Read Story's End Online

Authors: Marissa Burt

Story's End (19 page)

She leaped over the railing, but a large, cloaked figure was waiting for her. Snow brought her brand back to take aim, when a hand reached out.

“Just hold your horses, little lady.”

Snow squinted past the black soot that dusted the girl’s face. “Effie Lou,” she breathed. She let her weapon fall back to her side. The Western girl had accomplished her task.

“The plan’s working,” Snow gasped. “The Westerns are free. Soon it will all be over.” Snow had meant it to be comforting, but Effie Lou scowled at her.

“I hope to high heaven it’s not over. They better leave some of them Horrors for me.” She stepped over the iron railing as though it was nothing. “Land sakes, Snow,” she called back over her shoulder. “The battle’s just begun.”

Chapter 21

P
eter raced up the road in front of Bramble Cottage. Indy ran next to him, and he always seemed to be one step ahead. Peter swung open the front gate and stopped just inside, the sound of his breath loud in his own ears. Nothing looked the same anymore. Homemade tents were scattered about the front lawn, and groups of people sat clustered in conversation. Peter had never seen any of them before. He circled round to the back of the house and found more of the same. Off near the woods he saw the dryad Griselda surrounded by some Moderns, who looked strangely out of place as they brandished rusted swords and ran through practice drills. Professor Edenberry was talking rapidly to a circle of ogres who sat in the vegetable garden like giant decorative boulders. And a man Peter didn’t recognize was leading a group of warriors in spear and shield drills. Peter hurried by them and burst through the kitchen door.

The homey space was crowded with people. Most were boys and girls his age, and Trix was shouting orders faster than they could follow them. She stood in the center of it all, chopping potatoes in time with her commands. She didn’t stop when she saw Peter. “And where have you been? People arriving all through the night, and then a whole crowd of them just now. You’d think we were a hotel the way they’ve been coming on.”

“Um . . . I . . . where are my parents?” Peter managed.

“In the living room.” Trix nodded to the door that led to the living room.

His parents were circled near the fire, deep in conversation with Indy’s father.

“One of the Sacred Order’s Eyes-and-Ears reported that Elton’s speech was disrupted this morning,” Wilfred said. “Someone was handing out these.” He pulled out a familiar-looking scroll.

“Um—” Peter cleared his throat. “We were.”

“Peter!” His mother swept across the room and gave him a fierce hug. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“You mean
you
overthrew the Tale Master’s speech?” Indy’s father had a look of admiration in his eyes as he clasped Indy by the arm. “No wonder we have so many new recruits for our army.”

Peter and Indy exchanged glances. “What army?”

Peter’s mother shook her head. “They just keep coming. Most of them are refugees from the outlying districts. There have been attacks there.” A hard look crossed her face. “Many characters have died. The Sacred Order’s spies have been sending them here. They want to fight.”

“Caravans from as far away as the Desert of Fable are arriving,” Peter’s father said. “It’s the beginning of a rebellion.”

“Good,” Peter said. “We need an army.”

Indy told them about their plan, and Peter showed them Kai’s leaf, which they began to pass around.

Indy’s father poked a finger at the packet of herbs. “And the coronation ball is tonight.”

“We need to hurry if we want to ready the army in time,” Peter said. “We’re going to have to fight, even if we don’t have enough of the leaf for everyone.”

“I have a better idea.” Peter’s mother fingered the minty herb. “If we brew it, like tea, it will make more.”

“That’s brilliant!” Peter grinned. “We can sneak it in to the coronation. If we slip it into everyone’s food and drink, we won’t even have to convince them to take it. Just eating Fidelus’s feast will break the enchantment.” He swallowed hard. “And then we fight.”

A slow smile spread across Peter’s father’s face. He nodded slowly. “It could work.”

Indy’s father said, “The boy speaks sense.”

It took some time for them to sort out the details of who would be in charge of what preparation, but in short order they all had a list of tasks. It was only then that Peter thought to ask after Una.

His parents looked at each other. “You mean she isn’t with you boys?”

All his relief at their new-made plan melted away, and an icy hand of fear clutched Peter’s heart.
Where was Una?

“No,” Indy said, speaking for both of them. “We haven’t seen her since last night.” His voice was very quiet. “She told us she would meet us here after Winter’s Eve.”

Peter realized in a heartbeat what must have happened. “Una’s gone to the Red Castle to look for the Lost Elements,” he said. “And she’s all alone.”

Chapter 22

U
na didn’t want to touch Horace. His body was curled up like a question mark, his chest rising and falling as he slept. The sneer on his face when he had found her at Alethia’s flashed through her mind. She could almost feel the way he had crammed the handkerchief into her mouth so that it gagged her. She kicked him again in the stomach. Hard.

He whimpered. “No more. Please, no more.”

Una squashed the feeling of pity that welled up within her, but she still took a few steps back and sat down on the floor.

Horace opened one eye a crack. The other was swollen shut. “Una?” His voice was hoarse. “Is that really you?”

“Happy to see me?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t be.”

Horace pulled himself into a seated position, but he stayed hunched over like a stuffed bear that wouldn’t stay upright. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Oh, you’re
sorry
. That’s nice.” She stood. All the conflicting emotions of the hour spent with her parents came rushing out. The sting of their rejection. Her unwelcome secret desire that maybe they would forget it all and still be a happy family. Her fear that she would be killed. The absolute terror that she would be stuck here forever. With
them
. She wanted to kick Horace so hard he cried.

But Horace was already crying, his hands covering his face. His bare forearms were mottled with bruises, and blood, now dried, had seeped through a spot on his sleeve.

Una let a trickle of compassion creep in. Horace had lied and unleashed Elton and his beasts on her, but who was she to judge? She was the girl who had unleashed Story’s greatest Enemy. It was her mother she should be angry at. Duessa was the one who had used Una to free Fidelus, and now both her parents would forget all about her again. “Oh, Horace, you have no idea what a sorry pair of losers we are.”

Una walked across the little room. The window had a thick iron grating over it, but she could still peer out. Far below them, the forest stretched off until the land dipped into a misty valley. They must be in one of the castle’s towers.


You
might be a sorry loser, but
I’m
only here because Elton’s a lying traitor,” Horace snarled. “I hate him.”

Una made sure to keep the table between them. Just because Horace was pathetic didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. “What happened?”

Horace wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, but the dried blood remained. “Sold me out. Blamed me for what happened at the Weaponry Arena.”

Una tried to keep her voice patient. “What happened at the arena?”

Horace scowled, but since one eye was shut, it didn’t look very menacing. “You mean you weren’t there with your little friend Peter? He and some other idiot were stirring up trouble, handing out papers saying rubbish about how the Muses were really good. And leaving clues about the old King.”

The King!
“Peter was there? Indy, too?” Una hadn’t heard the tiniest scrap of information about her friends, and she hoped that this meant they were somewhere safe.

“Yeah.” Horace examined the bruises on his forearm. “And some other kid doing somersaults and making fun of Elton. Messed up Elton’s stupid announcement something awful. And I took the blame.”

Una allowed herself a tiny smile. It sounded like the Resistance’s broadside was working. She felt a pang of homesickness at the thought of Bramble Cottage and Peter and the Merriweathers. Rufus and Bastian, little Oliver and baby Rosemary. Indy and Sam. Una choked back a sob. Story’s End would be worse than the Unbinding. Worse than the unhappiest ending the Dystopians could even imagine. She knew the Resistance would never submit to Fidelus’s rule. When Fidelus wrote Story’s End, her friends wouldn’t just be dead. They would have never existed in the first place. They were going to be unwritten. Her throat grew tight, but she wouldn’t let the tears come. There wasn’t time for crying. “Do you know anything about the coronation ball tonight?”

“Yeah. You hear about Fidelus the Muse guy coming back?” Horace worked his jaw from side to side.

“I’ve heard a little.”

“He’s going to be crowned King. And all the Taleless will be there.” Horace tried to smile, and then grimaced. He held a hand up to his swollen cheek. “He’s brought back so many famous Villains. Frankenstein and the White Witch. Morgana. Mordred had the sickest-looking helmet I’ve ever seen.”

Una couldn’t tell what this had to do with erasing Story. “They’re all going to be at the coronation?”

Horace nodded. “They’ll come to the ball tonight and wake up tomorrow in the new Story. Fidelus is going to give a special reward to those who help him beforehand. I wonder what it will be.”

So it
was
all happening tonight. Una raced over to the window and looked outside. The light was nearly gone. There wasn’t much time.

“Wait.” Horace dropped his hand down and stared at her. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Una felt like laughing. Horace was obviously not the smartest villain in Story. If it had taken this long for him to start asking
her
questions, maybe she could try a more direct approach. “Didn’t you know?” She leaned in close to make her words more dramatic. “Duessa’s my mother.”

Horace’s mouth dropped open.

“I’ll let you guess who my father is.”

His one open eye bulged out from his head. “You’re Fidelus’s
daughter
?” He scooted a whole foot away from her. “Get back! What are you gonna do to me?”

Una felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders after she said the words. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, and now she was almost giddy. Sure, it was just Horace, but she didn’t care. Someone else knew who she really was. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing quite as nasty as this, I suppose.” She reached out a hand and let it hover in front of the puffy skin beneath his black eye.

“Get back.” Horace cowered against the wall. “Don’t touch me.”

“So why do you do whatever Elton says?” she asked him. “What’s in it for you?”

Horace sneered at her. “I’m going to be the next Tale Master. Elton promised.”

Una did feel pity for him then. Horace was a fool. She was about to tell him so, when she heard a tapping at the window. She hopped to her feet, but Horace curled up in a ball on the floor.

“They’re coming back,” he whimpered.

“Stop it,” she hissed. She hardly expected her mother’s guards to come to the room through the window, but who knew what other threat they might face? She looked around the little room. It was bare except for a few sticks of furniture—the table, three chairs. No weapons. Nothing she could use to defend herself. She eyed the pan on the table before deciding on the heavy-looking candlestick that sat on the floor. The next moment, a cloud of dust billowed through the window. She couldn’t see or hear anything. Una kept the wall at her back and gripped the candlestick hard in her hand. The air began to clear. When it did, Una saw that everything was just as it had been, except dirtier. The windows were still barred. One of the chairs had toppled onto its back. Horace was doubled over, hacking mercilessly. Something brushed her shoulder, and she spun around, candlestick held high.

The man in front of her wasn’t wearing his mask, but Una recognized him anyway. He scooped up his hat from the floor, straightened the feather on it, and gave Una a comic bow.

“Kai?” Una let the candlestick fall heavily to her side. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter 23

S
now swallowed hard, but her mouth was dry as dust. The ashes from the explosions had covered everything with a thick gray coating. Including the goblin in front of her. Like the other Taleless in the corral, his skin hung in loose patches, and Snow thought it would probably flake off at the slightest pressure. But she had no choice. She had to touch him. Snow looped the glowing rope her mother had woven to contain the prisoners over his bony wrists, and pulled tight.

There weren’t very many Taleless left. Once they clothed themselves with flesh, the Taleless bled—and died—just like any character. Snow hoped that she wouldn’t see anything like that ever again. The Westerns had been furious when the enchantment broke and they found themselves in the branding pens. And the ones who had actually been branded! The Taleless that the cowboys and Indians hadn’t torn to pieces were tied to the branding pens until the Resistance had time to figure out what to do with them. Snow grimaced as she loosened the rope just a bit. The battle had proven that whatever flesh Duessa had given her minions was not attached very well. Snow didn’t want pieces of goblin on her hands.

She looked across the corral. Her mother, the borrowed cloak streaming behind her, darted here and there among the Westerns. Some were dead. Others needed healing. All of them needed baths.

Snow finished linking the goblin’s rope to the others and moved toward her mother. Too late she saw the circle of Western girls. Effie Lou stood in the center of them, her filthy face a mark of how close she had been to the actual explosion. She saw Snow coming and lifted her arm in the air with a whoop.

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