Frost spread inward along the edges of her lenses, creating a forest of tiny, white branches afore her eyes. The heat from her face and breath was causing her goggles to fog, and the resulting moisture was subsequently making them freeze. This feeble attempt to blind her was negligible however, for her eyes were already of little use. Every bit of the surrounding air was naught but fog and ice already, and had been so ever since they had entered this wide expanse of clouds. Frost could hardly hamper a flight where her depth of vision was less than an arm’s length away, but as long as she could still see the compass between the two horns of the alteya’s saddle, the woman didn’t care about such a minor inconvenience.
Presently the compass was guiding her every move forward, its metal needle waggling far to the right, pointing nearly directly behind them in its attempt to find north. Southwest was the course the woman sought to maintain, and she had been vigilant to keep it even when blind. It was foul luck that low-hanging clouds had appeared during this last stretch of her journey, but, fortunately, these had ultimately proved of little hindrance to their current pace. Before now, she had successfully covered a remarkable distance once the alteya had reached his stride, and at their current speed they would be home within the hour if not within the next several minutes.
The wind-raker broke away from the frigid cloud cover no sooner had the woman considered this, revealing that they were now gliding over a large stretch of field and pine. Hit with the sudden appearance of the blinding sun and a slight increase of heat, though the change was small it was enough that she could feel it beginning to affect the cold and stiffness in her arms and hands. The damp had been so constantly present, lingering for so long, that it had nearly defeated the purpose of her many layers of thick attire. Their outward-most surfaces, coated in brittle frost, crackled apart beneath the rays, though she could not hear it for the wind. Her gloves too, lined with fur and stretched halfway up her arms, glimmered with beads of ice, and some time ago her fingers had grown stiff from the constant barrage of cursed cold. Locked in place around the alteya’s saddle horns, had she lost function in her hands completely she would have risked losing her hold on the harness and falling. Of course, under normal circumstances, she would have stopped at some lowly inn or waystation to warm herself before carrying on, but she was so close now to home that it only seemed a waste of time. Even now, having come out into the open, she could spot the circus caravan afar off in the distance, its myriad of colors sprawled out below among the fields of snowy white and muddy black. Indeed, there had been no need to stop.
Slowly the woman began working blood back into her sore, rigid fingers, squinting against the brilliant sun and making ready for arrival. The reins attached to the alteya’s bridle were still hooked to the saddle horns; taut to prevent their lengths from flapping loosely in the wind. Stretching out and reaching forward, she gave both tethers a hard pull, directing the alteya downward by forcing his nose to dip. The drake plunged at her command, dropping like a stone, and folding his wings he accelerated into a headlong dive. The sudden fall pushed the woman’s stomach into the pit of her gut, but she ignored its nauseating threats. Having taken such plummets so many times now, she’d grown well accustomed to the various pulls and forces, and thus simply fell instinctively into routine. Against the fiercely whipping wind she used her newfound weightlessness to assist her up off her stomach, sitting now so that she could better direct the wind-raker’s course. Calmly and unhurriedly she unhooked an allotted length of the alteya’s reins from the saddle horns, wrapping the leather around her palms to take full control of the diving drake. Gently she guided the creature left, steering him onto a more direct course toward the circus, and giving slack to the reins thereafter, obediently he unfolded his wings to catch the winds and level out. Slowly then their dive transitioned into an expedient glide, one that caused the forest below to pass by in a blur. Over a large expanse of trees, both leafless and evergreen, they maintained this pace for at least another mile. Given no further spurring however, the alteya’s speed soon began dropping off, and failed completely just as the two of them reached the caravan’s outer ring.
At this gentler pace they circled about the outermost edges of the circus, choosing to land in the open fields where the caravan’s roving herds and flocks were currently set out to graze. With a sharp tug on his bridle the alteya came up short over an empty patch of grass, and gave one last great forward-flap of his wings to come to a full and sudden stop. The slender blue drake landed then like a cat in the sparse patches of snow, and shaking his head satisfactorily, sent the metal rings and belts of his harnesses clinking like a relieved sigh.
Likewise, the woman threw back her hood and pried off her goggles, hungrily inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. Immediately she felt more awake for having done so; the lull of her long flight beginning now to disperse. She took another, deeper inhale to further clear her head, grateful to not have to fight against the wind pressure to obtain it. No matter how many years she’d weathered flying, the woman always found it more relieving to be back on solid earth. Breathing the recycled air of one’s scarf for so long always took its toll upon the body, to say nothing of how unpleasant it was to inhale the cold, thin vapors of high altitudes. One could certainly start to feel their age when up for so high for so long, but she was rarely the type to consider or complain about such trifles.
For a few moments more the woman remained sitting atop the drake’s back, limbering up numbed fingers and joints until she could properly unfasten the lifeline tethered to the harness around her waist. When free of it, she slid off the drake just behind his wings, her padded slacks scraping against both scale and saddle in the descent. The sodden earth cushioned her dismount with a fine layer of slush, and with shoulders aching, the woman reached up to remove her pack from the alteya’s back. Once tossing it over her shoulder, the wind-raker stretched his elongated neck and chortled into the air, pleased to be free from both load and rider. The drake then made to scamper off, but was foiled in the attempt as the woman quickly snatched up the creature’s reins.
“Wait,” she commanded coldly, stilling the alteya with her words. The beast was a bit too willful for her tastes in truth, as many things that came into her possession often were. But the drake was well trained and adhered soundly to instruction; a thing that she had paid a great deal of money to ensure. The expense had proven itself necessary more times than she cared to remember, and often she lamented that others could not be so cowed with coin in the same way the alteya had. Truly, truly it was a shame she could not make it so.
“My Lady, Veil!”
The woman turned upon hearing her name, recognizing the voice. Admittedly though, she had expected this first of greetings to come from someone else. Regardless, she met the caravan’s singular Whinnari resident with a nod, acknowledging the tall Draken’kin as the woman trekked toward her over the saturated ground in stilted shoes. As usual, though dressed in plain clothes and a shawl, the whinn was blithely unaware of the formality of her presence. Often this was the case, and yet it couldn’t be helped. Her Whinnari heritage and upbringing demanded it of the woman innately, and it was practically impossible to conceal the truth of who the draken was. Of course, being whinn in blood alone meant that even the average onlooker would revere her as noble born, and the woman’s gait and manner would only affirm the thought. It meant nothing that the Draken’kin’s impure bloodline left her without her kind’s identifiable arm and facial scales; the point of long ears, the sandy yellow of her skin, and the midnight-blue hue of her long hair each marked her as whinn. And while other whinn would have ignored the woman based on her style of dress, they would not ignore the litheness of the woman’s stride, one found only in the most renowned of courts. The way the draken carried herself, it was as one who’d spent many years preparing to give council to ruling authorities; a trait that was constantly practiced whenever the whinn passed her thoughts to Veil. No self-important Whinnari noble would overlook such details, and this ran counter to the very reason why the woman had joined the circus. Alas, such unconscious subtleties were those the woman could never learn to hide, and Veil had long ago given up trying to amend the whinn’s absentminded disregard for caution.
“Miss Shi’tan,” Veil greeted coolly as the draken reached her. “Here for the beast, I assume?”
The woman, better known as Vitanya, smiled at Veil in answer. “Unless you would see to him yourself this time,” she said, holding out her hand for the reins. As she moved, the cyan gem upon her brow, her Keen, caught the sunlight with a glow. This was how the woman had likely sensed Veil’s return so quickly; having felt the alteya’s approaching presence within her mind.
“No, I think not,” Veil replied, promptly handing the tether over. “I have more important business to attend to than seeing to him.” As she spoke, her hand fell to the plain satchel fastened to her belt, one hidden beneath her double-layered overcoat of fur. “We leave on the morrow, as planned,” she continued, changing the subject.
“I thought we would,” Vitanya spoke with a nod, stroking the alteya’s spindled neck. “I will let the others know. After all, some of us have been growing quite restless in your absence.”
“They always do,” Veil stated, causing the whinn to chuckle softly.
“True.” Pulling taut the alteya’s reins, Vitanya convinced the drake to follow with a series of clicks from her tongue. Ever caught in those courtesies of noble affairs, she then bowed respectfully and excused herself from conversation. Whistling through her teeth, Vitanya summoned two kaptcha to her side, both the size of the largest of wolves, and the beasts came bounding out from the ensemble of wagon cars. At the woman’s command the wingless drakes raced off briskly toward the mixed herd of ghaun, ox and cattle, the dark green of their scales almost indistinguishable from the dead field grass they were clawing through. The dull orange markings splashed down their sides, like splatterings of paint, were only now starting to regain their former, brighter color. Without such marks, the usually-untamable creatures appeared no more than moving bits of earth, running circles around the herd with snapping snouts and driving back into line anything that had wandered off too far in its mindless grazing.
Veil paused a moment to watch the creatures work. Truthfully, she would have preferred dogs to drive the livestock rather than these feral beasts, yet she suffered them because their place within the caravan caused quite a curious stir among their patrons. Quickly though she dismissed this thought; she hadn’t the time to waste on pointless thinking. She hadn’t the time for many things, in fact.
Content now to leave the herd in the care of its handlers, Veil departed the field to deal with those other matters she had need to oversee. The ghaun and oxen would be hitched to the wagons before dawn, and, of course, she would need to be at the caravan’s head to drive it northward come time. Before then she had many matters to attend to, not least of which concerned the item at her hip. She had yet decided how and when to deliver it, and hadn’t the time to deal with it now that spring was so soon approaching. In the coming days she would have increasingly less time to spare as the affairs of the circus would require her full attention. Already she had planned for Cambria to host the caravan’s impending month of travel, but this decision created problems of its own.
Though it was usually a country tied explicitly to hard work and its code of honor, Cambria had become rife with rumors and civil unrest within the last year due to the unexpected demise of its chief governing authority. Now more than ever the country was in dire need of the circus’s particular wares, and so there had sprung here a deep well of coin to be coaxed from the denizens’ desperate hands. This potential for gain was far too lucrative an opportunity for the circus to pass up, and Veil certainly had no intention of allowing this untapped source of wealth to slip her by. Thus, for now, all matters that did not pertain directly to the caravan itself would simply have to wait, which included this most recent—and vital—of acquisitions.
Veil shifted her traveling pack from one shoulder to the other, its weight now its own pressing burden. With eyes and ears she scanned over the encampment of wagons, choosing a quieter route through the caravan toward her homestead. It seemed that even after four days the circus was still considerably full of both patrons and onlookers; a thing not entirely unexpected given the recent break in snowy weather. The winter always had such an effect on people, cooping them up for so long that it birthed a yearning for escape. Even the most mundane of tasks would serve as a reasonable excuse to leave the doldrums of home, and the sight of the circus was anything but mundane. If this were any other day, Veil would have been overseeing the conduction of business, if not serving her primary role as circus ringmaster under the big top. But the caravan had not stopped at this city to perform. It was just a layover for a greater destination later on. Veil was far too worn from her own trip to bother entertaining the masses today besides. Her bones and joints were still incredibly stiff from the taxing flight, and all she wished to do for the remainder of the evening was rest with a hot cup of freshly brewed tea.
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Thankfully, as she progressed through the encampment’s byways, she met relatively few. Those she did meet she exchanged the necessary greetings with, and imparted to them the details concerning tomorrow’s departure. From what she gathered, everyone, it seemed, was quite ready to leave this place. By now patrons had come and bought what it was they required, and the only ones currently moving coin were the performers whose various tricks and talents could always earn them a few loose coppers no matter the day or season. Visitors were hence coming to the circus for its novelty rather than for trade, and this was as sure a sign as any that it was high time to move on.
Veil kept this all in mind as she drew nearer her wagon car, pausing only to examine the remaining ones she passed. She noted how a fair few would soon need a fresh coat of paint. The expenses for such upkeep she quickly calculated, and tucked the estimation away in mind to tally up properly later. Unfortunately, her own wagon was no exception to the wear of weather and time, as when finally she reached it, it was clear that the wagon’s color had too begun to fade. Though it still retained its royal violet sheen (hers the only wagon in the caravan to sport such a color), it had become nicked and dulled under the harsh winter storms. The spiraling wisps of accenting color along its sides had faded out as well, and the decorative shapes no longer glimmered as they once did. Usually the secret concoction of paints shimmered gold by daylight and reflected a silvery blue at night. But in the afternoon light it now glistened a plain, metallic bronze, and later it would shift into an unimpressive iron shade. It bothered Veil greatly that the once sparkling hues appeared now so common and ordinary. As soon as the weather allowed for it, she would see this oversight corrected.
Stepping up onto the iron stoop hanging off the back end of her wagon, she climbed the set of welded stairs and produced a key from her belt. This she inserted into the wagon’s door, unlocking it and letting herself inside. Almost instantly the scent of lavender wafted forward to greet her, the relaxing aroma having been stirred up by the movement of the door. Though the hanging incense burner at the wagon’s opposite end had undoubtedly been long cold, the residual vapors that clung here still were a suitable welcome for her aching muscles.
Tiredly she closed the door behind her, dropping her pack upon the floor and untying the straps holding her overcoat together as she walked. With them loose, she tossed the heavy coat onto a large hook near the door, and without its weight on her shoulders she immediately felt much more at ease. Veil went straight to changing her attire into something more comfortable thereafter, quickly ridding herself of her riding gear and underlying clothes. Replacing them with simple grey trousers and a selection of rich wine and violet sashes, she wrapped each one around her waist in offset, uneven layers. A lavender half-coat she pulled on after, one that bore a partial collar with only the right sleeve intact, and secured it to her person with a deep violet corset embroidered with gold. Upon her bicep she put a golden band with swirling ends, slipping two more gold bracelets around her wrists, and then placed three rings upon her fingers: two on the right, one on the left.
Finally, on the arm that was sleeved she pulled on a black, leather bracer, and adorned one more elegant sash to drape around her shoulders. Now adequately dressed, she strode to her vanity to undo what her long flight had surely done. In the mirror she glanced herself over, brushing fingers through her mane of ghostly-pale lilac hair. Her side-swept bangs—longer on the right than the left—had been windblown into disarray, and she used her nails to comb them back down to swoop over her high cheekbones. The rest of her long hair she had already tied back, and so pulled it up over her left shoulder to where she preferred it to be. As she’d suspected, being stuffed under her overcoat had taken its toll on the length, and so she grabbed a brush to begin undoing its many knots. She would have to perform the same treatment to the long strand of hair tied at her left ear, its length just as disorderly at the rest. And, alas, both would take a fair amount of time.
And, indeed, for as long as it took, she barely managed to finish the task before a knock rapped upon her door. Having already guessed who had come to call however, Veil merely bade her visitor enter. “You are late, Miss Lafeir,” the ringmaster stated, still gazing into the mirror. As expected, her protégé, the circus’s most skilled acrobat, stepped gently into the room, slinking in smooth as shadow.
“I knew I would be,” Saraya sighed, shutting the door at her back. Throwing off her hood, the girl shook loose the pale blue hair that had trapped itself behind her ears. “Tief wouldn’t bring me back when I asked.”
These words Veil took in stride, and calmly she slipped her brush back onto the vanity in feeling herself become slightly annoyed by the girl’s purposeful misdirection. “I would not blame him for your tardiness,” the ringmaster started in reply. “In fact, I would thank him for ensuring your return.” Pulling back from the mirror Veil turned with a cold, accusing stare, one that Saraya rightly flinched back from in surprise. “Have I not warned you countless times about taking unnecessary risks? I should not have to tell you to stop throwing yourself into needless danger.”
For the briefest of moments the girl was stunned. “How?!” She exclaimed once the moment passed. “How do you always know?!” This rebuttal only confirmed for Veil what she already knew concerning the girl’s choice of descent from Cambria’s border wall. Always Saraya proved herself far too willing to take foolish chances, and this most recent leap into danger was no different than the innumerable others that came before.
“The same way I know everything,” the ringmaster firmly snapped back, then she slipped into a stoic silence as evidence of her displeasure. Always this bothered the acrobat, who knew well that Veil highly disapproved of her recklessness, and so it took but mere moments for Saraya to start to fidget.
“But I knew Tief would catch me,” she began, offering this weak defense, “so it wasn’t truly a risk. Not really.” But Veil did not answer and instead only glared at the child harder, knowing that her continued silence would be far more effective than words could ever be. Long ago the ringmaster had learned that by firmly expressing her disappointment did it coerce Saraya to behave, at least for a time. It did not work quite as well on the girl’s second mind unfortunately, but it still proved an adequate enough method for making them think about their mistakes.
Caught within the enduring silence, the acrobat shifted uneasily. “I wouldn’t have jumped if I didn’t think he could do it,” she insisted, but her tone of voice had lost its strength, becoming more reserved. Veil’s refusal to speak was having its desired effect, and very soon Saraya’s shoulders slumped, her head bowed in defeat. “I’m sorry…”
For a few moments more Veil kept quiet, eventually breaking from her cold demeanor with a heavy sigh. “Greet me as you would,” she instructed flatly, holding her arms out to the girl. Though it took a moment for Saraya to move, she did inevitably jump obediently into the woman’s arms. Giving Veil her customary hello, the acrobat happily squeezed the ringmaster around her ribs in an embrace.
“I’m glad your back,” Saraya spoke softly, a bit of her glow having returned.
Not usually one given to such gestures, Veil rested her hands upon the girl’s shoulder and head, giving her hair a gentle stroke. “Do not tempt fate, Saraya,” Veil warned, this not being the first time she’d advised such caution. Nor would it be the last, she knew. Nevertheless, at her words Saraya pulled back just enough to look up into Veil’s face, and though she made as to retort, she quickly bit her bottom lip, thinking better of it, and kept silent. “Very good,” Veil told her, giving the acrobat’s head one final pat. “I have great need of you for the tasks ahead. I prefer you alive so to carry them out.”
“But you still haven’t told me what it is I’ll do,” the girl said, releasing the ringmaster as she pulled away. With her second voice she then quipped, “How much longer must we wait?”
“You will learn soon enough,” Veil told them both, and indeed she would now that Saraya had matured to a satisfactory age. Out of all of those before her, Veil believed Saraya the most crucial for carrying out her will; a thought she’d been considering all the more often as the day approached. Veil’s Eyes had never once failed her concerning these matters before, and she fully believed that this girl was the most capable of all she’d seen.
“But when?” The acrobat asked again, pressing once more for an answer.
Such insistence made the ringmaster stop and turn to face her ward. Saraya’s adamancy had only increased with the promised day drawing near, and certainly the ringmaster understood the girl’s growing need for answers. Incidentally, Saraya was one of the very few who would press Veil like this so strongly, and this was only one of the stark changes she had nurtured within the girl. Saraya’s stubborn nature and willingness to speak where so many others would not, this had not always been so. Where once had stood an orphaned, scared and sniveling whelp now existed an unassuming yet capable force of skill and strength. It had been some time since Veil had thought back on that day; back when she had first taken the girl in as her own. It was striking how much had changed since then.
Six years ago, an incident had left Saraya the only living member of her family, and the Hytheria Mountains’ winter cold had nearly snuffed out this last survivor. If Veil had not intervened, the girl’s life would have ended, but in taking the child beneath her wing she had gained one of her most valuable assets. Eager to please and highly gifted, Saraya had proved fiercely obedient since the beginning, displaying too an immense wealth of talent and promise. Over the years Veil had nurtured this, and eventually the girl had blossomed into everything the ringmaster had hoped her to be. Saraya had grown into a fine, beautiful young woman, second only to Veil herself if no one else, for her Crystarian blood flowed as strongly in her as it did through Veil.
Possessing the fairest features, pale skin and a glistening head of icy-blue hair, the girl radiated elegance. For her role in the circus however, Saraya had opted to dye that tied-back length, coloring the right half of her hair a blue as brilliant as her eyes, and the left an equally vibrant shade of purple. Always her decision to do so attracted the gaze of her onlookers, captivating circus patrons with this bold choice of colors. The acrobat’s charm however, this is what kept them returning nightly. Innately friendly and energetic, Saraya was pleasant company, yet remained coy and aloof. Her true expressions she hid behind the long-cut bangs that covered the left half of her face, using them as a shield to conceal conflicting emotions. For like reasons of secrecy, she wore dark grey trousers, black boots, gloves and hooded shirts that she may roam undetected should she wish. And yet she sported harlequin stripes in the form of an underbust corset; proudly displaying vertical strips of alternating shades of violet. A teal sash around her waist, and a purple kerchief tied about her right arm, completed her off-duty garb. However, the acrobat’s costume was not complete without the assortment of belts she wore. Armed to the teeth with a variety of blades, all ranging in various lengths and purposes, the self-professed knife-thrower was trained and gifted in the use many types of weapons. The most notable of these was the blade oft sheathed at the small of her back: a pristine dagger she’d inherited from her mother that she only pulled out when in dire need.
“Well?” Saraya prodded again, still desiring an answer.
“Tomorrow,” Veil stated absently, the girl’s words pulling her out of thought. “We will speak on it tomorrow as we travel.” This seemed to suit Saraya well, for the girl smiled with a nod. How fortunate it was that she was so easily pleased. “Now, I would have you be of use and tell the others of tomorrow’s departure. However, there is one thing I have need of you for first.” As she spoke Veil made her way over toward the door, retrieving the pack she had earlier discarded. Prying the hefty satchel open, she rifled through its many contents and pulled out a small parcel. This she turned to Saraya with, and opening it, she revealed a crystalline pendant within hung upon a long, silver chain.
“Am I to run another errand?” The acrobat wondered quizzically, gazing curiously at the gem. Of course, it made sense that Saraya would think this way, for she was often chosen to handle Veil’s various tasks. And after all, she knew that the ringmaster would have no need for such a useless bauble. The only necklace Veil ever wore was one she could ne’er remove: a gruesome scar that wrapped all the way around her neck. The hideous mark was a grim reminder of a defining piece of her history, and Veil would never deign wear a necklace again because of that memory.
“This isn’t for me, Saraya,” the ringmaster thus told her plainly, and taking a hold of the chain, she slipped the trinket over the girl’s head.
Saraya was taken quite aback, as Veil knew she would be. Rarely did the woman ever give away such expensive gifts, especially without warning. “But—,” the girl sputtered, floundering for her words. But Veil dismissed her protest with a wave.
“Happy birthday, Saraya,” she told her simply, able to muster some semblance of a smile. “Be sure to keep this with you always.”
Still the girl was speechless, and had to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts by closer examining the gift. The necklace was that of a glimmering blue gemstone, shaped like naturally-formed crystal and attached to a silver chain via a bell cap. The piece closely resembled in nature one of Veil’s own bits of jewelry: a silver band on her left ring finger that was inlaid with the same blue gem. Saraya no doubt noticed this (she tended to notice such fine details), and likely it only made her happier for it.
“I will,” the acrobat eventually answered, “I promise.” Smiling brightly and hugging Veil once more, Saraya latched on so tightly that the ringmaster found it hard to breathe.
“Good,” the woman told the girl, patting her head again. “Now do as I asked. Tell the others to prepare.”
“As you wish,” Saraya obediently answered, though was reluctant to actually let go. “We’ve been dying to leave this place anyway.”
“I’m sure you have. Now go.”
Still beaming with delight, Saraya finally pulled herself away and left by the same way she’d come. Alone again, Veil shook her head once the girl had gone, exasperated, though amused, by the child’s genuine show of care. But Veil had allowed herself to become too distracted, and again her hand slipped to the satchel still hanging at her belt. Already too many things had begun piling up in her absence, and there was still yet much to do before tomorrow’s dawn.