The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3)

by Heather Lyons

  “Have no fear, old friend.” She takes a deep breath before holding my gaze. “We are in a fairy tale, and sometimes, in fairy tales, you must have faith that magic will hold strong.”

  Strong.

  The goose gave us its courage, its strength. Alice is banking that whatever magic imbibed the goose now protects us, too.

  “Don’t forget,” she adds, “we come from Wonderland, where the impossible is quite possible. I tumbled down a rabbit hole and slipped through a looking glass and found a new world. Who is to say that the same is not true for a well?”

  I lean forward, pressing my mouth against hers. “See you in a few?”

  Alice cups my cheek, her words infused with assurance and conviction. “Yes, you will.” She climbs upon the stones surrounding the well and then, without another word, jumps in. The water bubbles around her as she sinks.

  “Can you bite me but not inject poison?” I ask Grymsdyke.

  “All spiders can. Why do you ask?”

  “I need you to do that right now. I need some of my blood in you. Can you do it fast, so we can follow Alice?”

  “Venom or no, my bite is painful,” the spider warns. “It will be most unpleasant.”

  “That’s fine.” And I mean it. “Just do it quickly.”

  He doesn’t hesitate any longer. His large fangs sink into my neck, and although he warned me about it, I fall straight to my knees, because holy shit. He was not kidding about the pain.

  “Did you . . .” The muscles in my neck and shoulders cramp, causing me to gasp. “Did you get enough?”

  “Your blood is now in my belly, Prince Finn.”

  I can’t wait for digestion. I have to pray that this is good enough. Several deep breaths are required before I can make our way over to the well. The water is still, the bubbles long gone, and Alice has yet to surface. I wait another twenty seconds, my heart pounding the entire time. I trust her. I trust my mother’s stories. I trust the goose and the twelfth Wise Woman, even though I have no valid proof they deserve it. After all I have seen, after all I have done, I, too, believe in the impossible.

  On unsteady feet, I climb upon the stones. “Crawl down in my shirt and find a way to cling on to me the best you can. Hold your breath.”

  “My hairs will irritate your skin,” he warns. “I cannot control them in such close quarters.”

  It’s the least of my worries right now. As soon as he’s done what I’ve asked, and a wildfire breaks out upon my back, we follow Alice into the well.

  WHEN I OPEN MY eyes, I’m in a sunny meadow. Birds fly overhead, rabbits skip by, and grasses sway in a gentle breeze—and a spider scratches at my face.

  “You nearly squashed me.”

  I let out a laugh at his genuine outrage. “My apologies. It wasn’t intentional.”

  A warm hand touches mine. “How do you fare? Grymsdyke informed me he bit you.”

  I turn my head—slowly, as my neck aches from the bite—to find the most beautiful woman in all the Timelines sitting next to me. “I didn’t know if he’d survive without the goose’s strength.”

  She gently touches the holes in my neck. “There you go again, proving yourself to be the most generous, most noble of princes.”

  “You’re obviously biased.” It feels like I’ve been through the ringer when I sit up. I tilt my neck, stretching it, but it does little to relieve the pain. “Does it look like I was bit by a vampire?”

  The spider scoffs. “Vampire! What utter nonsense. Everybody knows that no such things exist.”

  So says the talking spider in a magical land we had to jump into a well to find.

  Alice helps me to my feet, pointing into the distance. “I saw smoke coming from that direction.”

  Then I suppose that’s the direction we head. Grymsdyke climbs upon my shoulder, and we set off. Amazingly, none of us are wet, despite jumping into a well filled with water. We walk a good distance, past a random, cold oven, before a small house appears. The moment we come within striking distance, the shutters fly open and an old woman peeps her head out.

  Make that an old woman with incredibly large, sharp teeth.

  “A queen, a prince, and an assassin, all blessed by one of the Wise Women, upon my humble doorstep!” She squints at us. “What is the world coming to?”

  Alice drops into a reverent, low curtsy. I follow suit and bow. “Greetings, Mother Holle.”

  The old woman disappears from the window, only to reemerge once she opens the door. “I see we all know who the other is, then. Come in, children. You will be all the better for it.”

  Her tone is kind, her face even more so despite her nightmarish smile. Neither Alice nor I hesitate to do as she requests. The inside of the cottage is fairly neat yet cool despite the mild weather outside. I wrack my brain to remember how the story went, the one that my mother read to me.

  Chores. The girl in the story did chores for Mother Holle and was rewarded for dutiful behavior.

  “Would you like me to build you a fire?” I ask the old woman.

  Her smile brightens, showing off those terrifying teeth of hers. “That would be quite nice of you, Your Highness.”

  Grymsdyke leaps off my shoulder, onto a nearby table, before I make my way over to the fireplace. No firewood is stacked nearby, but there is an axe.

  I head outside.

  A grove of trees sits behind the house, with many branches and fallen trees already on the ground. I spend a good half hour dragging pieces back and chopping them up, working up a good sweat that eventually loosens the muscles in my neck, before reentering the house. Alice is inside, shaking a mattress so hard that flying feathers mimic snow. Grymsdyke, on the other hand, has a pile of freshly dead mice and rats lining up next to the entrance. They must have remembered my story well, too.

  Once the fire is lit, we get to work on making a meal. The entire time, Mother Holle sits in a wooden chair with her spindle, stretching wool into thread. While the meat is boiling, Alice and I dust and clean the house while Grymsdyke continues to ensure it is vermin free. At one point, when I pause to wipe my brow, I find him upon the old woman’s lap, being petted like a cat. There is a smile upon Holle’s face, as if the coarse hairs that set my back on fire feel to her like the softest of fur. And I’ll be damned, the spider is purring contentedly.

  Dinner is ready by the time the sun sets. The spider feasts on a bit of raw meat Alice set aside, while the rest of us enjoy the boiled meat. When all plates are empty, and I am cleaning them with a bucket of water and a rag, Mother Holle finally says, “It is not often one finds royalty so willing to serve a woman such as myself.”

  “We are most happy to do so.” Sincerity rings in Alice’s words.

  “It has been some time since I have had guests, and as much as I would delight in your continued company, I am also aware that you are here for a purpose. But it is not for the gold so many others seek, is it? Speak, child, and tell me what it is you wish for, for a job well done.”

  “We have no need for gold, that much is true,” Alice tells her. “All we desire is information, if it is yours to offer.”

  The old woman grunts thoughtfully. “Some secrets are worth their weight in gold.”

  “That they are,” Alice agrees. “And there is a good chance that the secret we wish to be uncovered may be worth even more than that.”

  “Ask then,” Mother Holle says, “and we shall see if you are deserving of such a reward.”

  Alice bows her head briefly. “We are told that, in order to learn the way to Koppenberg Mountain, we must offer a sacrifice to the Weser River, only we do not know what kind of sacrifice is required.”

  For a moment, the old woman says nothing. She simply rocks in her chair, her hands folded neatly upon her lap. But then she says, her words filled with incredulous awe, “You seek the Piper.”

  “We do.”

  Her rheumy eyes swivel to me. “He has tried to claim you.”

  “Tried,” I say, “but failed.”
r />   “Yes, yes, I can see that now. There is strong magic within you, more than just the Wise Woman’s blessing. You are blessed by . . .” A smile curves those thin lips of hers. “True love.” She turns now to Alice. “The blood of the other flows within you both—true love at its strongest and yet most fragile magical state.” She nods knowingly. “True love saved you both so far. Time will see if it will save you when it is most needed.”

  Neither Alice nor I know what to say to this.

  Mother Holle claps her hands together. “You asked if I knew what must be sacrificed in order to find the forgotten mountain, and the answer is lifeblood. To each that wishes to travel to such a damned place, they must offer blood to the river. But it must be done so with intent, and with full knowledge that precious few who go there ever return as they once were, if they even survive at all.”

  Alice leans forward, taking hold of the old woman’s hands. “You have our deepest appreciation, Mother Holle.”

  Our hostess looks to me once more. “You have another question, do you not, Prince?”

  I don’t know if I will ever get used to that title. “I do, actually.”

  “Then ask it.”

  “The Piper has been responsible for the destruction of many worlds, for the deaths of countless persons—”

  “Including those who mean much to you.”

  I nod. “My mother and my grandfather, amongst others. He has manipulated colleagues of ours, destroyed lives. He has stolen children and changed them, turning them into murderers. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why a person would want to do such things.”

  She stares at me with those shrewd eyes of hers for nearly half a minute before she responds. “He does it for the same reasons all others have done so in the past and will do so in the future. He does so for power and what he believes to be true.”

  I rub at my hair. “But it has to be more than that. Power, I can get. But . . . to actively seek out to destroy worlds and murder people he doesn’t even know, ones whose lives have nothing to do with his—”

  “That is his question to answer more completely, unfortunately, and not mine.”

  Alice asks quietly, “Is it true that the thirteenth Wise Woman is allied with the Piper?”

  The old woman reclaims her spindle from a basket at her feet. “True love works in mysterious ways, does it not?” Before either of us can say anything, she adds, “It is too late for you to return to your friends tonight. There is a barn in the back; in the loft, there is a bed. You may sleep there. Do not worry; the barn is far warmer than you might imagine. Be prepared to depart at first light.” She motions to Grymsdyke, who had been perched on a nearby table. “I have need of you in here tonight, little assassin, so we might have a discussion.”

  He lowers himself into his spidery equivalent of a bow.

  Effectively dismissed once a candle is passed over, Alice and I make our way into the barn. Mother Holle was right—it’s warm inside, and the bed is surprisingly soft. I’m sure Victor will be pissed off that I worked so hard today, but the ache in my muscles feels good.

  I’m itching to get back on the road, though. The sooner we can figure out where this mountain is, the sooner we can take down the Piper.

  After we take off all our clothes and climb in beneath the blankets, Alice rolls over so her head lies upon my chest. “She loves him, then.” Her voice is soft, sad even. “The thirteenth Wise Woman, I mean. She does what she does out of love.”

  Which just might make her even more dangerous than he is.

  HAMELIN IS QUITE POSSIBLY the most unsettling village I have ever come across in my entire life. Eerily quiet to the point bird or cricket songs do not even fill the air, its buildings are wrapped in thick cocoons of fog and mist. Villagers go through the motions as though they are automatons, their movements slow, their eyes vacant as they move to and fro. No one speaks, no one laughs, no one makes eye contact with any of us when we ride into town. A peek into the local tavern shows a handful of men, silently drinking their ale whilst staring off into space. Orders are not placed; the wench brings drinks whether or not they are wanted.

  There are no signs of children to be found anywhere.

  I search the horizons for any signs of mountains or hills, but the fog is too thick.

  As our horses slow when we reach the heart of the Hamelin, Grymsdyke leaps from Finn’s mount to my own. He scuttles up my leg, perching on the front of the saddle. “Your Majesty, there can be little good in such a hollow place.”

  It is a sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with.

  He remains with me whilst we make our way through the streets, vigilant as he constantly surveys our surroundings. For those we encounter, we must steer our horses around them lest they are trampled without care or thought toward their own personal safety.

  The Weser River is on the southwestern edge of the village, its waters a murky yet placid dark gray. We dismount our horses, tying them to the trees that dot the banks. As I’m finishing my knot, a small boat slides by, a man staring forlornly into the distance as he clutches his unmoving oars.

  “What in the bloody hell happened here?” the A.D. murmurs.

  “Grief,” Mary says quietly. “Loss. Devastation.” She blows out a hard breath. “The Piper.”

  And, quite possibly, the thirteenth Wise Woman.

  Since the trip to Mother Holle’s, I cannot stop thinking about her response to my questions. Love, true love, has certainly influenced many decisions in my life over the years, whether intentionally or not. I risked much to love the White King of Wonderland, and he the same. And when my beloved land asked much of us, we bled and broke until we gave it what it wished from us. And I have risked much for Finn Van Brunt, to ensure his safety and our love—and I would risk even more if necessary.

  True love is exactly what she warned us it would be: strength and fragility all at once. True love can fortify a person or it can shatter them mindlessly. We who experience it, truly feel it in the depths of our bones and the strands of each hair, often allow it to color our field of vision. If the thirteenth Wise Woman truly does love the Piper, then her actions will reflect it. She may fight just as fiercely for him as I will for Finn, and she may be willing to pay whatever price is asked to ensure their love holds true.

  I wonder, though, if the same can be said for the Piper.

  When we first met, there was a flirtation, a false heat born of liquor and (on my behalf) a need to drown. Nothing sincere or meaningful happened between us, but that had been my choice, rather than his. I can look back on those moments now with a clearer eye, one that understands his actions and persuasions were more manipulative than genuine. He also romanced Sara Carrisford for months, wooing her with attention and affection. She believed herself in love, believed him to be, as well. Who is to know how many times he has done the same to other women? The art of deception is one he has long mastered, whether it be toward luring children from safe homes or seducing a lonely, desperate woman to believe she meant more than she actually did.

  Mother Holle mentioned the thirteenth Wise Woman’s love, but I am not so certain that the Piper’s is as genuine. Perhaps he has found yet another woman, lonely for affection, and found a way to use her and her skills to suit his needs.

  “Are you sure this is what’s needed?” Victor is asking his brother.

  “So said the woman our mother claimed was a goddess.”

  I turn to Grymsdyke, hiding my smile. “I have yet to inquire of you what Mother Holle wished of you the night we were her guests.”

  “She wished to speak to me of my role as your assassin and protector.”

  How very curious.

  “I am to give lifeblood here, as well, Your Majesty.”

  I must admit, I hadn’t even considered such a thing. “Are you certain?”

  “Mother Holle was quite insistent. It will be difficult for myself to do the deed, so I must beg help from you.”

  It feels wrong, somehow, to bleed such a m
agnificent soldier. “Perhaps Victor will be best, as he is a physician and skilled at ensuring precise cuts.”

  “No, Your Majesty,” he says gravely, followed by a cough. “It must be you who takes my blood.”

  As he has done so much for me over the years, I cannot deny him this.

  Our group meets at the edge of the grassy banks. Victor has his small medical kit from his bag out, and from it he takes a slim scalpel. “I wish I could just take some blood from each vein with a syringe, but I get the feeling that won’t cut it, this being a sacrifice and all.” A rueful, quiet laugh escapes like a sigh. “Sorry, what a terrible pun. That said, I brought a few alcohol wipes with me to sterilize the blade between cuts. After being stuck in 1905BUR-LP with nothing, I wasn’t going to risk not being prepared again.”

  Finn lays a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. You know it wasn’t.”

  “Still.” The doctor’s smile is thin. “I’ve got thread for stitching, a bit of antibiotic ointment, and some extra bandages for afterward. Do you know how much blood is required?”

  Finn shakes his head. “She didn’t say. Just that we had to offer it up with intent.”

  The A.D. smacks his hands together. “You mean, like . . . we intend the river to tell us where the damn mountain is?”

  Mary rolls her eyes. “I think it’s meant to be a bit more finessed than that.”

  “It’s probably whatever intent we have,” Finn muses. “My intent for giving my blood will be to know the location of the mountain so I can go and stop the Piper so no more catalysts and Timelines will be destroyed. I think it has to be honest, though.”

  “It might be nice to do it all at once,” Mary says. “Perhaps the intent there would be more meaningful.”

  It’s an excellent idea.

  “I initially considered cutting into the palms,” Victor says, “but upon reflection, a cut-up hand will not help any of us in a fight.”

  “Chances are,” I add, “once we find a way into the mountain, there will be many fights.”