The Mortal And The Wicked-- ONC 2023

Chapter 23; Of decaying magic and other abnormalities

By now Lucy saw that the carnival was truly dying, the tents having lost their lustrous hue, now sagging as though they might topple in upon themselves. The onyx path dull and no longer reflecting the stars above. The lanterns casting a sickly green hue upon it all, as if it were diseased.

The magic was fading, and those that still remained throughout the night knew so, their steps quiet and hurried as they made their way to the silver gates. The streets now nearly empty, leaving only the dead to stand about, lost as they watched their loved ones return to the world of the living.

The joyous music had ceased, leaving the air heavy with a stiff silence as everything around them began to decay, perfumed with the stench of spoiled food and stale sweat and blood.

Shuddering, Lucy stepped closer to the Baron, the presence of another living being-- or rather, dead, she supposed-- bringing her a small sense of comfort. For now that the carnival had darkened, so too had its performers, many of whom walked with eyes downcast or glaring at the remaining guests with looks of warning.

Yet from among these downcast performers only one remained as celebratory as she had at the beginning of the night; and that was Mabel, a spark of sunlight amidst the gloom as she pranced about the centermost of the carnival where Lucy and the Baron walked.

Indeed, the goat seemed oblivious to the ruin of the carnival around her, prancing about in her own strange little dance. Yet at the sight of Lucy and the Baron, she paused, prancing over to them in a jovial manner at odds with the sadness around them.

"Ah, my friends have arrived!" she bleated, "Haven't you had the most wonderous time at the carnival? it's nearly coming to a close now, yet there's still quite a bit more fun to be had!"

Her joyous manner unnerved Lucy ever so slightly--feeling as though it was but a façade to distract from the depleting magnificence of the tents and the weeping of dead lovers left behind. "Mabel, why does everything look... ill? It's as though the carnival is dying."

At this, the goat's expression finally faltered, tears of distress welling in her eyes immediately as though she had held them back for far too long. Yet nevertheless, she made some meager attempt to carry on. "Perhaps it's but the shadows playing wicked tricks upon you? I can assure you the carnival is as magnificent as it was at the beginning of the night..."

"No, that's not--." Lucy felt the Baron nudge her slightly and she softened her tone. "I only mean to say that... Something isn't right. The carnival is different and it comes only with the dying of the night. Tell me, is there something wrong with it?"

Something within Mabel's expression broke then, the mask falling to pieces.

"It's Azrael." she answered quietly, perhaps afraid that someone else might overhear. "His soul is linked to the carnival and it's his magic that keeps it alive. He knows the night is coming to an end."

"And what happens to him when the night ends?" The Baron asked then, surprising Lucy with the intensity of his tone.

Mabel looked for a moment as though she did not wish to answer, yet in the end she did so, her bleating voice trembling ever so slightly. "He disappears into the mist. For a whole year he is kept as though in a cage, a small part of him being chipped away every time. It is there that he becomes a little less human."

By now Lucy's mouth had gone dry, a horrid taste of bile rising at the back of her throat. For perhaps Azrael had been horrid... Yet now she knew there was a reason for it. And though she detested him, there was a greater part of her that knew that no one deserved such a fate.

Glancing at the Baron, she saw a similar expression upon his face, yet there was an understanding between the two that they could not change Azrael's fate, only their own. Thus, with a gentle demeanor Lucy placed her hand upon the goat's shoulder, speaking softly to her.

"Mabel, we need only a final key in order to leave. The night is ending and I... I wish to bring the Baron home."

Mabel nodded, a new strength returning to her. "Right, of course. The key of Death. It shall set everything right once you find it."

"Can you give us a clue, perhaps?"

"You already have the clue, my dear. I trust that you shall know what it means."

With that, Mabel gave her a final, knowing look then pranced off once more into the shadows, her steps slightly less jovial than before.

Thus, left alone once more, the two could think of little else to do but find some answer to the final part of the riddle, the words still clear within Lucy's memory.

And in the darkest reign of the Thorn

Death will wait forever more

As every other line of the riddle had been, it was one of dreadful nonsense; meaning anything from the painfully obvious to the obscure. And though perhaps earlier within the night Lucy might have been able to think of some clever answer, the weary ache of her body and the mist that clouded her head made it all seem impossible.

Indeed, as she looked now to the Baron she found his own shoulders slumped forward, his head hanging low, a grim sense of hopelessness settling between them. Not entirely for the reality of what might happen should they not find the final key, but in part also for what would happen if they did. If they somehow managed to set it all right the way it had been.

For what would happen to them once the night ended? Would it all come right back to where they had begun, an unhappy matrimony in the making? A beginning to the rest of their lives in which two strangers who didn't particularly like one another were placed together under the expectations of two meddling grandmothers?

She shuddered at the very thought of it.

Yet in the end, Lucy knew that this was what must be done. For she had come too far and had endured too many abnormalities of the magical variety to simply walk through the silver gates without the Baron in tow. And the marriage...

Well, she would sort all that out when it came down to it. Even if she had to do so at the altar itself.

This thought filled her with a new determination, and at once she drew her wandering thoughts back to the riddle. Back to the way home.

With fierce intensity she once more pulled the phrase apart, examining each section, thinking of places and items within the carnival that she had seen throughout the night already that could pertain to such words.

It came to her like a dash of cold seawater against a cliffside. A revelation of the night's events that wove itself together in a dreadful answer.

A reign of dark thorns and a throne made of such. A silver chain around carnival master's neck dipping down beneath his collar so as to not be fully visible. A throne of brambles atop which sat the Lord of the Dead. All of it coming together into one last dreadful piece of the puzzle.

"What is it?" the Baron asked, having no doubt seen the expression upon her face. "Have you thought of something?"

Lucy nodded, hardly daring to say the words that were perched on the edge of her tongue, yet forcing them out anyway where they hung, hollow in the air between them.

"Azrael has the Key of Death."

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