The Black & White - Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. . .unless it's for legal reasons, like this one, where I have to acknowledge the Wizard Dan Knauf as the owner/originator of the Emerald Carnivàle, and HBOz as the land in which I play but do not lay claim to.
Sign the Waiver - Heavily incestuous. Also contains spoilers for the S2 finale, New Canaan. In fact it begins right in the thick of things. . .

Assemblage Radiant
by Vorona

It seemed as though time itself had stilled at Justin's command. Iris couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move - could do nothing but watch, paralyzed with horror, as her brother slumped forward into Varlyn Stroud's arms. She barely noticed the rocking of the Ferris wheel seat that had so petrified her mere seconds before.

But then, recovering just as quickly as he had been seized by whatever strange and apparently sourceless pain had taken hold of him, Justin rose up, lifting Stroud by the lapels as he went, growling at the man in hoarse-voiced madness, "See to the girl!" At Stroud's nod, Justin loped off into the crowd. The faithful brethren parted in his path like the Red Sea, breaking in shrieking waves as he made his way to one of the tents.

Iris's eyes trailed him until she found herself being pulled from the Ferris wheel by her brother's bodyguard. Her legs refused to work properly, her knees buckled beneath her; but Stroud kept her from finding the ground, held her up with surprising gentleness and half-carried her over to another of the guards.

"Get her to the house and see that she stays there - Brother Justin's orders," he muttered, handing her off to the other man.

At last coming to her senses, Iris lurched out of the man's arms and grasped Stroud by the shoulder as he began to walk away. "No - I won't—"

He whirled on her, his face contorted in savage impatience. "I promised him!"

Iris refused to shrink back. Her jaw set in furious preparation for an onslaught of reproval - I refuse to be left behind! - but something in his eyes stayed her tongue: desperation there, a plea, hidden amongst the ire, for her cooperation. It looked strange in the face of a man such as he. She could almost envision him as a little boy, round-cheeked and crying - Not the cane! Not the cane, please, Daddy, no! I couldn't help it—

She released his shoulder, and he turned away before she could see the relief in his eyes turn to gratitude. Feeling the insistant tug of the guard's hand at her elbow, Iris allowed herself to be led away from the carnival. They were halfway to the house when the screams finally ceased. Iris paused, and chanced a glance over her shoulder. Justin was nowhere to be seen among the panicked cloud of people in front of the tent he had entered, nor the confused clusters on its outskirts.

She looked to the valley, knowing it would only be a matter of time before gossip infected the hive. Whatever her brother had done or was doing, the hornets' nest had been stirred.

A bolt of lightning shot from the stars, striking close enough for Iris to feel its heat. The sound was momentarily deafening - Justin, moaning, clutching at his ears—

She flinched as if the thought itself had slapped her, then shook her head, working the chipped-off fragment of her control back into place - that dam could not be broken yet, not in front of the guards. She was only a few meters from the house. . .

—So high - her brother's breaths ragged, muffling even the sound of her own screams - Alexsei—

She quickened her pace, the hill seeming endless, a mountain to climb—Ripping open his cassock, exposing - oh, God - gasping for air, great shuddering pulls - black eyes, heart hammering, her brother in pain and she was helpless—

Mere steps to the porch, the door - she wasn't going to make it—Dying, he was dying - someone please help please God no - so high, going to fall, dying, oh God please help—

"This is far enough, gentlemen, thank you."

—Alexsei!

The flood loosed upon her like a pack of rabid dogs as she slammed the door. Iris dropped to her knees, caught between a sob and a scream whose conflict in her throat rendered both silent. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she pressed them to her face, fingernails biting into her skin as she fought the urge to scrape them down. Pure fear coursed hot-and-cold in her veins, freezing, burning. All the boiling pits and frigid moors of Hell writhed inside her body as the shell of shock that had encased her mind fell away.

She bowed forward and was sick on the floor through the convulsions of her tears - Choking, river silt and bile on the banks - They must open their mouths and drown! - her hand crushing her brother's— Alexsei - Iris's right hand clutched at nothing - where was Alexsei?

—Crunching metal, twisted steel, Mama screaming and Alexsei like a dead cherub in the air and they were falling, falling for days until—

The world spiralled around her (couldn't breathe couldn't move), a vortex of anguish collapsing in on its center, her soul. A black buzzing began to blot out her thoughts, and she scrambled not to be buried in it, could almost feel the soil pressing into the beds of her nails - or was that skin?

No - dark house, their house, here, she was here—My New Canaan— Alexsei was gone—Dark house, their house, empty rooms, his bed his scent his ghost he'd left her behind - See to the girl - Make haste to deliver me - I promised him - But Iris, the children who died - rippling crack of a breaking neck - They sent you to kill us - black sins, black eyes, so very high, Be still—

Iris held her breath, swallowed down a second gag, exhaled slowly.

—Be still—

She felt the rubble of her psyche rolling again into place, reforming a heavily cracked but still present wall.

"Be still."

Not her voice. Not from her throat, stuck together and searing.

Iris opened her eyes.

Nothing, no one. Dark house, empty rooms, empty-handed - and blessed quiet in her head. She blinked rapidly. The ticking of the clock on the wall set the pace for her lulling heartbeat. She wasn't certain how many minutes had been inhumed by her grief. Outside, the guards exchanged coarse speculation: It looked like he was havin' a heart attack or a fit or somethin' — The lights're still out - think we ought'a check on her? — We wasn't hired ta play nursemaids — I wonder when Brother Varlyn'll be back? — Why, you scared? — It's his job ta look after the Jill! You heard Brother Justin - See to the girl — She ain't been no 'girl' for a while now — Suits me fine just the same — Hush up, both o'ya; if Brother Justin heard you talk like that about his sister he'd nail yer balls to the cross — Jesus, Harvey — I said hush up!

Her eyes darted between the shadows of the foyer as her composure sputtered back to brightness in time with a lightning strike (forked bolt forked tree forked tongue, a fire in the house of God, a fire in their house — Holy shit, did you see that?), muting her umbrageous panic to a placid whistle in the back of her mind.

Iris forced herself to stand on unsteady legs, drew an uneven breath. The sour taste in her mouth at last began to register.

She wasn't quite sure how she made it to the kitchen, realized that she held a glass of water in her hand only when it overflowed under the tap, an unnatural coolness against her skin. She drank it down as if to drown, in greedy gulps, a compulsion she hadn't indulged since childhood. Gasped as she surfaced, felt the chill unfurl from her middle like wings (his arms, wrapped around her from behind).

She'd fought so hard, not only to keep up with but to surpass him, always to remain one step ahead of him. . .and now she was here, closeted like some dusty treasure, kept out of the way. Out of his way. An obstruction he had cut down and crushed beneath his heels without so much as a stumble, a backwards glance.

A saline ache returned to her eyes, this time not from fear, but from failure: her failure. Beyond her, everything was beyond her reach now. Faith and action, so utterly useless, hovered at her sides like empty suitcases, poised for a journey that was going nowhere. Was this what she had worked for? (You have a destiny. . .) By all accounts, it seemed somehow. . .anticlimactic. Certainly nothing like she had imagined. This was it? this was the end?

"Don't cry, Aunt Iris."

The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor, as she whirled around and found herself face-to-face with a familiar obsidian gaze (Be still).

". . .Sofie?"

It was the only thing Iris could think to call her, although the girl who stood before her little resembled the shy young maid of that morning. This Sofie's face was a phlegmatical mask of familial resemblance, steeped in secret in the bitter black tea of sin so long as to erase the irises of her eyes (the demon, erasing Iris from his eyes).

"What. . .where did you come from?"

Sofie blinked, twice, as if considering the question. "I come from all that was before," she finally decided.

Iris, unsure of what to make of this new development, didn't know how to respond. She'd never guessed, never once imagined. . .

She has her father's eyes. The thought, an absurd one in the present state of affairs, nonetheless filled her mind with the reflective fondness with which one might contemplate any relation. It also drew her back, as she was always drawn back, to what was in any situation her foremost concern: "Where is my brother?"

It was difficult to tell, but Sofie's eyes seemed to move, to look down for a moment at the floor before she replied, "He is still."

"He is still? Still what, still alive? Tell me where my brother is!"

The dark gaze narrowed slightly at the demand, but this time Iris would not back down (Better a wounded lion).

But there was no blow, no hissing assault to ground her fears. Instead, if it were possible, Sofie's face softened. "He is waiting for you with an embrace."

Iris's world at once ceased to be as the words sank in, as she sank again to the floor. The black buzzing returned, the swarm of Beelzebub encircling her head in a pestilent halo of noise. She might have whispered her brother's name, or merely heard the echo of a thirty-five-year-old scream.

Sofie crouched down before her, head tilted like a curious vulture.

Lost, all so quickly lost, without warning and despite preparation. Her brother in pain. . .her brother was dead. Over and over again, the notion whipped forty lashes against her skull, all that had mattered that night. Damn prophets, damn religion. Damn fate, damn destiny. Damn trespasses and salvation, strategy, abandonment, God Himself. Her brother in pain. . .her brother was dead.

Weakly, she looked up at her bastard niece. ". . .And will you kill me, too?"

Sofie shook her head.

"Why not?" Iris shouted, an angry plea with hands clenched into fists at her sides, a proud prayer.

"I've taken all I need," said Sofie calmly.

"All you need for what? what's going on, why are you here?"

"This is my house."

"I don't understand!" Iris's voice slipped an octave as the hollow ache in her chest threatened to give way, to cave in. She wished it would, wished her ribs would splinter and stab, and cut her heart into ribbons that would tie them together again (Raduga, Irina, vy vidite?).

"You will." Sofie lifted a hand and tucked an errant lock of hair almost affectionately behind Iris's ear. "The lost can be found and retrieved. I say when it's over. I say it's not over yet."

How? Iris wanted to ask, but found all her sounds smothered.

Sofie took Iris's hands in her own and carefully uncurled the older woman's fingers. Dark crescents could be seen on her palms where her nails had pierced the skin in grisly mockery of holy marks. Ignoring these, Sofie pressed her hands to Iris's and interlaced their fingers (a cry, a clasp, damp shivers in the dark of night, Norman and Rose asleep down the hall).

"We're in this together."

To be continued. . .

The Fine Print - I think there will only be one more part to this, maybe two, I'm not sure yet. It depends on how far I let my wishful thinking wander. ;) Anyway, like many others, I fully expected Iris to be combing the cornfield for her brother's body at the end of New Canaan. It seemed so strange for her to simply be waiting for him at the house, unless there was a third party intervention somewhere along the line. . .

Raduga, Irina, vy vidite? - A rainbow, Irina, you see?