by Colin Forest
As the electric arc raced across the sky, it brightened into morning. The snow disappeared and Christophe found himself running in a field; in the distance, the folds of a mountainside clothed in conifer trees rose into the air. He could see Icarus, Oswald and the Ringmaster ahead of him, and Busboy running to join the fray. Though the temperature was undoubtedly cool, after the frigidity of the winter evening, he felt as if he ran into a wall of heat. He let go of his clothes and came to a halt. Lying on the ground at the entrance to the tent was the Noble Grimoire. Christophe made his way to it; he was barely able to suppress his excitement when he bent to pick it up.
A bolt of electricity hit Oswald without any effect. He shook his head as if to clear it, and jumped upon Icarus. The two grappled on the ground. Busboy came up from behind and tried to pull Oswald off, but Oswald elbowed him in the face. He staggered back a few steps, sputtering a few curses as he did so. The Ringmaster directed a pile of crates towards Oswald. Several hit him behind the head, the impact sounding very unpleasant. The other circus folk were now drawn to the ruckus and rushed out of the tent. Christophe jumped aside to let them past.
“What’s going on?” Christophe heard someone ask.
“Who cares,” came a reply. “He’s attacking the Professor. Get him.”
Others jumped in, piled on top of Oswald one after another.
“Get off,” Christophe heard Oswald cry, to be echoed by Icarus, who lay beneath Oswald. There was a further muffled cry when all were thrown back. Oswald rose to his feet, huffing loudly and glaring at those sprawled on the ground. He reached down and grabbed hold of Icarus. With hardly any effort, he squeezed the chimney by the side of Icarus’s head. The smoke and steam which normally flowed out of it trailed out in weak bursts. A grating and rattling sound emerged from Icarus’s chest. Icarus beat at it repeatedly, muttering, “Not now!” Oswald pulled back his arm and punched Icarus’s chest, imprinting the metal casing with the mark of his fist. Icarus winced, the first time Christophe ever witnessed Icarus express physical pain. He called a spell to his mind.
“Oswald, stop,” he cried. With a flourish of his hand, an invisible force swept Oswald off his feet. Oswald landed with a thud upon dusty earth. A cloud rose and dispersed under the wind’s push. The field and mountains were gone; the circus was in a dusty hot plain. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, indifferent to the discomfort caused by the scorching heat of its rays.
Oswald picked up a small stone by his side and rose to his feet. He hurled the stone at Christophe. The aim was true; the stone hit Christophe in the chest and he cried out in pain. The Noble Grimoire fell out of his hand. It opened when it landed, and with the wind blowing, the pages fluttered and flapped. When he looked down, he saw a trickle of blood flowing from his wound. A tiny drop fell on a page, staining it before the wind blew the page over. Seeing the book, Oswald advanced on Christophe, kicking Busboy and Steamsaw along the way.
“I knew you had always coveted it,” he said.
He suddenly stopped mid-stride, wearing a blank expression on his face. The Ringmaster walked up, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks, his face a mask of utter concentration. Christophe noticed Oswald’s fingers twitching, and he shouted, “Adam, watch out!” The Ringmaster blinked once, as the look of intelligence returned to Oswald’s face.
“I did it once,” Oswald forced the words out of pursed lips. “I can do it again,” he said.
There was a cry from the Ringmaster as he fell back. Oswald shouted at him, “STAY OUT OF MY MIND!”
Oswald resumed his advance on Christophe.
“Arcanus, step back!” shouted Icarus, to which Christophe complied. To Oswald, he said, “Oswald, the book!” With that, a bolt of electricity coursed through the air. It enveloped the book and slowly, the pages darkened, curled and burst into flames.
Oswald released a cry of anguish. He ran to the book, now charred beyond salvage. Christophe too felt a heavy weight upon him as the book burned before his eyes. The look on Oswald’s face was one of hatred as he turned back towards Icarus, who still lay on the ground. With two steps, he came to stand over Icarus, casting his shadow over him. He grabbed hold of Icarus’s leg, and with a twisting motion, broke it off at the knee. There was a prolonged sound of metal shrieking under stress and then a snap. With the leg in hand, Oswald hammered at Icarus. Christophe took a step forward and when Oswald saw this, he threw the leg at him. It spun as it sailed through the air. Christophe dodged to one side, but as the leg flew past, it snagged on the chain around his neck. Christophe felt the chain becoming undone, and tried to grab hold of it. But he missed, and the charmed pendant he wore came off.
As it fell, robes flowed from Christophe’s shoulders. On his head, a pair of antlers jutted into the sky. There was a soft jingle as the pendant landed on snow. The bitter cold returned and the day turned dark. In the bleak light of the winter night, the glamour surrounding Christophe dissipated.
Chapter 12: Boundaries
Christophe stood hunched with one hand pressed against his bleeding chest. Although his posture was not erect, he still looked impressive; with his antlered head he looked like a creature of myth: a rider of the Wild Hunt. His robes rippled in the wind, a counterpart to the Ringmaster’s cloak.
“Arcanus?” came gasps of surprise from some of the circus folk. Even the Ringmaster seemed surprised. Curiosity over him also appeared to have stopped the fighting. For a while, there was quiet, broken only intermittently by the soughing wind.
The bitter cold cut into Christophe’s flesh. He was thankful though, that it lessened the pain of the wound. His fingers felt numb, clutching at his blood-stained robes. Then, a cry erupted from the stable. The horses were wild with alarm. Woven into the cries was Octavius’s loud, grunting call. The sounds of thumping boomed, becoming more urgent and insistent with time. There was a crash and moments later, Octavius dashed out of the stable doors. With his powerful long legs, he made leaping strides. His gooselike grunts accompanied his every step as he ran towards Christophe.
Up in the air, the golden light of the Spindle Cat flared, lighting the darkened arena below and exposing Christophe’s form more clearly. His helmet gleamed in the golden light, hooding his eyes and casting them into shadow. A dark, heavy mane of hair fell from the back of the helmet past his shoulders. His robes were of a blue so dark it was almost black.
Felina and Suresh tumbled to earth. They landed on the snow lightly on their feet, whereupon Felina immediately grew her fur and extended her claws. She set her eyes upon Oswald, who looked about him in panic. Suresh however, flattened his ears and narrowed his eyes at Octavius’s approach. A low growl escaped his lips as he crouched low, his body ready to spring. Felina, about to run off after Oswald, rushed to his side instead. She whispered soothing words into his ears, and Suresh seemed torn between obeying Felina and his instincts. Octavius drew up to Christophe and sniffed at his wound. His eight eyes lingered at the blood rather longingly, but stayed composed by his side. Christophe grabbed hold of one of Octavius’s horns for support, all the while instructing Octavius to stay.
“Arcanus?” asked Felina tentatively. “Is that Octavius?”
“Yes. This is his true form.”
“I can see the need for the glamour,” she said. “He’s making all the animals nervous. It’s his smell.”
“He won’t harm anyone,” he said in between deep breaths. “He’s the one in danger of being attacked.”
“I understand,” she said, arms around Suresh’s neck holding him back. “Suresh,” she snapped, when he jerked forward suddenly. “Calm down, boy. Calm down … Suresh!”
Suresh bared his teeth and roared loudly.
Just then, a soft meow sounded from above. All turned their heads up. Perched on a flag pole at the pinnacle of the big tent was the Spindle Cat. Its four legs were balanced quite impossibly atop the globe of the flag pole with the flag flapping vigorously underneath. It hopped off the pole and landed on the canopy of the te
nt, where it slid down the slope of the drooping fabric until it came to rest near the boundary of the tent’s wall. Oswald scrabbled to his feet and scampered away from the tent. The Spindle Cat leaped off the canopy and landed on the snow, which transformed into springy turf. It then ran after Oswald.
“’e’s runnin’ fer it,” shouted Busboy as he got to his feet. Steamsaw got up next and the rest of the circus folk followed in Oswald’s wake. Christophe mounted Octavius and Felina did likewise atop Suresh; and they gave chase. They overtook the other circus folk, their mounts running side by side. Christophe turned his head to see the Ringmaster gliding a few feet off the ground, his cloak trailing behind him.
Oswald ran towards what he guessed was the boundary of the circus. There was a shimmer in the air as of heat currents climbing into the sky. The vista beyond was one of inspiring beauty though it did not look as if it was completely settled. The trees and the mountains looked detached, he thought. He could hear the meow of the cat behind him. He put his hand against the shimmering currents. His skin tingled. When he pressed a bit further, there was a slicing pain. He withdrew his hand and examined it. The skin appeared thinner, as if a portion had been sheared away.
He turned around and faced the crowd. “Would any of you dare to fight me here?” he yelled out. With a quick jerk of his head to the side, he said, “I’m sure you know what would happen to you if you get thrown out.”
The others stopped in their tracks. The Spindle Cat, however, slinked ahead from between Suresh’s legs.
“I see you now for what you truly are,” he said.
The cat meowed and leaped several times its height into the air. It sailed towards Oswald. With lightning speed, he reached out with his hand and got hold of the cat. The others watched in shock as Oswald flicked his wrist and the Spindle Cat hurtled past the boundary of the circus. It looked as if the cat lost a bit of its solidity as it went through. And then, the circus moved back to the dusty plain under the scorching sun.
Oswald laughed without restraint. He walked up to the circus folk, slipping between laughter and soft chuckles. He smiled at Christophe and the Ringmaster.
“I’m free,” he said.
Everyone stepped aside to let him pass.
“Sorry,” said Oswald weakly as he passed Christophe. “Sorry about the Professor too,” he said to the Ringmaster, before adding, “But he did destroy my book.”
“I’ll give yer sorry,” said Busboy as he pointed his gun at Oswald’s face. Oswald did not flinch. He merely put his hand over the barrel of the gun and squeezed it out of shape. Busboy threw the gun down in indignation and raised his hand to strike at Oswald.
“Busboy!” commanded the Ringmaster. “Don’t waste your strength. You’re not his match.”
Busboy looked resentfully at the Ringmaster. He kept his hand raised for a few seconds and then dropped it to his side.
When they reached the big tent, the circus had moved back to the snow-covered landscape. Icarus barked out orders to be taken to the Omniportallis chamber. X stepped forward, picked him up and cradled him in his elbow.
“No! Wait, you bumbling idiot. My leg!” bellowed Icarus.
“I’ll get it,” said Felina. She went on all fours to where the leg lay. She noticed the chain of Christophe’s pendant lying half-covered by snow. She picked it up along with the leg. Icarus sighed loudly and irritably when Felina approached Christophe first and handed over the pendant.
“I prefer your other look,” he said curtly.
After the leg was back in Icarus’s hands, X disappeared with him into the tent.
When the circus returned to where it had been, it was afternoon and the singing of birds filled the air. There was a feeling of collective relief, almost a welcome embrace of the mundane. The Ringmaster allowed most of the performers to leave the circus grounds to look for entertainment and diversion. “It will be good for them,” he had said. Other than Felina, Icarus and the Ringmaster, the circus was now devoid of its folk. Icarus had insisted on fixing his leg, and therefore, had remained sequestered in his laboratory.
Christophe, in the form of the gentleman everyone was so familiar with, stepped outside of the tent, fully healed after taking a draught of Tumblety’s medicine. He fingered the chain of the pendant, making sure that it was secure. Octavius was tethered near the tent. In the form of a horse, he aroused no alarm from the other animals. Suresh, who lay on the ground nearby, groomed himself and paid no attention to Octavius.
Christophe spied Oswald, who kneeled over the remains of the Noble Grimoire. He had been there ever since the circus came back. Other than the Ringmaster, the others had steered clear of him. He appeared to be crying. Christophe felt a need to say something comforting to Oswald, if only to share his pain at the book’s destruction. But he decided against that idea, allowing Oswald to have his solitude instead.
He saw the Ringmaster approach him. Arcanus, he heard in his mind, I want a word with you. Christophe fell in beside the Ringmaster and they walked on in silence to a quiet corner.
“The cat will not leave Oswald alone,” said the Ringmaster without any preamble.
“The cat’s gone. From what I’ve gathered, no one can survive passing through the circus’s boundaries while it’s in transit.”
“If only it were that simple. Unfortunately, this cat has lives far exceeding nine.”
“Why would you think the cat survived?”
“Let’s just say it’s divinely resourceful,” said the Ringmaster mirthlessly. “In any case, we must consider the possibility of giving up Oswald.”
“But that’s not his wish.”
“It’s no longer up to him.”
“That’s immoral,” blurted Christophe.
“You look like a man of no mean experience. You should know that sometimes a person has to do what a person has to do. Cross the boundaries he has set for himself, if for no other reason than the greater good.”
“I … I have to ponder on this.”
“Don’t ponder too long.”
Christophe took his leave. As he turned, he froze. He had not imagined what he heard. A few seconds later, he heard it again: a meow.
The Ringmaster scanned all around him for signs of the cat but it was nowhere to be seen.
“Arcanus,” he said, “your time’s just run out. You have to decide.”
Chapter 13: Bonding
Oswald looked up suddenly, as though he had been woken up from sleep.
“No, no, no,” he cried in near despair. “What will make you go away?”
Suresh pricked his ears as Felina came bounding out of the tent. Like the Ringmaster, she looked all around her. Unlike the Ringmaster though, there was no sign of worry on her.
“Oh, he’s alive,” Christophe heard her declare.
Another meow sounded and the Spindle Cat appeared out of the woods. It sprang from the cover of the trees, gliding towards the circus. It seemed as if it made the trip in no time at all. Far from hostile, it regarded Oswald serenely.
There is no need to cry over the book, Oswald. I can show you all the sights mentioned in the book … and more.
“No. I don’t want anything from you,” he replied.
“You said you’re here to cure Oswald. You never mentioned bonding with him,” said the Ringmaster. “You omitted an important point.”
The cat ignored him.
“You can’t be trusted,” the Ringmaster persisted.
You failed. Necronis’s blood continues to corrupt Oswald. And here you are quibbling over little details.
“Oswald will not harm anyone.”
You do not know anything about anything. You agreed to help. Will you do so?
“I will help Oswald.”
“Our knowledge in this is limited, Ringmaster,” said Felina. “We must trust the cat.”
“All of you conspire against me!” shrieked Oswald. “I won’t stand here while you discuss turning me into a slave.”
You will not be a
slave. Fanfer was never a slave, but a companion.
“But I still have to do your bidding.”
You always have a choice. Sometimes, unfortunately, choices will be limited.
“Never, cat!” growled Oswald.
I remember the first time you called me. You were beside yourself with gratitude when I came to you. You showed deference. Look at how much you have changed in so short a time. You now sound like Necronis.
The cat turned to the Ringmaster. I can expel the corruption and leave Oswald alone, but he will be susceptible to temptation. Only in a bonding over a certain time will I be able to wean him off Necronis’s influence completely. You have the choice to chance it. Will you –
Before the cat had an opportunity to finish, Oswald struck. There was a wild look in his eyes, so different to the melancholy Christophe had witnessed not too long before. All were surprised by the suddenness of Oswald’s change in temperament. Felina threw herself in his path, and fast as her reflexes were, she was still slow in comparison. Oswald swept Felina aside and she tumbled to the ground. Suresh jumped to his feet and charged at Oswald. He reared on his hind legs, raking Oswald with his four paws. Oswald shielded himself, and with a kick, knocked Suresh back. Suresh tumbled, scratching the earth as he did so. He rolled on his side and came to a stop at Christophe’s feet. Octavius fidgeted where he was, pulling at the tether repeatedly. The Ringmaster and Christophe moved as one, and with a sweeping gesture, repelled Oswald from everyone there. Oswald flew through the air, where he twisted and landed safely a few feet away.
“Necronis’s blood gives me power and nothing more. How I use it is up to me. Necronis has no say.”
Necronis has no direct say, the cat corrected. It is easy to dismiss him because he is not here. But he can speak with the subtlest of voices. You will not even know when you fall under his sway.
