She zig zagged her way past jugglers, clowns, and what she assumed to be a lion tamer (though its beast had three heads and looked to be crossed with a bear). It was unbelievable how diverse the crowd was. Obviously, there were Selkie, Atlanteans, and other Ys natives, but so much more as well. Oni, aziza, harpies, ents...
Her shoulder was pulsing like crazy, and it took everything in her not to reach out and grab it. Given her typical healing patterns, she had until morning before her skin was back to normal, but she didn’t dare risk messing with her Mark and speed up the process.
“Oy! You over theeir! Dragon geirl!”
Avia turned to see another worker, a Selkie, walking towards her. “Where’re you headed?”
“To check ‘Freya’s makeup!” Avia said quickly, surprised at her fast reply. She hadn’t had time to think of a particular excuse, but was happy to find that lying came back so naturally.
“Peirfect! Can you take this to her dressing room?” He handed her a large bag, and before Avia could respond, he was off. She stared after him a moment, then peeked inside of the bag. There were hundreds of letters and cards.
We miss you Eya!
You’re my idol! Keep it up!
“Damn,” Avia muttered. “Still worshiped without even being a god…”
She closed the bag and rounded the corner to the dressing rooms. She got to the end of the line and stopped in front of the two rooms at the end. Unlike the others, whose names were just large font on white paper, these were dazzled in multicolored lights.
Freyr and Freya.
Avia took a deep breath and knocked on the ex-goddess’ door. Even if the woman was no longer a deity, it was still intimidating. Not only had she been powerful, but she had held divine wisdom and clairvoyance. Avia didn’t know how much of those powers Freya still retained. If any, her dragon-guise would be seen through in an instant. Then again, what was a goddess-made-elf queen doing performing trapeze acts at a traveling mirage circus in the first place?
Avia’s thoughts were interrupted by a woman yelling “come in,” followed by the door swinging open. A gust of magical energy wafted out the open door. It was duller than Michael’s aura, but had a sweet fragrance to it.
Avia looked Freya over and found she was a perfect resemblance to the flyer. White-gold hair fell down her back in a tight French braid. A wide smile spread across her face. There were scars and open wounds across her greyish body, but none looked unseemly. In a strange way, Freya looked more beautiful undead than she probably had alive.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked in a sweet, thick Swedish accent. Avia scolded herself again for getting distracted and smiled back. Before she answered, Freya looked down at the bag and beamed. “Wonderful!” She took the bag and set it next to three identical ones on her table.
When she turned back to see Avia still there, she blushed. “Was there something else?”
“Just here to check your hair and makeup!” She spoke in the peppiest, Latina-show-biz voice she could muster.
“Sure!” Freya cleared a space by the vanity table and motioned for Avia to come in.
“Reason number two why you should go—hang on.” Castor paused and his sister’s body jerked to the left. “That shirt in other locker might fit better.”
“Thanks,” Paris said, quickly slipping the article over her head.
“Reason number two…” Avia droned impatiently.
“Dragons originate from Spain,” Castor said proudly. “You speak Spanish. If you use an accent, it will help with your cover.”
Avia bobbed her head happily and stepped into the dressing room, internally gagging at the thought of women who acted that way by nature. As she passed Freya, she noticed that the woman’s costume was designed to show off her undead form. The red stripes along her high socks were actually lacerations. Her stock boob window was paired with one on her side that displayed muscle-clad ribs.
“Are you ready for tonight, señorita ?” Avia asked, carefully touching up the woman’s already perfect makeup.
“Mmhhmm. This is our first show in the South. Brother and I are very excited.”
“Happy to hear!” Avia realized she was running out of things to say and internally cursed the twins.
Freya opened her mouth to say something, then stopped, instead stifling a small giggle.
“Qué es?” Avia ran over everything that had just happened but couldn’t think of a single thing that was funny.
“I don’t want to be rude,” Freya laughed, “but your accent is terrible.”
“Latin Spanish is nothing like Spain Spanish,” Avia argued. “You two spend every free moment in France, you should know this. Hell, you should know Spain Spanish yourselves!”
“Well, we don’t,” Paris said. “Besides, you’re already dragon-ed up, and with Spain being the dragon capital… Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I bet they won’t even notice.”
Avia swore at Gemini again, then at herself for losing that argument. “Caught me.” She smiled back and innocently twirled her hair. “My family were some of the dragons that settled in Latin America. I’ve just moved to the homeland and am trying to get their speech patterns down.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Freya laughed with a wave of her hand. “Back when we lived in the Northern Kingdom, no one cared about silly things like accents. Yes, the dragons were a bit haughty, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Avia realized this was her chance and chose her next words carefully. “Yeah… I guess you’re right. No es fácil—” A raise of Freya’s brow told her she pronounced the ‘es’ wrong, so she continued in English. “It’s not easy, you know. Everything in the North is awesome, but so strange. Why did you and your brother leave?”
“It was a bore.”
Avia turned to see Freyr leaning on the door frame. Like his sister, his skin tight trapeze outfit displayed streaks of red painting life into his grey skin. If not for the copious amount of hair gel—and the undead thing, of course—she may have found him kind of cute.
“He’s not wrong,” Freya said, turning back of Avia.
Freyr flashed a surprisingly white smile. “I’m never wrong. Day in and day out, it was either ridiculous amounts of responsibility, or laying on our asses doing nothing. Giving up godhood, that was a twist, but then it was the same routine again and again.”
“And that pitiful child, Roman!” Freya exclaimed with a shake of her head. “If his mother was still queen, maybe it wouldn’t have been so dreadful. Even his father would have been tolerable. But that halfling halfwit… He ruled for two years before his formal ascension. By the gods, it was hell. Couldn’t even face the people with his stupid laws, sending that advisor of his out with every public announcement…”
“Needless to say, it was time for a change,” Freyr sighed. He looked at his sister and they both laughed hysterically. Avia stared, curious if she had missed a joke. Freyr looked at her and opened his mouth, only to clutch his side with more laugher.
“We’re sorry, we must be slowing down your rounds,” Freya managed to get out as she wiped away tears. “We just remembered something— a joke from a couple centuries back.”
“Exactly,” Freyr said. “So, there’s this centaur in a forest, right? And—oh.”
It happened so quickly Avia wasn’t really sure what had happened. There was a crash, a flash of silver, then a heavy thud on the ground. The next instant, Freyr was staring at the stump of his wrist. Its corresponding hand now lay on the floor beside an axe.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no, I am sorry, sir.” A big, hairy man—maybe a lycan, but he could have been human just the same—was on his knees, groveling outside the dressing room. “I was in a hurry to get ready and I tripped on a wire, and now I’ve—” he looked back at Freyr’s stump and began to cry.
Freya smiled and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Relax, little one.” Avia found it a bit amusing, given that two of the blonde woman could have fit insi
de the mammoth’s frame. She watched in awe as Freya calmly picked up her brother’s hand and placed it to his wrist. No sooner had she twisted it into place than he was flexing his fingers.
“No harm done, friend,” he said. “But if you’ll excuse us.” He turned back to Avia. “This fellow’s right, we need to get to our places.”
Avia blushed, realizing she’d still been staring. “Si, yeah, of course. I’ll get out of your way. Good luck.”
“Thanks!” they called as she quickly made her way out of the backstage area. She shook her head, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but wasn’t given a chance.
“Avia!”
She looked up to see Paris waving from the archway of a giant flashing sign reading “The Big Top.” The rest of the tent was hidden past the stone walls. Shoving through the crowd, she squirmed her way to the front of the masses.
Avia couldn’t deny, even in human glamour, Paris was still stunning. Chestnut brown skin glowed like it was still lit by a thousand stars. When she got closer, Avia realized other than skin color, there really wasn’t anything too different. She still had long black braids, high cheekbones, and large green eyes. Perhaps the biggest difference was that she looked more organic. Gemini typically appeared as a male or female outline of outer space. The rise and fall of breasts, or even just the form fitting sweater, made Paris a completely different person.
Catching herself before she started all-out gawking, Avia focused on Paris’ eyes and reminded herself why they were there. “You guys find anything?”
“In sorts,” Paris said quietly. “We haven’t gotten any concrete leads.”
“But,” Castor whispered, “everyone’s saying this annual festival is the life of the Southern Kingdom.”
“Weird...” Avia glanced to the side, nervous about being overheard, but that didn’t seem likely. The roar of the crowd crashed around them as people surged past into the Big Tent.
Avia snapped back to Paris to realize that the Celestial had said something. “What about you?” she repeated.
“Oh.” Avia's eyes drifted back to the crowd as she thought over her encounter. “I made progress. They really are the Norse twins, and they really are undead.”
Avia was still unsure what to think. They seemed normal. She had never met a god before, retired or otherwise, but they weren’t what she had expected. Their power still rested over her like a mist, but there had been no lofty air of self-importance or indicators of who they were. Just two people who loved the circus. Normal, or as close to it as undead ex-deities could get to it. The zombification was still something she had to wrap her head around.
“How sure are you on the sempiternus part?” Castor asked, concern tinting his voice.
Avia grimaced. “The open wounds and corpse-skin was too realistic for a glamour. Plus, a sword fell and cut off Freyr’s hand. Freya picked it up and reattached it.”
“Shit,” the twins said in union. Castor sighed and Paris ran a hand down her face.
“Well,” she said, “let’s just get in there and find seats. Maybe we’ll figure something out from the performance.”
Avia nodded and followed her through the stone archway. She could barely believe her eyes when they entered the big top. There was evidence of the stone foundation through the carved-out bleachers and rock floors, but the rest of the area looked like a genuine circus tent. Blue and red striped material draped the perimeter.
In the center was a circular stage the size of a football field, complete with steel pillars and supports for the lights and high ropes. Avia felt a pull on her arm. She looked up to see Paris motioning towards the closest seating section. As they scooted past the row to get to their seats, Avia was thankful to see that the stone had been covered in a thick cushion.
When they sat down, she tried to listen in on conversations around them.
“Long lines at the restrooms.”
“Incredible cotton candy.”
“I’m so excited.”
Nothing of interest. Already tired of the escapade, Avia decided to lean back and close her eyes until the show started.
She used to love the circus. That’s where she had gotten Yoni, the stuffed yellow elephant she based her first imaginary friend on. But when the dreams—or what she now recognized were visits to the aether—stopped, everything about the circus twisted. It was nothing but hordes of people, smelly animals, and loud noises. Those were then paired with stupid costumes and pointless tricks. And that’s not even including the animal abuse veiled by flashing lights and “skilled” tamers.
“Even if I’m not a ‘real’ feline, I can’t support circuses!” Cheshire defiantly flipped his blue and black hair with a cross of his arms. “Work the family tree out yourself, but lions and tigers are still cats.”
“Ches…”
Before her mind could unravel from the memory, the crash of a gong silenced the room. A large drum roll filled the space. Avia blinked, pushing back whatever had tried to get out, and sat up. The room was black, save a single spotlight on center stage. The ringmaster looked just like he had in the poster: a small man with a thick mustache that curled up on the sides. He still donned a towering top hat, and red coat tails trailed behind him. Disproportionate furred paws—something she now recognized as a trademark of many Selkie—held the microphone.
“Welcome! Ladies and gentlemen, mirage of all kinds!” Avia raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his deep voice, free of the thick Selkie accent.
“Welcome to the 576th Festival of Ys! Last year was Disbelief, a gathering of the Western and Northern Kingdoms’ most renowned magicians, sorcerers, and charlatans—leaving all with the question of ‘what was magic, and what was a trick?’ The year before brought the greatest fighters of our generations in tribute to the mighty gladiators. This year, we hope not to disappoint. Tonight, folks, we bring you Circ D’Undead!”
The crowd went wild and the ringmaster waited before continuing.
“Were you here last year?” a voice asked, startling Avia. The selkie woman behind her had spoken. “It was so good, but I’m really excited for this one.” Before Avia could answer, the man center stage started talking again.
“But I’m sure you didn’t travel all this way to listen to me.” A wicked grin flashed across his face and a chill went down Avia’s spine. “Let the show begin.”
At that, he vanished in a cloud of smoke. The billows spread across the circle, then rose up to the audience seating.
Avia looked at Paris, who wrinkled her nose. “Sulfur,” Paris said, confirming her thoughts.
A loud sucking noise roared to life from the circle, and all the smoke siphoned back to its source. Seconds later, a tiny, yellow car sat center stage. The car bounced twice before the driver’s door popped open, and a clown stumbled out. He straightened his back then waddled forward to take in the audience.
Avia glowered and scooted further back in her seat. It was going to be a long night.
The clown stood there a moment, staring across the rows of eyes. Without warning, he planted a foot back, tilted his head to the ceiling, and fired a massive billow of smoke from his throat. It sped towards the ceiling, stopped, then wafted out across the room.
Avia raised an eyebrow, realizing this is where the smoke had siphoned off the first time. The clown started to run forward and the smoke followed, as if the trail to his mouth was a kite’s string. He stopped abruptly again and started spinning and twisting his arms. The smoke swirled and reformed until it took the shape of a giant sword. The clown reached up and carefully took the tip, the “blade end,” from his mouth. He then held out his hand and passed it to another clown, who had just run up beside him.
Avia looked back to the tiny car to see ten more clowns exiting the vehicle. They circled the original two clowns and struck a crossed-arms pose.
Making a steeple with her fingers, Avia drew in a concentrated breath and imagined, for just that second, she was anywhere but there. As soon as the show had
gotten interesting, they ruined it with a cliché routine. She was going to say something to Paris but looked to see that Gemini was on the edge of their seat, much like the small child next to them. With an exasperated sigh, Avia crossed her arms and looked back to the ring.
Clown #2 swallowed his sword, the action accompanied by the same loud sucking noise. When it was gone, he spat twelve smaller swords into the air, catching one himself. The eleven other clowns rushed forward and took each of the remaining. The swords kept their gaseous form, but were somehow corporal enough to hold.
Avia shouldn’t have been surprised, given where they were, but couldn’t help but gasp when they started juggling them. They threw their swords in the air and the weapons split into two, then three, and soon enough, they each held nine.
They continued that for a few minutes until there was a mishap. One of the clowns slipped and fell, causing one of his swords to spin through the air and crash into his chest. The weapon had already lost most of its shape, however. By the time the tip hit, the blade was already dispersing into the air. Still, he dramatically stumbled across the circle, stopping all the other clowns as he grabbed his chest and made swooning motions. A different clown, Number #1—Avia had no idea how she kept them apart, but she just did—made a pouty face and stomped over to him. Gently helping him down, Number #1 then reached for the flower on his chest and squeezed. A stream of green liquid shot at his fallen comrade and all the other clowns laughed. The audience started to join in but was just as quickly silenced. The squirted clown melted into a puddle of goop.
Avia stared open-mouthed, positive they had just murdered one of their cohorts. She turned to Paris to see if they should do something, but she too was motionless.
The remaining clowns stood and faced the audience. Without a sound, they each melted like their companion.
Avia blinked, unsure she had seen correctly, but there was no mistake. The puddles swirled on the ground and came together into one large mass. That mass then split into three smaller pools. Each pool shot into the air and reformed back into three clowns. Each struck a “superhero” pose. But they were different. They still had makeup and their ridiculous costumes, but it was plain to see they were no longer human—or rather, human-veiled. The grey skin, grey hair, black eyes, and red irises were enough, even from that distance, to recognize them as sempiternus.
When We Were Still Human Page 22
