The Town Beneath the Turning Tower

It came as a sudden downpour of glowing rain. Each droplet, as it fell, gave not only the sound of rain but also a note — each one different, weaving together into a dazzling harmony. Wherever they landed, they left faint colored traces that sprouted at once into phantom blossoms: flowers of light that bloomed wide, only to fade within minutes. It was breathtaking.

“Just the illusion rain again!” cried someone from the gate.

Elias and Fawks stumbled forward through a sudden meadow of glowing blossoms, their steps scattering petals that melted into air, leaving no trace behind.

By the time they reached the small town’s entrance — the open gate beneath the looming tower that sometimes turned — they were soaked through, streaked with faintly glowing stains that had never bloomed, and breathless.

“Why did we run?” Elias asked, gasping for air, his feet heavy with mud.

“What do you mean?” Fawks replied, wringing out his hat. “I told you, it could have been stones — or anything else.”

“Yeah, but… what if it was?”

Fawks gave him a puzzled look.

“What would have happened to us? Can we even die here?” Elias wasn’t about to test it — that was why he’d run in the first place — but he wanted to understand more about this place, whatever it was.

“The purpose of your visit?” a guard interrupted them as they passed beneath the base of the tower. He had stepped out from a side door, and both he and his partner scanned Elias and Fawks from head to toe. Their eyes gleamed chartreuse.

“We’re only passing by,” Fawks answered smoothly, “but we’ll be staying the night.”
He bowed slightly in thanks when they allowed them through.

“Are you dead?” Fawks then asked as they emerged from the tower’s shadow.

“Well, so far I know I’m not! But I’m not sure I’m exactly alive, either.”

“Don’t your bare feet feel cold?”

“They do!”

“Weren’t you out of breath just now? You were. And soaked, and starving, and worn out, too.” Fawks rattled it all off before “anyone” could get a single word in.
Elias found it amusing — a wise ten-year-old, arguing so fiercely on the matter.

“So yes… you can die here!” Fawks concluded at last. “And I don’t know — but I don’t even want to know — what happens if you do.”

“Alright, okay. I get it,” Elias said, calming him.

They walked on in silence for a while. The ground grew harder to tread for Elias; many spots were paved with cobblestones, and where it wasn’t, the way was rough with rocks and uneven soil. The dim light made it all the more difficult. Street lamps began to flicker alight as clouds drew away. It was dusk.

The town behind the tower was small, enclosed by a wooden fence. Most paths had trenches running along one side, and Elias stopped to wash the mud from his feet in one.

“Yes, we’ll have to do something about that…” Fawks muttered, hurrying toward a row of shops. Most were already packing up what the rain hadn’t spoiled, ready to close.

“Hold it, please!”

“We’re closed,” said a green-eyed woman.

“We only need a quick pair of shoes for my friend here,” Fawks insisted.

“I’m very tired…” she replied wearily. But the boy’s stare was stubborn, unrelenting. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, and Elias finally caught up, slower with his bare feet.

“I see,” she murmured, and lit several lanterns inside her small workshop. Each glowed with a strong white light, revealing a space that seemed larger within than without. Boxes tied with ribbons were stacked high to the left and behind her; bolts of fabric and other craftsman’s tools filled the right. At the center lay a round rug shaped like a daisy, its petals sharp and diamond-pointed. “Stand here, please,” she told Elias.

She measured him, then went behind her counter, showing a few designs before gathering her materials: stiff leather, nails, thread, softer hide, a patch of cloth, and a small dish of glue. Then she took what looked like paper, but felt more like fabric, and began to draw. She looked weary already, but with each line she seemed to weaken further, her eyes blinking as though struck with sudden, phantom nearsightedness. By the time she finished, she seemed exhausted.

“Well? How do they look?” she asked.

“I— you haven’t shown me anything!” Elias said in confusion.

She nodded toward his feet.

Looking down, he found himself already wearing a fine pair of boots, with socks matching the fabric she had started with. “How did…” he stammered, then noticed the counter was empty — the materials gone.

“Yes, very nice. Thank you.”

“Wear them well,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow.

“Wonderful!” said Fawks. “Better than mine, even!” He rummaged through his pockets, handed her something, and after thanking her, they stepped back into the night.

The sky was now dark, but above it shone two suns, faint as moons. Their light was weak, yet the visible nebulae scattered across the heavens made up for it — spectacular.

The evening breeze was cool after the rain, but pleasant. Soon the chatter of voices reached them, spilling from the inn’s tavern on the corner of the street.

Elias and Fawks exchanged a look. Their growling stomachs competed loudly. They burst out laughing.

“Come on!” Elias said, taking the lead for the first time, with Fawks quickly catching up.