Chapter 2 #2
Then there’s a juggler. There is the whoosh of objects flying through the air, and the soft thunk as they land in his hands. One falls, and the crowd laughs good-naturedly.
Each act is impressive in its own way, but I’m growing impatient. I’m here for the singer. I hope she is as good as I have heard.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the tent master’s voice rings out again.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for something truly extraordinary!” His voice drops. “She soars through the air like a creature born of wind and sky itself! Her voice will transport you to realms beyond imagination! You will question whether she is human at all.”
I hope so.
The crowd is silent, breathless with anticipation.
“She performs feats that would kill any ordinary performer! She hangs by a thread between earth and the heavens themselves!” There’s a pause. “I give you…the incomparable…the magnificent…the death-defying…Isla of the Air!”
The applause is thunderous. I hear movement on the stage and the sound of fabric rustling, of ropes being pulled taut. Then silence falls again.
A single note rings out, clear and pure. Then another sound, softer. The whisper of silk sliding through hands.
There’s a collective gasp from the crowd.
“She’s climbing!” someone whispers.
“Those silks are too fine to hold her.”
Another person gasps.
I lean forward, straining to hear every detail. I can make out the soft sounds of exertion, the creak of rope, the whisper of fabric.
The crowd gasps again, louder this time.
“How is she doing that?” a woman nearby asks.
“Can’t be,” someone else mutters.
I wish I could see what they’re seeing. My fingers grip the edge of the bench as frustration wells up inside me.
Then she starts to sing, and I forget everything else.
Her voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It’s pure and powerful. Gooseflesh rises on my arms.
My heart starts racing, my blood pounding through my veins.
It doesn’t take long before I start to see behind my eyelids, which are now closed.
Gone is the darkness, and color explodes. Vivid, brilliant, almost painful in its intensity. Rolling hills of green, even though I’ve never seen them before. A sky of blue stretching overhead. Trees with leaves that shimmer in various shades.
I smile. I can’t help it.
The images come faster, a rushed blur of everything I’ve been denied. Faces of human and fae alike. Creatures I’ve only heard described, such as horses with flowing manes, birds with brilliant plumage, and dragons with scales that catch the light.
Although this has happened to me before, this is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
My body warms, heat flooding through me from my core to my fingertips.
A buzzing sensation runs through my veins, electric and alive.
The hair on my arms and neck stands on end. Every nerve ending seems to come alive.
Isla’s voice lifts higher, stronger, filling every corner of my mind.
There are more gasps from the audience and a thunderous applause that I barely register.
I would clap too, but I can’t because I’m gripping the bench. I’m feeling too much, seeing too much, experiencing too much.
The colors grow more vivid, the images sharper.
Isla keeps singing. Her voice reaches impossible heights, notes that shouldn’t exist, harmonies that seem to come from somewhere beyond this world.
I can hardly breathe. The visions are so intense, so real, I’m drowning in them. My heart feels like it might explode in my chest.
I cry out when the pain hits like the sharp cut of a knife.
It starts in my chest with a burning, searing agony that feels like my very bones are on fire. The heat that had been pleasant moments ago turns into an inferno. I can feel it spreading, racing through my body like wildfire through dry grass.
I try to cry out, but no sound comes. My throat is locked, my jaw clenched so tight I think my teeth might shatter.
Sweat drips from my brow. My eyes are wide and unseeing, yet the images keep coming anyway.
The colors don’t stop. If anything, they grow brighter, more intense, more painful. They’re burning now, each shade a different kind of torture.
My chest is burning.
Kakara help me. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out from inside me. Like my ribs are breaking, my heart exploding, my lungs turning to ash.
Stop!
Stop!
Please!
“Are you alright?” someone asks me, but all I can give is a strangled gasp.
The pain intensifies. Impossibly, it gets worse. My back arches as if pulled by invisible strings. I can feel my spine bending, feel each vertebra screaming in protest.
“Help!” a woman yells. “This man needs help.”
I moan, and it quickly turns into a scream.
I pitch forward off the bench. My hands find the wooden planks of the floor, my cane clattering away somewhere. My chest is still on fire, still burning, still trying to tear itself apart from the inside.
People are shouting around me.
There is alarm in their voices. Someone is touching me. It only serves to make the pain worse.
I’m dying. I must be. Nothing could hurt this much and not be death.
But it doesn’t end. It goes on and on, wave after wave of searing, bone-deep agony that shows no sign of stopping.
I clutch at my tunic, at my chest. I need the pain to stop.
“Look! What is that?” a woman shouts. Is she talking about me?
“No! Surely not,” a man shouts. “It can’t be.” There is shock laced with horror in his voice.
My chest burns. My blood burns. Every fiber of my being is on fire.
The performer is still singing. No! That’s not true… She’s…she’s screaming too.