CANAISIS ∞ Chronicle One ∞ 3: A Shard Of Code

104 ∞ A Storyteller's Bargain

Listen, it's time you know the true story. It's a love story, but it's also a record of the debt Humanity owes Canaisis and her Captain...

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The Storyteller stops talking and pulls the cork of the decorated leather canteen in her lap. Her gaze distant, she lifts the canteen and takes a long, slow mouthful. Her brown fingers stand out in contrast to the smooth, ornate patterns engraved into the leather. After drinking, she sits, holding the canteen, still somewhere else in thought—or memory.

The black noble, Etan Kusu, waits in patience, but a minute passes. Wondering whether the Storyteller has forgotten his presence, he clears his throat. This seems to bring the woman back, for she focuses her odd eyes on him. They're crystal clear, like frozen water, definitely not gray, green, or blue. Or maybe he sees variegated hints of silver within them, depending on the light or angle.

"Yes, my young Master?"

"With respect, Elder, that can't be the end of the story. What happened after Canaisis jumped to FTL?"

The Storyteller smiles at him. "Why can it not? I'm telling the story—it's mine to decide."

Etan can sense her hidden irritation at him, but he doesn't care. "You promised to tell me the story of Canaisis. And I'll admit, I've never heard your version before. It's a good one. You've spun the elements of the Legend beautifully. This only tells of Canaisis leaving Earth with some colonists, though—it doesn't explain how we came to be here. Or how Earth betrayed Canaisis. I feel as if I've hardly got my coin's worth."

The Storyteller laughs heartily at him and takes another long sip from her canteen. "Surely, young Master jests. Look. The sun has long passed us. The shadows grow long." She gestures at the street behind him. "The shops are closing."

Etan looks around to find she's right. Shop owners are packing up their stalls, bringing their wares inside, others closing their doors. It's the ending bustle of another day as people hurry up and down the bazaar's crowded street.

Here, in this little nook between two shops, he hadn't noticed with the Storyteller's tale taking him. It's as if it's calling him to a different world, a different time. He can still see Ayla's smile as she holds Gareth's cheek in her palm. He's never experienced a Storyteller this good before, with such a way with words, enchanting him so.

Well worth the coin.

Though he still doesn't know why he listened when she called to him as he walked by, or why he stopped. Except...

Always respect an Elder.

He's never seen her before today. A mature woman, she's unmistakably an Elder. She's aged well, keeping a youthful air about her. Lightly wrinkled, not quite leathered skin. Few streaks of gray in her dark, uncovered hair that she's twisted into a plaited ring crowning her head, leaving long strands hanging around her ears. And although her clothes are of high quality and design, they're of a decades' old style.

He was reluctant to enter through her open cloth door, but she has a way about her. Something in her eyes, maybe, he tells himself. So he'd found himself stepping into the alcove fashioned from patterned rugs. Taking a seat on the carpet and pillows, he tossed her a coin. Her words took on a life of their own as she spun her tale, and now he needs to hear the rest of it. Fishing another coin from his pocket, he tosses it before the stool she sits upon.

"Young Master is persistent," she states, amused at his actions. She reaches down and picks up the coin. Then she holds it out to him. "The day is done, Master, and I am tired. My throat is parched. Return another day, young man."