Le Cirque de la Lumière - Phan

Prologue

Welcome to a festival of light, that’s gone in the morning but stays through the night. Colours paint a world you’ll never forget, and visitors show no sign of regret. A circus of sights, so please, stop and stare;

 

Welcome, to the Cirque de la Lumière.

 

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Of all the stories and tales weaved into the fabric of history, there have always been a few that people truly believed.

No fable stays the same for long, but most keep their essence as they are passed on generation to generation through words and song and pictures and text. Children sink as easily into fairytales as they do into slumber. Rich blankets of woven magic to tuck them in at night and fill their dreams with adventure. Giants, dwarves, fairies and sorcerers. Princesses and fairy kingdoms. Unicorns with wings that will carry them to the moon, if only they believe hard enough. These are tales told with a twinkling eye and a knowing chuckle.

They change a little with each retelling as they are embellished and spun by the storyteller; perhaps to cater to the specific mind of the listening ears, but more likely it is for the quiet pleasure of the murmuring adult as they journey with their child through the brightest, most vibrant corner of their mind.

There are other stories that age just as well. Myths and legends, superstitions and folklore that have been used to explain strange happenings in the world and are passed along in much the same way. It is not just the young that listen to these stories.

The tale we are going to tell is just such a legend. This is a story about the small lights that float through the sky at night. They have many names and many forms, and carry with them stories as old as time. The Will o’ the Wisps, they say, will try to tempt you off your path.

One story tells of malevolent spirits, the dead that could not pass on so chose instead to linger in the breathing world and lure the unwitting traveller into a treacherous marsh or bog. Don’t follow the lights. It’s a warning as old as any can remember. Stick to the paths and beware the Wisps.

Then there are those of a scientific exposition. The little lights that burn over bogs and wetlands are just natural gases, methane released by the plant matter breaking down that ignites as it floats up and over the marsh. Ball lightning, perhaps, or maybe just the reflection of the moon against the white coat of a barn owl as it swoops over the grassland. Ignis fatuus is their scientific name, but there is nothing scientific about the stories that follow them.

Don’t follow the lights, for they will lead you to your destiny, and we all know that’s a realm we’d rather not venture to. Don’t follow the lights, for there is treasure at the other end, and treasure corrupts the hearts of men.

Dan was five years old when his Grandma first told him of the Wisps.

“They will lead you to your fate. It’s up to you, Daniel. If you’re feeling lucky then you should follow them. Find out what destiny has in store for you. It could be good. Maybe there’s treasure.”

“But Grandpa says they’ll lead me into the bog. Into sinking sand. He says I’ll drown.” Dan frowned.

A fire was lit in the hearth and the rug was warm under Dan’s tiny feet. He sat down with a thwump and stared up at his Grandmother through wide, brown eyes.

Grandma’s eyes were grey and twinkling. “Well, Grandpa’s a miserable old sod. I suppose it has some truth in it, that does happen. Because they lead you to your destiny, and if you’ve been a bad person then your destiny lies at the bottom of a very large lake. But you’re not going to be a bad boy, Daniel. I can tell. You’re a good boy, so your destiny will be bright. Those with dark souls go to dark places when they follow the Will o’ the Wisps. You’re going somewhere great. Somewhere light.”