Saving Fable

by Scott Reintgen

  “I think I’ve got something,” Indira said.

  Some of the others looked her way, but Chem was running back through the numbers, still trying to figure out how to add the three words together.

  “Hey,” Indira said. “I found a clue! There’s a statue over there. That rabbit on the far end isn’t moving like the rest of them are.”

  Chem gave her a disbelieving look before crossing the room. Rabbits scattered left and right, but the one Indira had pointed out didn’t even budge. Chem bent down and hefted the statue up. “It has numbers,” she announced. “For a combination lock.”

  A sense of accomplishment nestled into Indira’s chest. She had found the first clue.

  “Seventy-three, forty-eight, twenty-two,” Chem read aloud.

  The boy sitting nearest the chest adjusted his shackles and leaned forward. He spun the dials until there was a satisfying click. The chest yawned open, but at the same time, the overhead lights flickered out. There were a few seconds of creeping darkness before the candles staggered around the table all lit up at once. A soft glow circled the face of every student.

  Chem plucked up the nearest candles and held their light out over the chest. There were books inside. One for each of them. She passed them around the circular table.

  “All right. You’re looking for anything connecting to the words apple, cinnamon, or orange. If you come across anything connected to those, let me know immediately.”

  Indira’s own book was a tattered thing with a blue cover. She pulled a candle closer, adjusted her shackles, and started to flip through. It was a recipe book. A glance over her neighbor’s shoulder showed his was the same thing.

  “Got one reference here!” a boy called out.

  “Me too,” another voice echoed.

  “They’re all recipes,” Indira said. “Of course they have those ingredients.”

  In the first few pages, she flipped through cobbler after cobbler. Her eyes fell on the words apple and cinnamon and orange, but without any apparent pattern at all.

  “Maybe it’s the total number of times they’re mentioned,” Chem explained. “Let’s start to keep a count. Whatever the total is for each of them…”

  “Seven now for me!”

  “I’ve had eight apples!”

  “All the recipes in my book seem to be for…zombies.”

  Indira obeyed Chem’s instruction. She was counting the references on page 38 when the boy next to her closed his book. She watched him lean forward and inhale deeply. She thought maybe he was doing some kind of meditation until he leaned back with a grin on his face.

  “Y’all don’t smell that?” he asked. “Go ahead. What do you smell?”

  Indira leaned forward a little and gave a sniff. The sharp scent of mint flooded her nostrils. She leaned back, fighting off a sneeze, as the rest of the room did the same.

  “Strawberries over here.”

  “Mint,” Indira answered.

  “Well, mine smells like cinnamon,” the boy replied.

  Carefully he lifted the candle out of its holder. Indira tilted her own light his way, and there, on the bottom of the wax, the number 2 had been carved.

  “Who has apple?” Indira asked. “And who has orange?”

  It didn’t take long to figure it out from there. The recipes had all been a distraction. If the boy hadn’t noticed cinnamon wafting in his direction, they might never have solved it. He kept on grinning as they looked. On the bottom of the apple candle, the number 5 had been carefully carved. An elegant 1 was waiting on the bottom of the orange candle. Indira smiled over at the boy as they totaled the numbers up.

  “Eight,” Chem said. “Our answer is eight.”

  All the lights clicked back on. The rabbits had disappeared. Alice was crossing the room toward them, face full of pride. “You’ve done wonderfully! Take a seat, Chem!”

  The girl circled to find her empty seat and sat back down.

  “Now, remember to finish your homework,” Alice said. “Class dismissed!”

  Alice clapped her hands again. Without any more warning than that, all their chairs dropped straight down. They landed on the floor below, in a sort of dining room, set perfectly around a table that had fortunately been empty. Indira and the other students stared at each other in confusion. She couldn’t remember Alice mentioning anything about homework.

  The group stood up one by one and headed off to their next classes. Indira couldn’t help wondering if all her classes would be this strange.

  At least I got one of the clues, she thought as she walked on to her next class.

  Indira found herself at the edge of a stormy courtyard. A small group of students stood in the rain, getting quite soaked as they stood there. A man leaned against an eroded pillar, eyes fixed on the valley below. Indira stood with the other students. It was hard to not notice that they all wore side-character navy jackets. The teacher, Professor Darcy, wore a water-darkened coat of a similar color, with a series of white neckties pressed nearly up to his chin. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and Indira thought his sideburns looked a bit out of style.

  The class watched for nearly two minutes. The rain continued to fall. Professor Darcy continued to stare into the distance. Indira’s clothing had almost soaked all the way through before their teacher turned around.

  “That is how you look longingly off into the distance,” he announced. His bright blue eyes were filled with passion. “Now, if each of you would choose a pillar to lean against. You cannot hope to improve if you don’t take what I do and give it your own style. So choose your pillar and look longingly off into the distance.”

  Indira and the other students spread out at his command. She leaned against a pillar as the rain continued to drench her clothes and prune her fingers. Professor Darcy whirled in circles, shouting advice as they practiced.

  “I want my students to be confident. The purpose of this class, Love by Page Twelve, is just that: to fall in love by page twelve. But you must also consider what will happen on page thirteen and beyond.” He clapped his hands together excitedly. “All right. As you look into the distance, elevate your chin slightly. Too high and you look filled with pride. Too low and you look like a person without hope. If you have a cloth or a token to press tightly between your hands, that helps. Nor am I against crying! It’s evocative and a part of life. Let the tears flow!”

  Professor Darcy thundered about, correcting postures and praising one boy’s willingness to unbutton his collar dramatically. (He missed the boy muttering, “It was just too tight.”) After that, he took them through a number of other “exciting” techniques: the wistful sigh, the proper method for breaking eye contact, and the first-arrival smile. (“Remember, you’re not just happy—you’re complete!”)

  After Professor Darcy gave his final speech to the class, the boy with the dramatic collar put his hand in the air. “Is there a reason we had to practice all this out in the rain?”

  Professor Darcy gave a most romantic smile.

  “Well, everything is more dramatic in the rain. Is it not?”

  And with that he led them back inside and through the halls of Protagonist Preparatory, offering final pieces of advice to individual students. Indira was very thankful not to be one of the ones pulled aside. So far her character education seemed bizarre. She had learned to be more likeable, had escaped from a room full of rabbits, and had learned vague romantic techniques in the rain. There was one more mandatory class on her schedule.

  Next stop: the Sepulcher.

  You might not know, my dear reader, exactly what a sepulcher is. In the Real World, it is a burial vault for the dead. Sepulchers have been used for centuries to house our lost loved ones. The Sepulcher in Protagonist Preparatory acts as a burial vault for stories. Every Author who has ever begun a story and abandoned it has left their mark in the s
trange and endless catacombs of the Sepulcher. It should not surprise you that these vaults are quite extensive. I have added a few headstones to this burial ground myself.

  Nor should it surprise you that most characters consider it a haunted and frightening place. Every unfinished story has created unfinished characters—destined to exist in the first handful of chapters, but who never find out how their story would have ended. Many unfinished characters go on to work normal jobs in the world of Imagination, but many also wander around without purpose. Authors rarely revisit those stories and characters, and even more rarely decide to pick them back up. It is considered the most haunting fate any character can suffer.

  Dr. Romeo Montague’s reasons for conducting his class in the Sepulcher were many. His own story had succeeded because of climactic events in an actual sepulcher. More importantly, the location provided a creepy and tragic atmosphere in which to conduct his I Thought You Were Dead class.

  Indira descended more staircases than she bothered to count. Deeper and deeper underground she went until the air around her felt oppressive and chilly. She shivered to imagine a ghost setting a hand on her shoulder and leading her ever downward.

  She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she was greeted by a narrow, black-painted hallway. On each side, canvases hung along the walls. Bright covers and twisted fonts, all exclaiming the titles of incomplete books. Their Authors’ names were so faded that they could scarcely be read. The black hall led to a wide, columned chamber. Chains extended down from the ceiling and held little bowls of golden light. Ten other hallways led away from the room, slanting slightly downhill into deeper recesses of the Sepulcher.

  Indira’s eyes fixed, however, on a boy waiting at the far end of the room. He sat just beyond the swinging circles of light. His skin was olive, and his hair fell in perfect dark curls. Indira was about to ask if he knew where Dr. Montague’s class was when he spotted her and pushed up to his feet. “It’s about time,” he said. “You’re the last to arrive.”

  Indira frowned. “I came straight from my other class.”

  “I came straight from my other class, sir.”

  Indira almost laughed. “Sir? I’m pretty sure we’re the same age, kid.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

  The boy stepped forward into better lighting. Indira barely stifled a gasp. His hair and height and expression all looked youthful, but his skin looked like the bark of an old tree. She’d never seen someone so ancient before. He offered her a smug look before saying, “Welcome to I Thought You Were Dead. I am Dr. Romeo Montague.”

  Indira swallowed. “I—uh—where’s the rest of the class?”

  “Waiting for you,” he replied. “Come along.”

  He led Indira down a secondary hallway. More book covers appeared along the walls, each a sad ode to some half-finished tale. Indira kept glancing sideways, feeling she had completely blown her introductions. She had called him kid. Intending to redeem herself, she decided to play the part of a curious student.

  “What are all these books?” Indira asked.

  “Failures,” Dr. Montague replied. “They are the ghosts of good and bad ideas both.”

  The hallway didn’t seem like it would ever end. They passed cover after sad cover.

  “How deep does the Sepulcher go?” Indira asked. “It’s depressing to think there are this many failed stories.”

  Dr. Montague let out a laugh. “No one’s ever mapped out the entire labyrinth. If you ask me, it’d be an impossible task. Take Harry Potter, for example. His story was such a smashing success in the Real World that it filled up an entire floor of unfinished stories down here. The Wizard Union celebrated his success, of course. One of their own becoming one of the most famous characters in history? Sounds good on the resume, until you realize how many other ‘chosen one’ wizards ended up in shelved novels that would never see the light of day.”

  Indira frowned. She’d never really thought of those kinds of consequences. She was also starting to realize that Dr. Montague was a glass-half-empty sort of person.

  The two of them rounded a final corner and came to a smaller chamber, identical to the first one. On one wall stood a line of oddly shaped vials filled with liquids that bubbled and winked. Indira gasped, however, at the sight of her classmates arranged in a circle. Each of them lay in complete silence upon a bed of stone. She heard the light and steady breathing of a collective group of sleepers.

  “As the last to arrive, today’s task falls to you.”

  “Today’s task?” Indira asked, eyes still wide.

  “Every good tragedy begins with someone trying to do the right thing. Tragedy is when a character tries to do the right thing but fails. Your task is simple. Six students. Six antidotes. Revive them by giving them the correct ones. You may begin.” When Indira didn’t move from the doorway, Dr. Montague tapped his foot impatiently. “I’ve never had a side character complete this task successfully. It would be a fine addition to the auditions.” He glanced at his leather wristwatch. “You have thirty minutes. Begin.”

  Indira couldn’t help feeling like Dr. Montague had taken a shot at her just for being a side character. That it came from someone so prim and proper just made it more annoying. She slid past him and began examining the vials. She noted the shapes and colors and even temperatures, setting her hand above them. The first nearly scorched her palm. Others sent shivering goose bumps down her arm. Not knowing what else to do, she snatched up a curving green bottle that smelled like freshly mowed grass.

  The idea took root…

  …so…

  …someone who worked with their hands?

  Maybe someone who loved to play and be outside?

  She walked from character to character, turning over their hands, until she found a muscled boy with thick calluses and dirt under his nails. Indira looked back at Dr. Montague, but he had taken a seat in one corner and appeared to be reading a newspaper. Uncertain, Indira sat the boy up as best she could and tipped the antidote through his open lips. The liquid caught a little in his throat, but after a few seconds he coughed, swallowed, and blinked to life.

  “He poisoned me!” The boy pointed in their professor’s direction.

  Dr. Montague huffed. “Oh please. You agreed to participate.”

  “You told me it was apple juice!”

  “Side characters. Always gullible. Don’t be so daft next time,” Dr. Montague responded unkindly. “And you’re fine now! If anything, your color looks improved.”

  Indira snapped a finger to get the boy’s attention.

  “Did you see any of the others put to sleep?”

  The boy shook his head. “They were already sleeping when I got here. Well, three of them were.”

  “Which three?” Indira asked. The boy pointed to a pair of twin girls and a frail-looking boy. She nodded toward the vials. “Do you remember which three glasses were there?”

  “I’m not sure.” His eyes looked a little red and hazy. “That big yellow glass was there. I’m not sure about the other ones. They all look the same.”

  They didn’t look the same at all, but Indira couldn’t blame him for not remembering. She left his side and snatched up the glass the boy had indicated. She smiled, wondering to herself if little Patch would have said it was a dandelion or a yellow-brick road. She didn’t see a set of vials that could possibly go together, so she eliminated the twins and moved toward the frail-looking boy. Before sitting him up, though, she had the nagging sense that something wasn’t right.

  She glanced back at the vials. There were, she realized, only four remaining. But there were five students. It took her a moment of thinking before she had it.

  The twins had likely arrived together. Dr. Montague wouldn’t have offered them different drinks. The yellow glass was double the size of all the other vials. Following her hunch, Indira t
ilted a drop of the sunshine liquid onto each of their tongues. The two woke up at the same time, sat up with perfectly straight posture, and laughed about something.

  “Excuse me,” Indira said. “Did any of these people arrive before you did?”

  Both girls pointed at the frail-looking boy.

  “And do you remember which glass he used?”

  The right twin said, “Blue.”

  The left twin said, “Red.”

  They each glared at the other and began to argue. Each insisted that she was thinking of the right color. Indira went back to the table. There was a blue vial and there was a red vial. She glanced over at Dr. Montague, who tapped his watch and said, “Twenty minutes left.”

  “What happens if I give them the wrong antidote?” Indira asked.

  “Well”—Dr. Montague offered a malicious smile—“this is a tragedy class, isn’t it?”

  On that ominous note, Indira returned her attention to the vials. Three potions for three sleepers. She turned back to the still-arguing twins.

  “You’re sure that it was blue, and you’re sure it was red?”

  Both nodded. Indira snatched a purple liquid that sat between the blue and red vials. Without hesitation, she tipped the glass and let a few drops fall into the boy’s mouth. His eyes snapped open, and he immediately started spitting out whatever she’d given him.

  “All right,” Indira said to herself. “Two more to go.”

  “It is appropriate at this point,” interrupted Dr. Montague, “to provide you with clues. The person who drank the blue vial has never seen the moon. The person who drank the red vial likes the sound of thunder. Carry on!”

  With that, Dr. Montague went back to reading his newspaper. One of the remaining sleepers was a girl, the other a boy. The girl had bright red hair and looked like a princess. The boy was lanky and dark-skinned, with a military-style buzz cut. The first classmate Indira had woken up pointed to the redhead.