The Ringmaster's Revenge

The Ringmaster's Revenge: Phase Sixteen

Phase Sixteen

10years: 10months: 13days: 7hours

Until the Ringmaster’s Revenge

Aviraz

The shade had never felt pain so raw and blinding as he did upon entering the empirical world with its glowing blond orb of fire.  It hung in an impossibly blue sky, seemingly harmless but suffocating.  Like water, light flowed over the never ending maze of sharp mason structures chasing the sad shadows as the sun journeyed from one end of the world to the other.  They scuttled to and fro, hiding behind boxes and even traipsing after masons wearing elongated man shapes.  All this repelled Aviraz.  Though, at the same time, he wanted to stay and stare forever.  He’d heard of such a thing before.  The men of Midnight often told tales of a land on the other side of Sequents where an abominable tyrant in celestial form dominated the land.  Unlike the gentle moon it was a harsh master that burned the very creatures it sustained.  It appeared to Aviraz that his people were more accurate than he’d imagined, for the rumor of a sun’s cruelty instantly proved itself upon his flesh, which steamed like rain on warm stone.  He sailed for the nearest hint of shade, looming between crates on the back of a wooden cart, and wriggled in through a hole in the side of a sealed barrel.  It was dark, but not nearly dark enough so Aviraz squeezed into the very heart of the dirt speckled vegetables within.

Shortly after he’d climbed inside, the cart began to roll and the rocking lulled him into a much needed sleep.  He was fortunate that potatoes were not popular in Quill Hollow thus the merchant left the shade in peace and, as soon as night fell, Aviraz woke feeling whole again.  Fires, lamps, and torches polluted the feeble night and he could feel the lingering traces of sunlight in the sky though it had long since sunk over the horizon to torture more innocent victims one the other side of the world.  Its warmth remained too, but even Aviraz had to admit it felt somewhat comforting, as if the streets were wrapped in a wool blanket. 

Aviraz stood and decided shadow hopping would be unwise in such an unfamiliar place, so instead he walked through the glum streets.  The merchant cart had taken him far from the tear between spheres and he figured he was deep within the bowels of the beastly city.  He’d seen villages large enough to have earned such a title back in Twilight, but they’d been simple.  Stone cottages, pit-houses, medicine huts built with woven moss, all grouped together and appearing vast when standing in town square but nearly invisible from the hills.  In contrast, the mason city was a monster of towering buildings, rambling homes comprised of a dozen materials, and decorative stonework.  The masons themselves were grim, hurried creatures either shuffling with their heads down low or raving noisily. 

As the shade walked past a pack of males, each still in transition from boy to man, one let out a loud bark and his clan-mates responded with howls of their own which sounded like, “Ha ha ha ha.”  Aviraz steadied himself against a wall, resisted the urge to disappear, and watched them.  Covet had done that often.  Laughter.  Uncontrolled and authentic laughter.  His wife and kids had done that too at one time.  But there had been so few residents in the palace frequent to mirth that it had startled him.  Besides, Shadowmynn possessed a much more dignified way to express amusement.  He continued staring, while walking backwards until he bumped into a short woman wearing a bonnet and clutching a basket of menacing bread sticks, long as swords.  She yowled, “Watchit y’idiot.”

“Watchit y’idiot,” repeated Aviraz.  The woman moved on and Aviraz followed a winding stretch of alleyways.  Though fond of very few foods but red meat, the loaves had reminded Aviraz how hungry he was so he kept an eye out for something edible.  But before he’d found anything a crowd of boisterous masons got his attention.  They were gathered in a wide space between rectangular shops, with several kneeling towards the front while others jostled each other for a closer look at something the shade could not see.  Aviraz nudged through the assembly and found the sight beyond their bloated bodies truly appalling.  At the center of the ring of flesh, standing before a red-faced grisly bear of a man winding a musical box, was a mason child no taller than a knee.  Back and forth it wiggled, waiting for a hand to extend from the audience.  Then it would leap forward, take a shiny disk from the spectator’s fingers, remove its little red cap and bow.  The child wore only a tiny vest and was a great deal hairier then adult masons.  It also had a tail, which Aviraz assumed fell off, along with the hair, when the child came of age.