A remarkable thing came to the circus.

In my mind I can still picture in vivid detail the marvel that unfolded, for it touched my heart in a way that nothing else ever has.

I was leaving the pit after my fight, where I proved victorious against two desperate vampires, but instead of escorting me back to my room, Myranda grabbed my arm and nodded at the sand.

"We should stay for the next act."

"I'm not interested in seeing more death."

"Oh, but you'll enjoy this."

"I'm wearing nothing but a cloak, Myranda. I want to go to my room."

"Come now, Wolf-king. This will be a curiosity unlike any you've seen before—or are likely to ever again."

I wondered how, after witnessing endless combat, there could be anything worth my attention.

"Is there a potential champion-on-the-rise you wish me to see?"

Myranda shook her head.

"What's about to enter the sands is far more powerful than you."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"You won't regret staying, I promise."

As usual, crow men were scrambling around the sand, but after cleaning the blood they brought out a pallet and several wooden beams. With unnatural speed they built a stage.

"I don't want to watch the Feeder Act," I groaned. 

"That's not what's coming. This is something special."

"I think I'm about to be disappointed."

Myranda pulled me to the edge of the pit, in the spot she occupied during my fights.

"I want to sink into a warm bath," I grumbled.

"Be patient."

"Patience isn't desired in a fighter."

Myranda snorted but did not reply. Her hands wrung her skirt and fiddled with the buttons on her shirt. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and began to absent-mindedly chew on her long nails.

"What's got you agitated?" I asked.

"Hush, damn it, and watch!"

With the stage complete, the gangly man took his place on the sand. He raised his hands to quiet the audience before addressing them.

"Another cheer for the marvelous show brought by your Champion of the Pit!"

I rolled my eyes as the audience cheered. The fight, in my opinion, hadn't been particularly exceptional. Someone in the audience had thrown the wolf a blade dipped in garlic oil, which, when held between its teeth and swung just right, made quick work of its opponents.

"Now the blood has ended," the gangly man continued, "and what better way to calm your excited hearts than by witnessing true beauty at work? The circus is honored to bring you a most rare and exotic delight. This creature has walked the whole world over, and is now here to bewitch and entice you lucky few. For one night only, I present to you: A Hag Dancer!"

I turned to Myranda. 

"What's a Hag Dancer?"

She spit out a fingernail.

"It must be seen, not described."

I assumed that, whatever was about to happen, there would be violence. The pit was made for blood and nothing else.

A train of crow men entered the sands, carrying a palanquin on their backs. It was a gorgeous cage, adorned in gold silk and carved on its walls with intricate pictures of nature. The carriers showed no signs of strain under its weight, and marched in time to a low drumbeat until they reached the makeshift stage.

When they set the palanquin down all light extinguished and the room was plunged into darkness. Low noise came from the nervous shifting and mumbling of the audience, until fire erupted from a row of torches held by the crow men. They left the stage and stood at its edge, using their torches to light the performance.

A slow melody began, though my eyes could find no musicians.

From behind the curtain of the palanquin stepped a woman dressed in tight patchwork clothing. A rainbow of colors was splashed across her person, in dozens of shades and hues, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She looked like a living ragdoll, and her costume fit so close to her body, as snug as a second skin, that I wondered how she managed to put such a thing on.

"Did she paint herself?" I asked my caretaker without taking my eyes from the stage.

"No. Look closer."

I squinted and looked for a seam or button.

I understood with no small wonder that the patchwork was not clothing, but skin.

The only outfit she wore were two strips of cloth for modesty and a few delicate chains of gold around her waist, arms, and ankles. Dangling from the chains were thin medallions which released a pleasant jingling at the slightest movement. The realization that the Hag Dancer was practically bare made my face warm. I wondered if it was improper to be staring at such a sight and thought to avert my gaze, but then I heard Myranda sigh in approval and my embarrassment quickly left. 

The Hag Dancer wore little clothing on purpose, to show off as much of her magnificent skin as possible. Not an inch of the woman lived up to her name. I had imagined a crone with a scrunched face and missing teeth, but what stood on the stage was breathtakingly lovely.

Long, graceful legs. Hair that fell to her waist in a gentle waterfall, colored with every shade of blue known to the world. The kind of beauty that hurts.

Nothing about her appearance made sense. The clash of colors should've looked clownish, but on her they were alluring. Her presence instantly captured the full attention of the room, inviting us all into a seductive mystery.

From some unknown place, a woman's voice sang in a language I did not understand.

The Hag Dancer began to move. She swayed her hips and waved her arms—

My breath caught in my throat.

I was all at once uncomfortable and relaxed. Without permission from my mind, my body began to rock, switching balance slowly from one foot to another.

The Hag Dancer glided across the stage, and with a twirl of her hands she produced three orbs of golden light. She rolled them between her fingers before beginning a juggling act. She tossed the orbs into the air and executed an acrobatic trick before catching them just as they were about hit the ground. After several astonishing feats she disappeared the orbs and began one of the most spectacular displays of magic I've ever seen.

In time with the beat of the music, she took on a series of poses, and with each new position she reached up and touched the top of her head.

There was a collective gasp from the audience, myself included.

Every time her fingertip touched her skull, her entire being transformed.

First, she was an elf with purple skin and cropped white hair.

Then she was a dwarven woman with long braids and a shiny beard.

She became an orc next, with smooth green skin and two protruding lower fangs.

All of her disguises held their own unique charm.

A sound took my attention from the performance.

Sniffling. Crying.

Several members of the audience were wiping their eyes.

The Hag Dancer continued until every last person was enchanted with a strange sadness, and as the emotion grew, so too did the response. The sniffling became quiet weeping that rose into anguished wails.

How shall I describe it?

There was nothing angry in their tears. It more resembled remorse or great loss, but tinged with joy. Nostalgia, perhaps.

As distressing as it was to be in a room filled with keening spectators, it was all the more upsetting when a few members of the audience began to make their way to the sand. A line of crow men was ready at the edge of the pit to keep the desperate people from entering. They needn't have bothered, I knew, for there was an invisible barrier in place to separate the audience from the show.

Or so I thought.

One audience member managed to climb over the edge, and the second his foot touched the sand he raced for the stage, sobbing and yelling as went. He was tackled by two crow men several feet from his goal, and as they grabbed his arms to carry him away, he called a name to the stage before hanging his head in defeated shame.

The Hag Dancer was not distracted by the interruption and continued without a misstep. As engaging as the show was, I did not understand why it provoked such a passionate response. Spectators were choking on tears. Some fell to their knees and pressed their faces into their hands.

When I turned back to the stage, I learned the cause of the audience's suffering.

The Hag Dancer touched the top of her head. Her form, which had taken the shape of a young girl with glimmering scales, melted away, and in its place was a face I knew well.

Ma.

Just the way I saw her when I closed my eyes and remembered happier times, with a smile that calmed the world. The Hag Dancer moved gracefully, swaying Ma's arms through the air. Her gray eyes searched the crowd and landed on me, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

I remembered the smell of Ma's hair.

Her skirt always carried a trace of dirt.

The skin of her arms was always warm when she held me.

Her voice dropped to a whisper when she recited a bedtime story.

No matter how upset I was, no bad or frightful thing could withstand the might of her soothing words and kisses.

No heart would ever love me as passionately or effortlessly.

She was Ma, and there was no one like her in all the world.

Now I understood the Hag Dancer's power.

The one who rushed to the stage had not wanted to hurt the Hag Dancer, but love her.

Before I knew it I was leaning over the edge of the pit.

"Ma!" I shouted. "I'm here!"

I wanted to go to her and beg her to wrap her arms around me. I would have given my life in exchange for one embrace, for one kind word spoken in Ma's voice.

But it was a hopeless pursuit.

I was weeping, unable to hold back the flood that poured from my eyes.

"Ma..."

The Hag Dancer smiled, and her hand reached up to touch the top of her head. Ma's face melted away, replaced by a young woman with red hair and the face of a cat.

She must have taken the shape of hundreds of bodies, cycling through the entire audience, invoking feelings of fierce devotion and loss. These were the faces of people who were longed for, who held great significance.

Faces that haunted the ones who cherished them.

They meant everything.

Was it a mercy or a cruelty to bring them to life for only a moment?

What would any of us do to look one last time upon a person we yearned to see? To watch them move, alive and confident, as if there had never been a moment where your life parted from theirs?

I decided it was a mercy, a gift to the hearts of those who'd known loss.

Myranda had been right. The Hag Dancer was special, and I did not regret staying to watch her performance.

With a final turn, the Hag Dancer touched her head one last time. The image of an old, pink-skinned woman with horns disappeared, and the patchwork skin returned.

The performer bowed so low her nose almost touched the floor, then she disappeared behind the curtain of her palanquin.

There was a long silence after, interjected with occasional sniffles and whimpers. I waited for the applause to begin, but it never came. Instead, the audience showered the pit with flowers and coins, without a single word or cheer. Blooms and gold fell like soft rain, and I thought it a most elegant show of reverence and appreciation.

Crow men lifted the palanquin on their backs, and a room that nightly shook with noise remained in quiet awe as the litter left through a tent flap.

The gangly man took his position in the center of the pit, his face red from weeping, and announced the end of the revels as crow men scurried to collect coins and flowers.

Myranda turned to me, heartbreak painted on her face. 

"Do you want to meet her?"

"Is that possible?"

"You're the Champion of the Pit. I told you the title comes with special rewards. You've been invited for a private meeting."

I returned to my room for a bath and a meal. When I was finished I paced back and forth, my mind filled with a hundred questions.

After what felt like hours, my caretaker appeared.

"Your visitor is here, champion."

She stepped aside, revealing the Hag Dancer waiting with a smile.

A gasp escaped my lips. She was striking up close, the colors of her patchwork intensely vivid. She had not changed her revealing clothing, and it took great concentration to keep from staring too long at her skin. There was an undeniable magic about her, and a feeling of great importance and power. One might be torn between describing her as seductive or terrifying. She moved with the dignity of a queen, and I wondered if she had come from nobility. 

When she approached I fell into a clumsy bow.

"My...lady," I greeted, trying to remember the proper manners for royalty but realizing I knew none, "I am honored to meet you."

She returned my bow with a curtsy.

"And I am pleased to meet you, champion." Her voice was low but commanding, with a deeper timbre than I would have guessed. "May I sit?"

"Yes, please do!"

I cursed myself for not offering it first. I gave her my softest chair to sit upon and made sure she was comfortable before taking my seat. I didn't know how to start our conversation, but the Hag Dancer began for me.

"Shall I take on another form?"

"No! Unless you wish it. But this form is very nice."

"My skin does not make you dizzy? I could wear a pretty face."

"Stay as you are. Be who you are." I hoped my answer pleased her. "Your performance tonight...it was wonderful."

"Yours was something to behold as well."

I blushed at the thought that she had watched me fight.

"It was nothing, really," I replied.

"Do not say it was nothing. You honor the pit with your skill."

"It's the wolf's skill, not mine." I winced. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound rude—"

"You and the wolf are not the same?"

"Well...kind of."

Sensing my unease, the Hag Dancer waved her hand in a dismissive motion.

"You will learn to understand each other. Now, I wish to see the helmet you're known to wear."

Grizzelda's helmet had long been set aside and was collecting dust in a corner, though I repeated her name during every fight to ensure I would never forget it. Still, the mention of it gave me a pang of remorse, that I had been neglecting such a valuable item. I presented the helmet for the Hag Dancer's inspection, which looked absurdly large in her delicate hands. She ran her fingers over the silver fangs, not giving a hint that she noticed its weight.  

"Wonderful work. I was told she was your first victory."

"She was."

"You've not met her likeness since, have you?"

I didn't want to admit it, fearing that saying it out loud might invite bad luck, but the Hag Dancer was right. Every fight seemed like a child's game when compared to the first, for no opponent had come close to the might of the bear.

"A tenderhearted soul," the Hag Dancer mused at the skull. "I will remember her fondly."

"You knew Grizzelda?"

"I spoke to her once, as I am speaking to you now. She was excellent company, but she carried a great sadness."

"I'm sorry that I was the one to take her down."

"It's the promise we all make at the start, to die one day."

"She didn't have to die like that."

I bit my tongue, afraid I spoke out of turn. The Hag Dancer's eyes narrowed.

"You don't approve of the pit, champion?"

The question felt dangerous.

"I do as I'm told and nothing else," I answered numbly. "I live to fight for the circus."

"Of course you do."

She set the helmet aside and Grizzelda's empty eye sockets stared at me in disapproval.

"But as you say, no fight has compared to the first. It must be an awful thing for a champion, to have grown bored of the pit so quickly." She cocked her head to the side. "But you're not really a champion, are you?"

It might have been an insult, but it struck me as a painful truth.

"No, I'm not."

"What are you then?"

"I don't know."

"You are a boy lost in the woods. You are Josiah."

The sound of my name caught me off guard. It was the first time I'd heard it since arriving at the circus. No one, not even Myranda, ever used it.

I was Wolf-king. Champion. Occasionally, if Myranda was in a foul mood, I was fur-ass.

"How do you know my name?"

"You think I could take on the face of your mother and not know?" She clucked her tongue. "It's the way of my kind."

"What is your kind?"

Her eyes fell to her lap.

"There were hundreds of us once. But no longer."

"Surely you can't be the last."

"I've seen the world and I've never found another."

"What happened—if that's not a rude question?"

"Not rude at all. You saw my performance and you understand what I can do. The influence I can have over others. In the past there were those who could not help themselves. They hunted my people, kept us in cages and prisons, so they could have the faces they loved any time they wished. But all of them discovered that our power can do nothing to take away the pain of loss. We are mirrors of a heart, not the heart itself. So their greed turned to anger, and we were punished, until we became so rare that others no longer coveted but appreciated our presence. Even if they do have to be held back on occasion. Everyone has lost, and everyone would grasp the opportunity to see their loved ones again. Even you, Josiah. I see the pain in your heart. I can ease it for a moment with a familiar face, but I cannot take it away. I cannot save you from sorrow, just as my people could not save the ones who enslaved them. What is gone is gone forever, and I am only a mask."

"Who do you miss? Who have you lost?"

"Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. Strangers I might have loved."

"And all your people had the same gift?"

"There were those like me, who held the power of feminine shapes. Others held the power of masculine ones. Some, most rare and special of all, could inhabit both, but they were hunted first."

"Why are you called 'Hag Dancers'?"

"That is an old name given to us by others. I cannot recall why."

"What is your real name?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"What a nosey little man you are!"

"I've been told that before. I'm sorry."

"It's a good thing to be curious, but it's also good to know your limits."

"Yes." I sighed. "I'm sorry you lost your family."

"Don't be. My rarity helps me survive. Wherever I go, I'm showered with praise and coins."

"But I imagine the world is a lonely place."

"You understand loneliness, don't you? Being the last of your kind, as well."

"The last of my kind? No, there are many humans—"

"I mean the last of your family. That's what you believe you are, yes?" She raised her hand to her head. "Do you want to speak to your mother now?"

It was a tempting offer, but I knew such a reunion would be empty.

"Thank you, but no." I paused before adding, "It was nice to see Ma."

"There aren't many who would refuse my gifts. You are very odd, Josiah the wolf."

"I'll see Ma again the next time you perform." 

It was a comfort to know I would have a friend at the circus, but the Hag Dancer shook her head.

"My engagements only last for one night. I will move on tomorrow."

"No one leaves the circus. The Authority will try to keep you."

"Such an attempt would never be made, and if it was it wouldn't be successful. I am the wind. I move where I please."

"How?"

"Do you think anyone could refuse the face they hold most dear?"

"But the Authority—"

"Everyone has a weakness, and it is most often found in someone else."

She touched her finger to the top of her head. Her patchwork skin faded away, revealing a half-human, half-bird figure similar to the crow men, but in place of black feathers and a crow's face, her plumage was a brilliant blue. Her face resembled a jay, with intricate black lines and a soft down of white around her neck and face. Her eyes were not the same glowing orange as her crow counterparts, but shimmering pools of black that reflected the light of the torches in the room.

I stared at the creature, unaware that I was looking at the key to understanding the Authority. After a moment she touched her head, shifting back into her real skin, and stood from her seat.

"Thank you for the conversation, champion, but it's time I take my leave."

Don't go, I wanted to say.

"Thank you," I replied instead.

"I am happy to have met you, Josiah."

"It was my honor...I'm sorry, I don't know how to address you any other way but 'Hag Dancer'."

The name didn't fit her, not in the least.

"Sometimes a name, even an ill-fitting one, is the only thing we have. And it's up to the bearer to show the world what they intend to do with it."

She leaned in close and her voice dropped into a whisper.

"Keep a sharp eye. This is not your destiny, merely a chapter in your book, and it will be up to you to know when the chapter has ended. Do not doom yourself to stay contained within these pages forever. A sharp eye, Josiah, so you will know when opportunity arises."

I contemplated her final words for several hours after she left.

Merely a chapter.

It was a warning that the chance to escape was coming.

I needed to be prepared.

A sharp eye.

When the opportunity presented itself, I would not waste it.