A Tale of Truths

Berit Ellingsen

Description

A dissident scientist, her granddaughter, and an elf who created himself from thought journey to a tiered city built in a giant vertical conch. Here, they seek an audience at the top in order to convince them that their planet orbits its star instead of the other way around. But the road to paradigm shift is never easy—and rarely straightforward—and reveals many truths of its own.

Berit Ellingsen is the author of three novels, Now We Can See The Moon (Snuggly Books 2018), Not Dark Yet (Two Dollar Radio 2015), and Une ville vide (PublieMonde 2014), a collection of short stories, Beneath the Liquid Skin (Queen's Ferry Press), and a mini-collection of dark fairytales, Vessel and Solsvart (Snuggly Books 2017). Her work has been published in W.W. Norton's Flash Fiction International, SmokeLong Quarterly, Unstuck, Litro, Lightspeed, and other places, and it has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and the British Science Fiction Association Award. Berit is a member of the Norwegian Authors' Union.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Fantasy historique
• Médiéval-Fantastique
• Historical
• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Upper-atmospheric lightning
• General officer
• General
• High fantasy
• Fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Rosarium Publishing
• Date de parution: 07 avril 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781495627545
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

A Tale of Truths reads like a campfire tale, a bedtime story adventure, a road trip yarn spun to wile the hours. It begins with an elf shaped from the sea shore, and quickly fills with extraordinary thieves, a cat that is horses, and a journey by hearse through a sentient forest. What we have here is quirky unpredictable playfulness let to run rampant.
-C. S. E. Cooney
Berit Ellingsen s A Tale of Truths is a seamless and beguiling act of world-building as storytelling, a joyous celebration of humanity s addiction to both rational and magical reasons for the worlds we perceive. A delightfully curious fantasy, in the truest sense.
-Indra Das
Cover art and design by Bizhan Khodabandeh
Copyright 2020 Berit Ellingsen
ISBN: 978-1732638822
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any forms or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below:
Rosarium Publishing
P.O. Box 544
Greenbelt, MD 20768-0544
www.rosariumpublishing.com

For Dotty and Chloe
deeply loved and sorely missed
O NE
T HE C OLD C OAST
T HE COAST WAS COLD AND HAGGARD and at the edge of the wide white wastes of the north. In the winter storms from those wastes reached down to the coast with their icy hands, freezing the sea to ice. In the fall the sun s rays slanted at such a low angle it was unable to transfer any warmth, and long waves crashed onto the shore from storms far out in the ocean. But in the spring the bright sun turned the mountains golden, and the peaks and the waves played hosts for enormous flocks of birds that returned from friendlier southern shores. The birds came to feed in the cold sea and rear their young in the cliffs above it. Then the pufflings and auklings and cormorant chicks only needed a small nudge to get out of the nest and into the waves when they were ready to swim. At the height of summer, the sun never fell beneath the horizon, and cotton grass and tiny white orchids grew at the massive feet of the mountains. Eider ducks lined their burrows with soft down, and summer-gray foxes lurked in the grass to catch themselves a bird or two. Thus, the frigid coast was not entirely hostile to its inhabitants and guests and in many ways was more generous than places farther south, but it was nevertheless a demanding place to live.

T HE ELF HAD watched the coast for many seasons, seen the sea ice come and go, watched thickly furred bumblebees buzz over the grass in the spring and the pufflings and auklings and cormorant chicks flap their wings desperately before they tumbled into the sea from the cliffs. The elf didn t know where he had been before he came to the cold coast. When he cast his mind back into the past he had always been there, watching the wind and the sea and the mountains. Plants and animals had come and gone, the coast line frozen and melted and frozen again. He began to wonder what the wind and the sea and the mountains would feel like, their scent and texture and taste. And the desire to experience it for himself came to him suddenly with surprising urgency. After the wish for experience first appeared, being and watching was no longer enough. The desire had been born and with it an expectation of pleasure that was almost painful in its intensity and an anticipation of pain that was almost as joyful. Once awakened, the yearning for experience would not let itself be set aside or ignored or forgotten. It reappeared in the elf s mind again and again until he finally let go and allowed himself to fall into the longing.
From the gleam of the stars on black winter nights, the salty waves in the ocean, the massive peaks along the coast, and the breeze that moved as quick as thought, the elf created a slim body and narrow face with long eyes and hair until he appeared on the stripe of wet sand that lay between the ocean and the grass. The cold water that licked his feet burned his skin, and the gale that howled into his tapering ears stung sharply; but the grass trembled, and the surf breathed onto the sand in rhythm with his heart. The elf waded ashore. Despite the sunny autumn day, the coast felt just as he had expected; chilly, remote, and demanding. It was beautiful-the same way a strong gust of wind takes your breath away and winter cold eats into your nails. He smiled. It was as good a place to start as any.

T HE ELF KNELT and placed a palm on the small, round pebbles at the high-water mark. The stones had been polished by the sea, each holding their own color; brown, black, white, orange, pink. Among the stones, tufts of gray eiderdown had been caught. From the smoothness of the pebbles and the softness of the eiderdown, he fashioned warm, gray robes. Finally, the elf wreathed some tiny orchids into his hair.
A bit farther up on the beach stood an old trapper s hut weathered gray by the elements. In its shadow a small gray creature watched the elf from the grass. He could feel the other being s pale green, slitted eyes on him, observing him with fear, curiosity, and a tiny expectation in its cold, hungry body. The elf pulled his gray robes close and squatted on the sand. A potential companion. That could come in handy.
Here, little friend, the elf said and held out his hand. The green eyes bobbed, following his hand intently. What did the gray cat want the most? Food? Water? It turned out not to be what the elf expected. The cat approached him cautiously on tense paws, hoping that he was friendly and would not chase her away. When the elf neither attacked nor grasped at her the cat sniffed his hands for a little while, then pushed her head against them to make him pet her, even food forgotten in the hope of love. The cat was small but strong with large round eyes and a short, dense coat that was surprisingly smooth for having lived on her own since harvest time.
The elf fed the cat fresh water and eider eggs, then the cat slept for a long time in his lap while he sat cross-legged in the grass and watched the surf roll onto the shore. When the elf and the cat awoke the brief hurried days of the north had grown dark.
The sun has already turned toward winter, the cat meowed.
The elf nodded at her. Don t worry. It will return soon.
The cat slung her short tail around the elf s ankle, purred, and pushed at his hands.
Would you like to come with me? the elf said. I will make certain you are loved and warm and fed, but then you have to do something for me.
Of course, the cat purred. I knew you d ask.
The elf smiled.
What is it that you want me to do? the cat said.
I want to go inland, but for that to happen we need to move faster.
The cat looked up at him, her green eyes glittering. I guess it doesn t matter what I say, she meowed. Just don t turn me into a dog.
Then she stood in front of him, as gray as before, but many times larger with black mane and tail and hooves and a proud round neck with only her green, narrow pupils revealing her true feline nature.
Oh, a horse, the cat neighed. And it s me.
T HEY SHARED A meal together of fresh water from a stream, eider bird yolk from the burrows, and wild garlic from the meadow before they set off toward the mountains. The cat ran hither and yon like a kitten over the grass and kicked her hind legs every time the cold marsh water touched her hooves. The elf had neither saddle nor reins and could only clutch the long mane every time the cat reared. A small but very angry rodent ran up from its burrow in the wet grass, shouting at them. Immediately, the cat jumped high into the air and landed with sudden crushing impunity on the rodent. Then she beheaded and de-haired it with her dull horse teeth while she whinnied impatiently and scratched at the prey with her black hooves. The elf could not help but laugh and let the cat eat her prey as consolation for having such a new and foreign body.
Out of the cold, cloudberry-filled marshes, they spotted tall, narrow slits in the looming mountain sides. These were passes leading inland away from the coast and the surf and the wind. The elf hesitated. Did he really want to leave the open land for the forests? But then he remembered that he had the coast s salty water in his blood, its clear star light in his eyes, its mountains in his bones, and in his mind, the swiftness of its ever-moving wind. The cat had eiderdown in her mane and flowering grass straws curled about her ears. They would never leave the coast no matter where they went.
Are you ready? the elf asked the cat and led her toward the narrow opening in the mountain. The peak looked as if it reached the moon. Giving no reply, the cat reared up, galloped toward the pass with mud and peat flying from her hooves, and leapt into the pass.
T WO
A S YSTEM OF S PHERES
W ALLS OF STONE LOOMED ABOVE THE elf and the cat with less distance than a person s height separating the two sides. In the darkness the elf couldn t see where the walls ended, but far above them white stars glittered in the narrow gap. The walls were so tall and so close it felt like they curved in on them. However, the walls were not blank. Their faces held horizontal lines and layers that varied in breadth from the thickness of a finger to heights larger than the trapper hut on the beach. These strata followed the pass along its entire length, and the number of them was in the thousands. Each layer had a color slightly different from that above and below in shades of black, brown, yellow, gray, orange, rust, and even purple. It was as if time had frozen in intervals and accreted layer by layer until the rock face reached higher than the eye could see.
At first the cat ran and jumped and made a few high-pitched