Dusk fell against the horizon, Deya’s sun burning the sky into wafts of deep reds and soft purples. The sun sat upon the crashing waves of Morje’s ever-mourning sea, as if Deya’s light was attempting to set the waters aflame. But those burning reds gave way to vibrant oranges and those soft purples gave way to an indigo as deep as the depths of the sea beneath. And that eternal indigo sky was beginning with the first peaks of Vaezda’s twinkling adornments, the various constellations winking to life in Lunir’s coming nite.
Yvaine ensured her gaze stayed locked upon the Titan’s magnificent sight because if her gaze dared veer downward, she’d assuredly become ill. There would be no escape for many more of Lunir’s faces, as Yvaine was squeezed into a horde cart along with a third of the Ring Master’s crew; more like slaves than true members of the crew. The carts were like cattle carts but this had three aisles for the mostly humanoid creatures, though some larger species such as a minotaur just down the row from her, all traveled in the same cart. Each aisle was always filled with as many bodies as the Handlers could fit, given there was minimal room in only three carts for over fifty different beings.
Three dinky horde carts connected to each other, and to one griffin-drawn carriage leading the pack – the carriage containing the Ring Master’s sleeping chambers – was all that made up their traveling party as they crossed the long, narrow strip of the steep Cliffs of the Lost. The strip of land was all that kept them between the troubled waters of Morje’s Mourning Sea and the blind death that was Anemas’s Trap – a large expanse of land that was blanketed entirely in thick fog — the fog so thick, those who traveled through could barely see their feet moving beneath them. Not many dared to blindly traverse through the Trap and those who did, escaped the fog just as crazed as Anemas had been in the Titan Age; or they’d never leave the fog at all, forever lost in the Titan’s Trap. Many roads went around the fog entirely or came to a dead end where the fog began to thicken.
Yvaine supposed she should’ve been thankful for being on this side of the cart. Though she didn’t enjoy heights, the thought of not being able to see past the endless, white fog made her stomach roll. Instead, Yvaine was able to peer through the iron bars – well, as far as she could – and tried to gauge how much longer they’d have before reaching their destination.
Their traveling party was headed toward the Northern Wind, specifically into Rikteau’s Estopal, where the Overlorde’s domain of Laneth lay between ice-slicked and snow-covered mountains. Yvaine had never been up into this territory herself, but she’d overheard stories from some of the show’s patrons. The Northern Wind was unforgiving, the farthest point from any of the Titan’s Hearts; no internal warmth coming from the land. As if the mountains themselves had been abandoned by the Titans all together.
With that knowledge alone, Yvaine was anxious about entering the Overlorde’s snowy domain. But more so, she was terrified to perform in front of His supremacy. The Overlorde himself had sent one of his Nekratoire to invite the Ring Master to put on his entire show for Him and His court; The Ring Master’s: A Nite of Enchantment.
The male He’d sent had brought Yvaine unease. Shadows wrapped and gathered around the male’s figure and his cleanly shaven scalp gleamed in the light, his face cold and firm like stone. And his eyes… Yvaine had never seen such dark eyes, as if the color was fed by those twining shadows, and when light tried to reach those irises it seemed all it could do was choke up and die there. He’d also come adorned in black robes, the loose ties of fabric catching every small breeze.
The Ring Master had just finished collecting the last of the patrons tips and spare coins, while the crew was being shoved back into their respective horde cart by the impatient Handlers, when the shadowed male appeared. He’d come out of nowhere, as though he lived within the very shadows that surrounded him.
He manifested by the way of his shadows only a few steps away from the Ring Master himself and to the Master’s credit, he didn’t startle when he caught sight of the shadowed male. He only finished counting the show’s profits to then lift his gaze and look at the male with a sort of surprised ease. He handed off the profits to a passing Handler and his meandering came to a standstill so he could fully face the shadowed male with relaxed hands behind his back.
“And who may you be, Shadowed One?” The Ring Master inquired, a wry smile tugging at his wine-stained lips.
“Our Overlorde has caught wind of your show, Cruentus,” the shadowed male replied, speaking in the Overlorde’s common tongue — Casimir — with a tone as cold as his expression, ignoring the Ring Master’s question entirely. “His superior interest has been…”
The male paused, as if looking for the right word. With a small shrug he added, “Piqued.”
The Ring Master – or Cruentus, though this was the first time Yvaine had heard the Master’s true name – only narrowed his eyes at the male across from him, remaining silent.
“Therefore, you’ve been graciously invited to His domain of Laneth – a stronghold of His supremacy in the Northern Wind. Yourself and your company have all been welcomed to perform your show within the residence of Himself and His court. His supremacy will gather in seven deys. At the start of the seventh nite, you shall begin your show. This will be the only opportunity He graciously gives. An attempt to perform any earlier or any later will result in the deaths of you and your company.”
“And if I refuse?” the Ring Master inquired. Even from Yvaine’s cramped spot in the cart, she could see the uncaged fury in those rosy eyes. And though the Master’s fury wasn’t directed upon herself, fear still burned in Yvaine’s chest.
“Then I’ve been directed to carry out my orders here, and now,” the shadowed male replied in a tone that made all the blood drain from both Yvaine’s and the Master’s face.
The male would kill them all, Yvaine had no doubt. But what she couldn’t figure out was why the Ring Master was so hesitant to accept the Overlorde’s invitation. His superiority had a reputation for His cruelty, yes, but the Master always jumped at the next biggest opportunity, hopping from one show to another and rarely leaving time for rest. And to present the show to the Overlorde Himself? Titans below them, that’d be the biggest opportunity in all of Aethnok.
So why did Yvaine have the feeling that the Ring Master was willing to take the risk?
The Master was silent for a long while, fury still stirring behind his mask of thoughtfulness. Heaving a deep sigh, he straightened his back and raised his chin to look down his nose at the shadowed male.
“I accept,” the Ring Master declared. “But I have a few conditions.”
The shadowed male raised his eyebrows at the Master’s reply, but remained silent. So, the Ring Master continued on.
“Myself and my company will arrive on the nite after the sixth sunset. I expect rooms to be prepared for each of us, so we may rest before our performance on the seventh day,” the Ring Master said, tone even and respectful. The shadowed male nodded at each request. “And lastly, once our performance has come to a close, I request to have a private word with the Overlorde Himself.”
“That will not happen,” the male snapped back. His shadows began slicing at the open air around him, as if even the shadows were offended by the Ring Master’s prospect.
“Then my company will not perform. It’s as simple as that,” the Ring Master said bluntly. At the spark of rage in the shadowed male’s eyes, he explained further with an unhurried ease, “At every venue I’m invited to perform, I speak directly with the venue’s owner after the show’s concluded. I offer a simple gesture to thank them for their hospitality and ensure they enjoyed the show. If they did not, then we perform until the patrons get what they’ve paid for; a show that leaves the mind in absolute wonder. It is a part of my act and therefore, it’s what His superiority is ultimately requesting.”
Yvaine watched as the shadowed male thought over the Ring Master’s inquiry, fists
clenched by his sides. The male remained as such for so long, she wondered if he’d kill them all right there and then. But eventually, his shoulders began to relax and those clenched fists followed suit, sweeping to cross behind his back. He looked the spitting image of a general facing his troops as he replied, “I will speak with His superiority, but I cannot promise He will approve. Every other condition will be accounted for. I will meet you and your company at the steps of Laneth on the sixth nite.”
And just like that, same as he’d arrived, the male’s shadows engulfed his body like smoke and he was gone.
So far, if Yvaine had been counting correctly, tonite would be their fifth nite of travel and they would be reaching Rikteau’s Estopal by the next sunrise. Within those glacial mountains, it would take the rest of that dey to reach the Overlorde’s stronghold held within. Only then, would they all finally be removed from the carts and escorted to their individual rooms.
Well, everyone except herself.
Morje’s waters crashed against the gray cliffs, water reaching so high that droplets of fresh sea water sprayed upon Yvaine’s face, pulling her from her thoughts and causing the ends of her antennae to light up from the stimuli. She contorted her neck to wipe the droplets away on her once-red tunic, the shackles around her wrists clanking noisily against the iron bars of the cart. All of them were kept shackled by both their wrists and ankles; their shackles were chained to each other, then to the iron floor of the cart. If a single limb moved, even just a bit, the whole line was taken along with it; meaning every movement had to be miniscule. They’d all had to learn the art of small movements early on, eventually getting used to the long rides without changing positions, under any circumstance. And those who didn’t learn, never lasted long in the Ring Master’s show anyways.
Thankfully, Yvaine was of the quickest learners in the land. As far as she knew, Yvaine was the only tkahni left in Aethnok. The Ring Master said she was what’s called an Endling; the end of a species, the Endling being the last of its kind. Over her aeons of enslavement, the information she’d been able to gather about her own kind was minimal and unfortunately, almost entirely from the Ring Master.
The tkahni had always kept to a small circle, but their numbers had still been considerable, with hundreds of small tribes scattered about the land. Part of the reason they kept a small circle was the fact that every tkahni newborn brought forth their mother’s death; as the mother always died upon giving birth. The mother’s last gift to her youngling is her lifeforce and therefore, all of her knowledge. That was how a tkahni received lifeforce; by learning and perpetually evolving their mind. Unless injured or fallen ill, a tkahni had no need for food or water; even sleep was a rare necessity.
As far as knowledge went, Yvaine herself knew many various languages that she’d never been taught, nor had the chance to learn in her limited years – knowledge from her long-dead mother. But when Yvaine came into contact with a new language — ones she’d never heard before — it only took hearing a few phrases for her mind to see the pattern and connect the rest. In a matter of moments she was fluent in a language she’d only just heard.
However, that was about all she was good at, as tkahni were said to have the ability to learn other’s magic as well. The Ring Master had tried to show her many times by using smaller magic examples from himself, like harnessing the wind to blow out a candle or cool down food, or tapping in with Yvaine’s ancestor Titan – Vaezda – and enhancing the glow of the Titan’s stars. But after multiple attempts and trying every which way she could come up with, Yvaine was never able to succeed in any of his requests. In fact, she’d never been able to harness magic at all and often wondered if the capability was within her to begin with.
At the thought of the Titan’s stars, Yvaine lifted her gaze to see how many constellations had begun twinkling to life. She only had the opportunity to watch the stars come into the nite when they were traveling. If she wanted to see the stars when the crew stopped for rest, she had to wait until she could successfully sneak away from the Ring Master, as Yvaine always shared a room with him; at his request.
For all these aeons she’d been enslaved under the Ring Master, whether the Handlers were setting up tents or the venue owner was offering rooms, she’d always been expected to stay with the Master, as there was a very specific routine he’d made customary. Together, they would sit down and share a meal, where they could have a moment with just the two of them, as the Master loved to talk; and especially loved for her to listen. Then, they’d retire to a sitting area, preferably near a fire, where he’d finish out his thoughts on the dey while he monotonously brushed her long, white hair. At the end of the nite, they’d often share a bed, where the Ring Master would request Yvaine to lay her freshly-brushed head on his chest.
Fortunately, after all these aeons of this exact routine, Yvaine had found ways around many of the intimacies. The meal was always the easiest, as she perfected the act of appearing like she was listening whilst not hearing a single word the ancient bastard said. As for falling asleep on the Master’s chest, she always waited until his breaths took a full six seconds to complete before slipping off into the nite to watch the stars. She didn’t need the sleep anyways, it was just the Master’s way of keeping her close.
The hair brushing was a little harder, as the Ring Master would usually end up murmuring to himself in his sing-song way.
“My sweet, sweet bunny,
Pure as snow, rare as rain,
You are mine, until our dey’s,
Are no longer sunny.”
The same damned phrase, over and over.
She hated it. Hated how it rhymed, how he always repeated it in the same notes, the same rhythm. Hated the pet name he’d given to her all those aeons ago. He sang this every nite, as if he was putting a spell on her; a spell to make her love him as much as he wanted her to. Because Yvaine had learned long ago that the Master did not love her. No, he thought he did and therefore, acted how he thought love was supposed to look.
She’d thought of him as a father at one time. With his white hair and rosy eyes, he probably still could pass as her father. But the more she grew, the more shows he allowed her to be a part of. And the more shows she went out for, the more she realized this had been his plan all along; to keep her from the world until it was too late. Because the more she performed, the more she noticed – the more she learned.
In the crowd of those shows is where she learned what true love looked like. Saw mothers doting over and wrangling their many children into their seats. Watched as parents scrounged up the last of their coins, just so their little girl could ride one of the griffins for just a few moments of joy on her face. That’s when Yvaine realized that with love, came a certain unconditional sacrifice. To truly love someone was to be willing to sacrifice anything and everything asked of them, if it meant the one they love could continue on and prosper.
That’s when it truly clicked. That the only thing in this world the Ring Master truly loved, was his show.
At the first show she was allowed to be a part of, Yvaine listened to the way fans roared and cheered at the Ring Master’s entrance. Witnessed how he was able to stir the crowd into a complete frenzy. She noted the differing cheers for every act — how some were able to continue on, even enhance the frenzied state they’d been roped into.
And how other acts brought the crowd back down to the earth. Back to reality. She soon came to understand how much the crowd hated reality. Because they did not pay for reality, no, they paid to forget. They spent the little coin they had, so they could escape their dreadful lives for as long as possible.
The Ring Master knew this. He knew exactly what he was selling, so he’d rid himself of anything or anyone that didn’t fit his vision; as Yvaine would never see those performers again. But what the Ring Master didn’t expect was the stunned silence she received every time she stepped onstage. The ends of her antennae always lit up, forcing her to ignore the bright, white shine of them in the corner of her eyes as she took in the crowd. Mouths went agape, children were collected into laps or pushed behind concerned parents, and a sort of feral spell seemed to fall over many of the males in the crowd. Their eyes locked onto her, as a scent that was a mix of lust and hunger filled the room.
This, the way the males looked upon her in the crowd, was why the Ring Master insisted upon his routine. Insisted on calling her, ‘his’. Because she was rare and the Master knew that if most folk had the chance, they’d use her every which way they could. Most would do exactly what he had gotten to first.
Yes, Yvaine had a sort of disdain for the Ring Master, but she also knew her situation could be worse. So she made do with the Master and gathered as much knowledge as she could along the way. Tkahni had similar lifespans to a long extinct species called humans, so at Yvaine’s age of twenty and two aeons she’d learned over thirty-seven different languages — some languages long-dead and others not as fluent as she could be — but she’d learned them and they had taught her ways of thinking she couldn’t have imagined.
A lurch in the cart drew her away from her thoughts, Morje’s waves now crashing in darkness. Faint light caught on those cresting waves, the sliver of the Lunir’s pale moon seeming to leave a light gray dusting over all of the land and sea. With the nite sky in full bloom, Yvaine continued on with what she always did. Whether she was traveling in the horde cart, or sneaking out of bed once the Ring Master was sleeping deeply, she looked up to the stars and spoke to her ancestral Titan.
“A beautiful nite it is, Vaezda. All thanks to your adornments, of course. Rhyol, the Immortal Flame in Darkness is shining particularly bright in the sky tonite,” Yvaine said, eyes bouncing around to Vaezda’s many constellations. “I’m always thankful for your beauty.”
And I am thankful for you, my child. Vaezda replied back as she always did; like a voice caught in the breeze, or a hush washing over her. This path you will cross, is one with great dangers. Don’t be fooled by their gloss, as you’ll come to find a few unlikely strangers. Great change is coming. Ready yourself.
“What kind of change?” Yvaine asked the Titan. Sure, she knew the entire show would never be the same once they arrived upon Laneth’s steps. She’d felt as such the dey the shadowed male had invited them on this journey. But what exactly would she have to ‘be ready’ for? She always thought she seemed ready, as her mind was always searching to learn and almost never needed to sleep.
But Yvaine was met with silence. Vaezda did not reply. So she waited only a few moments before prompting again.
“What should I be ready for, Vaezda?” She urged again, her mind suddenly racing at the possibilities. Were they all in danger? Was this invitation just one big ruse? But then, why? What would the Overlorde have to gain from the Ring Master?
When there was still no answer, Yvaine began to cry out.
“Vaezda?! Where are y-”
“SHHH! Titans, you’re loud.”
Yvaine’s head whipped over her left shoulder, glowering at the strixen who’d cut her off. Strixen were aplenty in the Ring Master’s show, as their owl-like features were something he could play upon; such as their heads spinning entirely around with an uncanny ease.
As the strixen who shushed her was doing now.
The owl creature was shackled on the other side of the cart, but it still felt like he was right up in her face as those owl eyes shot daggers at her. This particular strixen’s name was Kovo, as he was easy for her to pick out with the pale V over his beak and slashing through his piercing yellow eyes.
“I’m trying to enjoy the nite and the silence that usually comes with it,” Kovo whispered across the cart. “We are not so shackled that I can’t slice that noisy throat of yours, Precious One. Silence, or I’ll make it so.”
Yvaine only shot him a severe glare before returning her gaze to the nite sky. She didn’t know which names she hated more — the names the Ring Master had given to her, or the names the rest of the enslaved had thought up in spite of those names. If she had the choice, she wouldn’t be rare at all. She’d be just another strixen, doing just another head spinning act that threw the crowd into a tizzy. If she could have it her way, she’d never have to be noticed at all. But that wasn’t how any of this worked, so Yvaine put those angry stirring thoughts to rest. For now. Because no one here really understood her and would never care to. They were all just trying to survive; same as herself. She reminded herself frequently that it was lonely being an Endling and the only one she could truly rely on, was herself.
And if she were being honest with herself, she preferred it this way.
Then suddenly, while observing a favorite constellation of hers — the Great Archer of Hope — the stars launched into movement. Every star began darting across the sky, like shooting stars, all of them zipping through the nite in every direction. In the corners of her eyes, she noticed her antennae lighting up as her eyes tried to track each shooting star.
Finally, after only a few moments of chaos in the sky, the stars settled.
But not back into the positions they should’ve been.
No, instead of the stars taking their usual form, they took form in a tkahni poem, burning bright against the indigo sky. The stars twinkled and winked at Yvaine, who was struck in awe as she took in the new nite sky. She wasn’t sure how she knew the language was tkahni, as she’d never actually heard or laid eyes on the language, but there it was and she just knew.
Prior, unused knowledge from Mother, she thought.
That’s when she realized this must be Vaezda’s silent reply. The Titan had truly listened and was here with her. That seed of comfort, of knowing in her chest spread a strange sort of warmth throughout her entire body. And that warmth seemed to settle something inside of her. A certainty she’d not had before. She would not waste this opportunity to read a once in a lifetime message from Vaezda, written in a language she would likely never come across again.
So, she did the only thing she really knew how. Yvaine thanked the Titan Vaezda, of Stars and Fate, and delved into the first tkahni written lines she’d ever had the opportunity to lay her eyes upon.
