by Holly Hook
“No. No, I don’t.”
“I think you do,” she said. Mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the tree.
“Let go!” I yelled. But Mother smiled now, and I dragged my feet in the muck. I wanted out of this place more than anything. The rustling noise grew louder. Something was in that tree hole.
And then a large, hairy form shot out towards us, squeaking.
A rat.
The biggest I had ever seen. It was bigger than the rabbits I’d seen hopping below the tower. Bigger than any rat should be.
I screamed and jumped, but it was too late. Grimy fur brushed my skirt and my shins and something sharp dug into my leg.
“Rae!” Mother kicked at the rat and sent it flying back into the tree trunk. She picked me up, hugged me close, and ran.
Meanwhile, blood ran down my leg.
* * * * *
I hiked my skirt up to examine my scar. I could barely see it in the dark, but the faint lantern on the other side of the room was just enough for me to see.
Even after eight years, the mark remained where the rat had bitten me, halfway between my knee and my foot. It was the only mark on my leg, my one reminder of what had happened when I ventured outside.
Mother reminded me of that often.
The familiar shame burned in me and I tried to push down my forbidden sense of adventure. The light had been nothing important, anyway. It was probably some fire from the heavens, something dangerous that no one should be touching. It would be terrible for me to go out there in the dark. Dark was when the bandits came out. They could never get up here unless I dropped my hair for them.
Or if they got lucky and found the right bricks, the loose ones that stuck out from the aging tower. Mother used them for footing when she climbed up.
But Mother didn't appear. The last of the light had faded. A crescent moon rose, giving a little light to the expanse of trees below.
She was down there.
I wasn't supposed to be.
But I always wondered if the entire world wasn't dark. The world around the tower always appeared light, with rabbits and foxes and birds. They weren't like the rat at all.
This was night though. Things could be different at night.
I tried to make out the flowers below, but the last blue color had vanished.
"Mother?"
Still not here.
I stood up. My stomach rumbled. We should finish our dinner by now. If she got caught by bandits—
I didn't want to think about that.
I paced around the room, making a circle and walking over our worn carpets. My hair dragged behind me and I had to pick it up again. Braids shone gold as I passed the faint lantern. The oil had almost run down. Mother had to bring back some of that, too. And perhaps, something to keep my hair up in. I wanted that more than anything.
Except for perhaps dinner. My stomach cramped in pain. If Mother didn't come back, I'd get a lot hungrier. She had already gone far longer than she should have.
I stopped at the trapdoor which Mother kept locked at all times. She only used it to go out on days she was sick and too weak to climb the tower. On those days, my scalp thanked her. I wished she would use the trapdoor all the time, but she always said the steps were even more dangerous than they used to be. I had to keep growing my hair, and she wasn't happy if she didn't get to touch it at least once a day. She almost needed that the way she needed food.
I wished she understood how heavy it was to lug around.
I paced three more times.
No Mother.
She might be lost. She never carried a lantern with her.
My heart raced with anticipation. I could take this lantern. I had to. Maybe all she needed was light to get back here. I could climb down the loose bricks. Memorizing them had been easy. It was my world and I knew it well.
Even in the dark I might scale them. Mother had even climbed back up on them by herself a few times when she didn't have her basket.
I grabbed the lantern because I didn't have a choice anymore.
I had to go down there.
Chapter Two
The first thing I did was heave my braid back up onto the windowsill. It landed and coiled like a fat, gigantic golden snake. Like a rope. I wondered if there was something I could fix my braids to up here so I could have a better handhold on the way down, but once I reached the ground, how would I untangle my hair?
I’d just have to take the chance.
The second thing I did was slide my arm through the metal handle of the lantern. The light wavered and returned. It was uncomfortable, but if I tossed it over the edge, I would break it.
I knew where the first brick was where I’d have to step. Mother had planted her foot there on plenty of occasions.
I stepped onto the windowsill.
Took a breath.
And stepped back down.
I couldn’t do this. My leg burned as if the rat had bitten into it all over again. Mother had spent hours dressing the wound with herbs when it had happened. Hours in tears. Hours telling me I should have never asked to venture outside. I spent that same time apologizing to her. Mother didn’t want to see me hurt, ever. We both hated that the bite had happened and that I had caused us so much trouble.
If I climbed down there tonight, it might get worse.
But if something had happened to Mother, I could starve to death up here. It would be a slow, horrible way to go. Mother had told me about starvation in some poorer areas of Fable where crops would dry up and refuse to grow.
I climbed back onto the sill, holding my breath, and turned around.
I slipped my foot over.
This act had played out in my mind for years, but I had never gotten the courage. I flailed and my foot hit the brick. Then my boot slid off, and I grabbed the windowsill, clutching stone. Already I had almost fallen.
“Rae,” I breathed, getting my footing. “You can do this.”
I did the hardest thing I could have done. I took my other foot off the windowsill and found the next brick.
My whole body trembled and a cool breeze kicked through the night, ruffling my skirt. The ground was ten times my height below. I held onto the windowsill. The next brick was only a step down and a little to the right. I moved my foot through air and found it.
Now came the hardest part: letting go of the windowsill. I grabbed onto the crack that spread right below the window and dug my fingers in.
I had never appreciated just how much Mother had to climb before. Mother made it look so easy. If she came back after I had gotten to the bottom, how would we get back up? No one would let their hair down for us.
Another brick. And another. My boot slipped and my feet dangled above darkness. I bit in a scream and held on for dear life. What was I doing? Mother would come back home and find me dead on the ground because of my stupidity.
I found the brick again and put my toe on it. Another step down. I was doing it.
Another step. And another. I clutched every crack and crevice with as much strength as I could.
My boot hit something wide and flat.
The ground. The uneven, strange ground.
I jumped down from the tower and leaned against the brick, catching my breath. I could smell the dirt under my feet. The grass. The dew, even. All of them assaulted me at once as I stared ahead into darkness I had underestimated from up in the tower. The space under the trees was black. Infinite. Mother was right. The night was scary, and I had no business being out here. I stood in a tiny bubble of light. My lantern wavered again but stayed alive. The stars provided the only other light.
I leaned against the tower, hoping I'd vanish into it. Inside was safe. I could still get in through the back door if I wanted and climb the stairs, but the trapdoor remained locked. But at least I had shelter if bandits came looking for me. They might have caught Mother already, and they were torturing her for information on where we lived. Most people wanted nothing more than to hurt you. Vil
lages were places where thieves went after you and sicknesses waited in every crack. Mother had been lucky to make it home every night.
Which way to go?
I peeled myself from the tower as much as I didn't want to. The trees formed humps of darkness against the stars. The lantern only lit the surrounding grass a few feet out. I needed a way so I wouldn't get lost.
The falling star had gone the way the sun had set.
The crescent above smiled down at me as if encouraging me to go. I had no other option. Mother might have headed that way.
Fear rose so much I didn't mind if she got angry with me. I would apologize to her, climb back up the tower, and help her up. And besides, Mother always came from the west. The path went that way.
But it cut through that dark area.
And the rat might still be there.
I waited for a few more minutes, shaking. I should go back up in the tower, but I couldn't. It was too late now. I might as well go all the way with this.
I took one step away, and another.
And walked.
It was hard. I knew where the flowers grew, where every single one bloomed every season, and where the dips in the ground were, and where all the bricks from the crumbled castle still stuck out from the earth. But darkness changed everything. My foot struck one brick, and I stumbled, going down on the ground. I cried out and spots filled my vision and pain throbbed in my forearm, but I got back up, feeling stupid. Mother could walk on this ground okay. I'd done it eight years ago. That meant that I could do it again.
I got my footing and continued on, past Mother's vegetable garden. The familiar rows of green beans and carrots and squashes comforted me. I passed the bare corner Mother left empty each season for reasons I didn't know. My boots found the trail, and I held up the dying lantern. Pale light showed the path ahead, but I could only see a bit in front of me. A twig snapped somewhere, and I froze, catching my breath, but no other sounds followed.
The edge of the forest drew closer. I had to keep going. Mother made it through the woods. And besides, I had a light.
I hesitated near the forest edge.
And entered. Tree trunks emerged from the dark and faded behind me as I found the trail, a worn dirt path carved out from years of Mother walking back and forth. I'd found it. As long as I stayed on this, I couldn't get lost. I had to make sure I didn't go through the trees or try to take any shortcuts.
I passed some of those thorny bushes and kept my distance. If I didn't touch them, it would be fine. The path curved, but I stayed on it, keeping my gaze on the crescent above.
And then I spotted it.
A pale purplish light, far ahead in the trees.
The fallen star.
I quickened my pace, heart pounding. I'd found it. It had fallen right on the path. The purple glow reflected off the trunks of the trees and cast a wide circle on the ground. I couldn't yet make out what was making the light, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in the forest.
I drew closer. The light was even brighter than my lantern. Was that a plant giving off the glow?
And then I heard something else.
Voices, coming from the glow.
Mother's raised voice, and one far deeper than I'd ever heard before. Then again, I had only heard Mother's voice and my own. This one was just...different. Rougher.
A figure moved in front of the mystery plant and I scrambled to turn off the lantern lest I get detected. I found the dial and turned down the flame to nothing. Night shrouded me. The fear of angering Mother grew once again I wondered how I had ever gotten the bravery to come out here.
The deep voice spoke again. Judging from the tone, the person hadn't detected me. Mother said something else and mentioned my name, which rose over the other words. She sounded incredulous. The figure moved away from the plant and let the light meet my eyes again. Was the purple glow even stronger now?
I should have turned back, but it was too late.
Instead, I tiptoed forward so I wouldn't trip on any rocks or upturned roots.
And then a horrible feeling bloomed inside my gut like a black flower of poison. A barrage of terrible memories exploded in my mind. The rat, the tree, and the sadness.
The dark spot.
I had crossed over into it and just hadn't noticed due to the night. My gut was my only means of detecting it. This glow--it was coming from within the dark spot. It made little sense.
I held my breath and took another step in. It took everything I had to not turn and run out of there. The dread feeling the dark spot gave off was so much worse at night. Mother walked through this every day if she took the trail. How could she stand it? It was no wonder she wanted to be in the tower by nightfall.
I passed a tree and spotted Mother standing there in her good purple dress, gazing down at something growing out of the swampy ground. A huge, gnarled root rose behind her and the tree behind her had a large hole, even larger than I remembered, in its trunk. I caught my breath at the sight of it. It was the rat tree, and Mother wasn't even moving away from it. The scar on my leg burned again, a permanent reminder of my mistake.
The plant at her feet was glowing.
And growing.
It was a gorgeous cluster of purple flowers almost the same color as Mother's dress. Leaves curled out and flowers bloomed as the plant became larger before my eyes. I had to blink to make sure it wasn't an illusion, but it was getting brighter and spreading. Mother backed away right into the rat tree and she didn't even look afraid. Instead, the expression on her face was wonderment. Mother's mouth fell open.
Another flower opened. Just watching it made the dread in my stomach dissipate. The swampy, dead ground around the magical plant was turning brighter and the grass greener. It was becoming more like the better parts of the surrounding forest.
I wondered if this new plant was healing the dark spot.
"I used to have some of this in my garden, back at my old home," Mother said to someone at her side. "Until my neighbor came in and steal it from right under my nose."
"Rampion," the second person said with that strange, deep voice. "A prized vegetable. Full of light magic. It is no wonder you say your daughter is so beautiful."
And then the second person came into view.
I had never seen another person besides Mother. This one was just as terrifying as I imagined people to be. It was a person in a black, flowing robe with red trim. This person had short, brown hair and hair on their face.
A man.
It had to be. Mother said they could get hairy faces.
I had never seen a man before and this one looked younger than Mother, but older than me. It explained the deep voice. He had a different body shape than Mother and I, with a broad, flat chest and a jaw that was more pronounced. I felt strange looking at him and I didn't understand it.
"I wanted to take some of this home," Mother said. "It's necessary for the same reason that Rae is." Did Mother sound scared? She moved away from the man as if she wanted him to leave her alone.
He might be a bandit, but I spotted no knives or swords in his hands. In fact, it looked as if he had just walked out of the black pond right behind him, but that was impossible. The man took a step closer and turned away. The air felt sharp and prickly as if some power radiated from him. I hated the feeling.
Another flower bloomed on the rampion plant. I had seen nothing like it. Purple veins pulsed with light. I couldn't stop staring at it. I must be dreaming.
"Your neighbors feared you," the man said. "Almost everyone fears those who have magic, especially those of us who have the dark kind flowing through us. And like it or not, Gothel, you have dark magic just as much as I do. No garden of yours will ever change that."
Gothel? I had never heard my mother called anything else. And this man knew her. Mother had never mentioned him.
The air grew colder and sharper. Mother faced the man. She was pale and the purple light coming from the plant made shadows under h
er eyes.
"Alric," she said. "I do not wish to be dark. I must have a choice in the matter. This rampion will hold it back forever. I'll no longer need to do my daily ritual."
The man—Alric—smiled. He showed two rows of perfect teeth, bright in the light given off by the rampion. "You are dark. Look at what you did to your desperate neighbors. Living out here and hiding behind her will not change what you are. You know that."
Mother's lip trembled. "It was a deal. A fair deal." Her voice carried pain.
"I agree that your trade was fair." Alric grinned wider. Somewhere, an owl hooted as if laughing at his joke. "Now, about your daughter. Has the king's son showed up yet?"
"The what?" Mother took a step closer to the glowing plant as if it could protect her from something. "There is no king's son around here. Whatever makes you think this?"
I couldn't breathe. None of what they were saying made any sense. There was no room for any of this in my world.
Alric turned his back and spoke. "You are part of a story, Gothel. Every one of us in Fable is. Have you ever wondered why that's the name of our world? We are characters. Legends, and I hold the key to that knowledge. I know how your story will end, and it will end with you losing your so-called daughter and giving in to your darker side. There is no other way for you." The man spoke with triumph. It reminded me of the time Mother held me here before the dark spot.
"No," Mother said. She shook her head. "No one can take Rae from me. Not even you."
Another bud appeared on the plant and came open. The shrub was growing larger.
I held my breath. Mother had told me there was magic out in the world and some of it was bad. She couldn't have that in her. I could believe this man had a soul like this dark spot, but not Mother. She hadn't wanted that rat to bite me. Mother had even cried and dressed my wound for days afterwards so I wouldn't get sick.
"Or maybe there is another way," Alric said. "You may avoid going dark if you do what I tell you. I know all the stories and how we can thwart them. You can save yourself, Gothel."
"How?" Mother asked. "I am not sure I should trust you. You're the darkest wizard in all of Fable. And what will happen in this story?"
