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"I can't believe all this wasn't here yesterday," Peter said.
The carnival was huge, tents littering the open field. Brightly-coloured streamers and banners flapped and fluttered in the breeze. People were everywhere, jostling, talking, laughing, their faces snapshots of carefree happiness as they hustled by.
"It's like a crop circle or something!" Lane agreed, looking around excitedly. He was standing with Peter and Jeremy at the edge of the field.
Jeremy groaned. "Not again! I've had it up to here with your superstitious crap!"
"You're just blinding yourself to the truth. Some things have no other explanation, you can't deny that!"
"Sure they do! You just won't believe them unless they involve aliens or ghosts or whatever!"
"Come on, guys," Peter cut in, gesturing towards one of the larger tents. "Let's not get into this here. Why don't we all go on one of those rides?"
"You guys go ahead. I'm going there." Lane pointed at the signboard in front of them. "Through the Mists," it read, and below that, "Dame Varla, Fortune Teller."
Jeremy threw up his hands. "Fine! You go get your palm read by some wrinkly old witch, then!"
"You shouldn't be so hard on him," Peter said as Lane walked away. "You know what he's been through."
"Yeah, but it's time he moved on! He'll never get anywhere in life if he fills his head with all that nonsense!” Jeremy glanced around, and paused. “And hey, forget the ride -- check out that 'dame' over there!"
Peter followed Jeremy's outstretched finger. To one side of the field a large wooden stage had been set up. A small crowd had gathered around it, cheering. Arranged atop the stage were four large boxes, and standing next to them, arms waving as she spoke, was the "dame" in question: a tall woman in a long skirt, with flowing, flame-red hair. Jeremy whistled.
"She looks mighty fine, don't she?"
Peter looked at the signboard. There was an arrow pointing towards the stage. "The Valley of the Shadow," he read aloud. "I don't know, Jeremy. It sounds kind of... creepy."
"Creepy? Look around! What's creepy? This is a carnival, Pete, not some kind of freak show."
"Yes, but don't you think it's strange that it suddenly... appeared like this? I mean, we just walked past this field yesterday. We walk past it every day, and this sort of thing takes days to set up. How could we have missed it?"
Jeremy threw up his hands. "So they work really fast! Look, if you're too scared, you can go back."
"No, I'm not… maybe I'll just go for the ride alone then."
"Fine. We'll meet back here later then."
* * *
The small crowd was listening intently as Jeremy approached the stage. "What is our purpose?" the woman was saying. "Why are we born? Why, the answer is quite simple. We are born to die. Our purpose is death. It is the one thing -- the only thing that unites us all, is it not?"
Jeremy glanced at the people around him. Eyes were wide, heads were nodding. He had to admit he found himself somewhat swayed by the woman's logic.
She continued, "Often we ask ourselves, what is the meaning of life? And we fail to consider the true question: what is death? I am offering you the chance to discover for yourselves the answer to this question! Now, who would like to be first?"
Immediately hands shot up, Jeremy's among them. Somehow the woman's short speech had him wildly excited at the prospect of experiencing death, of discovering his true purpose. Her voice had an almost hypnotic quality to it, and he found himself accepting her words without question. The woman's eyes settled on him, and she smiled. "You," she said, pointing.
Jeremy climbed up onto the stage. The crowd watched expectantly. The woman walked across the stage towards one of the contraptions, her heels thumping on the wood. It looked like a coffin, Jeremy realised.
“This is your ship,” she said, opening the top of the device. “It will carry you into the Valley of the Shadow, and back. Step in.” He clambered in, feeling suddenly awkward and afraid. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t seem to think. For a moment he was standing in the crowd, watching himself being strapped in.
The woman leaned close and touched her fingers gently to his cheek, her dark eyes holding his. “Don’t be afraid. This will be more wonderful than you can ever imagine, I promise you.”
She closed the lid.
It was dark and cramped. The sound of his own breathing was thunderous in his ears. His heart was pounding.
Suddenly the coffin began to shake and shudder. Jeremy gasped. An explosion of light streamed past him, colours swirling into whirls and eddies, dripping with haunting tunes and melodies. It felt as though a weight had been removed from him, a weight he had never noticed before.
And then the light was receding, the music was fading, the walls of the coffin emerged from the sea of colour and began closing in. Jeremy gasped at the sudden heat, the darkness. It was as though he were a blind man that had been allowed to see, but only for an instant before being plunged back into abject darkness.
The lid creaked open.
* * *
The sign outside read, “The Thrill”. It was a large, complicated structure, painted red on the outside. It looked like some kind of indoor roller-coaster. The queue was fairly short, and before long Peter was strapped into his seat. Next to him sat an old man in a rumpled suit. His face was lined and craggy, but clean-shaven. Slouched in his seat, eyes closed, he looked to be asleep. Peter glanced at him, bemused.
As if sensing his gaze, the man stirred and cracked open an eye. “You’d best not get on, kid,” he said, sitting up.
“What – what do you mean? Why?”
The old man sighed. “Lemme ask you something. Are you scared?”
“Scared? Why would I be scared? It’s just a ride.”
“But aren’t you afraid something will go wrong?” He leaned closer to Peter. “Don’t you feel a thrill every time the car rattles round a bend?”
“Well, I suppose, but –”
“Exactly!” The man was animated now, gesticulating, eyes wild with inscrutable fervour. That little thrill you feel, that delicious tingling, that’s fear! You say you’re not worried that something will go wrong, but deep down you are! And that’s what allows you to really enjoy the ride.” He shifted in his seat, turning to peer intently at Peter. “But that doesn’t work for me. I’ve ridden this thing too many times. I don’t enjoy it any more. That’s why I had to spice things up a little.”
“Spice things up? What do you mean?”
“Like I said, kid, best you don’t get on –”
Just then, the cushioned seat belts lowered into place, pinning them both. With a rumbling cranking, the car began to trundle up the slope. The old man whooped, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Too late!”
The coaster-car reached the top of the slope, and paused for a moment –
Then it rocketed down, and the whole world became a blur.
“What did you do?” Peter screamed. The coaster-car rattled and thundered round bends, swept up inclines and sped down slopes. Peter’s hair streamed back, he could feel his skin being stretched. Next to him the old man was whooping, eyes bright.
“Isn’t it marvellous? And the best part is yet to come!”
“Best part? What do you mean? What did you do?”
The old man flashed him a lopsided grin, stretched to one side by the rushing air. “Right at the last bend, I loosened the screws.”
“Loosened the – you’re insane! We’re going to die!”
“That’s entirely possible! And that’s the fun of it, there’s no way to tell for certain whether the car will make it or not!”
The last bend loomed up ahead. The car was shaking violently. Under the garish interior lights, it seemed that the whole track was swaying.
“This is it!” The old man gripped the sides of his seat tightly. “Bye, kid. Been nice knowing you –”
The car slid to a stop after rounding the final bend. Peter let out a loud sigh of relief. He looked over at the old man and cracked an involuntary smile. “You know, that was actually kind of fun!”
“Hah! Told you so, kid. Fear makes things interesting. Anticipation is everything!”
“I suppose you do have a point. Well, I have to go now. It was… nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, you too, kid.” The old man watched him leave, and sighed. “You too.”
* * *
“Hello?” Lane pushed aside the heavy red curtain covering the doorway, and stepped into the tent. The curtain fell into place behind him, cutting off the noise from the outside. The air here was heavy and still, yet charged with a strange kind of energy. There did not seem to be any kind of ventilation, but the candles arranged around the tent were flickering. Lane shivered involuntarily.
“Yes?” said a voice. Lane started. Seated at the large table in the centre of the room was a man. I could have sworn he wasn’t there when I came in…
“I’m, er, looking for Dame Varla.”
“Have a seat.” Lane sat. The man looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Well?”
“Wait. You’re Dame Varla?”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, it’s just… I thought –”
“Thought what? That I was a woman?” The man chuckled, a deep, rumbling sort of sound. He seemed rather plump, adorned as he was with layer after layer of bright cloth. His skin was dark, his head swathed in a turban. “Happens all the time. ‘Dame’ stands for Damien. That’s my name, Damien Varla.”
“Oh.” Lane smiled nervously. “Well, Mr Varla –”
“Please, just call me Dame.”
“Well, er, Dame, it says outside that you do fortune telling?”
“Ah! Would you like your fortune told?” Dame reached out and took Lane’s hands, placing them on the table palms up.
“Don’t I have to… pay you, or something?”
“Oh, no, no… not in money, at any rate.” Dame closed his eyes, frowning. “I see… something terrible has happened to you, fairly recently. It involves… your parents –”
“I’m not interested in the past,” Lane interrupted. “I want to know the future.”
Dame opened his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he said softly. “But the future can be a terrible thing, Lane. Are you certain you’re ready?”
“Are you a fortune teller, or not?”
“Anger will get you nowhere, Lane. The future –”
“They died! They all died! And I could have saved them! I won’t let it happen again, I –” Lane was trembling. Dame could feel the tremors running down the boy’s arms.
“Calm down, Lane. I’m just trying to prepare you. The future is seldom pleasant. What if I were to tell you, for example, that before the end of the day you would murder your best friend? Are you sure you would want that kind of information?”
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me –”
“Oh, this is no game, I assure you.”
There was silence for a moment. Shadows cast by the candles danced frenzied around the tent. Dame focused intently on Lane, watching the inner struggle, the furtive motion of his eyes. “Lane. Are you certain –”
“Yes.” There was a determined set to his jaw. “I want to know. Everything.”
Dame nodded. Taking Lane’s hands, he pressed them against his own forehead. “Now relax, Lane. Relax. Open your mind. Open your mind. Relax…”
“I can see it,” Lane mumbled. His eyes were closed tightly, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. The candles were flickering madly, the flames dancing so wildly they hardly seemed connected to the candle wicks, snapping left and right like a metronome in convulsions –
He is stumbling out of the tent eyes wide Standing in an empty field crying with the sky A flood in China Earthquake in the Pacific A concerto in C sharp minor The inside of a cell A police precinct all is not well Blood on his hands The price he demands The red witch holding the boy holding the knife holding the boy holding him There was blood on his hands –
Lane’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, no, Peter – !” He turned to Dame. “I – I saw my friend, he was – I have to help him!”
He made to rise, but Dame spoke first. “There’s nothing you can do, Lane.”
“What do you mean? I saw it, I know what’s going to happen! I can stop it –”
“Look carefully, Lane. What else do you see?”
“I –” he stopped, looked at his hands. “No, I – what does this mean?”
Dame sighed. “I tried to warn you, Lane. You can’t change the future. Don’t you see? The future isn’t some abstract construct you can mould at will, the future moulds you. The very fact that you know the future is already part of the future! This is the terrible burden you now bear: you will see the horror ahead but remain helpless to avert it.”
A sudden burst of thunder rumbled overhead. “I have to help him,” Lane whispered. He stumbled out of the tent, eyes wide.
The sky was heavy and grey. The once gaudy colours all around seemed washed out and dull – The knife plunges in He is smiling whispering Let me take you let me show you – He ran, heart throbbing painfully, towards the signboard where they had split up; it began to rain, slowly at first –
The sky is crying He is crying Blood on his hands – and there, in front of the signboard, stood Jeremy, his face blank, his eyes dazed – A knife in his hands The red witch holding the boy holding the knife –
On the ground in front of him lay Peter, unmoving – He is smiling whispering Let me take you let me – “—show him,” whispered Jeremy, “It was so beautiful. I had to share it, I had to show him… I want to go back,” –
And Lane saw the future, and he stopped fighting, because he knew he could not fight it, and he knew what he had to do – The inside of a cell A police precinct all is not well Blood on my hands –
The rain fell, dark and heavy. The tents and the people faded away, the colours dulling and running and vanishing under the sky-stream. The carnival was gone as silently as it had come. There was just an empty field, a boy and a knife, and a future far worse than uncertain.
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Brian Rich
