Cirque De Sem'ya

Chapter 10 - Finale

The final destination for the company found itself to be an abandoned field outside of the citty lines of Boston. Preparations were put into place and the Irishman watched in curiosity and notes in his hand from all that he had seen; the actuations of fear seemed to be simple exaggerations, nothing more, but he knew, the darkness was yet to be seen. And so he watched as the company prepared within the confines of the tent. His mind barely registered the approaching figure before they had take a seat beside him. He half expected to find Weslyn to be the one but watched in awe that it was the Ringmaster watching beside him, dressed in a red, black, and gold uniform. The two had not spoken since the "interrogation" on the first day, using the Ambassador as a messenger between the two men.

"Beautiful, isn't it? They are beginning to trust you, have you noticed?"

"I never thought it would end up this way, or for I all to be this way." The Irishman confessed.

"Trust is a fragile thing, is it not? We have told you secrets that some swore would be taken to the grave, yet here we are, with that book in your hand. But trust goes both ways. Now I want you to trust me when I say this: if any of the contents of that book is seen by the world, I will do everything in my power to make sure every remnant of Officer Sean Clyde Rafferty is wiped from this wretched Earth. Do I make myself clear?"

The Irishman regarded the man with ice in his eyes, Never had the thought of betrayl to the company crossed his mind and the Ringmaster's speech on the first day made the consequences abundantly clear. Hr gritted his teeth and slipped the book into the pocket of his jacket.

"Crystal."

The Ringmaster nodded and clapped the younger man on the back. "I assure you that our time will be much easier from this point on now that we see eye to eye. With that out of the way, I assume that our dear Ambassador has already invited you to the performance this night. I would like to convey my own invitation to you as well."

"You're too kind."

The two did all they could to fall into a comfortable silence and focus on the practices ahead until the performance was nearing it's time; but the tension was as thick as fog. Eventually, the Ringmaster simply took his leave, abandoning the Irishman with his thoughts. It wasn't long until Madame Ambassador came searching for him.

"There you are. Come, I know the perfect seat." She offered her arm for him to take.
During their travels, his wounds had begun to heal, meaning her gestures were more out of affection than simply out of assistance. It was because of the length of the journey, the Irishman had to resort to wearing company members' clothing, instead of his bloodied rags; specifically the eldest knife thrower and trapeze artist. She led him throwing the growing crowd of anxious spectators to sit next to a young girl covered in flowers, who looked vaguely familiar to the Irishman.

"My younger, darling sister." Weslyn supplied, patting his arm and smiled to the girl as they sat.

The young girl smiled and handed the Irishman a small flower from the wooden box. He took it graciously and slipped it  into the pocket of the Trapeze Artist's coat. The lights around the crowds began to dim, leaving them secluded in the shadows of the night. Only a single candle waited in the center of the ring. All watched in anticipation as a figure stepped forward to sit behind the dancing flame. He swayed along with the flame as strings played their haunting melody. It was rather beautiful until the peace was shattered when two figures stepped out of the dark and towards the man. Under the pale light, skulls could be made out covering their features.

"Look out!" A voice shrieked from a row behind the Irishman and the girls.

The Irishman jerked back to the voice, but it was too late, out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a glint of metal against the light. He made an attempt to stand, but Madame Ambassador held him still. A scream echoed through the tent when the knife slit against the man's throat. The flames erupted with his screams, flying towards the heavens and illuminating for all to see. Candles became lit by the inferno, even after the flames had died down into hazy billows of smoke that covered the floor. With the smokes as their cover, the two masked figures crumpled and collapsed lifelessly to the ground. The Irishman looked back to Madame Ambassador, shocked and silently demanding an explanation for the murder they had all witnessed.
   
"Remember, nothing is as it seems." Her eyes trailed away and the Irishman followed her gaze.

Above the ring and up to the rup that strung between the two supporting posts. A woman had begun her trek across the rope, slowly and carefully with cloth wings on her back and a delicate umbrella for balance. She reached about the center of the rope when her balance began to sway. It was obvious she made an attempt to regain her composure, but it was a fruitless attempt. All watched in horror as the walker fell helplessly against the stream of blue fabric. There was a flurry of colors and within the fabric, a new woman appeared with beautiful blue and pale blonde decorating her body. It was a spectacle to see how she could bend her body in ways that would be deemed impossible, let alone while hanging from the fabric. She gently descended down the fabric, twisting and bending under its cover, until she too, disappeared in its blue.
At the ground, at it's end, stood a man, stood rather scandalously, all things considering. Riding boots and torn trousers with no shirt, only a sleeve of arm to cover from his left shoulder down to his fingertips. And a strap across his scarred chest. What caught the Irishman's attention was the blacked whip that hung at the man's waist. He took it into his hand and raised it above his head. A sickening snap was released when the man let the whip crack, followed by a symphony of roars from the darkness. Animals only know from textbooks, such as ions and tigers came racing out of the small opening.

The only color came sauntering on horseback one an ebony black and the other a snow white. It brought the Irishman such joy to see Mirra, to see her partaking with the company and bringing to life all of the stories she told him. The other rider must have been Rebecca. They rose with such poise and grace, regardless of the terror surrounding them. The two exchanged a nodded and looked upwards. Above their heads were three figures swung with ease; two men and a woman. The younger two swung lower towards the horses, hanging by their legs hooked over the bars. Both riders held their arms up, only to be snatched up into the air. The four swung over the heads of the spectators, gaining a roar of applause. While they swung, the third artist made his debut; letting go of his bar mid air and made a stance at on the middle platform once he hit the ground. The fabric from aloft his head cascaded down and pooled over his body. Reflected by the small candle before it, the fabric rippled and creased until the figure threw it unceremoniously off of his body. To the surprise of the crowd, standing was no longer the blonde haired, blue clad young man, but the foreboding Ringmaster dressed as a guardsman, complete with a saber at his waist.

"My, my, ladies and gentlemen, have you seen it all tonight. Poor lad, he did seem charming. But everyone knows that it is the demons that truly clam us in the end. Never fear what life holds for you, my dears, for it is death that we should be fearful of. God above can not always protect you, the Devil has his grip on all of our souls, the war rages and will never end, " He stops and laughs softly, "Would you look at that; you come for a show, a test of wonderment and here I am, preaching. My deepest apologies. Unfortunately I can not end our night on a pleasant note. The shadows are creeping in and the moon is beckoning us forward and I must go. As life goes on, remember to watch when the darkness looms closer, it may be the Cirque de Sem'ya willing to make the fears run rampant."

The Ringmaster held his arms outstretched and closed his eyes, briefly resembling Jesus on the crucifix. A crack echoed from the tent and a stream of red began to drip from the Ringmaster's mouth. He collapsed onto his back, the candle dying out with hima and sending the tent into a shocked darkness. The Irishman was stunned in silence, eyes trained at the lifeless body lying on the floor. He could make out the crowd begin to file out around him, but paid them no mind.

Madame Ambassador gently tugged on his arm, "Come, it is time for us to leave, the others are waiting for us."

He nodded numbly and let her lead him and her sister through the remaining stunned crowd. The three took an alternative exit than the others, staying close to the neighboring forest and making their way towards the railway. Tucked away among the pine was the Company's locomotive. Madame Ambassador led them through the back of the caboose and continued towards the main meeting car. The others were waiting for them inside, but the Irishman stopped dead at the door. Lounging on one of the couches was the Flame Breather, alive and well, with red staining his vest collar and a cigarette between his lips. Sitting partly on his lap and combing her fingers through his hair, sat the Woman from the fight. The Irishman attempted to pry his eyes off of the two of them but struggled, having Madame Ambassador pull him away to a spare couch.

Time of silence and whispers passed until the door began to open. Dressed down in britches and a shirt stained red, and his characteristic smirk, was the Ringmaster, applauding. "Bravo. Bravo."