He continued playing the beguiling tune, now adding a rune note to bend the wind to his will. All it took was a mere thought to plunge the gust downward to the base of the bonfire and stoke the fire from the bottom up. Without warning, the flames flared skyward into a raging inferno.
Onlookers stumbled back from the intense heat with cries of shock and surprise.
He narrowed his gaze on Moria, his fingers flicking rapidly over the holes of the flute. She danced wildly, flinging her head back and tearing at the neckline of her gown as if suffocated by it. Then her eyes fixed on the flames flickering well above the balustrade. He could tell she was drawn to the heat. Her cold, reptilian blood craved warmth, an instinct that pushed her closer until she stretched over the railing and hung over the scorching fire.
She was right where he wanted her.
Savoring the power he wielded, Finn waited for a fraction of time, then blew the final note. The blaze burst high in a wave of voracious flames, engulfing Moria and flooding across the balcony. As the molten tide flowed over those closest to the empress, chaos broke loose as blood-curdling screams echoed over the courtyard and human torches pitched themselves over the edge.
The sudden burst of flames, scalding heat and ensuing pandemonium galvanized Fate into action. She hauled Sithias backward but not fast enough. Half his wing went up in a flash. Knocking him to the floor, she smothered the fire with the skirt of her gown. As everyone rushed to escape the encroaching inferno, she grabbed him and they scrambled on all fours to one side of the balcony to avoid being trampled.
Disoriented and confused, Fate looked for Finn. He stood where she’d seen him earlier, a malicious gaze leveled on the empress who was thrashing and clawing within a solid blanket of flames. Her keening scream resounded over all others. As Moria crumpled to the floor, Finn blew two more rune notes. The servile wind strengthened, further fanning the deadly blaze.
Putting her back to the intense heat, Fate curled in on herself, covering her ears and clenching her eyes shut. After what seemed like an eternity of screaming, the last of Moria’s tortured cries and dying rasps fell silent. Lifting her head, Fate glanced up as the frigid wind vanished and the fire receded with unnatural swiftness. King Balor trudged through the stillness, past the dead and wailing wounded, and knelt by the smoking husk of his queen. Sobs of despair and the reek of burned flesh drifted in the air, turning to nausea in Fate’s stomach.
Sithias stumbled to his feet, looking more than a little bewildered and frightened. “Wh-what happened here? One minute I’m lissstening to Finn’sss musssic, and the next, everything’sss burnt to a crisssp.”
Gulping back the bile burning her throat, Fate stood on shaky legs and held onto his trembling arm for support. “I’m sorry, Sithias. I can’t believe we didn’t remember you’d be just as affected by the music as Moria.”
Finn drew up behind her, slipping his arm around her waist. His touch sent a cold shiver through her and she recoiled.
A flash of anger crossed his face. “We need to leave before the shock wears off and people start looking for someone to blame,” he said, his voice gruff.
She followed, keeping her distance from him as they moved past those who’d been burned. The sight was surreal, full of weeping angels, sad court jesters and faeries with shredded, quivering wings. Guilt put a drag in her step as she thought about the scars they would bear from the terrible rain of fire Finn had brought down upon everyone. Had they first considered the safety of innocent bystanders, they might’ve come up with a different plan.
She stared at Finn’s back, remembering O’Deldar’s forewarning: “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.”
They were wading through the melee in the hall when Fate realized Sithias had fallen behind. She found him cupping his hand over his mouth, staring at the banquet of food on the table. What had been bowls of fruit, vegetables and bread were lumps of worm-infested gruel, the suckling pig, a roasted torso of some unfortunate man.
Gooseflesh prickled over her skin as dizziness slammed into her. Her body heaved violently as she vomited until there was nothing left. Spitting out the last of the bitter acid, she lifted her head, seeing that Sithias had been overcome as well. His complexion had gone from pale to ghost-white.
She couldn’t move, her brain felt numb and disconnected from her legs. When she saw that Finn was doubling back toward them, she pushed her body into action and staggered over to Sithias. Finn stopped, his posture stiff as he waited for them to catch up.
As she and Sithias stumbled through the great hall with Finn leading the way, the gilded walls gave way to dull, dilapidated surfaces, luxurious carpets grew shabby and threadbare and the vibrant tapestries on the walls faded into moth-eaten remnants before their very eyes.
By the time they reached the outer bailey, Moria’s spell of enchantment had dissolved completely, revealing the hideous truth of everyone’s existence beneath her glamorous veil. Many stood in mute disbelief, while others screamed and wailed–– shocked by the tattered rags hanging from their emaciated bodies and the stacks of putrid corpses in place of their bountiful fare.
The kingdom was in ruin. The odor of squalor, decay and death hung in the air like a thick, noxious gas. Sithias vomited again, pressing Fate’s gag button once more. With nothing left in her stomach, she dry-heaved, a bout that left her weak and unsteady. Finn hovered nearby, offering to help her walk the rest of the way, but she shook her head. She didn’t want him near her. She was too mixed up. The blissful moments they’d shared together––the ribbon dance, the kiss––had all been part of Moria’s illusion. None of it had been real or true, except the undeniable reality that Finn was a merciless executioner.
When they reached the caravan, O’Deldar emerged from the shadows. “You have accomplished much good here today,” he said.
Sithias coughed and pinched his nose. “How can thisss be good? Thessse people have been eating their dead!”
O’Deldar nodded in agreement. “This is the price for ignoring their hearts. For many years they’ve known deep down everything was wrong, yet they refused to look beneath the surface. The effort will be tremendous, but they will rebuild Asgar into something real and wonderfully imperfect.” His gaze shifted to Finn. “The dark power is a cruel temptress and she will exact a heavy price each time you call upon her.”
The muscles in Finn’s jaw tensed as his gaze flicked to Fate. “I know.”
O’Deldar placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not to worry. In the end, you will do what’s right.”
“Even if doing what’s right feels wrong?” Finn asked, his face grim and tortured.
When O’Deldar hesitated, Finn stormed over to the caravan, climbing inside, where the Book of Fables awaited.
Fate stepped forward. “Well?” she said, her voice muffled behind her hand. “Are you going to answer the question?”
“As you walk this path of thorns laid before you, try not to focus on what’s right or wrong. Choosing to fight and conquer that which causes fear and misery is all that’s important.”
She nodded. Strangely enough, she took some comfort in the priest’s words.
Sithias tugged on her arm. “Misss, if we don’t leave now, I fear this sssmell and thessse horrorsss will be forever etched on my brain and I’ll never be able to eat again.”
Fearing the same, she hurried after him. As she climbed the steps into the caravan, O’Deldar left her with one parting message, “Fate, when the blood is on your hands, remember what I said here tonight.”
Stopping on the top step, she glanced back in alarm but he was gone.
Old Mother Grim
SHE WAS OLD, SOME SAY as old as the making of the world. Certainly, she was an ancient creature wise in the ways of sorcery and eluding the decay of time. No one knows how she came to be. Only that she was born of the most ghastly of nightmares.
It was whisp
ered she made her lair on the edge of forests, rivers or lakes, where the in between exists and magic is at its strongest. There she would plant the acorn of a cursed oak and nourish it to swift maturity with a potion of human blood, cat’s eyes and claws, and the crushed bones of mice.
She dwelled within the roots of the oak, waiting for the foggiest of nights to leave her dank burrow. With a cloak of mist gathered round her misshapen form, Old Mother Grim crept through the villages, sniffing at the cracks of doors for the sweet scent of baby’s breath.
So it was in the peaceful village of Shytuckle that the people woke to the screams of frantic mothers running through the cobbled streets searching for their young ones. Everyone searched the village and surrounding hills until the wolves howled in the night, only to return heartsick and empty-handed.
When they barred the doors and windows shut, no one thought to ask the poor waif, who huddled in a pigsty on the edge of the village, what she had seen. She was only a child vagabond, a drifter who sometimes played with their children, giving them strange charms and entertaining with magic tricks. Had they noticed the tattered girl, they would have seen her fear, for she had witnessed a fog-shrouded creature drifting through the streets.
Several clear nights and a bright waxing moon kept the remaining children of Shytuckle safe…for a time. But when the moon waned and storm clouds gathered, an unnatural fog rolled down from the damp mountains to weave through the valley once again. No iron locks or barricaded doors could keep Old Mother Grim from what she hungered for. This time the waif saw the malformed creature leaving the village with two swaddled babes in her crooked arms and three small tots following like sleepwalkers in her misty trail.
When more children were discovered missing, the panicked villagers ran through the streets calling their names. This time the waif told them she had seen the child-stealer. Some stopped to listen, but when she described the mythic monster, the villagers scoffed and pushed her aside.
Before darkness fell, the villagers locked themselves inside the oratory with ten of the strongest men standing guard outside. Hours later, Old Mother Grim traveled silently within the folds of a massive fog rolling into Shytuckle.
The enticing fragrance of so many babies in one place drew her straight to the oratory. She swept the air with her broom of sticklewort dipped in snake venom. When the sickly green vapors of her sleep potion hit the men on guard, they dropped like felled trees. Old Mother Grim shuffled her great weight up the front steps, stared at the locked door and swept her clawed hand over the lock. The door unbolted and swung open. As fog and sleep potion poured inside, the women and older children collapsed where they stood.
Old Mother Grim stuffed the last five babes into a bloodstained bag, then crooked her bony finger and beckoned six sleepy tots. The spellbound children followed her like a row of ducklings. But they were not the only ones. The waif followed them to the oak tree on the edge of the forest and watched them climb down into the hollow.
When she ran back to Shytuckle, the waif woke the villagers and showed them where to find the children. Armed with pitchforks, axes and torches, the angry villagers made their way to the base of the ominous oak and reeled from the terrible stench wafting up from its roots.
Two men crawled into the dark hollow beneath the tree with torches. The others strained to hear the children’s voices, but all they heard were the muffled cries of the men who scrambled out with pale faces, sick from the horrors they’d seen inside the foul burrow.
Chaos ensued. Some took axes and pitchforks to the tree, while others wailed with fists pounding the ground. The villagers wanted vengeance, but the monster that stole their children from them was nowhere to be seen. No one knew that Old Mother Grim had receded into the blood-soaked clay beneath the tree.
Every red, burning gaze turned to the waif, the only stranger in their midst. They called her a wolf in sheep’s clothing. What better way for a monster to hide if not within the innocent guise of a lost child? The villagers tied the waif to a stake, set torches to the straw stacked at her feet and watched in numb silence, deaf to the poor girl’s cries.
When the burning was done, they returned to Shytuckle. No one glanced back. Therefore, no one saw the hideous thing climbing up into the peculiar fog pooling around the oak’s trunk. Had they done so, the nightmare might have ended there. But as fate would have it, Old Mother Grim was free to hunt and feed her hunger for centuries to come.
Chapter 23
THE SICKENING PORTRAIT of helpless children following Old Mother Grim to her blood-soaked lair, and the innocent waif burning, dissolved into rivers of letters that flowed back onto the book’s pages. Heartsick and spent, Fate clutched at the ache in her chest, fearing she’d be forever haunted by those horrifying images.
And all this on the heels of watching Finn destroy Moria and seeing the unspeakable carnage beneath her web of illusion.
A gloom settled over her. She’d seen the frightening darkness in Finn, and wasn’t sure she could ever look at him without seeing the inhuman stranger he’d become. All she wanted was to get back to Eustace and her old life. If wishes were horses, she’d be galloping home instead of being forced to face Finn in this dismal place with the stench of death clinging to her hair and clothes.
As exhaustion set in, her courage collapsed. Feeling ill, she bent at the waist, staring at the ground. Finn reached out to steady her, but the look of disgust she shot him made him pull away. Seeing the hurt in his eyes only made the queasiness worse. She was torn between wanting to say something to ease his pain and the urge to run as far away from him as she could get.
He saved her from making a choice. He was already backing away, an expression of absolute dejection on his face as he turned and strode off in the opposite direction.
Sithias hoisted his toga up over his long, skinny legs and tiptoed to keep his skimpy sandals from sinking deeper into the marshy ground as he made his way over to her. “You mussstn’t judge him too harshly, misss. If anything, he needsss your sssupport, now more than ever.”
“Unfortunately, you were too busy doing the snake dance with Moria to see how much he enjoyed what he did to her,” she said a little too sharply. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap.” She touched his burnt wing. “And I’m really sorry about this.”
Sithias shrugged. “It’ll mend. But you won’t, unlesss you accept that he isss no longer the Finn you created.”
“But that’s just it. He’s not the Finn I always dreamed of. This Finn is damaged, and his heart’s torn between me and Tove.”
He brushed a loose strand from her eyes, trying to tuck it behind her ear. When it wouldn’t stay, he gave up. “I’ve ssseen how that young man looksss at you. You should never doubt hisss feelingsss. Asss for Tove, he chossse you. I know you’re new to affairsss of the heart, not to mention the dizzying array of feelingsss that accompaniesss falling in love. In the end though, you mussst choossse whether you are falling on the ssside of love, or fear.”
She bit her lip. “I’m afraid about so many things. What if we can’t save him? What if he turns into the monster O’Deldar said he would?” She waited for the hard lump in her throat to subside. “What if he gets to know me and finds out he really doesn’t like me and wants Tove instead?”
“We’ll find a way to sssave him. And I’ll eat my sssandals if Finn isss the kind of young man to play such dassstardly gamesss between two innocent girlsss. He knowsss hisss heart, and he’sss following it. You could learn from that. And with all that he’sss facing, he even managed to bring about a good end to The Dragon Empresss.” He stroked his goatee with an amused grin forming on his face. “I jussst read the lassst entry, and it’sss quite entertaining really. Apparently, the people thought Moria’sss death brought about their terrible ssstate of affairsss… ssso they built a temple to deify her in hopesss of regaining their prosssperity. Tynan married Kaura, and they gradually ressstored the kingdom to its former glory. Oh, and Finn will be forever known asss the Unholy Pipe
r. They waged a bounty on hisss head––the heaviessst in Asssgar’s hissstory. He’sss being hunted asss we ssspeak. Ssso you sssee? He dessservesss your gratitude, not your judgmentsss.”
Fate’s shoulders drooped. “You’re right. I’ve been unfair and judgmental.”
“That’sss the ssspirit,” Sithias said, raising a fist dramatically. He dropped his arm. “The red in your hair doesssn’t help either. Your temper burnsss twice asss hot.”
She blew at the stubborn strand hanging in her eye. “It’s not that red.”
“It only takesss a pinch,” he said, shivering and rubbing his arms. “Brrr, I wish I had a little of that fire. I’m catching a chill.” He closed his eyes in concentration, using his glamour to make his scorched wings vanish and transform his skimpy toga into a forest green jerkin and tan breeches, topped off with a tweed hat.
She watched his face age to a distinguished man in his fifties. “Nice look. Why so much older?”
“I’ve been formulating a ssstory for usss ssso we’ll be welcomed by the villagersss without sssuspicion. You are looking at Dr. Benjamin Weathersssby, traveling physician extraordinaire, who lossst hisss wife in childbirth a few short monthsss ago. You and Finn are my two eldessst children, and you’ve recently lossst your one-year-old brother and baby sssister to Old Mother Grim.”
Realizing she hadn’t actually put any real attention on their new surroundings, Fate looked out over a valley covered in a patchwork of wheat and cornfields with a small village of peculiar beehive-shaped stone huts clustered near the river’s edge. There seemed to be no sign of life in Shytuckle, save for the small tufts of chimney smoke trailing up to a sky of swollen gray clouds sagging over the village. “That’s good, Sithias. You came up with that while listening to all my woes?”
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