The familiar noises of a moving-day morn filled the twinkling hours of dawn with a quiet, constant murmur. The baaing of ghaun, the lowing of oxen, these soft objections to waking accompanied the yawns and groans of others whose sleep still lingered in weary eyes. Before long though, the morning buzzed with the expectant sounds of preparatory labor: of footsteps, hoof beats and creaking wagons shifting on freshly oiled wheels and axles. Harnesses rustled with bits of metal and leather as they were pulled from storage to be put to use. Their retrieval coincided with the grunts of numerous men and women, all busy attaching yoke arms to wagon fronts, each being pounded into place with hammers ringing out on spikes.
This morning proved colder than the one before, for today frost glazed the grass a sparkling white as far as the eye could see in the early dim. Like glass, the brittle crystals of ice crunched under foot and hoof as animals were led to the wagons to be hitched, each according to its size and strength. The ghaun bucks, the largest, were strapped by twos to the heaviest of the caravan’s wagon cars; namely those that carried heaping amounts of assorted goods or those laden by a stockpile of tools. The nannies without kid were tied in pairs to those wagons of lighter burden, as too were the oxen whose smaller frames were equal in power to the high-shouldered does. In a well-practiced rhythm, one honed over the course of several years for speed and efficiency, the majority of the beasts were secured to their designated places just as sunlight began creeping over the distant horizon of snow. The shadows cast by the forest kept tentative time for the troupe as they steadily continued their work, for while the shadows of trees still striped the fields, there was time yet before the caravan would leave.
Saraya had risen before the dawn with the rest to haul tack out of storage and secure the yokes. Although she felt the twinge of fatigue in the space beneath her eyes, she passed on a warm drink when it was offered. The presence of spare time had allowed the idle to start up a small cookfire and brew a strong coffee over the embers, but the taste of Sakoran beans had never suited the acrobat’s tongue. Nor did she need its gift of energy as badly as some of the others. Taegun was one such fellow who required the remedial boost. The blacksmith had been up late mending a wagon wheel by firelight, and had only just finished shoeing the caravan’s horses before starting into the early morning’s prep. Back then, he had enlisted Saraya’s aid before she could get the chance to wander aimlessly between jobs, and so, after finishing up with her own preparations, the acrobat had joined up with the blacksmith to assist in the packing up of his wagon and forge.
Thus, while Taegun leaned against the side of his homestead, gulping down large swallows of black, steaming brew, Saraya continued working. Having achieved a good pace for being busy all morning, she had successfully finished hitching the second buck to the blacksmith’s wagon just as he emptied the last few drops from his mug. In response, the furry, teal ghaun snorted her hand away as she pet his nose, pulling his head up out of reach while shaking his long mane.
“I can’t blame you,” Saraya chuckled, patting the buck’s neck. “I hate working this early too.” Patting, too, the other ghaun, Saraya returned to Taegun, who had only just sat his tankard aside when the acrobat rejoined him. Together then, under the soft glow of lantern light, they worked as one to organize and secure the traveling forge. For a while they spoke concerning the usual things: of the city behind them and their musings over the road ahead. Soon enough Taegun’s wife, Brema, joined them, and together they tied and tethered down anything that they didn’t wish to move during transit. When small talk was exhausted, they began speaking eagerly on the impending birthday celebration; an event for which the whole caravan awaited, and something which Saraya was looking forward to most of all.
Eventually, and once the blacksmith’s wagon car seemed mostly ready for travel, Saraya deemed it finally time to take a well-earned break. Intending to return to Veil’s wagon and warm up, she bid the married couple goodbye for now before taking her leave. Normally, she would have opted to stay with Taegun and Brema to occupy herself with their company. Taegun was a lovable giant of a man, good natured, strong, and every bit the way she imagined a good father would be. And Brema, though now the circus’s resident gemsmith, was once the most popular barmaid on the southern coasts of Giraffin. Saraya always enjoyed listening to them both recount tales from their lives before; stories of bar fights, pirate raids and other equally grand adventures.
In truth, Saraya sometimes wondered why the pair left such a life of thrill and excitement, but when asked, neither Taegun nor Brema could agree on a sound reason. The acrobat had thus assumed that their motive was that of family, particularly in the area of children. The loving duo had no child of their own, but being with the circus, about two years ago, they had agreed to take in a waif from the streets. That young girl was one Saraya often found herself unexpectedly entertaining. No doubt still sound asleep inside the blacksmith’s caravan in spite of all the noise, the girl, Asauna, would be chagrined to know that Saraya didn’t wake her to say hello. But, quite frankly, Saraya had no desire to attract her street-thief shadow today. Veil had promised that they would finally speak concerning the acrobat’s new line of work, and Saraya didn’t want the obstinate child to intrude on such an important—and private—conversation.
Thus Saraya weaved her way back to the front of the caravan, around the waiting beasts and wagon cars that had already been pulled out into place. Very soon now the troupe would depart, leaving the border wall far behind them and heading deeper into Cambrian territory. Already their dracon scouts—those who would spend their days in transit guarding the caravan from danger—were perched on top of various wagons, waiting for the circus to leave. Some of them were stretching out the muscles of their wings, yawning tiredly as they prepared for an extended time in flight. Those who had gotten an earlier start were already flying shallow laps around the encampment, chatting with those gliding beside them who would be sharing the morning shift.
Saraya waved a fond good morning to those that spotted her with a smile, receiving hearty gestures in return from grinning canine fangs. Luminaya, the storm-blessed dracon who worked as Veil’s second in command, was perched atop the ringmaster’s wagon when Saraya finally reached it. The decided clan mother of the caravan’s ragtag flock, the woman was barking out orders to the other dracon with a snarl, sometimes in words and sometimes in the guttural language of their kind. Presently she appeared ready to pounce on the two flame-blessed twins who had been assigned to today’s first watch, for the two mischief makers were failing—as usual—to adhere to her instruction. This was always more than enough to rile the naturally cantankerous female. Dracon were notorious for their anger and foul tempers after all, but the navy-scaled Luminaya would have surely been a growling she-devil even if born a human.
Smartly, Saraya passed beneath the woman’s talons without uttering a word, entering swiftly into the wagon before the clan mother could take notice. Certainly Saraya had no desire to test the woman’s patience today, and would gladly leave all repercussions for trouble to the twins this time. Once safely inside, she pulled back the hood of her cloak and pried the gloves from her fingers to wipe the cold sweat off her palms. The firestone, one of Veil’s many magical relics, had fortunately been whispered alight during Saraya’s absence. Placed within a small brazier at the center of the wagon, the stone filled the stead with a comforting warmth and light.
Saraya walked over and crouched near to the glowing crystal, its magical inner fire gleaming like a small sun beneath a shining red sheen. The brazier it was sitting in was etched with arcane runes, and these were currently shimmering molten white. Saraya, alas, had no talent for getting the artifice to work, and was grateful that Veil had had the foresight to bring it to life before she left. The enchanted heat sunk into the acrobat’s clothes and skin like any natural flame, and in mere moments she was thoroughly warmed to the bone. She hesitated to go back outside, however, despite having plenty of things she could do. Luminaya’s growls were still coming down through the ceiling in muffled hisses, and the wagon rocked slightly every time the dracon woman moved. Saraya obviously had no desire to risk getting caught in the verbal crossfire between grumpy Draken’kin. For her, simply being present would be enough to attract an unwanted lashing.
At first, Saraya was reluctant to agree with her mind’s selfish request. But when the wagon shook again, shifting and jangling every loose reliquary and bauble in Veil’s massive collection, she concluded very quickly that it was best that she stay put. Thus she resigned herself to the comforts of her self-proclaimed home, and after shoving a discarded overcoat aside, she sat down on the small, red-cushioned bench at Veil’s vanity. Leaning back, she rested her elbows upon the rich, rosewood table, noticing a stray beam of sunlight stealing in through the wagon’s side window. Hardly a pinprick through the closed wooden panes, she wouldn’t have really noticed the intruding sliver had it not caught the surface of an ornamental trinket and cast a myriad of prismatic colors across the ceiling. The sight of this rainbow glisten caused Saraya to smile. This simple beauty was but one of the many things that made her enjoy living with Veil, even if the arrangement had initially began with the ringmaster’s begrudged permission.
And indeed, Veil’s wagon was always filled with a plethora of curiosities and wonders; an uncountable amount of varying riches all belonging to the caravan’s matron. No other wagon within the caravan held such a wealth as this. In this place, walls were lined with golden hilts laced in jewels; blades of all sizes tucked away in dazzling scabbards of royal make. Numerous racks and shelves were laden with gold, ceramic and silver. There were urns and ivory vessels carved with intricate patterns and designs, all filled to brimming with lavish perfumes and oils, each sealed to protect the entrapped scents or preserves within. Priceless pendants of jade and gemstone swung on lengths of leather and chain, magic runes and godly symbols carved with care upon their surface. Some of these radiated hidden power, awaiting their time to be appraised and stored, while several chests of ornate woods kept many more like treasures under lock and key. The smallest of them were stored along upper shelving, while the large sat at floor’s edge serving as makeshift stools and end tables. Among them sat still more staves and jewels and relics, things that Saraya could guess at neither their use nor worth. Yet she knew that each and every one of these commanded an impossibly steep price, for her mistress would not have stored them in her home if it was not so.
‘Beautifully cluttered’ had always been the best way Saraya could think to describe Veil’s dwelling: filled with exquisite articles found nowhere else, yet lined with strewn papers, misplaced books and days’ worth of unwashed clothes. Still, the glow of sun and firestone flowed gently over those loose sashes and personal effects, glinting off the shimmering pieces that poked through the disorderly mundane. Hence the galaxy of prismatic faux fire that was still reflecting along the ceiling, creating for the acrobat a most beautiful and comfortingly-familiar display.
Saraya sighed as she gazed up into that glowing light. She would certainly miss this dearly when she was gone…
Suddenly the wagon lurched hard to one side, nearly throwing Saraya from the vanity’s bench and jarring everything that wasn’t strapped down out of place. Common trappings rattled loudly while loose blades and staves toppled with loud clunks and metallic clanks. Papers slipped from the shelves of Veil’s desk and flew in a flurry of directions across the whole of the floor. The brazier holding the firestone rocked once and immediately began tipping over, forcing Saraya to catch the pedestal between the rungs with the toe of her boot. The firestone clanked against the metal as it slid to a precarious stop, leaving Saraya to sigh, relieved that the crystal fire hadn’t fallen out.
“Luminaya…” the acrobat grumbled as she guided the brazier back down onto all fours, letting the firestone slip back into place with a heavy, glassy thunk.
“Probably,” Saraya answered. “Though it could have just as easily been Karn.” After so many years living within Luminaya’s favorite perch, she could usually tell how angry the woman was by the strength of her departure. Given how rough this recent jostling had been, Luminaya was positively livid.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Stepping around the brazier now that things had settled down, Saraya set to gathering up the newly disheveled papers. Choosing to also pick up those that had been littering the ground before, after retrieving them, she tapped their edges atop the desk and placed the stack neatly back to where she believed they went (though, quite frankly, she couldn’t be absolutely sure). With Veil gone on business, there had been much to do when she finally returned. Thus, while Saraya had slept, the ringmaster had slaved away at her desk long into the night, awake far beyond the midnight hour. As was expected, the wagon had become quite unkempt once Veil had finished her work, for if it did not pertain to the matters at hand, then the woman had quite literally swept everything aside to be sorted later. Inevitably, this left many things scattered about and out of place, and with the caravan preparing to relocate, there had been no time to put anything away properly.
Not that Veil would have done so anyway, Saraya knew, for the caravan’s matron always preferred her living quarters a bit messy. Truthfully, the acrobat had come to expect these manageable levels of disorder, and never did she mind it. Rather, Saraya took it upon herself to keep the wagon relatively tidy, and so continued putting what had been moved back into place. With the bottom of her boot she pushed a trunk back against the wall, then gathered up the fallen staves and blades, checking them over to confirm that they’d suffered no damage in their fall. Completing these few, minor tasks, she turned finally to the door. With Luminaya gone she had no excuse not to return to work, though remained exceedingly reluctant to leave the warmth of the wagon behind. Prying open the door only just, Saraya flinched when the icy air slapped her in the face, and very nearly did she allow it to chase her back inside. Only by gritting her teeth and willing herself forward did she force herself outside, and pulling up her hood, she began to descend the iron stair. Before reaching the bottom however, she spied Veil making her return, and noticed that the ringmaster was suspiciously alone.
“Lady Veil?” Saraya began, hopping from the last step. How odd it was that Veil had no one in tow, she thought, for usually the ringmaster waited until the last possible moment to cease giving out instructions. There was always so much to do, so much to account for, that Veil had the terrible habit of overseeing everything down to the minutest of details if time allowed. And yet, today, she strode in silence. Perhaps there had simply been too great a load for Veil to handle alone this time, especially since she had only just yesterday returned. Saraya did not miss the dark circles hanging beneath the ringmaster’s tired eyes, knowing this to be sign enough that Veil was already in danger of stretching herself too thin.
“I knew I would find you here,” Veil spoke flatly as she reached the place Saraya stood. “Come into the wagon. It is time we spoke.”
Certainly Saraya wouldn’t argue with this sudden request, for she hadn’t wanted to leave the wagon in the first place. But as Veil stepped around her and up into the wagon car, a sudden bundle of nerves welled up in the acrobat’s chest. Born from knowing what was about to happen, the tight, winding knots between her lungs made it hard to breathe. Hesitating for a moment then, a kick from Alter in the back of her mind spurred her into moving. Timidly she climbed back up the iron stairs and into the wagon, walking past Veil who stood waiting to shut the door behind them.
“What I am about to tell you I do not speak lightly,” Veil began, wasting no time as she latched the wooden door’s heavy lock. “Nor is what I say something you can discuss with anyone other than me.”
Already nervous enough, Veil’s words only worked to make Saraya’s apprehension worse. Forcibly the acrobat swallowed the hard lump that had appeared within her throat, clearing it before responding. “Alright,” she replied, softer than she had meant to be. “Tell me.”
Pausing for a moment, Veil tucked her hands behind her back, hiding them beneath her thick, white-furred cloak. Without uttering a word she strode slowly to the other side of the wagon, taking a sprig of incense from a thin wooden case at her bedside. “Times are changing, Miss Lafeir,” she stated in all-knowing manner, “and know that it is not for the better. You are far too young to have recognized the signs, but I assure you that they are there, and have been for decades. The Kayll priests openly deny it, clinging to their foolish hope, but our time’s imminent end is at hand.” As she spoke she brought the oil-infused twig to the crystal brazier, holding its end to the firestone until it flamed. Instantly, the soft scent of lavender began to permeate the room, and Veil breathed deep of it before she spoke again. “You asked me what it is you are to do for me, and to know this, you must know my aim. And what I aim to do, what I indeed will do, is stop the Fall, Saraya, and you will help me to do it.”
These words washed over the acrobat so smoothly that she, at first, didn’t understand them, and it wasn’t until she repeated them wordlessly to herself that she began to see. Her mistress was speaking of forces far beyond those of mortal men, she realized, of powers that she often ignored or revered with superstition. In knowing this, only then did Saraya begin to understand what Veil was implicating, whereupon a hole of despair formed in the pit of her stomach almost instinctually. “The Fall?” The acrobat weakly questioned, her thoughts besieged by fearful denial. “That Fall?”
“It and no other,” Veil confirmed as she placed the smoldering lavender within a hanging incense burner. “I take it you understand what this means?”
Remaining silent, Saraya sunk to the floor where she stood, feeling sick under the pressure. Of course she understood exactly what Veil meant. By the gods, how could she not? What Veil spoke of concerned the most common of knowledge: about the gods and the ebb and flow of time itself. Everyone knew what a coming Fall meant: it was the downfall of civilization, the loosing of chaos and the very end of the living world as they knew it to be. Though Saraya had no retention for Elequa’s history, even she knew the events by which time was recorded. Eras always began with what all called a Rise: a time when the Kayll, the revered gods of good, held power over the world and through them it became blessed. In much the same way, each era closed with a Fall, when the contemptible Fawln gained control of that power and led the world unto destruction and misery. Though Saraya never fully understood how, she knew that mortal kindred were somehow key to the shifting of these forces, and were the reason why time always rose and fell repeatedly without fail. For Veil to claim she meant to stop a Fall, it meant she intended to stop time itself, or at least somehow change its constant cycle. It was an utterly ridiculous notion, and yet the ringmaster spoke it so easily!
“How?” Was the word that first came to Saraya’s mind, springing forth from her newly formed recesses of fear. “How on Ira are you going to stop the Fall?”
“How it will be done is none of your concern,” Veil answered frankly. “You need only know to what goal you aspire. It will do you no good to burden yourself with the details of my plans. Such things are for my knowledge alone.” Returning to the firestone, Veil reached toward it with a singular hand, the light casting dark shadows upon her face. “You need only carry out the tasks I assign to you and nothing more. This is the new duty I intend to give you.”
The bluntness of the woman’s answer caused Saraya to fall silent, and she stayed this way for a while, contemplating things. She mulled over this new “duty”, the thing she’d so badly wanted to know, and when considering the powers she’d be fighting against…in their face, her courage waned. “This isn’t what I was expecting,” she admitted after a time, pulling her cloak a little tighter as she suddenly felt cold. “In fact, it’s nothing at all like what I was expecting. By the Rings, you speak of the impossible!”
“You think it impossible for me, do you?” Veil questioned, narrowing her gaze.
Immediately Saraya froze. “N-No,” she corrected, but…was that a lie?
“You doubt me then?” Veil continued.
“No, never!” Saraya exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I’ve never doubted you!”
“Then know this,” the ringmaster stated, confidence bolstering her every word. “What is impossible for all others is not so for me. I hate the gods, Saraya, and would damn them all to the deepest ring of Agonis, to its blackest of hells for eternity if I could.” Though she may not have meant to do so, Veil trailed her fingers across the dark scar around her neck, the marred skin appearing stark in the fiery light. “Kayll, Fawln, Unaligned, it matters not to me. You say the task is impossible, but no one has before set out to do this as I will. And it will be I who succeeds.”
The strength of Veil’s words caused Saraya to shudder, for she could feel everything within them: her mistress’s ambitions, her self-assurance, even her deep, loathing hatred. Faced with the unexpected display of such raw, powerful emotion made the acrobat want to cower, and yet, there was a comfort that stemmed from the ringmaster too. It was a comfort born from the woman’s limitless confidence, and from Saraya’s own hope that Veil would succeed. Veil had never once failed in anything Saraya knew her to do before, and thus she’d always had full faith her judgment, never doubting Veil’s every decision. But stopping the Fall…could it truly be done? Even if not, could Saraya sit idly by and simply let it come? No, of course she couldn’t. If there was any chance at all that Veil could truly prevent the Fall, then Saraya had to help or else everything she’d come to love would perish with the changing times.
“So what is it then?” Saraya asked, accepting Veil’s desire for what it was, though not yet understanding her role. “What am I supposed to do?”
“That which I have already told you,” Veil responded matter-of-factly, “you will carry out all I assign. Following your revelry, you will travel north come dawn, where your task will be to seek out and kill the Mediator of Cambria.” The emotionless tone by which Veil spoke the outrageous request caught Saraya more off guard than the demand itself. Yet compared to everything else she had been told so far, the task of assassination seemed almost too straightforward and simple.
Nevertheless, an excited tremor shot through the acrobat’s spine at the promise of bloodshed and thrill, though it was not truly her who had so strongly reacted to it. “You require someone murdered?” Alter spoke with the sneer of Saraya’s lips. “Consider it done!”
“Wait,” Saraya harshly snapped, wrenching back her stolen voice. Rare were the times that Alter spoke for them both, and her second’s excitement for bloodshed was not always shared by her. Saraya more than Alter felt the real weight of this mission, the depth of its importance and the fallout it would cause. The death of Cambria’s Mediator was infinitely more complex than the secret disposal of an overly-handsy patron, and bode greater consequence than the silent theft of a street vendor’s unwatched change. Though the circus earned the majority of its coin and goods through honest means, criminal affronts were not uncommon among its many members. Because of this, no one really batted an eye when someone committed a crime, and Saraya was chief among the crewmen who had a habit of breaking laws. For years she had been honing more nefarious skills at Veil’s request, skills that few others could hope to possess or let alone have need to use. But never did the acrobat expect to use her talents on so grand a scale. A political assassination was leagues above anything she’d ever been tasked with before, and more dangerous, more daunting, than anything she’d ever dared to do. Truthfully, she wasn’t even certain she could complete such a momentous job, even if Veil did seem to believe her able to see it done.
“I hand chose you for this purpose, Saraya,” Veil spoke then in the silence, her words a calm response as though she’d read Saraya’s mind. “I make no choice without first evaluating every course I may take. If I did not know you will succeed, then I would not have left it to you.”
But the ringmaster’s words did little to ease the acrobat’s spinning mind. Everything was so sudden, so weighty, that it scared her a great deal. Even the spark of joy that had blossomed within her couldn’t fully counteract it. Yes, she knew now what so many others did not, and she was happy knowing that she had earned this much of Veil’s trust and faith. That her matron believed in her this much…it was certainly a wonderful thing, and yet she couldn’t help but remain fearfully hesitant. “The Mediator’s death,” Saraya began, pondering everything still, “it will help to stop the Fall?”
“It will,” Veil answered, stepping gently nearer as she spoke, “and it will aid the circus as well. Everything I will require will be for the good of our home and all within it.”
Likely these words were meant to give Saraya hope, to give her purpose. But in spite of the promise laced within, they failed to reach their goal. Doubt swelled within the acrobat even stronger now, welling within the pit of her chest like a dreadful bubble ready to burst. Surely someone as untested as her was unfit to carry out such a delicate task! Why would Veil thrust this upon her now?!
“I…I don’t know…” Saraya muttered, giving in to her reservations. “I’m not sure I’m ready for something like this.”
“I am,” Alter sharply countered, stealing Saraya’s voice once more. “Such tasks are precisely what I was born for.”
Saraya grimaced in having her tongue stolen away again, and fell deeply quiet against Alter’s courage. Her counterpart’s reckless bravery made her feel even worse about her own hesitation, no matter how justified it was. Yet Veil did not seem bothered by either one of their replies.
“You both are more than ready,” she stressed, glossing over Alter’s attempts to upstage her other half. “However, if one of you is not yet convinced, then I will grant you time to think it over.” Alter bristled at these words—she needed no such time!—but though she began to protest, Veil silenced her with a sharp gesture. “Your revelry is in two days,” the ringmaster continued calmly. “I will expect your answers then. In that time, I advise you reevaluate what your duty to the circus truly is.”
“Isn’t my duty to you?” Saraya said, confused by what was being asked.
“Is it?” Veil posed instead, this perplexing the acrobat all the more. Saraya’s duty was always to the circus, and even more so to Veil. How, then, could saying so possibly be wrong? “I am certain you will find your answer in time,” the ringmaster assured in her usual, stoic tone, and considering their conversation now complete, she made back toward the wagon door. “Now come,” she told the acrobat, motioning for Saraya to follow. “It is high time that the circus take its leave.”