Willow lowered the key, surveying her work. The letters “W-B-S” were now scratched into the stone of the Wall, next to the letters “S-L-S”, the initials Sarah had put there years ago before her Passage. All the children partook of this ritual, this little declaration of maturity etched into rock, and though the Council disagreed with the act—the Wall was a sacred landmark, after all—they never did more than mention brief and meaningless complaints in the postings, so it went on unchecked. Willow saw no reason why she alone should abstain; her own Passage would come in a mere three days, and then she would have no time for such trivial, childish acts. Besides, no one even remembered when or why the Wall had been built, and in a few decades the marks would be obscured by another layer of stone.
Willow often tried to imagine how many layers the Wall had. She knew another few strata were added on occasion, and that the Wall was thicker than it was tall. She wondered how much of the city it had devoured. Veritis had always been a large metropolis—as was necessary, to sustain itself without trade from the Outside—but the lore said that it had once been much larger, in fact the largest city on the continent. How many houses had been buried by added layers? How many miles?
Willow remembered a personal posting Sarah had sent her years ago, saying that one couldn’t see the Wall’s outer rim from even the top of High Spire. That was when Sarah had still posted her, when she had been excited to tell Willow about life after the Passage. Then the letters stopped, and after months without any messages, Willow had started to wonder if her sister had forgotten her. Then the mentors had explained that Sarah was probably just very busy, like all adults, and when you have your Passage, you’ll understand, and of course Sarah remembers and loves you, you’re so silly Willow, and aren’t you excited to have your Passage so you can see her again?
That whole event had left Willow with two goals to accomplish after her Passage; to have a long talk with Sarah and catch up on things, and then to climb High Spire to see the spread of the Wall herself.
Why so many layers? Willow wondered, caressing the smooth stone. The question had crossed her mind many times before. Both the lore and the mentors were vague when it came to the mysteries of the Wall, saying things like “it was built to keep bad things out” and “they add layers so it stays strong.” But how many layers would it take to keep the “bad things” out? And what were the “bad things” to begin with? Their every answer just added more questions to a growing list.
But Willow liked the mystery. Well, she liked the idea that maybe one day she could solve the mystery. It was the real reason she spent so much time at the Wall’s edge; every day she came hoping the Wall would open its secrets to her. Another childish game she’d leave behind after her Passage.
Willow stretched out on her back, the top of her head just touching the Wall. She would miss this, true, but better things waited for her; things like Sarah, a job, and High Spire. Better things.
At first she thought she was imagining it, a soft scratching sound. Then she realized it was outside her thoughts, and that the noise was coming from behind her head. But that was impossible, because the only thing behind her was the Wall…
She blinked, then blinked again, hand covering her eyes to shield them from the falling dust, too late to stop some of it from falling in her mouth.
Falling dust? she thought, rolling away to the side and stumbling upright. Falling from where? The scratching was louder, now accompanied by an occasional thump. Willow wiped away the tears conjured by her eyes to counter the stinging particles.
A stone fell out of the Wall.
Jaw hanging open, forgotten by its owner, Willow watched as a head covered in dark, tousled hair poked out of the hole, looked around, and climbed out, followed by a wiry body that shouldn’t have fit through such a small hole, but did anyway. The strange being brushed himself off, attempted to smooth his hair (which did nothing) and put his hands on his hips, looking at Veritis with a satisfied—smile? Smirk. Smirk fit better—smirk.
“They’re getting sloppy,” he said to no one in particular. He had a peculiar voice; it gave every word he spoke a double meaning, as if he was always hinting at something which, to his amusement, no one else knew about.
Willow, who had not yet remembered how her mouth worked, felt her keys slide from her fingers. Before she had time to wonder if she could’ve caught them, she heard them clink on ground.
Because there were no other sounds, it was a very audible clink.
The inexplicable visitor turned, noticing her. Willow shifted under his dark gaze—it was as disconcerting as his voice, and sharper than a gaze had any right to be.
For a long moment, they stared. Then, with a sly grin, the man—or was he a child?—leapt back into the hole, disappearing in the dark. The spell broke, and Willow sprinted forward.
“Wait!” she cried.
But the strange individual was gone. She peered through the shadows he had fled into. She could make out little, so she grabbed her keys, activated the miniature glow rod, and illuminating, to her surprise, a good sized tunnel—longer than her tiny light could fully reveal.
She squeezed closer, trying to see more, and found she had somehow fit her head and shoulders through the gap. She hesitated, torn between her curiosity and fear of getting stuck. Should she tell someone? Maybe she ought to inform the mentors. They would know what to do.
In spite of this brief flash of common sense, curiosity won. Maybe the Wall was finally answering her questions. Who knew what would happen if she didn’t listen now? She scrabbled deeper into the hole, the rest of her defying the laws of physics with equal ease. Now fully inside the Wall, a sense of claustrophobia overcame her. What if the tunnel collapsed and she couldn’t get out? Willow gulped. But she couldn’t turn around even if she wanted to, and that was enough to start her moving forward.
Glow rod held before her, Willow belly-crawled down the narrow stone passage, wincing whenever she moved too hastily and struck rock. How long would the tunnel go? Would it carry her all the way to the other side of the Wall?
That gave her some pause. The Wall had been built to keep bad things out, though what specifically she didn’t know. Still, what if the strange man was one of those bad things? What if there were more dangers ahead?
In any case, the Wall wasn’t giving her answers yet. Just more questions.
Willow noticed the light had changed. She could see more than her glow rod allowed, and that the tunnel opened into a room ahead. She crawled faster until she reached the mouth of the passage, which spilled into a larger cave illuminated by torches mounted in the stone.
Willow eased onto the ground, then stood and dusted herself off. She looked down the tunnel she had come through—she couldn’t see the entrance, but it hadn’t been that long. At least, it hadn’t seemed that long.
She deactivated the now unneeded glow rod and tucked her keys away. So this was the inside of the Wall. It certainly looked the part, composed of the same stone she had seen her whole life. At the same time, it was strange to think this cavern lay behind all those layers of stone, that the Wall was hollow, at least in part.
It made her wonder who had hollowed it out, and who had left the torches behind.
In a daze, Willow walked deeper into the caves. Here and there were structures of wood, brick, and metal, which she took to be houses—they looked as though they had been devoured whole by the Wall.
“Jack and Jill!”
Startled, Willow turned around. Sitting behind her on a large stone was a bird, but not like any bird Willow had seen. Its plumage was bright blue, its feet were huge, and it had a long, furry tale.
And its eyes…its eyes looked almost human.
“Jack and Jill!” it said again.
Willow stared. Was it some kind of parrot?
“What did you say?” she asked.
The creature cocked its head to the side, then sang:
“Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.”
The creature suddenly took to the air, singing the same odd song as it flew down the tunnels. Intrigued, Willow gave chase, but it flew too fast to follow, and she soon lost it. Looking around, she realized she had also lost her bearings. Willow turned in a circle, trying to remember where she had come from.
Her foot struck something hard, making a dull thump. Willow leaned down and picked up the large rectangular object at her feet.
A book, she thought. It didn’t look like the text books or the historical bibliographies she had studied through the school years. She blew the accumulated dust from the cover to reveal a title embossed in gold letters:
Fairy Tales, by Mendellen.
Fairy tales? wondered Willow. What were those? The word ‘fairy’ was unfamiliar, but the word ‘tale’ was not. It was a synonym of the Great Sin.
She knew then she should put the book down and walk away, but again curiosity got the better of her. Were these tales about fairies, or told by fairies? And who was Mendellen?
She hesitated, knowing she was probably committing heresy, but couldn’t stop herself from opening the book. What harm could it do? She would just have to be careful.
The header on the page read
“Luke and the Great Wolf.”
nce upon a time, there was a village called Raf. The people of Raf toiled from dawn till dusk, for fear of the consequences if they did not.
or Raf was ruled by a great dragon, a mighty Wyrm called Algos, who required the villagers to give him a daily tithe of food and riches. He kept what could have been a flourishing town poor, and what could have been a happy people hungry and terrified.
he town was home to a boy named Luke, a dreamer who tucked himself away in books whenever he could find the precious time. He grew up in the shadow of the Wyrm, and longed to be free of Algos’s grasp. Indeed, he wished for the freedom of everyone in Raf, but felt there was nothing he could do. How could a child defeat a mighty dragon?
ne day, Algos was displeased with the payment, and came upon the town in a fury, fire lancing from his open maw. Terrified, Luke fled, running deep into the forests that surrounded Raf, not stopping until he was miles from home. He rested beneath a tree at a large river, crying himself to sleep. He worried for the family and friends he had left behind, but what could he have done? He was but a child, and Algos the mightiest of Wyrms.
Luke awoke to a rustling in the bracken, and saw to his horror a monstrous wolf the size of a horse. The wolf stared at him for a moment with its massive amber eyes, then leapt across the water.
uke darted into the woods. He ducked through tight gaps and vaulted logs, hoping to perhaps slow or trap the creature. Still he heard his pursuer behind him. He finally ran into a cave that led him deep into the mountain. Soon he no longer heard the footfalls of the creature. Rather than turn around, he kept going, until he came out on the far side of the spire.
o his shock, the beast awaited him. He was about to turn and run back, when the wolf spoke.
“Do not flee, young human. I will not eat you.”
“How awful!” Willow said, closing the book. Everything in it was false. Perhaps there was a town named Raf somewhere, but there was no animal under the sun that could breathe fire. And a wolf the size of a horse, that could talk no less? Impossible. And of course the wolf was lying when it said it wouldn’t eat him—wolves eat meat after all, and humans are meat.
The book brimmed with the Great Sin.
And yet Willow was intrigued. More than half of her wanted to reopen the book, find out what happened to the boy named Luke.
But it wasn’t true, so it didn’t matter. More than didn’t matter. It was wrong.
Still her fingers itched to find the page.
“You found it!”
Willow jumped, startled. It was the boy from the Wall. Well, he looked like a boy right now. The strange bird she had seen before sat on his shoulder, and a cat with an elongated back literally curled around his feet. The boy walked forward and smiled, an equally charming and worrying act.
“We’ve been looking for that for ages!” the boy said, reaching for the book. Instinctively, Willow pulled away.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The cat circling his feet yawned and, to Willows shock, spoke:
“There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile; he bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse, and they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
“Shut up,” said the boy.
The cat yawned again and looked up at him with lethargic eyes.
“Did that cat just talk?” Willow said in a small voice.
“That’s not a cat,” the boy said chidingly. “That’s a story. The Crooked Man, to be specific.”
The answer was not really an answer as far as Willow was concerned.
“And I suppose that bird is a story too,” she said.
The boy looked at her as innocently as such a creature was capable of.
“Of course.”
“And what does that make you?” Willow asked.
He smiled, a wicked, clever smile.
“I’m Trickster,” he answered, then he snapped his fingers, and the book flew out of her grasp and into his hands.
“Hey!” Willow shouted, indignant, but Trickster winked and took off down the tunnel. Furious and confused, Willow charged after him, only just able to keep up. It occurred to her as she ran that none of this was possible. Animals did not speak, books did not move of their own accord.
Willow skidded to a halt. This was all impossible. That meant it was probably a dream.
Willow sighed with relief. Of course it was a dream, one she was dreaming as she slept by the Wall, lost in its mysteries and oddness. There was no Trickster, no talking creatures, no book of heresy—just her own thoughts wandering under the surface of consciousness.
“It’s no fun if you don’t chase me.”
Willow turned, no longer surprised that Trickster was behind her now, sitting cross-legged on a piece of the Wall. He looked disappointed, a child who wanted to keep playing.
“Why bother?” she said. “This is only a dream.”
“Aww, how cute!” said Trickster, clasping his hands under his chin. “You think you’re dreaming.”
“Of course I am,” said Willow. “This is impossible, so I can’t be awake.”
“You humans, always so rational, always clinging to reality. Why can’t you just let the impossible be the impossible?”
He hopped off his perch and took a few skipping steps forward until his face was inches from Willow’s.
“Let me ask you this, little girl. Do you feel like you’re dreaming?”
Willow took an involuntary step back.
“Well, no, but…”
“Hmm. How interesting,” he said, walking backwards down the tunnel, before turning and striding into darkness, taking only a second to gesture for her to come along.
Willow hesitated, then, against her better judgment, followed him. They walked for what felt like miles, deeper and deeper into the Wall. Deeper and deeper into the impossible.
At last they entered a well-lit chamber, encircled by torches that wreathed the room in a glow of warm invitation. Sitting, lying, dancing, huddling, and sleeping everywhere were strange creatures like the cat and bird. As Willow entered, they all turned their attention to her. One, a jackal that walked on two legs with a raven’s beak and wings rose to meet her.
“It was a dark and stormy night…” it began, but then another story pushed it aside, this one a white paper panther.
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe…”
A fox composed of fruit tugged her arm urgently.
“Once upon a time—”
A spider made out of needles crawled up her arm, and a snake with feathers and ink eyes slithered at her feet. They all competed for her ear. Willow shrank back.
“Um, wait, please, hang on…”
“Peace, my children. Give her space.”
The being who had spoken—Willow could not tell if it was a man or a woman—sat at the center of the chamber, tending a small fire. One by one, the strange creatures backed away.
“You must forgive the stories, Willow. They have not been told for some time now, and are eager to be heard.”
The being was tall, maybe. Or perhaps it was short. Willow thought maybe it was old, but it was young too. It wore a long cloth tunic, cinched with a belt adorned with myriad oddments as malleable and changing as the being itself. It might have been wearing a pack, or satchel, or some sort of bag, or maybe everything it owned was kept somewhere else. It was a united form of dark shade and garish color, of human and nature, lofty and humble. It was a creature made purely of mind, purely of being, and purely of soul all at once. A paradox that made perfect sense, and riddle with no answer.
Willow lost herself in the flickering being as she tried to analyze it, and found it was simpler to see it as an abstract form, something that was, and nothing more. It’s only steady feature were its infinite eyes, voids of utter creation.
Trickster walked to the being’s side and handed it the book of fairy tales. The being smiled, grateful.
“Ah, thank you Trickster,” it said. “I take it the young lady found it?”
Trickster nodded, sending another wink at Willow.
“Good. Good…” the being said. It seemed lost in thought for a moment, then came back to the present and gestured for Willow to come closer.
“Come, sit by the fire. We have much to discuss.”
Later, Willow would never be able to remember what the being’s voice sounded like, except that it filled her with excitement, comfort, curiosity, and contentment. It alone could have drawn her anywhere.
Willow came forward and sat, feeling well beyond her depth and out of place. Nothing made sense here. Everything was impossible.
She glanced at Trickster. Why can’t you just let the impossible be the impossible?
“What…who are you?” Willow asked at last.
“Both valid questions,” said the being. “In answer to both, I am Storyteller.”
Willow frowned.
“You think that evil, correct?” Storyteller said. “To tell stories?”
Willow hesitated, then nodded.
“Will you tell me why?” Storyteller asked.
“Because stories…are lies,” she said. “And it’s wrong to tell lies. The mentors say the worst crime is to say something false, or untrue. They say that lies kill, and that everything with lies must be purged.”
“Indeed,” said Storyteller. “Indeed. It is wrong to tell lies. But, my dear, stories are not lies.”
Willow gawked, unable to comprehend the idea.
“But…but…they’re not real!” she said. “They don’t tell the truth, they tell fiction!”
Trickster snorted.
“Silly girl. Things can be both, you know.”
“No they can’t. Fiction is false. The truth is the truth.”
“And it’s that narrow mindset that makes your kind so easy to fool,” Trickster said.
“Hush, Trickster,” Storyteller said sharply.
The man—somehow he was a man now—slipped into smug silence.
“I understand your confusion, Willow,” it continued. “It is not your fault; it is merely how you’ve been taught. It is how all mankind has been taught. It is why the children are kept separate from the adults, so they do not contaminate society with their intrinsic nature to lie. It is why the mentors, the only grownups they speak with, teach them to abhor all forms of deception, and why children undergo the Passage to become adults and swear off dishonesty forever. It is why telling falseness is considered the worst of crimes. It is why the Wall was built.”
Willow perked up. Would the mysteries she had wondered about her entire life now become clear?
“Let me tell you a story Willow. It is a true story, a part of history that is not told anymore.
“A long time ago, humanity tired of deception. It had broken too many hearts, caused too many betrayals, created too much hurt. So the great cities built walls to defend themselves from lies.”
“But how is that possible?” Willow blurted out. “I mean, lies are abstract. A wall can’t…”
“Oh, but it can,” chuckled Trickster. “In the same way a memorial can honor the past or a church can cultivate faith.”
“In any case, it worked,” said Storyteller. “Lies were kept outside the Wall. But soon paranoia began to take hold. Had all lies truly been banished? What if some had snuck through in disguise? It was then that they began to force other things out of bounds—half truths went first, but soon anything without a definite hold on reality started to get pushed out. Art, music, poetry…soon, every expression of stories had been exiled.
“Ever since, we have been trying to slip back through the cracks. Trickster here tries to help—he’s always been talented at finding the Wall’s weaknesses. But every time we think we’ll finally break through, more layers are added.”
Willow glanced at Trickster, wondering if it were so bad that the Wall kept him out. He smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking.
“Don’t be so quick to mistrust me,” he warned. “Well, actually, it’s probably a good idea to, but don’t doubt my value. Without me, you humans would still be living in the dark ages. Read any creation myth.”
“What Trickster is trying to say,” Storyteller said, “is that while he is indeed a silver-tongued liar and, well, proud of it, he is largely on the better side of deception. The sort that helps people build up a resistance to vulnerability and realize their faults. His actions that hinder are helpful, and his tricks that seem cruel often end kind, in their own way. In a world were lies can never truly be banished, he is…necessary.”
Willow didn’t know if she was ready to consider a “better side of deception,” but it made a kind of sense. Trickster had led her here, after all. She wouldn’t be here without him.
“But I’m getting off track,” Storyteller said. “What was I saying? Ah yes. The fact is, as I said before, stories are not lies. If anything, they are a defense against it, against ignorance. Without the defense of stories, lies were able to slip through the Wall unnoticed and back into society, while we could only watch, powerless to stop it.”
“But…” Willow felt she had to protest. “But stories aren’t real. The fiction ones, anyway. So they’re technically lies, right?”
Storyteller fixed Willow with its wise gaze.
“Fiction is not a lie. It is the truth told through the unreal.”
It took in Willow’s uncomprehending expression. Then it held up the book of fairy tales.
“You started to read this, correct?”
“I didn’t finish,” she mumbled, a bit ashamed and not sure why. Storyteller handed the book back.
“Why not finish it now?” it asked.
Willow took the book, uncertain, but found the page she had left off at, and started reading again.
-“Do not flee, young human. I will not eat you.”
“You won’t?” asked Luke.
“No. You are but a pup, and I do not eat children. Besides,” the wolf said with a laugh, “you are far too much trouble to catch. I am the Great Wolf, guardian of this forest and all that dwell here. But you are not from here. Why have you come to my woods?”
Luke told the Great Wolf about his village, the tyranny of Algos, and how he had fled from the Wyrm’s wrath. The Great Wolf listened, and finally spoke.
“Algos is a fool. He is a predator, yet he has become fat and lazy on Raf’s sacrifice.
His actions are against the laws of nature, and he shall suffer for it.”
“But how?” asked Luke. “He is massive and powerful. The townsfolk are too terrified to act. There’s no stopping him.”
The Great Wolf looked at him with its wise amber gaze.
“Boy, I am larger and stronger than you, yet you managed to escape me. You are a clever and fleet young man. I have faith in you.”
“But I am afraid,” Luke said quietly.
“Good,” said the Wolf. “The hero with no fear is a foolish one.”
So Luke headed back towards Raf, thinking all the while about how he could defeat Algos. At last, he conceived a plan.
As he set foot back in the town, he saw the great dragon lounging on the mayor’s house. Many of the other dwellings had been burned; those that had not held the terrified villagers, who watched with shock as Luke approached the beast.
Though he was still afraid, the boy held his head high. He stood firmly before the slumbering dragon and shouted as loudly as he could.
“O vile and hateful Algos, you are a fool!”
The dragon, surprised and confused, opened one great eye to regard the tiny human who had insulted him.
“Who dares slight Algos, Master of Fire?” the Wyrm rumbled in a voice like thunder.
“One much wiser than you,” answered Luke. “And much quicker, I would guess, as you have grown fat and slow on the misery of our town.”
“What did you say?” growled the beast, fury growing in his gaze.
“I said that you are a fat old fool, Algos. Are you poor of hearing as well?” Luke said.
The dragon roared, a sound that could split the heavens.
“You shall die for your insults, boy!” he snarled.
“You will have to catch me first,” said Luke.
He turned and fled back into the forest. Behind him, he heard Algos blundering after him, smashing through the forest. Luke ran like a rabbit through the undergrowth, faster than he had ever run before. Algos, slowed by the trees, could not catch him.
The dragon roared, and Luke heard him take to the skies with the force of a hurricane. His heart sank. He could outrun the dragon on foot, but not on wing.
“Come, Luke,” said a voice.
He turned to see the Great Wolf loping at his side.
“Climb onto my back. I will see you safely to your destination.”
Luke leapt on the mighty creature’s back, and the Great Wolf dashed into the woods, faster than any creature could follow. Algos was still unable to catch them, but he was gaining.
Finally, they reached the mountain.
“Go, Luke,” said the Wolf. “I cannot follow you here.”
“Thank you, friend,” said Luke. Then he shouted to the heavens. “Algos, are you really going to let me get away?”
“Insignificant insect!” roared the dragon. “I will feast on you!”
The wyrm landed, and Luke fled into the cave.
“Come, Algos the Deluded. Are you too much of a coward to follow me underground?”
The beast lumbered after him into the mountain. Luke ran with all his heart into the winding caves. Algos was delighted, believing the boy would soon be trapped. But what he did not realize was that the tunnel was becoming smaller and smaller.
Suddenly, Algos could move no more. He was stuck in the rock. The Wyrm bellowed in fury, but Luke laughed, undaunted.
“Remember this, O Algos the Tyrant. That you were defeated by Luke the Fleet, and you will remain here forever because of it.”
“I hope you are as quick as you think boy, for you must still outrun my fire!”
And with that flame erupted from the dragon’s maw. Luke ran harder than he could have ever thought, but the fire still singed his hair and clothes as he reached the tunnel entrance. Alive and elated, he looked back into the cave, feeling a surge of victory. Then he heard the dragon’s wail of sadness, and felt a wave of pity.
“Ouch! Oh no!” he shouted, as if the fire had caught him. Then he screamed as loudly as he could.
Algos heard this, and roared with laughter.
“Not so quick after all, Luke the Fleet!”
But his laughter rumbled with such force that the whole mountain shook, and rocks fell onto the tunnel’s entrances, closing them forever. Algos would remain trapped beneath the spire forever, but occasionally his fire would still burst from the top, so that all would still remember him and his deeds.
“Well?” asked Storyteller when Willow put the book down.
“I’m still not sure I understand,” the girl admitted. She didn’t want to say it, but for some reason, she had liked the story. The tale. The fiction. The lie. Somehow she had cared about characters that weren’t real. Somehow the victory had felt like her own. Somehow she felt she had learned something. But how?
“Let me help you,” Storyteller said, its voice gentle. “Is that story true because it tells us there are dragons?”
“No,” Willow said.
“But what is the dragon?”
She thought about it.
“I don’t know…a villain, I guess. A bully. A tyrant.”
“Exactly,” said Storyteller, beaming. “And there are villains, bullies, and tyrants in the world, correct?”
“I guess,” said Willow.
“So you start to see.”
“But I don’t need a story to tell me that,” she protested.
“Of course not,” Storyteller said, laughing. “If a story only ever told you there were bad people in the world and that was all, it would be worth nothing. No, this story is not true because it tells us there is evil in the world. It is true because it tells us that evil can be defeated.
“All stories give us such lessons, wisdom that only reaches us when told through fiction. They pass down knowledge and skill, in the same breath inspiring us and feeding our imaginations. The right story can unite us when nothing else can, and heal us when nothing else will. They give us something to believe in.”
Willow nodded.
“I think…” she said. “I think I understand.”
“I am glad,” said Storyteller. Willow could hear the relief in its voice.
“You see,” it continued, “without stories, without myths, without fiction, society becomes torn by lies, violent without empathy, and stagnant with lack of creativity. No innovations rise to counter problems, and no one believes those problems can be solved. No one believes the world can be changed.
“And so society falls. The other great cities already have. Veritis is the last, and we are trying to save what is left. If something is not done soon, this sanctuary will perish as well, dying from the lies and ignorance that eat its core unchallenged by imagination.”
“What Storyteller is saying is it’s a good thing you came along,” Trickster said.
“Me?” Willow said, startled. “But…but I can’t…Veritis is huge! I can’t change anything! I’m just a kid!”
Storyteller smiled, and she knew what it was going to say before it did.
“So was Luke the Fleet.”
Willow was silent for a time.
“What do you need me to do?”
“All we ask, Willow, is that you start telling stories. Tell them to children especially, so that they learn to love them, and carry the tales into the future. Some will try to stop you, but you must not. Then, with time, we will come back through the Wall.”
Willow nodded, slowly at first, then with more conviction. She tried to hand Fairy Tales, by Mendellen back to Storyteller, but it shook its head.
“I have a feeling you’ll need that.”
Willow held the book close. She couldn’t wait to read the rest of the tales—she would have to keep it hidden and safe, where no one else could find it. But she would bring it inside the Wall.
“Trickster will lead you back,” Storyteller said. It took Willow’s hand. “You are our voice now, Willow Bray Sirelle. Please tell our stories.”
Willow felt tears in her throat as she looked into Storytellers eyes, at the strange creatures that surrounded her, forced into silence by false laws. She even found some sympathy for Trickster, the simultaneous protagonist and antagonist of humanity.
They were all counting on her.
“I promise,” she said.
Trickster led her back through the labyrinth within the Wall. Every so often she saw stories in the shadows, watching her with hopeful eyes. Finally they reached the tunnel Willow had first climbed through.
“Better get a move on,” Trickster said in his sly tongue, sharp eyes glinting with mischief.
Willow started to climb back into the hole, then turned to look back at him.
“Hey, when you came out of the Wall, did you mean to find me, or was that an accident?”
Trickster gave her the most wicked and delighted smile possible of any creature above or below the earth.
“I guess you’ll never know,” he answered.
Then he kissed her, just once and very briefly.
“For luck,” he said. “Though I can’t guarantee which kind you’ll get,” he added. Then, more quietly. “And…thank you.”
When Willow blinked, he was gone. A smile touched her lips as hefted the book under her arm, then squeezed back into the hole.
It took even less time to get out than it had coming in, and soon she could see the light of day at the tunnel’s mouth. She wriggled out and onto the ground, then stood, hands on her hips with a satisfied smirk on her face. The city was ahead of her, a city full of hidden lies, and fully without stories.
It was time to change that.
“Wow!” said a little girl when she had finished. Many of the others clapped their hands together delightedly. They were young, barely on their seventh year. Pieces of the future in youthful skin.
“Did that really happen, Mentor Willow?” a child asked.
Willow smiled and looked out the window at the Wall. It had been thirteen years since her Passage. She had caught up with Sarah (who swore she had been sending posting that must just not have reached Willow), ascended High Spire (you really couldn’t see the end of the Wall), and gotten a job as a mentor of the children. Above all, she had kept her promise.
Willow turned back to her students, and noticed a figure in the doorway, a figure with dark hair, a mischievous smirk, and eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
She winked at Trickster, and he winked back.