Chapter Text
Da would probably be so furious once he found him.
Kaz crept around the big tent, farther and farther away from the noise of the people gathering under the Ravkan night skies. It was darker out here in the fields, away from the lights and laughter, and no one had spotted him yet. He’d felt a little bad for leaving Da behind, but Jordie was ignoring him, too busy talking with Delis and Leenart, as if what they were discussing was too grown up for Kaz. He scoffed in the dark. Let his brother talk with the two older boring boys. Kaz couldn’t care less about their supposedly exciting new life in Ravka.
Jordie hadn’t even wanted to come to the circus in the first place. He’d complained about it all afternoon, saying he rather stay in Os Kervo, as if there was anything to do in that boring old town anyway. But Delis and Leenart’s parents, old childhood friends of their Da, had already planned for them to go to the Suli carnival during their visit. The carnival stopped in this part of Ravka only once a year, Truyde had said, hands on hips, and put on quite a show. It would be a shame to miss it.
Kaz had to agree. Even before they’d made their way out of town and into the fields, following a river that flowed nearby as the sun went down, he’d been so excited he couldn’t sit still. He didn’t care that Jordie was pouting in the backseat of the wagon. He’d never been to a circus before, but oh, he’d heard all about them. From knives throwing and fire swallowing, to aerial tricks and vanishing acts – there was so much to see. He wasn’t sure he blinked once after they arrived next to the big tent, lit up from within like a beacon slowly appearing in the golden fields. His Da insisted on holding his hand, so they wouldn’t get separated in the thick crowds. Kaz thought maybe he should protest, since he would be eleven years old in just a few months, but he was too mesmerised to care. People walked around on stilts taller than the roof of their barn back home, playing the flute or violin or calling down to the revellers in a theatrical manner. The scent of caramel apples and hot, spicy tea filled the air, while strange women and men wearing jackal masks appeared in and out of sight. Kaz stood riveted while they waited in line for tickets, as a man made all sorts of little things – cards, coins, jacket buttons, hairpins – vanish into thin air. He tried to track the motions of his hands, tried to understand how he did it, and he was certain he would have, if the line hadn’t moved at the precise second the trick was played. One moment the tall, lanky fellow had a perfectly ordinary brooch nestled in his fingers, and the next, with a flourish, it was gone.
Kaz, crouching on the other side of the big tent now, struggled to put the sleight of hand out of his mind. He knew it was just an illusion; he was old enough to know magic wasn’t real. Maybe it was when the man folded his fingers over the object, before asking someone to tap the back of his hand… Kaz shook his head to clear it. There would be time to analyze the trick later.
For now, he needed to find the girl.
Her act had been one of the very last of the show, right after the two brothers on the trapezes. Kaz had watched, holding his breath in anticipation with the rest of the crowd, as the spotlight had suddenly turned up, up, up, to the wire – impossibly thin, strung across the entire tent like a single piece of spiderweb.
“Gentlemen,” the man down in the centre of the tent called out with flair, “take your lady’s hand in yours. See how slender her fingers are?”
Kaz ignored the murmurs in the audience as people did just that, his eyes still riveted to the line of the illuminated wire, with its twin distorted shadow on the roof.
“Now imagine if you will,” the man continued, “trying to walk across something so slender, so fragile as that? Who would dare such a thing? Who would dare to defy death itself?”
“I will!”
Just like a shining coin in the magician’s hand, one second the girl wasn’t there, and the next, there she was – shoulders rolled back, hands on hips, standing at the very top of the pole. The crowd gasped. Kaz’s eyes widened.
“But wait, no, this can’t be right!” the man exclaimed, as sounds of protest rushed through the crowd. “A little girl?”
Defiant, she rose her chin, and put one foot on the wire, then the other.
And then, time itself seemed to stop.
Kaz watched in awe as the girl started to cross, walking on thin air. He watched as gravity tried to pull her down, and sourly failed. Every time she listed left or right, she righted herself, her slender balance pole waving gently, gracefully, as if guided by a phantom wind. When she stood in the very centre of the wire, she lifted one leg, tucking her knee toward her chest, and balanced there, poised for flight. The only sounds in the tent were sharp inhales from the audience, barely concealed prayers to the Saints. Kaz did not pray to Ghezen. Instead, he kept his eyes on the girl, as if the strength of his gaze alone could save her, should she fall.
The music started, and he realized that her performance had barely begun. Like a spring the girl extended her leg again, and smoothly went into a cartwheel as easily as sparrows soared in the sky. She crossed the second half of the wire without any sort of hesitation, floating above them all as if she had invisible wings that held her aloft. Kaz knew his mouth was probably hanging open, but he didn’t care. He followed every movement, every step, as his mind raced to catch up with them. The girl did flips and walked on her hands, the end of her long braid kissing the wire. She spun and danced and almost ran to the rhythm of the music, defying gravity from the tip of her toes to the crown of her proudly held head. Then, the impossible happened. She wobbled – just barely. The audience held its breath. The headdress she was wearing was covered in roses, and small petals fell down, slowly. In the lights and shadows of the tent, they looked like feathers. But the girl was already moving again, fearless, the wire claiming her once more. Welcoming her into a world where the rules of nature did not apply to her at all.
Kaz blinked, and it was over. But he did not forget that moment – that fraction of a second, when the girl had seemed to lose her balance.
Staying low in the tall grass, he saw ahead a different light, dimmer than the one still shimmering brightly in the main tent as the revellers made their way out. The wind picked up, and he could suddenly hear different voices, speaking in a different language – smoother than Kerch, more melodious than Ravkan. Kaz narrowed his eyes in the darkness. A little farther into the field, he could see the Suli caravans, parked in somewhat of a circle, and closer still, a smaller tent. He spotted the two trapezist brothers, as well as the woman who had thrown knives at her husband, and – yes, there. The girl was talking to a man, probably her father – they had the same nose. She was perched on a crate, her slippered feet dangling above the ground as the man laughed and bent to kiss the top of her head. Kaz hadn’t realised she was quite so short.
Something moved in the high grass to his left and he startled, turning his head in that direction. A thousand possibilities flashed into his mind in the span of a second. There were foxes in Ravka just like in the fields back home, he knew. His heart hammering in his chest, Kaz stayed very still, hands on the battered ground, legs tense and ready to take at a run. When no more sound came from that direction but the distant laughter and exclamations of the crowd, he tentatively turned his attention back to the opening of the smaller tent. The girl had disappeared. He frowned, straightening in the tall grass and craning his neck to try and spot her again.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Kaz jumped again, snapping his head towards the voice. There was no one there. His eyes searched feverishly in the dark, wondering if he’d imagined it.
“Only performers are allowed behind the main tent.”
Kaz’s mind painstakingly translated the accented Ravkan as he stood up on the uneven ground, spinning slowly to try and take in his surroundings. His teacher, old Miss Agnes, would be proud. She always said good little Kerch boys needed to master other languages, if they wanted to be successful businessmen one day. She’d been drilling basic Ravkan into him and his classmates since they were six.
“I’m…” Kaz said, enunciating as best he could, “I’m looking for someone.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” the voice repeated.
That voice… Kaz tilted his head, remembering the intonation, the musical quality of it. Something shifted in the darkness on his right.
“It’s you,” he breathed, slipping back into Kerch in surprise.
The girl said something else, in Suli this time – probably pestering him again – and Kaz spun on his heels, following the sound. There. Those were her eyes, reflecting the lantern in the performer’s tent. He took one step towards her and heard her gasp as she realized she was discovered.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he let out in a rush, before she could disappear or admonish him again.
Or rather, he said something along the lines of I look for you. Kaz cringed. Verb tenses were hard. So much for Miss Agnes’s pride.
The girl was silent for a beat, but he could see her, now. He could feel her hesitation as plainly as the wind ruffling his hair. Don’t be weird, Rietveld, he told himself. He took a deep breath.
“I have a question,” he all but blurted. “About your… number? Act?”
Kaz stammered, searching for the right word.
“I have a question about your rope.”
Well. That was definitely a weird way to put it.
The girl edged closer, and Kaz froze for a brief moment as he made out her features under the pale light of the stars. She had a small chin, and full cheeks. Her hair was still braided, but her headdress was nowhere to be found. Her eyes, though narrowed in suspicion, were two pools of captivating night.
“You,” she declared, the words tumbling gracefully from her mouth, “ask too many questions.”
Kaz blinked, taken aback. Jordie always said that to him as well. You can’t just barge into conversations demanding answers, Kaz. At least, try to say hello first.
“And you,” he replied, recovering quickly, “did not almost fall from that wire.”
The girl immediately drew herself up to her full height – somewhere under Kaz’s chin. An annoyed little furrow appeared between her brows.
“You know nothing, neznanac.”
Kaz scoffed at the immediate dismissal.
“You got straight again too– too fast,” he stammered out, illustrating the action by gesturing with both hands, eager to prove his point. “It was not true.”
She crossed her arms stubbornly, said something in Suli, then tsked in annoyance – at herself or him, he couldn’t quite tell.
“Ghafas don’t fall, we recover. I don’t fall.”
She said it as if it was the ultimate argument. That first word – guh-fah, whatever that was – did not ring any bell to Kaz, but the rest, he understood. He rose what he hoped was a dubious brow at her. Heroes in the novels his Da used to read to him did it all the time.
“So, you admit it, then. That it was an act.”
He didn’t know why he needed to be proven right, but he did. Something about her stumble had nagged at him – it was out of place in her routine, a riddle he couldn’t solve. Kaz wanted the answer, badly. The girl opened her mouth, closed it again in a stern line. She stared at him with too-observant eyes, seemingly measuring whether or not he could be trusted. Then, taking him by surprise once more, she smiled. Just a flash of a little grin in the dark.
“I’m not supposed to tell,” the girl said, a little begrudgingly. “It was my mother’s idea.”
“I knew it wasn’t true!” Kaz exclaimed loudly, triumphant.
She shushed him indignantly, taking one step further towards him as if to shut him up herself. Kaz just laughed.
“You can’t tell anyone!” she protested, tiny fists clenched.
“Don’t worry,” he said, eager. “It can be our secret.”
That grin again. Kaz felt warm, despite the chilly air rising in the countryside.
“What’s your name?” the girl asked.
He opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t have to.
“Kazimierz Rietveld!”
Kaz winced. His full name in his father’s voice was rarely a good sign. The girl tilted her head, curious.
“That’s a strange name.”
“What’s yours?”
“Kaz!” his father called again. “I can see you!”
The girl snorted, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes.
“You’re in so much trouble,” she giggled.
Her laugh, sweeter than his father’s hot chocolate, was the last sound he heard before she disappeared – like a magic trick that, somehow, felt real.