What would you do, if the fate of the world rested in your hands?
Megilat ha Shual (The Fox's Tale)
It was dark outside. The lights in the backyard eventually flickered on, having been set on a timer earlier that summer. Carrie, Lindsay, and Rebecca sat in a ring on the grass in silence, listening to Adom tell his tale.
“When my world was first formed,” the fox began, “it was beautiful, vibrant, full of light and song. Until quite recently, none of this had changed. Of course, we have built cities and towns. Forests have been cut down, and others have since been planted. We have grown in numbers, and many things have evolved. Through all the changes, however, one thing has remained constant: the music that we played. Oh, how the music filled our days! It filled the land and our very souls. We were happy then. Every day was filled with joy and laughter.
“Maybe it is merely my desire to only remember the good in those times. Do not mistake me, for I know we were no utopia. We did have our problems. We did commit our share of mistakes, have our faults. Not everybody in my world strove for the betterment of society. I know it is so in your world as well. There were some in our world that strove to do wicked deeds. Some were even worse. I know of some…well, far be it for me to speak wickedly against another.” Adom shook his head sadly and continued to speak. “I do not know what possessed him to do what he has done. In my world, there are two kings. One who is regarded as a king of light. He rules all with his beloved queen by his side. All love him. All respect him. The other is the king of what you may call demons. It is he whom I speak of now. We know him by the name of Asmodeus.”
Rebecca’s eyes went wide. “Asmodeus?” she asked incredulously. “I know that name! My bubbie told me stories about him. She said he was a… a…” she struggled to find the word. Carrie could see her go through it in her head. “She called him a dybbuk!” Rebecca exclaimed.
Carrie thought the word sounded somewhat familiar. She remembered her own bubbie warning her of something like that when she was younger. The way Rebecca pronounced it as ‘di-book’ was slightly different than how she remembered her bubbie saying it in her Polish accent, so she was not certain it was the same thing.
Adom nodded. “I had not thought anyone here would remember such stories. Yes, Rebecca, dybbuks are a form of demon. Long ago, your world and mine were more like one. There was magic here. Fantastic creatures roamed these very lands.” Adom paused, looking around in disappointment. “But people stopped believing in such things. It became impractical to spend time on magic, on speaking to animals, to plants, to magical beings. It became odd to spend any time on anything that was not deemed common sense. Now our two worlds exist almost as two entirely separate entities. My world is now in peril. Asmodeus has done something that threatens our very existence. I and others know this to be true, yet I do not know of any reason for him to do so.
“My world’s neshama, its spirit, is embodied in the music I spoke of earlier. Every day was filled with it. Every night, we would fall asleep listening to it. But now it has been silenced. This silence is stifling us. Without the music, our land is dying. And with its death, we all will die as well.”
Adom lay down, his head cradled in his tiny paws. Carrie, Lindsay, and Rebecca looked at each other. Adom seemed so hopeless, so helpless. Their hearts ached for his plight. Yet they did not know what they could possibly do to help him.
“The music came from one source,” Adom continued. “A violin. This violin was once played by a man named Elijah. After some time, the music became a part of the strings themselves, and the violin took on a life of its own.”
“When you say Elijah, do you mean the prophet?” Rebecca asked.
“Some would agree with you, still others would not. The tales surrounding this man are as countless as the years he lived. But this is not important for your quest. What you need to know is this: Asmodeus has stolen the strings from the violin, thus silencing the instrument permanently. We need you to get them back.” Adom sighed, exhaustion written plainly across his features. The three girls could see the tension settled in the muscles of his small shoulders as he lay upon the grass.
Lindsay gazed at him, wanting desperately to pick him up in her arms and to tell him it would all be all right. “Why don’t you just make new strings?” she asked, hoping to be helpful. “Surely there is some instrument maker in your land who can restring a violin.”
Adom raised his head off his forepaws. “These stolen strings are the only ones that can give life to our world. The music is written upon them. They are what contain the melody required. They are what contain the magic, if you will.”
“I’m sorry if I seem insensitive here,” Rebecca said. She seemed to have been drinking in all Adom had told them, and now she had some questions. “Why can’t Elijah go and get his own strings back? I mean, he’s probably as magical as the instrument, with the lifespan of the world and all. I’m sure he’s a better choice for the job than a group of silly teenage girls.”
Lindsay and Carrie exchanged a look. What Rebecca was saying made sense to them. As exciting as this quest sounded, neither of them really felt up to the job.
Adom nodded. “You have every right to question my choice. It shows caution and intelligence. Both are commendable assets.”
Rebecca blushed deeply. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“I have clearly not said all I should have,” Adom continued. “Elijah has been gone for countless years. The instrument has been playing itself in his absence. We have tried sending others from our world to retrieve the strings. Thus far, none have returned. We know now that Asmodeus has cast enchantments around his castle against all from the kingdom of light. We cannot enter his domain. This is just conjecture, but we—myself and the king—feel that Asmodeus would never expect people from your world to ever come to our aid. Asmodeus lost faith in your people eons ago. Which is why I came here and found you.”
Adom looked Carrie right in the eye. She held her breath, not wanting to break away from his gaze. Could she possibly live up to his expectations? It was a lot of responsibility. At that moment, she was not so sure she could handle it.
“Can I please have a moment to discuss this with my friends?” Carrie asked Adom.
“Certainly,” Adom replied. “But know that time is short.”
She watched as Adom walked a little ways away. “Guys?” Carrie looked at Rebecca and Lindsay. “What do you think we should do?” She tried to gauge their enthusiasm, their skepticism, their willingness to participate.
“I’m in,” Lindsay said, smiling.
“I don’t see how I could ever turn my back on someone in trouble,” Rebecca said. “Of course I’ll help.”
“You really think we can do this?” Carrie asked. “It seems simple enough on the surface: go and get some string.”
“Strings,” Lindsay corrected. “And they’re liable to be catgut. Most violin strings are.”
“Whatever,” Carrie said. “Anyway, it seems easy until you factor in this demon king. This could be dangerous.” She knew she was going to go regardless, but she wanted her friends to be sure. She didn’t want them to feel as if they were being pressured into anything.
“Of course it will,” Rebecca said. “If you read any story, all quests are dangerous. That’s kind of the thrill. I can’t believe any of this is real! It’s kind of awesome.”
“Yeah,” Lindsay added. “It totally is.”
Carrie nodded, relieved her friends were on the same page. “Okay, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.” She stood and shouldered her backpack. She saw Rebecca and Lindsay also preparing to leave. “Lead the way,” she called to Adom.
Adom approached the same bush through which he had appeared. “Follow me,” he said and vanished among the foliage.
Carrie stared at the small collection of leaves. How could she possibly fit through that? She hesitated, and one of her hands sought her necklace. She gave a small shrug and got down on all fours. As she approached the bush she heard her dog barking hysterically from the house. “Bye, Finn,” she whispered and crawled forward.
Was she shrinking? Was the bush getting larger? Whatever was happening was clearly magic. Carrie crawled onward. Branches and leaves caught in her hair and tore at her pack. The tunnel (for she was now sure there was a tunnel in that collection of twigs) seemed to go on forever. Carrie was keenly aware of everything around her. Her eyes sharply saw each leaf in stark detail, the way the light filtered through the holes in the foliage and dappled everything in a mossy green. She heard every breaking branch under her knees and hands with a sharp, resounding crack that seemed to stab the silence in the air around her. She felt their sharp ends scratch her hands through the velvety moss that carpeted the ground she crawled over. Her lungs breathed in the moist air—cleaner than the air of cities and suburbs and more real, more nourishing than anything she was used to. She smelled rain, grass, and soil, all of which smelled natural, lacking man-made smells from home. The overabundance of oxygen made her head heavy; her heart felt as if it would burst.
Just as she thought she would never reach the end of the tunnel, she abruptly found herself kneeling under a night sky, surrounded by a primeval forest, the likes of which she had never seen before. Carrie stood up on shaky legs, speechless, in another world.
It was dark outside. The lights in the backyard eventually flickered on, having been set on a timer earlier that summer. Carrie, Lindsay, and Rebecca sat in a ring on the grass in silence, listening to Adom tell his tale.
“When my world was first formed,” the fox began, “it was beautiful, vibrant, full of light and song. Until quite recently, none of this had changed. Of course, we have built cities and towns. Forests have been cut down, and others have since been planted. We have grown in numbers, and many things have evolved. Through all the changes, however, one thing has remained constant: the music that we played. Oh, how the music filled our days! It filled the land and our very souls. We were happy then. Every day was filled with joy and laughter.
“Maybe it is merely my desire to only remember the good in those times. Do not mistake me, for I know we were no utopia. We did have our problems. We did commit our share of mistakes, have our faults. Not everybody in my world strove for the betterment of society. I know it is so in your world as well. There were some in our world that strove to do wicked deeds. Some were even worse. I know of some…well, far be it for me to speak wickedly against another.” Adom shook his head sadly and continued to speak. “I do not know what possessed him to do what he has done. In my world, there are two kings. One who is regarded as a king of light. He rules all with his beloved queen by his side. All love him. All respect him. The other is the king of what you may call demons. It is he whom I speak of now. We know him by the name of Asmodeus.”
Rebecca’s eyes went wide. “Asmodeus?” she asked incredulously. “I know that name! My bubbie told me stories about him. She said he was a… a…” she struggled to find the word. Carrie could see her go through it in her head. “She called him a dybbuk!” Rebecca exclaimed.
Carrie thought the word sounded somewhat familiar. She remembered her own bubbie warning her of something like that when she was younger. The way Rebecca pronounced it as ‘di-book’ was slightly different than how she remembered her bubbie saying it in her Polish accent, so she was not certain it was the same thing.
Adom nodded. “I had not thought anyone here would remember such stories. Yes, Rebecca, dybbuks are a form of demon. Long ago, your world and mine were more like one. There was magic here. Fantastic creatures roamed these very lands.” Adom paused, looking around in disappointment. “But people stopped believing in such things. It became impractical to spend time on magic, on speaking to animals, to plants, to magical beings. It became odd to spend any time on anything that was not deemed common sense. Now our two worlds exist almost as two entirely separate entities. My world is now in peril. Asmodeus has done something that threatens our very existence. I and others know this to be true, yet I do not know of any reason for him to do so.
“My world’s neshama, its spirit, is embodied in the music I spoke of earlier. Every day was filled with it. Every night, we would fall asleep listening to it. But now it has been silenced. This silence is stifling us. Without the music, our land is dying. And with its death, we all will die as well.”
Adom lay down, his head cradled in his tiny paws. Carrie, Lindsay, and Rebecca looked at each other. Adom seemed so hopeless, so helpless. Their hearts ached for his plight. Yet they did not know what they could possibly do to help him.
“The music came from one source,” Adom continued. “A violin. This violin was once played by a man named Elijah. After some time, the music became a part of the strings themselves, and the violin took on a life of its own.”
“When you say Elijah, do you mean the prophet?” Rebecca asked.
“Some would agree with you, still others would not. The tales surrounding this man are as countless as the years he lived. But this is not important for your quest. What you need to know is this: Asmodeus has stolen the strings from the violin, thus silencing the instrument permanently. We need you to get them back.” Adom sighed, exhaustion written plainly across his features. The three girls could see the tension settled in the muscles of his small shoulders as he lay upon the grass.
Lindsay gazed at him, wanting desperately to pick him up in her arms and to tell him it would all be all right. “Why don’t you just make new strings?” she asked, hoping to be helpful. “Surely there is some instrument maker in your land who can restring a violin.”
Adom raised his head off his forepaws. “These stolen strings are the only ones that can give life to our world. The music is written upon them. They are what contain the melody required. They are what contain the magic, if you will.”
“I’m sorry if I seem insensitive here,” Rebecca said. She seemed to have been drinking in all Adom had told them, and now she had some questions. “Why can’t Elijah go and get his own strings back? I mean, he’s probably as magical as the instrument, with the lifespan of the world and all. I’m sure he’s a better choice for the job than a group of silly teenage girls.”
Lindsay and Carrie exchanged a look. What Rebecca was saying made sense to them. As exciting as this quest sounded, neither of them really felt up to the job.
Adom nodded. “You have every right to question my choice. It shows caution and intelligence. Both are commendable assets.”
Rebecca blushed deeply. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“I have clearly not said all I should have,” Adom continued. “Elijah has been gone for countless years. The instrument has been playing itself in his absence. We have tried sending others from our world to retrieve the strings. Thus far, none have returned. We know now that Asmodeus has cast enchantments around his castle against all from the kingdom of light. We cannot enter his domain. This is just conjecture, but we—myself and the king—feel that Asmodeus would never expect people from your world to ever come to our aid. Asmodeus lost faith in your people eons ago. Which is why I came here and found you.”
Adom looked Carrie right in the eye. She held her breath, not wanting to break away from his gaze. Could she possibly live up to his expectations? It was a lot of responsibility. At that moment, she was not so sure she could handle it.
“Can I please have a moment to discuss this with my friends?” Carrie asked Adom.
“Certainly,” Adom replied. “But know that time is short.”
She watched as Adom walked a little ways away. “Guys?” Carrie looked at Rebecca and Lindsay. “What do you think we should do?” She tried to gauge their enthusiasm, their skepticism, their willingness to participate.
“I’m in,” Lindsay said, smiling.
“I don’t see how I could ever turn my back on someone in trouble,” Rebecca said. “Of course I’ll help.”
“You really think we can do this?” Carrie asked. “It seems simple enough on the surface: go and get some string.”
“Strings,” Lindsay corrected. “And they’re liable to be catgut. Most violin strings are.”
“Whatever,” Carrie said. “Anyway, it seems easy until you factor in this demon king. This could be dangerous.” She knew she was going to go regardless, but she wanted her friends to be sure. She didn’t want them to feel as if they were being pressured into anything.
“Of course it will,” Rebecca said. “If you read any story, all quests are dangerous. That’s kind of the thrill. I can’t believe any of this is real! It’s kind of awesome.”
“Yeah,” Lindsay added. “It totally is.”
Carrie nodded, relieved her friends were on the same page. “Okay, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.” She stood and shouldered her backpack. She saw Rebecca and Lindsay also preparing to leave. “Lead the way,” she called to Adom.
Adom approached the same bush through which he had appeared. “Follow me,” he said and vanished among the foliage.
Carrie stared at the small collection of leaves. How could she possibly fit through that? She hesitated, and one of her hands sought her necklace. She gave a small shrug and got down on all fours. As she approached the bush she heard her dog barking hysterically from the house. “Bye, Finn,” she whispered and crawled forward.
Was she shrinking? Was the bush getting larger? Whatever was happening was clearly magic. Carrie crawled onward. Branches and leaves caught in her hair and tore at her pack. The tunnel (for she was now sure there was a tunnel in that collection of twigs) seemed to go on forever. Carrie was keenly aware of everything around her. Her eyes sharply saw each leaf in stark detail, the way the light filtered through the holes in the foliage and dappled everything in a mossy green. She heard every breaking branch under her knees and hands with a sharp, resounding crack that seemed to stab the silence in the air around her. She felt their sharp ends scratch her hands through the velvety moss that carpeted the ground she crawled over. Her lungs breathed in the moist air—cleaner than the air of cities and suburbs and more real, more nourishing than anything she was used to. She smelled rain, grass, and soil, all of which smelled natural, lacking man-made smells from home. The overabundance of oxygen made her head heavy; her heart felt as if it would burst.
Just as she thought she would never reach the end of the tunnel, she abruptly found herself kneeling under a night sky, surrounded by a primeval forest, the likes of which she had never seen before. Carrie stood up on shaky legs, speechless, in another world.