Carnival of Souls

CHAPTER 21

AFTER ZEVI LED KALEB away, Aya watched with the rest of the spectators as Sol was gathered by his family’s servants. Unlike the curs who entered the competition, ruling-class daimons had the ability to resume their lives if they forfeited. If she weren’t carrying the secret she had and if she weren’t female, she could do that too. The daimons who filled The City didn’t know she was as trapped as the curs were, but she did.

She didn’t have the comfort of being in either group. Her class made her separate from the curs; her independence made her barely tolerated by those of her class. She was neither at the top or bottom, and she was definitely not welcome in the trades class.

As Sol passed her, he had his eyes downcast, but she knew that his humility would fade as his bruises did. As a result of today’s fight, he would either be extra harsh to curs, or he’d learn from it. Only time would tell.

All things considered, the fight had turned out well. The worst that had happened was that Kaleb saw a part of himself that he disliked — and blamed her.

“Haage hired the cur to kill Marchosias’ child,” a Watcher whispered.

Aya turned her head, but the woman was already leaving. She walked toward three black-masked daimons who stood silent and waiting. As the Watcher reached their side, they turned.

The last one nodded at Aya as her gaze fell on them.

The missing child was the daughter of a Watcher. Aya knew that much, but no one had been able to find the girl. Until Marchosias’ announcement, the girl had been assumed dead by many daimons, but the last news that Aya had learned — news that was never made public — was that the girl had been spirited away by witches. Most daimons had no ties to the Witches’ Council, and although Aya did, she had no further information. Evelyn had been decidedly closemouthed when Aya had asked. They protected their own, and even though Aya was technically one of them, she was just as much daimon as she was witch.

More perhaps.

She looked toward the teeming masses in the carnival and saw what she assumed to be one of the same black-masked daimons staring at her. He—or she—nodded again and then beckoned her forward with a slight head tilt.

“Right,” she muttered. “Follow the masked assassin. Great idea.”

The unpleasant reality was that although the black-masks weren’t precisely organized, they were often influenced by Haage. As brother to The City’s ruler and as one of the most successful assassins, he inspired — or otherwise enforced — a lot of allegiance. As much as she had qualms about Marchosias as an individual, she respected the hell out of him as a ruler. Haage, on the other hand, made Marchosias seem positively forward thinking. He had tried and failed at various attacks on The City’s ruler; he exploited scabs, curs, and trades-class daimons. The only caste he wouldn’t strike outright was the ruling class, but that would pass in time too. For now, he stuck to killing off any witches bound to them. Witches’ heads were found skewered on pikes at the edge of The City. Their bodies, presumably, were discarded in the Untamed Lands or simply destroyed. Within The City, many moves toward civility were done at Marchosias’ behest, just as the most barbarous of acts were credited to Haage. Aya knew enough to suspect both daimons of barbarism and deceit, but she also knew that The City would become a deadlier place if Haage gained power — and that the witches who remained in The City would all be killed.

There weren’t too many daimons she’d rather not cross outright. Her rank and her hidden skills meant that if she couldn’t avoid trouble, she could resolve it permanently. Haage, however, was a daimon whose attention she’d like to avoid. She wasn’t fighter enough to take him on directly, and she couldn’t kill him with witchery without exposing herself. If these assassins were in his employ, she was in trouble. Actually, if they weren’t in his employ, she was in trouble too. Going with them could mean crossing Haage or inadvertently working with him. Neither was the sort of action that led to longevity.

Nice of you to warn me of your brethren’s interest, Kaleb.

As stealthily as she could, she followed the assassin through the carnival — or maybe she followed several different assassins. She kept losing sight of the nondescript black masks he or they wore, only to see a subtle gesture beckoning her forward.

Aya followed the black-masked daimon through a circuitous route around the carnival. Each time she lost sight of the daimon, she paused to inspect vendors’ wares, lingered in front of market stalls examining cloth and fruits, and idled to watch dancers. Each time, she was led farther until she’d left the carnival behind and found herself trailing her unknown guide through the thick of The City. The streets were filled with all classes of daimons, who gathered to talk or made their way to their homes, jobs, or recreations.

She kept watching for a doorway that she was to enter, but her guide continued on until they stood at the far edge of The City. Strange gnarled trees shredded the ruins of buildings that had been abandoned by daimons who had moved farther from or into The City. Animals roamed in undergrowth; their cries made their presences known even though she couldn’t see them. Scores of Marchosias’ best fighters patrolled the perimeter, hidden among those same verdant plants and trees.

The assassin, thankfully, didn’t lead her into the Untamed Lands. She — and now that they were side by side, Aya could tell that this assassin was female — stood silent. Before them was the massive expanse of the wilds that pushed in toward The City. Behind them was the overcrowded, class-divided morass of The City. Even though she couldn’t see it, Aya knew the Carnival of Souls pulsed in the center — a swirl of masked pleasure and violence. Outside The City was something unordered. There, class lines were not observed. Food was what one killed or stole. The City was rife with corruption, but it had order that the Untamed Lands lacked.

“Haage would have all of our world like that.” The black-masked daimon stared into the Untamed Lands. “You’ve been out there. Is that what you think best?”

Aya wasn’t about to start talking about her trips into the Untamed Lands. That wasn’t anyone’s business but her own. The scars she’d earned there were the only ones she’d had removed. If what she could do out there became known, it would be the same as announcing that she was a witch stronger than any allowed to live within The City.

And I’d be dead by the next morning.

There was no way to convey her desire to help The City without Marchosias feeling like she was power hungry. Power-hungry witches died. Strong witches died.

Aya kept her features expressionless as she waited for the assassin to say more.

“Marchosias tries to push the border out farther every season; he tries to protect his people. He is flawed, but he works hard to be a good ruler for The City,” the assassin said. She looked at Aya briefly, revealing the red-and-blue-ringed eyes of a Watcher, before adding, “I have ample reason to hate him, but he is better than the alternatives.”

The flat tone of the Watcher’s voice told Aya what the daimon didn’t: this was someone who knew Marchosias personally.

“His last child was the child of a Watcher,” Aya said with as little affect as possible.

Although Aya couldn’t see it, she thought the Watcher might have smiled behind her mask because the tone of her voice was amused as she answered, “I am not the girl’s mother.”

Aya tensed as the undergrowth quivered with the movement of either an animal or a soldier. A growl quickly revealed that it wasn’t a soldier approaching.

“Should we—”

“Move,” the Watcher directed. She launched herself forward as a bovine creature charged toward them.

In the same moment, she’d retrieved a small ax from somewhere under her coat. Before Aya could help in their defense, the Watcher buried the ax in the animal’s neck. It fell, making noises of protest. As it died, the Watcher rejoined Aya.

“Out there”—the Watcher gestured with the gore-coated weapon—“that is normal.”

Aya was transfixed as a group of Watchers appeared from the same thick undergrowth and began dragging the animal away. She didn’t want to stay here, didn’t want to wander into that part of the world. She stepped backward. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To see why Marchosias needs your help,” the Watcher said.

Aya shuddered. “I’m not sure why you think I can—”

“We know,” the Watcher interrupted.

With two simple words, the daimon beside her became more frightening than the creatures hidden in the Untamed Lands, more awful than the thought of death or loss or most anything Aya could imagine. She forced herself to try to stay calm. “I’m not sure what you think you know.”

“Evelyn,” the Watcher said. “We know what Evelyn did, what you are.”

Aya had drawn a knife and stepped farther back so that the Watcher was between her and the Untamed Lands. There was a risk that the Watcher could disappear into that foreboding growth, but better chance that than try to fight with the possibility of being attacked from behind by an animal.

“We don’t share secrets without reason. We have no reason to reveal yours.” The Watcher didn’t react to Aya’s posture or weapon. “Help Marc, and you will help yourself.”

Two more Watchers walked out of the Untamed Lands and stood one on either side of the Watcher who had been speaking. Both were unmasked.

The one to the left said, “The cur knows where one of the missing daughters is. We’ve seen them together.”

“Daughters?” Aya repeated.

“Ask the cur,” the first Watcher said.

“You cannot trust Evelyn,” the third Watcher added. “Help Marc.”

“How?”

“Tell him who your mother is,” the masked Watcher said.

Then all three of the Watchers turned and walked into the Untamed Lands. They’d apparently said all they intended to say for now.

Moments passed, and all Aya heard were the sounds of the creatures who roamed in the wilds. No daimons, Watcher or otherwise, appeared. No assassins arrived. The conversation they’d had could’ve been held in a stall in The City, but doing so wouldn’t have afforded the Watcher the ability to make an example of the nature outside The City — or afforded Aya the privacy she cherished.

Unfortunately, their wisdom didn’t make sense. There was no way that she was telling Marchosias what she was or who her mother was. It would be suicide. Aya didn’t put her knife away as she walked toward the familiar overcrowded streets of The City — nor did she stop watching for black-masked daimons. There were more secrets than she could make sense of. Right now, all she knew for certain was that Kaleb needed to share his secrets. After that, she could try to figure out what to do about Haage and Marchosias.

And the missing daughter… or daughters.