The little girl looked around in fear. She had wandered far deeper into the woods than she’d meant to, and now, their gloom surrounded her.
Trying not to panic, she began to retrace her steps. That was when she became aware that she was being followed. No, it was more--she was being stalked.
She ducked behind a tree for a moment, and then slowly peered around it to see what was hunting her. Was it a vatte? Perhaps a smallish Beast she could deal with?
It was a Garm, big, bulky, brutal and hideous.
Stand still, stay silent. In her mind, the words replayed themselves over and over again. Stand still, stay silent. Stand still stay silent stand still stay silent standstillstaysilent--It had seen her.
The Beast pushed off from the tree trunk, hurtling toward her still form--
--until a blur of blue and red smashed into it, knocking it aside and bouncing to catch a bar of wood swinging from ropes at either end.
“Behold, REYNIR, MASTER of the TRAPEZE!” The incredibly loud bellow came from a tall red-head. The little girl stared at the woman, who, unlike everyone else the girl had ever met, wasn’t afraid to shout in the woods.
“And NOW, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, from all across the Silent World, we proudly present--the EIDE MOST BEST TRAVELING CIRCUS, the SHOW of AGES!
“Let’s hear it for the rest of our players:
“The HOTAKAINENS, JUGGLERS of the BLADES!”
The Garm was on its feet again, but as it was about to charge again, two ash-blonde figures in bright patchwork garb stepped out from either side of it. The two humans pulled out long, wicked-looking knives and began tossing them back and forth at one another, starting with one, then two at a time, and gradually more and more until there seemed to be hundreds of knives surrounding the Beast so that it was immobilized.
The Garm screamed, calling for aid from its foul kin. Over the din, the woman yelled again.
“EMIL, the FIRE-EATER!”
A red blur cartwheeled into the clearing, stopping just short of where the Garm stood at bay. He stood, pulling out and lighting a torch. Then, he put the torch close to his mouth and blew fire at the Garm.
The Garm didn’t like this at all. Neither did the troll that had slithered up behind Emil. The troll stretched forth a tentacle to strike at the fire-eater--
“Mikkel, the MOURNFUL CLOWN!”
--and was hit on the rump by a huge stick with a SLAP that hurt the little girl’s ears. A great big bear of a man, face painted white accented with smears of blue, green and red, this Mikkel twirled the slap-stick nonchalantly as the troll tried to regain what passed for its feet.
SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP!
“And finally, YOUR HUMBLE SERVANT, SIGRUN the FEARLESS, TAMER of the JUNGLE CATS!”
At this, three lions emerged from the woods and ROARED. The Garm stopped looking angry; instead, it wore an expression the little girl knew all too well, but had never before seen on a grossling: fear.
“NOW, MY BEAUTIES!” Sigrun roared, louder than the lions had with a crack of her bullwhip, and the cats attacked.
Another troll or two rashly decided to aid the Garm against its attackers, but the lions were more than a match for anything that came their way.
Nor were the others idle. Each one went after the other grosslings drawn by the noise of their fellows being slaughtered.
Soon, the little girl and Ringmistress Sigrun were all who remained in the clearing, the others having shooed the lions back into the depths of the woods.
“Thank you,” the little girl whispered.
“Thank you,” Sigrun replied. “After all, what’s a Circus without an audience?”
The little girl walked back down the path to her village. Didn’t she have a tale to tell, though she doubted anyone would believe her...
