The Millennium Festival

This piece was written for Autumn 2024 Writing Battle

Prompts

2000 words max

Genre: Cozy Fantasy

Character: A charmer

Location: A bridge

The Millennium Festival

A roar echoed through the woods. Styphan’s sentient quill snarled, ready to defend him. “Quiet, Niblet.” Styphan stroked the feathers of his friend while his pointed ears listened for further noise.

              A massive creature bounded over the hill. Leaves stuck out from the tufts of fur on the creature’s head and from between his toes. Styphan took a deep breath and tightened his stance. The ogre lifted its head.

              “Gunther, you oaf!” Styphan exhaled and folded his arms. Niblet wriggled and squealed in the elf’s hand. “Why are you here and covered in foliage?”

After catching his breath, Gunther said, “I passed off the job you gave. Wanted to come with you. Took a tumble in a pile of leaves back there. Deeper than it looked, and before I knew it, I was in a wrestling match with mother earth.” He paused once more to catch his breath. “She put up a mighty good fight.”

              Styphan tucked Niblet back into his cloak and rubbed his brow. “Well, come on then. I need to get to the library and back as quickly as possible. The festival is in three days.”

              “You know each of my steps is worth three of yours,” Gunther said. “We’ll get the instructions for how to put on this party. I’m not gonna let you be a, what did you call it? A disappointment of the millennium?”

              “A disgrace.” Styphan’s words flew faster than a wind pixie. “Every thousand cycles, my family is responsible for the festival. If I don’t put the napkins in the right spot or set the schedule, as is tradition, my entire clan will be a laughingstock and next millennium, another clan will get the honor.” He bent over, catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

              “We’ll get the instructions. Besides, if you mess up, I’ll distract everyone with my charming wit.” Gunther proudly displayed his yellowed and uneven teeth in a smile. He slapped Styphan on his back, nearly knocking him over. “Let’s go!”

Styphan groaned.

The two traveled just a few hours before the bridge came into view. The wooden planks disappeared into fog which also obscured the depths of the cliff face.

“The bridge is long, but we should make it across within a half hour,” Styphan said, above Niblet’s snores.

              Gunther huffed. “That in elf-feet time or ogre-feet time?”

              “Fancy a race to find out?” With a grin sealing their wager, the two bounded over the first reinforced slat.

The bridge rocked beneath their feet and knocked them both off balance. Styphan held the rope railing with one hand and shielded Niblet inside his cloak with the other. Gunther had fallen face down and was holding his nose.

              A white hoof stepped out of the fog and the bridge calmed. A majestic white unicorn emerged, its head bent, prepared to ram them with its horn. “Who seeks the Library of All Knowledge?”

              Gunther muttered, “You didn’t tell me we’d have to get past a unicorn.”

              “He must be new.” Styphan pulled Niblet from her sheath, allowing her to attempt intimidation with her howl.

              Styphan stepped forward, balancing each footfall as the bridge swayed. “Hello, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Styphan, and this is my trusty quill, Niblet. This charming fellow behind me is Gunther. I’ve crossed this bridge once before when my sister Clyra left to work in the library, but I haven’t met you before.”

              The unicorn trotted closer and shook his mane. “I have been guardian over this bridge for six cycles. Only those who are worthy may pass.”

Gunther was back on his feet. He raised one thick eyebrow. “Well, nice to meet you. Before you decide our worth, I just have a question.”

The unicorn stared, unblinking.

“How you keep your mane so silky? Your horn is real pretty, too.” Gunther straightened his vest and stood up tall.

The Unicorn stamped his foot, and the bridge quaked. The trespassers fell to the floor. Niblet cried as she nearly fell from Styphan’s hand. Her inky tears dropped on the bridge.  

“You may not pass. Your kind is exactly why I guard this bridge. All manner of creatures seek knowledge in the library, but they desecrate that which they seek!” The unicorn tapped his hoof, purposely throwing them off balance. “They open the books too wide and crack the spines. They fold the pages and write notes in the margins. Our library was once pristine and now the books are falling apart and defiled!” He neighed in agony.

              Styphan steadied himself as the bridge slowed to a stop. His stomach continued to roil. “Unicorn, Sir,” he began.

              “Bartholomew,” the unicorn corrected.

              Styphan held up a hand in apology. “Bart, listen, I need to get to get a book from my sister. She’s devoted herself as a librarian in your fine establishment. She can vouch for me that I would never destroy any books. I am a bibliophile myself.”

              Gunther piped in. “Yeah, he draws the prettiest pictures on the covers of his books.”

              Bartholomew reared up and whinnied in indignation. Before he landed, Styphan jumped up and slid through the unicorn’s back legs. He spun around to see Gunther with both ropes of the bridge in his hands, shaking them like whips. The unicorn lost his balance and crashed to the floor of the bridge.

Gunther ran, leaping over the struggling creature. He scooped Styphan up in his arms and ran down the bridgeway, his steps creating tidal waves behind them. Bartholomew screamed, “You are not worthy!” He attempted to gallop after them, horn ready to strike. At last, the final wave propelled Gunther and Styphan off the bridge and onto a soft pad of grass. The planks ricocheted and undulated back toward Bartholomew. He whinnied as the swell knocked him into the air and back to the end other end of the bridge, swallowed by the fog.

Styphan coughed and sputtered before rising to his feet and reaching into his cloak, panicked. Niblet lay in his hands shaking, but unharmed. He drew the little quill to his chest. She screeched between each of his sentences. “I know, that was scary. Yes, you could’ve been broken in half. Yes, I promise to never do that again.”

Gunther slapped the dust off his clothes. “Didn’t quite mean to send the fella overboard.” He rubbed his head and sucked his teeth.

Styphan looked around in awkward silence before saying, “Let’s get going.”

The only remaining obstacles of the road were no more than a few wood pixies who attempted to steal tufts of Gunther’s hair for their nests and the occasional heckling rock. Just before nightfall, the Library of All Knowledge came into view. As they reached the entrance, the torches had just been lit. Thankfully, no unicorns stood guard.

Upon a pedestal, a paper pixie lay nestled in the curled pages of a book.

Gunther said, “Excuse me, Miss. You look mighty comfy, and mighty pretty, I might add. Could we trouble you to enter the library?” Gunther started to show his signature smile, but Styphan stomped on his foot.

“Yes, we’re looking for my sister, Clyra. Please tell her Styphan has arrived for the book ‘The Etiquette and Hosting of Elven Millenium Festivals.’”

The pixie yawned and rolled over. “Go get it yourself.”

“You will permit us? Bartholomew led us to believe‒”

“Batholomew!” She sat up and uncurled the pages, and rose into the air, flapping her

tiny wings. “He’s still yelling at people on that bridge? No wonder no one’s been here in ages. Listen, he’s some legalistic loon. Books are meant to be read, not admired for being pristine.”

Gunther said under his breath, “He’s sure gonna holler when we pass by again.”

“Good,” the pixie stated, unaware of what Gunther meant.

Styphan looked at Gunther and shrugged. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am.”

The interior of the library was grander than Styphan remembered. Columns of colored spines towered to the ceiling. If the librarians didn’t have the magic to summon books, patrons could spend their whole life searching for their specific requests.

“Styphan!”

He turned and, although he hadn’t seen her for centuries, recognized his little sister immediately. Her eyes were the same cerulean and her hair the same color of gold. She ran into Styphan’s arms. She even smelled the same.

Niblet wriggled between them until she was removed from the cloak.

Clyra beamed and ticked Niblet’s feathers. “Hello old friend.”

Niblet purred.

Styphan grasped Clyra’s shoulders. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Gunther stepped forward and nodded his head.

“Sister, we need the Eleven Etiquette book. It’s already time for the next millennium festival and I’ve no idea the traditions since Grandmother and Grandfather went beyond the mountains.”

She closed her eyes and held out her hand. In a few moments, an old and tattered book floated into her grasp. “Here, dear brother. I never should have taken it with me. I was young and impulsive and wanted to impress the librarians with a family relic.”

“Did you?” Gunther asked.

“Yes, and they taught me their magic, as you just saw.” She handed the book to Styphan. “Why don’t you keep it for the next thousand years? Just in case you need it for the next festival.”

Styphan opened the tattered book and leafed through the pages until he found his family’s illustrated section. He ran his fingers over the ancient writing of his grandparents. He turned the pages, skimming the information, afraid it would not make sense.

His stomach roiled as it had on the bridge. Styphan’s heart fluttered as he flipped the pages back and forth. “It’s missing!”

“What’s missing?” Gunther peered over Styphan’s shoulder. His hot breath not helping the situation.

“The last page. The ending ceremony. It’s not here!” He gave the book back to Clyra who held out her hand to call forth the missing page.

Nothing came.

“What am I going to do?” Styphan was on the edge of tears. His clan would be mortified and lose their standing in the community. He’d have to leave home and find a way to restore their honor. He crouched into a ball and held his head in his hands. They came all this way and outsmarted a pretentious unicorn. All for nothing.

Gunther’s hand covered the entirety of Styphan’s back. “Maybe the elders remember and could tell you how it goes.”

“The elders will be watching. Not to assist, of course, but to scold and to criticize.” Clyra’s voice was flat and pragmatic. “They view asking for help as weak.”

Gunther muttered, “Not helping.”

Niblet squeaked and shot ink from Styphan’s pocket. She only ceased when Clyra plucked her out, holding her up.

“Of course,” Clyra said. “Niblet herself is a family heirloom. Grandfather and Grandmother used her, perhaps to write these traditions.”

Niblet squealed.

“She says she remembers some of what was written, but not all of it.”

Styphan leaped to his feet, renewed with hope.

“I’ve never tried a memory charm, but I’m adept at knowledge retrieval.” Clyra said, smiling. “It might work on her memory, too.” Clyra cradled niblet and hummed softly to herself. Niblet settled into her palm, purring. Once Clya stopped humming, Niblet tossed herself around, shaking.

“I think she remembers,” Gunther said.

Styphan pushed Niblet to a page of the book. She wrote and wrote throughout the margins and onto the next page. Bartholomew would have died.

When she was done, or maybe just exhausted, Styphan examined her work. “Yes! This looks complete. Oh, Niblet, I’m going to get you a velvet case to sleep in at night.” He hugged the magical quill before placing her back in his pocket. “Thank you, Sister. I miss you, and I wish you could be home for the festival, but I know you feel more at home here.”

She nodded. “That I do. Now you go home and make our family proud.”