Fallen Thief Page 6

  “You’re sure about this?” Kay raised his eyebrows at the others.

  “Go on, knock!” Mira whispered to Peter. He gulped and rapped his knuckles against the splintered wood. There was a breathless moment, then the door swung open and the Fabler stood before them. Mira recognized her at once. She was short and thin and leaned on a cane, though the sharp look she gave them made Mira think she wasn’t as frail as she looked. Her hair hung in gray waves over her shoulders and down to her waist. Her earlobes were stretched by heavy brass earrings, and her face was peppered with countless freckles, no doubt from years of tending to her garden under the sun. Her dress was a faded purple and dragged on the floor behind her. A waft of cinnamon encircled them from the open door.

  “Why would three fledglings find their way to my doorstep, I wonder?” she said in a throaty voice.

  “W-we were hoping you could tell us a story,” Peter stammered.

  The Fabler watched him intently with round eyes. Mira and Kay glanced at each other uncertainly behind his back. After a moment, she opened the door all the way and stepped aside, letting them in.

  “Come, sit.”

  Mira, Peter, and Kay made their way into the small living room. It seemed every floorboard they walked on was squeaky, though the floors were all covered in multicolored rugs. On the walls were portraits and woven artwork. The three of them sat gingerly on a weathered couch and waited as the Fabler swept into the next room, her cane thumping hard against the floor with every other step.

  “Care for some tea? Biscuits? Honey-pops?” she called out to them.

  Kay nodded vigorously.

  “I’ll have a biscuit,” he replied. Noticing Mira’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged and muttered, “What? I’m hungry.”

  “We’re not here to eat,” Mira whispered, then straightened up as the Fabler returned.

  “None for you two?” the Fabler said, handing Kay a plate with a pair of dry-looking biscuits on it. He immediately took a loud bite out of one.

  Mira and Peter muttered polite refusals.

  “Suit yourselves,” she said. She cupped her wrinkled hands tightly around a chipped teacup that had steam rising from it and moved away. The many large rings on her fingers tapped and scraped against the porcelain. She sat in a rickety chair opposite them and stirred her tea, inhaling deeply with her eyes closed. Mira wondered if that was where the smell of cinnamon came from. The Fabler exhaled slowly and looked at them. “Now, let’s see who we have here. You are the puppet-maker’s son. You’re the spitting image of your father when he was younger.” Peter seemed to shrink under her unblinking stare. Mira held her breath as the Fabler’s gaze moved onto her. “You are the astronomer’s daughter. I remember your eyes, though it’s been years since I’ve seen them: so clever, so curious, so wild.”

  “Wild?” Mira repeated, taken aback. Kay stifled a laugh through his loud chewing.

  “Which makes you her brother,” the Fabler said, staring at Kay. “I don’t have to see your family link to know your relationship.”

  Mira’s fingers automatically jumped to the skin behind her ear, where she traced the crescent-shaped merrow family link that she and Kay shared. Before she could find her voice to ask the Fabler how she knew, the woman spoke again.

  “I expect I could collect quite a few stories from you three. It’s been a while since I’ve heard anything new. Although I know a lot of the world, I admit I haven’t seen much of it myself.” She stared into her cup for a moment. Then she snapped her head back up. “Alas, you’re not here to give but to receive. There is a reason they call me the Fabler. Tell me. Which story do you wish to hear?”

  It took them a moment to gather their wits enough to respond. Finally, Mira spoke. “We were looking for a story about an underwater—”

  “Ah!” The Fabler exclaimed, set her tea down on the small table at her side, and clapped her hands together. “I was hoping you would say that. Tales of the deep are my favorites. Shall I regale you with the tale of Castovea, the nomad city that resides atop the backs of the giant sea turtles? Or would you like to know the story of Kezamazoo Crab and the ill-fated banquet he prepared for the merking? Or—”

  “We were hoping,” Peter cut in hesitantly, “that you knew a particular fisherman’s tale from Rook.” The Fabler cocked her head, intrigued. “It’s about a sea monster called the Grimmir, that once ate a sorcerer that made its horns…powerful…” he trailed off, for the Fabler let out a low grunt of recognition.

  “‘The Sorcerer’s Transformation,’ yes. My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I know that story well, though the original tale isn’t quite the way you say it. No matter, for stories often change like leaves in the fall, but I know all their colors. Come, youngsters, listen close.” She leaned forward and began telling the story.

  “There once was and at once wasn’t, in a land of kings, queens, and peasants, a merrow sorcerer who was selfish in every way.

  “Every beautiful thing he saw in the world, he took for himself, for he believed he alone was worthy of enjoying its powers. When he came across a vibrant flower, he snatched it up and stole its beauty, becoming the most handsome man in the land and seas. When he spotted a hummingbird, he captured it and stole its agility. When he found a mammoth crocodile on the southern shores, he killed it and stole its strength. The more he stole, the more powerful he became until he realized he could steal more than he could see: health, happiness, and even luck. He stole the magic from the world around him, and as he did so, he became more powerful. The more powerful he became, the more magic he could steal.

  “It wasn’t long before the people who lived in the shadow of his great tower began to fall ill. Seeing the sorcerer’s growing strength, they begged him to share his power, to help restore their dying crops and heal their sick. The sorcerer refused, wanting his powers only for himself. The villagers did not know that the sorcerer was taking from the world around him to feed himself and that the village was suffering for it.

  “One night, a desperate woman whose daughter was deathly ill snuck into the sorcerer’s tower. The sorcerer was asleep, and the woman crept through his rooms unnoticed. She found books upon books written in symbols—spells that she could not understand. Not knowing what else to do, she clipped off a lock of the sorcerer’s sleek golden hair, hoping it contained a fraction of the magic he refused to share with the rest of the world. The hair grew back at once, as the sorcerer’s powers kept him unchanging. With the lock of hair, the village healer made a tonic for the little girl. Miraculously, the tonic healed her instantly, and she was running around the house and chasing the cat as if she had never been sick, to begin with.

  “News of the woman’s discovery spread quickly, but the villagers had an unspoken agreement that it must be kept secret from the sorcerer. Every night, a different person would sneak into the tower and clip off a lock of his hair. They buried it in the soil, and the crops grew with new life. They made antidotes, tonics, and ointments that healed every ailment imaginable.

  “It wasn't long before a man crazed with jealousy for the sorcerer’s powers decided to take more than just his hair, for if his hair had healing powers beyond anything they had ever seen, surely his blood held magic that would nourish the village for centuries to come. The man snuck into the sorcerer’s bedchamber with a dagger and stabbed him, collecting his shimmering blood in a small vial. The sorcerer awoke with fury and nearly killed the man, taking the vial of stolen blood back as he drove him out of his tower. But then he saw the entire village waiting for him outside, ready to attack. He escaped, abandoning his tower with a snap of his fingers.

  “The sorcerer returned to his teacher: the Grand Master. He begged for his help to banish the meddlesome villagers so he could carry out his business in peace. But when the Grand Master learned of his pupil's selfishness and greed, he cursed him. He gave the sorcerer a solitary life as a serpentine monster in the deepest part of the ocean, blinding him so that he co
uld never see another thing he could take for himself again. There he remains forever, aimlessly wandering the ocean depths, far from home, eternally hungry, but never satisfied. The villagers no longer lived in fear in the shadows of the sorcerer’s tower, which was left to crumble and be forgotten, freeing the village to live on as happily as they had before.”

  The Fabler’s words hung in the air after she finished speaking.

  Mira blinked as though she had just woken up from a dream. Peter and Kay were both still watching the Fabler, their eyes glazed over. Mira cleared her throat, and they jumped.

  “Is that the real story behind the Grimmir?” she asked. The Fabler nodded. “Can a story like that be true?”

  “Today we wail and tomorrow we cheer. The story you just heard was all sincere,” the Fabler said in a hushed voice. Hearing this gave Mira a rush of excitement.

  “So it really happened!” Kay exclaimed, sitting up straight. “That’s the sea monster from the fisherman’s stories—it’s really the merrow sorcerer that was cursed to become the Grimmir!”

  The Fabler let out a cackle. “Today we cheer and tomorrow we wail. The story you just heard was only a tale!”

  Mira and the boys threw sidelong glances at each other. Mira scratched her head awkwardly. Perhaps the Fabler truly was crazy.

  “Well…which is it?” Kay asked after a moment of silence.

  “Kay, leave it,” Peter muttered. “It’s a fairy story, that’s all.”

  “Why just because it’s a fairy story doesn’t mean it can’t be true,” the Fabler said seriously.

  “But you just said it was—” Mira began.

  “Only the bravest can discover the truth behind the tales if you know where to look for it. The stories I tell come from far and wide, but they reached my ears right here, in Crispin.” She gestured to the wooden cane resting against the chair. “I don’t walk much more than I have to—never could, even as a child. I can’t tell you if the Grimmir’s story is true because I’ve never been to Nesston.”

  “Nesston?” Peter repeated, frowning. “You mean the ancient abandoned city?”

  The Fabler’s eyes gleamed as she nodded. “Some say it was abandoned because it was a city filled with merrows, and the place became a ghost town after they perished. I don’t believe it. Those folks began to flee long before the merrows fell ill. Centuries ago, in fact. Many feared that the sorcerer’s tower still held his memory, years and years after he disappeared. They claimed they could still hear the echoes of his whispers bounce from the lake and glossy rocks of the waterfall.”

  “The sorcerer’s tower is in Nesston,” Mira breathed. She turned to look at the others.

  “So,” Peter said slowly, staring back at Mira, “if the sorcerer truly existed and he was turned into the Grimmir, that means his healing powers could be real, too.”

  The cure to everlock sleep, Mira thought with renewed hope. The golden horns.

  “We have to go to Nesston and see what else we can find,” Kay said. “It used to be a part of the Old Towns, didn’t it? Can’t be too far from here.”

  “I don’t know,” Peter said. “It’s supposed to be much closer to the ocean. That’s why so many merrows used to live there.”

  The Fabler picked up her tea and began swirling it again. “I can’t tell you how far Nesston is; the distance makes no difference to me. But I will ask you for one thing.” Her lips stretched into a twisted smile. “Come back and tell me what you find there.”

  Chapter Five

  The Tower

  “I

  t’s too far away.”

  Peter held the ends of a map of Ide open against his workshop table so it wouldn’t roll back up. Mira and Kay leaned in over his shoulders, their eyes tracing the line Peter had drawn between Crispin and Nesston.

  “I think Peter’s right,” Kay said, pointing at the map. “There’s Rook. It took Alexandra and me a long time to get to a village near Crispin from there, and that was when Eola flew us here. But look at this line.” He traced his finger on the map. “It’s twice as long as the journey we made.”

  “It’ll take hours and hours on foot,” Peter said. “We’d never be able to go without everyone finding out we’re missing—we’d be gone for a whole day at least!”

  Mira frowned at the map. There had to be another way. They had to find the sorcerer’s tower if they were to have any chance of finding the cure to everlock sleep—Mira believed it with every bone in her body.

  “Well, what if Eola’s still around the Old Towns?” she said. She was grasping at straws—the looks Peter and Kay gave her confirmed it, but she didn’t care. “She could be! We’re the only people she knows who aren’t asleep, aside from Tonttu, but he’s miles beneath the earth.”

  “But winged horses don’t like being so close to the ocean,” Peter reminded her, letting the map roll itself into a tube.

  “I know,” Mira said exasperatedly. “It didn’t stop her from coming here before, though. We might as well call for her and see if she comes. It’s our only way to get to Nesston.”

  “You can try,” Kay shrugged. “She could be all the way back in the Ripple by now.”

  “I’ll call for her,” Mira insisted. She turned away from the others, walking to the window that faced the street in front of the puppet shop. She looked above the trees and pointed roofs of the townhouses to see the cloudy sky. Eola, she thought, urging the words to reach the magnificent horse. Come. We need you back here. She then thought of the Mosswoods, knowing that Eola had been there more than once. She imagined the thick trees with tangled roots covered in moss, closed her eyes, and hoped that Eola would get a glimpse of it and know where to go.

  As she wondered where the great horse could be, Mira had an odd sensation. She could suddenly smell the crisp and earthy air of a forest. For a moment, she thought she was remembering the smell of the Mosswoods, but the smell quickly triggered a very specific memory: the first time she and her friends had ridden Eola out of the Espyn Forest on their way to the kingdom’s capital. It was a marvelous feeling. Mira kept her eyes closed, inhaling deeply. It smelled as if the grass and a hint of flowers were right beneath her nose. She thought she even felt a gentle stroke of a breeze against her skin…

  She opened her eyes to see that she was still standing in front of the closed window in Peter’s workshop, though she was a little dazed. Her head felt heavy. Peter and Kay were having a conversation behind her, but she didn’t pay attention to what they were saying. She hurried back to the table and unrolled the map.

  “Did you call for Eola?” Kay asked.

  “Yeah,” Mira responded absently, searching the map. She found the words she was looking for and pointed to them. “The Espyn Forest. How far do you think that is from here?”

  Peter scratched his head. “I’m not sure…could be a few days’ trip on foot. Why?”

  “I think that’s where Eola is.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know.” Mira rubbed her temples. They were a little sore like she was about to have a headache. “I just really think she’s there.”

  “That’d make more sense than her hanging around Crispin,” Kay shrugged, fiddling with the paintbrushes on one of the shelves.

  Peter shook his head. “There’s no way for us to know where she is for sure. Let’s just hope she heard you.”

  Mira nodded. She didn’t know why she had imagined the Espyn Forest, but she hoped her thoughts were strong enough to reach Eola, wherever she was.

  The next morning, Mira and Kay stood at the fruit and vegetable stand in the town square. Kay absently tossed an apple in the air and caught it under the disapproving glare of the young seller. By his side, Mira considered a bundle of turnips, not quite knowing how to pick them, but Appoline had told her to buy some for a soup she was planning to make for dinner, so she looked at them all the same.

  “Mira! Kay!”

  They spun around t
o see Lynette running towards them, Red close behind her with his dog by his side. Clearly forgetting about the apple he’d just tossed into the air again, Kay yelped as it fell onto his head and tumbled to the ground.

  “That’d better be going into your bag or your mouth,” the boy behind the stand said, crossing his arms. “Either way, you’re buying it.”

  Kay rolled his eyes and picked up the apple as Lynette skidded to a halt in front of them.

  “What happened?” Mira asked.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Lynette breathed, her brown eyes wide.

  Red was absolutely beaming when he reached them. “It’s happened again,” he whispered. Oberon sniffed the apple in Kay’s hand as they all leaned in to hear what Red had to say. “One of the farmers said he saw a white winged horse flying over Crispin at dawn.”

  Mira gasped. “Eola.”

  Lynette clutched her arm and breathed, “You think it’s the one you’ve ridden?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Mira said, flustered. Kay looked as excited as she felt, but he gave her a subtle shake of the head. They weren’t supposed to tell anyone else what they were up to. “Are you sure it was actually a winged horse?” she asked.

  “That’s what the farmer saw.” Red shrugged. “Word spreads pretty quickly on our side of town. We figured you’d know what’s going on.”

  “Can’t be Eola,” Kay said, nudging Mira.

  “Yeah, she—she hasn’t got a reason to come here,” Mira said uncomfortably. Lynette’s gaze was piercing. She could tell Mira was lying, and Mira shrank under her stare.

  “Come on. We’ve got to go,” Kay muttered.

  “Not without paying!” the seller exclaimed.

  Grateful for the distraction, Mira grabbed Kay’s apple and dropped it in her bag, approaching the fruit stand. “How many apples for a silver lune?”