The Swords of the Ancients

For Sonia M.’s latest challenge, we were asked to write a fairy tale. In the spirit of building up the world in which some of my other microfiction pieces occur, I’ve crafted for your enjoyment a library fairy tale. Here’s “The Library.”

Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Ilyana, who loved to read more than anything else in the world. She’d heard stories about the library, but she’d never seen it in person until today. She’d expected something grand, and she was not disappointed. Towers soared upward, fingers reaching for the sky above. Tethered to one was a large airship, and she could barely make out the letters on its tailfin designating it “Bookmobile.”

The girl’s eyes were wide in amazement. Magic. It had to be. Electricity surged up and down her spine as she stepped timidly through the archway. Ilyana looked closely at one of the walls nearest to her and gasped in shock as she was struck by the realization that the entire building was made, not of brick, nor marble, nor wood, but paper. Millions upon millions of tomes, countless numbers of volumes of books, were housed here, within a structure made of their own kind. Spider-thin writing crackled across the parchment surfaces of the floors, columns, and ceiling, the words of long-forgotten authors lending strength to the library, binding the pages together with ink.

Nervously eyeing the guards who stood near the reference desk, she approached the wizened man and woman who co-occupied it.

“And what can we do for you today,” they asked her in stereo.

“I…I came to get a library card,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Ah, a new mind to fill,” the librarians replied. “We’ve been waiting for you, Ilyana.”

She gasped. “How did you know my name?”

“We are librarians, dearie, we know everything. We knew that you would be coming to us today, and we knew that you would be seeking this.” In unison, the two elderly librarians reached out, holding a small gilded piece of parchment between them. It had Ilyana’s name on it in a curved script, more beautiful than she’d ever seen it written. “You’ll want to go that way,” they added, gesturing to a long spiral stair.

“Thank you!” Ilyana grinned, taking the card and dashing off for the stairway. It seemed to go on forever, but the books and pages that composed it lent a spring to her every step. Finally, Ilyana reached the top of the stairs and found a single door, her name carved in the lintel. A small slot stood in the door, just at her eye level, the golden words above it reading “Library Card Here, Please.”

Placing her new card in the opening, Ilyana watched as the door slowly swung open to admit her. A voice from the books whispered “Welcome, Ilyana…” She knew then that this room was hers, and hers alone. She took in the walls and the books that covered the shelves. It was just for her. One book beckoned to her, and she opened the book to those first magical words. “Once upon a time,” it read, “there was a young girl named Ilyana, who loved to read more than anything else in the world…”

Here it is, boys and girls! I’m ahead of schedule with this one, and I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out. That’s right, it’s time for the August Writing Challenge entry! Thanks to Sonia over at Doing the Write Thing for this month’s challenge prompt. This month, Sonia asked us to write a 500 word short story about doorways. It’s a little bit “Adjustment Bureau” and a little bit “Monsters Inc.”, and was a blast to write. Maybe I’ll tie it in to my May entry, “Fiction or Non?” just for kicks. Anyway, here goes. Bonus points to anyone who knows where the title comes from without googling it. 😀

“A Ball of Light in One’s Hand”

Damien gasped for breath as he ran across the temple’s cool, slick marble floor. He didn’t know where he was, or when, but he knew he was being pursued. He knew why. When he saw the tall woman, he sensed maliciousness, and he had fled through the nearest door. She followed.

Where had this all started? The bookshop, he thought to himself, careening around a corner through a stone door into a dimly lit log cabin. The snow outside the window hinted at a northern climate, far from his home, far from the room he’d just exited. He paused for a moment while the rest of his body caught up to his racing heartbeat before he moved to the nearest door. His raven hair surged behind him as a gust of wind greeted him, and he rushed through the portal into the unknown beyond.

He blinked. Bright desert sun shone down on him, and the smells of the marketplace he’d stepped into surrounded him, overwhelming and discomforting at the same time, for there was something familiar behind the smells. Paper. Paper and ink. Paper and ink and death. The bookseller was near. Damien’s nostrils flared as he tracked the tall woman’s scent.

She’d had the gift first. The book describing the techniques of door travel had been in her possession longer than she even knew, he suspected. There had been others before. Now Damien had learned, and she would pursue him until she killed him, as she killed all who attempted to use the door portals as she did. He’d heard the tales.

He turned and saw her, tall, thin, grey, cold, seeming to grow and blot out the light that surrounded them. Damien held up the book, knowing he had one desperate chance.

“Give me the book, boy, and I’ll kill you quickly.”

“‘The book should be a ball of light in one’s hand,’” he replied, quoting the book, remembering the day he’d first made his way into her bookshop. It had smelled of paper. Paper and ink. Paper and ink and death. Just like the woman who stood before him now. He’d not known the scent of death at the time, but as he had journeyed through the doors, he had learned many things. She had pursued him as soon as she realized he’d taken that book.

He had read it, learned the ways of the doors. They let him go anywhere, anytime, but he could not control it well. Not yet. Now he had little time to make a choice, and the tall woman who smelled of paper and ink and death stood before him. She had learned of his deception and tracked him through every door he’d ever used. Now she was here. Damien’s body tensed. The book began to shine. He opened to a picture of a great oaken door, open, waiting for him, threw it to the ground. Damien leapt, vanishing through the door, the book snapping shut behind him before vanishing as well.