She blushed, glancing everywhere else except at him. “I, uh…I hope you’re not trying to get me to dance around this tree with you,” she said. “I’m pretty much all feet.”
“I just wanted you to know this is a reverent ceremony, not something lowly like you might have thought from our joking earlier,” he said, worried she was thinking his intentions were less than honorable.
Dropping the ribbon, she kept her gaze downcast, her thick lashes veiling her uneasiness. Or was it disappointment? She was completely guileless and unpracticed in the art of hiding her emotions, yet he had a hell of a time pinpointing exactly what she was feeling at any given moment. One second she was all fire, the next ice.
Why was she so on edge? He started to broach the subject, when the garrison horns blared loudly. The festivities came to an abrupt halt as heads turned to watch the royal guard rushing to the sea wall.
“That must be Kaura’s fleet,” he whispered, turning his gaze back to her.
Fate was gone. Glancing around in a panic, he saw her moving through the still crowd. He pushed past those in his way, excusing himself, while keeping his eyes trained on her. When he caught up with her, he grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“O’Deldar...” she muttered, straining against his grasp. The blank look on her face unsettled him.
“You mean, the king’s counselor?” he asked, loosening his grip. He waved a hand in front of her eyes. She stared straight through him like he was invisible. He wasn’t sure what was going on but one thing was for sure, she’d checked out. All the turmoil she’d been radiating just moments before was gone. Some force or influence had taken over.
Before he could find out more, Fate wriggled free and ran through an archway leading into the castle’s inner bailey. All he could think to do was shadow her closely and keep her safe until he figured out how to deal with whatever had taken control.
Pausing long enough to look for guards posted inside, she raced across the open quadrangle, through a stately garden past a pond inhabited by two black swans. Finn hid beside her under the shade of a tree near the main gatehouse, following when she darted along the wall and dipped into a dark corridor leading to a turnpike staircase within a turret. When they reached the top step, she froze in front of him.
Pressing his back to the curved wall, he peeked up around to see what had stopped her. Ten guards stood on the rampart with their backs to them, all focused on the fleet filling the ocean’s horizon. Standing at the front was a regal, dark-haired woman clothed in finery befitting a queen. A young guy stood next to her, holding a spyglass.
These two royal figures could only be Empress Moria and Prince Tynan.
Finn’s muscles coiled with tension. Knowing how Moria dealt with trespassers, they’d be killed on the spot if discovered.
The sound of breaking glass jarred his nerves. No doubt it was Moria smashing her spyglass. The guards would be dispersing any second. He had to get Fate out of there.
Clasping his hand over her mouth and gripping her by the waist, he carried her kicking and squirming to the bottom of the spiraled steps. When he let go, she backed away from him, a wild, feverish look in her eye as she spun around, searching.
“You want to see O’Deldar?” he whispered.
Her gaze fixed on him as soon he spoke the priest’s name. For whatever reason, she would not rest until she found O’Deldar. Maybe the Druid could help figure out what was wrong with her.
“You can use the Words of Making to get us to him––”
She was already writing in her notepad and muttering the words.
Before he could tell her to make sure she included him, his surroundings melted away into shapeless gray hues before rearranging into a dusty chamber lined with shelves of scrolls, leather-bound books, jars of herbs and medicinal supplies.
O’Deldar stood with his back to a wall of oriel windows, staring into a bowl balanced on a granite pedestal. The old Druid looked up at them. He was a small man, dark-skinned and dark-eyed with long salt-and-pepper hair and a beard that softened his angular features. Even though he wore nothing more than a coarse gray robe, he emanated an air of majesty.
When he spoke, his voice was gentle and even, though his gaze penetrated to the core. “Tell me, do you expect me to pretend you’ve simply stumbled into my chambers by chance, or would you agree it’s best we get down to the business of why you are here?”
Finn glanced at Fate, expecting her to say something but she stood rigid and even more wild-eyed than before. “We may have business with you,” he hedged, when she didn’t respond.
“Have a seat,” he said, directing them to comfortable chairs before taking a seat opposite them.
Finn guided Fate to sit. She gripped the arms of the chair like she might jump and run any second. It wasn’t fear he sensed in her. If he had to put a name to it, it would be hunger.
O’Deldar watched her as well. “Fate, I know you’ve come for the Rod of Aeternitas.”
Finn’s confusion increased, especially when the rigidity in her posture eased and she nodded like an automaton. He suddenly wondered if O’Deldar was doing this to her.
“Do you know what the Rod can do?” the priest asked.
Her body went stiff again. She looked like she wanted to speak, but her mouth remained a closed, tight line.
Finn moved toward her. “Fate, what’s wrong?”
“She’s under a powerful spell,” O’Deldar explained. “A spell that brought her from very far away and sent her here for the Rod.”
“Who did this?”
“The same person who stole the Orb from me. Brune Inkwell.”
Finn remained mystified. “I don’t know that name.”
“She smells bad,” Fate said, wrinkling her nose. “Very bad, like sour milk curdled over moose sausages…and rotten eggs.”
They both looked at her. She still had that faraway look in her eyes and was covering her nose, her back pressed to the chair as if the smell was in the room.
“Strange, she’s remembering,” O’Deldar said, his wise face growing puzzled. “She shouldn’t be able to remember anything under such a spell, but this odor she’s speaking of must have roused her out of it somewhat.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How is it you know about this so-called spell? How do I know you didn’t cast a spell over her?”
“It is the Orb of Aeternitas that holds her, and it is the Rod of Aeternitas that tells me so.” He pulled a necklace from out of the collar of his robe, revealing a thin golden bar marked with tiny symbols.
Seeing it, Fate lurched at the priest, her hands clawing for the ornament at his neck. Before she could reach him, O’Deldar waved his hand, uttering something that forced her back in her chair like she’d been pushed and pinned to it.
Finn reared back in horror as she thrashed her head, growling like someone possessed. “What the bloody hell did you just do to her?”
“I only held her back,” O’Deldar explained. “The spell is pushing her into this delirium.” He stood over her with his thumb pressed on her forehead while muttering a chant.
After a few seconds she fell limp, slumping over in the chair.
Fearing the worst, Finn checked her breathing. Relief washed through him. She was alive and appeared to be sound asleep. Gathering her into his arms, he glared at the priest. “Will she still be crazed when she wakes up?”
O’Deldar gave him a regretful smile. “If she is not near me and the Rod, she will be what you know her to be. But the spell will always force her to retrieve the Rod.”
“What’s so bloody important about it?”
“Sit,” O’Deldar said, directing him back to his seat.
Finn did so reluctantly, keeping Fate on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder.
The priest sat next to him. “To tell you of the Rod without first telling you of the Orb is like trying to explain how a flower spreads its pollen without the aid of butterflies and bees. The Orb i
s a small puzzle ball––golden and about the size of a cherry. A rather unassuming piece at first glance, unless you have the mind to look more closely. Then you’ll see the interlocking hexagrams comprised of magical numbers and symbols, all of which represent ancient alchemical formulas and celestial forces powerful enough to bestow life and death.” His tone marked the gravity of the subject. “The Orb’s powers are limited to a small sphere of space, but the Rod, when used to unlock the hexagrams, will unleash its influence to extend throughout the world––granting its owner immortality and godlike powers.”
Finn’s grip tightened on Fate. “I get it. This is no small thing. So what happens if she doesn’t get the Rod? Will things go sideways for her?”
“She will kill herself trying to do what she must.” The priest moved to the table and reached for a glass vial. “Give her this. It will make her feel she’s accomplished her task.”
Finn held it up, watching as tiny gold flecks swirled in clear liquid. “What is it?”
“Spelled water mixed with gold shavings from the Rod. A decoy of sorts to trick the spell upon her into believing it has finished its work. But the potion won’t last forever. I will leave it to you to see her home as soon as possible.”
Finn debated whether to give it to her or not. He looked at the priest. If he couldn’t trust a fellow Druid, whom could he trust? Besides, he didn’t know how else to help her. Uncorking the vial, he lifted it to Fate’s lips and poured the contents in her mouth.
Fate nuzzled against her father’s chest, listening to the comforting beat of his heart and steady rise and fall of his breathing. She knew she was dreaming. She hadn’t cuddled with Eustace while he read her stories since she was eight or nine. If only she could stay asleep and stay in that safe place just a little longer before reality crashed back in. But she couldn’t keep from waking up. Strangely though, the feeling of his arms around her persisted. Lifting her head, she looked at Finn in surprise. “Wh-what happened?” She gasped. “Why am I sitting on you?”
“You fainted,” he said.
She jumped off his lap. “No, I didn’t. I’m not one of those wimpy fainters.” She swayed dizzily and Finn caught her arm, pulling her over to sit in the chair next to him. Trembling, she sat down, glancing at the wall of scrolls, the menagerie of old-world items filling the table and the glittering sea outside the bank of windows. “Wait, how did I get here?” She recounted her last steps. The last thing she remembered was being in the courtyard amongst all the festivities. She shot the old man in the robe a sharp look. “Who are you?”
“I am O’Deldar.”
She nodded, accepting that he looked like a Druid priest. But she wanted explanations, starting with how she’d gotten there without any memory of it. “What’s going on here? Why did I black out?”
O’Deldar waved his hand. “Forget these concerns, Fate.”
His voice filled her head, erasing immediate worries as a cool, calming sensation washed through her, soothing her nerves.
“We must address Finn’s troubles,” he told her.
She looked at Finn, then back at O’Deldar. “What do you mean?”
His dark eyes focused on Finn. “I see you’ve been poisoned by the cursed oak. You have tempered the blackness with the Elder race runes, but that has not stopped the spread.”
Fate tensed. The cryptic tone in the priest’s voice filled her with fear. She hadn’t thought of the poisoning since she’d found out Finn was alive. She’d assumed he’d been healed but O’Deldar was talking like he had some sort of incurable disease.
“I know. I can feel it,” Finn said, a deep dread in his eyes.
O’Deldar looked apologetic. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do. You must seek out the poison’s origin and destroy it.” His gaze passed over Finn’s crown and down to his feet. “Hmmm, it’s most strange. Your spirit shines more brightly than most. It has the radiance and purity of a newborn babe. Usually as the years wear away at us, our light fades, another reason the darkness is held at bay. Even so, I must warn you that this will not protect you for long. You will eventually become the darkness that is devouring you, and when that happens you will be the enemy of light and all that is good in this world.”
A wall of silence came crashing down, filling the room with tension.
“You know of Mugloth?” O’Deldar asked after a moment.
Finn frowned, shaking his head.
“I do,” Fate said. Sithias had urged her to have a look through each fable when he saw that the cursed oak was the one constant thread throughout each story. Mugloth was a character from the eighth fable. “My friend read about him in a story,” she added, careful to keep her knowledge of the Book of Fables secret.
“Then you know Mugloth is the source of this poisoning.” O’Deldar paused. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Finn, the time is coming when you will be forced to make a choice no one should ever have to make. But all will not be lost if you trust in your heart to know what must be done for the good of all.”
Cold fear pricked at Fate. “How is it you know these things?”
“You could say I am an oracle of sorts. I see things,” O’Deldar said.
“Then you should be able to tell us what’s going to happen,” she pressed. “You can tell us what to watch out for.”
“If I tell you too much this early on, I risk distracting you from what you are each destined to do. Trust me when I say this–– avoidance of pain does not always ensure a happy ending, and it’s up to you to bring good fortune to this story and every other.”
Startled by his choice of words, she wondered just how much the old Druid knew about the Book of Fables. “What makes you think we can change anything here for the better?”
“It is no secret the destinies of this world are being dictated by your travels through the Book of Fables.”
She grabbed Finn’s leg.
Having grown quiet, he started a little, then leaned forward, asking, “Are you saying that everything within these stories is real?”
O’Deldar’s gaze shifted to the seascape. “What you know as myths and legends in your world are, in truth, records of a time when our world was one with yours. But as eons passed, magic was banished––pushed aside by religious philosophies and science. Since then a great fiery divide in time and space has separated our two worlds. Ours stayed as it is today, while yours pushed ahead with its more limited, narrow views.”
“And how does the Book of Fables fit into all of this?” Finn asked.
The priest frowned. “That cursed book is a source of great misery to this world. Before the Elder race receded into the earth, one of their chroniclers created the book as a record of Oldwilde––”
“Hah! I knew the book belonged to a chronicler!” Fate burst out. “Sorry,” she mumbled when she received serious stares.
“I suspect there’s much more to the book than meets the eye, but I have yet to discover what that may be,” continued O’Deldar.
“What is Oldwilde?” Finn asked.
“The continent on which we live. Oldwilde was part of the First Earth, before the Elder race cracked it into pieces and shifted the land masses to different parts of the world.”
“Is there a Middle-earth too?” Fate asked.
“No.”
She fell silent and fidgeted under his solemn gaze.
“So what you’re saying is that the Book of Fables is telling stories about real people here in Oldwilde?” Finn said, a frown of concern on his face.
Fate gulped. “And us trying to escape the book is changing all those lives?”
O’Deldar raised his dark brows and nodded. “Yes, in essence that’s exactly right.”
His answer sat like a boulder in her stomach.
“Not to worry, young ones. You have no other choice. Wodrid saw to that when he spelled the book with the curse to trap unwary readers and force them to change the endings into their mirror opposites as their only means of escape. Ever si
nce that fork-tongued sorcerer got his hands on the book and took it into your world, Oldwilde’s destiny has been swayed by the ignorance of many unfortunate readers. It’s why I failed to see Moria’s entrance into Asgar eighteen years ago. The future is less clear when a reader from the Book of Fables is involved. And since the last reader came through and changed our once glorious days into what you see now, we’ve been living in the gloom of unending misfortune.”
“Well, the Book of Fables is here now,” Finn said. “We could destroy it.”
O’Deldar shook his head. “It is a ghost image of the book that’s here in Oldwilde. The actual book still resides in your world, and nothing there can harm it. It must be returned to Oldwilde if it is to be destroyed.”
“How can we bring it here if the book’s the only way in?” Fate asked.
“There are other ways to cross the divide between our worlds. If you know how to find them,” he said intently, as if speaking only to her. “But that is another concern for another time.” He rose and beckoned them toward the bowl on the pedestal. “Come, let us attend to more pressing matters and see if we might devise a plan to put an end to the misery here in Asgar.” He then passed his hand over the water’s glassy surface, stirring up a thick mist that took on the shape of the castle and the busy movements of the people in and around it.
Having seen the merriment earlier, and now the festivities taking place in miniature inside the magic bowl, Fate found it hard to believe anyone in Asgar was miserable. But she’d read the fable. Everyone in the kingdom was in for a very rude awakening. That in and of itself was bad enough, but to be told that her actions could either make or break countless numbers of innocent lives made everything that much worse. The burden of responsibility had fallen squarely on her shoulders, and she found it heavy.
Chapter 20
NO ONE NOTICED when Fate and Finn returned to the festival like glimmering wraiths appearing out of nowhere. Distractions of every sort took place among the throng of high-spirited celebrants. Jostled at every turn, they moved through the lively crowd in the direction of the caravan to inform Sithias of O’Deldar’s plan to defeat Moria. But there was no getting near his stage. Too many people surrounded him as he recited one of his plays and strummed his harp.
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