Arriving at Carnival City

Clunk. Bump. Bump.

"Can you not go over every tree root on the path, Willow?" Rico asked from the back, awoken from his anger-induced slumber.

"I'm not trying to, really." She yelled back, giggling as she did.

Although they were going to a city, it existed in the middle of a forest, and unfortunately this city did not have any clear roadways to it.

Another bump rocked the wagon.

Gus steadied a crate with one hand. “I sure hope we don't have anything breakable."

Bart leaned over the side, squinting at the ground. "This soil has an amazing nutrient density. Fascinating.”

Joren glanced down at the rutted trail from the back of the wagon, then ahead.

“If the soil’s that good,” he said, “why build a city out here instead of farms?”

Bartholomew blinked, pulled briefly from his study. “An excellent question! I don't know.”

Joren groaned under his breath. "Well, since it's the carnival city and there is probably tons of performers,” he thought, “Do you think they would know anything about Oren?"

The name hung in the air for a moment.

Rico was the first to say something. "Who's Oren? Is he a friend?"

Willow glanced back over her shoulder. “Depends on who you ask.”

Gus shifted the crate into a more secure position. “We met him on the road,” he said. “Puppets and very enthusiastic storytelling.”

“Then things got strange,” Willow added, "Though he disappeared after we woke up."

"Do you think he actually existed or was it just a dream we all had?" Joren asked.

Bart folded his hands behind his back, gaze drifting somewhere. “Shared hallucination is rare but not impossible, it just means you are much closer than you think. At least, that's what the newspaper horoscopes say."

Rico stared at him. “You get your insight from horoscopes?”

“They have excellent writing.” Bart retorted

Gus shook his head. “Dream or not, I think we should ask around the people that live there, they might just know something about him."

"Agreed." Willow and Joren said in unison.

Willow glanced back at him with a grin. “Jinx.”

“I’m not buying you anything,” Joren replied, face growing rosier by the second.

By now, the trees began to thin out and the roots were less prevalent now. Music was the first thing they could hear, then the sound of wheels and screams from attractions and rides. Next was the smell of corndogs and funnel cakes, the many foods melting into that one greasy, yet refreshing smell. The city of eternal carnivals was nearing.

Gus perked up like the smell was coaxing him into bad decisions, his version of a Siren’s song. “Oh man, that smells sooo good.”

Everyone laughed, but silently felt the same way. After days of simple meals, the idea of frying batter and sugary foods felt surreal.

The wagon rolled forward through the last stretch of trees, the flashes of color peeking through each gap. Music and laughter overtook them in a wall of sound, horns bright and celebratory, bells chiming in quick succession, the rhythmic clatter of rides in motion. It was jarring.

They had reached the fabled Carnival City.

Tents and canopies were all they could see, the occasional roller coaster or Ferris wheel popping through.

Rico let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s impressive.”

Gus stared, momentarily speechless. “We should get something to eat since it's been a while. I'm sure Joren here is starving."

The wagon eased into a slower crawl as foot traffic thickened around them. The scent of frying batter drifted stronger from a row of food stalls ahead, smoke rising in pale ribbons above striped awnings.

"How about we get this parked somewhere. Bart, you want to help while they go find us somewhere to eat?" Rico asked.

Bartholomew straightened at once. “Yes, an excellent division of labor. Find us something delectable, you three!"

Willow hopped down from the bench and stretched, taking in the swirl of color and movement ahead. “Come on,” she said, nudging Joren with her elbow. “Before he starts ordering in bulk.”

Joren dropped to the packed earth beside her. "I hope they have pretzels."

Willow blinked at him. “Pretzels?”

He nodded. “Parmesan ones I hope. They are my favorite."

“That’s the most specific you’ve been about anything all week,” she said. "I like this new Joren."

Gus was already five paces ahead, letting his nose do the deciding.

Steam curled up from a pretzel stand near the corner. Butter shone on the twists hanging from metal hooks, and the smell was phenomenal.

Gus stopped. “I heard someone wanted a pretzel. Well, here we are."

Joren stepped closer, eyeing the golden spirals with starstruck eyes. “Perfect.”

Next, they stopped at a few more stands so they could share when the other two were done parking. By the time they ordered enough between them and were about to regroup, their arms were full. Paper trays stacked, cups balanced between fingers, a cone of candied nuts. It was all too much, honestly.

“Let’s find them before this gets cold.” Joren said.

They turned back toward the outer thoroughfare, weaving through families and performers. A juggler’s pins flashed overhead and a loud buzzer went off as someone missed the rings on the bottle.

Near the edge of the path, a clown walked the opposite direction. Standing at 8 feet tall and legs half of that, it really emphasized his rotund torso and lanky arms.

“Welcome to the midway,” he said, juggling seven red balls in all sorts of ways. "I am Big Top the clown. Would you like to see my show?"

Willow adjusted the cider in her grip and smiled apologetically. “We just got here. Still finding our friends.”

Gus raised the stack of food in his arms as evidence. “Lots to eat, sorry."

Joren nodded once. “Maybe later.”

Big Top’s painted smile and big teeth didn’t change, but he dipped his head as he began walking away. “Understood."

The red balls reappeared in his hands as he moved on, slipping back into a juggling rhythm while he drifted toward another group of passersby. Within seconds, he was just another splash of color among many.

Willow exhaled. “That's some body proportions. I've never seen that before, haha."

They merged back into the current of foot traffic, the noise of the midway folding around them.

“I swear it moved on its own,” someone nearby was saying.

“No way,” another voice replied. “The mirror maze doesn’t move.”

From within the flurry of voices, two distinct ones made their presence known.

“I’m telling you,” Bart was saying, “this dirt is exceptionally nutritious.”

“It’s dirt,” Rico replied.

“It is quality dirt, but whatever.”

Willow grinned as they approached. “Found you! We bring peace offerings."

Bart straightened quickly, brushing his hands together. “Ah. Excellent timing.”

Even Rico was eyeing the trays up. "Whatcha got there?"

Gus set the tray down at the nearest table so he could see. “Pretzels, corn dogs, nuts, nachos, and cider.”

Rico reached in and took one of the pretzels, turning it over once before tearing off a piece. “Good call.”

Bart tried one of the candied almonds. A quiet, approving hummed song followed.

Gus sat on the opposite side of Rico and Bart, taking a sip of cider, eyes drifting over the moving crowd. “I knew stopping for food first was the right move.”

Joren handed Rico a cup from his tray. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Rico blew across the surface and took a sip. He did an enactment of his mouth spewing fire, then took another sip. “Worth it.”

The crowd and attractions moved around them in a steady current. Families passed carrying stuffed prizes bigger than their children as performers on stilts walked over the crowd, baggy clothes blowing in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, a ride reached the apex of the climb and released a burst of screams while bells rang from a game booth.

Gus shifted his weight against the wagon and looked down the row of tents. “This place is bigger than I thought.”

“Feels like it keeps going,” Willow said. "We should definitely check out some rides and games later."

"I heard that this place never sleeps, so there is always something open even at night." Joren added.

Rico chewed thoughtfully, eyes following a line of lanterns strung between poles further down the midway. “Good. I intend to make several poor decisions after dark.”

Bart nodded in quiet approval, still humming faintly.

Willow raised her cider. “To bad decisions.”

"To bad decisions!" They all replied in unison.

From afar, a pair of eyes attached to a shadowy figure watched them intently, observing this group of newcomers, and in particular, the young boy. A current of passersby engulfed the figure, leaving behind an empty space where they once stood.

A chill ran up Joren’s spine as he looked around, but he couldn't figure out what caused him to feel that way. Oh well, pretzels did make him quite happy, so it must have been that.