Chapter 14
The First Test
“All you need to know about life can be learned from the trees,” Grandpa Jovie once told Annalise with his usual starry spark. “The way the wind blows and the branches bend with it, this is love.”
Then her grandma Thessaly added in her chipper voice, “That’s right. Strong trees don’t stay down; they always spring back up.”
Grandma Frida jumped in next and stroked Annalise’s hair. “The dead parts fall away, my love, and always, new shoots grow at the scar.”
Grandpa Hugo smiled, warm as a cat in sunlight. “Our lives are reflected in trees, Annalise. What we leave behind becomes the soil that fertilizes who we can become.”
Standing in the Fate Spinner’s courtyard in a gale of dead black leaves, this memory of long-lost love was exhumed from the well of time like so many restless ghosts. Annalise studied the four dark corridors, and the trees arching over each, and wondered if she was strong enough to become like these trees. Someone who stood strong, even in the face of the Fate Spinner.
“Ah,” a craggy, deep-as-roots voice spoke. Annalise jumped. One of the crooked trees framing the entrances sprang to life. “We the trees are honored that you dreamers are here.”
The knotty eyes of their bark opened. Their roots ripped from the platform of stone. Blocks unsettled, shaking loose from their foundation. The eight trees stretched their limbs, herding Nightingale and Bowie, Mister Edwards and Annalise toward the center of the ancient court.
Annalise’s heart beat out of control as the trees roared as one. “Inside the labyrinth’s walls, all are equal!” Black leaves blustered in sudden winds. Their hair whipped and snapped with each of the tree’s words. “The Fate Spinner holds no influence here. Your every decision and destiny are yours to make. For better or worse, the Fate Spinner cannot help or hinder you. Here,” the trees howled, “you are on your own.”
The largest tree narrowed its knotted eyes at Mister Edwards. “Even you, young fox. You’ve run this labyrinth before but will find no mercy within its walls.” It drew closer to him, extending one sharpened limb an inch from his panicked chest. “This is your last chance. Fail . . . and you will be welcome here no more.”
Nightingale and Bowie huddled together. Annalise pulled a traumatized Mister Edwards close. Everything around her shook.
Another tree, plump and bent at the middle, angled its hardwood eyes at each dreamer. “Those who seek the labyrinth must first choose one of four paths,” the tree bellowed in a childlike voice. “The first choice, the Path of Loneliness, faces north. The second, the Path of Hopelessness, south. The third, the Path of Suffering, lies to the east. And the last”—it giggled—“is my personal favorite: the fourth way, the Path of Illusion.” The tree aimed a stout limb westward. “The last path is the shortest, but don’t let that fool you. It might prove more dangerous than the rest.”
A tall, pencil-thin tree groaned slow and deep from their left. “Inside each of these paths hide four smaller passageways known as the Gates of Doubt, Rejection, Panic, and Death. They will appear to you in this order and contain many surprises within. You must pass through each each of these smaller gates in turn and defeat all that stands in your way to reach the labyrinth’s end and win your dreams.” It leaned closer and whispered like a secret. “Some rooms tucked deep within the maze house deadly creatures of legend, which, when defeated, bestow rewards that have never been found. Rewards of magic that will help guide you toward the labyrinth’s end.”
The dreamers glanced at one another with dreams in their eyes.
The shortest tree spoke next, blowing piles of black leaves when it flapped its limbs dramatically and announced in a high operatic voice, “No matter which path you choose, be forewarned! The walls have been known to change depending on the decisions you make, and only one path leads to the labyrinth’s end.” The tree cackled and coughed and leaves sprayed everywhere. “Oh dear, pardon me! He-hem. MOST IMPORTANT,” it bellowed, “if you should die within the Fate Spinner’s maze, you’ll become imprisoned for eternity as a ghost. Or”—it tittered in a terrible, high-pitched voice—“something much worse.”
Night wolves howled, closer than before. Annalise’s nerves prickled as if she’d chomped ice. Their cries reminded her again of her parents. Had she seen them on that strange train of wolves, or had it been her imagination? Were they somewhere inside this maze? If so . . . which path had they chosen?
The last tree to speak appeared to be ancient. It bore a carved wooden beard that stretched to its gnarled root-feet, and it hadn’t moved until now. “Choose your paths, young ones,” the ancient tree said. “Or the labyrinth will choose for you.” The trees bowed to the dreamers, and together, returned to their designated paths.
Cold wind scourged through the courtyard like a haunted symphony, rattling Annalise’s nerves and shaking her bones.
Annalise didn’t like the sounds of any of the paths, but path four would be her choice. It would be bad luck not to choose it—wouldn’t it?
Mister Edwards rose on his wobbly hind legs and gestured at the third path—the Path of Suffering. “That’s the one I chose last time.” His shoulders drooped. “The one where I lost Mister Amoureux, the path I know leads to Dreamland.” He lifted his muzzle and sniffed. “Yes. That’s the right way.”
Nightingale and Bowie, arguing quietly among themselves, stepped forward. They nodded at Annalise and the fox. “Good luck,” they said, then each bounded toward different paths—Nightingale to the third (Suffering), Bowie to the first (Loneliness).
Mister Edwards tugged Annalise’s sleeve nervously, leading her toward the third path. “Come on, there’s no time to waste.”
Annalise followed automatically, peering into every opening as the trees watched. Each gaped square and black, ominous and cold. None gave any sign of what horrors it held in store.
“Wait.” Annalise stopped halfway to path three, the mark on her big hand burned hotter the closer she drew. “What if you don’t remember the way? What if the passageways have changed, like the trees said?”
The fox jittered and stroked his fluffy black tail. “Mister Amoureux and I studied the patterns of the maze. I know every creature that awaits us through path three. And . . . I know how to beat them.” He fluffed up proudly. “Plus, foxes are excellent trackers. I can still smell Mister Amoureux’s footprints from when we were here last. If the walls have changed, I’ll still be able to find my way. Please, Miss Meriwether, I’ve done this already and I can do it again. I beg you to trust me.”
Running her braid through her nice hand, Annalise regarded the black fox. His eyes were desperate for her to believe him. “Are you one hundred percent sure, Mister Edwards?”
“Yes.” He nodded quickly. “Positive.”
A not-rightness wriggled in her belly. Her cursed hand struck with a sharp pain and pulled her toward path four—though, she didn’t know if her monster was trying to help her or trying to follow the enchantress to whom it belonged.
A sudden thought struck Annalise. Maybe the book Muse had given her could tell them more about the paths? Annalise went to pull the book from her pocket—but the book was gone! She quickly checked her other pocket just in case, but it wasn’t there either.
Oh no. Did she lose it when she fell from the train? Muse had told her to keep it close, but she’d forgotten it and lost it and messed everything up.
How could I be so careless?
“Miss Meriwether,” the fox asked. “Are you . . . having second thoughts?”
Annalise twisted her braid, eyes darting, breath coming as fast as her worry-thoughts. She didn’t know how to answer Mister Edwards. Which path should they choose? One wrong choice and everything she’d done to get here would be wasted. Like the pain she’d caused her parents. What would they think of her if she’d done all this only to lose?
Mister Edwards watched her carefully, brow furrowed. Annalise didn’t want to make him upset. But four was her nu
mber. She’d never not followed it.
On the other hand, the reason she’d asked Mister Edwards to join her was because he knew the way out of the labyrinth. Should she listen to her instincts or her new friend? This might be the biggest decision of Annalise’s life and she didn’t know what to do.
Annalise tapped her fingers on her thigh.
Four, four, four, four.
Four walls to break to escape her fate.
There could be no other way.
“I’m sorry, Mister Edwards,” Annalise answered at last. “I think I need to choose path four—the Path of Illusion. It might be the wrong choice, but it’s one I need to make or I’ll feel unlucky the entire time.” Annalise stroked her hair and met his grief-stricken face. “I hope I didn’t upset you. And I understand if you need to go your own way.”
Mister Edwards glanced at his stump and sighed. “I had four legs the last time. I’m not sure if I’d make it through the Path of Suffering alone.” He paced, worrying the fur at his tail. “So,” he whispered, “if it’s okay, I’d rather stay with you. Maybe with your unique gifts”—he glanced at her hidden hand—“and my knowledge of the maze, we can make it through path four and find our way together.”
Annalise brightened. “Really?” She hugged Mister Edwards fast. “That’s wonderful! Maybe we’ll do more than make it out alive. Maybe,” she said, leading the black fox west toward path four, “we’ll get everything we’ve ever dreamed of.”
A white blur with whiskers, a top hat, and a wink peeked through path four.
Muse!
“Come, Mister Edwards!” Annalise cried, more confident than ever.
“Right behind you,” the fox replied with a cautious smile.
“Remember,” the trees said at their backs. “Fate has no dominion here, or inside the labyrinth. You are your own captains, the sole authors of your scripts.” They bowed. Their black leaves shook as the tree guardians bid them farewell. “Beware, be safe, and may the magic of dreams be yours!”
The bars over the other three passageways closed with three creaks and a clang. The eyes of the trees deadened, their feet rooted back in place, animated no more.
Annalise and Mister Edwards stepped into the Path of Illusion.
Behind them, a murder of black crows screamed.
Chapter 15
Into Path Number Four
Annalise was used to darkness. Not the darkness of the perpetual night. Not the slick, sour shadows that lurked under her bed. Not the steaming black smoke that seeped from her cursed hand and did bad things on the Fate Spinner’s behalf. Not these, but the darkness that grew in her mind, continually dragging her down. This sort of dark-gathering was poisonous. For once the dark thoughts began, they barreled through the channels of her brain, and there was very little she could do to stop them.
A wall of mossy stone rearranged behind their backs, locking them in. The bloodred moon cast ugly shadows over the towering walls, spilling at her feet like living things ready to grab her ankles and drag her between the stones. Sounds muted in the cold, stale air. The walls felt like they were closing in. Fear burst in Annalise like an exploding balloon of black ink and painted her insides with claustrophobic dread.
She’d seen Muse before entering the Path of Illusion but couldn’t find him now.
Annalise and Mister Edwards squished closer together. He seemed just as scared. Annalise squinted into the darkness ahead wishing again she hadn’t lost the book.
Within the endless corridor, everything looked the same.
“Was the third path this foreboding, Mister Edwards?” Annalise forced her feet forward over the ivy vines—black, heart-shaped, and razor sharp—crisscrossing the path. She hoped she hadn’t made the wrong choice by going against Mister Edwards. Her big hand hummed with an excited, painless energy, the thrum of a magnet that pulled.
The black fox slunk to the floor and sniffed. “This is . . . similar.” Red moonlight bathed the left-side wall; darkness hid the right. All the crows, black and white, had abandoned them. Everything cinched down to silence. “I smell danger and fear—and magic. Trickles of each left behind from those who traveled this way before.”
Annalise curled her hair around her finger four times. If her mom and dad did follow her here, would they choose path four, knowing it would be the one Annalise would pick? “One of my dad’s favorite poets wrote the best way out is always through,” Annalise told Mister Edwards, trying to stay hopeful. “I guess all we can do is keep moving forward. Right?”
Mister Edwards cast quick glances over his shoulders. “Yes. You might be right.”
After several dead ends, they arrived at a crossroads. Each way was identical. Walls tall as hundred-year oaks, stone blocks dressed in moss, and ivy more barbed wire than vines, one heading left, the other, right.
“Which way do you think, Mister Edwards?” Annalise asked, stroking her hair and counting (one-two-three-four).
From the corridor to the right, the scent of faerie blossoms from apple-berry trees and a hint of freshly cut grass drifted forward on a soft breeze. Annalise closed her eyes and leaned into the summery scents she never got to experience at home. It smelled divine and she relaxed instantly.
From the path to the left steeped the scents of black licorice and midnight-star spice, both embodying the earthy musk of dark magic. It smelled dangerous. Deadly.
The broken black heart of Annalise’s big palm tugged and squirmed as if asking to go right. Usually, if given a choice of left or right, Annalise chose the right of things. Right just always seemed so much nicer than left. But her cursed hand choosing right made Annalise suspicious.
Even though it had shot flames at the Fate Spinner earlier, it had hurt Annalise for years before that. How could she trust it?
Still, she would rather go right than left.
Mister Edwards sniffed the air of each path, ears swiveling. After ruminating on the hall to the left, he answered. “Either way is terrible. But I smell a connection ahead that might just intersect with path three.” He sighed with relief. “I’m afraid right is the way to go.”
“Well . . . wonderful,” Annalise said, not sure if she should be relieved or worried. She smiled anyway and cinched her cursed hand tighter. “Right has never steered me wrong before. Maybe we’ll even find one of those rooms the trees were talking about? The ones with the hidden rewards?”
“Maybe,” Mister Edwards answered warily. “But Mister Amoureux and I almost won without finding any rewards, so I wouldn’t worry about them.”
Annalise stepped into the perfumed corridor leading right, and Mister Edwards followed. As she pondered what the rewards could be, the passageway closed behind them.
Immediately, a sign wound out of the ivy overhead, strung between the labyrinth walls in a beam of moonlight:
The Gate of Doubt.
Annalise and Mister Edwards shared a foreboding look.
“The trees mentioned this gate,” said Annalise. “Have you any idea what we might find ahead, Mister Edwards?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know exactly, since Mister Amoureux and I originally chose path three. But I imagine, since it’s the Gate of Doubt, the labyrinth will try to make us question everything we ever thought true. Make us experience different horrors, depending on our fears, and try to separate us. And this being the Path of Illusion, we might each see things that may or may not be real. But no matter what happens, you mustn’t believe what the labyrinth tells you,” Mister Edwards said urgently. “No matter where we are in Fate’s Labyrinth, something will try to stop us.”
Haunted moans leaked from the corridor walls.
“What’s that?” Annalise asked, peering in every direction. But Mister Edwards was too busy following his nose up the long, dappled corridor to hear her. “Mister Edwards?”
Suddenly, ghosts poured through the cracks between stones and surrounded Annalise.
“You killed us!” the ghosts screamed. “Sealed our fates.”
“The Spinner of Dreams hates people like you.”
Annalise froze. She recognized their ghostly faces. They were Carriwitchet’s townsfolk, those who’d died thanks to her curse.
The specters floated closer, illuminating the corridor with an eerie glow. They were cold as wet earth as they pushed against her. “M-m-mister Edwards?” The metallic taste of panic rose. “Where are you?”
The ghosts of the townspeople shrieked and shoved and glared. “Good thing you ate that colorful candy; the stink of it in your gullet led us straight to you!”
From somewhere ahead, Mister Edwards screamed. Annalise could just see him through the spectral bodies, bolting up the corridor as if possessed. Her body thrummed with adrenaline. “Mister Edwards, come back!” When she could no longer see her friend, Annalise didn’t think—she ran.
The spirits laughed and gave chase.
Slipping over mossy ground and crooked stones, Annalise skidded around the next bend and found Mister Edwards. Stooped in a shaft of red light, growling and glaring at shadows, the black fox batted at his fur as if it crawled with spiders. “Do you see her?” he asked frantically, eyes red with the moon. “GET HER AWAY FROM ME!”
“Who do you see, Mister Edwards?” When Annalise reached him, more specters closed in. She ignored their nasty remarks and foul stench and helped her friend to stand. “I don’t know what you see, but we can’t stay here. Let’s go together.”
They took off down the corridor, side by side. The ghosts clung to Annalise like wet blankets as they twisted through the maze. Mister Edwards thrashed as they ran, crying out in desperate pain.
“You know that fox doesn’t like you, right?” said the ghost of Emanda Shoebert, with her long silver hair, rotting teeth, and bulging eyes, floating an inch from Annalise’s face. “He’s here to use you for your evil hand, he is.”
Ivor, Emanda’s bald husband, pushed his hideous wife out of the way. “That’s right, you devil. The fox sees the horned monster within you and wants it for himself!”
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