The Starlit Carnival

Chapter One

As long as she could remember, there had been the Carnival. As long as any of them could remember, except him. No matter how far back she went, it was all she found. Food frying, sawdust and sweat, mingling with the shouting and laughing of human visitors, all blissfully unaware of what night-time would bring. For the Starlit Carnival gained its name for a reason.

***

Dainty feet flew across sawdust-covered ground. Here, among the dancing lights of the Carnival at night, was where Freya was most alive. Freya grinned and swept a stray lock of silver-grey hair out of her face.

The Starlit Carnival spiralled. She moved and twisted, and one could never be certain where they would end up next. Only one point stayed constant; the red and white painted helter-skelter that had been dubbed The Staircase to the Sky. If you were the sort to believe in wild speculations, the helter-skelter was kept locked up because of something sinister inside. Something dark and evil that had been there since the beginning of time. Something fuelling the Carnival. The dark to her light. And it was consuming the Ringmaster from the inside out. Of course, if you weren't the sort to believe such conspiracies, the helter-skelter was simply a magical anomaly, a constant, a rip in the enchanted fabric of the universe.

Everyone at the Carnival knew Freya, but nobody knew Freya like Rosemary did. The two were so different, but there was no doubt to their sisterhood. Where Freya was small, slight, and graceful, the build of a typical fairy, Rosemary stood at almost six feet of pure clumsiness, a characteristic uncommon of the elves of which she was born. While Freya's short, silver hair shone in the moonlight, Rosemary's long fiery curls glowed bright in the sun. Freya had delicate iridescent wings, and Rosemary's ears tapered to a distinct point. But some bonds go deeper than blood, and they were the forgotten children of the Carnival. Alone, they were neglected, abandoned, lost. But together? Together they were found.

Holloway Lane, although part of the Carnival, sported a variety of privately owned businesses. From tiny handcarts selling enchanted Faerie Floss to ten-story shops full of suits and ballgowns, there was truly something for everyone. Buildings of all sorts lined the street haphazardly, busy as a child's toy village. And perhaps the most notable of all, La Morelle Noire, stood tall and looming. On this particular day, Rosemary strode through the bustling line of shops, tugging along a Freya whose reluctance seemed to creep into the crisp September air.
"Rosie! What exactly are we doing?" Freya asked, kicking a rock into a pigeon, which flew off indignantly. Rosemary's only reply was to quiet her, and Freya felt a similar indignation to that of her pigeon. She opened her mouth in an attempt to protest, but Rosemary shushed her once again.
"Rosemary-"
"Stop, Freya!" Rosemary whipped around, and the intensity of her glare made Freya flinch. "I want answers. I want answers now. While you may be content with our father and the way he ignores every one of my questions, I certainly am not!" Freya glared back, but her gaze softened, melting like warm butter. It had been some years since Rosemary had referred to their father as such. Rosemary's eyes fixated ahead, and she started when the clocks on the Clockmaker's shopfront clanged heavily; one o'clock.
"Look what you've done! We're late." Rosemary's strides lengthened, and Freya had to run to catch her.
"Late for what?" Freya prodded.
"I'm not telling you. We hardly have enough time as it is, so we certainly don't have enough for you to try to talk me out of it. Now keep walking!"
"Okay, hold on Rosemary-"
"No! Not 'hold on Rosemary'! I already told you! We. Do. Not. Have. Time!" Rosemary shook her head, and an errant strand of hair fell gracefully down to her face. She muttered something and grabbed ahold of Freya's arm, dragging her along. This gesture attracted many odd looks from the passers-by, wondering what on earth this grubby girl dressed like a boy could possibly be doing with such a sweet, demure looking girl.
"Excuse you! Let me go!" Freya protested, wrenching her arm away from Rosemary. "I won't be going. And certainly not until you deign to inform me where."
"Freya-" Rosemary said, but Freya decided enough was enough, and disregarded her own manners to cut Rosemary off.
"I won't be going" Freya repeated, and stopped in the middle of the path, an expression of steely resolve settling on her features. Rosemary sighed.
"Only if you sister-swear not to be angry."
"I shall do nothing of the sort!"
"Sister-swear or I won't tell!"
"Tell me or won't come!" Emerald eyes glared reproachfully at sapphire.
"Fine!" Freya conceded. "Sister-swear. I'll not be angry" Rosemary began walking again, twisting her hair nervously and letting out an anxious cough. "So, come on..."
"Well. There is, perhaps, a slight possibility that I... possibly may have... well..." Rosemary pulled at her fraying cuffs uncomfortably. "We're going to the Nightshade Oracle!" Freya went deadly still.
"Absolutely not."
"I think you'll find we absolutely are."
"Have you lost your mind?" Freya hissed, eyeing the passers-by with newfound suspicion.
"Quite possibly? Haven't you?" Rosemary laughed and elbowed Freya. "Haven't we all? All the best people are quite mad, you know? We're just like Alice and her Hatter-"
"Rosemary, what are you paying her?"
"Promise me you won't be angry, Frey-Frey. Please? Sister-swear on it?" Rosemary looked imploringly at Freya, who had narrowed her eyes and was looking rather cross.
"I am not sister-swearing on that."
"Sister-swear or I won't tell." Rosemary replied with a smirk, sauntering further along. Freya grabbed her arm to stop her.
"We won't be playing this game again." Freya sighed. "What is it you did?"
"I... may have promised her my locket." Rosemary turned sheepishly to her sister, who was frozen in horror, a look of dismay plastered across her dainty face.
"Rosemary, you did not."
"Please-" Rosemary's voice broke, and her eyes shone, a mist of tears forming a layer across her eyes and she shook her head, wiping her face on her worn sleeve.
"Don't you fret, Rosie" Freya finally said. "I'm not angry. Only, it was a gift, from your mother. And... we always said that when it opened, we would be together."
"I know. I know. But I think I would sell my soul to get our answers, Frey-Frey."
"I know. But... what if the thing opens while in her possession? I hardly trust her a bit."
"What better choice should we have? It's not as if I have anything else to trade, I've got no magic to give, and a story from the Ringmaster won't cut it, not this time. Now hurry! I said we'd meet her at one o'clock, and we haven't a minute to spare!"