Fate's Fables Special Edition: One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales (Fate's Journey Book 1)

by T. Rae Mitchell

  “Maybe I should go find him,” Fate muttered, her uneasiness increasing as she headed for the door. Just as she touched the door handle, there was a knock. Relief mingled with renewed excitement. Finally. She couldn’t take another lunch bag letdown. Her nerves were already on edge about leaving the safety of Beldereth and moving ahead into the unknown, without the added anxiety of wondering why Finn was taking so long.

  She opened the door fully expecting to see him standing there. It was Rudwor’s large form filling the doorframe instead. “Uh, come in,” she said, her heart thudding out of control when she saw that Finn wasn’t behind him.

  “I came to see you off,” Rudwor said, his deep, booming voice filling the room as he entered. His eyes fixed on the Book of Fables. “So this is the big bad book. Mind if I read the last two fables? My curiosity’s been peaked, for obvious reasons.”

  “You’ll be glad to read that Beldereth’s future looks bright,” she said, keeping her expression neutral to hide her panic and confusion. She’d never let Rudwor see her upset, no matter how flustered she was at the moment. She turned the book’s thick pages to The Lightning Sword. As he read through the story, she paced, chewing her bottom lip.

  “What’s this?” he bellowed all at once. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this treachery?”

  She jumped. His voice had a way of penetrating to the bone. “What treachery?”

  “It says here the royal scryer manipulated everything.” His face was red and turning purple. “The traitor turned on my brother!”

  Fate met his furious gaze head on, unable to keep from shrugging carelessly. “Sorry, I guess it was an oversight.” She glanced at Sithias, who was shaking his head in warning.

  “An oversight?” Rudwor yelled. “You’re lucky you belong to Finn, or I’d…” He threw up his arms and huffed. “The creature must be executed at once.”

  “Hold on a sec. Your family’s been holding that poor creature prisoner in a tiny well for centuries. It’s not a sea monkey, you know––which by the way, look nothing like their pictures.” Realizing his frown had gone from annoyed to perplexed, she decided to stay on point. “So who could blame it for taking revenge? Your family promised to let it go home to the ocean if it kept its side of the bargain, which it did for a whole lot longer than you or I would’ve,” she argued.

  He held his breath, his face swelling before he finally exhaled. “I cannot free it.”

  She stepped forward, her hands on her hips. “No big surprise. It doesn’t seem to be in your family’s blood to set things free.”

  “You’re talking about Finn.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I told him to wait until I read the last fable for myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not certain he’s ready for the challenge.”

  He turned his back to her and returned his full attention to reading The Bloodthirsty Oak.

  Fate stared daggers into his broad back, her temper reaching the boiling point with every passing second. But she held her tongue, more troubled by Finn’s absence than Rudwor’s interference. He could’ve at least showed up to tell her he wasn’t ready to leave. She walked to the window, tapping her fingers on the glass and staring at the garden. A robin landed in a nearby tree. Seeing a worm wriggling in its beak, she turned away with a grimace and caught Gerdie and Sithias looking at her, both with worried expressions. She could tell they were thinking what was on her mind. Why wasn’t Finn here? Then the answer hit her. She suddenly felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath her. Last night had been goodbye.

  Rudwor turned away from the book, looking grim. “Now I see the cause of so much grief in the world. I don’t envy your quest.”

  “Then you can see I need Finn’s help as much as he needs mine.” The quaver in her voice betrayed her sudden lack of conviction.

  “No, he’ll be of no help to you. As soon as he’s on that island, he’ll be directly under Mugloth’s influence. And then there’s you, muddling his senses. All you’ll do is get him killed.” Rudwor moved toward the door. He had his hand on the doorhandle when he stopped to look at her. “I’m sure you can see the wisdom in this. And if you love him as much I think you do, you’ll take your leave without a fuss.”

  Fate glared at the king. She was so angry she couldn’t speak. She stormed over to the Book of Fables and turned the pages back to the end of The Lightning Sword. She skimmed over the final passage before turning her heated gaze back to Rudwor. “Now that your decision’s made, you’d better read the last paragraph before you go.”

  He gave her a sharp look without budging. She figured he’d leave, but he surprised her by returning to the book and reading the passage aloud. “Beldereth enjoyed good fortune for a time, but King Lortaun’s line was destined to be cursed by the scryer’s prophesy. King Rudwor’s champion, the First Knight was touched by an evil that was turning his heart black. Beldereth had an enemy inside its walls once again, an enemy that would leave the kingdom in ruins forevermore.”

  He stared in disbelief at the newly inked words on the aged paper. “How can this be? It didn’t say that a moment ago.”

  “Your decision to have Finn stay has changed your destiny, and mine,” Fate said. “We’re all doomed now.”

  “No, you’re not,” a voice said from the doorway.

  Everyone turned to see Finn. He stood with shoulders squared and stance wide, his gaze directed at Rudwor. There was a defiant look in his eyes, though measured with respect as he strode into the room.

  Relief welled up in Fate. It was plain to see Finn had decided to join her.

  Rudwor’s whole demeanor softened. “You’ve decided to go have you?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Finn said. “It’s time I stand on my own.”

  Smiling sadly, the king slapped his large hand on Finn’s shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t have pressed so hard for you to stay. I was being selfish. You’ve become the son I always wanted, and it pains me sorely to see you go.”

  Finn’s eyes misted over.

  Rudwor squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t doubt your strength, Finn McKeen. And I’m not speaking of that outlandish power you displayed against Murauda. I’m speaking of something much more powerful, the unlimited power of your spirit and its undying strength to do what must be done. I suspect we’ve only seen the tip of it. Its full might is yet to be tapped and I’m certain your true strength will be far greater than any of us can imagine.” His gentled gaze flicked to Fate, surprising her, especially when his expression didn’t turn to irritation. “When you have something important to fight for, laddie, nothing can stop you. Not a single thing.”

  His sincerity melted through her ire like the sun’s heat on icy branches. For the first time she could see why Finn admired him so much and it broke her heart that he had to leave this man who’d become his father.

  Rudwor enveloped him in a bear hug. After a moment, he let go, holding him at arm’s length. “You have a home here, young sapling. Always.” His tearful gaze flicked over Fate, Sithias and Gerdie. “You all do,” he said, his voice cracking. With his head down, he turned and left.

  Raw pain etched the lines of Finn’s face as he stared at the space Rudwor had left empty. Sithias and Gerdie gathered close while Fate turned the page to The Bloodthirsty Oak. There was nothing to be said. There were no words for the pain of leaving or the fear of what awaited them. All they had was each other and that was enough, more than enough. Taking Finn’s hand in hers, she began to read the last fable, which for better or worse would seal all their fates.

  The Bloodthirsty Oak

  IN THE FIRST AGE OF THE WORLD, the Earthmind grew the First Trees to be its voice to those who would listen. Known as the Grandfathers of all forests, these benevolent beings taught their earth magic secrets to the Druidhean and these wise sorcerers used this sacred wisdom to help guide mankind. And so it was that humans lived peacefully within nature’s laws for untold ages. But as time wore on, many humans
lost their way and broke the laws of nature.

  These laws were not merely broken, but torn asunder on the small island of Innith Tine, home to a giant oak, the oldest of all Grandfathers. His trunk was as wide as a large house and his thick branches sprawled outward

  to the size of a small village. He could be seen from anywhere on the island, for he stood rooted on the highest hilltop overlooking a majestic forest of oaks.

  Each spring the Druidhean made their annual pilgrimage to the hallowed grove of Innith Tine to celebrate Alban Eiler, a time when day and night are equal, when light and darkness stand face to face. The island’s location had always been a guarded secret, but one spring when the Druidhean gathered there, they discovered a tiny fishing village on the island’s shores where none had been the year before. The sorcerers entered the sacred catacombs beneath Grandfather Oak’s roots to seek his wisdom. The ancient tree told them the villagers had been peaceful and respectful of the land thus far. Accepting this, the Druidhean carried on with their celebration. But before they left, they chose one among them to remain as Grove Guardian.

  Mugloth was chosen for his healing abilities with herbs and his knowledge of cultivating crops and animal husbandry. The Order believed the villagers would welcome these skills and in turn be open to learning the sacred laws of nature. When the mysterious Druidh walked into their humble fishing village and taught them how to grow bountiful crops and heal with herbs in a way that respected the land, the village prospered under Mugloth’s care. Soon after, the people took part in the annual celebrations to honor the earth and its changing seasons, and all was well. But when the fishermen set sail on the seas, word spread about their beautiful island of oaks. Each year more boats pulled ashore and more villages sprang up like weeds in a garden. As much as Mugloth traveled from village to village teaching the sacred laws, not everyone listened. There were those who cast greedy eyes upon the lush forest and took wanton axes to the trees.

  Mugloth took council with his fellow Druidhean when they arrived to celebrate Alban Eiler. They grieved for the loss of so many trees and told him to have faith and keep teaching. For the next year Mugloth did as they advised, but the people were blinded by greed. He warned them that the forest was under his protection and risked punishment if they did not stop raping the land. But no one feared the gentle Druidh, and they resented being lectured on how to manage their island’s bounty.

  Miserable with grief, Mugloth withdrew into the catacombs. Grandfather Oak groaned a warning, telling him to be patient, all would be well in time, for he had many acorns and would grow a new forest. This did nothing to soothe Mugloth’s fury. He could not understand why Grandfather Oak was not enraged. He knew the ancient tree felt the pain of each felled tree even more than he, but Grandfather Oak believed the people would see the error of their ways, though this was not to be. As the protective canopy of the forest dwindled, and with it the verdant carpet of moss, fern and flora, the villagers’ souls became as barren as the island.

  When more than half the forest was gone, and many of the birds and beasts with it, Mugloth could stand it no longer. Calling on the winds, he gathered forth a storm that crashed ships upon the rocks and destroyed the villages. Unfortunately, this led to more trees being cut down to rebuild homes and new ships. So Mugloth cursed their crops and poisoned the land. But this only brought more ships to the island, ships carrying food, which left with greater supplies of lumber.

  When the Druidh returned to Innith Tine the following year, they were shocked to find that only a small grove remained. They found Mugloth brooding in the catacombs and accused him of failing in his duty as Grove Guardian. He described the wrath he had brought down upon the villagers. Judging his actions as rash and shortsighted, the Druidhean cast him out of the Order and banished him from his beloved island.

  Taking his leave, Mugloth stomped through the barren land, cursing the Order and thrashing his staff against the stumps lining the path. He was so deep in thought he tripped and fell over a deer carcass. Its hide seemed to squirm and he drew back in horror as he realized it was covered in a blanket of flesh-eating ants. Studying the tiny creatures, he marveled at how the ruined land had forced them to bring down such giant prey. He stayed there and watched the ants for hours while the sun sank into the great watery horizon. As darkness fell over the island, an even greater darkness settled over his soul.

  Mugloth began spinning a sinister spell around the ants. One that increased their numbers a thousand fold and sent them marching up the hill to feast on the Druidhean sleeping within the catacombs. When the ants had cleaned the meat from their bones, he sent his army into the villages. Most were eaten alive, while a few escaped to the ships. But Mugloth quickly conjured a storm, which crashed their ships against the island’s rocky shore. Those who survived and swam ashore soon discovered even greater horrors awaited them.

  When he returned to the catacombs, he felt the weight of Grandfather Oak’s sadness. The great tree wept so hard, the earth shuddered and the catacombs caved inward, burying the bones of his fellow Druidh, while Mugloth barely escaped being buried alive.

  This was the last betrayal for Mugloth. So he summoned the winds and thunderheads to destroy Grandfather Oak. The fierce winds pushed and shoved at the massive tree, but his roots clenched the earth and held fast. Mugloth shoved his staff skyward and pulled lightning from the black clouds. The bolts struck Grandfather Oak at the heart of his trunk. There was a sickening crack and a terrible groan as the ancient tree split in two.

  Waving the storm aside, he approached the mighty tree. Grandfather Oak’s voice cracked with anguish and compassion as he forgave Mugloth, promising to help him return to the sacred ways. But the darkness in Mugloth had a firm foothold.

  He believed he had every right to take vengeance on the lawbreakers and vowed to make Grandfather Oak see this. So he climbed up the thick cloven trunk and wedged himself inside. Using his staff, Mugloth channeled all of his hatred and venomous thoughts into Grandfather Oak’s wound.

  The great tree was no match for the terrible darkness inside him. In that moment something horrible happened. As the break closed over the Druidh, man and tree became one and the same. The instant Mugloth imprisoned himself within living wood, Grandfather Oak transformed into a hellish monstrosity, which burrowed its hungry roots throughout the island, seeking vengeance by feeding on the remaining lawbreakers until its sap turned black with blood and reeked of death.

  The doomed villagers eventually ended the feeding frenzies by sacrificing one of their own to the Bloodthirsty Oak each year on the day of Alban Eiler. As time wore on, everyone did what was necessary to survive. They gathered the evil oak’s acorns and pieces of riven wood to use as barter with those passing by on the trade winds, while many a poor visitor was captured and sacrificed in place of their own. Countless centuries passed in this way, allowing the vengeance of one man to seed his hatred far and wide throughout the world.

  Chapter 32

  IT SEEMED A LIFETIME since Fate had gone from one fable to the next and she’d forgotten how intensely immersive the stories were. She felt Mugloth’s hatred pressing in on her––a palpable force from which the very fabric of the air seemed made.

  At last, the horrid images of the oak splintered into a furious swarm of letters that seemed to resist returning to the book’s aged pages. The weighty feeling persisted even after the story’s release. The thrust into Innith Tine was violent, knocking Fate off her feet.

  Finding herself flat on her back, she opened her eyes to a blue sky of wispy clouds and a blur of gray gulls wheeling overhead. Sucking salt air into her jarred lungs, she turned her head, looking for the others. Sithias and Gerdie were nowhere to be seen but Finn was next to her on his knees, his head low.

  Worrying about what had happened to them, she sat up in alarm, nauseated by the sudden motion. Had they been left behind in Beldereth? She started to get up but her stomach roiled and pitched. Forced to stay still, she waited a moment for
her strength to return and the queasiness to subside. She glanced at Finn. His body was rigid, every muscle corded with tension. He seemed unable to move. At first she thought he was suffering from ill effects of the transition, but then she realized it was something else. Guessing he must be reacting to the bombardment of Mugloth’s hatred during the reading, she hoped he wasn’t about to become the vicious stranger again.

  If he was, she needed to be ready. Her hand moved to the daggers strapped around her thigh. She wasn’t about to let the horrors of last time play out again.

  Finn lifted his head, his face ashen and contorted with agony. “I can feel him.”

  Relieved to see he was still with her, she scrambled over and put her hands on his shoulders. His tensed muscles shook with restraint beneath her touch. “What do you want me to do?”

  Clenching his jaw, he drove his fist into the sand. “Get away from me before I give into him. I don’t want you anywhere near me when I do."

  “No, we fight this together.”

  The muscles in his arms and back bunched with tension. He lifted his head slowly––his irises black and the whites of his eyes bloodshot. The savage darkness he’d been holding back for so long was brewing right beneath the surface, ready to burst free. Frightened, she let go. “Look,” he said, his voice a low growl as he pointed beyond her shoulder.

  Fate turned, her jaw dropping as she took in the barren landscape, ugly with nothing but stumps and scraggly bushes. As her gaze followed the rising terrain to the hilltop in the distance, she saw the gigantic oak tree, bare of leaf and as black as if it had been burned to charcoal. Its immense sprawling branches tangled upwards and seemed to grapple with the very sky. Icy fear spread through her as the awful reality set in. They hadn’t arrived at the beginning of the fable when they could’ve dealt with Mugloth before he’d gone over to the dark side. The Book of Fables had dumped them at the very end.