Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Corruption" -- by Marlene Simonette

The Corruption

         Alright, little ones, your usual storyteller is out with a pretty girl tonight, and he’s asked me to fill in. With the help of assistant Tarron, of course. The storyteller wouldn’t trust me to this all by myself. Though he seems to trust me with protecting not only him, but the rest of the village—yes, children, I’m a patrol warrior. Closer, I don’t mind! Ah, you want to handle my weapons? You may (so long as you don’t tell your mothers and sisters), but only after the telling of this tale.

Tonight, hear a tale of…well, it’s about separation.

Long ago, when the dragons danced in the sky and churned the fires of the deep, the elven people were one. No division of darkness separated them; all were called by one name, none of this ‘Woodlander’ and ‘Starlighter’ business. What were they called, then? Say it slowly; savor it on your tongue: Aelaellae. Does it taste strange? That’s because the language is so ancient, only a few fragments of it remain.

During this ancient time, there were no kings, and no queens, save in distant warring human groups. Perhaps this distance is what brought about the Darkness. The Great Sorrow, as some call it.

The Elven Mother—Janis, after whom this land is named—ruled not as a queen, but as a judge. She heard the Voices, and often secluded herself in the forest to commune with them. When she returned, she had much wisdom to impart to those seeking restitution.

However, she had but one fault: she took things for granted. This may not seem like a great sin, but it led her to neglect her family. Her younger brother, in particular.

This lad remembered the humans, the world he’d once lived in. (If you don’t know the history of the elves, and how we first came about, I’m afraid that will have to wait; this tale is complicated enough as it is.) The sadness and death that permeated the humans’ lives quickened his heart in pity.

He did many things for them; made paths through treacherous forest and mountain, provided them with animals in the lean seasons, and even gave some children lessons in woodcraft. This sometimes went awry, as the humans aren’t attuned to the purity of the Voices as we are. Some mistook him for a rogue, or a beast intent on stealing their young (how humans can mistake an elf for something like that, I haven’t the faintest idea.).

Each time he requested an audience with his sister, he was turned away.

Janis’ neglect of her brother hurt him a great deal. He tried to find a way of helping the humans further on his own. Evidently, the tale of Michi the Matchmaker had not yet been told, or he would know that beginning such a task alone was sure to lead to ruin.

And to ruin his path did lead. After monumental efforts, he was exhausted. How exhausted, you ask? He was so exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t even sneeze properly.

When he finally did sneeze—he’d been trying for hours, you know how it is when you feel like nothing else will help that stuffy feeling in your head—he was so bedraggled that he fell flat on his back.

The Winds were having one of their arguments, so the clouds above were hazy and thin. The great ribbons of light that followed the dragons as they flew had faded, for the dragons had gone to their caverns to sleep. The moons were half-lidded, so their purple and blue gaze didn’t illuminate as they normally did.

He waited. He could have closed his eyes, or gotten to his feet and returned home, but he didn’t. He saw something, there in the sky. He disobeyed the First Command—to never seek out the stars, to never search them for answers.

The first of their secrets seared into his mind. Like fire it coursed through him, stronger than—er…the excitement of a foosball match. 

(What, Tarron, I can’t tell them what goblin ale does to someone?)

Where was I? Ah, yes, the first pangs of the Sorrow.

Janis’ brother used what he’d learned for what he’d intended it—to help the humans. Little did he know what he’d set in motion.

In the wake of his help came Shadow. Solid, sneaking, and set to strangle any who dared venture out when the moons were covered. The Shadow was slow in revealing itself, so it was some time before word of it reached the elves. 

Though she didn’t speak with him much, Janis noted a change in her brother. He seemed harsher, haughtier, and ever willing to question. I don’t think she thought much of him questioning her own authority; she expected that on a regular basis. But when he questioned the Bakeres family recipe for snow-berry pudding? Tempers flew!

Barely able to restrain her people from shedding her brother’s blood right then and there, she took him aside. She questioned him. He met her questions with scoffs, diverting her attention from time to time with questions of his own. With neither of their tempers cooled, they parted.

That night, Janis sought guidance from the Voices. Unfortunately for her, only the East Wind answered, and he’s such a curmudgeonly fellow that I shan’t repeat what he told her. Suffice it to say, she waited a few days for a Voice with more…temperance, and less temper.

The North Wind told Janis of her brother’s doings, and that while the deeds themselves were good, they tasted of death, and stank of deceit. The Voice suggested—among other things—that Janis go out among the humans.

And so she did.

The sky was overcast with the first clouds of winter, threaded through with the faint trails of the dragons. There were a few humans about, holding lanterns lit from their sacred…

(Tarron, what was it called? Just a firepit? That seems silly. Wait, really? That’s almost worse. Alright…)

…their sacred Flame.

The Shadow leeched out from the forest as ooze from a sore. Only, much faster, and far deadlier. It was more like someone had given a weasel a shot of coffee.

It entered the man, snuffing out the light and killing him before he’d hit the ground.

Eyes aglow with a dead light from the source it had eaten (the Shadows’ get brighter with each life source they devour), it went for Janis. She used her power, then. Her voice. She sang. 

(Tarron! Stop chuckling. I’m not going to sing.)

The notes stretched about her, a shield and repellant against evil things. Her hair and cloak whipped about her, carried by the force of her voice.

The Shadow stumbled back. It shriveled in the lush, warm light of Janis’ music. 

But her light revealed more Shadow. Many eyes glimmered silver among the trees. These were stronger Shadows, ones who could drink up her attacks as a deer laps up water.

Hurrying back to her people, and mourning the growing net that drew about the human community, Janis called a meeting of the judges.

Now, this meeting of the judges was swift—not like the human councils, where they debate and argue for hours without tiring. The judges spoke. They shared stories of the past in an attempt to find a common thread. After they discussed a bit, they came to a decision: Janis’ brother was to be found, and confronted. They also reprimanded Janis for her neglect, for they could see that she had some fault in this.

Thoroughly chastened, Janis set out to find her brother. First, she searched the forests. There was no sign of him. Next, the mountains. Still, neither hide nor hair of him was to be found. Cautiously, she reentered the growing Darkness that surrounded the human community. 

He found her first. Coming from behind like a Shadow himself, he clasped her shoulder. His eyes gleamed wild in his gaunt face. In a whispering cry, sounding almost like a dead man, he said, “I never meant for this to happen!”

Janis clasped his shoulders. “Neither did I. But what’s done is done. Come, the council is gathered, and we shall find a way to remedy this.”

He came willingly. Janis doubtless talked with him on the way back, in heartfelt attempts at apology. And doubtless, though he was sorry for what he’d done to the humans, he was still cross with her. (If my sister treated me like that, I would be cross with her for a while, too.)

Janis and her brother arrived at the council. They entreated the Voices. Alas, the only solution the Voices could offer: sleep. The Shadows could be sent into sleep for a time, but the people must prepare for when they would arrive again.

And so, the council channeled their power into the growing net—though it was more of a nest by this time—of Darkness in the human community. Their efforts were successful: the Shadows receded. 

Having overexerted themselves, some of the council members fell into sleep themselves (and yes, what came of them afterwards is the subject of another legend).

During the aftermath, Janis’ brother vanished.

Some say that he sought to turn the Shadows to his will. Others say he went out in self-imposed exile, or continued aiding the humans from a distance. Whatever the case, the land had peace for a while.

For the humans, it was a restless sort of peace. The council did not specify the time given to them by the Voices. And so, the humans busied themselves in preparations to combat the Shadow. They gathered together, set their sacred Flame in the center of their city, and made sure that guards were posted day and night.

Unfortunately, the peace the elves had was…different.

The council told them of the time limit, of the foretold day the Shadows would return. What did they do? They decided to dally. They decided that idle chatter, future promises, and neglect were preferable to heeding the wisdom of the Voices.

In other words, they followed the actions of their judge: Janis. When a leader neglects, the people tend to follow suit. 

Dallying is one of the worst mistakes anyone can make, little ones. It breeds apathy. It allows wounds that need healing to fester and rot like so much fruit left out to pop in the summer sun. And it sucks the very life from your bones.

So if any of you have chores that need doing—Ahaha, I’m only partially joking. Get along with you. I will need those nun-chucks back…