Fate's Fables Boxed Set (Fables 1 - 8): One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales

by T. Rae Mitchell

He silenced her with his finger to her lips. Helpless to look away or utter a word, he stared at the sensuous curve of her bottom lip. He wanted to blame her for this hell he was in, but now that she was next to him like this all he wanted to do was kiss her. How could he though? He was a mannequin, hollow and fake. Any right he had to declare his feelings for her as a man were gone forever.

  A weak moan came from inside the hut.

  Grateful for the interruption, Finn stepped around her and went inside. Crouching next to Glenna’s mother, he felt her forehead and dipped deep into her mind with his senses. A horrible shiver ran up his arm, sapping the life from him as a cold, withering sensation traveled toward his heart. He jerked his hand away. “She’s close to death,” he said as Fate knelt beside him. “You have to use the Words of Making to save her.”

  Fate hesitated, worry stirred in her eyes. “But you said we have to be careful. I can’t just write any old thing. What if it backfires again? With my luck I could turn her into a zombie… or a really healthy but deformed freak.”

  “We need the goblet,” he said. “At least we know it works.”

  She pulled out the notepad. “Maybe I can write it up and bypass getting it from the veiled woman altogether.”

  “Aye, it’s worth a try.”

  She wriggled her hips into a sitting position. His pulse raced in response, a fire spreading through him as she licked her lips and tapped the tiny pencil against her chin. Pushing the fever down, he drew in a ragged breath while she wrote. The little crease of concentration between her brows and tongue trailing along her top lip crumbled his wall of anger brick by brick.

  “Okay,” she said at last, looking pleased.

  He let out a sigh of relief as she continued.

  “Since I don’t know what the goblet looks like, I’ve tried my best to describe its essence. Cross your fingers this works,” she said, then read the passage aloud: “Forged by the pale thin hands of swamp dwelling goblins many ages ago, a golden goblet came into being. The goblet bore such great form and beauty that it wept honeyed dewdrops of grace and healing for whatever lips kissed its gleaming warmth. It is my wish that this magic goblet vanish from the kingdom of goblins and appear here in my open hand in order to heal those in need.”

  Finn listened, entranced by the poetic description, her voice a balm to his tortured psyche. Upon speaking the last word, a blue-green mist swirled round her hand and coalesced into a large golden goblet. Fate gasped with surprise, dropping it for the sudden heaviness. He lurched forward, saving it from hitting the ground.

  He studied the goblet’s braided spirals and its deep well inlaid with mother of pearl. Droplets of water beaded over the pale abalone and pooled within the cup. He looked at Fate, bewitched and in awe. Her thoughts, her words, had reached out into the ether and transported this work of art here into their hands. His heart opened and filled with admiration. He wondered if the words she’d used to describe him were anywhere near as beautiful.

  For one fleeting second he was at peace with being her creation. But the bitter resentment skimming just below the surface punched through, shattering this fragile bit of acceptance. Everything had changed. He would never be Fate’s equal. She was substance. He was a wisp of smoke.

  Chapter 13

  ON A ROUGH AND LITTLE-USED ROAD leading to Glenna’s village raced a brightly colored horse-drawn caravan. The driver’s seat was empty, yet the horses galloped as if driven on by the cruel whip of a harried driver. Inside the caravan, the veiled woman sat on her silk cushions. The horses were controlled by her will alone. She knew the golden goblet had surfaced into the world. She’d been hunting it for centuries but had always been ten steps behind the ever-elusive swamp goblins.

  The passing of time and relentless search for what belonged to her people had robbed her of youthful vitality, shriveling her into something unspeakable. Only the goblet would restore her strength and youth. But now, someone else was drinking the restorative waters from that precious cup. This tortured her to no end. She didn’t know whom she was dealing with or how long she had before the goblins reclaimed the goblet once again.

  Determined to have it this time, she lashed her psychic whip and drove the exhausted horses on with even greater speed.

  •

  The angst Fate had caused Finn tormented her even more than the rage he radiated toward her. If she could take it all back and never say a word about his origins she’d do it in a heartbeat. But there was no unringing the bell. Something was now broken between them. Nothing could fix that.

  As he tipped the goblet over the sick woman’s cracked lips, she noticed his hands were scratched, the blood dry over the visible marks of his misery. She had offered to write up the repairs for him but he’d refused. Seeing his pain so plainly displayed hurt like nothing she’d ever known. If only she’d kept her secret.

  Glenna’s mother came to. She stared at Finn, then at Fate, her eyes filling with fright and confusion. “Wh-who are ye? Where’s me daughter?”

  Finn quickly explained the arrangement they’d made with Glenna. As she struggled to rise, he set the goblet down and helped her sit up. She glanced at the freshly cleaned and mended clothes, fluffy furs and woolen blankets Fate had conjured up earlier. Brushing her hand over the soft sheepskin rug in place of her straw bed, the woman beamed with delight.

  “It seems only fit that ye call me Alma,” she said, but a puzzled expression swiftly replaced her smile. “For someone in need of our measly fare, ye certainly work miracles.” She eyed the golden goblet. “And drink from kingly cups!”

  “Oh this old thing?” Fate said, gripping it by the stem and tipping it casually. Her wrist shook from the weight as precious drops fell onto the dirt floor. “It’s a fake. We’re traveling performers and this is one of our props. We thought you might be thirsty and…” She glanced around at all the washed cups and bowls stacked neatly on the ledge. “We couldn’t find a cup…a cup clean enough for someone so sick…”

  Alma’s eyes lit up. “Storytellers are ye? There’s a bit of the storyteller in me as well.”

  At that moment Glenna burst through the door in a panic. “There’s a monster in the woods with wings as big as me roof and fangs as long as me––” She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth when she saw her mother sitting up and looking well. “What miracle is this?”

  Alma held out her arms and Glenna ran into her embrace. There were tears and laughter and lots of questions flying about. Once they settled down, Alma asked about the monster in the woods.

  “Oh, that’s our friend,” Fate said, talking fast as daughter and mother looked horrified. “He’s part of our small troupe. You must’ve seen him in his costume.”

  Glenna frowned with confusion. “It looked some real for a costume of cloth and stitches.”

  “Fate’s a clever costume maker, among other things,” Finn said, his reserved gaze flicking briefly to Fate.

  As much as his remark was made to sound like a compliment, it cut deep. She understood the veiled meaning.

  “Ye should invite him for dinner. There’s much to celebrate,” Glenna said, hopping to her feet. She turned to Finn. “Will ye still go to market with me? I’ll be needing to get the makings for a fine meal.”

  “You’ll stay with Alma?” he asked, directing his question to Fate.

  She nodded, glancing away from the dull anger in his eyes.

  He moved to the door. As soon as he swung it open the air rang with the jingling of bells and the thundering of hooves. With the goblet in her hand, Fate came up behind Glenna, looking in the direction of the noise. Two massive horses pulling a gypsy caravan emerged from the woods on a narrow, overgrown road. They skidded to a halt a few feet from the door. The massive beasts tossed their large heads, mouths frothing and nostrils flaring clouds of steam.

  Finn turned Glenna around. “Go inside. You too, Fate.”

  She stepped forward, pulling the door shut after Glenna stepped past her. “No way. I’m staying.”<
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  The caravan door banged open. A knight in full armor jumped onto the muddy ground with a loud clank. Within two strides, he loomed over them and tore the goblet from Fate’s grasp. Returning to the caravan, the knight handed it to a pair of grasping withered hands reaching from the shadows. Then Fate heard a pronounced sigh of satisfaction, followed by a sharp whispered command: “Kill them all.”

  Finn reacted by grabbing hold of Fate’s hand and hauling her behind him at break-neck speed into the woods.

  Nauseating terror coursed through her veins when she heard the clanking of the knight’s armor and his heavy footfall getting closer. “He’s gaining on us!”

  “Just keep running,” Finn insisted.

  He suddenly changed direction. They were heading toward the descending sun. Branches thrashed against them. Fate could barely see where she was going for the tears in her eyes. She would’ve tripped by now if Finn weren’t guiding the way. The sound of a sword slicing through the air just inches from her ear brought new speed to her limbs. She would’ve screamed, but she was too busy gasping for air

  Suddenly Finn was hollering for help.

  Dismayed that he’d lost his nerve, she glanced at him for a split second. But there was a calculated look in his eyes. Relief kept her going when she realized he hadn’t given up hope.

  They fled across a field, but the ground was soggy and sucked their feet down. Each step became more and more labored. Fate was close to collapsing when she heard a loud thud. Finn slowed and she glanced over her shoulder. The knight was gone, but his helmet lay on the ground a few feet away. Then something slashed in front of her face, driving into the soil two inches from her feet.

  Her head buzzed with shock as she stared at the knight’s sword, the blade stabbing the earth and its jeweled hilt still wobbling. When she realized how close she’d come to having her face shaved off, her strength deserted her. Finn caught her before she fell. “What…just happened?” she panted.

  “Look up,” he said.

  Sithias was coiled around the legs of the headless knight, flapping his wings with laborious thrusts. The armor appeared to be completely empty, yet the knight’s arms flailed and his torso twisted. Hissing with effort, Sithias climbed to a tremendous height before letting the knight fall. The armor smashed on the ground with bronze arms, legs and breastplate scattering in all directions.

  He landed next to them. “Ugh, heavy metal. Awfully hard on the back,” he said, rubbing his narrow back with the tip of his tail.

  Fate felt a sigh of relief shudder through Finn as he rested his head against hers. She leaned into him, rocking with the tired heave of his chest.

  “Sithias, we owe you one,” he said, still catching his breath. “I wasn’t even sure we were going in the right direction.”

  “No doubt I would’ve heard your caterwauling from wherever I wasss,” Sithias assured him. “Thessse woodsss, if you can call them that, are sssparse indeed. I’ve never ssseen sssuch sssad excusesss for treesss.”

  Their voices faded away as Fate stared mutely at the glinting armor strewn amongst the bramble and grass. Another brush with death. What if her luck ran out next time? The cold hard truth hit her. She could actually die here and no one would ever hear from her again. She’d be added to the list of the permanently disappeared.

  It hurt to think how devastated Eustace must be right now, not knowing if she was dead or alive. As much as he’d encouraged her to always test her independence, she knew how deeply protective he was––the very reason he’d never dated. He stayed in, even working from home, doing his best to fill the role of two parents and make up for a lack of siblings.

  Tears burned her eyes. Her longing for the safety of home and the comforting ordinariness of their daily routines together suddenly became so unbearable she had to block it from her mind, or she’d fall to pieces. She looked at Sithias, tuning back into what he was saying.

  “It appearsss we were dealing with a ghosssthand,” he informed them. “Do either of you know who would be powerful enough to raissse one?”

  “It was the veiled lady. She sent the knight after us,” Finn said. “And now she has the golden goblet.” He then explained how Fate had written the goblet into their possession and how it had healed Glenna’s mother.

  Fate felt him stiffen all of sudden. He let go of her abruptly. After letting his guard down, his defensive posture was back and it drove a hole in her already aching heart.

  “You’re white as a ghost,” he said as he stepped away from her. “You should go back to the book. We’ll make sure Glenna’s safe.”

  His tone left no room for argument. Not that she had the energy or nerve to do anything but leave with her tail tucked between her legs. As she trudged back to camp, she’d never felt more alone or miserable. Not only had she blown it with Finn by telling him something no one should ever know, she was also wussing out in the middle of a real adventure.

  She kicked at a buried rock, stubbing her toe instead. As she hopped on one leg biting back the pain shooting up her foot, she wondered why she was such a loser. She should be dazzling the guy of her dreams with her steely magnetism and ass-kicking skills.

  But she was the opposite of all that: stupid and spineless.

  •

  Just outside Glenna’s hut, the veiled woman stood in her caravan, stroking the golden goblet and watching the healing water pool inside the cup. When there was enough liquid to drink, she lifted her veils and gulped it back.

  A warm tingling spread from her throat into her chest. She welcomed the painful throb of life flowing through her, gasping as her blue-veined hands plumped with youthful suppleness.

  The goblet had already filled again, and she swallowed more of the sweet water. Strength and energy surged throughout her body. She ran across the room, ripping back the curtain that had long covered a large mirror. Staring at her concealed form, she pulled away each silken layer.

  For countless ages she’d kept her hideously wizened body hidden from sight, but as the last veil fell to the floor, her reflection revealed a woman at the peak of her beauty. Her cat-shaped eyes flashed like black onyx against dark skin the color of polished mahogany. She touched her face to confirm what she saw in the mirror, feeling the fullness of her lips. Smiling, she glanced at the bronze statues of dancing women lined against the draped walls. There would be no need to bring those beauties to life anymore. She alone could now lure whomever she needed into her caravan. But her smile faded when she saw that her hair was still a coarse dead gray. Lifting the goblet to her lips, she let the water run down the sides of her mouth in her haste to guzzle more.

  She turned back to the mirror, waiting for her hair to return to life, for this was where her ancestors dwelled. Within each strand, she carried the life force of an ancient race of mystics long forgotten by others. She was Sabirah, the sacred vessel of her people, awaiting the time when she could return to the Temple of the Winged Serpent, where she would bring her people back into the world by using the objects of the altar she’d reclaimed from plunderers who’d stolen them so long ago.

  But the voices of her ancestors had grown dim over the ages until they spoke no more. Lost without their wisdom and guidance, she began her obsessive search for the healing goblet to revive her worn body.

  Sabirah watched the inky darkness return to her hair. The voices began to whisper in her mind and her ebony locks writhed like a sea of snakes, caressing her arms and legs. She luxuriated in the touch of her lost tribe and listened. At first their voices were discordant, but they soon spoke as one inside her mind. “Leave no trail. Kill all who have knowledge of the goblet,” they commanded.

  Donning her leather armor, she rushed out of the caravan and kicked the door of the hut open. The woman and child inside screamed when they saw her. Lifting her sword, Sabirah lunged forward, shrieking a war cry that sounded like an army of fierce voices.

  A force, bright and sharp, threw her back against the caravan. She narrowed her eyes on the
powerful Ogham inscriptions scratched in the mud walls. Cursing the Druid who had put them there, Sabirah stormed back to the caravan to retrieve a box. She returned to the gleaming marks and took out a cut branch.

  “Oak of hatred, spread your dark poison into this place,” she whispered, blowing the curse over the wood. She jammed the stick into the wards and broke it off. Stepping back, she watched the pale light of the wards extinguish as a shadow bled over the hut and surrounding earth.

  Dropping what was left of the branch, she drew her sword, ready to slay the easy prey inside when she heard someone shouting. Sabirah turned to see a golden-haired young man racing toward her.

  “Hey! Over here!” Finn yelled as he jumped over the creek and rushed forward. He saw the woman stop to look at him. He had no idea what he would do once he got there. He was unarmed against her sword. The most he could hope to do was lead her away from Glenna, maybe turn the tables on her somehow.

  He was only thirty feet away from the hut when a nauseating wave of darkness crashed over him. His head started spinning, his legs went weak. Reaching out for something to grab hold of, his hand passed through air and he stumbled. Tilting forward, his knees rammed into rock and mud. Pain spiked through his kneecaps and down his shins. He swallowed the pain, pushing himself to get back up, but his muscles had gone soft. It was all he could do to stay upright.

  “Ah, the loyal Druid returns. But alas, he feels the poison in the earth as if in his own veins,” the woman said as she strode over to him. “That’s the weakness of you earth lovers. You can never stay strong for that which you fight to protect.”

  Struggling to catch his breath, Finn looked up at a frightening beauty with a wild mane of hair snaking unnaturally in the air. He wondered if he was hallucinating.

  She leaned down, brushing her lips against his ear, her dark tendrils coiling round his neck. “Stop resisting, your strength and powers will increase a hundredfold if you would but surrender to the darkness as Mugloth did,” she whispered.