“You know, friend, I can show you around!”

“I don’t… need it.”

Isak decides to react to the non-stop chattering. He was expecting anything — the plain’s creature getting angry and trying to fight, pushing him out of this realm, or turning all the other beings, real or not, against him and foiling all plans of the trial. Which… doesn’t happen. Instead, the creature stops cycling, its hands drop and the juggling clubs fall down, bouncing and flying in different directions. The exaggerated excitement slowly contorts into exaggerated sadness.

“I’m sorry,” it says, the voice muffled, and rushes away on the single-wheel, blending with the crowd of the carnival’s guests.

Now, not having a source of distraction, Isak overlooks the place again, searching for clues on how to proceed. The pavilions, tents and stalls, all packed with people going in and out, read The Arena, Games of Chance, Cabaret, Restaurant, Gallery and The Circus as the central one. As Isak knows by heart, he has to ease and defeat the absolute sins and burdens. And, perhaps, those daring battles lurk and wait for him there.

He sighs and closes his eyes for a brief respite as the task at hand and the sights of the familiar things — warped, morphed and distorted — overwhelm him.