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deemoyza(Originally posted on October 15, 2019)
The Visitor | 787 words | Fantasy
"It’s not always like this,” I assured the visitor, stomping the snow off my boots at the entrance to the library. "In fact, it’s never been like this in my lifetime. It’s been nearly two centuries since this region’s seen snow."
The visitor simply stretched their thin lips into a mirthless smile and shook the snow from their own shoes. The walked into the library ahead of me, silent as they’d been since their arrival.
This visitor really was a mystery. They had come into town the morning following the first snowstorm, as if they’d been blown in on the cold winds. Clothed in gray robes fraying at the edges and wearing an enormous dark hat, all but their mouth and chin were hidden from my view. They communicated through writing and gestures, and, immediately upon their arrival at our inn, asked to be brought to the town library.
Now, in the relative warmth of the library, the visitor shed no layers, but walked directly to the shelf of books pertaining to local geology. They picked three books from the shelf with unexpected delicacy, and settled at a table in the far corner to read.
Wanting to neither bother them, nor head back into the snow, I browsed the shelves myself, looking through the sections on legends and myths for a story I hadn’t already read.
"We received one just last week," the librarian told me, walking up behind me with an armful of books. "I simply haven’t had time to process it yet. It’s about a strange crystal that controls the weather, or the wind, or something like that. I’d never seen that story before, and heaven knows I never ordered it. I assume it was a donation."
"Sounds interesting," I said. "When you get the time, I’d love to see it."
"Great!" She slid the last of the books she carried onto the shelf. "I’ll get it for you."
The book was old, with a tattered leather cover and pages printed in fading ink.
"Like I said, probably a donation," the librarian told me. "We’d normally never take a book in such bad shape, but it was foisted upon us like a foundling on the doorstep. Who am I to turn it away?"
The book told the legend of the gods of the seasons, who traditionally followed the mandates of a celestial crystal, taking their place in the crystal’s glow for an allotted time each year. But the gods were not above greed and petty jealousy, and soon began to fight over the crystal, eventually causing it to shatter into four large shards and release its remaining pieces into the night sky. Since then, those gods had come to earth, each one hunting the others, searching for the pieces to make the crystal whole again, and claim the sky and the seasons as their own.
It was an interesting enough story that I became absorbed in it, and did not notice my visitor make another trip to the shelves. The visitor must have glanced in my direction and seen the book, however, for they let out a strangled shriek, like a hundred rusty hinges moving at once, and snatched it from my hands. They fumbled around beneath their robes and drew out two sparkling shards, then waved them over the book. As I looked on, wide-eyed, the words streamed off the page, running into the cover. The visitor turned the page and repeated their actions, to the same effect.
When the last page had been turned and the book was now blank, the visitor closed the cover. There, set into the leather, was a shining stone. With trembling fingers, the visitor plucked it out, and fit it together with the ones they already carried. Their smile returned, again devoid of mirth, but now full of menace, as dark as the clouds that had ferried the snow into our town.
"One more," they rasped, then slid the shards back beneath their robes. They turned to me. "This weather. Do you like it?"
I stammered for a moment, trying to dispel the chill their voice sent through my veins. "It’s fine, for a few days," I said, struggling to smile. "A little difficult to get used to, but pretty, in its own way."
"You’ll learn to love it."
“It really doesn’t come very often."
"Oh, don’t you worry about that. Soon, it will never leave." The visitor bowed to me and walked toward the door. "Thank you kindly for your hospitality, but I must be on my way. I’ve something important to attend to. A family matter, if you will."
The hinges squealed as the door opened, then closed against the frigid wind with a melancholy wail.
"It’s not always like this,” I assured the visitor, stomping the snow off my boots at the entrance to the library. "In fact, it’s never been like this in my lifetime. It’s been nearly two centuries since this region’s seen snow."
The visitor simply stretched their thin lips into a mirthless smile and shook the snow from their own shoes. The walked into the library ahead of me, silent as they’d been since their arrival.
This visitor really was a mystery. They had come into town the morning following the first snowstorm, as if they’d been blown in on the cold winds. Clothed in gray robes fraying at the edges and wearing an enormous dark hat, all but their mouth and chin were hidden from my view. They communicated through writing and gestures, and, immediately upon their arrival at our inn, asked to be brought to the town library.
Now, in the relative warmth of the library, the visitor shed no layers, but walked directly to the shelf of books pertaining to local geology. They picked three books from the shelf with unexpected delicacy, and settled at a table in the far corner to read.
Wanting to neither bother them, nor head back into the snow, I browsed the shelves myself, looking through the sections on legends and myths for a story I hadn’t already read.
"We received one just last week," the librarian told me, walking up behind me with an armful of books. "I simply haven’t had time to process it yet. It’s about a strange crystal that controls the weather, or the wind, or something like that. I’d never seen that story before, and heaven knows I never ordered it. I assume it was a donation."
"Sounds interesting," I said. "When you get the time, I’d love to see it."
"Great!" She slid the last of the books she carried onto the shelf. "I’ll get it for you."
The book was old, with a tattered leather cover and pages printed in fading ink.
"Like I said, probably a donation," the librarian told me. "We’d normally never take a book in such bad shape, but it was foisted upon us like a foundling on the doorstep. Who am I to turn it away?"
The book told the legend of the gods of the seasons, who traditionally followed the mandates of a celestial crystal, taking their place in the crystal’s glow for an allotted time each year. But the gods were not above greed and petty jealousy, and soon began to fight over the crystal, eventually causing it to shatter into four large shards and release its remaining pieces into the night sky. Since then, those gods had come to earth, each one hunting the others, searching for the pieces to make the crystal whole again, and claim the sky and the seasons as their own.
It was an interesting enough story that I became absorbed in it, and did not notice my visitor make another trip to the shelves. The visitor must have glanced in my direction and seen the book, however, for they let out a strangled shriek, like a hundred rusty hinges moving at once, and snatched it from my hands. They fumbled around beneath their robes and drew out two sparkling shards, then waved them over the book. As I looked on, wide-eyed, the words streamed off the page, running into the cover. The visitor turned the page and repeated their actions, to the same effect.
When the last page had been turned and the book was now blank, the visitor closed the cover. There, set into the leather, was a shining stone. With trembling fingers, the visitor plucked it out, and fit it together with the ones they already carried. Their smile returned, again devoid of mirth, but now full of menace, as dark as the clouds that had ferried the snow into our town.
"One more," they rasped, then slid the shards back beneath their robes. They turned to me. "This weather. Do you like it?"
I stammered for a moment, trying to dispel the chill their voice sent through my veins. "It’s fine, for a few days," I said, struggling to smile. "A little difficult to get used to, but pretty, in its own way."
"You’ll learn to love it."
“It really doesn’t come very often."
"Oh, don’t you worry about that. Soon, it will never leave." The visitor bowed to me and walked toward the door. "Thank you kindly for your hospitality, but I must be on my way. I’ve something important to attend to. A family matter, if you will."
The hinges squealed as the door opened, then closed against the frigid wind with a melancholy wail.
