The man grunts. “Go on through.”
As I step past the entrance, the smell of food grows stronger. My stomach growls again, reminding me that I skipped lunch to finish the reports on time. I follow my nose to what must be the food stalls.
“What can I get you, love?” A woman’s voice, warm and friendly.
“What do you have?”
“Roasted chicken legs, meat pies, sweet rolls, and candied nuts.”
“A meat pie, please. And one of those sweet rolls.”
I hear the rustle of paper as she wraps my food, then the clink of coins as I pay. The pie is warm. I take a bite as I navigate toward the seating area; the pastry is flaky.
“Need some help finding a seat?” a lady asks, touching the side of my arm.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I say in the general direction of the voice.
My cane taps against the wooden planks of the raised seating as I climb. I sit on the bench, finishing my pie and then starting on the sweet roll. Around me, the tent fills with people. There is the shuffling of feet, the creaking of wood, as well as the excited murmur of conversation and children laughing.
The air smells of canvas and sawdust. It’s exhilarating. I truly hope that the performance is excellent this evening. Not every singer is able to evoke the right emotions to help me “see.”
I sit there a while, taking it all in as excitement builds.
Then a drum beats once, loud and commanding. When the crowd doesn’t quieten, it happens again, and this time it works.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the tent master’s voice booms through the space. “Fae and humans alike! Welcome to an evening of wonder and delight!”
The crowd cheers. I join in, clapping along with everyone else.
The first act is introduced. It’s a group of acrobats. They tumble across the stage, their bodies hitting the ground with controlled thuds. The crowd gasps and applauds.
Someone near me whispers, “Did you see that flip? Impossible!”
Next comes a strongman. There are grunts of effort, followed by the crash of heavy weights hitting the ground. More cheers and applause. The strongman ends his part of the performance by lifting a couple of maidens into the air above his head.
The crowd goes wild.
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 heavensthemselves!” 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.
