Patronum

i. the magician
manifestation | manipulation

The circus always seems harmless when it arrives. Its wagons are decorated with colorful fluttering fabric that waves to onlookers when the wind blows. The scent of sweet pastries floats in its wake. Someone is playing an accordion. Everyone is smiling.
The ringleader is always graceful when she dismounts her wagon and signals for construction to begin. Then she is sauntering off to find tonight’s visitors. She will cast her charming net, woven from jokes and flattery, and draw in the curious and unwary.
She calls herself Khepri, and paints her face red and white under a guise of innocence. A silver tongue flashes out from red lips as she waves tickets. They are soon grabbed by eager talons; she smiles wider. Even if the red on her mouth smells of iron and starts to drip, no one dares comment.
All part of the show, surely.

ii. the high priestess
intuition | secrets

The protégé named Arcana ushers the hesitant into the circus with honeyed words that make her mentor proud. He watches from the shadows as she weaves through the labyrinthine network of tents, guiding visitors deeper and deeper until they are lost. Then she vanishes, like he has taught her to, and the visitors are left alone. Caught in the web, with no choice but to proceed forward.
She reappears at his side, and he smiles.

iii. the empress
caretaking | dependence

Arcana is convinced that she is doing what’s right. She is still convinced when she hears the screams.
She has always had a kind face and a welcoming demeanor. It is easy to confess secrets to her, because she promises she will keep them close to her heart.
Then, when her mentor asks, she tells him everything. He is above all oaths and promises. He is her heart, after all— the organ that keeps her very blood flowing through her veins. A god made flesh, and she happily bows before him. Entelechy. The realization of potential.
She is doing what’s right. She is still convinced when she hears the screams.

iv. the emperor
leadership | domination

Khepri calls herself the ringleader, but even she kneels in deference to Entelechy. He does not have the biggest tent or the most well known reputation, but he prefers it that way.
By far, he is the one who seems the most normal. This is what makes him the most dangerous.
His swirling eyes are hypnotic and magnetic. No one can resist them. (No one wants to.) His smiles are blinding, and when he starts talking everyone is already nodding along without hearing what he is saying. Something about him makes even the most headstrong want to please him.
He is a god, Arcana whispers when she notices someone staring at him. And in his presence, under his swirling stare, it’s hard to disagree.

v. the hierophant
tradition | restriction

There is always a cost when someone enters the circus, one that is not advertised but hangs like a guillotine over necks regardless. No two people ever give up the exact same thing, and no matter who takes it, the spoils always end up in Entelechy’s claws. Arcana calls it tribute. Others call it evil. But no one ever denies him.
The tickets sold are just scraps of paper, used for mortal, material currency that oils the wheels of the wagons and keeps up the pretense. Khepri watches over the money, only ever giving the others in the circus the bare minimum of what they need to survive.
“Keep them dependent,” Entelechy tells her, “and they will protect you tooth and claw.”

vi. the lovers
commitment | separation

Lighar, the lion tamer, can no longer be surprised. He is covered in bloodshot eyes, watching in all directions. The precious bits of flesh that have no eyes are torn with gashes and wounds that never heal.
If asked which lion inflicted the injuries, Lighar’s lips turn up in a smile that doesn’t reach any of his eyes.
“If only,” is all he offers.

When Lighar works a crowd, their faces rapt with morbid fascination, he is really protecting them. Not from lions, but from the circus itself. The more time they spend in his tent, the less time they have to fall in harm’s way. By Entelechy’s decree, the circus always closes at sunrise, and Lighar religiously works until the first beams of light illuminate the black sky. Not out of any reverence for Entelechy, but to frustrate his efforts as much as he can while he exists under his thumb.
An old bargain binds Lighar to the circus, keeping his wounds fresh and cursing him with countless eyes. He doesn’t regret it. It keeps the young Sachertorte alive and out of Entelechy’s way. She barely survived the first encounter.
Lighar would make the decision a thousand times over. She is like a daughter to him. She aids him in his little efforts to work against Entelechy, using her legitimate kindness and humor to bring people in to Lighar’s show. He is proud of her.
But he is so, so tired.

vii. the chariot
willpower | inconsistency

Lighar and Sachertorte do not stand alone against Entelechy and the circus. Uriel strums her lyre and quells fears, using her music to draw people away from the more dangerous acts. Jamiey, a food vendor, insists he doesn’t trust anyone and isn’t going to help, but still offers free treats and subtle guidance away from the tents that don’t always let visitors leave.
None of them are entirely sure whether Entelechy knows about their little rebellion. Sometimes he speaks as if he knows every little detail of their operations. Other times he will catch them in the act, and when they freeze guiltily he just smiles, nods, and leaves them be.
It keeps them off balance, enough so that they can never comfortably confide in each other for fear of loose tongues and double agents.

viii. strength
confidence | vanity

Unfortunately for the unwary, the most popular tent is also the bloodiest. It belongs to twins named Basil and Bayleaf, whose joint act with knives and other blades instills a mixture of delight and terror into the viewer. Daggers fly through the air like silver darts, effortlessly caught and thrown back with dexterous hands. They never miss during this rapid back and forth.
No one can leave until the act is complete and the game has been played. This seems reasonable, until the terms of the deal are elaborated upon.
Audience participation is required.
Basil and Bayleaf are skilled, and never sloppy. Which is why it is strange that their knives suddenly seem to be nicking skin and landing some distance from their target when volunteers are pulled to the stage.
Occasionally a heart is pierced, or a jugular is sliced. Basil and Bayleaf laugh at the audience’s horror, and insist that it’s all part of the show.
And of course it must be, right? As the volunteer finally stops gurgling and twitching, they laugh nervously among themselves. It’s all just the smoke and mirrors of show business. A plant cleverly replaced by a magical illusion. Quite a marvel of misdirection, now that you think about it.
The volunteer doesn’t get back up at the end of the show, but everyone disregards it as maintaining the illusion. Basil and Bayleaf share a grin full of teeth.

ix. the hermit
introspection | isolation

When the sun rises and the circus is empty, Lighar is the one who handles the remains of the dead. It’s that, or leaving them to the hungry smiles of Khepri, the twins, and the other more dangerous performers. Entelechy would have Lighar’s head if he dared return the dead to their families, so he consoles himself with unmarked graves.
Rare are the days when he has no dirt under his talons. Sachertorte inevitably finds him on those bleak, bright afternoons, insisting she can help. He always turns her away. This, like everything else, is a burden he chooses to bear alone.

x. the wheel of fortune
opportunity | misfortune

There is a small tent woven from luxurious black fabric that does not appear every night. When it does, though, it draws visitors like moths to a flame. Something calls them deeper, and no mere mortal can resist the summons.
Entering the tent raises more questions than it answers. The interior is nothing but dark void, with no fabric walls in sight. The entrance is gone, too.
Far, far in the distance, is a single, flickering pinprick of light. It takes a few minutes to walk even remotely closer, and as visitors approach they know they are still inside the tent. It is impossible, the tent they saw was not nearly this big, and yet it is so.
The flickering light grows bigger when approached, until it is revealed to be a single lit candle resting upon an ornately carved wooden table. There are two chairs. One is empty, already pulled out as an invitation. On the other sits Entelechy.
It is difficult to really study him in the candlelight, aside from his swirling yellow eyes. They’re almost as bright as the candle flame, shining from behind the mask he never takes off.
Tarot cards appear in his hands, and he begins to shuffle the deck without saying a word. He knows why everyone comes to his tent.
When he does begin to talk, his voice is sweet and smooth like honey. The questions he asks are easily answered, and secrets are given with barely a thought to the contrary. The cards obey Entelechy as he spins the visitors tales of the future. He speaks with the assurance of a prophet, and no one is the wiser.

xi. justice
truth | dishonesty

The futures Entelechy foretells are never gentle. But, if someone does not like the turns their fate will apparently take, Entelechy offers them another deal. A favor for a favor, a bet that sounds reasonable, or something even more sordid.
If asked, Entelechy says that he has never made an offer that has been refused. And with no one to refute that, it had might as well be the truth.

xii. the hanged man
sacrifice | egotism

At first, Khepri thought she and Entelechy were equals that had an understanding. The circus was hers first, and he was only a magician. He would keep to himself and his act, she would let him stay, and they would both benefit and learn from each other.
He quickly became her right hand. It was a place where he could be useful (and, Khepri reasoned, where he could be watched.)
Little did she know, she had made a mistake the very moment she let him join the circus. By the time he finally informed her that she was no longer in charge, everyone else was already under his control.
“You can keep the circus,” Entelechy told her, eyes swirling. “I simply will be keeping you.”
Khepri saw the writing on the wall, and bowed her head. The circus was all she had, and she could never let it go. Even if she was just his puppet, she would remain.

xiii. death
transformation | stagnation

Entelechy watches what Arcana has become, and he is pleased.
She is one of his finest creations. Under his wing, she grew from a starry eyed hatchling to a brilliant, dangerous instrument of his will. She is perfectly obedient and worships the ground he walks on. Her powerful magic, once erratic and wild, has been tamed into a loyal beast that happily serves him before even Arcana herself.
He lets her have her moral compass, or at least what she thinks is one. If he wanted to, he could crush it in his talons, but it’s so much more entertaining to watch her try to play the hero. The healer. And oh, she tries. He doesn’t think she will ever stop trying.

xiv. temperance
moderation | excess

There are two sides to every coin. Even Entelechy has a match, loathe as he is to admit it.
Encraty calls him “brother,” and Entelechy mockingly calls her “sister” in return. They are like magnets, attuned to completely opposite poles, yet inextricably linked and drawn towards each other because of it.
The first time Encraty found him, Entelechy had been feeling their meeting building in the air for weeks before. Like scenting an oncoming storm on the wind, except she was kindred rather than a threat.
When they locked eyes, it was like thunder crashing. Entelechy smiled. Encraty regarded him with a steely expression.
“The shade seethes from you,” she said.
“And it heeds to you,” he replied. “You have a place here, beside me, do you not?”
Her expression tilted into a frown. “I have a place here, but it is not beside you. I will never bow to you.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded, and led her deeper into the circus. She followed without hesitation.

Encraty is the immovable object who stands in the way of Entelechy’s unstoppable force. Throughout Encraty’s time at the circus, she met him halfway in every effort he attempted. She refused to give ground, deflecting any shade magic Entelechy tried and making it her own.
Encraty still does not know why Entelechy chose to put up with her for so long. She likes to think it was because he had finally met his equal.
And they would have been equals, had they met honestly upon a battlefield. But Entelechy had finally had enough of her variable in his equations, so he attacked her in the dead of night. She never stood a chance.
Encraty chalks it up to a miracle that she survived. She finally came back to consciousness a day later, alone and abandoned in a grassy field with grievous injuries. The sun was glaring in her eyes, and despite her affinity for the shade, she smiled up at it. She was alive.
That meant she could take her revenge.

xv. the devil
temptation | detachment

There are two sides to every coin. Even Encraty was swayed by Entelechy’s swirling eyes, if only for a moment in her deepest doubts.
Entelechy had thought he was unique in this world. And he still was, but Encraty came closer to him than any god or mortal ever could. She commanded the shade with a natural expertise that Entelechy had only ever seen in himself. He would have been lying if he had tried to claim it didn’t impress him.
It was a moonless night when Entelechy stole into Encraty’s tent, but he had never needed light to know where she was. They were creatures of darkness, one in the same. His talons and fangs were sharpened for the kill, and they eagerly sunk into her flesh.
Torn from her slumber, Encraty screamed with rage and indignation and fought back with everything she had. But she was off balance, and after a brutal melee he had knocked her unconscious.
Entelechy panted, blood dripping from his mouth and his claws as he regarded his “sister.” She had deep gashes all over, oozing blood. In all likelihood, she would not survive.
Entelechy could have torn her throat out then and there, just to make sure, but something made him stop before he did.
All of this had been such fun. Should he really stop it so soon?
No, he decided. Perhaps, if she was strong enough to survive, they could meet again. He looked forward to it.

xvi. the tower
upheaval | obstacles

Entelechy may be Encraty’s kin through the shade, but the family she found will always be with the Caravan.
A reckoning is coming for the circus. She can only hope they’re ready for them.

xvii. the star
hope | despair

It was a long time before Sachertorte could get the full story of the bargain made for her life. Lighar was reluctant to explain it, so she had to pry for what information she could and get the rest from the other circus members. She persevered despite Lighar’s protests, taking bits and pieces she was given of the narrative to put the story together. When she had it, she confronted Lighar and demanded he speak to her not as a child, but as the adult she had become.
Lighar had bowed his head, and acquiesced. It was a new kind of agony to hear the story from Lighar’s own words.
He took the wounds and the eyes for her, stayed with the circus for her. He insisted she did not need to repay him, for she was the daughter he never had.
But he was her father. He was her family. She would never let him deal with this alone, not when she could be there for him.

xviii. the moon
insight | confusion

Lighar always hesitated to breathe a word of his bargain with Entelechy, especially as Sachertorte grew up and developed a fiery sense of righteousness. For all he knew, if she learned the truth she might try to retaliate against Entelechy. He wouldn’t be able to save her then.
But, just like she always did, Sachertorte proved to be more clever and intuitive than he gave her credit for. She put the story together herself, and only cornered him once he could not deny what she had learned.
“Entelechy will pay for this,” she promised him, and his heart climbed into his throat. What would she do? How was he supposed to protect her now? He had nothing left to give.

xix. the sun
joy | depression

It takes months after that, but eventually Lighar lets Sachertorte help him bury the dead. With the harsh sun burning their backs, they scrape out graves together. They don’t speak; there is nothing to say.
Lighar supposes he is proud, in some twisted sort of way. Sachertorte has come so far since being the frightened orphan he rescued. She is no longer meek. She looks him in his eyes, his true eyes, and doesn’t flinch at the sight of him like she did once. Her careful talons are always quick to aid him when he changes the dressings on his wounds. And now she is here with him, working to honor fellow victims of the circus as best as they can.
Perhaps someday she will dig his grave. He finds he doesn’t mind the prospect, as long as he can guarantee her escape from the circus before he perishes. It would be a noble end.
He does not mention this to Sachertorte, but if he did, she would just smile up at him and whisper a promise.
“Father, our story is just beginning.”

xx. judgement
decision | doubt

Just like the first time, Entelechy can feel the not-storm building on the horizon. Just like the first time, he welcomes it.
He does not wonder whether he might lose.

Just like the first time, Encraty follows the pull in her bones towards Entelechy. Just like the first time, she has her doubts.
But this time, she is not alone.

xxi. the world
fulfillment | emptiness

On the nights of the new moon, Entelechy grins just a bit too wide. Those nights, when the sky is black, are when he performs.
It is not the sophistry and card tricks he does in his own tent. Entelechy’s magic, his true power, can only be beheld under the circus’s grandest tent.
Standing room only is inevitable when Entelechy performs. The tent never fails to be packed with a crowd, all nervous and excited. The air thrums with anticipation and conversation. According to the stories, even Basil and Bayleaf’s act pales in comparison to Entelechy’s show. Of course, after that the tales lose all cohesion. Every performance, it seems, changes completely, except for the finale.
Every trick draws gasps of delight and wonder, but Entelechy’s finale steals breath away. (Some nights, he almost decides not to give it back.) It is a great, terrible exercising of his power, where his shade chokes out every light and very nearly snuffs out souls. One errant twitch, and Entelechy would devour everyone in this tent whole.
To the terrified, breathless, and paralyzed audience, it seems for a moment that he will. But then he moves his arms in a sinuous motion, and light slices through the void. The crowd inhales once more. The shade retreats and curls around his arms like an affectionate serpent. As far as the crowd knows, he has tamed the beast. They burst into applause, immediately reassured and thinking themselves silly for fearing a magician’s illusion. Entelechy smiles.
If only they knew.

xxii. the fool
innocence | folly

The circus always seems harmless when it arrives. It is built that way for a reason.
No matter how many towns they visit, people come.
No matter how many visitors disappear, tickets are still sold.
No matter how many unmarked graves dot the barren field in the circus’s wake, Entelechy still smiles.