Saving Fable

by Scott Reintgen

  “What’s wrong, little man?”

  He held out a stubby-fingered hand. “Can’t cross without a friend.”

  Indira laughed, walking back to take his hand and lead him across the street. They made it to the park, and before she could even say goodbye, Patch had commandeered the Baker twins and was planning a mutiny that involved two rocking horses and mounds of “mustard” gold.

  Mrs. Baker took over, and Indira left, eager to get to school as soon as possible. Maybe Mrs. Pennington was right. Maybe there was still a way to improve her standing. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to arrive early. She set out for her first day of school with the tiniest sliver of hope walking along beside her.

  Indira arrived at Protagonist Preparatory quite early.

  A little too early. The secretary’s desk was empty. Indira considered the passages that curled out in every direction and remembered walking by a massive hall the day before.

  Not knowing where else to go, Indira headed back down that corridor and found the room she was looking for. Great stone columns lined both sides of the hall. Between each set of columns, a fireplace flickered and beckoned.

  She walked to the center of the room and counted nine fires in all. Four on her left, four on her right, and the largest of all the hearths at the end of the room. Chairs of varying comfort waited in front of each fireplace. Oddly, not every fire cast a red glow into the room. She saw two that were blue and one that was a fickle silver color. Indira plunked down before the most normal-looking fire she could find in the most comfortable chair available.

  It took her about two seconds to fall asleep.

  For nearly forty-three minutes, all of Indira’s worries drifted away. She awoke to a polite tap on one shoulder. The slender girl hovering beside her chair had thick, square-framed glasses. A curtain of brown hair slanted across her face, and she looked rather indistinct if you didn’t count the large birthmark on her neck. Indira thought it looked just like a pineapple.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “I thought you might have to be somewhere. You were sound asleep when I came in almost thirty minutes ago.”

  Indira sat up with a yawn. “Yeah. I have a class with Mr. Threepwood.”

  “So do I. But did you know that you were in front of the Rest Hearth?”

  Indira’s eyes flicked over to the fire she had chosen. “The rest what?”

  “Rest Hearth.” The girl gestured to the stones above the fireplace. Sure enough, the word REST had been carved there in very Roman-looking letters. “Each fire does something different.” She pointed at them in succession. “Health, Luck, Comfort, and Wit.” And then to the side that they were sitting on. “Caution, Rest, Energy, and Courage.”

  Indira eyed the hearths appreciatively. “Do they really work?”

  The girl gave a timid smile. “You were sleeping rather soundly.”

  Indira shrugged. “Right. And which hearth did you sit in front of?”

  “Courage,” she replied quietly. “I think it’s working. I don’t normally speak to people. But I’m not sure how long the courage lasts. I might be using it all up on you.”

  Indira smiled. “Well, what do you say we get to class and stop wasting it?”

  This seemed like a good first step. Making friends. That was important, right? They walked back to the entrance, Indira stumbling groggily behind the ghost of a girl. Indira wasn’t exactly tall, but she felt like a giant compared to her new acquaintance.

  Indira realized that the little girl hadn’t said what the ninth hearth was for. It loomed behind them now, and Indira paused at the exit to Hearth Hall. “What’s the last one do?”

  The little girl shivered, as if the hallway’s chill had sucked the courage right out of her.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The words above that hearth are in another language.”

  Indira nodded before following the girl through the halls. Protagonist Preparatory bustled with life now. Characters of all shapes and sizes walked the wide hallways and disappeared down winding staircases. A handful of characters were waiting in line before the secretary, each of them glancing nervously at the other characters who had already secured their school jackets. Indira noticed a handful of navy jackets like her own, but some characters wore golden ones instead. She admired them at first, but eventually found them a little too bright and showy.

  The girl led her through the hustle and bustle to the end of the hallway. A corner room had silver letters stamped on its wooden frame: 1001. “Want to sit together?” Indira asked.

  “I’m Margaret Faye,” the girl said suddenly.

  “Indira Story.”

  They exchanged smiles before entering a room full of students. Indira walked down the center aisle of the classroom. Desks had been pushed into rows of four and were split down the center so the teacher could walk from front to back without any obstacles. Indira walked them down the aisle and spotted Maxi.

  Maxi had her hair up and was smiling so brightly that she made her own golden jacket look dull by comparison. Indira led Margaret—or Little Margaret, as Indira found herself thinking of the girl—in that direction. She plunked down next to Maxi and gestured for a terrified-looking Margaret to sit next to her. Maxi snapped around and looked ready to say something before realizing it was Indira. Her face swung through fifteen different emotions. Surprise, excitement, surprise again, worry, and then ultimately she settled on a strange mixture of eleven other expressions. Indira wasn’t sure what was wrong.

  “We have class together!” Maxi said in surprise. “You never told me about your auditions. We spent yesterday together and didn’t even like talk about it all.”

  Indira really didn’t want to talk about it. She did her best to change the subject. “How about you? How’d your auditions go? You have to tell me about them.”

  Maxi leaned back, brushed some lint from her golden uniform, and began. Little Margaret listened quietly, and Indira noticed her fidgeting every now and again, as if she wanted to add something to the conversation but just couldn’t gather the courage to do so.

  Indira listened first to a description of a greasy-looking skater dude who could have been cute if he even knew what a shower was. Each illusion Maxi described was a painful echo of Indira’s own sequence. She tried not to think about it as she listened to her friend explain just how clever she had been. Unsurprisingly, Maxi had won all three of her scenes.

  “And so I got approved for the protagonist track,” Maxi finished. Her eyes fell on Indira and little Margaret, as if she had just remembered they were there. “Which is like whatever.”

  The word protagonist still hit Indira like a punch to the stomach. She was saved from responding, however, by the entrance of their teacher, Mr. Threepwood. A current of hushes snuffed out every conversation. Indira startled a little. She recognized him.

  The same man who had made her a white mocha at the Talespin just the day before took a seat on top of his teacher’s desk. She hadn’t guessed that the man serving her coffee had actually been the owner. He set a leather bag to one side. He wore tan suspenders, dark khakis, and a white, three-button shirt. His long hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Indira thought he looked kind of like a hipster.

  “Good morning, class! Welcome to Sympathetic Characters. We designed this course to build upon your connection with the readers. Our research shows that readers today have more options than ever. So about fifteen years ago, the sympathetic course sequence was initiated to make every character more loveable and appealing to their audiences.”

  His eyes settled on Indira and Little Margaret for the first time. He let out an embarrassed cough and did his best to smile at them. A horrible blush flooded Indira’s cheeks.

  “My sincere apologies. I thought the signs would do the trick. For today, I’d love for the side characters to sit on this side of the room.” He
indicated the opposite section of the class. “And all my protagonists should be on this side.”

  Indira expected a number of people to shuffle back and forth, but she was the only one to stand. Sweat broke out in a bright sheen across her forehead. She was so nervous that she barely noticed little Margaret duck after her across the aisle. When she had taken her seat on the proper side of the class, Mr. Threepwood clapped his hands together.

  “Very good. Now, the whole goal for any character should be to connect with the reader. You want them to identify with you, care about you, and, if possible, admire you. We will go over the everyman-versus-superman theory, discuss proactivity, formulate strategies for becoming an underdog, and even go over how to ally yourself with other characters to improve your stock. Even the most talented Authors can’t force a connection between a character and a reader. Most of that responsibility falls on your shoulders. This class should help make the task easier.”

  Indira used the sleeve of her jacket to wipe sweat from her forehead. She couldn’t help but glance over at Maxi. What would Maxi think of her now? Had she known Indira was a side character? Every time Indira looked over, though, Maxi looked focused on the lecture.

  Mr. Threepwood kept teaching, but Indira was distracted. She realized now that every side character had been given a navy-blue jacket. On the opposite side of the room, protagonist students wore golden jackets. To help identify our students, Brainstorm Ketty had said. Her own jacket no longer felt so majestic. The gold version looked so much more promising, didn’t it?

  “Frankly,” Mr. Threepwood continued, “there are a number of things you can do. We will start with the most basic rules of being a character: having a similarity to the reader. I’ll begin by passing out a survey. You will answer questions about your interests and try to discover connections that could link you to potential readers. And remember, every character has a story!”

  He walked the rows, passing out surveys, and the class fell to working silently. Indira pulled out her pen and started scribbling down answers. But she felt as lifeless as she had after auditions. Not only was she not a protagonist, but now she had a living and colorful reminder of her place at the school. One by one, students turned in their classwork and returned to their seats. Indira was still working on her sheet when Mr. Threepwood clapped his hands together.

  “I will end with this,” he announced happily. “Fable is a mysterious place. There are thousands of anecdotes and stories that demonstrate all the different paths toward becoming a successful character. There is only one thing we know for certain. Some of the people on this side of the room will become protagonists.” He pointed to the side characters. A few gasps sounded in response. “You will work tirelessly and blossom into a character that your brainstorms and judges could not have predicted.”

  He turned to the golden-jacketed students. “And some of you won’t be protagonists. You will find the course load too rigorous, the pressure too challenging, and you’ll settle for other roles. I say this to remind every one of you that your fate has not yet been determined. It would be foolish to act otherwise. Let’s take this week a page at a time, all right? Class dismissed!”

  As some of the others stood, Indira found herself staring at Mr. Threepwood. He had said exactly what Mrs. Pennington had said that morning. Why hadn’t Brainstorm Ketty mentioned any of this to her? Every cage has a key, she thought confidently. If I’m stuck in the cage of being a side character, then working hard is the key to getting out. All I have to do is be better, work harder, and impress my teachers. I can still be a protagonist. I can still save David.

  Indira was lost in thought as she walked to the end of the row. Little Margaret hovered like a shadow at her shoulder. Indira and Maxi arrived at the middle aisle simultaneously.

  “Want to grab lunch later and compare schedules?” Indira asked.

  Her stomach sank when one of the passing protagonists scoffed at the question. Maxi tilted her chin and seemed to be considering her response carefully. She darted a few looks at the other protagonists who were funneling out of the room, several walking arm in arm.

  Eventually she leaned in and whispered, “I’m sorry. Things are just different now. I’m a protagonist. I have to get used to that, you know?”

  Indira shook her head. “So you can’t have lunch with me?”

  Maxi made an annoyed noise. “It’s not like that, Indira.”

  “Then what is it like?”

  “We’re just different, okay?” Maxi tried to look apologetic, but Indira thought she just looked and sounded like a jerk. “Sorry, but I have to go.”

  Indira watched Maxi sweep out of the room in a sea of golden jackets. All the side characters, it seemed, were still turning in their assignments or simply waiting for their supposed superiors to exit first. Indira refused to cry, but she felt as if someone had stolen the joy right from her chest. Mr. Threepwood’s words had been so hopeful, but Maxi’s abandonment overshadowed them.

  The worst part was that she could see Maxi’s point. They were different now. Set apart. It shouldn’t have mattered, but the color of their jackets and some of the classes they would take and even the name of the school made it plain as day: Indira wasn’t like Maxi. It was possible that she never would be. Indira walked up and turned her survey in. Margaret followed her out of the room like a shadow. All Indira could think about were the words of prophecy Dexter DuBrow had shared as she entered the Adoption Agency: Owner of three unfortunate grudges.

  There was Peeve Meadows.

  There was the dog-ear.

  And now there was Maxi.

  Good, she thought angrily. At least I know who my enemies are.

  Indira and Margaret moved toward Hearth Hall, silently agreeing that a few minutes of courage or energy or even rest might do them some good. They had passed through several hallways when Indira stepped on a tile and her foot stuck to it. Her hands scraped painfully against the stone wall as she came to a jolting stop. Margaret looked back, a little wide-eyed.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “What happened?”

  Indira yanked at her foot but couldn’t get it to budge. “I’m stuck.”

  Margaret set down her knapsack and examined the situation like a scientist would. She had walked around to one side and was about to offer a suggestion when the floor and wall gave a sickening lurch. The very stones groaned and the room revolved. Indira caught a final glimpse of a terrified Margaret before being whisked away into a hidden room. Her foot freed itself, but the wall sealed at the same time. There was no way out.

  Hearing a creak behind her, Indira wheeled. Almost the entire room was filled with rabbits. All with white fur and glassy, pinkish eyes. And they were watching her. Stone seats circled a stone table. More surprising, every seat but one had a student sitting in it.

  A snowy girl with blond curls stood. “Oh good. You’re all here now.” She waved Indira forward. Seeing no other choice, Indira navigated slowly through the camp of rabbits and was forced to climb over the back of the empty chair. The blond girl smiled approvingly.

  “My name is Alice. This is How to Get Captured and Narrowly Escape. It’s not a normal class, but then, I’m not a normal girl.”

  She sat down and her bright blue dress billowed out. She snapped her fingers and one of the bunnies came scuttling forward. They all watched the little creature approach a rather large chest that sat in the very center of the table. Indira had been so distracted by everything else that she hadn’t noticed it. The bunny used its little paws to spin the dials of a combination lock attached to the chest’s front before shooting back to join the others.

  “We’ll start with simple escapes,” Alice explained. “Then we’ll work our way into more drastic and daring encounters. You’ll have to use all the clues to get yourselves out of the room in thirty minutes. Today’s challenge is a classic rescuer-and-captives scen
ario!”

  Alice clapped her hands together twice. The sound of stone sliding against stone echoed. Indira flinched as a pair of sturdy bracelets slid up from the arms of her chair and closed over her wrists. A quick glance showed the rest of the table similarly bound. Only one girl, off to Indira’s right, could still move.

  “All you have to do is say the answer to the following question and the challenge will come to an end: Apple plus cinnamon plus orange equals…?”

  Alice grabbed the base of the nearest candlestick.

  “Best of luck! We’ll discuss your results tomorrow!”

  She gave the candlestick a tug, and the stone floor beneath her opened up. They all watched as the golden hair tossed and the robin’s-egg dress billowed out. The stones turned and the chair vanished into the floor, leaving them alone with hundreds of rabbits and each other.

  “Why are all the teachers so weird?” a boy to her right asked.

  The only girl who remained free stood. Indira couldn’t help noting that she wore a golden protagonist jacket. “Right. My name is Chem. I guess I’m your rescuer?” She circled the table with a thoughtful expression. “We should start by looking for clues. Let’s think about that equation, too. Apple, cinnamon, and orange.”

  Indira’s eyes flicked around the room. The rabbits were all moving around, hopping here or there. It was almost as if a little village of rabbits had decided to hold a secret meeting. The walls, though, were stone and bare. She did not see any inscriptions or letters or anything.

  “There are nineteen total letters in those words,” Chem announced suddenly. “That has to be it. Nineteen!”

  Her words echoed. Indira and the others waited, but their wrist braces didn’t release.

  “Maybe not,” the boy next to Indira said. “It’s gotta be something else.”

  Indira scanned the room again, and this time something did catch her eye. The rabbits were impossible to keep apart, moving and hopping constantly. Except for one. In the corner of her vision, there was one rabbit that looked just like the rest, but it wasn’t moving.