by Marissa Burt
First, she told me to gather all the old Tales. What good would it do for Story to know the truth of the Muses? She said that Story needed a fresh beginning, one unencumbered by the past. Her words seemed to me wisdom, and I did not know that her heart was filled with the Enemy’s lies. Together, we locked up the old Tales. I swear to you, I didn’t think it possible that she still worked the Enemy’s will.
Next, she told me to find the Muse books. We both knew that the Enemy had scattered them far and wide throughout Story. Hadn’t I built one of the stone cairns myself? “To give the Muses peace,” Fidelus had said then. “To make sure meddlesome characters bother them no more.” The other Muses didn’t know Fidelus had hidden their books. Alethia. Charis. Spero. Clementia. Sophia. Virtus. They couldn’t guess that this was why no characters visited them anymore. I found Virtus’s first, for that was the cairn I had built. The Red Enchantress came with me, and had I known then what I know now, I swear to you I wouldn’t have done it. Virtus was surprised to see us, eager for news of Story, lonely and a prisoner of his own house. I knew why no one visited him, for I had hidden his own book myself, but I do not know why he couldn’t leave.
The Red Enchantress took him then. She fought him, and the magic of the Enchantress overpowered the Muse. Never have I seen the like in Story. After that I knew the Red Enchantress for what she was. She never intended to help the land of Story. Always, she was seeking her lost Fidelus. She told me the truth after that. She said there was a way to free Fidelus. If she could but find all the other Muses, the spell imprisoning him would be broken and she could bring Fidelus back to rule Story. And that is what she seeks to do.
The characters of Story already hated the Muses, thanks to Fidelus. It was a small thing for the Red Enchantress to grow their fear, to hide any trace of the Muses’ goodness, and to make sure her Tale Master was in control. And, one by one, she hunts the Muses. Not because they are Oathbreakers, but because they are Story’s protectors.
Perhaps I should have done things differently. Perhaps I could have told Story the truth. Perhaps we could have overpowered the magic that felled the Muses. Perhaps the Red Enchantress would have let me live. Perhaps death would have been better than this lifetime of lies. I don’t know.
But I am done with that now. My death draws near, and the burden of my life weighs me down. And here is my confession: We have wronged the Muses. All our hatred and bitterness falls on those who swore to protect us. And, one by one, our protectors vanish. Soon, they will be gone, and Story will be laid bare to the will of a very great and terrible Enemy.
I am finished. I know she is coming for me. Perhaps I could have done more once upon a time. But this is what I am doing now and for those who come ever after. May they be braver than me. I write this, dear people of Story, because I am ashamed of what I have done. I am not the Hero you thought. I never was.
I was there when he rebelled. I was there when he was bound. I will not be there when he returns. Here ends my confession.
Una stared at the paper. While she had been reading, Professor Edenberry had been busy grouping students for the examination.
“Peter.” She couldn’t make her mouth form the words. She licked her lips and tried again. “Peter. I think we know why Red wants the Muse books.”
Peter froze in the middle of rolling up the scroll. “You think Red is . . .”
“I do,” Una whispered fiercely. “If she’s the Red Enchantress from Archimago’s confession, it all fits. The way everyone hates the Muses. Why the Talekeepers have censored all the books so no one can read what the Muses were really like. Peter”—she swallowed hard—“I don’t know whether Story has a King or not. But it sure does have an Enemy.”
“. . . and Una Fairchild. That will make three.” Edenberry’s voice broke off any further conversation.
Una stood on shaky legs. “Come on, Peter. Let’s go.”
Peter didn’t move. “I’m not in your group.” He set the scroll down on his lap. “I’m not in your group,” he said again, as though this was a completely unforeseen turn of events.
“Una Fairchild?” Professor Edenberry called, louder this time, and looked up from his clipboard.
Peter nudged her. “Go on,” he whispered. “You’ll do just fine. I know you will.”
Perhaps it was the leftover effects from her encounter with Thornhill. Or the discovery that nearly everything Story thought about the Muses was a lie. Maybe it was just the result of going on only an hour of sleep. Or the paralyzing knowledge that there was an Enemy out there somewhere. Whatever the reason, Una thought she might dissolve into tears on the spot.
Peter gave her another little shove, and she propelled herself up to the front. There, standing next to Professor Edenberry with a pleased sneer on his greasy face, was Horace Wotton. She blinked hard. Horace mustn’t see her cry. Then, it got worse. Their third and final group member came up behind Horace. And it was none other than Endeavor Truepenny.
Professor Edenberry handed them a packet of papers and pointed at the far door. His white puff of hair bobbed up and down as Una’s group headed over. He patted her gently on the shoulder. “Good luck, Una.” Una wasn’t sure, because she was almost out the door, but she could have sworn he added under his breath, “You’ll need it.”
With a crash, the back of the wagon bounced down. Canvas fabric closed tight over Snow’s head, and rough hands dragged her body out into the cold. The air felt wet, like it might start to rain at any moment. Snow gagged. Something smelled like milk left out too long in the sun. Whoever was carrying her tossed her up over a shoulder and set off at a steady pace.
“Get the other one.” Muffled thumps followed this command. Snow wondered if her mother was awake. She strained her ears, hoping that they would at least be taken to the same place, but all she could hear was the panting breath of her captor. She thought of Perrault. Had they been missed yet? Will anyone care if I don’t show up for the practical? Thump, thump went her aching head against the sharp shoulder of the person carrying her. With every thump, the pounding in her skull got worse. Did Una escape? Is she all right?
Snow thought she heard something. She tried to listen closely. It was hard to focus with the throbbing in her temple. “I have taken . . . ,” someone was saying. His voice sounded familiar.
Just then, Snow’s captor deposited her in a crumpled heap on the wet earth. A hand ripped off the canvas sack, and cold, damp air flooded in. The morning sky was cloudy, but after the dark wagon ride, Snow squinted in the gray dawn.
“I have taken the woman, Milady Duessa.”
Snow snapped her head up and saw Elton’s stout form bowed low before a red-cloaked figure.
“And the girl?” Duessa’s voice sounded like steam when water is thrown on a fire.
Elton bobbed his head up and down. “Her daughter. She was with her. I could not leave her free.” Then there was silence.
“Very well,” Duessa said, drawing the hood of her cloak farther over her face with one hand. Snow caught a glimpse of a huge red ring on one of her pale fingers. The Lady continued talking. “We are very close now. You may go. Stand ready for my command.”
Although she wasn’t sure why, Snow hoped Mr. Elton would stay. It was clear he had betrayed her and her mother, but maybe some tiny part of him would pity them. With every passing moment, the knot in her stomach was growing bigger. She struggled against her bonds, and a booted foot knocked her to the ground.
“Better to stay still,” Elton’s voice ordered, “Ms. Wotton.” The pressure of his foot lifted, but Snow kept her face pressed into the wet earth. She wished she knew some horrible curses. The sounds of Elton’s departure were soon overcome by heavy footfalls, which grew louder as they approached Snow. When they stopped, her mother’s form crumpled to the ground. She, too, had the canvas sack over her head pulled off, but her head hung at an awkward angle, and her eyes were closed.
“Wake her,” Duessa said, and someone poured a flaskful of water ove
r Snow’s mother. With a sputtering gasp, she opened her eyes. Snow expected to see the usual calm indifference in her mother’s green eyes. Instead she saw fear.
“Where is Alethia’s book?”
A hand pulled Snow’s mother to her knees.
“Answer the Lady,” a voice from behind commanded. Snow watched her mother draw herself up, squaring her shoulders and leveling out her chin. She looked queenly, somehow, even with her bound wrists and twisted cloak.
“I cannot say,” she said in a clear, even voice. At this, Duessa really did hiss, her breath coming out in a rush.
“I do not have time for games,” she said. She tipped a finger at the figure behind her mother. “Make her talk. Bring them to me when you finish.” Her cloaked form disappeared into the growing light. Snow didn’t see what happened next, since the bag was roughly pushed back over her head, and she was lifted once more onto someone’s back.
“All right,” her captor said over his shoulder. “Have your fun. But keep her alive.”
Snow heard a low, coarse chuckle in response. Then her mother began to scream.
Chapter 27
The Exam Room was much as Una remembered. The space glowed with the same faint light, and the stone circular dais took up most of the room. She stood between Horace and Endeavor in front of a tiny pedestal. That first meeting with Peter seemed a lifetime ago. If only Peter were here now. A small pamphlet, stapled together carelessly, sat on the pedestal. “Exam A” was written in large block letters on the cover. Underneath that, a much-smudged list read:
Endeavor Truepenny: Villain
Una Fairchild: Lady
Horace Wotton: Sidekick
“Oh, that’s rich,” Horace said to Endeavor. “You’re the Villain?”
Below the smudges, a small note instructed, “Enter when ready.”
Endeavor looked at the others. “Well? Maybe we should talk about strategy. What did you guys bring?” He upended a standard-issue knapsack on the floor, and Una bent down to see the pile of items: a piece of flint, a small pot for cooking, a change of clothes, a leather pouch, a travel lantern, and a compass. He also had a long sword strapped to his back.
Una shifted her satchel from one shoulder to the other. She hadn’t planned on being in Elton’s office all night. What did she have in her bag—besides the books? She knew her dagger was in there. She thought her flint might be somewhere in the bottom, along with her slate. Not helpful. Endeavor was looking at her expectantly.
“Um,” she said. She didn’t think they would be pleased to see a satchel full of books. Not the least because they were perfectly useless for the practical. “I’d rather not. If you don’t mind, Endeavor. Personal reasons.”
Endeavor grimaced. “Call me Indy,” he said.
Horace crossed his arms over his chest. “If she’s not showing hers, I’m not showing mine.” He gave Una a dirty look.
This was going to be a long two days.
“Fine then,” Indy said, and tucked his goods back into his bag. “Looks like we’re off to an excellent start.” His tone was thick with sarcasm. He took the pamphlet from the pedestal and led the way back to the stone dais. “Sidekick Horace. Lady Una,” he called. “Come along now.”
She turned to go, but Horace pushed in front of her. “Ladies last,” he said.
She took the toe of her boot and knocked the outside of his left foot in toward the right. It was just enough to throw him off balance, and he stumbled to the side. “But then, I’m not much of a Lady,” she said as she pushed ahead of him.
Chapter 28
Peter thought his name would never be called. One by one his classmates had been grouped together and disappeared into the Tale station. Now only a handful of students were left, and even Professor Edenberry looked bored with the process.
A trio was arguing in the front about whether they should bring an extra lantern or not, which left two other students with Peter. He guessed they must be his group. He was just going to introduce himself when the classroom door burst open, and Mr. Elton nearly fell in. He was soaked in sweat and breathless with the exertion. His greasy hair hung in disarray around his mud-streaked face. He leaned against the doorframe. “Una Fairchild,” he gasped. “Where is she?”
Edenberry’s gaze darted to Peter and then back to Elton. It was so quick Peter thought he might have imagined it.
“Run along,” Edenberry said to the group of arguing students and practically pushed them out the opposite door.
“Una!” Elton wheezed. “It’s an emergency! We have to find her!”
Professor Edenberry’s face tightened in alarm. He went over to the desk and looked carefully at an open ledger before consulting his watch.
“I’m very sorry to say, Mr. Elton,” he said, “that Una Fairchild, Horace Wotton, and Endeavor Truepenny have already left for their exam, and I cannot let you detain them.”
Una didn’t know what to expect from a Villainy practical. Thornhill had said that the goal of this practical was to try and understand the mind of a Villain, not to try and act villainous. Una wasn’t sure she understood the difference and halfheartedly wished she could have actually finished her advising meeting with Thornhill the day before.
The stone dais had taken them to a woodland clearing, and Indy found their instructions posted on a tree. Their assignment was to journey to the Caverns of Tears. Once there, they were to set up camp and look for an enchanted ax. They would have to unlock the enchantments of the ax by dusk of the following day. It sounded simple enough, but, as Indy reminded them, these things were never that straightforward. Inevitably there would be challenges along the way.
“What kind of challenges?” Una asked.
“Yeah, tell her,” Horace said. “She failed her other practical.”
Una ignored him and followed Indy, who set off through the trees.
“Delays,” Indy said. “Weather or trouble crossing a stream. Villainy exams usually have a lot of logic problems. That sort of thing.”
“What happens if you don’t make it back in time?”
“When we finish the quest—when we unlock the ax—we’ll all just be back in the Tale station. If the exam ends before we finish the assignment, we’ll go back just the same. There’s no extra time. No exceptions.”
Delays she could handle. Weather couldn’t be that bad. But could other things happen in the exam? Bad things? Ever since fighting the dragons, Una had wondered what would have happened if Peter hadn’t saved her just in time. She voiced her fears. “What if something, say, attacks us? I mean, can bad things really happen here?”
“Nothing permanent,” Indy reassured her. They had come upon an open field with tall grasses. He unsheathed his sword and cut a path forward. “Whatever happens during an exam isn’t lasting in the real world.” He swiped the other direction. “On my first practical, I lost an arm—it hurt like crazy, but as soon as my mates and I came out of the exam, we all were just the same as when we went in.”
“Has anyone ever . . . well, died?” Una asked.
He was cutting faster now, the rhythm of the sword matching his steps forward. “Of course. Lots of people ‘die,’ if you want to call it that. If your character dies, though, you immediately exit the exam, and it’s an automatic F. You have to be pretty dense to fail a beginner’s practical, though.”
“If you know so much, why are you in the first level of Villainy anyway?” Una asked.
Indy adjusted his grip on the sword. “I was held back—missed too many classes last term,” he said.
Of course, the class where they had learned how to unlock basic enchantments was one from before she arrived at Perrault. By the time they had reached the other side of the field, Indy had filled her in on the proper procedure. But his instructions were hard to follow. Something about looking for inconsistencies and manipulating them with the tools at hand. He said that enchantments were just little deceptions, a twisting of the way things actually were. Horace didn’t say anything but
stomped through the newly cut path behind her.
But passing the exam was the least of her worries. What about the Red Enchantress? She couldn’t have found all the Muses yet, since Una still had Alethia’s book. She thought about the conversation she had overheard at the Talekeeper Club. Red had said there were only “two left.” If Una’s theory was correct, the Red Enchantress was very close to freeing the Enemy. Perhaps Alethia’s book alone now stood in the way.
The three didn’t speak much more for most of the day. They plodded along the narrow trail, heading toward a large cliff with dark openings that appeared to be the Caverns of Tears. It was an uneventful trek, with not even a rain shower to slow their progress. But when they arrived at their destination, Una understood a little more what Indy had meant about deception. What had appeared to be openings were actually shadows on the rock. And no matter what they tried, they couldn’t find a way inside. The day was fading fast, and, after a short discussion, they decided to build their camp near the cliff, so they could rise early in the hope of seeing the stone in the morning light. Indy seemed to think that the dawn would bring out the impurities.
After they had picked a spot, Indy left to find something to eat before darkness fell. Una gathered sticks and twigs for a fire while Horace went to fetch water from a creek they had crossed earlier. She was right. Her flint was at the bottom of her satchel. In no time at all, she had the fire crackling and plopped down by it to await the boys’ return.
Indy came into the clearing first, toting a small rabbit over one shoulder and a cloth full of berries in the other hand. “Roasted rabbit,” he said.
Una wrinkled up her nose, but she knew that a meal full of berries wouldn’t be enough after skipping breakfast that morning. She watched Indy skin the rabbit. His deft hands worked quickly, the shiny muscle of the rabbit’s flesh emerging under the swift strokes of his knife.