Saving Fable

by Scott Reintgen

  “Her name’s Rose,” he said helpfully. “She told me the other day she was a night owl. So she probably has seen the moon? I don’t know.”

  The twins crossed their arms, standing beside the buzz-cut boy. “But Gavin’s scared of storms. So he can’t be the one who likes the sound of thunder!”

  A new outburst of arguments. Indira lifted the vials experimentally, sniffed them again, and then circled the room in search of clues. She was getting frustrated when she noticed a little sun carved into one of the stone tables. Looking around, she realized that each table had its own emblem: stars or hearts or clovers. She whipped around and ordered, “Sit them up.”

  Her classmates obeyed, pulling at shoulders and sitting their unconscious peers upright. Indira smiled, seeing a beautiful moon carved beneath the redheaded girl and a lightning bolt beneath the boy. She snatched the red vial and tipped it into the boy’s mouth. She felt a surge of pride (especially considering Dr. Montague’s clear doubt in her abilities) as the boy blinked to life. But a sigh sounded from the corner. Everyone looked back at Dr. Montague.

  “Side characters. You never get it right.”

  Without warning, the boy convulsed. He looked briefly as if someone were choking him, and then his eyes guttered out and his mouth hung slackly and his fingers twitched.

  “What’s happening?” Indira shouted. “Help him!”

  She crossed the room and snatched up the blue vial.

  “Too late, I’m afraid.” Dr. Montague came forward. He leaned over the boy and folded his stiff arms in a regal pose. “A lesson for all. This is how tragedy works. What’s your name?”

  This he directed to Indira, who was doing her best not to cry. Had she really killed someone? Her hands trembled. “Indira,” she whispered. “Indira Story.”

  “Ms. Story has illuminated every foundational principle of a proper tragedy. Even a side character should learn these rules, and I plan to have you muttering them in your sleep. First, every tragedy should have someone who is working to do the right thing. Ms. Story wanted to succeed. She had no ill intentions. Second, every tragedy should involve an important choice. Ms. Story made several, none more important than her final decision. Third, every proper tragedy involves a miscommunication. The messenger is delayed. Or if not delayed, then his message is misheard or misinterpreted.”

  Anger snapped to life inside Indira. “You said that the one who liked the sound of thunder needed the red vial! I gave him the red one.”

  “Indeed you did, but that is not what I said. I told you that the one who drank the red vial liked the sound of thunder. Drank. Past tense. The red and blue vials act as antidotes for one another. If you had stopped to consider my words and followed the other clues I had set out for you, you might have seen that. As I said, miscommunication.

  “Finally, of course, every tragedy must involve loss.” He gestured to the boy on the table. “If we do not see the weight and consequence of our misdeeds, of our pride, then we are not true tragedians. Consider this before next class, for you will all face a task like the one Ms. Story faced today, and you will all learn these valuable lessons by your own hands. Class dismissed.”

  The other students slowly and awkwardly filed out of the room. Indira had fallen to her knees beside the boy. Behind her, Dr. Montague plucked the red vial from the table and poured the redheaded girl a drop. She gasped to life, and he quietly instructed her to come to his office later so he could explain the first day’s lesson. The girl nodded and left.

  Indira couldn’t tell if she felt angry or sad. She’d never been responsible for something so awful. She couldn’t believe that something like this would be allowed to happen at Protagonist Preparatory. And she was even angrier with herself than she was with Montague.

  In a way, he was right. She should have listened. If this had been a real story, she would have lost a friend. But here in Fable she had killed a fellow character. What would happen now? Would she be arrested by the Grammar Police? Thrown out of school?

  The terrifying possibilities loomed overhead.

  “That wasn’t horrible for a side character,” Dr. Montague said. She rounded on him, ready to curse and yell and accuse, but he held up his hands peaceably. “The point of the task was not for you to succeed.”

  “But what about him? He’s dead now!” And the tears really did come, streaking to her chin. “And it’s my fault.”

  “Well, yes,” the professor replied harshly. “He’s dead. But I don’t see why that’s something to cry about.”

  Indira looked up in horror. “You’re heartless.”

  Dr. Montague frowned. “Who’s your mentor?”

  She tried to wipe the tears from her face, but they kept rolling down her cheeks.

  “Deus,” she finally said.

  Dr. Montague actually started laughing. Forgetting he was a professor and forgetting that there were rules about hitting your teachers, she stood and removed the hammer from her hip. Dr. Montague noticed it and quickly sobered. “I’m sorry, but that explains everything.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Deus isn’t the most thorough mentor. Don’t take offense—he’s a powerful mentor, but he doesn’t often bother with little details.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that characters do not die in this world. Not in the way you’d imagine.”

  “I…what?”

  Dr. Montague continued. “A character can die, but it is nearly always a matter of the spirit, not of the body. You received a more intense lesson than I intended. Good. Perhaps the consequences of your actions will invoke a more permanent change. The boy isn’t dead.”

  “He isn’t?”

  “You’ve been to Hearth Hall?” he asked.

  Indira nodded.

  “And you’ve seen the Ninth Hearth?”

  She nodded again.

  “Some of us like to call it the Nine-Lives Hearth. It is one of Fable’s more charming functions. If a person dies, they regenerate before the fire.” He set the vials back on their shelves and shrugged. “You may want to apologize still. After all, it isn’t ever fun to die, and it takes a few days to regenerate fully. He’ll be behind in his classes because of you.”

  Indira was so relieved that she didn’t bother to remind her professor that he was also to blame for how things had unfolded. “Is he up there now?”

  Dr. Montague shook the boy’s boot. “He will be in a few more minutes. All right, get out of here. I have to prepare for my next class. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

  Indira took a final look at the dark-skinned boy with the buzz-cut hair. She didn’t tell Dr. Montague this, but she wanted a solid image of what her mistake had cost. Even if the boy was regenerating upstairs and the consequences weren’t permanent, she wanted to remember how much there was to lose from simple mistakes. With a quick nod, she exited the room.

  Winding her way back up through the Sepulcher, she saw a new group gathered downstairs. Her stomach lurched at seeing Maxi among the golden-jacketed protagonists. Indira ducked back upstairs before being noticed, but as she climbed staircase after staircase, she remembered Dr. Montague’s words about this particular group.

  I have to prepare for my next class. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.

  She wanted to believe the words Mr. Threepwood had spoken that morning, the idea that a side character could become a protagonist with some hard work and dedicated study, but the rest of the day had been its own lesson on the subject. The status jackets, Dr. Montague, everything seemed to point to one truth: every character had a story, but some characters were treated better than others.

  Before her tragedy class, Indira had wanted nothing more than to go home to the Penningtons’ and fall asleep. She would have even welcomed the pep talk she knew Mrs. Pennington must have been preparing for her. No
w, though, she felt obligated to redeem recent mistakes. She planned to start by apologizing to the boy she’d accidentally poisoned.

  Indira strode into the vast Hearth Hall. Students sat in front of various fires, recovering their courage or enjoying some rest or snagging a little more energy before their next class. It was the one room she’d seen at Protagonist Preparatory that didn’t suffer from a separation of gold and blue. The different-colored jackets mingled here without much complaint. That made sense to Indira. Courage and rest and energy were things that everyone needed, regardless of status.

  Indira made her way to the Ninth Hearth. It stood at the far end of the hall, a towering framework of twisted stone. It was just as Margaret had described. Indira didn’t recognize the words, or even the language, that had been carved above the fireplace. She did, however, recognize the boy seated before the roaring flames.

  He didn’t look up as she sat down beside him. Indira thought her heart might break as she watched him stare into the fire as though it were the only thing that existed.

  “Hey there,” she said softly.

  He glanced over, and for the first time Indira realized just how insubstantial he was. Light angled through him and around him as if he were a ghost.

  “Hello.” His voice was hardly more than a croak.

  “I wanted to apologize,” Indira said. “It’s my fault you’re stuck here. Well, I was tricked, but it’s mostly my fault still. I should have been more careful.”

  The boy let out a ghostly sigh.

  “Can you…do you know if you’re allowed to leave the fire?” she asked.

  He shook his head. He pointed to the spot where they were sitting and shook his head again.

  “Dr. Montague said it might be a few days,” Indira explained. “I’m sorry again. I’ll keep you company, and if there’s anything you need…” She wasn’t quite sure what to offer a ghost, though. Did they eat food? Did they like to read books? How would he use the bathroom? “Well, I’ll come back and share notes with you from class. What’s your name?”

  He glanced her way again. Either the magic of the Ninth Hearth or Indira’s kind questions had sketched a little more of him back into reality. He whispered, “Gavin Grant.”

  “Indira Story,” she said. “I’ll be sure to visit you tomorrow.”

  He grunted appreciatively and she left him there.

  It had been a very long day. She was ready to go home.

  By the entrance of Protagonist Preparatory she saw another familiar face. Phoenix was walking down the hallway toward her, his golden jacket pulled awkwardly over his wizard robes. He didn’t notice her at first, and Indira considered walking right past him, but he glanced up when they were just a few feet apart. A smile lit up his face. “Indira! How are you?”

  Horrible, awful, and rotten. “I’m okay.”

  He gave her sleeve a tug and smiled wider. “I like your jacket.”

  Indira’s heart clenched. Maxi was the kind of girl who cared about status. The family she’d adopted proved that much. But Phoenix? How could he say something like that? When he knew what it meant to wear gold and what it meant to wear blue, how could he of all people make fun of her? She raised her chin, slow and cold.

  “I thought you were better than that,” she said.

  Confusion clouded his face, but Indira didn’t give him a chance to explain. She stalked through the front entrance and ignored the sudden bloom of heat behind her. She walked all the way home without even looking where she was going. Maxi had abandoned her. Phoenix had made fun of her. Even if she could get promoted to protagonist, she felt that those wounds would still sting. She arrived home well after Patch had gone to bed, but Mrs. Pennington was still awake.

  “Indira!” She swung to her feet. “How was—”

  Something about Indira’s expression or posture cut Mrs. Pennington’s question off. Instinctively, her foster mother came forward and spread her arms. Indira disappeared into the offered hug. She stood there for a minute, wrapped up in what felt like the last welcoming place in Fable. Every other corner of the city felt like betrayal or failure. Here, at least, she was safe.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Mrs. Pennington asked.

  “No,” Indira said. “Not tonight.”

  With a final squeeze, Mrs. Pennington released her.

  “I’ve left some food out for you. Go have a bite to eat. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  Indira nodded once, and Mrs. Pennington started upstairs. Beneath the glow of one of the kitchen lights, Indira saw a plate with a note taped to it. She tripped over Patch’s toys and into the kitchen. The note read:

  Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I will try again tomorrow.

  —Mary Anne (something with an R…It’s late and I can’t remember!)

  Love, Mom

  Indira unfolded the tinfoil and found two slices of cold pizza. They tasted like a brand-new day.

  Indira began her day as an enemy pirate who Patch had—according to his own personal narration—been hunting across all seven seas. The two managed to come to a peace agreement over waffles. After breakfast, Indira accepted a much-needed hug from Mrs. Pennington and headed out for her second day of school. She was still feeling a little nervous, but Mrs. Pennington’s advice from the night before was fresh in her mind.

  Courage meant trying again. Indira wasn’t about to give up yet.

  The day’s first test came just two hundred yards down the street. A familiar figure with familiar red hair was waiting for her, leaning against a street sign like he’d been there for hours. Phoenix offered a hesitant smile as she approached. “Indira! I’ve been waiting here all morning.”

  She took one look at him and marched right past.

  “Hey. Wait! Indira, there was a misunderstanding yesterday.”

  “ ‘Misunderstanding’?” she shot back. “You told me you liked my jacket. No misunderstanding there. I got the joke loud and clear.”

  Indira didn’t slow her pace. In the corner of her vision, she could see Phoenix struggling to keep up, nearly tripping over his robe with each step. Wizards weren’t exactly track stars, she supposed. “But that’s my point,” he said. “It wasn’t a joke!”

  “So, what, you just like the color blue?”

  He finally managed to catch up. “On you, yes.”

  Indira glared at him. “Still being funny, I see.”

  “But I’m not trying to be funny,” he insisted. “Indira, I didn’t know what the colors meant. Brainstorm Underglass is really thorough in her first meeting with students. She didn’t even get close to finishing that first day. My appointment got rescheduled late because the wizarding school tutorials were all morning. So when you saw me, Brainstorm Underglass had literally just given me my gold jacket. I thought gold was for boys and blue was for girls. I didn’t know there was a whole system for the colors.”

  Indira finally stopped walking, and Phoenix nearly barreled into her. She stared at him, feeling both annoyed and a little guilty. “So you were just…”

  “Complimenting you.”

  He hadn’t been making fun of her at all. He was just trying to be nice. Indira stood there for a moment in stunned silence. It took a second to realize that an apology was in order.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “Yesterday Maxi ditched me because I’m a side character. I guess I assumed you were doing the same thing. I just couldn’t believe she would hang out with me one day and ignore me the next.”

  He nodded. “I’m not sure that’s a protagonist thing. She gave me the cold shoulder too.”

  “It didn’t help that some of the teachers reacted the same way,” Indira went on. “It’s like they think side characters are useless.”

  Phoenix’s eyes flashed with fire. “Th
ey’re wrong about you.”

  Something about the way he said that had her stomach feeling like a gymnasium full of butterflies. Not sure what to say or what to do, Indira started walking again. This time she stuck to a pace that was a little easier for a robed wizard to keep up with.

  “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. Forgive me?”

  Phoenix nodded quickly. “Of course. You’re one of my only friends. I was so worried that you were going to stop hanging out with me that I accidentally set one of my textbooks on fire last night. Mr. Randle had to buy an extra extinguisher for the hallway.”

  Indira couldn’t help smiling at that mental image. “Friends again?”

  “Friends.” Phoenix sighed with relief. “Now, can we please talk about how weird our professors are? Yesterday the guy from The Lord of the Rings kept pointing at the syllabus for our Spellbinding class and shouting, ‘You shall not pass!’ No one really got the joke, though.”

  It didn’t take long for Indira’s second day to start outshining her first one. The long walk with Phoenix took her mind off all the disappointment from the day before. The two of them discussed their favorite classes and marveled at how cool the brainstorms were. She was so deep into the conversation that she barely noticed that they’d arrived at Mr. Threepwood’s room.

  Phoenix bumped her shoulder. “See you at lunch?”

  “Count me in.”

  Indira was still smiling as she took a seat next to Margaret. The classroom was divided the same way it had been the day before: blue jackets on one side, gold jackets on the other. But this time Indira felt like she had a shield to ward off the bad vibes. The morning had been one giant step in the right direction, and she wasn’t planning on going backward now.

  Courage was trying again.

  Courage meant taking the next step, and the next.

  “If you don’t pick up your clothes, you’re grounded!”

  Indira frowned. “Try being a little tougher.”

  Mrs. Pennington huffed a sigh and disappeared back into the hall. A second later, she pushed through the door. “If you don’t pick up your clothes, I will end you!”