Carnival Souls

Puppet Master

Lira sank down into the chair facing Bebinn's desk. After days of lying curled on a hard, stone floor even the minimal cushioning on the straight-backed chair was a relief. Her back spasmed and her hands twitched as her muscles settled in. A small sigh escaped her chapped lips. Her eyes had adjusted on the way up from the dungeons, so she no longer had to squeeze them shut against the burning gas lamps, but she still found it difficult to look at Bebinn.

            The witch had settled into her own plush, winged-back chair and was watching Lira coolly. A ruby pendant glittered at her throat and it made Lira think of blood welling from a wound. She found herself grimly wishing that were the case.

            "I suppose you think yourself clever, do you?" she asked, a steely edge to her voice. For a moment, Lira had thought Bebinn had read her mind, but then she continued. "You and your little friend, the carver."

            Lira swallowed against her dry throat. She had not heard news of anyone else in the carnival since the time Atlas had come to taunt her outside the cell. In the long, lonely hours in the dark, she had partitioned her mind to keep the fear and worry for the others at bay, but now the door came crashing open and it all flooded in. Her back spasmed again. Lira licked the cracked corners of her mouth and tasted salt and copper. "I don't know what you mean," she rasped.

            "Oh yes, very clever," Bebinn said. "Using the kelpie hunt to sneak away and find Zabaria."

            A stone dropped into Lira's stomach and whatever flickered across her drawn face made Bebinn's cool gaze turn to ice.

            "You're a smart girl, Lira," said Bebinn. "I thought you would've learned by now."

            "I've learned a lot since speaking to Zabaria," Lira returned, though the harshness of her words was softened by her nearly nonexistent voice.

            Bebinn leaned forward, interlocking her hands on the desktop. "What is it do you think we're doing here, my dear?" she asked.

            "I think you're using innocent children to murder people," she replied. Her right arm trembled, her hand cramping, and she used her left to steady it.

            Bebinn smirked. She sat back, the lamplight gleaming off her auburn hair and her smooth, porcelain skin. She looked young, barely thirty, not all that much older than Lira was now, but the cruel lines that shaped the curve of her mouth, the slight narrowing of her eyes, the angle at which she held her head, spoke of an entire lifetime of resentment. "I notice you didn't say 'innocent people.' That's an important distinction, don't you think?"

            "I don't think I or you have the authority to decide that."

            Bebinn stood and walked around the desk, her long, navy dress swishing, and came to a stop in front of Lira. "You disagree that someone who kills someone, someone innocent, deserves to suffer the same fate?"

            Lira closed her eyes and shook her head; she would not let Bebinn twist this around her so that her thorned words turned to roses and covered the smell of death. "I disagree that the souls of children are used to carry out that fate; I disagree that the souls of children are used to cover up those wrongs."

            Bebinn appraised Lira, taking in her ragged and stained tunic, the grime on her hands and feet and face, the tangles in her hair, and lastly, the fire burning through all that in her eyes. "I am not the villain here, Lira –" she began.

            "I disagree with that too –"

            "I am merely giving a better afterlife to those who were wronged. Some call it mercy, some call it justice, whatever you may call it, it rights a wrong."

            "Do you only allow those who have been murdered to go back?" asked Lira. She forced herself to hold Bebinn's gaze, but it was like trying to hold ice in her bare hands; it burned.

            The witch's face pinched slightly at the question. "Not always. I make exceptions in certain cases."

            "So you're judge and jury," Lira said. She cocked her head, trying to probe the momentary weakness Bebinn had let slip. "What if someone lies to you? What if they say one thing and go back and get the wrong person?"

            "Vivian checks their past for me to ensure they are telling the truth," said Bebinn, waving the implications away. Her expression was hard once more, and she didn't answer the second question.

            "And what about the children you steal?"

            "They are not harmed in any lasting way. When the process is complete, we send them home."

            "With invisible blood on their hands," Lira snapped. No matter what Bebinn or Atlas said to her, they would never convince her that what they were doing was right. She was going to leave the Spirit World, one way or another, but they were going to stop this carnival of terrors first.

            "I see this is upsetting you, dear. Why do you think it is I never told you? I will give you a chance to think it over and perhaps see things our way. But you best do it fast, we have a small problem to take care of before we can continue our work." Bebinn let her words sink in and then continued. "In a few days' time, Zabaria and the horde of mongrels she commands will be marching on our carnival seeking to put an end to all our good. I need you to begin getting our troops ready."

            Bebinn reached behind her and produced the violin, its polished wood gleaming like bronze in the lamplight.

            Lira's heart sank in dread. "I won't," she said, but her thin voice broke. "I won't!"

            Bebinn's eyes glittered like sun striking a glacier, but Lira refused to look away. She was tired of being a puppet, tired of forcing others to be puppets as well. Bebinn brushed her long fingers lightly across the strings and there was a faint musical shiver to the air, just on the edge of hearing. Lira suddenly ripped the jade bracelet from her wrist and threw it on the desk. The stones clattered against the wood and it slide to a stop, dangling off the far edge. "Atlas told me," Lira said, her voice low and harsh. "I'm not doing it."

            Bebinn looked at the bracelet and then over to Lira and her smile was the feral smile of something wild. "Oh, I think you will, dear. You still belong to me, remember?" She swept her hand across the strings again and as the violin rang out, something in Lira's abdomen, behind her stomach, clenched involuntarily. But it wasn't just a gut reaction to Bebinn's words, it was as though a hand had begun to squeeze something at her very core. It went deeper than bone, deep enough that the sensation made Lira feel as though her whole body was twisting around that focal point. Lira gagged and took a deep, shuddering breath. "And I still hold the strings, so to speak," Bebinn finished.    

            I suspect part of your soul resides in that instrument. Zabaria's words echoed back to her. The violin was of Bebinn's making; it didn't matter how hard Lira fought, she would lose. And she would send spirits to their deaths.

            Bebinn placed the violin in her twitching hands and the wood warmed under her touch. She had never hated a thing so much and she longed to grip the instrument in her hands and take a swing at Bebinn's head. But she did not cry and she did not throw it. She wrapped her fingers around it, hearing the strings protest as though the instrument was choking, and stood when Bebinn ordered her to.

            She followed in silence as she was led to her rooms and said nothing more as she walked inside and the door was locked behind her.

            Instead, she sat on the ground, placed the bow on the strings, and began to play.

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Sorry for the wait, guys! And thank you for your patience. So, what did you think?! A bit of a filler perhaps, but we are getting so close to the end! Can you feel it? Do you have any predictions? :)