Hollowed Ground

Frivolous and Wicked

I'd never heard such noise, let alone walked straight into it like a zombie rising from the grave. Music, laughter, chatter blanketed by chatter and more chatter, announcers barking instructions and distractions trying to keep the crowd in some kind of order as folk lined up at the ticket booth outside the Witchlight Carnival. Thynol bounced in place in front of me while poor Conna clutched onto his shoulders for dear life. A child squealed behind me. "Wings!" She shouted, pointing to the wings the ticket master handed to a couple who looked vaguely familiar as they walked through the gate into the carnival.

"Welcome to the Witchlight Carnival!" The ticket master barked to the family in front of us. His voice carried all the way to the back of the line. "Memories to last a lifetime! Fun for one and all! Magic, spectacles, and exotic delicacies!"

I resisted the urge to turn around and go home. Someone was bound to die eventually despite the good weather. I didn't need to be running strange unearthly errands for Maddrick Rosloth to make it through the summer. And yet . . .

Well, Thynol and Conna were sure to get themselves into a mess if they went alone. Besides, Lisbeth was counting on me, wasn't she? I had promised her a bunny and a bunny she would have. There was nothing for it but to move forward. It would all be over in a day or two.

A mime appeared as if out of nowhere, dressed all in black and white, his face caked with makeup. He pranced around me, crossing his arms and making a grumpy face. He pointed at me. Thynol laughed.

I ignored them both.

The mime danced around me again, making faces and trying to catch my attention. He stuck out his tongue and stuck his thumbs in his ears then twirled on his toes. He did a cartwheel and stood on his head, then pointed to the corners of his lips and moved his fingers upward, grinning broadly.

I continued to ignore him. Finally, he slumped his shoulders in an exaggerated sigh and left. We moved forward in line. The ticket booth was decorated with stars and butterflies. They fluttered around in colorful blurs, making me dizzy.

"Tickets?" The ticket master reached out his hand.

"We're Madrick Rosloth's guests," I said. "He said everything was taken care of." I held my breath, hoping the mage hadn't forgotten our admission. Or maybe I was hoping he had. Then I could just go home.

The elderly goblin scratched his chin, then shuffled through a pile of crisp papers. "Ah, yes." He said after some time. "Three guests for Maddrick Rosloth. Choose your wings." He gestured towards a crate full of artificial wings.They glittered and sparkled and glimmered in all sorts of sickeningly bright colors.

"I'd rather not." I said, feeling a bit sick.

"You cannot enter the carnival without wings." The ticket master said. "If you take them off you will be asked to leave."

"Wings!" Conna slid off of Thynol's back and chose a pair of robin egg blue butterfly wings with black tips. She spun around in them, letting them flutter.

Thynol strapped a pair around his neck. They bounced behind his head, much too small to look like wings at all on his large furbold frame.

I sighed and pulled up a pair at random. They were black and looked like a child had drawn them. They were covered in red and blue splotches in no particular pattern. I shuddered but strapped them on. No doubt they stood out like a ghost at a wedding against my simple gray wool dress.

"Enjoy the Witchlight Carnival!" The gate swung open and we stepped inside.

It smelled like caramel and popcorn and sizzling meat. People skipped and laughed as they moved past, swirling in every direction like clouds before a thunderstorm. Lights flickered from the top of a Ferris wheel that spun while children ran in every direction. A couple walked past holding hands and leaning into each other – the same couple I had seen at the gate. I realized with confusion that it was Marcus and Mary Callaway who usually had nothing but harsh words for each other. The air was savory with chatter, bright and hazy like . . . like . . .