Story's End (24 page)

The plant was working quickly. Una could feel something poking into her shoulder. She struggled vainly, ensnaring herself more with every movement. Which was how it happened. One of her fingers scraped across an especially sharp thorn, and a red drop of blood bloomed on her skin. The plant’s response was instantaneous. The pressure on her scalp relaxed. Her braid was free. And then, the unnatural curtain spread to either side, leaving her way clear.

Una wiped her blood off on her sleeve.
It’s my blood
. One of her parents had set this enchantment. Her breath came out in a shaky gasp. She was alive. Her own treacherous blood had saved her.

Una made her way into the interior, peering hard through the darkness in case some new trap awaited her. Every few paces was a miniature tableau. Closest to her, a gray wolf was flat on his back, toppled piles of bricks surrounding his still form. His jaws were open, revealing pointed teeth, and it seemed unnatural that he lay so peacefully in the eerily silent room. Una’s heartbeat quickened, but she relaxed when she saw the slow rise and fall of the wolf’s chest. He was sleeping.

None of the sleepers even stirred as she moved frantically around the room, studying each figure in turn.
Where were the Muses?
Next to the wolf was a woman wearing a pointed witch’s hat. She was curled up on her side in the middle of a gilded cage. Scraggly white hair draped over all of her features except for an extraordinarily large nose with a hairy wart on it. A giant padlock fastened the square door to the bars.

Una hurried up to a big canopy bed and drew aside the velvet curtains that hung to the floor. A tiny woman lay in it, her dark curls fanning out from her wrinkled face. Her brow looked peaceful, if not beautiful, and her hands lay folded across her stomach.

Una recognized the scenes, of course. The classic fairy-tale touches were a dead giveaway. The cage was from
Hansel and Gretel
, and this was no doubt Sleeping Beauty’s bower. She would never have pictured the princess so old, though. And wasn’t it Hansel who was in the cage, not the mean old witch? The fairy tales were all backward, with the Villains trapped and bound, but how in the world could any of
them
defeat her father?

Una was at another bed now. An ax was sunk deep into the footboard. A red wolf lay beyond it, tucked under an old-fashioned quilt, with wire-rimmed glasses perched crookedly on his nose. His whiskers were neatly trimmed, which provided a stark contrast to the ruffled nightcap on his head. He was snoring softly.

Una barely stopped at his bedside, but hurried around him to a coffin on the other side. The glass was fogged, though, and she couldn’t see inside.

This one had to be Snow White. Or her evil nemesis.
A wicked Stepmother?

Una stood. She was missing something. She scanned the room. Two Big Bad Wolves, an old Witch in a cage, an Enchantress in the bed, and whoever was in this glass coffin. She peered over her shoulder at the last scene, where a wrinkled old man sat imprisoned in the floor, surrounded by mounds of golden thread.

She stooped down to peer into Rumpelstiltskin’s face. He appeared to be the safest villain. It wasn’t like Una had any children he could run off with, and as far as she remembered, the worst thing the old hobgoblin did was disappear into the ground.

Rumpelstiltskin’s head was thrown back at an odd angle, with soft snores coming from his open mouth. She poked a tentative finger at the creature’s bony shoulder, and then pulled it back with a gasp of surprise. The man’s countenance shimmered when she touched it, revealing an entirely different face beneath.

Duessa had been quite clever. Not only had she enchanted the sleepers, but she had disguised them as well. Una made her way slowly around the little room, prodding each character in turn. These faces were familiar. It wasn’t because she recognized them from some fairy tale she had read in her old world. They were from a different book. From her father’s book.

Una had found the other Muses.

Una made her way around the room once more. The air around the golden cage shimmered oddly. If Una tilted her head just slightly, the witch’s hat disappeared and the dirty blanket became a stream of long red hair. The shadows beneath Clementia’s face made it seem like she had a horrible hooked nose.

Virtus dozed among the pile of bricks. His ruddy cheeks looked as though they belonged outside in the sun, not in this dim room. Una pulled back the canopied curtains to reveal Sophia’s sleeping form. Her dark skin was the striking color of a starless sky, and Una thought that even under the grip of the enchantment she looked as strong as she had in the clearing.

Beyond the bed, Una saw scattered stones that looked like the ruins of a crumbling tower, and Alethia lay in the midst of them, her golden hair unbound and her chin tucked in to her chest. Una raced to her side.

“Alethia!” she cried. She grabbed the Muse’s shoulders and shook gently. “Won’t you please wake up?”

Una had pushed and prodded every last one of them. She had pinched their arms, whispered in their ears, and, after a great deal of deliberation, tried to kiss one of them. But none of it mattered. They were still fast asleep. The faint sounds of yelling and the clashing of metal told her that something else was happening in the ballroom. Every second mattered, and Una was no closer to waking them than when she first walked into the room.

Una began patting Alethia gently, and then harder, on the cheek. They had to wake up.

That was when she saw the sparks. Una stopped slapping the Muse. The light from the enchantment filled the room with an eerie glow. Somehow, Una’s touch was changing the spell.

She tried again. Could she actually undo the enchantment? If someone who had her father’s blood could affect the magic on his binding, then maybe someone who had her mother’s blood could change her charms. Una’s heart quickened. It had worked on the thorns.

She looked down at her hand. The blood was smeared across her fingertip, and when she placed it near Alethia’s ankle, a glowing rope appeared.

Una gasped. She had been staring at the Muses’ faces when she was trying to wake them. But now she let her hand hover in the air over each of them until she could determine how they were trapped. The glowing cord wrapped around Charis’s neck and then over to Sophia’s wrist. It looped around Clementia’s waist and bound Spero’s feet. Una traced the enchantment around each of them until she was back at Alethia. Now that she could see their bonds, maybe she could set them free.

Untying the enchantment was hard work. Una wiped a palm across her sweaty forehead. This thread needed to be pulled in such a way. Another had to be knotted just so. At least those stupid sewing lessons were paying off. Once, Una made a mistake and had to begin all over again. Slowly, painstakingly, she made her way through the room, until what had at first been braids of glimmering light now stretched in a cord that circled the sleepers.

The last knot was above Clementia’s cage, a green tangle that pulsed with light. Una groped gently in the air. The threads felt like very fine hairs. Trying to find them was like embroidering something with her eyes shut. When her fingers touched the knot, the enchantment blossomed into brightness. Green flames flickered up from the silky threads.

Just then, there was a deafening blow from the direction of the ballroom.

Una gritted her teeth. She had loosened one of the threads. If she could just tuck the other end under there . . . A drop of sweat stung her eye, and she nearly lost the whole thing.

And then Una had done it. The last cord snapped in her hands, and the green sparks began to flash pink and silver. All of a sudden, Una could see a crackling web of light stretch over each of the sleepers. The hairs on Una’s arms stood up, and she felt the energy in the air like a current of electricity.

The pink and silver sparks had turned into hundreds of loops that now encircled the golden thread. The air felt tense with the pressure. Then, the loops pulled tight, clamping down on the enchantment in one fiery collision. The room went dark. No more shimmering green, no more pink or silver, nothing but black. There was the sound of tiny shifting movements. The rustle of fabric. A yawn. The Muses were waking.

Una squinted into the darkness. She thought that was Virtus pushing back the bricks and sitting up. Clementia was stretching in her cage. Someone was pounding on the inside of the glass coffin. Una’s mouth felt dry as she watched shadows move and rise to standing.

She could see Clementia clearly now. Glimpses of the scene she had witnessed in Alethia’s garden played over in her mind. She thought of the cluster of Muses who had determined the fate of a little baby. The Muses were her family. They were aunts and uncles and
they had saved her
.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. Soon the Muses were right in front of Una, a line of towering figures. Each of them wore a draped robe that shone faintly in the dark room. Una couldn’t help herself. She found herself on her knees, head bowed. A pair of cool hands touched her cheeks and lifted her up to standing. She was looking at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her dark skin was soft as silk, and her golden eyes looked straight into Una’s.

Una felt that she might see all her secrets in that moment, but all Sophia said was, “Do not bow to us.”

The words had barely left her mouth when there was a clap of thunder, and the stones rumbled beneath their feet.

“The King is here,” Una gasped. “And the Enemy is trying to destroy him.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the Muses sprang into action. Spero had his broadsword out, his muscles taut with readiness. Sophia slung a pouch of arrows over her shoulder and scooped up a silvery bow.

“You have done well, Una,” Alethia said as she tightened the belt around her waist. “Thank you for freeing us.” She clasped Una’s arm. “Now you must prepare yourself to fight for Story. The outcome of this battle will determine all of our endings.”

Chapter 32

P
eter clapped his hands over his ears. The sound of booming voices resounded from the balcony, and the bright lights increased the pounding in his skull. Near the thrones, two fiery figures stood surrounded by clouds of swirling colors. One, swathed all in shadow, held something afire. And the other . . . Peter shielded his eyes at the rainbow of colors surrounding him.

The bright figure was looking at Peter, and, for a moment, the confusion cleared. It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over Peter’s head. His sleepiness was instantly gone. His chair began to wobble, and he glanced down at the table. The edges started to waver, like a ripple in a pond, and then the beautiful feast was engulfed in flame. But when Peter stared at it directly, it stood untouched. His chair wriggled beneath him.
What is going on?

A serving girl appeared at his side, and reached for Peter with clawed hands. Her face was spreading thin, just like the thrones near the front. It looked like her skin was melting off. The nose stretched until it was no more, and all that was left was a horrible gaping hole where her mouth had been. Peter ducked behind his chair, which now had jagged-looking knives poking out of its surface. Something was dreadfully wrong.

The girl’s face was back in place. She poured a cup of steaming-hot tea and set it on the table, which was now covered in dirt. There were no candles or roses, only cobwebs and shreds of graying cloth. The stench of mildew lay heavy in the air. A tray of molding food rotted, sending up clouds of steaming wetness. Peter whirled back to the servant, who bowed again.

“Tea?” she asked, her mouth moving unnaturally. Her loose skin hung awkwardly from her limp jaw, and her eyes stared sightlessly ahead. “Tea,” she said again.

Peter’s heart hammered in his chest, matching the throbbing in his head. He backed away from the table, upending the tray of spoiled food. It fell with a clang, and sparks of bright light shot through his line of vision. He kept moving, shoving hard to get past the others at his table. What was happening? Where was he? The fetid aroma of spoiled meat filled his nostrils—everything smelled like death.

Peter ran across the room, stumbling by cowboys and Indians, who stood still as statues staring up at the thrones. The stench was fouler here, and Peter fell to his knees. His stomach clenched with each spasm as he retched all over the filthy floor. He wiped a shaky hand across his mouth and got to his feet. In front of him was a table fashioned entirely of bones. The round surface looked exactly like a perfect rib cage, curved maliciously to surround the food.

The muffled silence was broken by the sound of shuffling. A bent man appeared, scraping his way toward Peter, trailing an entourage of flies and bilious scent. His skin looked papery thin, as though it was an ill-fitting garment, and his eyes had a glassy stare.

“Is aught amiss?” the servant asked. His voice was the rough scrape of metal on metal.

The pounding was back in Peter’s skull. His head felt like it was going to explode. “Get away from me!” Peter shouted as the man grabbed his arm. The servant might have looked like a shrunken skeleton, but his grip was steel.

The skin under the man’s chin swayed as he looked shrewdly up at Peter. “Of course, milord,” the man said, bowing slightly. “Right away.” But then he pulled Peter toward him with an evil grin. His grip loosened, and the skeletal face melted into black smoke. That was when Peter remembered his sword. He reached for his weapon. This was no coronation. Under all the enchantment and illusion, Peter could see the truth. This was a deathly feast. And the feasting characters were surrounded by the Enemy’s Taleless. Peter cut through the thing with his sword, and the creature exploded into dust.

Peter looked up at the balcony where he had seen the performers appear for the feast’s entertainment. But that was no performer. Kai stood balanced on the railing, and across from him, the Enemy was crouched over a blazing Scroll.

“Characters of Story,” Kai called out in a loud voice. “Wake up! Shake off the lies of the Enemy!” The truth of what had happened came crashing in on Peter. They had fallen under Duessa’s enchantment. They had been fools, all of them.