The Tale of Fools.

[Albireo]

Images, still fresh, turned her mind upside down for a moment. “More than heard”, she commented, then let the girl find her words and tell her story. Simple, yet elaborate; small, yet epic. A town emerging of oblivion, sinking back into oblivion. What could be less significant and what could be more significant? Suria found herself drawn into the tale, the reality of it all. A bitter smell remained, shared through the shock of the Djed storms. There were gaping holes though, and she wondered… Fires of Wind Reach? Ivak? Rumors had arrived with merchants, but rumors weren’t enough to sate that thirst. “It is a sad tale... Will you tell it in greater detail one day?” To me, she added silently, to me, as if it was an especially delicate trade secret. After a moment routine claimed her back, ran her fingers over more fabric and colors reflected in her eyes. Momentarily distracted, she turned back to Johanne with raised brows at the compliment. Yet she didn’t smile. “Thank you”, with hesitation. Winter on the mountains was cold as winter at the sea. The girl should know, right? Her hand moved on to a similar scarf made of wool. “This too?” No matter the answer, she tried it on to taste the feeling with eyes like a clear night sky. When they met Johanne’s once again it was in great earnest. “Sometimes starting with the mundane leads way to the great. Do you want to know how I learned the art of storytelling? The Vantha are its masters, they know techniques and methods and requisites. I studied them for years, but I keep learning.” Inhaling, she carried on. For once, doing what she did was the easiest thing in the world. “Still, I would like to share my knowledge, however insignificant, and for you to share with me. Is that acceptable?” Looking at that fragile human girl, on the threshold of her own tale in unknown lands, Suria was waiting patiently for an answer. And what are we but fools?

[Johanne]

Johanne wiped her hand oh her thigh, the blood smearing over the khaki fabric, forgotten already along with the sting of the pain. Johanne never thought of her family unless she had to. She did not like to remember the guilt of never loving them as she ought, especially now that they were gone along with Denval. And now with the words of the recent past hovering in between herself and Suria, Johanne felt uncomfortable.

"I am not as talented with my voice as you are, Suria," she began, reluctant to offend, worried that this diminutive girl would not want to speak to Johanne again. "But I do have my paper and my ink. Perhaps one day soon I could write it for you. Then I could do the story justice. Would that be alright?" She hoped it would. She was reluctant to speak of the past endlessly; instead, Johanne lived in the future and scribbled down the yesteryears.

Suria, claimed by the call of fabrics, tried on a woolf scarf, wrapping it around her neck. Winter was coming, and Johanne was barely prepared. "It looks very comfortable," she said, nodding in approval. She picked up a similar woolf scarf, though this was a deep brown, the colour of chocolate, or the trunk of an ancient oak. Putting it on, Johanne felt comforted by the warmth. She was grateful for the moment of simplicity. She was not used to being the one scrutinised, rather she was the one who did the observing. But it did in fact make sense: Suria, too, was a storyteller. She, too, looked for the narratives in people. "And this, on me? Do you like it?" Without waiting for an answer, Johanne waved over the shopkeeper, and gave him seven jade kina for the scarf.

Eyes, clearest and most fragile blue, now met Johanne's, with a seriousness of the earlier vein. Johanne again looked down at her hands, though when Suria offered some of her own story, she began to listen very carefully. Johanne swallowed. An exchange of knowledge, of skill. Of stories. Johanne wanted more than anything to hear this strange girl's tale. She was not, however, accustomed to sharing her own. Besides the unfortunate fate of her own town, Johanne had nothing interesting to tell the other girl. Except for the artwork that covered her skin; yet Johanne found that strangers skirted round the issue, for fear of upsetting the young girl.

"Very well," said Johanne. "This is acceptable." And she waited to hear the tale of a stranger with gleaming, shimmering, chameleon eyes.

[Albireo]

Playing with the midnight wool around her neck, she listened to the proposal. A lone nod confirmed what was said. “Words are words. I am also a librarian, after all.” It called out to her, skyglass, paper, letters, and suddenly an idea hit her. Seeing a scarf the color of wood, she added it to Johanne’s lanky form and observed how it made her softer, more warm and friendly. “It fits you”, she commented simply. That was god-given fate too: One like a midnight sky, still and clear and full of longing, the other like a thick tree trunk, earthy and alive and more real, somehow. She had known it all along: Suria Skyglow or rather, Albireo, had never truly arrived in Mizahar at all. Now she mirrored the girl and gave a couple of glittering kina for her piece of wool, barely noticing what kind and how much. Sooner or later finances would cut into her mind and become a problem, but for now she relished the feel of soft material keeping her warm. Vantha didn’t feel the cold, but she was only the shadow of a Vantha now. They stepped outside and the scarf’s protection became real like the girl walking next to her. Only then did she tug at another strand of conversation. How she had missed such interaction: free of fear or mistrust – just being herself, whoever that was. And it was Suria Skyglow who set the rhythm of the story as well as the pace and direction of their steps. “We can only learn from each other through shared words. A suggestion would be to try and forget the difference between written and spoken ones. It’s all a story. I will take you to a place where you can learn, yes?” From that moment on the earlier idea constituted the game. “For now… there is not much to say. I would like to meet you again and exchange stories. Only this: My appearance is that of a Vantha, so I am a Vantha now, but this is only a reflection of who I was in a past life. After it had ended, I lived with Leth in the Ukalas”, and the words cut into her flesh like the scars she had glimpsed on the girl, so not enough, “but the Valterrian damaged its fabric and we children of Moon Lord and Sun Lady fell into Mizaharian waters once again. We change appearance between night and day when our patrons switch reign over the sky, we’re neither what we were nor mortal in this place and time.” She sighed. “We call ourselves Ethaefal, but that word is just a filler a language that can’t be spoken here.” Shrugging, that shadow led the way over narrow and swaying bridges towards the easternmost Tenten peak. Fabrics of yellow and orange passed the pair on the streets and Suria’s eyes reflected that. A few steps and they stood in front of an elegant building of magnificent glittering skyglass architecture: Bharani Library. “Interested in a tour?” she asked, observing Johanne carefully. Hope, hope, hope, it all came down to one thing and her hopes were so high, perhaps too much.

[Johanne]

Johanne started, her thoughts torn from wool and warmth. "You are a librarian?" Suddenly Suria's fascination with stories and words made sense. "Of the Bharani Library?" She felt her heart beat that little bit faster. Since she had stumbled upon the beautiful library two years ago, Johanne had been searching for a way to make a contribution, to lend the library a scroll or tome that would enable her the right to peruse stories of old, endlessly. And now, here, was one who worked there, day and night. Johanne stepped forward, eager. She did not want to 'use' the poor girl, nor give the impression that Johanne was not interested in Suria until she was truly able to do something for Johanne, but this was the Bharani Library: the fabled store of the most wonderful words in the world.

Johanne followed Suria outside, the brisk cold against her cheeks giving her a new interest in the history of the strange woman standing next to her. Her eyes changed colours, and she had a wealth of knowledge of the past. She was truly an enigma, and yet Johanne felt a kinship to her. Storytellers in any form must band together, to see what they might learn from one another. Suria seemed softspoken and kind, and Johanne was reluctant to let the conversation and meeting dwindle to an end, for fear it should be the only time they met. She walked beside the shorter girl, and thought of ways she could keep Suria interested in the less than remarkable Johanne: for she had nothing to offer someone so knowledgeable and wise at such a young age.

She was willing to follow Suria wherever she might lead, though she blushed, feeling chastised by the girl. "It is just that when I speak," Johanne tried to explain herself, "the words never seem to come out as I mean them. I have the deepest respect for storytellers who can hold a string of thought and make it beautiful. But I require solitude and reflection to even create a story that has the barest hint of beauty within it." She looked down at the shorter girl, and thought how much taller she seemed in mind than Johanne. "But I will try to think of them as you say," she conceded, "though I fear, compared to you, I might not seem adequate at all." Nevertheless, Johanne followed willingly. She was eager to learn. She would always be eager to learn wherever stories were concerned.

Johanne listened with growing awe to the story of the girl. An Ethaefal! She had never met one in the flesh, though of course she had glimpsed their slow reflective walks through the city of the stars, their skin iridescent and their gazes cast towards the sky. All this while she had been looking at the girl as earthly and small: but Suria was larger than she. "I have seen your kind from a distance," she began, her voice hushed and her gaze fixed on Suria, awestruck, "but I have never spoken nor befriended one. You were with the Gods, with the ethereal Leth! I cannot imagine being in such close union with anyone so divine, it must have been aweinspiring--" And as Johanne rambled, she thought of how separate she felt from the memory of Joseph, the source of beauty in her life. She thought of the beer in the tavern, and his lips against hers, and the feeling of his scars against skin, and then realised that her pain magnified a thousand times would not cover the separation of Suria from her God. "Suria..." She let the words trail off, disappearing into the places between them, and her voice was soft. I am sorry hung between them. Johanne hoped Suria knew they were true. That her sentiments were not contrived. Johanne never understood nor prayed to the divine, but it did not mean that she was not fearful and inspired by their power.

Johanne barely noticed their crossing the bridges and the jaw-clenching drops beneath them, but the glow of the sun on her skin felt all the more potent, even amongst the frigid air of Fall. Suria's question cast her from her thoughts, and she looked up into the building that cast a shadow across her cheeks: a magnificent building of skyglass and crystal, immaculately crafted as a homage to the sky. Johanne knew this building well. She had gazed longingly on it often enough. She had been inside many times, but always just beside the entrance, only long enough for a breathless gaze before ducking out again. And here was Suria, the Ethaefal, a daughter of Leth, offering her the chance to examine the library Johanne hoped to be a part of. She turned her gaze to Suria, and a smile played upon her lips. "I would like that very, very much, Suria." And the words that hung between them now were not an apology, but rather the fervant thanks reflected in Johanne's deep brown eyes.

[Albireo]

Listening, the Vantha considered that hasty explanation. “It comes from talent, yes, but even moreso from practice. Both of our artforms do, or not?” A question, a fleeting thought it was, not requiring a clear answer. And as an afterthought: “It would be an honor to take one of your written tales to streets and people faces.” Awe was spoken, trembling in words larger than she, maybe even admiration. Suria hadn’t asked for any of it, she had just told a story… or there was more to it than her mind could grasp. All she did was shake her head. “It’s all lost now, all lost.” Once again, that mysterious accent distorted her voice. The special moment and memories brought it out of twilit corners between day and night conscience. For a moment the line was blurred: what seemed like scenes black and white and sharp like places illuminated by lightning, and then nothing. She stood and blinked, looking up to the lanky girl in confusion. What did I see? It lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back and started walking as if nothing had happened. And then Bharani Library wiped out any ideas and doubt. So much was reflected in that simple affirmation, unsaid words and unconscious feelings and more and more. They paralyzed Suria, rooted her to the spot. Fingers digging into unfamiliar wool eventually dragged her from lethargy. Clearing her throat, small noise, she extended an olive-skinned hand and opened the front doors. It was a free day, yet she often visited during those, the library had become more than a job to her. Etched into her existence, it resided somewhere between storytelling and devotion to Leth. She would wait for Johanne to enter first and close the doors behind them, allow the girl a moment to compose herself if needed. The similarities between them made her notice the tiniest change, the most insignificant facial expression or gesture. A pact had been sealed between them on the threshold of the library, so she could tell and ask anything now, or so she felt. A nod acknowledged the clerk on duty, a Lhavitian colleague. “How long have you been in Lhavit, Johanne? A contribution is needed from everyone who wishes to use the library… have you thought about yours already?” Oh curiosity, almost annoying, yet there was no other way.

[Johanne]

"You would tell my stories?" Johanne felt her heart skip faster, felt her fingers flutter, her throat tighten, and her mind expand. Her stories, told! The world would hear them in the soft voice of Suria Skyglow! But they would be her stories! "Oh Suria, could you? Oh, please? I cannot express--" Johanne cut herself off. There weren't the words to express: so why waste them? Johanne would have to find a story she was proud enough of. She did not want to let down Suria or those who listened. The story must be beautiful. Perhaps she would write one of the chameleon-eyed girl who fell from the heavens and longed to commune with the moon again.

Johanne's throat tightened. She was hurting for the girl. She had lost her home, her lord, her hope. And she could not return to the heavens. Johanne had left Denval, had left her family, had left the one place Joseph could find her again, and now she could not return. It was nothing more than a memory in the minds of a few. She did not know if her family had died or escaped. She almost did not want to know. She wanted to pretend that if the world got too big for Johanne, she could always go back to Denval. But Suria could not even pretend that to herself. And so Johanne's heart swelled for Suria. She felt for the Ethaefal, and let her silence be their companion for the moment.

Johanne breathed deep before the doors of the Bharani Library. She had been inside several times before, but never so intimately, and never so hopefully. To know a librarian was something that gave Johanne a wishfulness for the future, especially as Suria seemed to encourage Johanne's writing. Once the smaller girl had pushed open the double doors and walked inside, Johanne hesitated: and then took a step inside the great building. The building Johanne wanted to explore for bells and bells and bells until entire years had gone by and she was filled with stories.

The high ceiling inside glittered down on Johanne, and she felt her breath stop for a moment. The building was grand, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. Absent-mindedly, she ran her fingers over the scar of Leth and Syna on her left forearm, pushing up the sleeve to her dress ever so slightly. Touching that first scar she gave herself gave her comfort and strength. She imagined wandering along those shelves and seeing something she herself had written. She imagined walking past strangers reading her scrolls, smiling to themselves, weeping to themselves. This is what the Bharani Library was to her: the future, possibilities.

She took a deep breath and wrenched her gaze away from the tomes to look back at Suria. "I have been here a while now. Just under two years ago." She was almost ashamed to tell Suria the rest, but the Ethaefal had been so very kind to her thus far. "I have thought about my contribution. I have wanted, since arriving, for the contribution to be something I have written, a story that I can give to the library. But nothing ever seems to be good enough." She shrugged, as if dismissing her failures. "I suppose I have learnt to live with my inadequacies, but they do not stop me from dreaming." She made as if to follow Suria, before a question came to her mind.

"And if I may ask, Suria... if this is too personal, I apologise. But ... when did you fall from the Ukalas?" Suria was so very similar to her, she felt. They both dreamed. They both imagined. And they both were moved by truth, beauty and words. She could be very good friends with the Ethaefal, she felt, if Suria chose and was not offended by the impertinence of Johanne's question.

[Albireo]

“Whatever you write, I would tell”, she confirmed. Simple words for simple feelings. In another life, being an apprentice of the art of storytelling had meant memorizing tales, learning about the power of words and mastering her voice. Slowly the stories had changed from something awe-inspiring to tools of voice and mirror images of life. Everything she saw and heard could be crafted into a story. She played around as if they were pretty dolls, gathering rumors and milking the town grapevine for anything and everything. That life had been nothing but living, breathing stories. Then she fell and they became something to cling to. A vague sense of familiarity and comfort remained as undercurrent, yet the prominent melody of survival was in the epics and tragedies. They expressed what she herself couldn’t – thus her offer to express what Johanne couldn’t. Her style of telling would add to the story’s growth. The girl’s confession made her turn around. For a moment her rainbow eyes were so light they almost shone white. “Dreams only come true if you want them to. You must strengthen the sense of reality in your imagination.” If Johanne asked, she would elaborate. However, the entire purpose of the riddle was to contemplate it for oneself. A mere shrug answered the silent question coming with more words. “About two years ago, but age really is nothing.” A curious glance over her shoulder indicated curiosity, yet she left it unsaid. Slipping into the role of a visitor guide, she wandered past several shelves on the ground floor while directing Johanne’s attention towards the small metal signs at the side of each one. “See? These contain common knowledge in geography, fauna, flora, anthropology, cultures and customs… Obviously there is a focus on Lhavit and Kalea.” Next she climbed a staircase with an ornate balustrade of skyglass and presented the next level: heavier tomes, dusty scrolls, mysterious letters. “These works focus on… magic. The houses Dusk, Dawn and Twilight have made contributions to this collection as well.” Losing its softness, her voice assumed a somewhat pressed and forced quality. Destructive powers loomed here – and the mere thought took her breath away. Her gaze fled out of the next high window, framed in skyglass fantasies as well, and sought refuge in more beautiful memories. To Johanne she would seem distant, blurry like a silhouette standing behind a wall of ice.

[Johanne]

She almost regretted answering the Ethaefal's question. Her guide turned from the rows of books that lay before her, the stacks of knowledge, stories nestled inside parchment in the form of dried black ink. But Suria Skyglow, the Storyteller, had been kind enough so far as to take the fragile writer by the hand, and lead her to the library, even without knowing Johanne's desperate aspirations to be a part of the collection one day. That the storyteller should stop, and turn: well, Johanne could wait patiently for a few moments more.

"Reality ... in my imagination?" Johanne murmured to herself, repeating the words as if to memorise them, to tuck them away inside her ribcage to peruse at a later date. The riddle was a strange one, and incongruous. To Johanne, the imagination had always been a place of wonder, of strangeness, of escape - for the storyteller to encourage reality, the one thing she wanted above all else to flee from, as a visitor in her sacred realm of thoughts and daydreaming ... well, it was strange. But Johanne, blushing, kept her thoughts and perusals to herself. The purpose of a riddle was to find things out in your own time: if they were explained to you, they didn't leave the same impact.

The silence reigned brief for a moment, before Johanne asked her question, one that could perhaps be taken with offence: Suria, however, answered it willingly, almost offhand, as if the time she had spent in the mortal realm. "I am very sorry," Johanne said, and it was almost as if she was offering condolences for the loss of a family member. She supposed it was somewhat like that; the fall of the Ethaefal from the sky to the dirt would be like something precious, something irreplaceable, dying in front of you, withering away. She briefly wondered what the little Vantha would look like by night; how tall, how angelic, how crystalline she must look! Suria slipped her gaze away, and began to speak. Stowing her thoughts away, Johanne once more focused on the library, and felt her excitement and apprehension rising.

Johanne followed Suria, wandering past the musty bookshelves, barely looking at Suria's gestures: her eyes were already focused on the signs, on the scrolls, so close she would almost touch them. She could, if she wanted to: reach out a spindly hand and caress the yellowing pages, but that was not her place, not yet. "So many kinds of books... our time is so short, here. It's almost an agony that we'll never get to read them all." A vague philosophical wandering, trite and superficial, but Johanne for once did not fret over her inadequacy. She began to believe that someday she may see a scroll there, Johanne Verkir printed on the front.

She followed Suria up the skyglass stair, and the beauty of the stairwell was entirely lost on her. The books up on the second level seemed darker, more dusty, and more ominous: if books had personality, these would be the dark stranger by midnight, who stowed away with a pure damsel in distress. Magic. Johanne felt a shudder run down her spine. Lhavit had an abundance of the magic, though it was mainly divine and regulated. Like Suria, she was uncomfortable in the prescence of these stories. Johanne could not comprehend magic, and so it made her uncomfortable. Swallowing, she looked sideways. "I imagine not many people have access to these books, not the commoner from the street, at least."

[Albireo]

Watching the girl repeating her words and blushing, Suria didn’t give any hints. It was a riddle for the bibliophile to work on. Then she offered her condolences. The Vantha simply tilted her head, not answering, giving a questioning glance, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Her eyes were pools of darkness, shady colors mixed together. Time didn’t matter, only the happenings it was filled with. The tour resumed. Johanne’s melancholic musings brought out the tiniest smile. “If you could, you’d do nothing but read, yes? So what you’re looking for in the books is the books themselves? Not trying to understand reality.” It was what Suria did. The difference in gestures, in their eyes gazing upon stacks and stacks of paper spoke of the essential difference between their minds. It fascinated her. People were stories, each one unique and a miracle of its own. They ascended the staircase. Suria almost paid more respect to the beauty of architecture than the well of magical knowledge opening up on the top. In Johanne’s voice she sensed the same discomfort. A small sense of relief followed. Mysterious ways. “Those who do not search will not find”, she simply said. Not many were even looking for magic. Those who did went to one of the three towers: it was everything or nothing for them. Yet Suria shuddered even as she imagined what students learned between those walls. Pushing the images away with a sigh, she crossed the space with hasty steps. Johanne would have no problems keeping up with her short Vantha form. The last staircase proved as ornately decorated and skyglassy as the first, albeit smaller and narrower. The highest level awaited them above, the highest allowed to visitors at least. Suria whirled around between two shelves, arms outstretched and an expression of sweet ecstasy on her worldly face, suddenly as light as a feather. “This is for Gods and Goddesses, divine magic and other abstract topics.” Philosophy had its place here. As did her beloved Lord of the Moon. During breaks she often sneaked up here to wander the shelves, browse books falling into her hands or look out of the high skyglass windows, admiring beautiful Lhavit. All of it seemed to ooze peace and calm which then trickled into her body and filled her veins like warm lifeblood.

[Johanne]

The Ethaefal, as Suria was, bewildered Johanne more often than not. Her words were beautiful and poetic, and she spoke so softly, tempered by rhythm and the beats of her thoughts, but she spoke in riddles. Those who do not seek will not find. Johanne nodded, but it was more placating than anything else. She liked Suria: how could one not like an Ethaefal? But sometimes her words and phrasing were confusing to follow. Johanne loved words more than anything on this earth, but still, when she spoke she spoke simply and true. Riddles were for the page alone. But then again, Johanne had not once touched the eternal. Perhaps that changed a person. It surely would.

There was a moment of silence between them, as they both were consumed by their own thoughts, as so many before them were consumed by magic. Her skin prickled uncomfortably. The tomes in this room seemed to have a life of their own, eyes that followed them, watching their every move, seeing into their very thoughts. Johanne did not understand magic. Johanne had no desire to. The world was a terrifying and confusing place even without tapping into the unknown. Leave that to the Gods who spared no thought for the little human. Swallowing, she looked away from the shelves. There was none of the awed wonder of the previous floor.

Johanne quickly followed Suria, careful not to overtake the shorter woman, stumbling a little bit over her own feet. Johanne did not often walk so quickly, and it was difficult tempering her pace to someone of such a different stature. Without looking back at the magical tomes, she followed Suria up the skyglass stairwell, gripping onto the crystalline handrail. Suria seemed more eager than before, as if chasing down a darting deer that threatened to dive into the undergrowth.

The floor that they burst out onto was small, and well lit, and Suria seemed to glow within it. Her hands held high, she whirled within the shelves, as if revealing an age old secret to Johanne that would change her life. Suria, an Ethaefal of Leth, would love this floor more than any other, and it was as if she expected Johanne to as well: the silence weighed heavily, waiting for a response. Johanne smiled uncomfortably. This floor held not the allure it did for Suria.

"It's beautiful, as ever," she said, placatingly, looking carefully at the shelves. The topics seemed so distant to Johanne: books on Zintila, the priesthood, on the lords and ladies of the Ukalas. None of it stirred Johanne like the stories of mortals. She could not connect to the Gods: they had no desire to connect to her.

"The view is stunning up here." It was a weak response, and she knew it. She fidgeted with her fingernails, not looking at the books on the shelves. She didn't want to delve into these stories. She didn't want to know what she was missing out on.