I realized I haven't shared much of my fiction writing lately so I thought today I would share with you a short story I wrote this summer.
A friend of mine was hosting a short story contest based on a number of different photo prompts. I forgot until the last minute and in a panic I looked through the prompts until I came to the one I based this story on. I didn't know what I was doing when I started writing, I just knew that was the one I wanted to write. So for the next hour I just typed and let the story roll off my fingers.
Here are the results (which I'm pretty proud of even though I didn't win):
They called her the Keeper.
It’s
a cliché name, I know. I laughed the first time I heard it, somewhere in the
midst of all my travels, scoffing at the idea of one with a name so obviously
pretentious.
And
yet even I, ever the skeptic, found myself in need of her wisdom.
I
didn’t want to go to her. After all, I had already made up my mind about her
and the legends that were told of her abilities. They were nothing more than fanciful
tales told to pass the time on those long dirigible voyages, sailing through
the skies where hot tempers and boredom reigned. Fantastical tales about
gorgeous blondes were a way of keeping the peace and nothing more.
So I
didn’t know why I was there, standing on the steps of her library, that evening
in October. The wind blew the fallen leaves about, tossing them all around me
as I drew my coat closer to keep the chill from setting in. There I stood on
the steps wondering whether I ought to go in after all.
I had
exhausted all my other options up until this point and if this failed me- which
it was sure to- I would have nothing left. My hesitation made little sense,
given this fact, and so with a resolute breath I stepped inside the building.
It
looked much as I would have expected, but felt so much different. I know, I
know, I’m not a man to talk much about feelings and atmosphere and ambiance and
what have you. But I’m telling you, there was something about this place, a
presence, that one could not deny when they stepped inside.
There
were floor to ceiling bookshelves crowded together, so many of them, each
filled with volumes upon volumes of old books with worn and weathered spines.
Each book looked well-read, as if it had been pulled from the shelf time and
again for use. None of that was a surprise.
No, I
expected that. What I did not expect was to feel like each and every book was
looking at me, judging me, as if my very soul had been pulled from my body and
was now sitting there in plain sight for all to read.
I
could turn back now, I reminded myself. I could turn and leave this place
forever and forget that I even came. I did not need to stay.
And
yet something kept me there. I found myself drawn further in, my boots giving a
muffled thud with each step I took on the carpeted floors. Moving through the
narrow aisles of books, I listened to their whispers as I walked past. I could
not make out what they were saying, the sound so faint it was surely all in my
head. Books did not talk, after all. Books did not whisper or judge. They were
inanimate objects read by rational and illogical people alike. They were tools
and their use was determined by the user; they had no life outside of us.
This
I told myself as I walked, weaving through the shelves, finding the place
deserted. It never crossed my mind to pull books from the shelves and look for
the information I sought, not on my own. I was here in search of the Keeper,
and so it was she who I continued to seek.
After
wandering the library a good many minutes only to discover it just continued on
and on, larger than the building outside seem to reasonably be able to contain,
I finally worked up the courage to break the carnal rules of libraries. Opening
my mouth, I called out, “Hello? Is there anyone here?”
I was
met with those faint whispers again along with the hollow echo of my own voice-
which seemed odd, given how packed the room was. Surely my voice should not
have echoed.
“Hello?”
I called again.
Still
I was met with nothing but the whispers and the echoes and the dull thud of my
boots that rang out with each step.
I
ought to have turned back, ought to have left. But at this point I was unsure
whether I would even be able to find my way out of here, I had taken so many
twists and turns to get to the place I was now.
Still,
I considered it, thinking surely if I could navigate the skies on a stormy
summer night, I could find my way out of a library. And I had just made up my
mind to turn and leave when I heard it.
The
humming.
It
was not the musical humming that one makes when they do not know the words to a
song or else do not wish to sing it. No, this was a humming of energy, an
electrical hum of some sort. It was loud though and with each step I took
toward it the sound grew louder until it was almost deafening.
“Hello?”
I called again, rounding a corner. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it- when
I saw her.
The
Keeper.
It
was she who was the source of the energy, crouched on the ground, a large
volume in her hands that hide a good deal of her. But there was a good deal
left to see, all illuminated by a glow that seemed to come from her and around
her all at once. Her skin was pale and translucent, much like the strings of
pearls that draped cross her forehead and twisted into her platinum blonde hair,
swept into an elegant updo. A little red flower was tucked into its folds.
She
wore boots that were weathered and aged, well-loved and well-worn. Her legs
were covered in crocheted stockings that might have been from a yarn not of
this world, the way it shimmered and glowed in the low light. Her arms were
covered in fingerless gloves that went to her elbows and beyond, of a gossamer
fabric, sheer and lacy. Her skirt floofed out around her legs, spilling over
them with all their layers and flounces as she crouched there beside the
bookshelves.
I
stood there for a little while- a minute or more, perhaps?- not daring to speak
before she looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine. I believed then that the
books could in fact whisper, that they could in fact judge. Just as I knew for
a fact in that moment that she could see into my very soul.
Perhaps
the tales of her were true after all. And somewhere deep inside me swelled with
hope, though that hope was covered by a good deal of awe that kept me frozen there
in my place, unable to do anything but stare.
She
frowned at me, closing the book and setting it on her lap as her lips pursed
tightly. She drummed her long, elegant fingers on the cover a moment before she
said, “You’ve come for advice.”
Her
voice broke the spell, quite simply because there was nothing magical about it.
It was so unassuming, so normal, that I found myself disconcerted by it. It was
as if it made me disenchanted and yet all the more enchanted with her at the
same time.
“I
have,” I said and her frown deepened.
“That
wasn’t a question,” she said. “I know why you’ve come.”
She
rose then, lifting the book and slipping it onto the shelf. Her skirt fell into
place, the skirt and many underskirts bouncing as she moved. With the book gone
I could see the rest of her outfit- a shirt with short ruffled sleeves over
which she wore a vest that buckled up the front. It wasn’t a tight shirt or vest
but it fit her well and I wasn’t able to quite ignore how nicely it accentuated
her curves.
“I
can’t help you,” she said, turning away, as if she was going to just walk away
from me then, as if the conversation were over before it had even begun.
“You
can’t walk away!” I cried out, taking a step toward her but then drawing back
as the fear struck. She was glowing, after all. I am a man who takes many risks
in life but touching a glowing, otherworldly human just seemed like not a wise
option.
She
whirled around, a glare on her pale face. There was rage and fury in those
translucent blue eyes of hers and she fairly spat as she spoke to me. “I can do
whatever I please. And what I please is to no longer give advice to fools like
you who seek a bandage when it is surgery that is required.”
She
spoke in riddles, in metaphors and the like. I was in excellent condition,
after all, and it was not a bandage I had come here to seek.
“I
need a-”
“I
know what you need!” she interrupted, not letting me get the words out. “And I
know what you think you need. But trust me, finding him won’t do any good. And
no map I give you will change what has happened. I want no part of your mission
of revenge. Now, if you turn around and keep going straight you will find the
door. Good day.”
She
turned again, started to walk away. My mind was reeling with so many thoughts-
about the revenge she spoke of, of the map I did in fact need and the person I
hoped it would lead me to, of the fact that I had taken so many twists and turns
that it seemed unlikely that turning around and going straight would in fact
bring me to the door, that she was actually walking away and did not plan to
help me.
All
this went through my mind in a matter of seconds before I came back to this
world and that around me. She had already made it a good way, cruising faster
than I would have thought her short legs capable.
“Wait,
please!” I called out. She did not stop. I broke into a jog, chasing after her.
I reached her but she did not turn around. I did not think this time, my
rationality gone in the face of the panic that was settling in. She was my last
hope, my last breath of a chance in finding the man who took so much from me.
I
touched her, reached out on put my hand on her shoulder. And the moment we made
contact my whole world shifted.
My
head began to spin and it was as if time stood still. The energy that
surrounded her, that illuminated her and filled her, I could feel it entering
me, coursing through my veins and filling me as well. I saw flashes of things,
memories that were not my own, that were shady at best, more shadows than anything
else. But they left me with feelings I could not deny- of loneliness and
hopelessness and despair so great it filled me like none has ever filled me
before.
My
life has not been an easy one. I have seen things, experienced things, been
exposed to things that are not to be shared. I have never thought myself lucky
with the life I have been given, have always known it to be a hard one. But
never have I felt pain on this level. Never in my life have I ever thought that
perhaps, just perhaps, my life is not so bad after all, not if there are emotions
like this in the world.
The
connection was broken almost as soon as it was made but I could not shake the
feelings that filled me a moment before.
The
Keeper had stepped back, for it was she who broke our connection. She looked as
one wounded, as if in touching her I did something wrong.
And
it was then that I knew.
I
knew those feelings, those flashes of memories, those shadows, they all
belonged to her. For all the wisdom and energy and light she contained, she was
broken. She was alone.
And I
knew what she meant when she had snapped at me. How it must feel to spend one’s
life giving advice, to be sought out for your wisdom only to be left once more,
alone. How it must feel to know everything about a person just by looking into
their eyes and knowing that you yourself will never truly be known.
“Please
leave,” she said, her voice shaking a bit as she spoke. She cowered just a bit,
her light fading, less bright, less luminescent.
I
stood there, not moving toward her but not moving away either. She looked
scared and I wondered if she was scared I would stay or scared that I would
listen to her and leave.
I
couldn’t shake the feelings. I couldn’t walk away. So I looked into her eyes, deep
into her eyes, though I knew she could see more about me from the looking than
I could about her.
Her
defiance faltered a bit, her mask of anger and hardness slipping slightly out
of place. Her voice was a whisper as she said, “What do you want from me?”
She
knew what I wanted. Or did she? In those moments what I wanted had changed. I
still wanted the answers she could give me, but I had also realized I could
spare her some time. After all, why should she give me what I wanted if I did
not give her what she wanted in return?
So
drawing in a breath to gather my courage I ventured to ask, “What is your name?
Surely the Keeper is but your title.”
Her
brow furrowed and I thought a moment that perhaps I had perceived wrongly, for
my judgement in divining desires and the like was not what hers was, after all.
But then she offered me the faintest hint of a smile, shy and delicate.
“My
name is Cassandra,” she said. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”
I had
a man to find, a man most vile and evil who needed to be stopped. But this was
the woman who could help me, this was the woman who could give me the answers I
needed. And she was asking for but an evening of my life. That I could give
her, that I could afford.
“I
do,” I told her.
Her
shyness fell away and she smiled at me then, full and bright. And as I followed
the Keeper- Cassandra- to where she was surely to make that cup of tea she had
promised me, I thought perhaps this evening would pass far too quickly.
~Jennifer Sauer, the Ivory Palace Princess
