Storybook - Traditional Fairy Tales of Atreia, Vol. 6

The Fairytale Chronicles

Volume 6: The Dancing Children

Come child, let me tell you a story....

Many years ago our world was broken to pieces. Thunder and lightning tore the skies, spreading death and destruction across our world.

This you already know: it was told you even before you were born, ingrained in your psyche by generations of storytellers. We each know what happened that day, and that the cowardly Elyos with their delusions of grandeur were responsible. I have not made this volume to tell that story, but I do wish to put the Cataclysm in the back of your mind as you read the story of The Dancing Children....

Many millions died in the Cataclysm, but some think it they who were blessed that fateful day. Their lives were extinguished in a second, bodies left to float among the wandering rubble of the Abyss, but those that survived were left to starve.

Plants, so used to the Aion Tower's light, were the first to die in the freezing and gloomy darkness. In turn the animals that relied on them grew frail and thin--their death was inevitable. Our ancestors as well soon felt the cold grasp of hunger in their bellies, and all over Asmodae their numbers diminished by the day. The inhabitants of Beluslan Village were no exception.

Each day the adults of this small village went out into their frozen fields, nurturing the few crops which could survive the bleak conditions. Meanwhile, the children who were too young and weak to use the farming tools would walk up to a small nearby hill and make a bonfire to keep warm. One such boy--the smallest among them--was named Marcose.

Marcose's father had died when Marcose was but an infant, and his mother was like any mother: full of worry for her only son. Every day as she worked the fields she would check on Marcose to make sure he was safe, and every morning she would hold him by the shoulders, look him straight in the eye, and repeat "Remember, my son, to never dance! Save your energy, keep warm by the fire, and never EVER dance!"

Every day the adults would work the land, and the children would sit around the bonfire atop the hill watching their parents work, leaning hard into the thundering winds and shielding their eyes from the stinging sands.

The fields produced little, and as the days, weeks and months rolled by the children grew thinner, lighter. But they were like all such children, full of life, energy, and passion. Their nature told them to jump up and run for the horizon for running's sake, to jump for joy, to climb the tallest tree, to play-fight and sing and scream and shout.

But they could not. And so the children grew bored....

One particularly cold day a boy named Saul stood up. At first only his hair, swept to one side, seemed to dance with the wind, but then the rest began to follow: arms, then legs, and then the rest... he began to DANCE.

The other children looked at each other, at first with fear, but then excitement and energy. Each was rooted to the spot, secured by their parents' warnings, but they wanted so badly to jump up and join.

One by one their inhibitions left them: a second child crawled to her feet, linked arms with Saul and began to dance. A third soon joined, and another, and within minutes all the children were dancing around the bonfire, arms linked together.

The children giggled and laughed, whooped and cheered. They laughed at Marcose, and called out to him.

"Come and play Marcose," they said. "It's so much fun!"

But Marcose simply shook his head. His mother's words echoed loudly in his ears.

The children danced every day after that, and they soon left Marcose alone, giggling and cheering as they skipped around nearby hills and fields. Their parents were too exhausted to stop them, too exhausted to see their own children changing.

But Marcose saw.

He saw their bodies grow leaner, saw their skin grow taut, bones prominent on their young faces.

In this fashion an entire month passed, and at the end of that month came another terribly cold day. Marcose was warm enough, wrapped in blankets near the bonfire, but the rest of the children--now light as a feather, without an ounce of fat on them--shivered and cried.

All at once the dancing children jumped to their feet, knowing only one way to keep warm. Linking arms, they ran as one for another hill, and just as the children reached a small dip between two hills--a great gust of wind swept through Beluslan Village.

Marcose crammed shut his eyes against the stinging sands and pulled the blanket tight around him, but even though the winds roared angrily in his ears he still heard the adults of the village, screaming as one. He dared to open his eyes, and so it was that he caught sight of the children as they drifted up, up into the grey sky, thin frames swept away by the powerful northern winds....