by Marissa Burt
The last knot was above Clementia’s cage, a green tangle that pulsed with light. Una groped gently in the air. The threads felt like very fine hairs. Trying to find them was like embroidering something with her eyes shut. When her fingers touched the knot, the enchantment blossomed into brightness. Green flames flickered up from the silky threads.
Just then, there was a deafening blow from the direction of the ballroom.
Una gritted her teeth. She had loosened one of the threads. If she could just tuck the other end under there . . . A drop of sweat stung her eye, and she nearly lost the whole thing.
And then Una had done it. The last cord snapped in her hands, and the green sparks began to flash pink and silver. All of a sudden, Una could see a crackling web of light stretch over each of the sleepers. The hairs on Una’s arms stood up, and she felt the energy in the air like a current of electricity.
The pink and silver sparks had turned into hundreds of loops that now encircled the golden thread. The air felt tense with the pressure. Then, the loops pulled tight, clamping down on the enchantment in one fiery collision. The room went dark. No more shimmering green, no more pink or silver, nothing but black. There was the sound of tiny shifting movements. The rustle of fabric. A yawn. The Muses were waking.
Una squinted into the darkness. She thought that was Virtus pushing back the bricks and sitting up. Clementia was stretching in her cage. Someone was pounding on the inside of the glass coffin. Una’s mouth felt dry as she watched shadows move and rise to standing.
She could see Clementia clearly now. Glimpses of the scene she had witnessed in Alethia’s garden played over in her mind. She thought of the cluster of Muses who had determined the fate of a little baby. The Muses were her family. They were aunts and uncles and they had saved her.
She wasn’t afraid anymore. Soon the Muses were right in front of Una, a line of towering figures. Each of them wore a draped robe that shone faintly in the dark room. Una couldn’t help herself. She found herself on her knees, head bowed. A pair of cool hands touched her cheeks and lifted her up to standing. She was looking at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her dark skin was soft as silk, and her golden eyes looked straight into Una’s.
Una felt that she might see all her secrets in that moment, but all Sophia said was, “Do not bow to us.”
The words had barely left her mouth when there was a clap of thunder, and the stones rumbled beneath their feet.
“The King is here,” Una gasped. “And the Enemy is trying to destroy him.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the Muses sprang into action. Spero had his broadsword out, his muscles taut with readiness. Sophia slung a pouch of arrows over her shoulder and scooped up a silvery bow.
“You have done well, Una,” Alethia said as she tightened the belt around her waist. “Thank you for freeing us.” She clasped Una’s arm. “Now you must prepare yourself to fight for Story. The outcome of this battle will determine all of our endings.”
Chapter 32
Peter clapped his hands over his ears. The sound of booming voices resounded from the balcony, and the bright lights increased the pounding in his skull. Near the thrones, two fiery figures stood surrounded by clouds of swirling colors. One, swathed all in shadow, held something afire. And the other . . . Peter shielded his eyes at the rainbow of colors surrounding him.
The bright figure was looking at Peter, and, for a moment, the confusion cleared. It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over Peter’s head. His sleepiness was instantly gone. His chair began to wobble, and he glanced down at the table. The edges started to waver, like a ripple in a pond, and then the beautiful feast was engulfed in flame. But when Peter stared at it directly, it stood untouched. His chair wriggled beneath him. What is going on?
A serving girl appeared at his side, and reached for Peter with clawed hands. Her face was spreading thin, just like the thrones near the front. It looked like her skin was melting off. The nose stretched until it was no more, and all that was left was a horrible gaping hole where her mouth had been. Peter ducked behind his chair, which now had jagged-looking knives poking out of its surface. Something was dreadfully wrong.
The girl’s face was back in place. She poured a cup of steaming-hot tea and set it on the table, which was now covered in dirt. There were no candles or roses, only cobwebs and shreds of graying cloth. The stench of mildew lay heavy in the air. A tray of molding food rotted, sending up clouds of steaming wetness. Peter whirled back to the servant, who bowed again.
“Tea?” she asked, her mouth moving unnaturally. Her loose skin hung awkwardly from her limp jaw, and her eyes stared sightlessly ahead. “Tea,” she said again.
Peter’s heart hammered in his chest, matching the throbbing in his head. He backed away from the table, upending the tray of spoiled food. It fell with a clang, and sparks of bright light shot through his line of vision. He kept moving, shoving hard to get past the others at his table. What was happening? Where was he? The fetid aroma of spoiled meat filled his nostrils—everything smelled like death.
Peter ran across the room, stumbling by cowboys and Indians, who stood still as statues staring up at the thrones. The stench was fouler here, and Peter fell to his knees. His stomach clenched with each spasm as he retched all over the filthy floor. He wiped a shaky hand across his mouth and got to his feet. In front of him was a table fashioned entirely of bones. The round surface looked exactly like a perfect rib cage, curved maliciously to surround the food.
The muffled silence was broken by the sound of shuffling. A bent man appeared, scraping his way toward Peter, trailing an entourage of flies and bilious scent. His skin looked papery thin, as though it was an ill-fitting garment, and his eyes had a glassy stare.
“Is aught amiss?” the servant asked. His voice was the rough scrape of metal on metal.
The pounding was back in Peter’s skull. His head felt like it was going to explode. “Get away from me!” Peter shouted as the man grabbed his arm. The servant might have looked like a shrunken skeleton, but his grip was steel.
The skin under the man’s chin swayed as he looked shrewdly up at Peter. “Of course, milord,” the man said, bowing slightly. “Right away.” But then he pulled Peter toward him with an evil grin. His grip loosened, and the skeletal face melted into black smoke. That was when Peter remembered his sword. He reached for his weapon. This was no coronation. Under all the enchantment and illusion, Peter could see the truth. This was a deathly feast. And the feasting characters were surrounded by the Enemy’s Taleless. Peter cut through the thing with his sword, and the creature exploded into dust.
Peter looked up at the balcony where he had seen the performers appear for the feast’s entertainment. But that was no performer. Kai stood balanced on the railing, and across from him, the Enemy was crouched over a blazing Scroll.
“Characters of Story,” Kai called out in a loud voice. “Wake up! Shake off the lies of the Enemy!” The truth of what had happened came crashing in on Peter. They had fallen under Duessa’s enchantment. They had been fools, all of them.
Around him, characters were coming out of the spell, their eyes taking in the horror of their deathly feast, their noses awakening to the odor of rotten food. The whole room smelled like mulching leaves, like things better left alone that had been unearthed and uprooted and woken. And there, standing in the middle of the ballroom, was Sam.
“More Taleless are coming,” the cat hissed. “While you humans have been feasting, they’ve been gathering outside.”
Peter could see that Sam was right. The doors of the ballroom were crowded with the half-dead. And wild beasts snarled outside the windows.
From behind Peter, his father sliced the air with his sword. His mother looked like some primal huntress, her hair tangled about her face as she unsheathed her dagger and let out a fierce battle cry. The Westerns at the table next to him had a new light in their eyes, a fury awakened by the memory of how they had
once again been deceived.
The full weight of the Enemy’s lies took Peter’s breath away. The boldness with which he had deceived them. The characters who had been killed to clothe the Taleless. The many more who had simply vanished. The dark things they had done to gain power beyond measure. A cry for justice ripped straight out of his gut. He sprinted toward the nearest Taleless.
Sam was whipped to a frenzy beside him. Peter could hear the cat’s yowls for the animals to attack on one side and his father’s war cry on the other. As the ranks of Taleless collided with the characters, the animals flooded over the crumbling castle walls. The whole room seethed with the battle. A sorcerer stood by the nearest opening. Peter recognized him, though his posture now was much different from when Peter had last seen him arguing with Kai at the inn on Winter’s Eve. The sorcerer held out a wand. It hovered before the remains of the wall for a moment, and then the entire side of the castle blasted into bits.
“For Story!” a Village Maiden screamed, thrusting a club straight up into the air. Her action seemed to rally the rest of the characters, and they rushed out through the castle ruins to meet the Taleless.
“To the Red Lady’s doom!” one of the fairies yelled, and somersaulted off the stone next to Peter, another not far behind. A horde of leprechauns sprinted after them, cursing Duessa as they ran.
In the courtyard, cowboys were wrestling hideous Taleless. An Indian stood with his back to a wall, an arrow nocked in his bow as a rotting shade floated toward him. Then the first of Peter’s allies were upon them. The sorcerer’s wand was out again, shooting flaming fireballs at a pair of black cloaks. And the others sprang into action. Rifle shots mixed with the flash of enchantments. Villains fought alongside Heroes, Ladies, and Moderns, all of them battling back the half-dead creatures the Enemy had created and Duessa’s wild beasts.
Peter was acting on instinct. Ducking the threatening spell. Spinning around and thrusting. His body felt like a machine, each muscle responding to his senses. A rustle of movement behind him. With a well-placed swipe, a hooded figure crumpled to the ground.
Across the way came the scream of a cat’s battle cry, and Peter sliced cleanly through a beast. That one’s for you, Sam. An arm’s length away from him, Professor Thornhill shot a web of light at a line of the Taleless. She barely nodded to Peter as she ran next to him, and when they came upon the next cluster of the half-dead, it was over in a matter of seconds. We’re winning!
The energy of the battle pushed Peter along, and he released the war whoop that was clambering up his throat. Off in the distance he saw Sam atop the great unicorn, and a cluster of humans ran next to them. Everywhere Peter looked, animals fought alongside characters, and, together, they swept the Taleless army away.
Peter wondered if Indy and Snow were still inside that room of death. Then he remembered the girl he had seen on the balcony with Fidelus and Duessa. Una! Peter doubled back toward the ballroom, which was a mistake.
The Taleless found him, and the next moment he was surrounded. Somehow he had been cut off from the rest of the characters. Three of the Taleless circled Peter with curved weapons pointed directly at him. The leader was floating toward Peter, blood dripping from the blade it held in its claws. An unearthly hissing came from its hood. Peter moved backward, his sword out in front of him. He reached down and pulled out the dagger hidden in his boot. If he acted quickly, he could take down one, maybe two of them. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears. He bumped up against the edge of a castle wall. Behind him, the moat dropped out of sight. The Taleless pushed closer, hemming him in with predatory cunning.
Peter’s sword locked with the glistening red one. He swept it aside and kicked hard at the creature’s middle, and his opponent fell backward. Immediately, a second came at him from the right. Peter inched sideways. It took all of his sword skill to keep the flashing red blade at bay. Peter was lost in the dance of the fight, his senses tuned in to every whisper of movement. And then Peter saw his chance. With a flick of his wrist, Peter aimed for the Taleless’s neck, but the thing was fast. With a serpentine grace, it slid to the side, and Peter’s blade caught the edge of its cloak instead. The hood fell back to reveal a shrunken, skeletal face.
Peter stumbled away from it. He was on one knee, the third Taleless a hand’s width from him. He swung wildly with his sword, and it found its mark. But in its dying flails, the creature grabbed the blade and pulled it toward itself. Peter sprawled forward on the ground, his sword ripped out of his hands. One Taleless was destroyed, but the first had recovered from Peter’s kick and was lurching toward him. Peter threw his dagger straight into the hooded opening, and the thing flew back with the force of it.
That left the unhooded one, which was now stalking Peter. Its red blade was out, and it crept forward, an evil shine in its unnatural black eyes. Peter scrambled for his own weapon, but the Taleless used the tip of its blade to flip Peter’s sword up and then caught it in one swift motion. The Taleless held one blade in each bony hand now, and it moved inexorably on. Peter’s heart turned to ice. He crawled backward, fumbling along the ground for a stone, for a stick, for anything to fend off the approaching threat.
The red blade was coming closer. Peter knew there was only a moment left. And then something slammed into the creature’s side, knocking a chunk of rotting flesh off. The Taleless crumpled forward, and a small form darted toward it, striking the Taleless hard on the head with a stick. Peter’s foe crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Peter let out a shaky breath. He was safe. The next second, someone was upon him. Someone light, scrabbling toward him, pinching his arms. Tickling him.
“How’s our brother the Hero now?” Rufus asked. He had both arms around Peter’s neck, giving him a giant bear hug.
Bastian shoved Rufus aside. “Bet you were glad to see us, huh, Peter?”
Peter sat up. “What in the world are you two doing here?”
“Hmmmm,” sniffed Bastian. “How’s that for a thank-you?”
“Thank you,” Peter said with a laugh. “Really. Thank you. But”—he sprang to his feet—“this is a battle. We’ve got to get you somewhere safe.”
“Nowhere is safe. Not while the Enemy’s trying to take over Story,” Rufus said. “At least that’s what Trix said when she brought us here—”
“Some leprechauns came to Bramble Cottage after you left—” Bastian interrupted.
“And Trix had to come find the Resistance.” Rufus shot Bastian a dirty look.
“And we said we wanted to fight the Enemy, even if we are only kids—”
“We left the babies with the really old grandmas,” Rufus said, as though it was something they did every day. “And the rest of us came straight here. Just in time, too, it seems.”
Peter punched his brother in the arm. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Rufus and Bastian said, pummeling him right back.
“Well, look at you,” Peter said. “My brothers. Heroes.”
Chapter 33
The Muses stormed into the ballroom, filling the crumbling hall with dazzling light. Virtus had his bow out, three raven-black arrows fitted into the notch at the center. He let them loose, and they arched over Una to pierce three wild beasts. Every place they hit burst into flame.
One wall was gone, and Una could see all the way out to the drawbridge. Everywhere, characters were fighting. The courtyard had exploded into a tangled mass of battles that spilled across the drawbridge onto the hillside beyond. It was hard to tell who was winning, but Una felt a flicker of hope.
Clementia held a golden trident in one hand and in the other, a wooden shield. She leaped over one of the tables toward the battle raging outside. The sweep of her trident took out two Taleless before they even knew what had happened.
Alethia was already among them, two short swords flashing through the air as she cut her way toward Duessa.
The Enemy was writing something in black flame, the Silver Quill etching burning script ont
o the Scroll of Fire. Una crouched in the ballroom’s doorway. Her father finished with a flourish, and the stones from the castle wall behind him shot toward Kai.
Kai didn’t have a Quill. “Stop.” He spoke in a low voice, and the stones crumbled before his face, falling into a pile of gravel at his feet. “Oh, Fidelus,” he said. “You think you can best me in a battle of words?”
The heat of the Enemy’s spell was suffocating. A blaze of black lightning pierced the air like a twisted sword of tainted fire. Kai blocked it with a wave of his hand.
Fidelus was ready. He scratched a command on the Scroll, and the earth under their feet shook. Every word he wrote was happening in Story.
Smoking craters dotted the ballroom floor where Fidelus’s missiles had found their marks. Duessa’s red cloak fluttered throughout their midst, and her flaming fireballs ricocheted off the remains of the wall. Una rubbed her eyes. It was ridiculous, she knew, but for a minute, Una thought she saw Snow Wotton fighting her way past a pair of Taleless. When Una looked back, Snow was gone.
The ballroom’s ceiling was nearly obliterated, and the blinding battle shattered the night sky. Her father must have written something about the wind, for a great gust was swirling into the room, picking up the skeletal furniture and hurling it toward the King.
Una couldn’t hear the word he said, but Kai spoke, and the furniture began dancing instead, an eerie tune whistling through the hollow bones.
Una’s father gave a loud cry. He took the Quill and slashed his arm a second time. The floor around him glowed with a strange light. Whatever he was conjuring was burning red, pulsing with the same blood color as Duessa’s cloak. Her father stood holding the Quill aloft, his black figure bathed in the red light.