The Kan-Tavari Tales

"Well! The Feast of Shaharzad is a celebration of storytelling. Shaharzad was a princess who defeated a dragon-mage who conquered her world by telling it a never-ending story about the adventures of a dragonslayer who went on a quest in the Southern Caves. Or that's how it started, anyway. It went off in all these weird different directions--there were stories within stories and stories within stories within stories. By the time she was done, the dragon decided human beings were worthwhile after all and stepped down."

"That's not the story I'm familiar with."

"Different worlds. So the storytellers of many worlds came together to build this one, Kan-Tavari, in her honor, as a refuge for storytellers from all over. If your'e threatened by the people in power, you can escape here if you know the right signs and stories. And every seven years, they have a great competition from all over the multiverse. The prize is one of the Seven Secrets of the Metacosmos. I've won the competition three times--different versions of me--and someday I'll have them all."

"I see. And then what will you do?"

"Revolutionize the world! Or something."

The crowd around us begins to stir. The bus had come to a halt. "Looks like our stop," says Jenny. "You wanna come along? I mean, I could take you home if you want--"

"No," I tell her. "There's nothing worthwhile for me to do back there."

The waves of the crowd gradually move outward, and in time Jenny and I follow them. And here I am, following this girl I barely know into a strange world. And yet, somehow I almost do feel as if I know her, as if she fits naturally into the rhythm of my life. As Jenny takes my hand and leads me through this crowd of weird beings, which she navigates as if she was born to it, and I wonder--

The thing I've longed for all my life, the nexus of the possible and the impossible, the way to other worlds--is it her? A person, rather than an idea? The problem is, I've always been more comfortable with ideas.

We leave the bus station--a chamber covered in iridescent mosaics--and I look back and see the bus number: 142,857.

"This is... overwhelming. Do you always take this bus between worlds?"

"Nah. Usually I just shift on my own power. But this was a long journey, and also, I wanted company." I couldn't imagine willingly subjecting myself to that trip in a million years. "I had a feeling you'd be here," she adds. "Is that creepy?" I don't at all know how to answer that.

"What about the secret ways you mentioned?"

"Those can be... dangerous. Wanted something different this time, anyway."

We reach the customs station where people are queued to go in. ("They don't like having that here," says Jenny, "but they have to for the contest. Interdimensional law or something") Jenny says some other things to me as we wait but, dizzied by all the things happening around me, I don't retain them. We stand in line for what feels like an hour behind a floating potted plant. In time, we reach the guard, a walrus in uniform with a mustache. He is about to give us his usual script when he sees the helmet on her head. "Oh, it's you. All right, move along then." He lets us through with a resigned sigh.

We are met by figures in different colored robes who guide us through the concourse. Outside the bus station, there is a webwork of buildings in many different styles, islands in an ocean bound together by bridges. The air is cool and clear and smells of salt.

In time we reach an emerald green tower, and stand on a disc in the floor that rises into the air, taking us through a hole in the ceiling above. At the top is a room lit by green stained-glass windows, with a pentagonal table in the center. Three people are already sitting beside it--one, an armored woman, not much older than us, with dark hair cut short. "Oooh, I recognize her!" whispers Jenny. "That's Sir Emelie D'Honaire, of Terra-47." The second is a middle aged man with a great many rings on his fingers. "He's a merchant of Fotheringay. Can't tell anything else yet." That means absolutely nothing to me, of course. The third is a man in gilded red robes, with a sharp, aquiline nose and a high brow. He holds himself with a rigid command, and when he turns to look at us, there is an unpleasantly eager smile on his face. "Uh-oh," said Jenny. "That's Cardinal Dracula. One of me fought him before, when she was the Fifth Musketeer. Don't worry, though, he can't hurt us directly here."

Jenny plops herself down at the table, with one empty seat beside her. "You want to join in, Laura? It's OK if you don't."

"Join in what, exactly?"

"This is the first round of the competition," trills one of the hooded figures. "Its purpose is to determine whether you are fit to continue on. You lose nothing if you fail. There will be different challenges and constraints that you will face each round. This one will be a round robin--one of you will begin a story, the one sitting to your right will continue on, and so on. This shall continue for as many rounds as is needed."

"So," says Jenny. "You wanna give it a shot?"

I have to admit I do. I don't know how good of a storyteller I am, but the prize--secret knowledge of the cosmos--is irresistible. Of course, if Jenny wins, I might be able to convince her to tell me. She seems to like me and want to be my friend. But does she really? No one ever has before. No, I have to win--if I have the secret, she will be indebted to me, which means she'd be more likely to stay my friend. She has so much that I never will--knowledge, confidence, the ability to connect with people--so I want to have something that she does not. Still, I'd rather she win than anyone else.

I sit down on the--surprisingly comfortable--chair. "Indeed I do."

"Then so it shall be," says the figure. I feel a spark of energy pass through me.

"Oh," whispers Jenny, "one more thing I should warn you about. There's a non-zero danger you'll end up inside whatever story you're telling or hearing. Levels of reality tend to shift around here."

The figure raises their arm and points at the one who will go first.

1. It's me.
2. It's Jenny.
3. It's Sir Emelie.
4. It's the merchant (whose name I soon learn is Rudagar).
5. It's Cardinal Dracula.

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