The Storyteller

     Annette watched the scene for only a few seconds more, and then turned away from the stairs and made her way down the narrow hall. She knew she didn't have a lot of time before Miles would beckon her downstairs to begin telling stories, and so she hurried. She only slowed once her feet stepped over the threshold into the house's only bedroom.

     The flickering candles did a meager job at lighting the room, but she still was able to make out her reflection in the full-length mirror as she entered. She was a brown Aisha, but her fur was so pale that it was more akin to the creamy beige complexion of Lost Desert travelers. Her hair was the color of farm hay, but fell in waves down her shoulders, and her eyes matched the hue of the grey-blue dress she wore. The dress was the latest in Neovian fashion, with a high white lace collar, and billowing layers of blue fabric that brushed the floor as she walked. It had been a gift from her father, received only a few months earlier on the Day of Giving. Before he had fallen ill.

     The bedroom smelled of sweat and candlewax. Annette's father was lying in full-sized bed, nestled between the covers. Annette had expected him to be asleep, but the blue Bori was awake. His eyes immediately latched onto his daughter as she approached his side. "There is my beautiful Annette." He smiled.

     Annette appraised him quickly. He didn't look in too bad of a condition today, and yet she knew that his sickness was fickle. One day he would look just as he had that wonderful Christmas morning, and the next day his skin would turn clammy, his fur would bunch, and his eyes would fog over.

     "I'll begin my story in a few minutes downstairs," she said. "Everyone is gathering."

     He smiled, but there was a sadness in his blue eyes. "I miss seeing the children here, Annette. Those rich folk aren't quite the same. I'm sure the money you get is nice, but I hate to think that you spend it all on your bum father when you could be saving it for yourself, or reading to the youngsters."

     Annette had to stop herself from tearing up. His tone had been light, but her heart ached all the same at his words. Before his sickness, storytelling had been a mere hobby. She would sit with her neighbors' children and weave stories, describing fantastic creatures, lands made of molten rock, and Neopets on flying ships.

     But then her father had gotten ill, and the doctor fees began to mount. Storytelling had stopped being a hobby and instead had become a way to make ends meet. Now it was hardly children who gathered in her home, but wealthy Neopians who could afford her high fees. It killed her a bit to know that those who could truly benefit from her tales, the poor and miserable, were hardly the ones who could hear them now.

     But Annette knew better than to show her father how upset she was. Instead, she forced herself to smile. "You're not a bum, Father." She kissed him on the forehead. "Just promise me that you get well soon. Then I can have the children over, free of charge."

     He smiled at her. "I promise, Annette. But you need to promise to save me a story tonight too."

     She nodded, rubbing his hand in hers. "Of course, Father. Of course."

     * * *

     The parlor was nothing special. Before, when the only house visitors were neighborhood children or relatives stopping by from far away, the parlor had been furnished with a few old loveseats, armchairs, and a small table. By now all the old furniture had been sold, replaced with an assortment of rickety chairs Annette had haggled for at a small pawn shop. She and Miles had crammed as many of these chairs into the room as possible, leaving only a thin sliver of floor for her to stand.

     The room tonight, as it was most nights, was packed. Neovian high society gathered in the small parlor in anticipation: men with dapper hats and canes, women decked in pearls and golden baubles. They were all dressed in the latest frilly fashions of Neovian attire, their hair coiffed in elaborate styles or set with powdered wigs.

     Annette felt rather plain in comparison. She could see some of the women—elegant Tuskaninnies and slender Nimmos and polished Acaras—eyeing her with disapproval. But she ignored their glances. The regulars—high-class men and women with money to spend on frequent pleasures such as these—smiled at her with excitement. They knew what was coming.

     Annette glanced down at the leather-bound book in her hand. Most people thought her stories were read from its depths, but the entire volume was only for show. The book in fact was filled with nothing but blank pages. Her father had given her the leather journal as a birthday present many years earlier, intending it to be a place where she could write down her tales. But she never had. Instead, she merely held it in her hands during all her performances. It gave her something to look at she drew from the collection of stories that spun about in her head.

     Speaking of stories, she thought, realizing she hadn't yet decided on her tale for the night. But almost instantly an image popped into her head--a blue Techo wearing an odd yellow shirt surrounded by sand dunes—and she knew just what to say.

     This was how it happened most of the time: first an image or scene would appear in her head, seconds later accompanied by an almost perfectly crafted story. It all came to her so quickly, and yet the stories were rich in detail and emotion and sometimes even dialogue. Most of the time the stories were in the realm of fantasy, filled with things Annette had never seen before. And yet in her mind's eye, everything was so vibrant and realistic and so achingly possible. It was what kept her followers entertained: each day they were greeted with a new story of a world so very different than the one they lived in.

     "Good evening," she began once the story had crystalized in her head. Immediately the chatter that had permeated the room dissipated, and all eyes rested on her face. "Settle down now, and I shall begin..."

      Annette glanced down at her empty journal and took a deep breath before beginning. "'Argh! Sold out already?' The angry Techo stomped his foot in the Lost Desert sand..."

     The story she had decided on was about a blue Techo who loved to watch a rather peculiar sporting event. Annette had never traveled far from Neovia, but had heard stories of odd events held across the globe, such as Poogle racing in the floating city of Faerieland and cheese rolling in the even more distant land of Meridell. But the one she had thought of was very different. It was a sport where petpets were used as balls. There were many different types of these imagined petpets: some were as red as fire, others white as snow, and still others with purple wings, gears like a clock, and pointed spikes. Athletic Neopets would attempt to throw these petpets into large nets, scoring points as they did so. The main character in her tale was an avid supporter of this sport, and would spend his days going to as many of these events as possible, cheering loudly for whichever team caught his fancy.

     The story took her over an hour to tell. She changed her voice whenever she switched between characters, sometimes low and deep, other times high and shrill. The audience was enchanted by her tale, particularly by her descriptions of the odd game. When she finally finished, there was a rousing round of applause. The men and women who had looked at her disdainfully just an hour earlier stared at her with wonder, clapping their gloved hands in near disbelief.

     "Thank you," Annette said, shutting her book and taking a bow. She was already getting antsy; she wanted to go upstairs and check on her father. "Please join me again tomorrow for another tale. I do readings every evening except Thursdays. Arrive home safely and thanks again for coming."

      There was another smattering of applause and the audience rose, beginning to take their leave. Annette nodded and smiled at those who patted her arm and slipped her compliments, all the while trying to weave her way through the endless rows of chairs that had turned her parlor into a bit of a maze. She had just reached the bottom of the staircase and was about to head upstairs when she heard someone call out, "Excuse me, miss. May I speak with you please?"

      She turned and saw a blue Chomby standing before her, with dark brown hair and thick sideburns. He was dressed in a suit, though Annette noted that the style was somewhat strange. There was nothing obviously odd about his ensemble, but it was clearly a fashion she had never seen in Neovia before.

     "I really should be getting upstairs, sir," she said.

     "I will only take a few moments of your time, I promise," he said. He glanced behind himself, at the Neopets who were staring at them as they filed out the front door. He looked back at Annette and lowered his voice. "Is there anywhere we can speak in private?"

     Annette was overwhelmingly confused. It wasn't uncommon for people to compliment her or try to engage her in small banter after a reading, but no one had ever asked to speak with her in private. She took a moment to look at the stranger, taking in his odd suit and thick hair and deep brown eyes. He seemed eager to speak with her, and she had to admit she was intrigued. So although she wished to see her father, she nodded. "All right then. Let's go to the kitchen."

     She led him back through the parlor, through a skinny doorway, and into the small kitchen in the back of the home. She gestured for him to sit with her at the wooden table, and he obliged with a nod, looking around as if he wanted to memorize every detail of the room. Annette found this strange; the kitchen was nothing particularly impressive to look at, and the stove fire was out, leaving the room a bit drafty.

     "What is it you are inquiring about, sir?"

     This seemed to get the Chomby's attention. He turned away from examining the room to examining Annette, his eyes curious as he gazed into hers. "I was wondering if you have ever heard of a place called Altador," he said. "Or perhaps even Shenkuu?"

     Annette frowned, straining her memory. She had thought she was fairly adept at geography, and yet the names sounded completely foreign. "No I haven't. Are those towns in Brightvale, perhaps?"

     The blue Chomby shook his head, but he was smiling at her, clearly delighted by her answer. "No, they aren't. There are actually lands on the other side of Neopia, farther west than Brightvale. They actually aren't to be discovered for another hundred years."

     Annette blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

     He laughed and held out his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Samuel Carls. I'm a Neodeck card designer and a time traveler."

     Annette blinked again, leaving his hand dangling in mid-air over her tabletop. Clearly the Chomby was mad. The terms "Alta-door," "Shen-coo," and "Neo-dek," were complete gibberish to her, and his claim to be a time traveler was just as ridiculous.

     "I see you don't believe me," he said after a short silence had fallen between them.

     "Excuse me, sir, for being... skeptical," she said, wondering how she could convince him to leave without sounding terribly rude.

     "It's all right. I wouldn't expect any other response. But allow me to offer some sort of proof." Samuel Carls reached into his suit pocket and pulled out two small items. The first was a small rectangular piece of shiny paper, which she promptly forgot about once she saw the second item. It was a plushie made of soft white and pale blue fabric in the shape of an impossible figure: the snow-colored petpet from her story. It had button blue eyes, four limbs, a tail, and two ears. The plushie had the general shape of a star, but looked as if it could easily fold into a ball.

     It was the same creature from her story, and looked just as she had imagined it in her head, down to the littlest details.

     "I wanted to bring you a live Yooyu," Samuel continued with a smile, "but they are rather expensive and side-along time travel can be a bit tricky. So I thought this plushie would have to do."

     "How is this possible?" Annette asked breathlessly, feeling her heart speed up. "I just came up with that story an hour ago. How could you have known?"

     "There are rumors in my time that a Neovian Aisha mentioned Yooyuball in a story years before the discovery of Altador," he explained. "So I've been coming to hear your tales for the last few nights, waiting to hear the story for myself. I've been carrying this plushie around as a way to offer you some sort of proof."

     "Yooyuball?" she repeated numbly.

     The Chomby nodded. "It's the name of the sport in your tale. It originated in Altador, but has since spread to all of Neopia. It's all real."

     "But that is impossible!" Annette protested. She opened the blank journal in her hand and flipped through the pages so he could see that it was empty. "I've never heard of You-You's, or Alta-door, or any of that. I came up with that story seconds before I told it."

     Samuel nodded. "I understand this is all a lot to take in, but I have a theory. Some people in my time think that you were one of the first people to discover Altador, or that you maybe even originated from there."

     "I didn't," she protested.

     He held up a hand. "That's their theory, not mine. Yesterday's story, the one you told about flying ships in a land filled with nimble men dressed in all black?"

     "Yes...?" she whispered, almost dreading his response.

     "That's all true as well. That's a land called Shenkuu, located just north of Altador. And those nimble men in black are called ninjas. As for your story today, which mentioned a blue Techo... he's a real neopet. He's known as the Techo Super-Fan in my time."

     "This is impossible," she repeated, stunned.

     "That is why," he continued, "I think you are more than just a storyteller. I think these 'stories' you see are visions of the future. I think you are a seer."

     Annette's blood ran cold. What he said was preposterous—and yet as his words settled, she could see hints of truth in them. Her stories always came to her as images. She never had to really think through any of them; they just came to her naturally. And the plushie depicting the very image she had seen in her head made everything even more real.

     "What are you here for, though?" she asked suddenly, her mouth very dry. "You're not recruiting me to... to save Neopia or anything, are you? Or to be studied or... dissected?"

     He shook his head. "No, no don't worry. Nothing of the sort. I came for two rather simple reasons. The first was to hear your tales for myself—even in my time, they are rumored to be the best. And I promise you, I was not disappointed."

     Annette blushed. "The second reason?" she prodded.

     He pushed the small piece of paper that he had set on the table earlier towards her. "Reason two is that I am Neodeck card designer. These cards aren't particularly special in their own right, but Neopets in my time like to collect them. Each one features the picture of a Neopian, and I've been traveling across the globe—and a little through time—to gather inspiration. I was wondering, if with your permission, I could use you on a card I want to call 'The Storyteller.'"

     Annette looked down at the sample card before her, which depicted a blue Chia with a rather impressive black mustache, a purple feather hat, and a sword. It was entitled "Sir Fufon Lui."

     "You came all this way just for permission to take my portrait?" she asked.

     He nodded. "I figured it'd be rude not to ask. Also, I thought this could help out your situation. You tell these stories to pay off your father's medical bills if I'm not mistaken."

     Annette was only slightly surprised he knew this. "Yes...?"

     He smiled gently. "I want to make this card—your card—extremely rare. That way, when it sells, the profit off it will be huge. Millions of neopoints huge. And I promise to give you the money."

     Annette's eyes widened. "Sir Carls, I wouldn't be able to accept that! I should be paying you for the portrait, not the other way around!"

     He shook his head. "It is nothing. Though, if you feel a little more generous I do have one suggestion: write your stories down." He pointed to the journal. "A collection of your stories—of your prophecies—could very well help out the future of Neopia. And even if no one takes your prophecies seriously, I'm sure a written copy of your book would be highly prized. As I said before, in the future, your few surviving tales are highly revered."

     Annette paused. "I'll... I'll have to think on that."

     He nodded again. "Don't feel pressured; it was just a suggestion. But now," he smiled, "what do you think of me drawing your portrait?"

     She nodded. "I would very much like that, Mr. Carls."

     "Please, call me Sam." The Chomby grinned.

     * * *

     Sam painted her portrait in just over two hours. He depicted her holding the leather journal in her left hand and a flickering candle in her right. When he was finally done, he thanked her and promised to return shortly once the card had been sold.

     "Time traveling isn't common in the future," he added as he stepped over the threshold to leave her house, "so I think I'll be your only futuristic visitor."

     She smiled. "That is a slight relief."

     He laughed, and passed her the Snow Yooyu plushie. "Here. Take this. If you don't want to keep it, I'm sure some child would love it."

     She nodded. "Thank you, Sam."

     "No problem." The Chomby grinned and bowed his head. "Think about my suggestion and I'll see you soon." And then he disappeared into the night.

     She shut the door and stood for a moment in the front entryway. She had no reason to believe that the Chomby would actually come back, but she was optimistic. Maybe the day where she could tell stories to children would come sooner than she thought.

     And then suddenly: Father!

     In the excitement, she had nearly forgotten him. She darted up the stairs, hiking her skirt up, and made her way to his room. He was awake, looking at her with an amused expression as she breathlessly made her way over the threshold.

     "I thought you had forgotten your promise." He smirked.

     She shook her head. "Never, Father."

     His eyes flickered down to the plushie in her hand. "What is that?" he asked, white brows furrowed.

     Annette smiled suddenly, and sat down at the side of the bed. She set the Yooyu plushie in her lap and took his hand in hers. "It's a prop, part of the story I'm going to tell you tonight," she said.

     He chuckled. "You never have props, but all right. What's this one about, darling Annette?"

     She smiled, glancing from her father down to the snow Yooyu in her lap. "I think you'll like this one. It's a story about a time traveler named Samuel Carls..."

The End