Carnival Souls

Genzel

Owen had never been slapped by a girl before, but the novelty of the incident was lost in comparison to everything else. He wasn't even sure what to feel: guilty because he had yelled at her for something he didn't understand, angry because she had hit him for acting in what he considered a reasonable way for the situation, or anxious because he had alienated the one person who might have been an ally.

Owen's stomach felt like it did whenever his mom made fish for dinner and he was afraid he was going to be sick. He started to pace to abate some of the nausea. It didn't help that wherever he was had a sickening burnt-orange pallor to it.

His mind took up a sort of mental pacing of its own as he retraced his steps and tried to find something to take comfort in. He wasn't being bound and held like the prisoner Lira likened him to be, which meant he had the opportunity of escape despite what the witch said. But his illusioned freedom did nothing to stem his fear.

After all, his captors wouldn't bother chaining up prisoners if they had nothing to escape to. Still, wouldn't it be worth the risk? He didn't plan on staying here regardless, he needed to get back to Ethan, and so he might as well try to sneak away while he wasn't being watched. Steeling himself to walk back the way he had come--through the ever-thickening crowd of spirits--Owen found his path blocked by a dark-skinned boy.

The first thing Owen noticed about the boy was that he was a boy, a normal human boy. Or at least he appeared to be. There were no wings, horns, mysterious vapors or sounds coming from his body, just a regular boy with normal dark brown eyes and a wide mouth. The only distinctive thing about him was what appeared to be a large birthmark darkening the skin from his left temple and encasing his left eye, and the mass of dreadlocks currently gathered in a low knot at the base of his neck. He appeared to be around twelve or thirteen, still on the scrawny side of puberty.

Still, Owen was wary. He couldn't let his guard down at the first sight of a somewhat-friendly face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Jacks," answered the boy. "I've been told to take you to Genzel." The kid had a faint accent Owen couldn't place and as he spoke he swung his arms back and forth. Jacks wore the same kind of tunic Lira had, along with a pair of too-big black shorts. He too was barefoot.

"I thought Lira was doing that," said Owen. Not that it mattered who took him where, he didn't have a clue where Lira had stormed off to and he wasn't about to wander around this place looking for her.

Jacks shrugged. "Doing what I was told."

Owen sighed. Maybe this Genzel person would have more answers, though he doubted it.

"Fine, take me to him."

The boy said nothing more as he led Owen along the dark backside of the carnival. In intermittent gaps through the tents, he caught glimpses of spirits both beautiful and terrible in their revelry.

They emerged once again near the carousel, which now stood dark and empty.

"Where are the horses?" asked Owen.

"Some are with Genzel," said Jacks. "Other are grazing or in their stables."

Owen's head hurt as his brain tried to reconcile the image of wooden horses with their live counterparts.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" Owen asked, wondering if he would have better luck with Jacks.

"Best just to watch, listen," said Jacks, giving him a measured side-long glance. For the first time, Owen realized the dread-locked boy carried a worn, leather whip in his hand.