Story's End (25 page)

Around him, characters were coming out of the spell, their eyes taking in the horror of their deathly feast, their noses awakening to the odor of rotten food. The whole room smelled like mulching leaves, like things better left alone that had been unearthed and uprooted and woken. And there, standing in the middle of the ballroom, was Sam.

“More Taleless are coming,” the cat hissed. “While you humans have been feasting, they’ve been gathering outside.”

Peter could see that Sam was right. The doors of the ballroom were crowded with the half-dead. And wild beasts snarled outside the windows.

From behind Peter, his father sliced the air with his sword. His mother looked like some primal huntress, her hair tangled about her face as she unsheathed her dagger and let out a fierce battle cry. The Westerns at the table next to him had a new light in their eyes, a fury awakened by the memory of how they had once again been deceived.

The full weight of the Enemy’s lies took Peter’s breath away. The boldness with which he had deceived them. The characters who had been killed to clothe the Taleless. The many more who had simply vanished. The dark things they had done to gain power beyond measure. A cry for justice ripped straight out of his gut. He sprinted toward the nearest Taleless.

Sam was whipped to a frenzy beside him. Peter could hear the cat’s yowls for the animals to attack on one side and his father’s war cry on the other. As the ranks of Taleless collided with the characters, the animals flooded over the crumbling castle walls. The whole room seethed with the battle. A sorcerer stood by the nearest opening. Peter recognized him, though his posture now was much different from when Peter had last seen him arguing with Kai at the inn on Winter’s Eve. The sorcerer held out a wand. It hovered before the remains of the wall for a moment, and then the entire side of the castle blasted into bits.

“For Story!” a Village Maiden screamed, thrusting a club straight up into the air. Her action seemed to rally the rest of the characters, and they rushed out through the castle ruins to meet the Taleless.

“To the Red Lady’s doom!” one of the fairies yelled, and somersaulted off the stone next to Peter, another not far behind. A horde of leprechauns sprinted after them, cursing Duessa as they ran.

In the courtyard, cowboys were wrestling hideous Taleless. An Indian stood with his back to a wall, an arrow nocked in his bow as a rotting shade floated toward him. Then the first of Peter’s allies were upon them. The sorcerer’s wand was out again, shooting flaming fireballs at a pair of black cloaks. And the others sprang into action. Rifle shots mixed with the flash of enchantments. Villains fought alongside Heroes, Ladies, and Moderns, all of them battling back the half-dead creatures the Enemy had created and Duessa’s wild beasts.

Peter was acting on instinct. Ducking the threatening spell. Spinning around and thrusting. His body felt like a machine, each muscle responding to his senses. A rustle of movement behind him. With a well-placed swipe, a hooded figure crumpled to the ground.

Across the way came the scream of a cat’s battle cry, and Peter sliced cleanly through a beast.
That one’s for you, Sam.
An arm’s length away from him, Professor Thornhill shot a web of light at a line of the Taleless. She barely nodded to Peter as she ran next to him, and when they came upon the next cluster of the half-dead, it was over in a matter of seconds.
We’re winning!

The energy of the battle pushed Peter along, and he released the war whoop that was clambering up his throat. Off in the distance he saw Sam atop the great unicorn, and a cluster of humans ran next to them. Everywhere Peter looked, animals fought alongside characters, and, together, they swept the Taleless army away.

Peter wondered if Indy and Snow were still inside that room of death. Then he remembered the girl he had seen on the balcony with Fidelus and Duessa.
Una!
Peter doubled back toward the ballroom, which was a mistake.

The Taleless found him, and the next moment he was surrounded. Somehow he had been cut off from the rest of the characters. Three of the Taleless circled Peter with curved weapons pointed directly at him. The leader was floating toward Peter, blood dripping from the blade it held in its claws. An unearthly hissing came from its hood. Peter moved backward, his sword out in front of him. He reached down and pulled out the dagger hidden in his boot. If he acted quickly, he could take down one, maybe two of them. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears. He bumped up against the edge of a castle wall. Behind him, the moat dropped out of sight. The Taleless pushed closer, hemming him in with predatory cunning.

Peter’s sword locked with the glistening red one. He swept it aside and kicked hard at the creature’s middle, and his opponent fell backward. Immediately, a second came at him from the right. Peter inched sideways. It took all of his sword skill to keep the flashing red blade at bay. Peter was lost in the dance of the fight, his senses tuned in to every whisper of movement. And then Peter saw his chance. With a flick of his wrist, Peter aimed for the Taleless’s neck, but the thing was fast. With a serpentine grace, it slid to the side, and Peter’s blade caught the edge of its cloak instead. The hood fell back to reveal a shrunken, skeletal face.

Peter stumbled away from it. He was on one knee, the third Taleless a hand’s width from him. He swung wildly with his sword, and it found its mark. But in its dying flails, the creature grabbed the blade and pulled it toward itself. Peter sprawled forward on the ground, his sword ripped out of his hands. One Taleless was destroyed, but the first had recovered from Peter’s kick and was lurching toward him. Peter threw his dagger straight into the hooded opening, and the thing flew back with the force of it.

That left the unhooded one, which was now stalking Peter. Its red blade was out, and it crept forward, an evil shine in its unnatural black eyes. Peter scrambled for his own weapon, but the Taleless used the tip of its blade to flip Peter’s sword up and then caught it in one swift motion. The Taleless held one blade in each bony hand now, and it moved inexorably on. Peter’s heart turned to ice. He crawled backward, fumbling along the ground for a stone, for a stick, for anything to fend off the approaching threat.

The red blade was coming closer. Peter knew there was only a moment left. And then something slammed into the creature’s side, knocking a chunk of rotting flesh off. The Taleless crumpled forward, and a small form darted toward it, striking the Taleless hard on the head with a stick. Peter’s foe crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Peter let out a shaky breath. He was safe. The next second, someone was upon him. Someone light, scrabbling toward him, pinching his arms. Tickling him.

“How’s our brother the Hero now?” Rufus asked. He had both arms around Peter’s neck, giving him a giant bear hug.

Bastian shoved Rufus aside. “Bet you were glad to see us, huh, Peter?”

Peter sat up. “What in the world are you two doing here?”

“Hmmmm,” sniffed Bastian. “How’s that for a thank-you?”

“Thank you,” Peter said with a laugh. “Really. Thank you. But”—he sprang to his feet—“this is a battle. We’ve got to get you somewhere safe.”

“
Nowhere
is safe. Not while the Enemy’s trying to take over Story,” Rufus said. “At least that’s what Trix said when she brought us here—”

“Some leprechauns came to Bramble Cottage after you left—” Bastian interrupted.

“And Trix had to come find the Resistance.” Rufus shot Bastian a dirty look.

“And we said we wanted to fight the Enemy, even if we are only kids—”

“We left the babies with the really old grandmas,” Rufus said, as though it was something they did every day. “And the rest of us came straight here. Just in time, too, it seems.”

Peter punched his brother in the arm. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Rufus and Bastian said, pummeling him right back.

“Well, look at you,” Peter said. “My brothers. Heroes.”

Chapter 33

T
he Muses stormed into the ballroom, filling the crumbling hall with dazzling light. Virtus had his bow out, three raven-black arrows fitted into the notch at the center. He let them loose, and they arched over Una to pierce three wild beasts. Every place they hit burst into flame.

One wall was gone, and Una could see all the way out to the drawbridge. Everywhere, characters were fighting. The courtyard had exploded into a tangled mass of battles that spilled across the drawbridge onto the hillside beyond. It was hard to tell who was winning, but Una felt a flicker of hope.

Clementia held a golden trident in one hand and in the other, a wooden shield. She leaped over one of the tables toward the battle raging outside. The sweep of her trident took out two Taleless before they even knew what had happened.

Alethia was already among them, two short swords flashing through the air as she cut her way toward Duessa.

The Enemy was writing something in black flame, the Silver Quill etching burning script onto the Scroll of Fire. Una crouched in the ballroom’s doorway. Her father finished with a flourish, and the stones from the castle wall behind him shot toward Kai.

Kai didn’t have a Quill. “Stop.” He spoke in a low voice, and the stones crumbled before his face, falling into a pile of gravel at his feet. “Oh, Fidelus,” he said. “You think you can best me in a battle of words?”

The heat of the Enemy’s spell was suffocating. A blaze of black lightning pierced the air like a twisted sword of tainted fire. Kai blocked it with a wave of his hand.

Fidelus was ready. He scratched a command on the Scroll, and the earth under their feet shook. Every word he wrote was happening in Story.

Smoking craters dotted the ballroom floor where Fidelus’s missiles had found their marks. Duessa’s red cloak fluttered throughout their midst, and her flaming fireballs ricocheted off the remains of the wall. Una rubbed her eyes. It was ridiculous, she knew, but for a minute, Una thought she saw Snow Wotton fighting her way past a pair of Taleless. When Una looked back, Snow was gone.

The ballroom’s ceiling was nearly obliterated, and the blinding battle shattered the night sky. Her father must have written something about the wind, for a great gust was swirling into the room, picking up the skeletal furniture and hurling it toward the King.

Una couldn’t hear the word he said, but Kai spoke, and the furniture began dancing instead, an eerie tune whistling through the hollow bones.

Una’s father gave a loud cry. He took the Quill and slashed his arm a second time. The floor around him glowed with a strange light. Whatever he was conjuring was burning red, pulsing with the same blood color as Duessa’s cloak. Her father stood holding the Quill aloft, his black figure bathed in the red light.

This is it.
Una felt her mouth go dry. Her father was going to kill Kai.

Una darted a horrified glance over at the King. He stood grinning at Fidelus, and she wondered if he knew what was about to happen.

The air around her father grew dark. The wind shifted uneasily, and the floor began to shake. The Enemy raised one arm, as though he were pulling up the weight of the world, and a thin bar of liquid silver rose with him.

“Quicksilver, Fidelus?” Kai asked, as Fidelus reached back toward the line of silver. “You really are such an interesting subplot.” He picked up his royal scepter and twirled it over one shoulder like an umbrella. “But you must know quicksilver consumes everything it comes into contact with. It will consume all of Story if you use it like this.”

“All of
your
Story,” Fidelus said, summoning the quicksilver with a swirl of his hand. “I will write my own.”

“It is over, Fidelus,” Kai said in a gentle voice. “This will not bring the End you desire.”

The air around Una’s father was taut with the pulsing quicksilver. And then the sky went opaque, the clouds around the Enemy swirling into a thick black inferno. Lightning struck near Una and echoed with a hollow rumble.

“The End I desire,” Fidelus cried, “is yours!” The unholy wind buffeted Una, and she pressed close to the wall. Fidelus raised his arm, the quicksilver like a sword of lightning held high in the air. The stones from the castle floor tore from their places and were caught up in the maelstrom. The swirling vortex whirled around him, and he wove it into a tight funnel.

Kai remained unmoved, watching Fidelus work from his perch on the balcony railing. “You have the Elements to write a grand Tale,” Kai said with a sad smile. “But you will not rewrite Story.” He thumped his staff on the wooden floor, and his form flickered, grew taller, and then morphed into a towering warrior-king, crowned with white fire and readied for battle. “My name is Story, and I cannot be unwritten.”

This time, there was no blinding rainbow of color. Kai made no move to deflect the wave of blackness headed straight toward him. Instead, he opened his arms wide. His body wavered slightly with the impact as the all-consuming quicksilver rushed into him. Just when Una expected him to crumble under the force of the spell, he reached forward and drew the poison of the liquid lightning into himself.

“Nooo!” the Enemy cried out. The storm whipped against Una’s skin, her hair a cloudy mass around her eyes. The darkness deepened, until all the sky was blotted out. Then, when it seemed impossible Kai could withstand any more, there was a violent explosion, and the whole world tore apart.

Chapter 34

A
s Snow leaped out of a crumbling window, the castle rumbled behind her as though it were ripping open. Thick columns of black smoke swirled in the air above the remains of the ballroom. In front of her, a fiery white web of magic met blinding red. Then a column of green. But Snow didn’t have time to consider what other magical battle was happening around her. Her own fight was upon her.

“Stand with me,” Horace said, as a pair of Taleless rushed toward them.

Snow stood back-to-back with Horace, her branding iron making a fatal boundary for any who came near. The witch in front of her crumbled with a soft crunch. Snow couldn’t see Horace, but she felt his movements, heard the howl of the Taleless who met his perilous fists.