YA Steampunk:
Sixteen-year-old PENN Roma was raised to be the perfect son in his father MAGNUS Roma’s circus. The only problem is, Penn, is actually Penelope, Magnus’ daughter – a fact both Magnus and his other children have hidden from the world since the day Penn was born.
The Romas’ traveling circus, called THE SHOW, is more than the biggest entertainment draw in the high provinces; it’s camouflage. To hide the fact that Magnus’ four eldest daughters are elementals, he created the circus to conceal them in plain sight. It’s more dire for his fifth girl, Penn, who is an exceptionally rare creature called a CELESTINE. Where her sisters can call up water or fire on a whim, Penn can call down the stars themselves – a fact which became tragically clear the night she was born and her first cries sent a rain of burning rocks through the roof to kill her twin brother.
To keep Penn safe from the ESTABULARY, an iron-fisted ruling class, Magnus passes her off as the dead boy, claiming the valuable Celestine died at birth. He buys the Estabulary’s acceptance with the inventions they require of him on a regular basis, but shortly after Penn turns sixteen, something changes.
Magnus goes missing, leaving Penn and her sisters to fend for themselves. The Estabulary attacks The Show’s train, destroying the illusion of safety. And Penn’s unruly abilities manifest in self-defence, making it clear who and what she is.
Penn, along with JERMAY: the magician’s son, SAPPHIRA: adopted daughter of The Show’s acrobats, WINNIE: a supposed mute who found her voice in time to save Penn from the Estabulary, and KLOK: a half-mechanical/half-human teen taken in by Magnus as one of his own, are cut off from the others and left to find their own way safely home.
***FIRST PAGE***
"Budge up and keep moving," I ordered in the lower tone of voice I adopted during tours of the circus' back areas. "Leaving gaps in the line only encourages things to join which have no place among people. Keep your hands on your children - if they wander off, we won't be detouring to find them. And do not touch anything. From this moment on, anything you touch may decide to return the favor."
The youngest began to fidget round their parents' legs, while the older in the group rolled their eyes and chuckled, determined to play along for the sake of their children and not to spoil the gag. They thought they knew what was coming - the sort of garish costumes and ghoulish deformities which were the norm in other traveling circuses. But this was The Show, the dominion of Magnus Roma - the man whose methods even the Estabulary didn't question.
In my father's hands, the mundane became miraculous, and metal turned to magic.
By the time I had led the crowd the first few meters into blindness, with only a dismal miner's lantern to guide their way, even the stalwart grew restless. The tent rustled as nervous fingers reached out to remind their owners they were still inside they same enclosure they had entered. Low whispers wondered aloud if it wouldn't be better to simply turn around and go back the way we'd come.
When a disembodied hiss began to thread its way through their hushed voices, they fell silent all together, bunching close and holding the little ones' hands, exactly as I had bade them. Society ladies in their satin and lace clutched at their husbands' arms, not daring to ask what was going on.
They were right on schedule, whether they knew it or not.
"How much further?" someone called from the back.
"Just until we fall off the edge of the world," I said. "And that won't take long at all."
Folks like these, who lived in the upper provinces, had no concept of true fear, but they were about to. There were no Wardens lurking about with their shiny blue armor to keep order and no rumbling peace machines ready to trample down anything considered strange or dangerous. There were no Hounds. There would never be Hounds at The Show so long as my father lived. He forbade it, and the Estabulary tolerated his demands because his inventions were worth more than their pride.
The lantern flickered in my hand so I had to tap the glass to try and coax a bit more fuel into the flame - instead it cut out and plunged us into absolute pitch.
"Light the torch," a trembling, female voice begged.
"T'won't do no good, Madam," I said. The accent they heard wasn't the one I was born to, but it was the one I used in public. "We've wandered into Erebus' territory. This is the World of Shadows, and we'll get light when it's given. Keep up or get left back."
