Amelsh hurried down the hall clutching a stack of blueprints under his arm. He checked the watch on his thin green wrist. Only a minute late. It could have been much worse. The blueprints were supposed to be ready two days ago. But in typical fairy fashion, the team in the design department had spent a few days arguing over the merits of which color ink to use on the plans. After that, they’d tried to edit the content of the plans several times, and Amelsh had to spend a great many hours redoing work he’d already completed.
The rooms in the Department of the Capital counted up as he passed. 1101, 1103, 1105. He took a deep breath as he approached 1111 at a big juncture of 3 main hallways. The door pointed out from a corner, cut along with its frame from a rich, dark wood. Amelsh felt his translucent wings flutter just a little from nerves. He paused in front of the door, took a deep breath to prepare himself, and then entered.
“Well that’s just silly.”
“Yes, it is silly how easy it would be to beat you.”
“Unless you tie me to the starting line, there’s no way you’d win.”
Inside the meeting room, three other fairies had already begun the meeting in the traditional way. One had made a baseless boast about the other, and now they were arguing over the relative merits of said boast. Tleyu was the youngest member of the Capital Relocation Steering Committee, and he’d evidently made some kind of provocation toward Tairs. The former actor had been named Committee Chair for the upcoming relocation. As they argued, they threw a small ball back and forth.
The last member of the committee was Ynnel, a congressional Austere and one of the Fairy government’s elder statesmen. She had been through a dozen relocations in her life, yet still remained an awesome force for fairy diplomacy at over 150 years old. It was no secret to anyone who actually wielded the power around the capital relocation project, regardless of which committee member held the title of Chair.
She nodded to Amelsh as he walked around the big table in the meeting room’s center. He set the rolled up blueprints on the table and pointed at the other two, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Footrace,” Ynnel answered with a shake of her head.
“You really think that?” Tleyu asked with a half-sneer.
“Tleyu, everyone thinks that,” Tairs goaded in reply.
The younger fairy scoffed. “How could everyone think anything about it when we only just brought it up five minutes ago?” He tossed the ball back.
“Word gets around fast.” Tairs caught the ball and shrugged.
“Faster than you, sure, but that’s not really saying all that much.”
That did the trick. Tairs dropped the ball on the table and spread his arms. His wings followed suit and vibrated with energy.
“Ok, you want to do this?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now,” Tairs said. He pointed to the door. “In the hallway, to the next junction and back.”
“Remember you asked for this,” Tleyu said, leaning down to untie his shoes. “Shoes off. Barefoot race to the next junction and back. First to touch the 1111 door wins.”
Tairs hopped onto the table and began to untie his own shoes.
“Fellas,” Ynnel said in her unhurried, dulcet tone. “Maybe we sort out how to move an entire city before we decide which one of you is a bigger moron?”
Both men swung their heads at her, each with a shoe in his hand. Tairs even went as far as opening his mouth, ready to counter. But that wasn’t really done with Ynnel. But giving up at this point would be seen as ceding victory. So instead of replacing their shoes, they both nodded and sat down with one shoe on and one in hand.
“Thank you,” she said pleasantly. “Amelsh, you have collected the blueprints.”
“I have. It took the design crew a bit longer than I’d expected, so I haven’t had a chance to review them yet.”
“Well let’s all be surprised together then,” Ynnell said and gestured for him to begin.
Every ten years, the capital of all Fairydom was moved. There were a variety of tribes in the fairy population, and they had fought for centuries. It was in their nature. Three hundred years ago, a tribal leader with political acumen far beyond his contemporaries had consolidated the tribes into a single government. In order to keep the peace among the various factions, he’d established the idea that the Fairy Capital should not be static.
So every ten years, the entire city moved. Every man, woman & child packed up their house. Pets were crated, couches shrink-wrapped, grimoires and the ingredients needed for their spells were collected and transported by the Magi council. Nothing remained but the bones of the city itself, and even those only lasted a few weeks until the demolition crews came to wipe them from existence.
Inside the Fairy government, it was understood that a place on the Capital Relocation Steering Committee was an important stepping stone. Ynnel, who maintained her Chair position on many other committees, had always kept herself a member of the Steering committee without taking its lead. She was regarded as something of a kingmaker, and many former Chairs of this committee had gone on to high profile, powerful positions in her time.
Amelsh felt his heart flutter, and it was all he could do to keep it from showing in his wings. He laid out the long rolls and sifted through until he got the right one. It was marked Main Thoroughfare – Ashbern. This was a big moment, and he rushed to unfurl the blueprint and clip it into place on the table. It laid out flat, and the other three leaned over to look at his plans.
Tairs and Tleyu both burst into laughter.
“What the hell is that?”Tairs asked.
“It’s so angular and straight and…” Tleyu seemed to think for a moment before he finished with, “Human.”
The blueprint for the Ashbern was based on a star-shaped grid. The new capital location was in a valley surrounded by low, rounded mountains. According to Amelsh’s design, the government buildings would be start in the center of the star and run north along one avenue. The Ashbern, the city’s major road and the only road name that was required to move with the city, ran from east to west through the center of the star.
Six other avenues ran out from the center of the star, running North, South, NNW, NNE, SSW, & SSE. Every block that radiated out from the star’s center was done in a concentric circle. Not quite circles, actually, as they connected at angles to the large avenues.
It was an elegant design, sophisticated in a way the fairy capital had never been. Amelsh had spent months on the design, using topographical information from the site. Fairies had a tendency to maintain a lax attitude toward almost everything, and topographical maps didn’t actually exist in their culture. He’d had to con a few humans into doing it for him.
“You can’t possibly have thought this would work,” Tairs said, attempting to sound patrician but succeeding only in coming off snarky.
“Fairies don’t design like this. The tradition has always been to pick the location for the Capitol building and the Ashbern,” Tleyu pointed out. “The roads and neighborhoods will sort themselves out during construction.”
“Well I think some design is necessary,” Tairs countered. “Completely winging it isn’t always the best course.”
“It’s a valley without much foliage. There’s hardly any obstacles,” Tleyu said.
Amelsh bit back his anger and dug through the pile of rolled up papers. He found a big photograph, pulled it open and clipped it into place. It showed the current capital from above, an image from some intrepid fairy photographer. The Ashbern wound up a hill, weaving right and left over uneven terrain as if it hadn’t a care in the world.
“This is the current Ashbern,” Amelsh said. “Traffic is a mess, and visiting dignitaries routinely get lost and miss meetings. If a vehicle breaks down on the wrong side road, it’s often abandoned as it would cost more to tow it out than to buy another one.”
“Oh, it’s not all doom and gloom,” Tairs responded. “I see this photo doesn’t show the Capitol building or the highland parks around it. That’s this city’s best part.”
“I agree. If we’re working on designs for the new site, we should try to match that as closely as possible. I can take a stab at it.” Tleyu looked to Ynnel, hoping for an instruction to take more responsibility.
“Why do you look at her?” Tairs said, offended. “I’m the Chair.”
“Right. Of course,” Tleyu said without conviction. “Well, can I?”
“I think it’s probably best if I take the next stab at it.”
“You’re saying you can design better than me?”
“Well I think that’s obvious,” Tairs answered. “Wouldn’t even bet on it. The money guys would arrest me for fixing.”
“I think I hear a challenge in there.”
“I think you do. Capitol building and Ashbern design by the next meeting,” Tairs said, glaring at Tleyu.
For a long moment, they both stared each other down, wings flapping slowly. Then at once, they bent over, desperate to shove their loose shoe back to their foot. They finished almost as one, and both rushed for the door.
“Meeting adjourned!” Tairs yelled as he put a shoulder into Tleyu just as the younger fairy opened the door. With a whoop of triumph, the Chair dashed out of the room first with Tleyu hot on his heels.
Amelsh deflated as the Steering Committee Chair rushed from the room without a single kind word about this plans. It had all been a waste. All that time and effort.
Ynnel stood without hurry and walked around the table to stand beside Amelsh. She looked at the star-design blueprint, then to the photograph, and back. She was quiet for a long time. More than once Amelsh opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think what he might say.
“This took a lot of time,” she said after a silence long enough to nearly tear Amelsh’s frayed nerves.
“Oh it wasn’t too…” Amelsh started, but then he figured it didn’t really matter anyway. “Yes. It did.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I thought it might make more sense.”
“Has life as a fairy ever struck you as making a whole lot of sense?”
He chuckled. “Not really.”
“So I’d like you to answer my question,” Ynnel said kindly. “Why?”
Amelsh hesitated. The reasons behind all his effort and work were unusual. In all the centuries that the capital had flitted from one end of Fairydom to the other, the city had never had the sort of comprehensive design plan that he’d put together.
“We do the same thing,” he said eventually. “Every ten years, we put up a building and pave a road. Nothing else has a moment’s thought. And I think that’s on purpose. I think it’s done because no one wants to put in the time and effort to something impermanent. And I thought that, just maybe, if we could give everyone a city that made sense, that they could grow into, they might put in more effort on their own. And then maybe we wouldn’t have to leave in ten years.”
“The law says we have to relocate.” Ynnel infected her point with the faintest prompt.
“That law was written a few centuries ago. We aren’t a tribal people any longer. Our disagreements back then ended in war and bloodshed.” He gestured toward the door and the rest of the committee somewhere beyond. “Now they end in footraces.”
Ynnel smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Very astute.”
She gave Amelsh’s shoulder a soft pat. He thought it was an encouraging gesture, and unduly sweet from someone as powerful as Ynnel. She had no reason to be kind to an upstart with a wild idea.
“Thank you,” he said. “I can take another pass with less structure. Maybe we can do it in small steps and try again in ten years.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. She unclipped the blueprint, rolled it up and set it back on the pile. “This is our new city. I’ll get the others to come around.”
Confusion on Amelsh’s face quickly morphed into comprehension.
“Impermanence was been a hallmark of our lives for generations,” Ynnel said as she collected her things. “And so it will be again. Our lackadaisical approach to capital design can also be impermanent. Everything changes. So does this. From impermanence to something lasting.”
She slipped on her jacket. With a small smile, she made for the door.
“Go celebrate. You just designed the first permanent fairy capital.”
“But, the law…”
Ynnel nodded and smiled. She opened the door and walked out as she said, “Everything changes.”
The Tall Tale Year 