Barren, p.1
Barren, page 1
Contents
Playlist
Barren
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Follow the Carnaval des Ténèbres here:
About the Author
Copyright ©2020 Yolanda Olson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Pink Elephant Designs
Cover illustration by Burning Youth
Formatting by Fancy Fiction Formats
Playlist
Atreyu - House of Gold
In This Moment - Oh Lord
Butcher Babies - The Huntsman
Parkway Drive - Shadow Boxing
Chevelle - Comfortable Liar
Kittie - Red Flag
Deftones - Hole in the Earth
Barren
I always wanted to find a place where I belonged.
A place where I wasn't looked at differently for being one in a million.
I left home when I was seventeen looking for this nirvana on Earth that I knew had to exist somewhere, and I finally found it in a small revival of traveling performers.
No one here looks at me any differently because of my illness. See, even though I look like the perfect picture of health, that couldn't be further from the truth.
I don't believe that my anomalies make me any less of a person than someone who has the ability to feel certain things.
My new family has welcomed me with open arms, and even made me a top billing because of what I can withstand—which to say is a lot.
Until him.
I never knew that I didn't care to feel anything until he joined us.
I want to feel him.
I need to feel him.
I’ve finally found the one thing I’m unable to withstand, and when I feel his eyes on me, I know that things will be alright eventually.
He wants to help me—I can see it in the way he looks at me. Whether he admits it or not, I know that he’s come here for me.
Prologue
A bead of sweat trails down the center of my back.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life. The moment I didn’t even know I needed or wanted. I knew when I first saw him that he would be the one—everything I ever wanted in a sickly thin, elongated body, but his eyes. They hold so many secrets and I know that no one will ever be able to learn them all.
It’s not what he wants or needs.
Control.
It’s what fuels him, what spurs every intention that comes from his beautiful lips, the touch at the end of his fingertips.
But I still don’t know how it feels and it’s becoming maddening.
I need my body to react to his touch like I need air to breathe and maintain a life that seemed meaningless before he joined us.
And because of that, I’ve allowed this game. It’s dangerous; filled with treachery, and ill intent, but it’s what he promises will help me.
I grunt as I pull at the restraints that hold me down by the wrist to the spinning wheel. They don’t give and it’s what he wants. I attempt to lift my legs off the used, wooden back, but my ankles are firmly locked in place and it’s what he needs.
The only light in the room comes from the fire.
His passion burning brightly—the exact thing I want to feel.
He takes a step into the illumination, a large knife in his hand. I smile slightly when he raises it and runs a finger down the blade, a small sliver of blood springing forward. I watch as he licks it away, then sets his eyes on me.
“Are you ready?” he asks in his quiet tone, and I nod.
This is why I’m here.
It’s what I came for.
Only he can make me feel and I’ve never been more ready in my life.
Chapter One
I stand up and stretch my arms over my head as I let out a grunt.
Today was a day full of hard work and seemingly sore limbs, but it will pay off when the show starts tomorrow night. I let out my breath in a rush, then take in a deep one. I like Santa Monica Pier and I think Ezra Black was smart to choose this place for us to perform in next.
If I knew what satisfaction felt like, I’m sure this would be it.
I raise a hand over my eyes, glancing up at the late afternoon sky. Pink, purple, and dark blue paint the scenery above as the sun sets in the distance, the smell of the Pacific Ocean breezing by. The caw of the seagulls as they begin their descent to wherever seagulls go when its nighttime makes me smile. It’s an empty smile, void of feeling or the knowledge of what causes someone to do such a simple gesture, but I like to do it from time to time because it makes me appear normal.
I joined the Carnaval des Ténèbres six months after I turned seventeen.
The proverbial cliché of running away to join the circus routine, but what I found behind the tent curtains was so much more. Wonders, oddities … freaks. Tall, short, disfigured, half-born torsos of fully-grown human beings, and me—the only one without an outward deformity—and they welcomed me with open arms.
Every last performer in Ezra’s special show has become family to me.
I sometimes wonder what makes me so fucking amazing that he took me on without any questions asked or further testing, other than the one he performed to see if I had been truthful.
Congenital analgesia and alexithymia—I feel no pain, nor do I know what emotions are. I’m a shell of a human being carved into stone because I chose to look this way. I only wish I knew when I pushed myself too far, or when I had become exhausted. I’ve broken my fair share of bones and have collapsed because of my anomalies; however, since I don’t ever experience the repercussions, I don’t know when enough is enough.
“Hey, Yager!”
An instant smile forms across my lips as I glance down at Maia; the human fairy. I always manage one for her because she’s been the kindest to me here and has even told me that I’m one of her favorite “brothers”. A secret stolen between us on a night that she tended to my newly dislocated shoulder from pulling too hard on a tether to erect one of the signs.
I reach down and lift her into my arms, her wings fluttering gently against the side of my face as I kiss her cheek. “Hey, Maia.”
My tone is stoic, hollow, and somewhat harder than I mean for it to be, but she doesn’t fault me for it because she understands my plight.
“Did you see the new guy?” she asks excitedly in her tiny voice.
I arch an eyebrow. I’ve been so busy all day that if anyone had passed me by, they went unnoticed. Once I set my mind to working, nothing stops me until I break a bone, dislocate a socket, fall down from exhaustion, or am told that it’s time to stop.
I’ve trained myself to know how far I can go before anything damaging happens to me, but from time to time, I still manage to injure myself.
“No,” I respond as I set her down carefully. I may not be able to feel pain, but Maia is prone to it because she has the correct wiring in her body to know the sweet surrender and I’m always cautious around her.
“He’s with Ezra,” she continues in her excited voice. I reach down and ruffle her hair before I sigh and glance up at the darkening sky.
“Is it time for dinner?” I ask, changing the subject.
“About an hour ago,” she replies dryly. I glance down at her as she reaches up and takes my hand in hers. I let the smallest of all of our wonders lead me to the food tent. I would imagine that at this point my body could use some nourishment after such a long day of trying to force it to go further than it could.
I push a strand of hair behind my ear as I dig into chow. Tonight, the menu consists of pork sausage, white rice, mashed potatoes, and some kind of meat I couldn’t identify. Ezra likes to shake things up and tries his best to provide for us what he can, and I appreciate him for it. Being the owner of the Carnaval probably isn’t exactly as lucrative as he wants it to be, but he does his best and in turn, so do I.
Someone takes the empty seat across the long wooden table from me and I glance up quickly to see who’s decided that I need or want conversation. I’m not a bastard by any means, I just like to eat in silence. It’s one of the few times I can be alone with my thoughts and not have them threaten to drown me in the emptiness I feel every day of my life.
I nod when I see Needles looking at me carefully. She knows my rule about talking during any meal but since she’s mute, I don’t mind her company. She gives me a smile in return as she gets comfortable then reaches for her fork as I go back to my food. If Needles
Hopefully he’s off doing some work on his act, I think into the hollow void.
Even my own thoughts have no emotions.
Everything about me is as bland as the day is long, but my family treats me well. I’d die for any of them and would always throw myself in harm’s way if I saw it coming. I guess it’s part of the reason I keep a strong body too. I don’t want to be another pretty face and form to look at—I want there to be a purpose to my life, and if this is all there is, so be it.
I pick up one of the sausages and bite the end off, chewing slowly. My mind wanders back to Maia; she said there’s a potentially new member to add to our family that she saw speaking to Ezra, but does that mean he’s taking on a new act or is he merely an investor?
I let out a sigh as I drop the meat onto my tray and rest my forehead in my palms.
Who else could possibly need this family more than me? I knew I’d have to share them eventually, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. I had hoped for a decade of having them to myself, not only eight years.
A gentle hand reaches across the table and grips my wrist. I raise my face slightly enough to look at Needles over my fingertips. She’s giving me what Maia once explained to me as a sympathetic smile and I pull her hand off my wrist. I kiss the top of it gently before I let her go and she turns a pretty shade of red, but I don’t want sympathy. It means she feels bad for me and that’s not something I ever want anyone to feel for me.
I wink at her as she goes back to her meal, then stand and grab my tray. The red blush of her cheeks means that she’s feeling an emotion for me that she should only feel for Crispin. I’ve never crossed that line with any of my family and I don’t ever see myself doing so.
I’d rather be their protector rather than their mate and I think I’ve made that clear more than once. However, I won’t pass up the chance to make any of them feel as special as they are.
Maybe one day someone will teach me how to feel special too.
Chapter Two
Maia told me that Ezra called a special meeting.
I was asleep when she came for me, but I know that when Ezra Black has something to say, it’s part of our job to listen and heed every word.
I walk into the main show tent with Maia on my back. She tells me that one day she’ll be strong enough to lift me off the ground and we’ll fly away together far from the Carnaval, and I chide her for ever thinking we’d belong anywhere else.
But her spirits are always high up in the clouds and even an admonishment like that can’t damper them.
I find a row of empty seats in the back of the half set up tent and sit down, extending my legs and crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t want to be the first one in and the last one out because that means I’m eager. Maia’s explained that to me before too and I don’t want to come across as being keen or ardent in desire or feeling.
She sticks her tongue out at me as she quickly makes her way to the second row in the front while the rest of our family files in. Maia takes her seat next to Alina, the Circassian Beauty that she once told me she felt was the prettiest woman she had ever seen.
No one could argue with that.
Alina has creamy white skin, soulful bright blue eyes, and the most amazing head of woolly, fire-engine red hair that I’ve ever laid eyes on. I can honestly say that when I was first introduced to her, I stopped and marveled at the beauty before me.
Crispin, the human pincushion, with an arm protectively wrapped around Needles. Beau and Nox—the Siamese twins—who are seemingly having a very heated conversation about what’s going on follow closely behind them. Drake Edwards who joined us not long before I showed up, with a carefully placed beanie low on the back of his head. He hates hearing the voice that whispers to him when the face on the back of his head is free and speaking hideous nothings when they’re alone together. He nods at me on the way by and takes a seat in the front row. Ever the showman, I think as the edges of my lips curve. Wren—our very own dog boy –walks in last, head held high, and very proud of himself. I always liked Wren. He’s been a favorite of mine because he knows exactly what he is and he owns it better than the rest of us, I think.
And then the spotlight clicks on and I roll my eyes.
If Drake is a showman, then Ezra is the entire fucking show.
He walks toward the center of the stage with a look in his eyes that I can’t quite discern but pay no mind to. Usually these talks have nothing more to do other than making sure that we perform our best so that he can make some money, and in turn, give us the scraps from his table.
I do try not to stare when I see him, though. He has a cutaneous horn growing from the middle of his forehead and he’s not exactly known for caring who sees it. Rumor has it that some of the women who have come to our shows have felt the “pleasure” that comes from the goddamn thing, but I dismiss it as simply that—a rumor. Something about Ezra Black tells me he does nothing for the pleasure of anyone other than himself. And that something happens to be eight years of experience.
“Yager, come to the front,” he instructs in his commanding voice.
I sigh, shift in my chair but make no move to leave where I am.
It’s not that I don’t like Ezra, it’s just that I don’t ever give in so easily when he wants something.
“Yager,” he says again through grit teeth. Even from the back row I can see him balling a fist at his side. I shake my head to let him know that I’m not coming any closer than I need to, and his eyes harden. “We’ll talk about this later,” he warns, holding up a finger. I cross my hands behind my neck, locking my fingers, and wait. There’s nothing that Ezra can say or do to me that will hold recompense for him and I like to poke the proverbial bear every now and again.
It keeps him on his toes.
“My family,” he begins in his ringmaster voice. It seems he’s switched personalities already and thinks we’re an audience instead of his performers. “We have someone new joining us. A wonder I have yet to lay eyes upon in all of my travels and I know that everyone here will make him feel welcome. The ones of us that can,” he snidely says. I suck my teeth and wait for him to finish. I know that comment was meant to hurt me, but every time he loads that particular gun and shoots, he misses—even if his aim is spot on.
He squares his shoulders, looks to the left of the stage and waves out the newest member of our family. I close my eyes and lean my head back, sink a little deeper into my chair, and do my best not to fall asleep. Nothing that this “wonder” has to offer will be something that any of us can’t or haven’t already done.
Not to mention that he’s two years too early for my liking.
“This is Indigo Holland,” Ezra says after a few moments of silence and I crack an eye open. I’m still looking at the high tent ceiling above me, but the name itself is pretty. Like Maia, I think with a sigh.
“Everyone, please make your way to the stage and introduce yourselves to our new friend and tell him a little bit about yourself.”
I sigh again.
The worst thing in the world is trying to explain what I am to someone that’s never heard of my conditions before, and Ezra sure likes to make us do things we don’t particularly care for. I close my eyes again when I hear Maia’s tiny voice echo toward the back row. She likes to be first because, the first one in, is the first one out. Her reasoning makes sense in a way, but I always stay in the back when I attend one of Ezra’s meetings because the last row always has first priority exit.
The voices drone on and on until there’s nothing left lingering in the air and that’s when I know it’s my turn. I decide to be cordial to avoid another verbal lashing from the Great Mr. Black and get to my feet. I lower my eyes to the dirty wooden slacks beneath my bare feet as I make my way toward the stage. It’s not much in the way of flooring, but it’s all we have so we make do. I would eventually like to make enough money being abused on stage to get us some real floors; however, until that time comes, wooden slacks it is.
