"Step right up, don't miss it, come see the freaks!" the herald was shouting his lungs out.
Through the veil covering the cage, Khaal heard the howling of the crowd. After five years, he had grown accustomed to it, and after two more, he was even glad to hear it. After all—at least some variety in his routine life.
"Yes, my lady, good choice—the fish-man!"
And with a clap, the covers were thrown off the neighboring cage. The crowd gasped and sighed, girls squealed, and Lir earned his bread by trying to bite someone with his sharpened teeth. He often bragged that when they were sharpening his teeth, he didn't even lose consciousness.
Khaal didn't believe it.
"Three silver each. Three silver each," Stefa was walking through the rows.
A girl who had been "known" by perhaps every normally-looking worker in the circus. However, she had a rather nice character and sometimes took the "freaks" out for a walk. At night, hidden under black sheets. For this, Khaal treated her more warmly than the others.
"And now, prepare to see a creature born from the love of a woman and a wolf!"
This time the noise came closer—meaning they showed Irnesta to the crowd. A girl covered with thick fur from heel to brow. She hardly spoke, and she didn't need to pretend animal fury. Khaal once almost became a victim of her fangs.
This is what happens if you leave a child to be raised by wolves in this world. Due to the energy in the air or for some other reason—a mutant grew up. She had enough strength for three adult men. Not practitioners, of course, but still.
"Is she as wild in bed?" laughed someone lacking intellect.
"If you're interested in that, then for ten silver coins we can arrange it," Stefa goaded.
The man immediately quieted down and mumbled something indistinct.
Stefa knew how to put such spectators in their place. And in general, not very brave men rarely argued with her. This was due to Stefa's extensive bedroom experience, and consequently her piercing, always mocking gaze.
Khaal checked the collar on his neck. A strip of metal, bound by a magic seal. It resembled some eastern diagram, and if touched—an electric shock hit the body.
Nasty thing.
"And now, prepare yourselves," the herald began to speak more quietly. "From the darkest corners of the Misty Mountains. From places where even demons hide in caves at night, we have brought you the horror of the mist. All faint-hearted are urgently requested to leave. For even I sometimes find it terrifying to look at him."
Some from the crowd began to boast, others grew quiet. In every city—the same thing. During years of wandering life, Khaal had already lost count of how many such places he had visited in the country. And everywhere it was the same. Tired people, frightened by the authorities, seeking entertainment. To forget, to leave burdens and hardships behind for a moment.
"Ready?" the herald almost whispered.
"Yes!"
"Maybe we should leave?"
"Show us your horror already!"
"Dear, let's go."
All sorts of shouts came from the crowd. Today was a lucky day—the governor had allocated the central square for the circus. Usually, they were rarely allowed inside the city walls. They had to set up nearby, in fields and meadows, and put on shows there.
Naturally, there were all kinds of thieves, troublemakers, and those who simply refused to pay. Inside the city, under the vigilant eye of the guards trained by the new government, no one allowed themselves such liberties. Few wanted to receive from ten to fifty lashes or lose their property. Or even a limb.
"Then behold!"
And bright light struck Khaal's eyes. He welcomed it. In nightmares, he often dreamed of a cramped, dark stone sack in which he couldn't move or breathe. He would probably remember his uncle's dungeon for the rest of his life.
"Demon!" the girls in the crowd screamed.
"Curse it," the men exhaled.
Someone ran to the urn to empty a stomach weak to the sights. Khaal, barely avoiding coughing as the "cliche" required, began to growl and howl. Because of this, even more faint-hearted guys and girls began to turn pale and move away from the cage.
Soldiers standing around the perimeter of the square placed their hands on spears and swords.
"Calm down, beast!" The herald hit the cage bars with an iron rod.
Khaal growled in his direction and waited for a second blow. After this, as a thousand times before, he froze.
"Please, don't be afraid," the herald calmed the people. "And let me tell you the story of this monster. Once, a great hero went to the Misty Mountains. With one step, he could travel thousands of kilometers. With a swing of his sword, he could split an entire sea."
"What did he forget in the Misty Mountains?" they laughed in the crowd.
"His beloved!" exclaimed the herald, and Khaal grimaced.
He had invented this story three years ago, and thanks to it, he could now eat meat every day. The crowd always paid generously for his performances. The circus owner was pleased, but the new herald was greatly overacting.
"And what was she doing there?" they continued to laugh, trying not to meet Khaal's gaze.
"She was kidnapped by this beast!" The herald struck the bars. "Don't look at how ugly he is and legless. Before, he was a monster the size of a mountain! With his breath, he raised hurricanes that destroyed entire countries! His footsteps raised tsunamis! He reached such heights of development that he could transform into a beautiful young man. And he fell in love with a girl of pure and innocent beauty, but her heart belonged to another."
Well, finally he started speaking with expression and without strain. The people in the crowd began to be drawn in. Girls pressed closer to their companions, and they looked at Khaal with anger. He returned the same look. They believed, while he only thought about the hot, hearty piece of meat awaiting him.
"Then the beast kidnapped her!" Another blow of the rod on the bars. "And the hero set out on a journey. He overcame the wildest places, where he fought with ancient monsters whose strength and power we cannot even imagine. Hundreds of times he was on the brink of life and death, but love! It led him forward!"
Alright, now the attention of at least the fair sex was ensured.
"And in the end, he came to a palace of unseen beauty, where his beloved was chained to a huge column. And then began a battle that shook demons and gods! Ten years, day and night, they fought, not lowering their weapons!"
The people exhaled. Now even the male audience was listening intently.
"And after ten years, the hero finally managed to capture the beast. He returned to the palace, but..."
The herald took a pause.
"But... what?" a young man hurried him.
"What happened to his beloved?" asked a girl standing in the distance.
The herald looked over the crowd and just sadly shook his head. There were sighs and quiet sobs.
"Their battle was so fierce and vicious that its echo reached the palace and stopped the heart of the hero's beloved." Some even shed tears. And not just girls. "The hero, from grief, wanted to take the beast's life, but at that moment, enlightenment came to him. He understood all the secrets and mysteries of this world. He cast aside his sword, for he no longer needed a weapon. He attained the fourth stage of mastery."
"Mastery has only three stages," grumbled a soldier standing closest to the circus cages.
"So many think. The first—one with the sword, when a warrior can strike an enemy from a distance of five steps." The herald made a clumsy lunge with the iron rod. This amused the soldiers but attracted the crowd's attention. "The second—one with the world, when a warrior can hit a target up to twenty steps away. And the third—master of the sword, when he no longer needs a sword, for everything around him and he himself is a sword. But..."
Even the soldiers leaned closer to listen to Khaal's story as performed by the young herald.
"But there is also a fourth. When an adept reaches the highest degree of enlightenment and power, he will understand—that there is neither sword nor power. Then he will cast it aside and know eternity. And that hero, having cast aside all his mastery and powers, knew eternity. And before turning into a mountain peak, to forever remain near his beloved, he decided to give the beast a second chance."
The crowd turned to Khaal. He played along and sadly rattled the prop chains that bound him to the floor of the cage. They were lighter than paper but clinked well and looked heavier than a centner.
"What kind of second chance?" one of the ladies wiped away tears.
"He cut off the monster's legs! With great spells, he sealed his power, thereby turning him into a freak. He gave him his beloved ron'zha in hand and ordered him to play before people. And only when he truly loves and is loved in return—will the spell be broken and the beast regain his form."
"Who would love such a freak!" they shouted in the crowd.
"That's why the beast has been playing for three million years, for no one can love someone like him."
People in the crowd exchanged glances and smiled. They thought they understood the hero's intentions. Instead of simple revenge and murder, he condemned his enemy to eternal torment. A sad story, but with a just ending.
"And now, let's enjoy the beast's playing." The herald turned to the cage and hit it with the rod. "Play, monster!"
Khaal growled and took a musical instrument from a pile of black rags. Something resembling a large round balalaika. A rounded base with two holes, a short neck, four strings, and four long pegs. The instrument mainly produced high notes, but Khaal had slightly re-tuned it to play a wider range.
And he began to play.
The people fell silent, silently listening to his song. As old as the world itself.
Before, he played for huge sums of money, now for a piece of meat. Ironically, it seems he had returned to where he started. But if before it was just his outlet—a small window into the world, now Khaal felt hope. And it seems today, for the first time in five years, luck smiled upon him.