I shoved through the sudden eruption of chaos.
Travellers scrambled for safe doors and market stalls, the Knaves and Heart-Breakers clashed all over the village with the searing sound of blades meeting blades, and the ground thundered with the rapid footfalls plaguing our small village.
Dagger in hand, I pushed my way through shouting villagers and screaming registers. I had to make it to the market stall patch, Lock might already be there, waiting by Ark for me.
I didn’t have a moment to flatten myself to the ground before the explosion threw me off my feet.
Dust gusted toward me, the force flinging me off the path and smacking me into the cracked fountain bed. Debris rained down on me. I curled into a ball and threw my arms over my head.
Amidst the blow, someone found and dug me out of the fountain. A firm grip latched onto me and hauled me out of the rubble.
Through the dust that fogged the air, I caught a hazy glimpse of plum-purple eyes shrouded in shadows. Not unlike the shadows I’d seen before the attack. Dark, dangerous—the reach before the slaughter.
“Go!” shouted the stranger, and he dragged me away from the Square. “Get out of here!”
His grip didn’t loosen as he steered me uphill. Beneath me, my legs quaked, bruised and pulsing with sores.
“Lock,” I croaked. “Lock.”
The battles seemed to follow us.
Halfway up the hill, the stranger was torn away from me by a man in black, an inky mask plastered to his face. Something hard struck me from behind before I could reach out for the stranger, and I hit the dirt.
My dagger almost slipped from my hand, but I tightened my hold and rolled onto my back.
I cut out just in time.
The Heart-Breaker yowled in agony. I hit out again, slicing through his already shredded heel.
He dropped to his knees beside me, close enough for my final strike.
The blade slipped through his throat as it would butter.
I threw my arm over my glasses to shield them from the spurts of blood. Slowly, I rolled onto my front and climbed to my feet.
Head throbbing, I tried to steady my balance and stagger up the hill. But two steps were all I took before an arm looped around my neck and pulled me back.
I was caged, muscles pressed into my throat, a chest pushed to my spine.
I couldn’t see the stranger anymore, the one who had pulled me from the debris-rainfall. And Lock was nowhere in sight. Only tangles of dust and flailing fists sputtered around me.
Kicking out my legs, I stabbed my dagger over my shoulders. If I hit my target, the Heart-Breaker showed no signs of it. He could have snapped my neck as easily as I’d cut his comrade’s.
Instead, he wrangled me uphill to where half the young in the village had gathered. But as I squinted through my smudged glasses and the dust-clouds, I saw Heart-Breakers striking out in a dozen directions—herding them. Herding us.
Then I saw it.
A Heart-Breaker booted a young girl in the stomach. She slammed back into a boy—and the boy fell backwards and toppled into the Forbidden Well.
A terrible scream tore through me. My struggles reignited and I thrashed wildly in the man’s hold. I wasn’t afraid of death. I was terrified of what lay at the bottom of the well.
I brought my dagger down on the Heart-Breaker’s arm, hard enough to leave a gash that poured blood. His hold faltered enough for me to break free.
“Rose!”
I stumbled forward, boots slipping on the muddy slope, and looked around wildly. That was Lock’s voice. No mistake about it, he was there on the hill—being herded, like the rest of us.
“Lock!” I screamed, ducking just as a Heart-Breaker hit out at me. I struck his kneecaps, hard enough to feel the bones quake, and he fell. “Lock, where are you?”
If he’d heard me, he didn’t call back. Not before I saw the plum-eyed stranger running at me, his feverish eyes locked over my shoulder.
I turned. And faced a big beast of a man, almost twice my size and three times my width. A shadowy mask covered parts of his face, but I knew well enough what he was—a rebel.
I gulped.
The last noise I made was a choked exhale before the Heart-Breaker cracked me over the head, and I hit the ground like a dropped sack of grain.
Dimly, I remembered darkness rushing at me. A scream ringing in my ears, mine maybe.
But I clearly remembered the Forbidden Well, the burly rebel tossing me over the edge and the abyss sucking me down.
One last thought drowned in the dark with me.
“I’ll meet you at the bottom, Holly.”
There was no way to tell how long I’d been falling.
Darkness surrounded me. Nothing but darkness.
No light, no other fallen people. Only myself, blackness, and that one voice I thought I’d heard whisper through the abyss.
‘A price taken, a price stolen, entry will cost you all.
A price given, a price paid, please enjoy your fall.’
After unmeasurable time, I decided I hadn’t heard the voice at all.
It must’ve been a trick of my loneliness—I’d been falling too long, now.
And I would fall forever.
The Three Sisters
The villagers of Crooked Grove had avoided the Forbidden Well since before the Heart-Breakers’ last stand.
It was said to be haunted by the Sisters, who just happened into existence one day. The day that the witch of the Black Woods died.
No one knew what caused the sudden death of the First Witch, or why she spilled all of her magic into the world around her.
Some said it was the loneliness of her eternal life, a tireless loop of existence within the Black Woods.
Others said she was cursed with a mother’s sickness after she bore her first and only child. The curse of not loving her baby.
The Old King had broken her heart when he’d run off with their child, or had slain her in her own woods—or death had come naturally for her.
No one knew the true story.
But from her death, lives were born all across Hearts. Talking animals, magical woods and seas, immortal jesters. The worst of all, the most dreadful of lives—the Three Sisters of Fate.
Down the Forbidden Well, the three Sisters were said to guard the passages between the lands. Passages born from the witch’s death. Passages to places that Hearts should never know or visit.
The Sisters greeted those foolish enough to reach the bottom of the Forbidden Well, they decided who lived, who died, and who was doomed to be lost between the lands forever.
For that was what they were. The Sisters of horror.
Fate. Destiny. And Death.
But the worst was saved for children; children to replace the one that the witch never loved.
Stories told of the Sisters dragging children to the bottom of the well, trapping them among strange lands filled with horrifying beasts, and waiting for the right child to prove worthy of the witch’s love.
And that was if one even survived the fall…
Forever falling.
The Forbidden Well
I hit the water and panic surged through me. Stagnant and mossy, it sucked me into its clutches and shoved its way down my throat.
With reaching hands, I clawed my way up until a hoarse inhale sucked into me, and the raspy sound bounced off the walls of the well.
Never a good swimmer, I latched onto the stone walls, slippery with moss. My nails dug deep into the gaps as I choked up tangy, bitter water.
I stayed still a moment. On the wall, steadying my rapid breaths in the darkness. Total and utter darkness, swallowing me whole.
There was no light from above, no shadows or signs of the village, not even the rain of debris or cries of the battle. And nobody else came crashing down into the water.
How long had I been falling? It had felt like hours, days even. But that wasn’t possible. I would have starved.
Still, the e
erie feel of timeless measures prickled my skin with goosepimples, and I told myself what my dad had once said to me, ‘Time cannot measure distance and distance cannot measure time.’
But if he was right, how else would I know how long I had been falling for?
“Another one,” a weak voice said behind me.
I cried out and lost my grip on the wall.
Fingernails snapped off as I scrambled back up the stone, shivering from the cold. I looked around the dark of the well. No light, still. And I saw no one.
“This one is familiar,” said another voice, like the crinkle of thin paper. “Has she been before?”
My shoulders tensed like armour as I curled against the stone wall, my eyes squeezed shut.
‘Monsters in the dark aren’t real.’ Marybelle used to tell me that when I was younger than my first blade. ‘Real monsters hide in plain sight.’
A stronger voice said, “Shoshanna Rose White. Her sister has come before.”
I shook my head, trying to block out the voices.
I’m imagining it. I’m imagining. I must have bumped my head … or maybe I’m dead.
Was death worse than facing the Sisters?
A question never meant to be answered.
“More are coming. This girl wastes time.”
Even as I peered out of one eye, all I could see were blurry stones stacked together in a haze of darkness. No one to source the voices.
Still, I knew what they were. Who they were.
“Sisters,” I croaked, my voice wavering like a leaf in a storm.
Slime licked my cheek as I squeezed as close as possible to the wall, as though it would somehow protect me with a returned embrace.
“You’re the Sisters.”
Courage wasn’t a trait I’d ever thought myself lacking. But the three Sisters were the creatures of nightmares and lore. My dagger posed no threat to them. I was unguarded, unprotected, and in their realm.
“More cowardly than I expected,” said Paper-Voice.
The stone rattled my palms, then began to crumble in on me. I gasped and slipped down the wall.
Stone by stone, the wall broke apart like sugar-cubes being pinched and I was forced to jerk back.
The last of the wall caved in on itself, and I splashed back into the water. It engulfed me. Swallowed me up, pieces of stone raining down on my whirling body. Slowly, I drifted downwards and—the bottom of the well pressed against my legs.
I pushed myself up and stretched my feet. Just barely, my head came above the mouldy water. I spat out the pungent liquid and wiped at my nose.
Faint lights began to glow around me, where the walls caved in. They began in soft flickers of white, like ghosts in a storm. I had to squint until my eyes ached before I could truly see what the walls had become.
Tunnels.
Three tunnels that stretched farther than I could see, farther than the faint light could reach. And at the mouth of each tunnel sat a Sister, perched on the edges, bare feet grazing the algae-layered water.
Chest heaving, I was frozen to the centre of the well, afraid to get too close to any of them. The thrums of my heart kept me in place, and all faith in my legs dissolved as I took in the ghastly sight of the Sisters.
One as fair as snow, a wet cloth wrapped around her. Another as dark as smooth blackwood, patched in green moss. But the third was the most chilling. A child, limp hair like flames, and golden threads woven into a thick dress around her frail body.
The child looked down at her threads. One shimmered beneath her knee, a bright light in the shadows, then faded to a stale grey.
“One didn’t survive,” she said, her wispy voice the same as crinkled paper. She ran her bony finger over the grey thread and turned her gaze upwards to the nothingness. “He bumped his head.”
Snow cast her eyes upwards, too. “On the well’s bed.”
Moss looked down at the water surrounding me. “And couldn’t stop from drowning.”
My boots slid closer together under the murkiness of the water. I half-expected a corpse’s hand to snatch my ankle and drag me under with it.
The other Sisters looked to Moss when she looked at me and said, “You shall have passage, Shoshanna Rose White.”
I choked on a cry of relief. My hands slapped to my mouth and I shut my eyes for a pause.
When I opened them again, the Sisters stared patiently at me.
I drew my hands away from my soppy lips. “I want to go home.”
Child cackled and ran her fingers over a thread near her elbow. “Home.”
“To go up,” said Snow, “you must go sideways, down, or along. Choose a channel and meet our tests.”
“Tests?” A shake took my voice. “What tests?”
“All depends on the channel you choose.” Moss peeled a strand of slimy hair from her green cheek. “One will take you to the crossroads, a place of everywhere and nowhere.”
Snow dipped her toes into the water. “One will take you to Netherland, a place of the dead and sorrow.”
“And one,” said Child, still stroking the same thread, “will take you to the game, a lethal trap of lies and betrayal.”
Something in Child’s smile unnerved me. Was the thread she stroked my thread? Was she stroking a clue? Or was she luring me down the most dangerous of channels?
“My sister,” I whispered, and turned to Moss. “My sister, Holly White. She’s been down here—where did she go? Which channel did she take?”
“This one.” Child patted the stone she perched on. “Lies and betrayal, a lethal game.”
I peered over Child’s shoulder into the chasm beyond.
“Is she …” I inched closer to Child. “Is she still down there?”
Child’s lips peeled apart into a grin—a foul grin that revealed glass teeth and bloodied gums.
I crept back to the centre of the well.
Together, the Sisters whispered an eerie song:
‘Of all who have played, only three have won.
More have succeeded, but have never become.
Many have fallen to the Ringmaster’s pride,
But a part of all players has certainly died.’
Moss drew her mossy legs back into the tunnel. Child and Snow shadowed her, and the light behind each of them began to flicker.
“It is time,” said Moss. “Be warned, girl.” Her dark skin was quick to melt into the blackness as she drew away. “Beyond that tunnel is a game of survival and death. You must not only survive, but triumph in the Hatterthon if you are to return home.”
“The Hatterthon?” I shouted after her. “What’s that? A town?”
The three Sisters sang together, their voices fading as they did:
‘The Hatterthon is a cruel game, foolish one.
Of all the players, only three have ever won.
But in the Spades, some still reside.
Yet, many more of them have died.
‘Hatter might be the one to oversee,
But never, shall he ever give a decree.
Spades is free land, for all to come and play.
We warn you now, not all want to stay.’
Silence washed over the well.
I jumped forward in the water to chase the closest Sister, but the light vanished and took them all away. They were gone, and I was left in the darkness once again.
Unsteady breaths were the only sound to fill the well.
I turned my gaze on each of the three channels. What was it the Sisters had said about them? Something about nowheres and sorrows, crossroads and games, and I was sure there had been mention of Netherland.
I knew most about Child’s tunnel.
It led to a game hosted in Spades, wherever that was. And in Spades, people lived—a place without law or monarchies. ‘Spades is free land.’
The crossroads drew me in most.
My eyes rested on the channel to my left. A place that would lead to more places, where all the roads met. But how would I know the right road
to take back to Crooked Grove? Or even Hearts?
I could end up somewhere like the Black Woods, or the bottom of the sea.
I jerked at the sound of a sudden rush of water.
The water began to bubble all over, as if boiling, but it still clung to my skin and clothes with a chill. Pieces of stone began to roll up from the water’s edges and fit back into the tunnel mouths.
“No!”
The tunnels were closing.
Stone was being sucked back into place and I hadn’t chosen a channel yet.
With a curse, I lunged for the tunnel ahead of me where Child had sat. My fingers slipped on the unsteady stones as I dragged myself closer. Stone tried to pile on top of my knuckles to wedge their way home. I winced and swatted pieces out of the way.
I heaved myself up onto the ledge and rolled away from the closing wall, fast.
I took a moment to catch my breath. Before my heartbeat had steadied, the stone pieces had all slipped back into place, the tunnel had closed over.
The Forbidden Well was gone. The Sisters were gone.
And I’d made the only choice I could.
If Lock had been thrown down the well too, and he survived the fall, he would have chosen the same tunnel.
I chose Lock’s thirst for more, for victory and triumph.
The Hatterthon.
The Old King’s Return
For years, no one knew what became of the Old King.
With no heir or family to take his throne, the kingdom of Hearts was swept into chaos, and the nobles led in his steed.
Then the Old King returned to his country, a baby in his arms.
Scars of sorrow and treacherous journeys had worn down his once-handsome face. Along with his beauty, his kindness had starved too.
The Old King told the story of the pirates, the shore, and the witch. But of what happened after he was taken into the Black Woods, the king said nothing. He only showed the swaddled baby in his arms.
His child. His heir.
A motherless child, born of nowhere and nothing.
In the years that followed the Old King’s return, unrest still rippled over the kingdom. For while the baby grew, the king did not age. But he became desperate, for his child wept for a mother he did not have.
Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology Page 15
