8 | The Call
A girl was prancing up and down the slopes of hills rolling in vast, multicolored landscapes. She had luscious locks, the strands flying with the wind with each bounce she executed. The flowers swayed from their stalks, waving at the girl. The breeze was soft, wafting around the girl in invisible waves. It has enough realism to convince Arya this was happening in the observable world.
Except it wasn't.
Because one, there wasn't anything resembling the valleys anywhere in Aldermere. Ruins from the bygone kingdom, sure, but there was no nature left apart from the spots of trees pretending to be forests to populate the parks. Arya, herself, couldn't remember ever seeing this spread of undisturbed nature. Even her oldest memories were of skies peppered with airships strolling by and tall spires competing to reach the heavens first.
One thing Arya was sure of—whatever this scene she was seeing, it's just a dream. A vivid and hyper-realistic dream.
So,with curiosity and awe fit for her sprawling imagination, Arya watched the girl run down the valley with strong, sure strides, disappearing into the thick forest rimming it. Then, with a swirl of wind and motion, the girl unfurled a set of feathery wings behind her. If one could be amazed in a dream, Arya knew what it felt like now.
This girl was one of the primordial fae.
The contemporary fae didn't have such features. There were no winged fae in Aldermere or in the surrounding countries and towns. Mermaids lost their tails and most of their scales, leaving only the barest traces of them being non-human. Elves exchanged their striking eye colors for the muddy ones humans have. Kobolds stopped living underground and opted to wear waistcoats and trousers. Changelings refrained from changing shape and features unless necessary, hiding their horns, fangs, and skin tails. Dryads learned to shed their soft green skins and flowers growing with their hair.
Arya, herself, being a nymph by descent, hadn't retained most of the features her kind had before the New Civils were established. She certainly didn't get the wings. But this girl...
Seeing as how she was able to spread her wings and fly, this could only be somewhere during the Old Kingdom's era. Had she seen a moving film or a theater drama somewhen for her to be recalling it now?
The girl clambered from tree to tree, looking so natural and familiar with the forest around her. A loose tunic and trousers fluttered with her every motion, reminding Arya of the articles of clothing she saw in Barnholdt's common section of the Old Kingdom's artifacts. Did her visit to the dreadful museum inspire this, then?
With a rush, the girl swung off a branch before coming to a perch on another. Then, she dropped to the ground. There, a little boy no taller than her waited. A hazy veil blurred most of the boy's face. He wasn't someone Arya met at any point of her life anyway. That much she was sure.
She watched the fae and the boy interact, seemingly unaware of the thick undergrowth surrounding them. The girl was talking to the boy but the words flitted to the nonexistent wind before they could reach Arya's ears. Then, the girl flew away.
The scene shifted to the girl arriving at the same spot again, waiting for someone. The boy, perhaps. He didn't show up. No one did. The girl's shoulders slumped then flew away.
The scene shifted again. The girl dropped to the same spot. Waited for the same person. Nothing happened. The cycle always ended up with the girl flying away with the setting sun behind her.
It continued that way until the last iteration. Instead of no one arriving, men clad in silver armor trudged to the spot just as the girl showed up. It was a trap. They closed in on the girl, gripping her arms and legs as she squirmed. A hand gripped the girl's mouth before she could scream to alarm anyone.
Arya's eyes flew open. A strangled gasp filtered from her lips. With a groan, she sat up, massaging her temples. The helplessness and the horror still hasn't ebbed from her limbs, weighing her down, pulling her back into the bed. Her sheets were rumpled but they weren't soaked. It wasn't such a nightmare.
Yet.
She sighed and brushed her wild hair from her face. Already, snippets of the dream slowly flitted to the nether realms of her memory. A girl. There was a girl with wings. Then she was...abducted? By who? Was there a boy? No idea.
Her hands rubbed her face in soothing motions. Up, down. Up, down. Her fingertips brushed the stumps of horns hidden beneath her thick hairline. She paused. That's right. She was fae, just like the girl in her dream. She might have not grown wings, she might not have developed horns in full, but there was still something inside her that could never be erased.
Arya was fae.
If that fact was somehow revealed to the world, it would be the end for her. Aldermere had strict policies in hiring anyone not belonging to the human race. She would lose her job, no matter how worthless it was, considering she lied in her interview and none of them bothered asking if she was fae. Deception was illegal in the corporate scene as well as the societal scene.
If her neighbors—who were all humans—knew they'd been living with a fae all these years, they'd barge in and demand she return to where she came from. But how could Arya, when she grew up in Aldermere and has been here all her life?
Oh, her aunt, Cornelia, would be ostracized too. Growing old as a fae in the populous human city was disadvantageous. Arya couldn't leave her, even if she was forced to leave Aldermere.
The wire booth started ringing, startling Arya. All what's left of her sleep flitted out of the window. A shaky laugh shook her shoulders. Why was she thinking all of that nonsense? Sure, they were legitimate fears, but if she did her best in staying under the radar, in making sure nobody else knew her secret, she'd be safe.
As safe as a fae could be in a place where its residents used to butcher her kind for entertainment.
In a way, it was still true today. After the New Civils brought an era frowning upon violence and inhumane acts, they still haven't erased most of their practices against the fae. Instead of capturing fae from their homeland and bringing them to circus and traveling shows, they let the fae have a choice in signing up for exhibits in exchange for a little money. Since none of the humans wanted to hire a fae, most of them who ended up in Aldermere really didn't have a choice but to resort to being entertainment.
It's disgusting, how the humans ravaged the forests and ended up depriving the fae of natural resources to use to survive with the most basic necessities. The humans led the fae to believe they needed money to be able to survive. They put a price in everything, including the very soil they live in. And somehow, they were able to sell the idea that if one wanted money, one has to work for it. After that, the humans refused to employ fae.
It was an endless cycle—one Arya wasn't sure if she had the energy nor the understanding to try and break.
Most of the fae were like her. They just accepted the shifts in their society and tried to roll with it. It's not too bad. Now, fae have access to running water, indoor plumbing, light, and better-fitting clothes. Oh, they could also talk to people from afar by using wires and poles to carry the soundwaves across stretches of land.
Which reminded Arya that someone was calling.
The wire booth hasn't stopped ringing since forever. How long did she space out?
"Fine, fine," Arya whispered to herself as she edged off the bed and trudged out of her room. The wire booth was in the adjacent room of their tiny flat, but its ringing could be heard throughout the whole floor, even to at least two or three grounds beneath it. Shame.
""I'm coming!" she quickened her pace as she crossed the flimsy divider leading to the small living room. No one could hear her, except maybe her aunt in the other room opposite hers. But who was she kidding when she said Cornelia could wake up just because of a wire call? That woman could sleep through a hurricane and wouldn't even know it.
She passed the two chaise chairs too moldy to be enjoyed and the low, round table in the middle of the living room. Piles of paper and thick, brown envelopes were strewn around the floorboards, signaling the chaos Arya brought from her work. Those were correspondences that still had to be rolled, bound, and encased in the tubes. She brought it home the other day to get a headstart since her batch was already piling. Of course, she hadn't even touched them since then.
Her fingers closed around the booth's sill. The rotating dial was reset to the first number, meaning the call was coming from the outside. Who could it be so early in the morning, on a weekend, nonetheless?
Whatever. Arya reached out and yanked the bell-shaped receiver from its hook and pressed one end against her ear. As expected, a similar bell curved towards her mouth, allowing her voice to be fed through it and carried to the other side.
"Hello? Allridge residence," she answered with such a flat but gentle tone she had come to master when answering wires. "How can I help you?"
A silky voice chuckled from the opposite line, making the feedback crackle. It was...familiar. "You're not at work, Arya," the man said. "Let's not be so stiff, yes?"
Arya knitted her eyebrows, clutching the receiver with her other hand. Her weight evened out between her feet as her spine straightened. "Who is this?" She kept her voice calm but her insides were already swirling with dread. "How did you know my name?"
The man sighed. In relief, from how it sounded. "Thank the Palendral," he said. "Here I thought I called the wrong address."
Something clicked. Address. Right. She did give it to someone yesterday. Then, another thing slammed into her realization. She leaned forward, sticking the receiver close to her mouth. "Norren?!" she might have screamed into his ear.
The feedback crackled once more. A groan flickered from the opposite line. "Larks, what do you eat to have so much energy in the morning?" he said. Then, he laughed softly. "Yes, it's me. Norren."
It was Arya's turn to sigh in relief. Her spine relaxed and her shoulders slumped. "Why have you called me so early?" she looked behind her as the door to her aunt's room opened, spitting out the one and only Cornelia Allridge. "Do you need something?"
"Do I have to need something to be able to call you?" Norren's tone was teasing and Arya felt a bubble of amusement shake her gut, giving way to a small laugh. "So your family name's Allridge?"
Arya raised an eyebrow. Oh, right. Her default greeting when answering the phone in the flat. "Not quite, stranger," she grinned despite Norren not being able to see it. "It's my aunt's flat. I live with her."
"I see," was all Norren replied. He didn't seem disappointed. Just...a little bit knocked down. The lie crackled once more as it picked up the noise around him other than his voice. Something clinked and rang. An office? "But I did come to tell you something. Well...maybe ask you something."
Arya stuck her bottom lip out before shaking her head and tucking it back in. Stop making facial expressions he wouldn't even see. "What is it?"
"Are you free this time next week?" Norren asked. Just out of the blue. Just throwing it in there. "I would like to bring you somewhere."
She frowned. Her fingers played with the wires sticking out of the receiver and connecting it to the booth. It would no doubt go past the flat's walls and join the thick bunches streaming through the streets of Aldermere. "I'm kind of wary of people bringing me somewhere I don't know," she said. "Can you tell me what it is? A social function? Merchant meetings?"
Norren snorted before dissolving into laughter. "Larks, no," he said. "It's the celebration of Caroline Saunder's new fictiontale release."
Her breath hitched as she leaned into the booth one more, going as far as sticking her neck past the glass case surrounding it. "Wait, really?" she blurted. "It's next week? I haven't even caught up with the last tale. I'm so behind."
"You don't have to know the whole story to deserve to be there," Norren said. "Don't worry about knowing details in advance. Nothing even happened that much in the last volume. Besides, if my senses tell me, you'd be thrilled to meet Caroline herself. She's bound to show her face in the release."
Arya pursed her lips. "Yes, I would want to go with you," she twisted the wire around her fingers. "But wouldn't that cost a ton of coin? I don't have the means to enter."
Norren hummed. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I mistakenly bought the one that came with an additional-person perk. None of my friends and family ever read. So...I thought I could ask you out? You seem like the type to enjoy a good fictiontale."
"Really? What gave it away?" Arya asked.
"Paper cuts," Norren replied. And left it at that.
Arya strode away from the front of the booth, using the wire's length to drag the receiver a few steps away. She leaned her shoulder against the wall next to the door. "Observant, are you?" she quipped. How did he even see that?
Against her common sense, the memory of her and Norren's hands touching resurfaced. Right. She took an ink pen and scrawled her wire address on his palm. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Something swirled in her gut.
Before she could obsess about it, Norren answered. "Some things I tend to notice, really," he said. "So, are you going?"
Arya smiled, her features ignoring the fact that her aunt was standing by the chaise chairs, looking at her like she's someone her aunt didn't know. "Sure," she said into the receiver. "Where will we meet?"
"Is the wire's address the same as your residence?" Norren asked. Arya opened her mouth to answer but Norren beat her to it. "Of course, duh," the sound of a palm hitting skin—forehead, maybe—crinkled from the other side. "I'll pick you up. Around Nine Adiem. The release wouldn't happen until around Eleven but there could be a long line. Does that work?"
Arya grimaced at her aunt, jutting her chin to the side in hopes to tell her to go away. But into the receiver, she said, "Yeah, it works," she said. "See you."
"See you," Norren said a little too softly to make Arya's heart flutter. Then, the line went dead.
"Who's that?" Cornelia asked, looking from Arya to the booth and back again.
Arya rolled her shoulders as she returned the receiver to the hook with a noisy ding. "No one," she said. "I should get going. Shop around for next week's supplies and all."
Cornelia didn't bother putting up a fight. Her aunt stepped out of the way, her crumpled pink satin sleep robe fluttering with the motion. As Arya disappeared back into her room, she could feel her aunt's eyes never wavering from her back.
Just as she slammed the door behind her, it all made sense.
Holy Palendral. Did Norren just ask her out?
And moreover, did she just say yes?
Dear Ouine.
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