Siren's Call

Chapter 3 - Fear

3 - Fear

"Come with me," a voice said sharply. Danae's head snapped back down as she tore her eyes away from the lights with difficulty. The man who had spoken was not the performer, but the ringmaster himself. He was dressed a tuxedo, complete with a cape. A top hat was balanced on his head, atop the long golden hair that veiled his face. His eyes were black, but they held no warmth but instead a cold darkness that seemed eternal. 

The angry lines of his face had come into sharp relief under the lights, all traces of civility disappearing from his voice. As he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the entrance flap, Danae thought she caught the flash of fear in his eyes, but just as quickly, it disappeared, leaving her unsure of what she saw. The man, the performer, followed behind closely. Like the ringmaster, he no longer looked friendly.

As the ringmaster pulled her towards the exit, he stopped only once to speak to one of the men standing by the edge of the ring. The man was muscular, his brawn even more evident beneath the dark suit. "Renner, keep the audience busy. I need privacy," the ringmaster said. His urgency was catching; Danae's own heartbeat sped up. Renner nodded, and walked to the center, taking up the position of ringmaster. His deep voice boomed across the tent. "Please, settle down. We still have more to come!"

Danae just managed to catch a glimpse of Vincent pushing through the crowd towards her. His call was lost in the noise, and then she was pulled into the open air. 

They — the ringmaster and the performer — led her through the maze of tents, and as her unusual entourage walked past, everyone stopped to stare. The fire breathers faltered, their flames extinguished when their focus had been broken. The clowns, too, fell silent, one even falling off his unicycle as their eyes fell on her. Danae kept her eyes locked in front as she tried to rip her hand free from the ringmaster's grip, but his hand had formed manacles around her wrist, keeping a tight hold on her. 

They came to a tent, identical to the ones that surround it. The men showed her in. It was crudely furnished: there was a bed set in the furthest corner. Beside it, a wooden chair and table stood empty, as did a shelf. "Wait here," the ringmaster ordered brusquely; there was no attempt at congeniality. 

As the ringmaster and the man disappeared into the shadows, she fell back into the chair. Her mind whirled as worry began to build up. What was going to happen next?

Suspicion reached a peak, and fear began to creep up her spine, roping around her heart. Unable to wait, she crept to the tent flap on hunter's feet, her sneakers not making a single sound as she moved towards the entrance. A quick glance around told her she was utterly alone. No guards stood by the tent to keep her confined within it, leaving her free to roam. 

She moved past the entrance flap into the open. Her head told her to leave instantly, but something else in her whispered, "Wait." Her eyes flitted to a tent at the farthest end of the field, which was just a shade smaller than the Big Top itself.

Rather than the yellow and orange that colored the rest of the tents, this one was a blue so dark it was almost black, adorned with silver dots that glimmered under the lights. As Danae moved closer, she saw that the lines that connected each of the dots were not lines at all, but rather small letters that read 'belief' and 'magic', and each set of connected dots, Danae realized, represented a constellation. Her fingers trailed over one she knew as Orion, and let them brush across Sirius. Voices were a gentle hum as the flap of the tent whipped with the winds, a nearly irresistible offer to enter.

"What has happened, Ferran?" a harsh voice said. Hostility was so apparent in it that Danae could hardly recognise the fact that it was the dark-haired man, the performer, who had so gently asked her on stage just barely five minutes ago. But despite the fury, Danae caught the tinge of music that seem to ring in every word. It was not obvious, but to a trained ear like Danae's, the man's voice was beautiful. If the moon and its beams were a harp, Danae was sure only this man's voice can eclipse it thoroughly, fully, or at the very least, compliment the notes with utmost grace.