Authors: Marissa Burt
“We’re close now.” Her mother’s voice was muffled by the sound of the water. “I recognize this place.” They passed through a clearing where three giant stone boulders leaned against each other, forming a crooked archway. Archimago looked back toward Duessa’s castle, a pained expression on his face.
“You can feel her pulling you.” Snow’s mother wasn’t asking a question.
Archimago rubbed his grimy sleeve across his forehead. “She is a strong woman.”
“She is an Enchantress.”
The Tale Master closed his eyes, and with what looked like a great deal of effort, turned away from the forest behind him. “She is my true love,” he whispered.
Snow wished she had pushed him into the river when she had the chance. “How can you pretend that makes any difference? Loving her is no excuse.” Snow felt hollow inside. “Because of you, people died.”
Her mother laid a quieting hand on Snow’s shoulder. “People do all sorts of foolish things for love.”
“The girl speaks truly.” Archimago looked at Snow with red-rimmed eyes. “But she’s also never been in love.” His voice was bitter. “Duessa stole my heart, and then used me up. And yet I would do anything to win her favor.”
“Take courage.” Snow’s mother said. “If you wish it, you will yet live free.”
“Some freedom that would be.” Archimago’s laugh was forced. “I know what I’ve done.” He threw a hand out toward Snow. “She’s right. I’m responsible for so much destruction. Many deaths.” He covered his face with his hands. “And even after all of that, I still want her.” His voice broke. “It would be better if I was dead.”
“Death is never better than life.” Snow’s mother gently pulled his hands away from his face and looked into his eyes. “And the restoration of things is best of all. Don’t give up hope. You may yet make things right.”
Archimago didn’t have a chance to answer, because once they were farther from the sound of the river, they heard voices. Two cloaked forms were standing some distance away. The taller figure’s back was to them, one arm extended toward the girl opposite. For a heartbeat, Snow thought she recognized the girl’s face.
But that’s silly.
Una wouldn’t be wandering through the Enchanted Forest. She was no doubt snug in their room in Grimm Dorm. Then, the other face came into view, and any thought of Una flew from Snow’s mind.
The Red Enchantress.
Archimago whispered a pained, “Duessa!”
Quick as a flash, Snow’s mother yanked them both off the path and into the thick undergrowth. They raced through the woods, any pretense of silence gone, hoping only for speed. The trees were older here, looming up to the dark canopy.
Snow hadn’t noticed when it began, but a misty fog appeared at her feet and snaked through the surrounding undergrowth. The air was wet on her throat, and she knew she would have to stop and rest soon.
The fog was rising, and Snow felt like she was running through webs of smoke. She found an extra spurt of strength and barreled forward after her mother’s form. As she reached the top of the path, a thick cloud wrapped around them both. But this wasn’t smoke at all. Snow struggled vainly to free herself. Every move she made bound her fast. No matter which way she pulled, no matter how she kicked and fought, she knew they were stuck, wrapped tight in a stringy white web.
U
na stood only an arm’s reach away from Duessa. Time seemed to slow. She could hear the distant rush of a river and the crash of scurrying creatures in the underbrush. Mixed in with the panicked thought that she had been caught was a desperate desire to please the owner of the voice. She had to say something. Had to give the Enchantress some reason she had sneaked through her secret door. Which was when Una remembered the old woman and what she had given her. “Um,” Una managed. “Are you Duessa?” She pulled out the painted quill she had hidden in her cloak and thrust it toward her mother. “I’ve brought this for you. From Jaga.”
Unreadable emotion flickered across the Enchantress’s face. Una stared at her features. Her mother had the same pale skin and violet-colored eyes as Una, though Duessa’s were a different shape, more catlike. Her long, dark hair fell back in waves from the pointed peak at the top of her forehead. Her very red lips were pinched together as she considered Una.
Una wished she hadn’t listened to Kai. This had been a bad idea. She should be back at Bramble Cottage. Duessa didn’t care who Una was. She didn’t know that her own daughter stood in front of her. A spell would shoot from her hands and destroy Una before she could explain. She gripped the dagger she held in the folds of her skirt.
There was a calculating look in Duessa’s eyes. “This isn’t the Silver Quill, as you well know.” Duessa dropped the quill to the ground. “What is your name, girl?”
Una’s mouth opened before she could stop herself, and the words tripped willingly off her tongue. “I’m Una,” she said. “Your daughter.”
Duessa stared at her. A tiny smile flickered along Duessa’s perfect lips, and her pointed eyebrows arched up. Una saw something strange in her eyes, but the moment passed, and Duessa’s whole face softened.
“My daughter?” Her voice was a gentle whisper. “My Una?” One wet tear trickled down her cheek, as Duessa let her hands fall to her sides. “Come here,” she said, and opened her arms wide.
Una could see beyond Duessa, could see faceless figures who hovered under one of the ancient trees, but it all looked so, so far away. Everything around them faded beside the vision of her mother’s perfect face. Una wanted her mother to speak to her again, wanted to hear her lovely voice. Una wanted to tell her all her secrets, all the things she’d wished she could tell the mother she’d never had. And underneath the impulse, Una’s heart skipped with happiness. Her mother did want her. Her mother
wanted
her. The dagger fell forgotten to the forest floor as she rushed toward Duessa and into her red embrace.
“I’ve missed you so,” Duessa said, in just the way Una had always desired to hear it. “Ever since they took you from me, I’ve longed for this day.”
“Really?” Una asked as her mother patted her on the back.
“I couldn’t find you.” Duessa released Una and looked into her eyes. “I was all alone. Your father—” Her voice tightened at this, hardened for a moment, and then was soft like liquid again. “I felt mad with grief and despair. I ran through the forest as hard as I could, until I couldn’t run anymore. I wanted to scream and shout and reverse time so that I could stand next to him once again.” She sounded sad, and she drew the back of one hand up to her eyes. As she looked away, Una could see her profile: straight nose, unlined skin. “I had made you a little nest nearby in the woods.” She hooked her arm through Una’s and began to walk. “I didn’t mean to leave you, dear girl. You were everything to me. You were ours, together.” Her eyes were earnest, begging Una to understand.
And Una found herself patting her mother’s hand and smiling back at her. How lovely it was to know her mother and father loved each other so. Had wanted to be together. Had wanted her. She nodded. “Go on.”
“I found the place easily enough—the soft feathers that lined your cradle, the pine branches I had laid carefully just so. But you were . . . gone.” Duessa led Una across a bridge that arched over rushing water. For a fleeting moment, Una had the thought that they were going in the wrong direction, that there was somewhere else she should be heading, that someone was going to be mad she was out this late. But her mother called her name gently, and the nagging feeling evaporated.
“And what happened next?” Una wanted to be able to ask all the questions she’d always wondered. What had she been like as a baby and when had she first started crawling and what were her favorite foods and what did she say that made her mother laugh? The things she had heard other kids recount in those horrible classes where you had to bring pictures and tell everyone about your family. She clasped her hands greedily. “Tell me what it was like, when we were a family.”
Her mother took the edge of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “It pains me so to talk of it, child. Must you ask so many questions?”
Una bit her lip. Of course she had been thoughtless. She had barged into her mother’s private memories to satisfy her curiosity. She had poked at her poor mother’s bruised heart. She squeezed her arm. “Oh, I am sorry, Mother.” The word felt nice on her tongue. “I don’t mean to pry. We don’t have to speak of that.”
Her mother gave her one of her rare smiles, and Una thought she understood how an immortal had fallen in love with her. Her mother was everything Una had hoped she would be: charming, beautiful, and happy to see her.
“Let’s talk about you, dear,” her mother said. “Tell me how you came to Story.” In front of them, a many-turreted castle perched on the hilltop like some giant bird brooding over her nest. The towering structure glistened wetly in the moonlight, and the path in front of them widened to a road that ran straight toward it.
Una wasn’t sure what to say. Wanting to know about her family was one thing; telling her mother things about other people was quite another. Faces flickered through her memory: a boy with dark skin and hair that flopped over one eye sitting across the campfire from her, a furry cat cuddled in her lap contentedly, a friend arguing with her in the middle of the Hollow District.
Peter.
More images flashed before her mind’s eye. She was at Bramble Cottage with Peter; he was hovering protectively at her side while they walked by the harbor; he was examining the door of Elton’s study, trying to break in; his hands were reaching into the compartment under the floorboards to pull out Archimago’s confession—it all came back to her.
This wasn’t just her mother before her. This was the Red Enchantress, Duessa. The one who had destroyed all of the Muses’ books. The one who had scripted the countless lies about what had happened. The one who had worked tirelessly to bring the Enemy back to Story. And she had used Una to do it.
Una pulled back from her mother in horror. “You made me open the book.”
Her mother’s laugh was a little trill of affection. “Why, Una, dear. No one can make you do something like that.” She looked deep into Una’s eyes. “You know I’m right, child, don’t you?”
Una’s mind went blank. What had made her say such a thing? She had been silly. Her mother was right. Una was the one who had opened the book with her own two hands. She had been curious to know about Father in the same way she had come here finally to meet Mother. She had done it. She alone.
They were almost to the castle now, and a great drawbridge dropped with a thud, spanning the protective moat. Until now, any memory of that moment in the garden had filled Una with guilt, but here with her mother she felt nothing of the sort. In fact, she felt proud. Because of Una, Father was alive. Because of her, he was free again. She did a happy little skip as she followed her mother across the bridge and into the castle.
I
t had only been a few days since Peter had been on campus, but things were already much different. After a short nap in the woods, he, Kai, and Indy had made their way across Perrault’s grounds toward the Weaponry Arena, where Elton planned to give a speech later that morning. They heard the sound of the rioting before they saw the crowds mobbing the Talekeeper Club. Characters jostled one another in an attempt to get at the solid front door.
In the quad, things were scarcely more orderly. Angry-looking Moderns had formed a line and were marching up and down demanding Tale Master Elton’s resignation. Others sat in a circle around the fountain, shouting, “MIGHT ISN’T RIGHT. WE WON’T FIGHT.”
Peter wondered who they had decided they wouldn’t fight. A woman dressed as a warrior was standing on a tall wooden platform. “Down with the Muses!” she cried. She pointed at Peter and Indy and waved her sword over her head. “You boys look brave,” she called. “Come join the fight of your lives!”
Peter gave the woman several of the broadsides. The Resistance could do with some reinforcements like her.
“You want a fight?” a soldier in a bright-red uniform said. “Join forces with us. We prepare for war.” His troop kept marching, long-nosed rifles swinging from their shoulders.
It wasn’t unusual to see ninjas going through their forms, but Peter had never seen so many at one time. And he certainly hadn’t seen them actually sparring with one another. There was even a group of witches and wizards practicing their offensive spells with their familiars.
“Excellent,” Kai said, rubbing his hands together. “The whole air crackles with the energy. With characters getting ready to
do
something.”
Some people looked like they were too frightened to do anything. The Dystopians had seen their opportunity, and they paced around the perimeter with their apocalyptic banners
PREPARE FOR THE END
and
JOIN A NEW TALE
.
Peter felt like dueling the brother who held out a coffer to them as they passed. The man actually looked like he was enjoying himself.
Kai and Indy had stopped to talk to a cowgirl wearing chaps, and Peter vaguely recognized her from his Elocution class. “How do things fare on the Ranch?” Kai asked as Peter handed her one of the Resistance’s notices.
“We’ve seen worse,” the cowgirl said, squinting up at them as though it were high noon instead of early morning. “But a storm’s on the horizon. A few scouts have seen bands of strangers, and the air smells of danger.” She spit on the ground, and Peter had to step aside to protect his boots. “Just how we Westerns like it.”
Kai clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
The cowgirl was one of the few characters they met who didn’t seem to be shaking in her boots. Peter tried to ask discreet questions, feigning the same look of concern that everyone wore, but all he could get out of the other characters was their fear of what was coming next. The End of Story was upon them. Hadn’t they heard? The Tale station was malfunctioning. The Taleless had been seen. Characters were being kidnapped. Killed. Sold into slavery. Heart’s Place was already destroyed. Who could say what district would be next? Some of their theories sounded straight out of a Tale. Some of them, like the one repeated by a woman who whispered about the Muses being behind it all, hit close to the truth. But in the end, it didn’t matter what their theory was; every character reached the same conclusion: only the Tale Master could save them now.