Lost Civilization Challenge: "A Terrible Tale Teller" -- by Marlene Simonette

A Terrible Tale Teller

Holding his cooler close, Arthur wound his way down into the city’s underbelly. The white, yellow and purple lights of the main gradually became less, until only the dim resonance of the sleet-blue metal buildings lit his way. 

Finding the path more from memory than sight, he veered off the sidewalk and through a bush that led to the Gloaming. It looked truer to its name in the day than it did in the night hours. The glimmering yellow lamps were unlit, their bronze casings dull and grimy looking beneath the thin fog that clung to everything.

His feet catching on the occasional creeper vine that clawed along the brick path, he stumbled into his destination: a brick-faced shop called “Remedies.”

The main lobby was dark, but a soft orange glow came from a room further back.

Arthur swung the cooler onto his shoulder and entered. A sparsely decorated kitchen, lined in dark and honey-colored wood, hid a man of similar coloring. Arthur had to do a triple-take before he was certain the brown haired, light-skinned man was really in the room.

“Aberdeen.” He set the cooler on the table, somewhat loudly as the man was reading a book and may not have noticed him enter the room. “I’m here to collect on a bargain.”

“I know, darling,” he said without looking up from his book. “That’s why there were no flowers on the path.”

“What is with that weird rule of yours?”

Aberdeen dog-eared the page he was on and set the book down. “Is that the question you want me to answer for our bargain?”

“No.” Arthur spun out a chair. “I want a story.”

Aberdeen’s brows shot up quizzically.

“And I want you to tell it. Really tell it. Don’t just say that these people existed, were stupid, and died.” 

“Seeing as you’ve summarized nearly half of your human history, that doesn’t leave me many stories to tell.”

“Is Fae history really so different?”

Aberdeen chuckled. Leaning forward, he flipped open the cooler lid. The smell of gingerbread and pumpkin spice warmed the air. Aberdeen closed his eyes and inhaled. Once he’d removed a thermos and sipped at its contents, he leaned back in his chair. “A tale? Alright...”

----

Beneath the steps of men, there was a city. Its silence would have frozen the breath of any who dared to enter. The streets of smoothed stone were bathed in the corpse-green light that came from within the buildings of quartz.

Despite this veneer of death, the buildings bore no markings of the passage of time. The slick walls glimmered, and their furnishings remained intact. Not so much as a film of dust covered anything.

Within the heart of this deserted city dwelled two sisters. Bound by a curse, a snake which fed from their blood as your mythical vampire does.

----

Arthur held up a hand. “So you can confirm that vampires aren’t real?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

----

Of the two sisters, only the youngest retained any amount of sanity. The elder was far gone, the venom of the snake rendering her eyes dull, her speech listless. The younger abhorred the company of her sister, for when she was able to speak, she spoke of nothing save for the day when the snake would pass to her.

----

Arthur raised his hand again. “Did they have names?”

Sipping at the drink again, Aberdeen sighed. “Rosetta and Rachelle.”

“Those aren’t Fae names.”

“Oh, you’ve been paying attention.” He reached into the cooler and took out a chunk of gingerbread loaf. “If this were a true story, I wouldn’t give you their actual names. And if you interrupt again...well, as much as I like you, darling, that won’t keep me from getting annoyed.” The pupils of his golden eyes went from round to slitted in a blink.

Arthur mimed pulling a zipper across his lips, and Aberdeen continued.

----

One day, a girl from your time and place found a Path. Her steps stuttered and stumbled across the Path as it yanked her to and fro, one moment beneath the city, the next in a cave.

When the dead light of the city bathed her, she paused. The Path tickled her feet, forced her forward. She approached the palace. Her knuckles rapped against the granite door.

It swung inward, and the younger sister—Rosetta—looked out at her. Using the Fae speech, she asked, “Will you play with me?”

The modern girl—who for now shall remain nameless—accepted the invitation and went inside.

They chased one another, as young ones are apt to do; ducking into rooms, heedless of the objects they careen into. Eventually, the modern girl paused, breathless. She leaned against a statue. Catching her breath, she looked up at it, then around.

Scattered across the ballroom were statues. Each had a hand outstretched, head tilted upwards, mouths open in either disappointment or horror.

“What happened here?” The girl asked.

Rosetta ran back to her. Shuffling in place, looking impatient, she said, “They tried to save my sister. Come!” She grabbed the girl’s wrist. “The garden is still alive, there are fruits in the trees!”

Time passed as it always did; dead, and dreary. Only now the dreariness was punctuated by happy laughter.

The laughter reached the ears of Rachelle. Twitching, she stood. She moved through the halls sluggishly, for the venom made it difficult to go more than several steps without having to pause for breath. Partway through a hall filled with paintings, she collapsed.

Outside, Rosetta paused. Tears slid down her face. She called out for her sister in her Fae name, and scrambled to the ground from her perch in the black-barked tree.

Confused, the modern girl followed. When she reached Rosetta’s side, she saw the snake: its diamond head latched onto Rachelle’s knuckles, its eyes ruby red and pupil-less. As it writhed and hissed, Rachelle’s veins stood out green. She clung to Rosetta as if clinging to life. Her grip was tenuous.

Rosetta pressed her face into her sister’s shoulder. To the modern girl, she said, “There’s no way to stop this. Though there are no more people within the city, the snake still must be fed. If the royal line breaks, the snake will be freed. It will devour the world.”

The modern girl blinked. “But...there’s always a way to stop these things. Is there a book, a scroll, a legend...?”

Rachelle stirred. Her blue lips trembling, she hissed, “Scroll. Beneath. Library.”

And so, after settling her sister into a comfortable chair, Rosetta led the girl down to the library. More statues were in the room, some blocking stairways or shelves. They had to move one to get to the hidden passage behind a bookshelf.

Before they entered, the girl took Rosetta’s hands in hers. Rosetta pulled her hands to her chin. Sniffing, she whispered, “Don’t say you’ll help, even if it kills you. Enough people have done that already. Will you just agree to be my friend? No matter what happens?”

“Done and done.”

The scroll was surprisingly easy to locate. It was clutched in the crooked fingers of a stone statue, and glowed red.

As was usual for Fae text, the letters rearranged themselves to be read by the girl’s modern mind. That didn’t help, however, when half of the words were missing.

And so, they wandered the halls searching for more answers.

----

Aberdeen sipped at his drink. Arthur waited for him to continue. The Fae man’s brow furrowed, and he sipped again, noisily this time.

“That’s it?” Arthur half rose from his chair. “That’s the story?”

“Yes.” He ate more gingerbread, seeming to savor every nibble.

Arthur huffed. “You’re a terrible tale teller.”

“Please, tell me what I did wrong.”

“The pacing dragged, the people didn’t have names until later, one didn’t even get a name, your sentences were long…” He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “C’mon. I know that’s not the whole thing. I also know that I brought enough goodies for a better story than that.”

Aberdeen smiled.  “The civilization is still lost, yes? Strange beings suddenly appearing and attempting to integrate or destroy your world aren’t the norm.” He stood.  Lazily, he meandered around the table. “In addition to this, there are handfuls of missing persons still missing as of...oh, when was it?” He leaned over Arthur, who had to lean back to avoid being stabbed by Aberdeen’s pointed chin. “Six months ago?”

“Six...” Understanding dawned in Arthur’s eyes. “My cousin.” He scrambled out of the chair. “Why can’t you Fae ever say anything straight?”

“Sometimes the longest path is the one that leads to your destination, darling.”

Without another word, Arthur bolted for the door. Before he’d made it too far away from the shop, he sheepishly returned. “Which way to the city?”

“If you follow your heart to its eventual end, you will find the Path.”

Knowing the Fae’s opinion on the human heart, Arthur huffed. “Down a garbage chute. Got it.”

He ran out into the misty day. Over his shoulder he called, “I expect a better story when I get back!”

“If,” Aberdeen muttered.