"Mommy, Mommy, tell me a story," Little Jezebel Flowers begs her mother.

It is past dark in the small village of Hamish and Mrs. Flowers has been trying to get her daughter to go to sleep for over an hour. "What kind of story would you like to hear, little one?" The tired woman sits on the edge of the young girl's bed. It is merely a frame of wood holding a blanket up like a hammock.

"Tell me about the village again," Jezebel coos. "Tell me about Hamish."

"You would want to hear that story," Mrs. Flowers sighs. "Once upon a time, there was a nameless village in the middle of the woods. It was far from any other town and quite old fashioned." Jezebel giggles as her mother pauses to see if she is paying attention. She takes a deep breath before beginning again.

"The nameless village was founded and governed by a man named Posh. He and his wife were well loved by everyone. His son, however, was not. Hamish was a stubborn boy with disregard for anything not self serving."

"That's the name of our town," Jezebel interrupts.

"That's right, dear." Her mother pats her head. "Hamish was jealous of the respect and praise the villagers gave his father. He wanted desperately to impress them as well. He tried everything he could. Every time a traveler came to the village, he would follow them around to eavesdrop on their conversations, all for the sake of learning some trick you could use to woo the villagers."

"Did you ever succeed?" Jezebel asks, despite knowing the answer full well.

"Eventually, by listening and through barter and trade, he came by a strange and interesting bit of information. Somewhere in the woods, a witch's treasure was supposedly hid."

Jezebel gasps at the mention of witches on cue. Mrs. Flowers strokes her hand to keep her calm as she continues. "Hamish went looking for the treasure, of course. He searched far and wide and did not stop until he finally found it; hidden in a hole in the ground at the base of a large tree. However, inside he did not find gold, nor silver, nor loot of any kind. The hole was filled with texts and spells; enchantments and other things a witch might treasure."

"Poor Hamish," Jezebel pretends to pity the selfish man.

Mrs. Flowers continues the story regardless. "Dejected, Hamish began to destroy everything in the hole. He tore the books and burned the spells until nothing but ash remained. He spent so long enacting his rage that he did not notice the owner returning. She was furious with the mortal man who dared enter her home. She vowed to curse him and all of his decedents for eternity. Hamish was not scared though, for he only cared for one thing, and that was fame. The witch saw through him easily though. She decided to grant his wish for recognition, but not for praise."

"She warned him that henceforth his village would bear his name. Everyone in the town would know of poor selfish Hamish. He was delighted of course until she told him that he would not be returning. He did not understand what this meant until he tried to find his way back to the village that night. No matter how far he looked, he could not find his home; it had vanished into thin air."

"Not exactly, though. The witch had played a horrible trick; she transported the village and all of its inhabitants out of the normal realm of existence. Instead, they now only existed within the pages of a book she kept with her at all times. Legend has it that poor selfish Hamish was left alone in the woods to starve to death, never knowing what became of us and this village."

"And how do we know this?" Mrs. Flowers asks slyly. "The witch told us of course. Not long after Hamish's punishment, she appeared in the village square. She told us of our new name and warned us of our fate. Of course, no one believed her at first. We all laughed and went about our lives. It wasn't until someone actually tried leaving the village that we realized she was telling the truth. Instead of the normal city of Ableworth, we found a new town; a fairytale town, straight out of the pages of a book."

"We are all trapped in this never ending story, living a life written on paper. Everything we do is inscribed and it always will be. The book will only end when the last villager dies."

"Oh no." Jezebel covers her mouth. Her eyes are wide with terror. She has heard this story a dozen times before. It is the origin of the town of Hamish. It is all true. "How do we get out?" she asks the very question she has been taught her whole life.

"I wonder," tired Mrs. Flowers pretends to ponder before returning to her story. "Years after the village first entered the pages of a book, people began to accept their fate. It wasn't as if we couldn't simply continue to live with our new neighbors. The only problems were the dangers outside of the village. Talking trolls and wolves roamed. If you set foot too far, you'd end up in the back yard of some unheard of kingdom, trespassing. There are over a dozen different kingdoms, you know."

"I know." Jezebel nods. "Someday I will visit one of them. Maybe I'll even marry a prince."

"Oh I hope so." Her mother smiles at her. "It would be nice to hear that you found your happy ending and your escape."

"Tell me about the happy endings, Mommy," Jezebel begs.

"Alright, alright." She tucks her in again to keep her from bouncing on the rag bed. "Years after the curse was placed on the village, it had become taboo to even think of leaving. Everything outside of the woods was dangerous and only bad things could come of wandering; or so we thought."

"One day, a pair of young boys decided they had had enough of living in fear. They were going to find out what was beyond the forest for themselves. They snuck off in the middle of the night, leaving their families behind."

"Did they die?" Jezebel asks, despite knowing the answer already.

"In a sense," her mother explains. "They should have never been heard from again. However, it wasn't long before the villagers received their first story books."

"Story books?" Jezebel pretends not to know what she means.

"The stories of children who have left the village," Mrs. Flowers explains. "Within these books we can read all about our fellow villagers as if they were still with us. The first books to arrive were all about the two runaway boys. Apparently they had stumbled upon a magical well at the edge of the forest, which promised to grant them each one wish. Like any greedy child would, they wished without worry of consequence."

"One wished for money, limitless and infinite. The other wished to be a grown man, strong and wise. Both were immediately granted their wishes. With their new wealth, they set off together for the next town, beyond the forest. Their journey took them from one kingdom to the next, never stopping for long. They encountered bandits and travelers, thieves and princesses, kings and trolls. Everything you've ever read about in a story."

"All the while, their journeys were being documented. We were given a first hand look at what became of our brave boys through the books. They were dropped off in the village by a strange man in white known only as the word doctor. He would heckle the best price with the mayor and then be gone again until the boys' next adventure came."

"We all quickly learned that the boys had begun their own story, quite separate from ours. They were no longer a part of the little town called Hamish. At first everyone was scared of the man in white but soon we were all hooked on the stories. We were willing to pay any price just to know what became of the boys."

"We watched them grow up together, facing demons and giants alike. They fought in wars and found great treasures. They got married and had children. Their hair turned white and they settled down with grandkids. But suddenly, one day… the books stopped coming," Mrs. Flowers emphasizes the last part, making Jezebel gasp again.

"We waited and waited but there were no more. We begged the man in white but he had grown old as well; as had we all. The first generation of villagers was long dead. I wasn't even born yet at the time. The man in white told us that the boys' story had ended. They had showed a marvelous tale and beat the curse. Their reward was freedom. They no longer existed in the story realm. They had found a way out. We had found our way out."

"Like moths to a flame, dozens of villagers began to beg the word doctor for the secret to escape. How should they go about starting their own stories? How should they earn their own happy endings? With no more books to sell, the word doctor knew he had to find a new source of money; at least until someone else decided to brave the forest and the adventures beyond. He promised a story and escape to the highest bidder."

"An entire family with five kids sold their farm and home for the first chance at a story of their own. For weeks the word doctor coached them on what they needed to do to start a story. They needed to have adventures and become unique. They tried as hard as they could but it was no use, they simply weren't special enough."

"Soon the word doctor realized that he had to be more picky with his clients. He chose his next applicant well. He was a young man with no family to speak of; much more interesting than a family of seven. He was strong and handsome and quite sought after by several girls in town. On more than one occasion he had been caught sneaking around with…"

"Mom," Jezebel interrupts. "I don't want to hear about mushy stuff like that."

"You were just talking about getting married a moment ago," Mrs. Flowers reminds her.

"Well that's me. I don't care about this random villager."

"Fine then," she sighs. "I'll skip ahead. The word doctor had such success training this new client that people began demanding his services constantly. He tried as hard as he could to keep up but he just couldn't. Instead he began to lead other word doctors to the village; dozens of them. Even now we still have several living amongst us. They come and they pick a child with potential to train and hopefully earn their own story. They coach them for years even. It is every parent's dream that their child be chosen by a word doctor someday."

"Even yours?" Jezebel asks.

"Even mine." Her mother nods.

"When will I meet my word doctor?" the little girl is suddenly impatient.

"Not for a long while. You need to grow up to be someone special."

"What if I'm not special though," Jezebel pouts. "What if I'm normal?"

"The word doctors have ways of making kids special, even the plain ones. You'll see. Until then, sleep tight my angel; sleep and dream of your happy ending."

2: Mayberry

As Jezebel walks down the dusty dirt path from her mother's cabin to the town square, she whistles happily to herself while basking in the warmth of the sun even though only a few rays actually reach the village through the canopy of trees that make up the forest around them. Several of the villagers wave to her as she skips past. She is not exactly in a hurry, but she doesn't want to keep her friend waiting either.

At the center of town, a much more fancily dressed girl of the same age is waiting. She is checking the position of the sun to judge how late her friend is. Unlike Jezebel, her hair is light and her clothes are not tattered and faded. "There you are," she rushes to greet her friend when she arrives.

"Sorry, I had to run an errand for my mother," Jezebel apologizes.

"It's fine," Cassandra brushes it off. "What were we going to do today, anyway?"

"What do we normally do?" Jezebel shrugs.

"We daydream about our happy ending and hope a word doctor comes for one of us soon."

"Do you still believe in that stuff?" Jezebel is skeptical. It has been years since her mother has told her the story of Hamish.

"Every child in this godforsaken village wishes for a word doctor," Cassandra reminds her.

"And yet only a lucky few get them," Jezebel sighs.

"What kind of ending do you want?" Cassandra asks dreamily.

"One with a white wedding and a castle larger than this forest," Jezebel answers.

"Good luck finding a man who will put up with you," her friend jokes.

"You two shouldn't be so open about your desires," a man in a white suit with an equally bleached mask covering the top half of his face interrupts them. He is twirling a white cane while smiling at them eerily.

"Are you a word doctor?" Cassandra is hopeful.

"I am." He tips his white top hat to them. "The name's Hemlock. I'm meeting my new client here today. He's a promising young orphan."

"Why do you always go for orphans?" Jezebel asks.

"They have much more potential," Hemlock answers. "Some say that a nurturing atmosphere is good for a child, but it also makes them boring. They won't take risks."

"I can take risks," Cassandra raises her voice.

"Can you? All I've heard is that you want a prince to sweep you off your feet. That's not very interesting. How about taming a lion in a ring full of gladiators?"

"What?" Cassandra raises an eyebrow. "Where would I do such a thing?"

"There is a kingdom not far from here with an evil lord tyrant ruling cruelly. He imprisons people unjustly and forces them to fight beasts for entertainment. I'm going to see if young Jameson is up to the challenge."

"Oh no, not Jameson," Jezebel whines. "He won't last a day in a tyrant king's gladiator dungeon."

"I'm not simply going to dump him in a dungeon," Hemlock laughs. "I'm going to take him on an adventure that leads to the kingdom and hopefully the king's overthrowing."

"Do you really think you can train tiny little Jameson to overthrow a tyrant?" Cassandra argues.

"H-hello, Cassie," the quiet voice of the young boy emanates from behind her.

"Ah, Jameson. We were just talking about you." Cassandra turns around with a scheming smile on her face. "Do you really think you have what it takes to survive your own story?"

"It wouldn't be my story if I didn't survive," he stutters. His wavering voice matches his improper build. He is a full head shorter than her with bushy blonde hair and absolutely no muscle. "He assured me I'd survive." He gestures to the word doctor.

"Lying to a little boy?" Cassandra shakes her head disappointedly.

"I never promised your survival," Hemlock corrects him. "I simply informed you that whether or not you live your story will still result in your freedom from this town."

"But I'll be dead!" Jameson's eyes widen in horror.

"Not if you do exactly as you're told," the man in white laughs. Jameson glances at Cassandra and Jezebel as he is dragged away, almost asking for their help. "I'll be back soon if this doesn't work out," Hemlock announces. "If you've made yourselves more desirable by then, I might take a second look."

"Well that was insulting." Cassandra frowns as the pair disappears into the crowd of passing villagers. It would seem like wearing white would make a word doctor easier to spot yet they are always quite sneaky. No one really knows where they come from or when they arrive.

"Face it, he just told us we are never getting our happy endings," Jezebel is disheartened. "We're even less desirable than miserable little Jameson."

"He said we aren't risky enough," Cassandra corrects her. "We've been coddled for too long. From this moment forth, we need to stop relying on our families."

"My mother relies on me," Jezebel argues. "I can't leave her alone."

"What did you think was going to happen when you got your story?" Cassandra counters. "She's not coming with you."

"You never know." Jezebel shrugs. "Some parents have become part of their children's story."

"Yeah, the one's that die at the beginning," Cassandra responds sternly. "You can't be so naïve. Perhaps we could sell him an idea for a joint story."

"What?" Jezebel is unprepared for her friend's random ideas. "It's not a game. Besides, I don't even think I want that man as my word doctor. There must be someone nicer out there."

"And while you wait for her to come along, I'll be living my own story," Cassandra laughs. "Just you wait, I'm going to marry a prince and live in a castle and…"

"Didn't he say that was boring?" Jezebel interrupts.

"He said we are too boring right now. I don't care what trial I have to go through to get it, I know what my happy ending will be."

"Must all happy endings hinge on getting a strong man?" Jezebel is feeling pigeonholed. She is not against the idea of meeting a man someday but basing her whole life around it seems pointless. She might end up just as alone as her mother, working at a flour mill and hoping her own daughter is special enough for a story.

"You're so modern," Cassandra giggles. "Just imagine what kind of boys are waiting out there for us. I mean, you'll probably get a half decent one at least."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jezebel glares at her. "Are you saying I'm not good enough for a proper prince?"

"You don't honestly think you're as pretty as me, do you?" Cassandra scoffs.

"At least I'm better mannered," she counters. "Just because your family is a little bit wealthier than mine…"

"It's not about money," Cassandra cuts her off. "It's about beauty and potential. That word doctor already said it; you're boring."

"He said we were both boring," Jezebel reminds her. "I've had just about enough of you. I don't need to be told what my happy ending is going to be by someone like you."

"You probably won't even get a happy ending." Cassandra holds her nose in the air as she walks off. Jezebel immediately feels bad about snapping at her friend but her pride keeps her from chasing after her and apologizing. She decides to walk it off instead.

She spends the rest of the afternoon traversing the town. She passes by every building and every villager, waving to all in turn. Unlike the man the town was named for, everyone in Hamish seems to be rather friendly. No matter how polite the people are though, Jezebel still feels the nagging need to leave and begin her own story soon.

It is not a matter of enjoying life in the small village; the children of Hamish are just born with the desire to explore. Some of them want to escape while others simply wish to have people read their stories. Whatever the reason, every child of Hamish eventually feels the calling of a word doctor; even though only a select few ever get the chance.

That day is far off for some of them though. Despite the dreaming desire to see something new and amazing, they can't all shake their inhibitions. Some need a kick to get started. Others are born with a wandering soul. Jezebel lies somewhere in-between. She definitely wants her own story someday but leaving her mother behind is the last thing on her mind.

These thoughts are still plaguing her by the time she returns to her mother's small cabin. She is not even aware of the small buggy waiting out back behind the building until she is about to open the front door. "Mom!" she shouts as she bursts through. "Mom, we have company."

"Jez, I've been waiting for you." Her mother accosts with a hug immediately. "I have someone I want you to meet."

Jezebel glances over her mother's shoulder at the woman waiting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of watered down tea. "Who are you?" she gasps. The woman glances down at her own gray frock for a moment before fluttering the pitch white cape on her shoulders. "You're a word doctor," Jezebel realizes.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Flowers." She bows politely.

"Mom, what is she doing here?"

"I saw her in town and I invited her over," Mrs. Flowers answers. "Isn't she wonderful?"

"I, I don't know," Jezebel starts to stutter. "What does she want?"

"Nothing if you don't wish it," the woman assures her. "My name is Mayberry. As you have guessed, I am a word doctor."

"She's here to start your story," Mrs. Flowers coos excitedly.

"Really?" Jezebel gulps nervously.

"As I said, it is entirely up to you," Mayberry repeats. "Do you believe you are ready to start your story?"

"I don't know," she sputters. "This is so sudden. I was just told by a doctor in town that I am far too plain."

Mayberry sweeps several stands of her dark hair away from the lenses of her glasses as she stands up to examine her closely. Jezebel waits as she lifts her arms and stares into her eyes like a butcher appraising cattle. "He is not wrong," Mayberry finally admits. "You have potential, but only just."

Immediately Jezebel's face starts to glow with pride. She wishes that Cassandra could hear this. "I have what it takes to have my own story?" she repeats.

"Not quite," Mayberry dashes her hopes. She strokes her chin for a moment while trying to think of a way to explain. "You could serve as an extra in someone else's story," she finally answers.

"What?" Jezebel is extremely shocked. She has never heard of a person sharing their story with anyone. Perhaps Cassandra was onto something after all.

"Every story is just the interesting events of its owner's life transcribed into a book," Mayberry tries to explain. "If you have a meaningful enough encounter, you might get an honorable mention."

"But that won't earn me my own story will it?" Jezebel starts to pout.

"It depends," Mayberry sighs. "If your story takes up enough of the book you might get your own ending which will result in your freedom. However, if you don't get a proper ending then you'll simply have to move on to another story and keep trying to play a bigger role. It could take years."

"Years?" Jezebel gasps. "I don't want to be doing this for years."

"You don't really have a choice. You have almost no chance of getting your own story and even if you did, you probably wouldn't survive it."

"What? Why not?" Jezebel is offended.

"Extra characters like you can't handle the large challenges a story demands. Imagine fighting on a battle field in a war story. You can face side enemies and perhaps help injure someone important but you can't really expect to wield Excalibur if you're not even the chosen one, can you?"

Jezebel's mouth hangs open as she sinks into a nearby chair. She can't really argue with the word doctor but the truth still hurts. "So I have to keep playing the role of the sidekick until they decide to give me an ending?"

"I'm sorry, child." Mayberry's expression reflects genuine regret. She is the nicest word doctor Jezebel has ever met.

"So what do I have to do?" Jezebel asks with a sigh.

"You need to leave everything you have behind immediately."

"Why?" Jezebel glances at her mother with concern.

"It's an unspoken rule of stories. You're starting a new adventure. Nothing from your past can hinder you. The whole point of starting your own story is to escape the never ending tale of Hamish village. You have to prove that you are not a part of it anymore."

"Where do I go?" Jezebel is starting to take her role seriously. She is almost prepared to never see the town again as it is.

"Take some warm clothes and supplies and meet me at the edge of the forest. There is a crick on the other side, just before the kingdom of Baylor. We will travel by night so be ready for wolves and other terrible things."

Jezebel nods nervously. Though afraid, she is not discouraged by the things that lurk in the forest. She always knew it would not be easy. "What about Cassandra?" she suddenly recalls her friend. "Will she ever get her story?"

"That depends on her," Mayberry answers. "If she is willing to take the same measures as you, then maybe."

"Is there nothing you can do to help my Jez earn a story of her own?" Mrs. Flowers begs.

"There are many things other word doctors would try. I'm sorry to say that I am not willing to go to those lengths. This is the best I can do."

Mrs. Flowers gathers what little food and extra clothing she has and bundles it together for her daughter. Jezebel hugs her one last time before leaving the tiny cabin for good. She can see the pointed tip of Mayberry's white hat as she glances back over her shoulder. She has no idea what awaits her but it does not matter. She is finally starting a story, even if it belongs to someone else.

Across the fields behind her house, Jezebel rushes for the tree line of the forest. The simple excitement of what she is about to do is making it impossible to walk slowly. It is already dark and she can hear the sounds of wolves howling in the distance. They are far from her but they still instill fear. She does not want the morning paper of Hamish village to read that a young stupid girl was mauled to death by wolves as she attempted to blunder her way toward a happy ending by listening to a crazy word doctor about entering other peoples' stories.

As she hurries toward the other side of the forest, her boots splash in the puddles left by the morning rain. The darkness of the forest is made all the more eerie by the mist of evaporating rainwater hanging in the air. She can practically taste the wet moss of the trees as she runs. She can't stop; not until she reaches the crick at the edge of Baylor.

Mayberry is supposed to be waiting for her, but she has little hope at all. From her personal experience with word doctors such as Hemlock, she has learned not to trust them. More often than not, they end up leading the hopeful child into a story they can't handle and then refusing to even apologize to their family when they return to the village to find a new client.

In the distance, she can see the mist glowing with the blue color of the moonlight. She is almost at the edge of the forest. Any second she should be hitting the crick… With a splash she trips over the ledge of the river bank, falling face first into the water. It is icy cold despite the warm muggy air of summer.

"Are you there, child?" Mayberry's high pitched voice calls out in a whisper. "Speak up."

"I'm here," Jezebel blows bubbles in the black water as she struggles to stand. "Why is it so cold?"

"You're entering a different story." Mayberry appears out of the fog in front of her. "It is not summer in Baylor."

"Seasons aren't the same story to story?" Jezebel is surprised. She stands up in the crick, letting her soaked clothes drip down her legs.

"Some stories don't even have a concept of seasons changing," Mayberry explains while pulling a few strands of hair out of her eyes where they have become trapped behind her glasses. It seems like a common problem for her.

"But I thought…"

"A story is only as good as its writer," Mayberry continues. "If I invent a kingdom where the knights all wear chain mail, then of course I won't mention how hot and muggy summer gets and how they all have to remove their armor to keep from passing out from exhaustion."

"But this is real." Jezebel glances around. "We're living and breathing."

"Even your beloved Hamish is nothing but words on paper," Mayberry corrects her. "We are all stories in our own way."

"Doesn't that make me the writer?" Jezebel asks. "Can't I change the seasons if I want?"

"No, child. You are controlling the actions of your character alone. Everything else is based off of the stories that have already been written of which you will encounter. You will cross many of them on your journeys. Be prepared for your life to change repeatedly. Some places will not even have the courtesy of common language while others will take you far into the future where science rules over all."

"But I've never read a story like that," she gapes. "Everything we read about in Hamish is so medieval."

"That is because the closest stories are those nearby Hamish Village's actual book. Remember that it exists in reality. If it sits on a shelf in a library, then the book next to it must be one of King Jessup of Baylor Kingdom. All the surrounding tomes will be of related scripture. You could travel a lifetime and never so much as reach a dictionary."

"Hamish really is rather small, isn't it?" Jezebel realizes with a dejected expression.

"You're new to the world of literature," Mayberry tries to patronize her. "Even in the generations since you came here, you have barely scratched the surface of what this library holds."

"But what about all of the other stories?" Jezebel interjects. "What about the stories of the brothers Paravillian, who traveled far and wide in search of pirates and treasure? What about the goddess Narcia, who seduced her enemies and conquered kingdoms?"

"All of those are stories you've read in Hamish, I assume," Mayberry asks. Jezebel simply nods. "They are the exploits of your fellow villagers. Someone from your town went off and had these adventures and then got books of their own, correct?"

"Yes, how come I can't simply walk into a book like that?"

"Because the story's already finished," Mayberry answers. "You can enter the land of Honeydray where Narcia made her home but you won't meet her. She has already completed her story. All you'd do is create a sequel about the land with a different protagonist. Can you walk through the pages of Hamish and meet your grandparents?"

"No." Jezebel shakes her head disappointedly.

"I'm sorry to say, but you will never meet any of the heroes you have read about. Even King Jessup has grown old since the story of Baylor was added to the library shelves. He is not originally from Hamish but his story is still over. It ended when he married the Queen Drelivia. They have reigned over Baylor as your neighbors for decades following their story and now Drelivia is dead and Jessup is not far behind. I doubt anyone reading your story would even recognize the connection to theirs."

"But you said I was too weak for my own story," Jezebel reminds her.

"And you are. I was simply making an example. Right now you need to find your way into another person's story and earn a place as a memorable character. Do you think you can do that?"

"I'm not sure," Jezebel answers honestly. "Are there stories happening in Baylor right now?"

"More than you can imagine. As we speak, dozens of children are finding their way through the kingdom and having adventures the likes of which you can only imagine. Girls are being courted by fancily dressed gentlemen at the castle ballroom. Boys are learning the trades of blacksmiths, pickpockets, sailors and pirates. The town is filled with potential stories."

"Those don't sound like adventures." Jezebel frowns.

"Not all stories involve fighting trolls and knights," Mayberry informs her. "Sometimes people just want to read about a quiet life of a poor handmaid being picked to marry a wealthy barren. Have you ever heard of Cinderella?"

"Who hasn't," Jezebel laughs with a snort. "You don't suppose I'm going to be picked by a prince, do you?"

"Like I already told you, you're more of a side character. You could be the fairy godmother or the servant who had every girl in the kingdom try on the glass slipper or…"

"Or the evil stepmother," Jezebel interrupts with an upset expression.

"If you choose that path, I can not stop you. You'd get your end quite quickly that way but I can't guarantee it would be happy."

"But what even happens to the fairy godmother?" Jezebel whines. "At least the ugly stepsister met someone equally as ugly in the end."

"Cinderella was not the fairy godmother's only charge," Mayberry interjects. "She went from story to story helping people. You'll just have to do the same until one of them mentions you enough to help you escape."

"But she was old and gray," Jezebel argues. "Am I going to be that old when I get my happy ending?"

"I'd be lying if I said I knew," Mayberry apologizes. "This is the best I can do."

"But what do I do?" Jezebel is still confused. "How do I insert myself into someone else's story? Aren't they all doing just fine on their own?"

"Do you really believe that?" Mayberry almost laughs. "Can you imagine being dragged from a place like Hamish and being able to jump right into another story? Most of these children are hobbling. Us word doctors can only tell you what to do, we can't physically help you."

"Why not?"

"A word doctor can't interfere with a story. Imagine the outrage if a reader realized that there was one of us in every story? There would be no separation. How would it be your story if the same word doctor from your friend Cassandra's story appeared in both books?"

"Is Cassandra ever going to get a story?" Jezebel is suddenly concerned.

"Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you that. We word doctors communicate with one another, but we don't give out random information about our stories. As a favor to you, I can alert other word doctors to her availability, if you like."

"Would you?" Jezebel's eyes light up. "Can she come to Baylor like me?"

"Baylor is a calm place. King Jessup brought peace during his story. It is an ideal place for many of my stories to take place but not many other word doctors want it. It lacks excitement and adventure. They'll want to put your friend in a more volatile kingdom."

"But Cassandra's even weaker than I am. Are you telling me she'll be in a fighting story?"

"She'll be in a story of her own design. If she's as weak as you say then I can only imagine what technique a word doctor might employ to get her a story."

"What do you mean? What will happen to her?"

"Don't worry, most word doctors won't go too far. They'll just give her a little push." Mayberry bites her lip.

Jezebel can tell that she is not sure of anything. "What might a word doctor do?" she demands. "How far would they go?"

"Well…" Mayberry continues to stall.

"Tell me," Jezebel demands.

"They may have to put her through a trauma," she finally admits.

"What? What kind of trauma?"

"I can't say for sure." Mayberry shrugs. "It could be something great, it could be nothing."

"I have to do something. Take me to her, now."

"I can't."

"What do you mean? Just make me a side character in her story. You said I need to help other people with their stories," Jezebel reminds her. "Why can't I start with Cassandra?"

"Because you don't even know how to help someone yet. You need to figure out what type of helper you are. Getting traumatized along with her would only put you in the exact same position. You'd be equally as powerless and what's more, you wouldn't even be the main character so you'd stand less of a chance of surviving."

Jezebel's eyes widen as Mayberry's words sink in. She has once again been reminded that even her spoiled princess of a friend is more worthy of her own story. It is not enough that she was willing to do everything Mayberry said just for a chance at being a side character. She will never get her own story, no matter what.

"Come on." Mayberry starts to walk toward the clearing on the other side of the forest. Beyond the fog, Jezebel can see the high walls of the castle in the distance. The large town of Baylor is in the valley below, illuminated by thousands of candles burning in the windows of shops and parlors alike. Even in the middle of the night, the city is bustling. "We'll find you a way of entering people's stories," Mayberry assures her.

"How?" Jezebel is skeptical.

"I know a man who can help. He is a bit of a seer in his own way. He has helped many children start their stories. All you have to do is listen to his advice and do exactly what he tells you." Mayberry assures her. Jezebel sighs to herself as she follows the word doctor across the plain and toward the valley. She has already gotten used to doing what she is told. Why stop now?

As they cross the cobblestone bridge that separates the plain from the city, Jezebel glances up at the tall buildings. Even though it is nighttime, the flames in the windows reflect off the sky, lighting it up like a bright green ceiling. The mist is less heavy inside the city and it is easier to breath.

The sound of horses clopping on the stone streets and people chattering makes her feel extremely uneasy. The city is filled with people that never sleep and all of them have their heads down, wearing dark robes with dirty hands. Mayberry's cape and pointed hat are the brightest pieces of cloth. Even people wearing white wool fresh from sheep have less sheen than a word doctor's clothes. Where they come by their ridiculous outfits is a mystery to Jezebel.

The passing people all turn to stare at the new arrival. It is as if they can tell that she is not from Baylor. Some of them smile while others leer. She feels as if she is on display. Mayberry leads her through winding alleys and dark passages, around blacksmith shops and behind bakeries. Finally they come to a stop outside what appears to be a gypsy shop.

"Is he in here?" Jezebel asks cautiously. Mayberry shushes her while knocking on the wooden frame which acts as a doorway from the draped purple cloth covering the entrance.

"Who is it?" a gruff old voice calls out of the small shack. Mayberry waves at her charge, beckoning her inside. "May, is that you?" An old man is waiting in a chair behind a round table occupying most of the space. His eyebrows are gray and shaggy, sagging down over his eyes, making it impossible for him to actually see Jezebel.

Glancing back, the young girl can see her word doctor's cape disappearing around the corner of a building down the street. She has been abandoned with the seer. "Who are you?" the old man bellows. "Where is May?"

"She um… she just left," Jezebel answers as honestly as she can.

"Good, I hate that little rascal. She's always making my life difficult. If she wants to be a word doctor so bad, she should learn to be less caring. She can't save everybody and if she wastes so much time on each one she'll end up saving none," he rambles.

"Mayberry?" Jezebel confirms.

"Did I stutter?" the old man is not polite. "That wretched woman wants to help every child achieve their happy ending. It can't be done, I say; it just can't."

"She really is noble, isn't she?" Jezebel smiles for a moment, flashing her white teeth at the old man who seems to be able to see her despite his eyebrow predicament.

"She is a nuisance," he scoffs. "She refuses to turn down any child who begs for a story. She'll lead them all to their deaths, I swear."

"What about me?" Jezebel asks. "She promised me a story."

"No she didn't," he can see straight through her. "At best she offered you the chance to enter someone else's story, right?" Jezebel nods solemnly. It is extremely annoying to be repeatedly told how unremarkable she is. "So what would you like to try first? You can be a whipping girl for the king's granddaughter. I'm sure she's spoiled enough to need one."

"A what?" Jezebel is not sure what he means.

"Princesses like Littier often have their own stories without even trying. Rumor has it that our very own lady of the castle has grown selfish and is in need of punishment."

"But what is a whipping girl?" Jezebel asks.

"Well how would you punish a spoiled royal? You can't very well hit the princess; it's absurd. The best you can do is find a substitute and hit her. Hopefully she will learn not to misbehave in hopes of saving her whipping girl pain."

"That doesn't sound fun at all. Are you saying I would simply take beatings for the princess until she stops acting out?"

"Is there something else you are good at?" the old man seems shocked at her reluctance, almost as if she should be grateful for getting beaten.

"Can't I be like a fairy godmother or something?" Jezebel suggests.

"A fairy eh? I might be able to do something."

"Not a fairy, a fairy godmother; like Cinderella."

"How old are you?"

"What?" Jezebel doesn't understand the point of the question.

"Are you old enough to be someone's mother?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Do you have magical powers that could turn a pumpkin into a chariot?"

"No." She is suddenly extremely ashamed. Is there somewhere she should have learned any of this before coming to Baylor?

"Why on earth do you think you're better suited to something like that then? You are a little girl. Until you grow up your best suited to doing little girl things."

"Like getting whipped?" she whines.

"You could sell matches in the snow but I'm sure you know how that story ends," he snaps.

Jezebel jolts backwards. She is not sure what she expected but she does not like this seer. He is blatantly honest and rude. He should at least use some tact when dealing with a child. But that is the problem isn't it? She is only a child. What does she have to offer apart from taking beatings for a spoiled princess?

The seer can tell that she is losing confidence. He is almost afraid she might burst into tears any second. "I can see why Mayberry does this so much," he sighs. "Once you are face to face with a child it is hard to turn them down. Fine, I may have another option for you. If you are so desperate to play a less physical role there is an alternative."

"Physical role?" she is curious about the term.

"A captain of the guard defends their charge, a troll guards a bridge, a witch kidnaps a child; all of these things are physical actions that set a story in motion. A fairy is much less physical. She will give advice and enchant items but when it comes to actual conflict, she will sit back and watch. It is a much safer occupation to be honest."

"That sounds incredibly selfish," Jezebel is suddenly feeling guilty for wanting such special treatment.

"You can't afford to be picky. You want to survive, don't you? Imagine how hard it is for a child to survive their own story. Now triple the danger for a side character. Finally times that by however many stories you plan to enter in search of your happy ending."

"It sounds like I'm taking a much bigger risk than even Jameson did entering a gladiator arena."

"It's why this is not often done," he sighs again. "Mayberry must learn that she is not always as helpful as she thinks."

"Why did she come to me?" Jezebel is curious.

"She is extremely empathetic. She can't stand it when she sees someone like Hemlock taking your friend Jameson and leaving you behind." The seer seems to be well informed about the village of Hamish. "She wants to help each and every one of you, no matter the risk or the cost."

"Shouldn't you stop her before she hurts someone?" Jezebel is worried.

"I have no right. She is a word doctor and like any of them, she can employ whatever tactic she chooses. To be honest, she is rather docile. Some word doctors kidnap children or murder their families; anything to get a story started. You're actually rather lucky. You may be facing more danger than other children but at least your village won't be dragged into it."

"So she was protecting my mother," Jezebel surmises.

"In a sense." He nods. "When hiring a word doctor, always make sure they are already interested in selling your story. Never make a bargain or trade in order to earn their interest. The price will always be steep. Of course, it's already too late for you. You chose Mayberry and her price was ignorance. You are far too unprepared."

"Should I go back?" Jezebel ponders out loud.

"Do you want to go back? Know now that you will almost never get a chance like this again."

"No, I don't want to stop here," Jezebel finds her courage. She made this decision on her own. It was not a spur of the moment leap. She has been wishing for this for as long as she can remember. She will regret it for the rest of her life if she doesn't follow through.

"Attagirl." The seer smiles for the first time. He is finally seeing the potential Mayberry must have. "So where shall we begin?"

"You mentioned that becoming a fairy would be safer? I don't mean to be selfish but I can't be picky, right?"

"Exactly. Now there's just one problem; you're not a fairy."

"Well no. I assumed you could change me into one or something."

"Have you ever even read a story?" He frowns.

"Of course I have," she is offended. "I've read the twin tales of Rothroot and Benedict many times."

"And how did Rothroot gain his large muscles and manly strength?"

"Well, he wished for them at a magical well."

"And Benedict's infinite riches?"

"The same well."

"So they didn't just gain their powers when the story began, did they?"

"No," she starts to pout again.

"You must find a way to become a familiar such as a fairy. I can not simply give it to you."

"But how do I change, and will it be permanent?"

"I'm sure you know the part the talking house wares played in Beauty and the Beast," he sets an example. "Their story is based around the beast's and as such they got their happy ending when they turned back along with him. You need to find something like that curse that will transform you into a useful familiar."

"But you said I'd be a fairy," she reminds him.

"A fairy is only one of your infinite options. You could turn into the Cheshire cat from Alice in wonderland for all that it matters. Choose wisely and know that it is only as permanent as whatever transforms you. If you can't stand the idea of spending the rest of your life in that form, make sure you know how to end it."

"Won't I get my happy ending as soon as I transform back? Isn't that what happened in Beauty and the Beast?"

"In Cinderella did the pumpkin get its happy ending when it turned back from being a chariot?" he quips. She shakes her head with a wide eyed expression. Half the things he says are quite extraordinary when imagined in detail.

"The pumpkin did not even wish to be changed in the first place," he continues. "Its idea of a happy ending would probably be not getting carved into a jack-o-lantern on All Hallows Eve. If you choose to take on the transformation willingly, than what sort of victory is getting turned back into yourself. I thought you hated being you. Isn't that why you chose to hire a word doctor in the first place?"

"Well yes, I mean no, I mean… I don't hate myself. I just want something more."

"And that is when you will get your happy ending; when you get the something more you are looking for. Until then, all the transformations you undergo will be nothing but trials on your journey."

"But what if I accidentally get transformed into something horrible. Won't it become my desire to escape that transformation? Won't it become my happy ending?"

"If some transformation you undertake becomes so defining that your truest and only desire becomes escaping it, then I am truly sorry. If that so happens and you are satisfied then you may return to your village in Hamish and grow old and die."

"However if you are really seeking something great, if you really want your real happy ending, something like that will be a simple setback not a defining ending. You alone decide when to give up. Don't let something so trivial stand in your way."

Jezebel stands perfectly still, staring at the old man's bushy eyebrows. The reality of her situation is once again sinking in. She thought she knew what she was getting into several times before and this is probably not the last time she will reevaluate her decision. She isn't playing a game where she gets to choose the difficulty; she is making a life altering choice.

"Okay, I'm ready," she spouts sternly. "Tell me what to do."

3: Ambrose

Cassandra lies on her bed, staring up at the rafters and tossing one of her hair bands in the air. She has been sighing nonstop since returning from her botched meeting with Jezebel. She wishes she had not been so rude to her friend. The next time they meet she will definitely apologize.

She can hear the voices of her three older siblings rushing around in the cabin below her. The floorboards are not that good at hiding sound. Her family is one of the larger ones in the village. They have enough good fortune to support all four of their children, the youngest of which is thirteen; Cassandra.

She is the exact same age as Jezebel. It is about the time they should be receiving their first looks from traveling word doctors. This interest of the wandering eyes lasts for a good few years but never extends past a villager's twentieth birthday. If a story has not been found by that time, the poor villager can assume they are destined to start a family of their own soon and wait for their children to attempt redemption.

All three of Cassandra's older siblings have decided not to pursue the path of a happy ending. The rules are too strict for them to follow. In order to ensure that they will not be passed up for a story, a villager must purge themselves of anything that could lead them toward a dull and boring life.

Falling in love with a fellow villager is absolutely forbidden. How can one be free to run off with a random prince from a castle if they are already bound to a soul in the village? Cassandra's eldest sister, Renae, has already decided who her husband shall be. She has even passed up offers from random word doctors promising her a more handsome mate.

Cassandra's elder twin brothers, Joshua and David, have both begun work in their father's saw mill and plan to earn an honest living. Their mother often urges them to consider seeking out a word doctor, insisting that a tale of twins would draw readers and assure them a worthy story. Neither one wishes to brave the danger of death for the tiny promise of fame, though.

That leaves Cassandra. She is the only member of her family wishing to earn her own story. Unfortunately, she receives little support. None of them believe the little spoiled princess has anything to offer a reader. She has no extraordinary traits and, apart from slightly above average looks, she has nothing worth mentioning.

She is positive that they are all wrong though. She will have a story of her own one day and have her happy ending. She will leave the trapped pages of Hamish village behind and reach the outside world. She will look back on her family's incarceration and she will regret nothing. They will mean nothing to her.

Cassandra is still daydreaming when her mother taps on the ceiling below, rattling the floorboards to the room she shares with her sister. "Cassie, come and help me prepare supper," she demands.

"Make Renae do it," Cassandra bellows. She has no interest in performing chores. One day she will have a prince and a castle. Why should she sully her hands with commoner work?

"I said now." Her mother stomps her foot. Cassandra catches her hair band one last time before lacing her hair up in a ponytail on her way down the stairs. Her blonde straw like strands glint in the lamplight of the kitchen below, showing just how pretty she could be with only a little work. Her mother is waiting with her hands on her hips. "I'm about to boil potatoes for the stew. Go and fetch me some water from the well," she orders.

"Yes, Mother." Cassandra rolls her eyes on her way out the door. The sky has become rather dark in the few hours it has been since she left the town square. It is getting close to sundown. The sound of wolves howling will soon ring out as the whole village goes quiet.

Cassandra drags a pail from beside the cabin door. It is too large for her to lift properly and she has no idea how she plans to carry it once it is full. Her family is lucky enough to have their own well, all the way on the other side of the property. Most of the villagers, including Jezebel and her mother, have to use the pump at the center of town.

The metal contraption clinks loudly as Cassandra pumps the water from the well. It rises out in a stream which settles in the bucket beside the stone foundation. Slowly it fills the iron rung bound wooden slats until they are overflowing. With great effort, she attempts to heave the heavy load up onto her shoulder. The bucket barely budges but she still ends up splashing a large quantity onto her bare feet.

She groans loudly as she wipes them off in the grass. She should have grabbed her boots from beside the door before heading out. It is a warm summer day but the breeze blowing past is giving her chills. She shudders as the cold sensation runs down her spine. She can almost feel the eyes of someone watching her.

She desperately wants to retreat back to the safety of the cabin. For someone so intent on having her own story and traveling alone to conquer it, she is not that brave. She is only thirteen after all. She is not deterred though. It should be a prince's job to come and rescue her from the dark forest and propose to her in a castle garden. Bravery should have nothing to do with it.

As the wind picks up and the sound of howling begins she starts to panic. She is not even that far from her cabin and can still see the candlelight on the other side of the lot. She could run to it like a scared child but her mother would simply demand her to finish her task. Instead she gives the bucket another mighty tug.

This time it lifts off the ground for a moment before pulling the young girl to her knees. Perhaps it has become lighter after losing so much of its water. It is still too heavy though. She has only one option; drag it along the ground and hope her father will not scold her for tearing up the grass of the field.

The sun is completely gone by the time Cassandra makes it halfway back to the cabin. Why oh why do they live on such a large farm and why is the well so far away? The land is not even cultivated by her father who instead runs the local saw mill. Several other villagers pay her family to let them grow crops on the land.

Cassandra drops the handle of the bucket to stretch her aching muscles. It has been a good while since her mother sent her on her task. Perhaps she will send Renae to come look for her soon. She stretches each of her arms and legs in turn while waiting patiently for her sister to arrive so she can pass off the chore. Of course, Renae never comes. Her mother is far too wise to her antics.

With a sigh, she moves to grab the handle again. She is immediately startled to find a large hand already gripping it. She screams as she falls backwards into the tall grass of the field. The large figure lifts the bucket easily, resting the handle above their shoulder.

Cassandra eyes them up and down as she stands to brush herself off. She can tell from their white robe and hair that they are a word doctor. "H-hello," she speaks nervously.

"Hello, Cassandra," the man hisses in a serpent like voice. "My name is Ambrose. What's yours?"

"You just said it," she whimpers.

"Did I?" he pretends to be unaware.

"What do you want?" she finds her voice finally. "Are you here for Renae? She's not interested, you know."

"Forget about Renae." Ambrose shakes his head. "Let's talk about you, Cassandra."

"How do you know my name?" She shivers.

"Because I've come specially for you." He points at her chest. "Isn't this wonderful? Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"But Hemlock said…"

"Hemlock is the one who sent me," he informs her. "He said that I must take a look at this promising beauty."

Cassandra tries to straighten her posture, desperate to show more appeal while simultaneously sizing up her new word doctor. He is tall and lanky yet somehow he has enough muscles to keep from appearing skinny. His skin is tan to the point of practically being red, even in the dark. However it is not leathery and weathered. He seems to have been born with it. Though, his hair has obviously been bleached by the sun, causing it to match his cloak.

"What do you think?" He smirks at her. He can already tell what she is doing.

"Are you really my word doctor?" she is skeptical. "It all seems rather convenient."

"I assure you, a visit from me is anything but convenient. I'm the one they call when no one else will take the job."

Cassandra's jaw drops. "Am I really that undesirable?"

"It's not entirely your fault," he patronizes her. "You come from such a nice family. I'm not surprised that most of them have chosen not to even pursue their own stories. Not to say that even I would accept them."

"My sister Renae has already had seven offers," Cassandra responds pompously.

"Is that all you can do; brag about your sister? I thought we were going to talk about you. Why should I take you as a client?"

"Because… you said I had potential."

"Oh yes. I said you were chalk full of potential. There's just one problem."

"What?" she is completely hooked on his every word by now.

"It's buried," he sighs, "it's buried so deep it would take a miracle to retrieve it."

"But you can do it, right?" she is desperate. "That's what you do, isn't it?"

"I'm not a magician, child," he hisses like a snake again. "I trade in stories not magic."

"Which means you know someone who can," she catches his meaning. "You've made a deal with someone to start my story, haven't you?" Her eyes are lighting up.

"Clever child. I look forward to watching your story progress."

"Well let's get started then." She bounces excitedly. "Tell me what to do."

"Hold on there, little girl," he tries to calm her. "Are you sure you want to start so soon? Don't you want to say goodbye to your family first; maybe put on some shoes?"

"No." She is shaking with anticipation. "I don't care if I never see my family again."

"Well I'm glad you said that, girlie, because you never will." He is grinning mischievously now. Her expression twists in confusion as she follows him toward the house. He spins in a circle, trying to grab the satchel dangling from his side. When he stops the inertia brings it to his hand so he can retrieve a glowing blue orb.

"What is that?" she gasps as the color reflects in her equally blue eyes.

"This is a signal," he explains. "It will draw something to us that will start you on the ride of your lifetime." Cassandra smiles giddily as he drops the orb into the large bucket on his shoulder. She is almost shocked when he tosses it, water and all, at the cabin. A flash blinds her as the glass orb shatters on the ground. The color flows out, mixing with the water and turning it into colored mist, which rises into the sky like a beacon.

Cassandra's mouth hangs open in awe as she watches. Quickly the sound of horses neighing and galloping hoofs fills her ears. With one of his long powerful arms, Ambrose sweeps her off her feet, striding across the field. He drops her down behind the scarecrow Jameson's father made when he first started renting this half of the farm, before his terrible accident which left his son orphaned.

She can see riders galloping through the fog of the night. They emerge from the dark of the surrounding forest like messengers on a mission. "The signal is bright, my lord," the lead rider bellows at his commander. Cassandra can tell that they are soldiers from a kingdom, probably from one of the neighboring stories nearby.

"This is the place?" The lord pulls his horse to a stop a few yards in front of the cabin. He is highly decorated with colorful cloth and medals but he wears no armor. These men are not here to fight other soldiers. They may simply be just scouts.

"This is where the wizard led us," the soldiers assure their leader.

"Wizard?" Cassandra glances up at Ambrose.

"Everyone has their own name for the word doctors," he explains in a whisper while pressing a finger to her lips to keep her quiet.

"So you brought them here?" she confirms.

"They are the answer to the start of your story."

"But who are they?" she still does not understand. Before Ambrose can answer, her attention is drawn back to the men. One of them strikes a match on his horse's saddle and uses it to light a torch sticking into the air like a flag pole. "What are they doing?" Cassandra whispers. All of the other soldiers bring their horses close to him and hold their own smaller torches near the flame. Soon there is a circle of fire surrounding the leader. "Ready arrows!" he shouts at his men.

"What?" Cassandra gasps.

"Quiet," Ambrose hisses.

"But they can't," she tries to scream as he covers her mouth. Each of the soldiers lifts a crossbow into view and uses their torches to light the tips of their arrows. Cassandra squirms in Ambrose's arms as they take aim. She stops struggling as the sound of half a dozen bowstrings being snapped rings out. Her eyes grow wide with tears as the cabin is set ablaze.

"Fire again!" the lord orders. The men reload their crossbows swiftly, launching another volley into the flaming building. Cassandra can hear her mother and sister screaming inside as they are burned alive. She bites Ambrose's hand, gaining her freedom from his grasp. He lunges at her as she runs out across the field, trying to reach her family.

"Who goes there?" One of the soldiers spots her.

"Seize her," the lord orders. Two of the men leap off their horses, tackling her to the ground.

"Why?" she wails at the top of her lungs. "Why did you do this?"

"We do what the king tells us," the lord responds confidently.

"What did they ever do to you?" she continues to scream.

"The wizard deemed them a threat to his majesty. Preventive measures were taken," the lord remains coldly logical.

Cassandra turns her head to face Ambrose as he leaves his hiding place behind the scarecrow. "You!" Her eyes flare as she realizes who is to blame.

"It is the wizard, my lord."

"Great wizard, what brings you here?" the lord glares down from his perch atop his horse.

"I wish to speak with the child," Ambrose answers while bowing appropriately.

"Make it quick." The lord waves his hand uninterestedly.

"Why?" Cassandra sobs loudly as Ambrose approaches.

He wipes her tears on his sleeve while staring solemnly. "My child, you needed a beginning to your story. Now you have one."

"No!" She shakes her head violently. "I didn't ask for this."

"This is exactly what you asked for," he assures her. "Now you have the tragic background of a true protagonist. You shall grow up with the desire to hunt the ones responsible for your family's demise and take vengeance."

"You're the one responsible!" she spits at him.

"Not I, child; him." He points at the lord who is barely paying attention. "Him and his men; his whole kingdom. You will grow to hate them and you will destroy an entire king's army to take your revenge."

"No." She jerks her head away. "I wanted a peaceful story of love and frolicking. I am not a warrior."

"You are now, my child."

"Enough, wizard," the lord shouts as his men yank Cassandra away from Ambrose. "We will return to the castle now. Toss her in the dungeon when we arrive."

"No, please help," Cassandra shrieks while grabbing for Ambrose. He moves out of her reach though. "You're supposed to help me!" she bellows. "You're my word doctor."

"I have helped you, my child." He smiles calmly. "You have now begun your story. My work is done. I pray that you survive. I look forward to selling your books in the village square."

Cassandra's mouth hangs open as she realizes what has just happened. All her life she has been raised to believe that the word doctors were here to help; that they simply wished to see each child escape their fate in Hamish village. No; now she knows. They only want profit. They will do anything to start a story. They will lie, steal, kidnap and murder to get a child to start a story. All the while keeping their own hands clean of blood.

"Bind her arms and gag her," the lord orders as Cassandra is lifted onto the back of one of the horses. "I don't want to listen to her screaming all the way back to the castle."

Cassandra glares at Ambrose intently as he raises the hood to his white cloak. "I hate you," she whispers as a dirty brown rag is forced into her mouth. Ambrose simply smiles as he turns in the opposite direction. Her opinion of him is none of his concern. He has a whole town of naïve children yet to trick. He can't waste time feeling sorry for them all.

Cassandra is still glaring as she is carried off into the forest. With each gallop of the horse, the wind is knocked out of her chest as she is bounced behind the rider. Her wet feet become cold rather quickly as the air rushes past them. With her hands tied, she is unable to adjust herself at all. The constant fear of falling off plagues her. She is not sure what injuries she would sustain but they would be sufficient to keep her from fleeing before her captors simply picked her back up.

She can hear the sound of wolves howling amongst the trees. Unlike Jezebel, she is not the slightest bit afraid. She is too angry to let fear control her at the moment. Besides, it is doubtful that a wolf would be much more than pray for these monsters of men. She can see the light of peoples' windows in Hamish disappearing behind her as the she is carried further and further into the woods. She is positive she will never see it again. Her story has begun.

The sun has not yet risen by the time the riders reach the opposite side of the forest from Hamish, but dawn is fast approaching. "My lord?" the men ask their commander for instructions.

"I will apprise the king of our successful mission," he announces pompously. "Take her to the pits."

"But sir, the orders were to destroy all traces of the family. We are not sure which one was predicted to bring the fall of our king," one of the soldiers argues.

"Don't be ridiculous," the lord scoffs. "Do you really think this child has the capability to even threaten our king?"

"But sir, the wizard said…"

"Do you even know if she is part of the family?" the lord asks a different question. "She probably has nothing to do with the prediction."

"Then why did we bring her?"

"Just in case she does."

"Then why don't we kill her?" the guard captures the lord in his own words.

"Do you intend to question my orders?" he is furious. "I have given you your task. I do not wish to hear about it again."

"Un-understand, my lord," the man's voice wavers.

Though very tired, Cassandra has not slept at all. She stares at the lord's fluttering blue cape as he veers off from the group. Something about him is extremely suspicious. Ambrose must have insisted to him that she not be killed for any reason. At least he takes the safety of his story owners seriously.

Suddenly, Cassandra's attention is taken by a source of light. Just past the last of the forest trees, an entire kingdom is waiting. As it is still dark, she can see little more than the lights in the windows but she can tell it is not grand. It seems almost shabby and un-extraordinary. The strong smell of salt burns her nostrils, revealing the fact that they are close to the sea. This town must be built upon a harbor.

Cassandra sees little of the village though as her destination has already been decided. As the soldiers ride toward the lights, the texture of the ground beneath their horses hoofs changes. The roads of the village are much more worn and soft than the hard soil of the forest. Suddenly the sound of the galloping changes again as they step onto what must be wood.

Cassandra struggles to keep from throwing up as the ride becomes much bumpier. Finally they come to a stop at the edge of what is apparently a dock. She can see the black water rolling with the wind. Again the riders change direction though, carrying her parallel to the bay until they reach their final resting spot.

Cassandra is dropped to the ground painfully. She rolls over onto her side to stare up at the men who are paying her no mind. They are heading towards a wooden shack next to a small field of dirt with several metal gratings visible in the ground. "Wake up, Gurand!" One of the soldiers knocks on the cabin door. He bangs on it louder when there is no answer.

"Do you know what time it is?" an annoyed voice demands as the door finally swings open.

"This couldn't wait 'til morning," the soldier insists. "We have a prisoner for the pits."

"Seriously?" Gurand is surprised. "You've been out tracking tonight?"

"We just retuned. We need her locked in the pits immediately."

"Why she's just a little girl. What is Lord Nedan so afraid of?"

"This is a matter of security for the king," the soldier whispers. "I can't tell you anything else."

"Well fine, if it's for the king, then I'd be glad to oblige. You won't catch me committing treason, no sir."

"Thank you, Gurand." The soldiers remount their horses. Cassandra lies perfectly still on the ground, watching as they gallop off in the same direction as their lord.

She is now alone with Gurand. "What have we here?" the slightly muscular long john clad man hoists her up by her bound wrists. "What's your name?"

"None of your business," she spits angrily.

"Oh boy, feisty little one, eh? Well, you'll soon change your tune. I can't say I agree with this. The pits are no place for a lass, but who am I to argue with Lord Nedan. Sweet dreams, little lady." He struts across the dirt field until he reaches one of the metal gratings, which he lifts from its hole quite easily. Cassandra screams as he drops her down into the dark underground prison below. "Sorry!" Gurand calls down to her before dropping the grating back into place.

Cassandra watches his shadow leave the moonlight, signifying the fact that she is completely alone now. All the dangers that kept her mind occupied are gone. Like a wave, everything hits her at once; she is trapped in a prison, miles from her home, which has been burnt to the ground with her family still inside. For the first time since all of this began, she actually starts to cry.

The sound of her sobs echoes off the walls that she can't even see. As far as she can tell, the cavern is massive. The only thing keeping her from exploring it are bars surrounding her. It is the perfect little prison cell.

"Keep it down!" she receives her first confirmation that she is not alone.

"Who's there?" she gasps.

"Newcomer, eh?" a scraggily man pushes his face as far through the bars as they will go. Why are you in there? Haven't you figured out how to leave yet?"

"How do I leave?" she grunts.

"You dig. You dig down into the earth until you can slip underneath the bars. That's how we all get out. Here, I'll show you." He starts to scratch at the moist sea permeated dirt.

"Wait." She stops him. "I think I'll stay in here."

"What? Why?" he is taken aback. "Don't you want to come see the others? There are quite a few of us down here."

"I'd rather not." She quivers.

"Are you scared?" He leans close to the bars. Cassandra stands up to back away but it is too late, he has grabbed her by the arms. "You think that we're going to be mean to the little girl, don't you?" he taunts her.

"Please," she whimpers, "just let go of me."

"I know what you are," he growls. "I see your fancy clothes. You're one of those rich girls. You feel entitled, don't you? Well not in here, missy. You're just like all of us now." He rips the sleeves from her dress, letting her fall backwards. Before she can scamper away, he has reached through the bars again and grabbed the hem of her skirt. She rolls out of range, tearing the cloth once again

She quickly moves to cover herself with her hands. Her eyes are filled with tears as she stares at the menacing man ripping what he managed to keep to shreds. "See? Now you're just like the rest of us." He tosses a burlap robe through the bars. She puts it on as quickly as she can, shivering the entire time. "Come and see us when you finally dig your way out."

She shakes her head continuously as he stalks away into the darkness. She has no intention of leaving her cell now. She sinks back down to the cold wet ground, sobbing into the sleeves of her new robe. Why has it turned out like this? What kind of story has Ambrose put her in?

4: Hemlock

"Faster, faster you great silly beast!" Hemlock shouts as he cracks the reins harder.

"Why are we going so fast?" Jameson whimpers as he clings onto the word doctor's waist.

"Capitith is a kingdom far from here," Hemlock explains. "I can only take you as far as the night allows. When daylight comes, your story begins and I can not be with you."

"You're going to abandon me?" he gasps.

"It's your story, lad. You need to find your way on your own."

"You said you'd train me. Isn't that what a word doctor is for?"

"I am merely the writer. If you didn't have the potential to make the story happen on your own, I wouldn't have picked you. I'm not Mayberry; I don't take in charity cases."

"That's the woman you sent after Cassandra and Jezebel, right? Thank you for that. They deserve a chance at their own stories. They are so much more driven than me."

"Stop right there!" Hemlock orders him. "I don't want to hear another word of self pity from you. I will warn you now, this may be your story but you won't be alone. People will be relying on you. You may not know them yet, but you will grow to care about them. You need to start living for their sake as soon as possible."

"This isn't what I wanted," Jameson mopes. "I didn't want people depending on me; I just wanted to escape the town where my father died. Why does it have to be so hard?"

Hemlock is less than sympathetic. "Dear boy, you haven't even begun your story and you think it is hard? I guarantee you will be begging to go home in a week. In fact, you'll think about it every day for the rest of your life. It won't happen though. You are never returning to Hamish. Get used to it!"

Jameson quiets down for the rest of the journey. He is fully aware that Hemlock is right. Nothing he is thinking right now will matter after a while. Soon he will be stuck in a story he can't escape. He can only prepare for it.

Suddenly, Hemlock pulls on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. Jameson looks up at the sky quickly. It is not quite light out yet but he assumes the ride is over. Hemlock lets him down off the horse before turning in the opposite direction and galloping off. Jameson sits down on the ground and brings his knees to his chest. He is not exactly moping; he just needs a moment to collect himself.

After a while, he finally takes in his surroundings. He is sitting on the line that separates the sand of a beach from the dirt of a jungle. He can barely even see over the tops of the tall trees that creates a canopy of vines and leaves like a roof above them. With a sigh he climbs to his feet. There is no point in resting yet. He is too nervous to be tired.

After walking for almost an hour, the sun finally starts to appear over the horizon. There is a rolling fog moving over the water of the open ocean to his right and complete darkness seeping from the trees on his left. He can hear the sounds of animals chirping and screeching deep inside. Almost nothing can compel him to enter the depths of the jungle.

Soon the sun is completely visible, lighting up the sky with an eerie gray tinge. He can hear something else in the trees now, the sound of drums and singing. There are people in the jungle. He gulps loudly as he approaches the tree line. Even with the sun, it is still practically pitch black. The only source of light is what must be a fire.

Peering through the vines and the branches, James tries to see who is making the noise. He creeps through the jungle; his boots crackling the fallen twigs on the ground. After a while he becomes paranoid about who might hear him and removes them, tying the laces together so he can hang them around his neck. Unlike Jezebel, he did not think to bring any provisions, let alone a bag to carry them. He is already getting hungry. He will have to start foraging for food soon.

Suddenly the trees give way to a clearing. As the fire he saw before comes into full view and the sound of drums grows louder, he ducks behind a large tree trunk. In the center of the clearing he can see several people dancing around the fire and singing to the sound of a lone drummer on the far side from his hiding place.

They are much more tan than anyone Jameson has seen in Hamish and all dressed scantily in the hides of different animals; anything from baboon to leopard. They are separated into grouping of four to six people, probably families, each with their own animal hide tent to sleep in.

The obvious leader is standing in front of the fire with a leather sack in one hand and a fistful of powder in the other. He is at least forty years old, with many more wrinkles that any of the others and hair filled with different bits of tree branches and animal bones.

He tosses the powder onto the fire which immediately sizzles up and flashes different colors. He then takes another fistful from the bag and begins to chant. After a moment he tosses it again, making the fire change to his will, impressing his pathetic followers.

The people closest to the fire are all young; about thirteen like Jameson. They all look extremely engrossed in their dancing, despite a lingering amount of fear. Finally the leader's chanting stops, as does the dancing. However, the drums continue to play, though much softer. "Listen, all!" The leader holds his now empty hands in the air, still dusty with powder.

The entire camp bows as they wait for him to continue. "The time is upon us. The great fire spirit attacks soon. We must appease it with a sacrifice." The children in front of him all begin to glance at each other nervously. "One of you will bear this great honor." Immediately they begin to chatter in protest as he marches down the line, appraising their sacrificial worth.

Just then, Jameson's stomach lurches painfully. It is not simply the sight before him that has upset it; he is suddenly aware of how hungry he is. Instinctively he begins to look around for any source of food.

Around the edge of the campsite, there are several collections of cooked meat and vegetation, obviously from some sort of celebration that has already passed; perhaps a last meal for the lucky sacrifice. At the moment, no one seems to be paying any mind to it. Surely no one will notice if a small amount goes missing.

Jameson leaves the cover of the tree line, heading for the nearest grouping of people with their backs to their meal. His boots jostle around his neck as he keeps his head low. As the smell of cooked meat becomes stronger, his mouth starts to water. As he reaches out a cautious hand toward the food, he can hear the leader still talking to the sacrifices. He feels extremely bad for the poor children but he is too hungry to think about it.

Slowly he rips a chunk of meat from the roasted creature spitted on a stake. He is careful not to make any sound as he brings it to his mouth. It tastes better than anything he has ever eaten in his life. He immediately starts to rip off more and more meat, cramming as much as he can into his jaws. He is no longer even aware of the noise he is making.

It does not surprise him when the nearest person turns around. He simply stares at them as he continues eating. "Intruder!" the young man shouts while leaping back. Jameson glances around at the now alert jungle people as they all become aware of his presence. They are all running and screaming, grabbing the children and dragging them into the animal hide tents.

"Silence!" the leader takes control quickly. "This is a gift from the almighty. We have been spared the sorrow of sacrificing one of our own."

"Pardon?" James mumbles through his full mouth.

"You will be our sacrifice." The leader leaves the fire to speak directly to him.

"Oh, no, no, no, no." He shakes his head vigorously. "I am simply passing through."

"You are eating our food, and watching our ritual. You have been sent here by the almighty."

"If by almighty you mean god then maybe." He shrugs. "But god does not believe in sacrificing children."

"Blasphemy!" the leader shouts. "Do not pretend to know the will of the almighty."

"That's what you are doing," Jameson counters. "The almighty is a benevolent god."

"The almighty is a great spirit," the leader corrects him. "He was graced us with his gift to appease the fire demon. Come, we must prepare you for the journey."

"I'm already on a journey," Jameson spouts. "I just started my story."

Immediately the jungle people start to panic again. "Did you hear that? He follows the preaching of the men in white."

"Word doctors," Jameson mutters the proper term.

"He has been granted an audience of paper," they continue to chatter. "We can't sacrifice him."

"You know other story owners?" Jameson is suddenly interested.

"We collect the tomes of the brave travelers." The leader directs his attention to the largest tent, obviously his own, where several other jungle dwellers have begun carrying large stacks of books out and placing them in a circle around the fire.

"This is good." Jameson nods confidently. "You revere the story owners. You will listen to them."

"We fear the wrath of the men in white," the leader corrects him again. "We want no part in your destruction." He opens one of the books to reveal a grand illustration of what Jameson can only assume is a sea monster of some sort, complete with hundreds of tentacles and a triangular mouth filled with razor sharp teeth.

"What in god's name is that?" the young boy is shocked.

"It is the noble water spirit," the leader informs him. "He dwells in the depths of the ocean."

"Good for him, let's hope he stays there." Jameson takes another bite of food. The leader continues to flip the pages until he reaches another image. This time it is a gigantic crablike creature with fearsome claws. "Let me guess, that's the fire spirit you mentioned," Jameson assumes.

"Indeed. It will awaken soon to feed upon all of us unless we keep it appeased with a sacrifice."

"If it eats meat, just feed it wild animals," Jameson suggests.

"It must have a human soul," the leader insists.

"You don't know that," Jameson scoffs. "Besides, you already said you couldn't sacrifice me, so I'll just be going…"

"You can't leave." The leader waves his hand, signaling several of the jungle dwellers to block his path.

"What do you need me for? Surely you do not wish to call down the wrath of the men in white…" Jameson tries to bluff.

"Do not take us for fools," the leader cuts him off. "As a chosen story owner, you hold the blessings of the men in white's wisdom and confidence."

"Yeah, sure…" James gulps nervously. He is wishing more and more that he had never left his village. Cassandra will be laughing when she reads the very first chapter of his story; sacrificed to a fire spirit on day one. Ever since they first met when his father started farming on the Redresh land, she has made fun of him. He is partially afraid of girls because of her. However part of him considers her his closest friend. He will probably never see her again though.

"Oh great story owner, please reveal to us which of our candidates will make a proper sacrifice?" the leader spouts suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Jameson's eyes shoot open. "Are you asking me to choose which one of these children will die?"

"It is your first quest as a story owner."

"No it's not. I refuse to take part in this barbaric ritual." He crosses his arms. "You can't go around killing people for some imaginary fire crab."

"He mocks the fire spirit!" the followers gasp. "He brings damnation upon us all."

"Kill him in order to appease it!"

"What? No, wait. Hold on a minute," Jameson panics as the jungle people start collecting rocks to stone him with.

"Silence!" the leader makes himself heard again. "No one is killing the story owner. We already have the fire spirit plaguing us. Who of you will face the men in white?" A murmur of reluctant acceptance resonates between them.

Jameson sighs with relief. It is a good thing these people do not know how the word doctors operate. Their image is warped into something noble that would avenge a fallen story owner. Of course, this is not true. When a story owner is killed, they simply cut their losses and find another one.

"Look here, great story owner." The leader holds up the book again. "Long ago, Priestess Fellore came here with her followers. She drove the fire spirit into the volcano and imprisoned him there."

"I remember that now." Jameson takes the book. "She was once a child of Hamish. Her stories were legendary. She actually saved the kingdom of Capitith from the great sea dragon. I suppose it's that monster you showed me. I can't remember how she did it."

"She convinced the sirens to curse it," the leader explains. "She drove it into the sea where it sleeps unless woken by their ghostly wails."

"This is at least a generation old." Jameson continues to examine the book. "Where is Lady Fellore now?"

"Alas, she is no longer with us. She was given a position on King Atlas's council in Capitith. Unfortunately she fell ill from an ocean sickness."

"You gathered all that from reading this book?" Jameson is curious.

"No, no, child, I was there," he whispers with a sort of excitement. "I was merely your age too. I saw the great creatures and I heard them roar. I have returned to the great volcano many times and heard the beast growling from within. Every year it gets louder and louder. Now the time of his escape is upon us. Our only hope is to awaken the great water spirit first and hope he saves us."

"You're basing everything on sounds you've heard coming from a volcano?" Jameson is not convinced. He has never seen one of the fiery mountains up close, but he has read quite a few stories about them. He knows that the ground shifts beneath them and that they can explode at any moment. Perhaps Fellore really did sink a great monster into one, but it probably died in the molten lava. What the jungle people fear is not a spirit; the volcano is about to erupt.

"Please pick the sacrifice," the leader urges. "We do not have much time."

"You're seriously going through with this?" Jameson asks. "You have no proof it will work; you're just killing one of your own on a whim."

"We have been doing this for years, boy; one sacrifice each summer."

"I can't believe this." Jameson glances at the cowering children. He can guess that they are the only ones of the appropriate age as he saw only younger ones and older ones hiding in their tents. Four of them are young girls with dark hair and colored powder around their eyes and mouths. The three boys have white streaks on their cheeks and stern expressions as if they have prepared themselves for the possibility of death.

"Choose now!" the leader bellows.

"I can't." Jameson clenches his eyes.

"Choose or I kill them all," the leader threatens.

"What for?"

"I need to know which one of them will appease the spirit. If you will not tell me then I must leave nothing to chance."

"But you're killing your own people."

"If I don't, then we all die. It is better to sacrifice seven children than the whole village, do you understand?"

"No."

"Do you understand?" he repeats louder with a look of menace in his cold black eyes, which remind Jameson of Jezebel's.

"Y-yes, yes I understand."

"Good, choose quickly."

"I will choose. I will choose one of them… but not here. I must see the volcano and ask the great spirit first."

"I warn you not to pretend to understand our rituals. You have no way of communicating with the great spirit."

"And yet I am the only one who can choose your sacrifice. I am a story owner, remember? We are chosen for a reason. I can communicate with the spirits of this world. Why do you think I am here?" Jameson lies through his teeth.

The village chief seems to believe him though. He scratches his chin for a long time before finally speaking again. "Fine, we will travel to the forbidden mountain. There you will make your decision. We leave at dawn. Time is not on our side."

"Thank you, wise leader." Jameson bows. He is starting to get into his role. The leader closes his eyes as a sign of trust in response. The seven children still cowering by the fire all bow to Jameson as well. Despite the fact that he will be sending one of them to their death, he has basically just saved the other six; for that they are grateful.

"You can stay with my daughter's family." The chief motions to a smaller tent, near his large one. A woman is peeking out from the entrance, watching Jameson's every move. Three small children are clinging onto her legs, hiding from view poorly while trying to glimpse the scary intruder. One of the four girls from fire moves to stand next to the chief's daughter, her mother.

Jameson's jaw drops as he realizes the severity of the chief's delusion. He is willing to let his own granddaughter die for his beliefs. The mother can see how upset he is. She takes his hand and leads him into the tent. "I have a few extra cloths." She hands him the pelt of a skinned leopard. "My daughter will be in your care on your journey. Please look after her."

"Isn't there something else you want to ask?" Jameson is curious.

"I do not believe my daughter will be the great spirit's choice but I can not beg you to choose someone else if she is, no matter how much I want to."

"You really believe your father, don't you?" he sighs disappointedly.

"We have survived all this time by listening to him. I don't know what else to do."

"You and me both," he sulks. She tucks her three younger children under a much larger pelt before closing the flap to the tent. Her older daughter remains sitting near the entrance, refusing to sleep. Even if she is not chosen, one of her friends will die, that is a certainty. Jameson has become the instrument that will condemn them. In her eyes, he is the enemy.

Jameson sighs as he covers his cold feet with his pelt. He had completely forgotten about his boots, which are still dangling from his neck. He sets them on the damp ground before closing his eyes. Once again his instincts are stronger than his reservations. He needs sleep. He has an important task to rest for.

5: Orphans in the Street

"Get back here!" the loud voice of Nolan the butcher echoes through the streets as the two children dash past. Malcolm is at least two yards ahead, holding a large piece of ham to his chest, with Jezebel hot on his heels. They round a corner into a dark alley as Nolan bumps into a man pushing a cart full of fresh produce. They both tumble to the ground, causing the butcher to lose sight of his prey.

"That was too close for comfort," Jezebel gasps as she tries to catch her breath.

"Oh sweet golden ham." Malcolm twirls around holding his prize in the air. "Nolan is so stupid. He's never going to catch me."

"You shouldn't steal from the same person so often," Jezebel warns him. "He's bound to recognize your face by now." She has been following Malcolm around for just over a week. He is the first story owner she has met in the city of Baylor; a young pickpocket trying to make a living. So far all she has managed to do is increase the amount of food he needs to steal each day.

He is not upset about having another mouth to feed. He already has a dozen kids waiting back at his hideout for him; all starving orphans. Jezebel is the first person to actually offer to accompany him on his escapades. She claims she is trying to help him but all she has done is slow him down and give pointless advice he can not follow.

He does not mind though. His mother always taught him to let girls say whatever they want. In reality she needs him more than he needs her but he will let her think she is being a useful sidekick just to make her feel better. She is constantly rambling about his story, but he has no time to listen. He has too many kids relying on him to worry about his own future.

"If we can't steal from Nolan, then we need to find a new mark soon," Malcolm answers. "This ham will only last us a day and a half if we're lucky."

"I don't need any," Jezebel insists. The sudden gurgle of her stomach says otherwise. She grabs her gut while blushing as he snorts loudly. She is too easy to read. He has no idea how a country villager like her ended up in the city but once again he does not ask questions. He has vowed to take care of any child in need since being abandoned by his parents at the age of seven.

He is fifteen years old now; two years older than Jezebel, one of the oldest kids in his care. He is dressed for his job as a newspaper boy, complete with freckles and dusty brown hair underneath an ivy cap and a leather vest over a dirt stained white shirt. As it only pays a shilling a day he is unable to even afford food on his salary. He claims he is saving up for his own house but everyone knows he will never reach his goal.

Jezebel has been trying to figure out his future path in life and how to set him on the road to his happy ending. After meeting the children in his care it is not hard to see why he is the only one worthy of a story of his own. These kids will definitely not survive without him. Their only alternative will be a workhouse somewhere at the edge of Baylor where they will be laborers in exchange for food and shelter. It is a dead end life with no way out.

Malcolm knows he can not save most of these children from their fate. They are too weak and naïve, relying on him for everything. So far only three of them have shown any potential for surviving on their own, one of which is Jezebel. She is strong willed, just like him. He is not entirely sure why she hangs around him instead of trying to make a living on her own.

"We can't risk stealing anything else today," Jezebel warns him. "Do you know what happens to thieves like us?"

"I still have both of my hands," he reminds her. "I've been doing this for years."

"Don't you ever wish there was more to your life?" she tries to steer him toward his happy ending once again. "You can't live like this forever." Malcolm sighs as he glances around the corner of the alley. Nolan has retreated back to his butcher stand by now. In the distance he can see the palace where King Jessup resides in his old age. It is almost time for his daughter to take over as queen.

"I don't know," Malcolm finally answers her question. "I have never really thought about it. Most people my age are working in a blacksmith shop or down at the docks. They are courting a nice girl and planning to be married soon. I don't have anyone like that, nor do I have the time."

"What about Lottie?" she reminds him of the sweet young girl waiting back at his hideout for him. She is one of the only other two who would probably be able to survive on their own if something were to happen to Malcolm.

"Lottie is naïve," he sighs again. "She has been dreaming of a storybook wedding since she was five. I'm no prince charming and I have nothing to offer her. She is better off trying to impress some nobleman's son."

Jezebel is reminded of Cassandra's attitude toward a happy ending. It seems not to have helped poor Lottie at all. Perhaps she can steer Malcolm toward the hapless daydreamer, combining their stories and earning two happy endings. That seems like something a good fairy would do. Malcolm can practically tell what she is thinking. "What about you?" he counters. "Are you searching for your happy ending?"

"Not really," she lies. She knows that this is his story, not hers.

"You've never dreamed of a prince swooping down to rescue you from your life of poverty? You've never wanted to be showered with gifts and affection?"

"Are you offering?" she giggles. She is only playing along though. The thought of being Malcolm's princess has crossed her mind but it seems like too simple of a solution. She can't very well marry the first story owner she finds and claim that is a happy ending. They would still be homeless on the street with a dozen kids to look after.

"No," Malcolm admits. "You intrigue me more than Lottie does, but that's all. You're a mystery I can't solve. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'd just rather know more about you before I risk getting burned."

"I'm not dangerous," she is slightly offended.

"But you are up to something," he accuses her. "Until you reveal your agenda, I will remain wary of you, just so you know."

She rolls her eyes at him as they leave the cover of the alley. The streets have calmed down since the commotion they caused on their getaway trek. Almost no one is suspicious of the large ham that Malcolm is carrying. Jezebel is sure that some of them suspect he stole it; how else would a boy like him come by such a commodity. However it is not their place to intervene.

Of course there is one type of person who would have something to say; the daily patrol; castle guards who descend from the large distant structure on routine walkabouts regularly. They help deter crime simply by announcing their presence.

Many pickpockets Malcolm has encountered during his eight years on the streets have been captured by them. They are tossed into the dungeon until they can serve trial. The sentence is always the same; one hand. Their thieving paw is chopped off to deter them from ever making the same mistake again. Very few, if any, ever end up missing two appendages.

Of course Malcolm's dreaming state of mind allows him no fear of his awaiting punishment. Until the day they actually catch him, he will remain oblivious to the seriousness of his crimes. He is already in too deep. One finger pointed at him from Nolan will hold the same punishment as ten; he need not slow down at all.

Jezebel follows him through the street, holding her dress above the knees to keep the hem from getting caught under her sandals as she tries to keep up with his pace. He is not much taller than her but his strides are much larger. He has hoisted the ham up onto his shoulder, forcing him to twist his whole torso if he wishes to turn his head.

Jezebel is still wearing her faded brown dress with her bonnet dangling by a string around her neck, exposing her slightly sun bleached dark brown hair. She has learned that people stare more when she has it up. All of the clothing she brought with her has long since been distributed amongst the other children. It was the least she could do after Malcolm's hospitality.

She does not have freckles like either Malcolm or Cassandra and her hair is also much longer. It is braded into two pigtails down her back which she has not undone since she left home. She is rather skinny compared to Cassandra's round full appearance and she has cold black eyes instead of icy blue ones. In a sense, they are polar opposites.

"Are we heading back to the hideout?" Jezebel asks as she skips to catch up to Malcolm.

"Eventually," he answers. "I'd like to take a look at something first."

"What?" she is extremely curious.

"I'm sure you've realized this, but we can't keep stealing food. We need actual money if we are going to survive long term." She shakes her head to show she doesn't follow his reasoning. "Food lasts us at most a day, and it is so hard to carry and escape with. Further more it is almost always under watch from the baker or the butcher." She nods slowly, pretending to understand. He continues without really paying attention. "If we had money, we could store it easily and simply buy food on a daily basis."

"Don't you have money?" she reminds him of his newspaper salary.

"Like that will help us," he scoffs. "I'm talking about robbing a nobleman's house." He gestures to the fancier, higher end, buildings on the other side of the city from the slums. "All we need to do is loot everything of value and then sell it to a fence."

"I don't know," Jezebel is worried. "It's a large leap to go from robbing butcher stands to people's houses. Won't the punishment for being caught be death?"

"We're already dead if we can't pull this off. I can't keep supporting you guys forever. I need to gather a nest egg big enough to take care of you, even when I'm gone. I'll do it alone if I have to."

"Don't tell me you plan to rob more than one house. It's impossible. After the first time, they'll increase the guard. You'll definitely be caught eventually."

"As I said, you don't have to come."

"No, I'll help." She bites her lip. She knows she will not be much use but she is supposed to support the story's main character. Risk is what all the word doctors call it. That is what makes a story interesting. That is why Malcolm is the main character.

As they pass by the prominent brick buildings, all owned by wealthy people who can afford such commodities, Malcolm peers through the windows. Jezebel can see the greed in his eyes as he appraises the goods inside. Is this what makes him a main character; his obsession and lack of empathy?

"Come on, Taylor and Lottie are waiting for us," Jezebel tries to rush Malcolm past the tempting targets. He should at least wait until after dark before committing a serious crime like robbery. He turns around to walk backwards, watching the high class houses pass by as she guides him by the arm. Oh how he wishes he could live in a place like this. Perhaps one day he will.

On the other side of Baylor, near the slums, there is a broken down theatre house. The front door is boarded up and the bright red paint is peeling off the walls. Malcolm wanders around to the far side until he comes to a hole in the building, blocked off by several loose slats of wood. The sound of whispering can be heard from within.

As soon as he kicks in the boards to make room for himself and his payload, the whispering stops. The sound of people scattering for cover echoes off the walls of the auditorium. "Calm down!" Malcolm bellows. "It's just me."

"You scared us half to death." A young boy is the first to raise his head from his heading place underneath the stage.

"We were getting worried about you." A fourteen year old girl, Lottie, moves out from behind a pillar. Her hair is long and messy, filled with dust. Her face is plain, as is her tan floral dress. She wraps her arms around Malcolm in a hug as Jezebel enters through the hole behind him, snickering.

"Shut up," he quips. He does not need her bringing up their previous conversation in front of Lottie.

"Is that food?" A boy only slightly younger than Jezebel crawls out from under the first row of chairs in front of the stage.

"Hello, Taylor." Malcolm hands him the ham. Taylor is his trusted right hand man. He is the most responsible after Jezebel and Lottie and the youngest of the four leaders, making him the least listened to. "Carve that up on the stage and make sure everyone only takes one slice," Malcolm instructs.

"Right away, boss." The young boy scampers off toward the stage stairs, eager to obey his leader.

"What took you so long?" Lottie asks as she finally lets go of Malcolm's shoulders. "You should have been back an hour ago."

"We took the long way home," he answers innocently.

Lottie glances at Jezebel who averts her eyes, proving that he is hiding something. "Don't tell me you were looking at those rich folks' houses again," Lottie groans. "What have I told you?"

"This time it's different," he whines. "I know I can pull this off. Jez even offered to help."

Lottie glares at his would be accomplice. "What strange ideas have you been putting in his head?" she accuses her outright.

"I just think we should be doing more than living day to day," she defends herself. "Malcolm needs to work on his story before…"

"Enough with the story," Lottie interrupts her. "It's all a load of hogwash. I've never even met a so-called word doctor, have you?" she turns to Malcolm. This time he averts his gaze, not wanting to get either girl in trouble with the other.

"That's because you're not interesting enough," Jezebel mutters under her breath.

"What did you say?" Lottie is extremely offended. "Malcolm, tell her there is no such thing as a word doctor." Again he remains silent. "Tell her, Malcolm."

"I can't," he finally speaks.

"What? Why not?" Lottie is furious.

"Because I met one," he sighs. Lottie's eyes grow wide in disbelief. "It was right before my parents abandoned me; I was only seven years old. I didn't know what she was offering. It sounded like a good idea at the time."

"What happened?" Jezebel is extremely interested.

"She said I had potential; I was a leader in my own right. She wanted me to be the star of some kind of story. She said it would be the best thing that ever happened to me."

"What did she take?" Jezebel's voice becomes stern. She knows that this is the part where the word doctor does something unspeakable to make sure the child they chose will be forced to follow through and start a story, never to return home to mommy and daddy.

"She took my parents." Malcolm bows his head shamefully. Lottie covers her mouth in shock.

"How?" Jezebel pries. "She can't have killed them."

"She didn't have to. She made them a deal they couldn't refuse. She told them about my potential and asked that they let me leave on my own. They said they wanted me to make something of myself but they could never just let me go; they'd always be worrying."

"She offered them a free supply of the stories she planned to write about me but they wouldn't accept. They said they couldn't bear to read if I'd been killed all because they let me run off on my own. Finally she did the only thing she could do; she had a witch doctor erase their memories. They don't even know who I am anymore."

"That's horrible," Lottie gasps.

"But they're still alive," Jezebel is hopeful.

"I go to visit them from time to time." He nods. "I wait outside their house and wave to them like a neighbor but they never wave back."

"I'm so sorry, Malcolm." Lottie hugs him again. She is feeling extremely bad about her outburst.

"This is why we need to start your story," Jezebel continues to push. "It will all have been for nothing if you never move forward. These eight years will be a summary in the prologue. What happens next is the actual plot." Lottie nods in agreement. It seems she is finally on board.

"I just have one question." Malcolm turns a suspicious eye on Jezebel. "What do you have to gain from all of this? What does my story have to do with you?"

"Perhaps she wants to steal it from you," Taylor shouts from the stage through a mouthful of ham.

"Taylor!" Lottie gasps. "We do not speak that way about our family."

"But she's so desperate for Malcolm to start his story. Maybe she plans to steal his happy ending from him," Taylor suggests with a shrug.

"Is that true?" Malcolm's eyes narrow as they focus on Jezebel.

"Of course not," she tries to laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It's not so far fetched if you think about it," Lottie is becoming suspicious as well.

"Guys, what happened to family?" Jezebel asks nervously while backing toward the hole in the wall.

"Don't let her escape." Two other orphans leap into her path, blocking the exit proudly.

If she wanted she could sweep the younger children away with ease but that is only a last resort. "Guys, I'm your friend. You can trust me," she begs.

"Then tell us the truth. What is your angle?" Malcolm demands.

"I can't tell you." She clenches her eyes. "It has nothing to do with you. It's my own story."

"You don't have a story," Lottie disagrees. "Malcolm is the only one here even close to being worthy enough."

"I know, that's why I came here," Jezebel finally admits.

"She's confessed," Taylor shouts again. He has been eating nonstop and a lot more than the rest of the kids.

"Knife down, food away!" Malcolm orders him.

"So what are you planning to do?" Lottie is still trying to interrogate Jezebel.

"Please don't make me tell," she begs. "I'm not a threat to you. I want you to have your happy ending. I'm not trying to steal it."

"How can we trust you?" Malcolm asks. "You haven't been honest at all since the day we met."

"I haven't done anything for you not to trust me," she counters. "Did you ask to know everything about Lottie and Taylor before they joined the family?"

"That's different," Lottie interrupts.

"No." Malcolm stops her by placing his hand on her stomach. "She's right; everyone in our family deserves the same rights. She doesn't have to tell us anything."

"And we don't have to let her stay here," Lottie retorts.

"Who else is volunteering to help me?" Malcolm rolls his eyes.

"Help you what?" Taylor asks as he passes the job of serving food along to another orphan before descending the stage.

"Malcolm is going on a break-in spree," Lottie answers hotly while sweeping her now sweat drenched bangs out of her eyes. She has become far too worked up over this.

"Count me in," Taylor is excited.

"Lottie?" Malcolm turns to his friend.

She glares at him with her arms crossed for a long time before responding. "I'm not going to help you."

"Then that settles it; Taylor and Jez are my men. We will go by the houses again tonight to do research before making a plan of attack. This is our lucky break, guys. Enjoy it." Lottie stalks away while Jezebel lets out a sigh of relief. She is not sure if Malcolm would let her stay if he didn't need help but it doesn't matter. For now she still has a place to live and a story to follow.

6: Night Fishing

Cassandra rolls over as the sun shines through the tiny hole at the top of the pit. It is bright and blinding. She has had almost nothing to eat and only one drink of water a day. She has lost a lot of her excess fat, making her face less pretty and round. Her eyes have sunken in and her hair has darkened with sweat. Everyone who comes near the bars to her cell receives a nasty scowling glare from her icy blue eyes. She is no longer scared and timid. Her story has begun and it will not be a peaceful one.

"Get up." Gurand raps on the bars covering the hole at the top of the pit. "It's your lucky day. Someone's bought you."

"Who?" she demands as loudly as she can, even though her throat is dry and sore.

"Some bloke with a handsome son who wants to marry you," he makes something up. "Who do you think? It's a slaver who wants labor. Just get up." He removes the bars from the top of the hole and lowers a rope down for her to climb. She grabs it and tries to pull herself up but she is too weak. She ends up sliding back down until her bare feet touch a knot at the end.

Gurand hoists the rope back up through the hole and sets her down on the roof of the pit. She blinks at the sunlight while dusting off her dirty burlap robe, which doesn't even cover her legs below the knees. "Well, don't I get a thank you?" Gurand asks.

"What for? Shouldn't my new owner be here? I'll thank him," Cassandra responds hotly. She has no intention of being polite to her captor.

"He'll be here. Don't even think of running or I'll have to shoot you." He holds up his crossbow to show he is serious.

"Where are we?" She glances around at the wooden structures nearby.

"This is Ferery. You were captured by Lord Nedan beyond the endless forest."

"If it's endless then how did Nedan get beyond it?" she asks wittily.

"Don't get snippy with me. It's just a title."

"Can I go yet? Where is this buyer anyway? Did he get killed on his way here?"

"Even if he did, it'd do you no good," the Gurand assures her. "If he don't show, I get to put you back in the hole until someone else buys you."

"Are you in the practice of selling your prisoners? It seems rather strange." The more she talks, the more control she has over her situation and the less she panics.

"We can't afford to keep all prisoners locked here forever." He shrugs. "If someone needs a slave, they'll pay good money and keep the prisoner in chains to boot. It's like getting paid to pass the job along."

"What if I were a really dangerous war criminal?" she ponders. "Would you let me go so easily?"

"If you was whats you said, then you'd be put on trial and hung for treason. How does that sound? Are you a war criminal?"

"No," she swallows nervously. She has lost a little bit of the control she was trying to keep.

"Here he comes." The guard motions into the distance. Cassandra turns to face the town. She waits cautiously as the sound of waves hitting the shore behind her at the edge of Ferery keeps her calm. She can see a man in overalls and a leather vest approaching. He has a cloth hat with a floppy brim on his head, covering what she assumes to be a bald spot.

"Good sir!" the obvious fisherman shouts as he approaches. "Have you my servant?"

"Got him right here." Gurand shoves Cassandra forward.

"What is this?" The man leans down to examine the short girl while squinting. Cassandra wonders if he might need glasses. "I asked for a good strong lad to help me steer a boat. This child couldn't lift a sail to save her life."

"Lad?" Gurand raises a confused eyebrow. "Didn't you say you wanted a lass?"

"Heavens no. What would I do with a weak girl? Find me a boy at once."

"There aren't any. The youngest prisoner we got apart from her is already my age and he's only got one hand. Just chop off her hair and she'll look just like a boy."

Cassandra grabs her once golden locks as she glances up at the fisherman, hoping he will let her keep her hair. She lost the band that held it in a ponytail the very night her house burned down. It has been hard to control, clouting her vision and sticking to her dry lips, but she does not wish to lose it. A part of her still wants to be the pretty girl she once was.

"I can't just make her look like a boy," the fisherman argues. "It won't make her any stronger."

"I'll work hard!" Cassandra shouts suddenly.

"Come again?" The man leans closer, turning a hair filled ear toward her.

"I'll work as hard as I can and try to get stronger," she assures him. "I'll be as strong as a boy, I promise."

"Girls are all liars," he scoffs. "You'll powder your nose and eat all my food. I don't need a second woman running my life. My wife already drives me crazy. Imagine what she'll say if I bring home a little girl. She'll think I'm housing a mistress. She'll kick us both out."

"Like I said, just cut off her hair," Gurand continues trying to help.

"Can't I just wait until you get a boy?" the fisherman grumbles as Cassandra grabs her hair protectively again.

"We have no control over what prisoners come in, sir. We rarely arrest boys for anything but pick pocketing and the punishment for such crimes is as I mentioned before." He holds up his hand and makes a hook shape with his fingers to stress his dismemberment point.

"What was she brought in for?" the fisherman is curious.

"She was found by Lord Nedan. She must be from beyond the endless forest."

"Why would he bring a filthy mongrel back from those parts?" the fisherman appears disgusted.

"Perhaps the wizard told him to." Gurand shrugs.

"What?" the fisherman gains interest again. "A wizard, you say?"

"The whole trip was planned on the spot by a wizard in white. He forewarned the king's advisor of a threat from beyond the forest and Lord Nedan was dispatched immediately."

"Those wizards are always up to something," the fisherman snickers while wringing his hands greedily. "They never make a move that doesn't profit them somehow. You are a special child, aren't you?"

"I wasn't," Cassandra admits, "but then the word doctor changed me. He's started my story and I'll stop at nothing until I find him and kill him."

"Very good." The fisherman smirks. "Perhaps you will be of some use. I'll take her for now, good sir, but as soon as you get a strong lad I'm trading her back in."

"Is having this story thing really all that important?" Gurand is confused.

"It doesn't matter to me." The fisher shrugs. "But it means she has the potential to work as hard as she says she will. I need help on my boat this coming week so I can't afford to be picky. These children who claim to be part of stories often prove to be hiding something strong under their weak exteriors. I'll make a man of you yet." He slaps Cassandra on the back.

She almost buckles as she starts to walk beside him. The fisher waves to Gurand as they head in the opposite direction of the ocean and the docks. She does not know if she is on the right path but anything is better than going back in the prison hole. As they walk down the dirt path that leads to the center of town, she glances at all of the buildings. Each one of them is gray with weathering from sea salt. Living close to the ocean obviously has its disadvantages.

As it is early morning, not too many people are on the streets. Even the few that are stare at her as they pass by. She crosses her arms to keep warm in her thin burlap robe as a gust of wind blows past, lifting the skirt length hem slightly. The fisher pretends not to notice but her legs are covered in scrapes from being dragged. She wishes more than anything that she could have her own clothes back.

They veer off from the main road toward a collection of shacks near a hillside. The fisher starts to chuckle as they approach a house built right into the side of the hill. It almost looks like it sank in a mud slide. An elderly woman is waiting outside on the front porch, stirring a wooden bowl with some sort of batter inside. "How did it go?" she asks in her high pitched old woman voice.

"Got the last good one." Her husband makes a presenting motion toward Cassandra.

"Dear, have you gone blind in your other eye too? I told you to get a boy."

"What? You aren't a lad?" the fisher pretends to be shocked.

"Um…" Cassandra is too startled to play along.

"Come here, poor child." The woman drags her onto the porch. "What were you doing in the prison hole, eh?"

"I um, I don't really…" she starts to sputter.

"That's alright. Let me get you cleaned up and fed." She glares at her husband who is whistling innocently as she leads her into the house. The first floor consists of one room complete with a stove for cooking and table for dining. The second floor is at the top of a set of stairs that lead up the side of the hill. There is no actual room below it at all.

The woman grabs the hem of Cassandra's robe and lifts it off over her head without warning. Instinctively the young girl moves to cover herself. The woman just laughs as she pushes her along the hallway until they reach a washroom. There is a basin in the corner full of water and a bathtub next to it. There is a well pump for bringing water up so they do not have to carry it up the stairs in a bucket.

The woman dunks Cassandra's head in the basin a few times before handing her a rag to wash her face with. Then she begins to use the pump to fill the tub with water. "It'll be cold," she warns Cassandra. The young girl finishes wiping her face before walking over to the edge of the tub. Again without warning, the woman shoves her into the icy water. Cassandra tosses and turns until she is able to bring her head up for air.

"What is your name?" the woman realizes they haven't even been introduced.

"Ca-Cassie," she stutters while trying to keep from breathing in water.

"That's a nice name." The woman smiles at her. "I'm Allegra and my husband is Barker John. I'm sure you know why we purchased you."

"You need a fisher to help with the boat," Cassandra surmises.

"Good girl. Now what can you do? Are you strong enough to help hoist nets and set sails?"

"I'll try to be."

"That's not good enough. The last thing I want is to send a child back to the hole but you must earn a living here. Anything I ask of you must be obeyed." Cassandra swallows nervously as she nods. She is not sure what working for an elderly woman will entail. "Finish washing while I go find you some clothes." Allegra flitters off into a different room.

Cassandra sinks to the bottom of the tub, holding her head underwater. If she could she would stay down there forever. This is only the beginning of her story though; she has a lot more to accomplish if she is ever going to take revenge upon Lord Nedan, let alone word doctor Ambrose.

"Here we are." Allegra returns a moment later, holding a pair of tan slacks and a blue jacket. "This'll do fine while you're on the boat."

"Are those boy's clothes?" Cassandra asks as she rises out of the water.

Allegra hands her a towel to dry off with. "What did you expect? Barker can't be seen walking around with a girl, mind you. Besides, these were my son's. I don't have any girls' clothes. Not that I never wanted a girl," she suddenly sighs. "Teddy was such a handful. I would have named him Tabitha."

Cassandra can see that Allegra wanted a daughter more than a son. "Where is Teddy now?" she tries to make conversation.

"Oh he grew up a long time ago. You'll meet him down at the docks when you start work today."

"Today?" Cassandra is startled.

"We have a busy week ahead of us. The fish will be most active over the next ten days. That's why Barker bought you. We needed a boy though. You better pull your weight."

"I will," she promises. Allegra slips Cassandra's arms through the holes of a leather vest before doing the same with the blue sailor jacket. The touch of the animal hide feels cold against her skin, especially on her chest. She is too young to even show her feminine traits though. Allegra waits as Cassandra puts on the pants before turning her to face a large broken mirror on the wall opposite the basin.

"Is that really me?" Cassandra gasps. If not for her straw colored hair she would look just like a boy. Allegra pulls the golden locks back and binds them with a strap of leather before tucking her new ponytail underneath the back of the jacket. Cassandra spins around to take in her appearance properly. Despite the clothes obviously being old she feels like a new person.

"And now the finishing touch." Allegra places a worn leather three-cornered hat on Cassandra's head. With the brim tipped forward, her eyes are hidden in shadow, making it impossible to see anything but the freckles on her cheeks and the cracks in her dry lips. If she saw herself walking down the street, she would definitely mistake herself for a boy.

She glances up at Allegra with a quivering smile. She is not sure why she feels like crying. During the week in the hole she thought of nothing but her family burning alive inside their house. Now her mind has settled on her own future for the first time. This new appearance is helping the truth to finally sink in; she has left her old life behind. She is a new person entirely.

Barker is still waiting on the first floor when Cassandra finally descends the stairs. "Are we ready?" he asks in a loud voice, causing her to assume that his not only blind in one eye but perhaps deaf as well.

"Good luck, you two." Allegra waves to them as they leave the house. Cassandra feels much less afraid as she walks beside Barker this time. With her new clothes, she is no longer drawing glances from any of the villagers.

They arrive back at the docks rather quickly, as Barker's house is not that far from his place of work. He leads Cassandra down a long peer, past several rickety looking boats until they reach the one at the end. Cassandra tilts her head to read the title painted across the side; The Daring Siren.

"Welcome aboard." Barker steps backwards off the dock onto the deck of his medium sized fishing skiff while spreading his arms to present it to Cassandra. For some reason she feels like she is being shown something unique she should be excited for. Her eyes light up and she smiles while in the pit of her stomach she feels sick. In reality she is a slave. She is not Barker's and Allegra's child.

Their real child is already on board. He is lying on top of the cabin of the boat, basking in the sun with his lanky arms and legs dangling down into view. He sits up when he hears his father's footsteps. "So this is the lad you hired." He smiles at Cassandra. "Rather skinny, ain't he? Are those my old clothes?"

"You know your mother. She never could throw anything away," Barker laughs. Teddy leaps down onto the deck, rocking the boat to the point where Barker has to grab the mast to keep from falling over. His son looks just like him, without the balding or white hair and his beard is less scraggly.

"He's a shy one, ain't he?" The young man leans close to Cassandra's face. She bows her head to extend the shadow her hat casts, making sure he can't see her face properly. "Are you sure he'll be of any help? It's going to be a mad dash for the reef as soon as the marshal gives the signal. Can he set sails?"

"He better. He promised me he'd be as strong as a lad," Barker slips up. Cassandra's head jerks in his direction as her icy eyes flair under the shadow of her hat. Teddy seems not to have noticed though. She doesn't know why but she feels that she will be safer if no one finds out that she is not actually a boy.

"Prepare to set sail." Teddy shrugs. Cassandra grunts as she stretches her legs as far as they will go to bridge the gap between the dock and the boat. Teddy raises an eyebrow at his father. "He don't talk much, do he?"

"I guess not," Barker pretends not to be interested. He knows his son is not stupid but he doesn't feel like explaining himself. He took a risk accepting a girl for this job just because she was a story owner. He doesn't need his own son spreading rumors about his relationship with a little girl.

"Fine," Teddy decides not to pry. "I'm Theo by the way." He tries to shake Cassandra's hand. He has obviously outgrown the pet name his parents gave him.

"This is Cassidy," Barker answers for her as she brushes Theo's hand away.

The young man glances back at his father with an almost seething expression. Maybe it is seeing this person in his old clothing or maybe it is the fact that his father is outright lying to him but he is not happy. He should be informed of things happening onboard this boat, especially after he used up all of his savings buying it back off of auction last year. His father had to put it up for collateral after almost losing the house during a particularly bad fishing season.

"Just get the sails up and prepare to weigh anchor," he grumbles. His father still holds the title of captain but he has long ago lost the mindset or ability to even pilot the Daring Siren. Theo does technically everything. This is why it bothers him so much that his father made the decision to buy a slave without even consulting him. He is positive he could have hired a competent worker for less trouble.

Putting aside arguments about Cassandra and who is in charge, the crew sets about preparing the boat for sail. They spend the entire morning rigging the sails for maximum wind collection in hopes of carrying them to the reef as fast as possible. Theo takes several breaks in his schedule to teach Cassandra how to do her job. He explains where each rope is tied and which pulleys hoist the wide fishing net. He also explains which currents will take them where and why they are fishing at this particular reef.

Once a year a great migration occurs. Fish of all kinds swim past the bay of Ferery the long way around the reef for reasons unknown. Because only a limited number of boats can surround the reef at a time, any candidate is required to purchase permission from the bay marshal. They have a limited amount of time to fish based on a timer watched by the bay marshal himself. In under ten minutes, it will be the Daring Siren's turn, along with nine other boats.

Barker lifts the anchor from the water with a crank as the shift change approaches. Looking out at the ocean the crew can see the other ships beginning to leave the reef. It is all clear for them. It will be a mad race to find a good position where the current will bring the fish right to them, which is why they are waiting with bated breath.

The marshal arrives on horseback barely a minute before his pocket watch tells him to change the shift. He appears rather bored and preoccupied. With a yawn he checks the time once more before taking the fuse for the signal cannon and lighting it.

Cassandra covers her ears as the loud bang follows. The boat lurches forward causing her to lose her balance. Theo catches her under the arms, keeping her from falling off the side into the water. She glances up at his bearded face under the brim of her hat. She wants to thank him but she can't find her voice. She has yet to say even one word to him. He stalks off to help his father steer rather than waiting.

The boat stops on the far side of the reef, floating just out of range of the nets of the other nine fishers. Some of them wave to Barker and Theo politely while others spout words of discouragement. Cassandra is surprised to learn that fishing is so competitive in Ferery. In Hamish fish aren't even a commodity.

"Help me cast the net," Theo orders as his father goes to lower the anchor again. The boat is drifting with the waves but it immediately stops when the heavy weight hits the bottom of the bay.

"You're scaring the fish!" another fisher shouts from his larger boat nearby.

"Your face is scaring them," Barker counters. A round of laughter signals approval from the other sailors.

Cassandra helps Theo turn the crank to lift the casting net off the deck. He leaves her holding it in the air as he goes to swing it out over the ocean. Just as it snaps into position, she loses her grip, letting it unravel until it hits the water with a splash. She tries to grab it again but the crank is turning too fast. As the net sinks to the bottom of the ocean, the handle cracks against her wrist.

Theo rushes to her side as she shrieks in pain. Her hand has been twisted awkwardly and it is swelling up quickly. Theo grabs a bucket of cold water and dunks her hand in to numb it. The other sailors have begun to gather at the edges of their boats. All of them are intrigued by the noise the little girl made.

"You know it's bad luck to bring a lady on board, don't ye?" a particularly brutish looking sailor, named Scotty, mocks Barker.

"Shut up," Theo spouts at him. "I knew she wouldn't be any good at this," he quickly turns an accusing glare to his father.

"And yet you pretended not to know." He smirks. "You're always too condescending, Teddy."

"It's Theo." He frowns.

"I'll call you what I named you. You are Teddy and that's how your mother remembers it."

"I don't even live with you anymore," Theo retorts.

"Having a father-son argument?" Scotty interrupts from his ship.

Theo glares at him while continuing to hold Cassandra's hand underwater. He has completely forgotten about her. "Um, I'm fine now." She tries to wriggle free.

"Sorry." He lets go quickly. His hand snaps to his side like it is on a spring.

"Thank you," she has finally found her voice.

"How old is she?" He glares at his father again.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "She was the youngest in the hole. I just couldn't leave her there."

"You've put this whole voyage at risk," Theo continues to scold him.

"I promised him I could handle it," Cassandra's voice is trembling.

Theo can tell she is about to cry. "Don't do that," he groans. "I'm not mad at you. Just stay out of the way while we do the heavy lifting."

"But I want to help," she pouts.

"Help by not screwing up again," he snaps. She stares at him for a moment in shock before marching across the deck to sit on a barrel next to the cabin. She knows she is not very useful but she is only thirteen. What did he expect? Would a boy like Jameson really be any better?

After watching Barker and Theo trying to get the net into the right position to catch fish for almost an hour, Cassandra falls asleep on the deck, leaning against the barrel. She wakes up hours later, long after dark. She grabs her shoulders as she starts to shiver. The breeze from the sea is chilling her to the bone.

"Want something warm?" Theo asks. He is standing just inside the cabin door, holding a tanker of some kind of drink.

"No." She crosses her arms angrily. He waits all of ten seconds before yanking her up onto her feet by the arm and shoving it into her hands. "Hey!" she jerks away from him.

"I'm not a nanny," he shouts at her. "I don't know what John told you but he's not suited to look after children, especially little girls."

"I'm not a girl," she mumbles while turning her face away.

He knocks the hat off her head with a single swift jab, exposing her small round cheeks and light freckles to the night air. "Prettiest boy I've ever seen," he mocks her.

"Thank you." She sticks out her tongue in response.

He can't help but smile finally. "What are you doing all the way in Ferery?" he asks. "Where are your parents?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers. He nods slowly. "I just started my story."

"Oh." His expression changes. "I was afraid of something like that. I'm very sorry."

"Sorry?" she is taken aback. "What for?"

"I know what price kids like you pay for your stories. I assume that you will never see your parents again."

"Something like that." She nods.

"What would make a person agree to such terms?" he is suddenly upset. He has seen enough children being carted away by word doctors in the night. Everyone knows what they are. They've all read the stories.

"It's not that simple," she sighs. "They promise you so much. The books glorify it and there are no story owners around to tell you otherwise. They all go to a better place."

"Yeah, their graves," he scoffs.

"Don't," she raises her voice.

"Don't what?"

"Don't act like I don't know. You obviously don't own a story. Maybe you've never even been offered the chance. Until you do, don't try to tell me what it's like. I've seen what it's like first hand. I'll never forget."

"I'm sorry." His eyes widen. He was not expecting a thirteen year old to have these kinds of experiences. She has already lived a tougher life than him in the week since she began her story. She is right; he has no room to judge.

She takes a sip of the warm liquid in the tanker. It tastes like hot lemon juice. She starts to cough and sputter. He grabs the cup before she drops it and rubs her back to help her. "Are you okay?" he asks when she finally stops.

"What is that?" she groans.

"It helps prevent scurvy," he laughs.

"We've been here all of a day," she spouts.

"We'll be here everyday this week, from sundown to sunup."

"What can I do?" She is feeling rather useless again.

"You can watch us and learn how to set the sails and cast the net. After a while you will get the hang of it. I'm sorry I yelled at you before."

She manages a weak smile before wandering toward the edge of the deck to retrieve the hat he knocked off. She is clapping the dust off against her pant leg when a gust of wind whips past, causing her to lose her balance. She is about to fall over the side of the boat when Theo yanks her back by her ponytail. She screams while rolling on the deck, grabbing her hair in pain. "Sorry." He winces sympathetically.

"I hate this," she suddenly wails while sitting up. "I hate what my life has become. I want to go home."

"Why don't you?" he asks.

"It's gone."

"What's gone?"

"My home is," she starts to bawl. "It's all gone. My family is dead. They're all dead because of me."

"My god. I had no idea." Theo is horrified.

"Quiet down!" Scotty shouts at them. "Grab a pole and get to night fishing."

"Night fishing?" Cassandra wipes her eyes while adopting a curious expression.

Theo is surprised by her sudden change in mood. "Are you okay?" he is concerned.

"Yeah, just tell me what night fishing is."

"It's when you use a light to attract fish to your pole and… are you sure you're okay?" he is still unconvinced.

"I'll be fine if I can just keep my mind off of it. There's nothing I can do now so there is no use in crying. I just have to work on completing my story and getting revenge."

"Revenge? Isn't the object of a story to find a happy ending?"

"Not for me." She shakes her head. He can tell by her icy blue eyes that she believes what she is saying. She is no longer hunting for a prince in a castle to sweep her off her feet; she plans to hunt down and kill Lord Nedan and Ambrose with her own two hands.

Not knowing her full story, Theo is extremely concerned about her now. He is not sure why he suddenly cares so much about a girl he just met but he wishes there was something he could do. Maybe if they met under different circumstances, things would be different. For now he can't help her at all.

"Night fishing?" she brings him back to reality.

"Oh yes." He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "Find a lamp in the cabin and I'll show you what to do." She dances off happily to retrieve a source of light while he collects two fishing poles from the other side of the boat.

She hands him the lantern when she returns. He strikes a match on the side and lights the wick. She watches with awe as his face glows with the flickering flame. He places the lantern on the end of a long stick and lowers it down toward the surface of the water. Almost immediately Cassandra can see fish swimming up to touch the surface where the light is reflecting.

They each bait the hook on their separate poles and lower them down off the side of the boat. It is a total of ten seconds before a fish leaps right out of the water and latches onto Cassandra's pole. She squeals excitedly as it lands back in the water, pulling on the line as hard as it can, trying to drag her with it.

Theo lifts her off her feet by the arms and backs away from the edge of the boat. The pole bends awkwardly, almost as if it is going to snap. With a final tug from both of them at the same time, they are able to lift the fish out of the water. The pole snaps back, flinging the fish over the cabin of the boat and splashing into the water on the other side.

"Hey, watch it!" another fisher behind them shouts. "Quit scaring them away."

"Sorry," Cassandra shouts cheerily. The man grumbles instead of responding as he lifts his line to recast. Theo grabs onto Cassandra's line and winds it up around his hands, pulling the fish out of the water. She expects it to have been knocked out by its flight but instead it is still thrashing wildly.

As Theo lays it down on the deck, she tries to get close but it is flopping so much that she is too scared. Theo grabs a wooden club from inside a barrel and whacks the fish once on the head. It immediately goes still. "What did you do that for?" she complains.

"What? It's dead."

"That's cruel."

"That's what I do; I'm a fisherman. How do you expect to eat it if it's still alive?"

"Ew, I've never eaten fish before."

"Well you're eating fish tonight. I'm going to fry it right up so you can have some. You'll see what you've been missing."

"Okay," she reluctantly agrees. It's not like refusing to eat it will bring it back to life.

"One more thing." He turns around to face her as he is lifting the fish off the deck by the hook in its mouth.

"Yes?" She nods in anticipation.

"What's your real name? I'm sure it's not Cassidy."

She smiles guiltily. "I'm Cassandra. Cassie if you prefer."

"Nice to meet you, Cassie." He leans down to kiss her cheek, causing her to leap back in shock. Her face turns bright red as he walks into the cabin. "Welcome aboard the Daring Siren," He spouts when he returns with a frying pan.

She smiles at him while trying to hide her blushing face, which is clearly visible even in the dark of night. She can hardly contain the swirling feeling in the pit of her stomach. This could be the first good thing to come out of her story so far, but it could also be the worst. She has already given up on the idea of romance in her story; she lives only for vengeance now. Besides, Theo is at least ten years older than her. Surely he should not be interested in courting a girl as young as her.

7: Jungle Savages and Sirens

As Jameson rolls over in the tent of the chief's daughter, he bumps into the legs of someone towering over him. With a jolt, he jerks awake, scampering across the damp ground, grabbing his boots as he goes. "Hello," the young sacrifice he met the night before is staring at him with her cold black eyes.

"Hey, Jez," he mutters under his breath.

"What did you say?" She cups her ear.

"Good morning," he spouts in a fake cheery voice, even though it was morning when he went to sleep and it is in fact afternoon now. With the canopy of trees above them it is impossible to tell night from day; however this tribe seems to be nocturnal. "Where is your mother?" he asks while stretching.

"She took my siblings away so they wouldn't have to see me leave, just in case I don't come back."

"Oh yeah, the sacrifice thing," Jameson sighs. He had almost forgotten about it.

The girl watches as he laces up his boots properly before speaking again. "Are you really going to choose one of us?"

"Um, well yeah. I have to, don't I?"

"You could run away." She shrugs.

"And then you'd all have to die," he reminds her.

"My grandfather is simply trying to pass blame onto you. The only reason I am amongst the candidates for sacrifice is because it would not be fair to remove me simply because the chief is my grandfather."

"Why must the sacrifice be a child anyway?" Jameson is curious.

"The soul is a strange thing," she states vaguely. "When we are young, it is innocent. We are not responsible for any wrongdoings and we have little experience and wisdom. We are a blank slate without blemishes to anger the spirit as he feasts upon our soul."

"That was… informative," Jameson gulps. "But then why aren't the younger children included as well."

"The reasoning given is that a brand new soul is bland. They may not have blemishes but they also have no worth. It would take significantly more of them to appease the great spirit."

"You don't believe that, do you?" Jameson can see some reservations in her eyes.

"I think that some of the tribe would simply toss newborns into the volcano to save the children they have known for longer if it were allowed," she admits. "Also, it saves us the trouble of parting with our children so quickly after they are born. We at least get a good ten years of life before we have to be sacrificed."

"That actually makes a lot of sense." Jameson nods in agreement. "So at what age are you no longer eligible?"

"After twenty years, the soul starts to accumulate blemishes that would enrage the great spirit. Also, if you commit a heinous act against the tribe you damage your soul permanently."

"So acting out is rewarded," he surmises.

"Not really. The punishment for breaking cardinal rules of the tribe can often be much worse than simple sacrifice. One of the candidates last year went mad and threatened the chief with a knife. As punishment he was taken up into the treetops and tied with vines. It was not long before wild animals began to feast upon him."

Jameson cringes. He is not sure how much more of this he can take. There is something seriously wrong with this tribe's thought process. Just then the flap to the tent opens as the chief enters. He walks up to his granddaughter and hugs her tightly. She keeps her eyes focused on Jameson though. It is obvious she has little love for the man who may be about to throw her into a volcano. "Are you ready?" the chief asks Jameson.

"I just have one question. What is your name?" Jameson asks confidently. The chief looks extremely surprised. "I would like to know the name of the man willing to sacrifice his own granddaughter."

"You insult me!" the chief is furious.

"His name is Callolatte," his granddaughter answers for him.

"Druine!" he shouts at her. "Do not speak with the story owner."

"Why?" She glares at him sternly.

"He is bad for us. He will bring our destruction with the men in white."

"Then why is he here? Why are you making him choose for you? You are afraid. You wish to bear no responsibility."

"I wish to protect you," he sighs. "Outrage ensued during the last two sacrifices. Everyone wants you to be chosen. I can not keep them away this time. With him the decision is final. No one will dispute it."

"Lying sneaking rat," Jameson mutters quietly. It is a bad habit of his; talking to himself out loud instead of in his head. He often says things he wishes he hadn't. It is part of the reason Cassandra and Jezebel pick on him so much.

"Come now, we must reach the volcano before the great spirit escapes." The chief leads his granddaughter out of the tent. Jameson follows close behind. The other six sacrifice candidates are already waiting next to the now extinguished campfire. The chief waves his hand for them to follow him into the now much darker jungle.

Jameson stays close to Druine as he is unfamiliar with anyone else. She continues to stare at him as they walk slowly. She is obviously intrigued with this so-called story owner. Is he really worthy of the scriptures? He seems nothing like any of the characters she has read about. "What are you looking at?" Jameson finally breaks the silence. "I know I am not that handsome."

"We do not judge one's worth as a mate on their appearance," she informs him, causing him to blush.

"Surely looks must account for something," he tries to continue the conversation. "You are all so decorated, after all."

"We wear the colors of our role," she explains. "Each year we receive a new mark." She turns her head so he can see the blue powder around her eyes. He tries to show interest, lest he offend her generosity, but he still can't get over how eerily black her eyes are. She really does remind him of Jezebel. He would love to take bets on who would blink first if they ever stared at each other.

"Are you infatuated with my appearance?" she asks suddenly.

"What? No. I mean yes. I mean… I'm not appraising your worth as a mate, if that's what you mean."

"It is."

"Well don't worry. I was just… you remind me of someone."

"A girl?" she asks suspiciously.

"Of course she's a girl. Wouldn't you be insulted if I said you reminded me of a boy?"

"In our tribe a woman's only worth is doing what the man will not. We need not be strong enough to hunt in the jungle; all we need to do is clean hides, cook meat, forage for plants, make clothing…"

"I get it, I get it," he stops her. "You do everything while the men use their strength as an excuse to do only one thing."

"Now you understand." She finally smiles.

"Well I can't say things are different where I am from."

"Where are you from?" she asks. "It is never told of in the scriptures."

"They're called books," he informs her, "and Hamish is not to be mentioned in any of them. The Village of Hamish is already a story of its own. It is a dead end that can not be escaped if we remain tethered to it. For this reason all word doctors start stories by first removing the new owner from the familiar surroundings."

"Isn't that frightening?" Druine's eyes are wide with interest.

"Absolutely. I have merely just begun my story. I'm already in over my head. It's supposed to last a lifetime but I can't imagine living like this for another week, let alone a year."

"But this journey might take a week," she explains. "The volcano is far and we must stop during the day. Many creatures will try to eat us."

"Will all of us make it?" Jameson is suddenly worried.

"All members of our tribe are trained to survive in this jungle. The only person who might not make it… is you," she pauses for effect, which does its job of scaring him.

"Druine, what did I tell you? Do not speak with the story owner," her grandfather scolds her.

"Why are you the only one who can speak with him?" she complains. "I am curious about his origin."

"Stop," the chief whispers while holding up his hand.

"I will not stop. I…"

"Quiet," he hisses before she can say anything else. "We are not alone." This statement scares Jameson even more than the previous one. He quickly starts to glance around the jungle for any signs of movement. "Into the trees," the chief orders. Immediately all of the tribe members begin to scale the trunks and branches of the nearest pillars.

Soon the only person left on the ground is Jameson. "What are you waiting for?" Druine whispers while dangling down from a branch several feet above him.

"I can't do that," he answers.

"What kind of man are you?" she groans as she leaps from her perch, landing in a crouching position on the ground. Jameson's jaw drops in awe. Before he can move, Druine has leaped onto his shoulder and locked her legs around his neck. She reaches up toward the tree tops where the rest of the sacrifice candidates have created a human chain, holding onto each other's feet, in order to extend to the ground.

As soon as Druine grabs hold of the final person's hands, they are flung high into the air like a slingshot. Jameson tries to scream but Druine's legs are too tight. He crosses his eyes to keep from becoming dizzy as they sail through the air, coming to a stop above the canopy. She lets go of her peer's hand, allowing herself and Jameson to fly away from the human chain and land in the branches of a distant tree.

When Jameson finally regains his vision, he notices Druine slinking along a large branch like a prowling tiger, trying to glimpse whatever is below them. When she notices Jameson staring, she returns to his side. "How are you?"

"That was both exciting and terrifying," he answers honestly while rubbing his sore neck. His face turns red again as he looks down at her bare legs which were touching him up until a moment ago.

"You really are pathetic," she sighs.

Jameson has no rebuttal as he knows it is true. What could Hemlock possibly have seen in him? "What is down there?" He tries to lean out far enough to see the jungle floor below.

"Don't know. Don't want to know. Come on, we keep moving."

She hears no argument from him as they start to crawl along the branch again. When they come to the edge, she searches around for the nearest tree to see if they will be able to leap to it. When she spots it her face reflects dejection as she realizes that it is too far. Jameson can already tell what she is thinking. If they do not stay in the trees, they will be open to attack by whatever the chief noticed.

Desperate to prove himself useful in at least some way, Jameson starts to look for an alternative to climbing all the way back down to the ground. "Where are they going?" He points to the other sacrifice candidates who are further ahead, already leaping from tree to tree.

"It's the rules. We never wait for each other," she explains. "That's how all of us get killed."

"So they're just going to abandon us?"

"We look after ourselves," she repeats. "We can't endanger the others again."

Jameson continues to observe his surroundings. Finally he spots something that might help them. "Maybe we can swing across with one of these vines." He lifts one of the natural growing ropes to show her.

"Impossible; it'll never hold our combined weight."

"Then we'll go one at a time."

"Are you a monkey?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you know how to traverse the trees like a monkey?"

"I've read about vine swingers in stories…" he begins.

"I've read the same scriptures. They didn't prepare me for this though."

"I'm a fast leaner," he assures her.

"Are you? All you've done so far is complain."

"Don't judge me. This is the first time I've ever been in a situation like this."

"Stop making excuses and be a man."

"Fine, watch me." He leaps off the branch, still holding the vine tightly. She rolls her eyes as he falls toward the ground. It is almost surprising to see him spring back up successfully. At least she won't be responsible for killing the great story owner. After he has landed safely on a branch of the next tree, he drops the vine so it will return to her.

To his intrigue, it does not look like Druine is very confident. In fact, it almost looks like she is scared. "What's wrong?" he calls to her across the gap.

"Keep quiet!" she hisses. "You'll attract creatures."

"Will they really get us all the way up here?" he is skeptical.

"All of them are better climbers than us. Of course they can get up here," she retorts.

Jameson gulps at the thought of what might try to eat him after climbing all the way up from the ground. "You said this would be a long journey. How will we rest?"

"Most creatures are scared of fire. That is all I know."

"How many times have you made this trek before?"

"Twice. Once for every year I have been older than ten."

"And it's never been this difficult before?"

"We've never had to protect you before."

Jameson sighs as his low self esteem kicks in again. It is bad enough having Jezebel and Cassandra remind him of how useless he is without other girls doing it too. Obviously there is something wrong with him if everyone picks up on it so easily. "Just swing across already."

"I don't trust this thing. I am much heavier than you."

"You can't be. We're the same age."

"And you're scrawny," she reminds him, causing him to wince.

"Just do it or I'm coming back and carrying you myself," he threatens.

"It'll never hold both of us."

"Then just jump!" he is losing his patience. Finally she takes a deep breath while closing her eyes. She leaps from her branch without even looking where she is going. Like him she falls toward the ground quite far before the vine stretches enough to sling her back up.

Her eyes are still closed when she reaches the tree he is standing in, causing him to have to grab her shoulders. She quickly lets go of the vine to wrap her arms around him. She was obviously more afraid than she was willing to admit. "It's alright now," he coos softly.

"I'm not a child," she mopes.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Good, because you're still weaker than me." She jerks herself away from him. He rolls his eyes as he turns to continue walking along the branch. He is no longer as concerned with her opinion of him. He has proven to be braver than her in at least one aspect.

After traversing the trees for several hours, swinging from at least ten different vines in the process, some of which are strong enough for Jameson to simply carry Druine, they finally meet up with the chief and the rest of the sacrifice candidates. "Where have you been?" He hugs Druine immediately.

"I'm fine, grandfather. Not that you care."

"Do not speak back to me!" he becomes angry quickly.

"Was it difficult to coddle the story owner?" one of the boys asks.

"Um, yeah," she mumbles incoherently while rubbing the back of her neck. She knows that teasing him further might cause him to reveal her cowardliness.

"Are we setting up camp here?" Jameson asks the chief.

He shakes his head. "Our journey through the jungle is almost over. The volcano is on a distant island from here. We must leave the cover of darkness and brave the white sands."

"You mean the beach?" Jameson confirms. "Why didn't we just travel that way before?"

"Open ground is too dangerous at night," one of the boys explains. "We would have been attacked."

"So travel during the day."

"We plan to," the chief agrees.

"Wait, right now? We've been at this for hours. I need to rest."

"Nook, Drock, carry him," the chief instructs two boys.

"No, wait, wait, I'll walk. I don't need to be coddled."

"Good," the chief spouts as he leaps off the branch they have gathered on, grabbing a vine to slide down on. This time Druine is not reluctant at all, convincing Jameson that she is hiding her fears from her fellow sacrifice candidates. Of course he is not afraid either, seeing as he has been doing this all day. He slides to the ground easily with the rest of the group in tow.

The chief is already waiting for them. He leads them through a tightly compacted group of trees, which seem to join together the higher they go. Jameson can already see light on the other side, they are reaching the edge of the jungle and the sun is already up. He can smell the cool breeze from the ocean. Finally he can leave the damp musty jungle behind.

Immediately he runs out onto the beach, somersaulting in the sand and laughing happily. At first the other children stare at him but eventually Druine joins in. It is not often she gets to leave the jungle. Soon all seven of them are rolling in the sand, getting it on and in their hair and clothing. Jameson even has to take off his boots to empty them out. He once again ties them around his neck so he can continue to enjoy the sand between his toes.

"Enough!" the chief finally becomes annoyed. "Six of you will have plenty of time for fun when this is over."

"Way to kill the mood." Jameson frowns.

"No more disrespect." He glares at him. Silently, the group scampers to their feet before following the chief to the edge of the ocean. "Druine, this is deathly important. I'm relying on you." The chief turns to his granddaughter.

"What is? What's going on?" Jameson pries.

"Sirens," Druine whispers. "Come here, girls." She leads the female sacrifice candidates along the beach so they are a safe distance away from the boys.

"Sirens? Where?" Jameson glances around nervously.

"They like to traverse these waters. They watch for ships sailing from the kingdom of Capitith and then follow them out to sea. After dusk, they sing their fated songs."

"How do you know all this?" Jameson asks.

"The scriptures," the chief reminds him of their collection of books.

Jameson nods to show he understands. It is the one thing that connects all of the kingdoms and people living anywhere nearby. Everyone is literate enough to read the word doctors' stories. It makes it interesting to hear pirates and wild tribe people talking with proper grammar despite the fact that two generations ago they could barely string a sentence together. It has definitely made communication with this tribe much easier on Jameson.

"Have you ever met a siren?" he is still curious.

"Last year we encountered a few on our trek to the volcano. Our boats capsized and we were rescued by them."

"They sound rather nice, actually," Jameson is hopeful.

"We convinced them we were doing good. They revere the great water spirit and know that as long as the fire spirit sleeps, he is not in danger."

"But you could simply let the water spirit fight the fire spirit and get it over with," Jameson suggests.

"People will still die in the resulting carnage. The longer we keep the inevitable from occurring the better."

"So where are these boats you mentioned?" Jameson glances down the beach.

"We construct them with bark and reads. Come now, we have to hurry before the sirens realize we are here. Druine, keep watch."

"Why is Druine so important? What can she do against an armada of sirens?" Jameson is just full of questions.

"Their song will render the males useless," the chief explains. "She will be our only defense."

"I thought females could be affected too."

"Not as easily. Now, help us gather the reads." Jameson sighs as he joins the rest of the group in their hunt for material while Druine supervises. Every time he looks at her, she is gazing out over the sea. She seems to be longing to sail away somewhere.

It takes most of the morning to construct even one canoe and it is nowhere near large enough for nine people. "How long is this going to take?" Jameson groans. No one is paying attention though. After a while he simply sits down in the sand, letting the tribe members do all of the work. He closes his eyes while leaning his head back, letting the breeze of the sea blow over him. It gives him a peaceful feeling; as if all his troubles have been blown far away.

Suddenly the cool breeze grows hot and moist, almost as if someone is breathing on him. When he opens his eyes he is startled to see another pair staring down at him. The entire group is drawn to him by the scream that follows. He doesn't stop until the person above him, if they can even be called a person, covers his mouth. "Wha-what are you?" he gasps while rolling away from them.

Before he can stand up, the chief has lifted him to his feet by his arms. "Stay back, child," he warns him.

"Is that a siren?" Jameson points at the creature who is staring at him with interest. She is the same size as he is, standing barely more than four feet, with no clothing to speak of and peach colored scales covering every part of her body. She reaches out a slender arm toward him, almost asking that he take her hand.

"Don't move," the chief is adamant. "She'll draw you in like a fly to a spider."

"But she's young. Look at her. She can't be older than me."

"They live a lot longer than us," the chief explains. "She could be ten or thirty for all you know."

"I know she's not." He takes a cautious step towards the siren. "She's just curious." Immediately the creature starts to wail, warning him not to approach.

"Don't agitate it!" the chief shouts at him as he leaps back.

"Who are you?" the siren finally speaks. "What are you doing here?"

"We are from the jungle," Druine answers. "We come to see the fire spirit."

Again the creature starts to wail. She obviously does not like the fire spirit. "Go!" she orders. "Do not disturb our waters. The fire spirit has brought nothing but destruction."

"The fire spirit has escaped? Impossible!" the chief is shocked.

"It has not left its prison yet, but it will soon. I know of all the tales my mothers told me. It will destroy everything."

"Did it say mothers?" Jameson whispers to Druine.

"They are hatched from eggs and raised by the matriarch as a whole," she explains. "They all take responsibility as the mothers."

"You know much of our rituals," the siren is suspicious. "Who are you?"

"I told you, we are the jungle dwellers. I met some of you last year. Where are Drea and Catlith?"

The siren's eyes widen as she recognizes the names. "Are you the tribe Drea picked her husband from?" she asks.

"Yes. Catlith was one of our sacrificial candidates last year. He fell prey to the spell of Drea's song and wished to stay."

"I am sorry to be the one to tell you, but Catlith is no longer with us. He was injured by an anchor and sank to the ocean floor." Druine covers her mouth as tears spring from her eyes. This Catlith must have been an important friend of hers.

"Enough, leave this place and let us work," the chief is impatient.

"Grandfather, please. Don't you even care about Catlith?" Druine continues to cry.

"He was a fool for being dragged with them and he was a fool for letting himself be killed so easily. I honestly hate those who willingly choose to go with the sirens."

"Is this why they sing; to attract mates?" Jameson surmises.

"We have no males amongst us," the siren answers. "We must find our men elsewhere."

Jameson's expression twists as he tries to picture the idea in his head. "Why don't you go with them?" Druine suggests jokingly. "I'm sure it's the only way you'll ever find a mate." The siren springs up onto two legs suddenly, leaning closer to Jameson in order to examine him. "I wasn't serious." Druine quickly shoos her away.

"Are you two mates?" the siren asks.

"What? No, of course not," Jameson sputters quickly. "She hates me."

The siren looks at Druine for confirmation. "Hate is such a strong word." She rubs the back of her neck nervously.

"Then you won't mind if I take him." The siren grabs Jameson's hand.

"And what if I do mind?" Druine latches onto his opposite arm.

"Druine, you're being shameless," her grandfather scolds her.

"She started it. What is your name, anyway?"

"I am called Califf," she answers while blinking at her with clear eyelids.

"Well stay away from him, Califf." Druine shoves her into the sand.

"You said you didn't want him." She stands back up, coming face to face with Druine who towers at least a head taller than her.

"I said we weren't mates yet," she corrects her.

"Yet?" Jameson is shocked.

"You won't ever be mates!" the chief spouts, "enough foolishness, Druine."

"Be quiet, Grandfather!" she screams at him.

"I could steal him from you," Califf threatens. "One simple song and he'd never return to you."

"Why? You don't even know him. He's already mine."

"I'm not yours," Jameson tries to get his two cents in.

"We take what we need." Califf shrugs. "I have no sympathy for savages like you."

"We're savages?" Druine's eyes flare. "You're a naked fish!"

"Druine, please." Jameson moves to stand between the two. "She's not the same as us. She doesn't understand."

"Why are you protecting her?" Druine's eyes begin to well up again. "She just wants to use you. When she's done she'll probably kill you like Drea did to Catlith."

"Is that what this is about?" Jameson suddenly realizes. "Was Catlith your mate?"

"Drea stole him from me," she is all out sobbing now. "He and I were together for years. All she did was sing him one song and he left me for her."

"It's not Drea's fault you were a weak opponent," Califf is unsympathetic.

"You're trying to do it again." Druine lashes at her. "I won't let you. You little tramps are always stealing men from me."

"He is free to decide on his own." Califf backs away. "I won't even sing to him, I promise."

"I appreciate that, Califf." Jameson bows to her. "Druine, you need to calm down."

"Why?" She jerks away as he tries to touch her.

Instead of being deterred, he wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry for what happened to Catlith. He must have meant a lot to you."

"I don't care about him anymore," she lies. "He left me a long time ago. I have you now."

"I'm not his replacement," he disagrees. "I'm glad you think of me that way but I'm not a member of your tribe. I am a story owner who has to keep moving," he finally decides to accept his predicament. "I would be honored if my story leads me back to you, but for now, this is only the first chapter. I can not stay."

"But…"

"Face it, he doesn't want you," Califf taunts her.

"I don't want you either," Jameson spouts.

"Fair enough," she sighs. "I'm not really interested in finding a mate yet either."

"If you are not going to set your song upon us, then leave!" the chief speaks for the first time in a while.

"I could leave… or… I could help you," she pauses to gauge their reactions.

"Help us?" Jameson is curious. "How would you help us?"

"We could take you to the volcano. We know where it is and we can drag your boats."

"Why would you do that?" the chief is skeptical.

Instead of answering, Califf lets out a loud shriek which forces everyone to cover their ears. By the time she stops, the ocean water behind her has started to bubble. Soon several scaled creatures start to rise up from the sea. They are all different colors and shades but they are definitely sirens. A larger murky blue one with a more prominent chest takes her place beside Califf while glaring at the humans cautiously.

"Drea," Druine whispers.

"Ah, you remember me." She smiles at her. "You've grown so much in one year."

"I've already told her about Catlith," Califf informs her leader.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Druine bows politely.

"He meant as much to you as he did to me," Drea is understanding. "He will be missed. Now, what have you called us here for, Califf?"

"They need passage to the volcano," she explains. "They've come to appease the great fire spirit."

"Have they now?" Drea strokes her chin. "It is not our concern though. They can manage on their own."

"The great spirit is our concern though. If they do not appease it then it may escape and attack our water god."

"Whether or not they feed it, it will still escape," Drea disagrees. "It will not be appeased this time."

"It has to be," the chief argues. "I've been doing this for years."

"And it hasn't made a difference," Drea scoffs. "You're pathetic offering has no bearing on the monster's imprisonment. The priestess's spell has worn off; it will rise this summer."

"We must try," the chief argues.

"You're wasting the lives of your people," Drea is adamant. "I can not support you in this endeavor."

"What would you have us do?" Druine asks.

"Come with us to the sirens' cove," Califf suggests. "We can discuss what to do with the matriarch."

"It is forbidden for humans that have not mated with a siren to enter the cove," Drea reminds her.

"We can make an exception," Califf argues. "The great fire spirit concerns us all."

"Do not forget your place, Califf," Drea warns her. "You were chosen for greatness but you are still young. Earn your rank properly before you…"

"Let us vote then," Califf cuts her off. Drea is too taken aback to respond. "Who votes that we allow the jungle dwellers into the cove?" Califf asks loudly. Immediately several of the other sirens raise their hands.

Drea quickly counts them to see if she is outnumbered. "Fine," she sighs, "they may come to the cove, but they will be your responsibility. You must ensure their safety and ours."

"I understand." Califf nods. "Come with us."

"We must finish the second boat first," the chief explains.

"We will help you." Drea motions for the other sirens to leave the sea. The tribe members all watch nervously as the sea creatures surround them. Most of them have never seen one this close before.

Jameson chooses to stay near Califf, as he is already used to her. At the moment it seems unfathomable that anyone would be afraid of these apparently helpful creatures but he knows all about what they truly are. The stories he read in Hamish are filled with sailors who encountered the deadly creatures' song and were subsequently drawn to the bottom of the sea and drowned. He knows better than to trust them blindly. This could all very well be a trap of Califf's design to lure them to the cove where they would never be seen again.

8: Dashing Ruffian

"How long are we gonna sit here?" Taylor whines for the twentieth time.

"Shut up," Malcolm hisses at him. "We'll wait all night if we have to." They have spent the past few days setting up their first attempt to break into one of the high end homes on the opposite side of Baylor. After much research they decided upon a two-story brick building with the fewest number of residents. From what Malcolm has been able to discern, there are only four; a butler, a maid, and a middle-aged married couple.

The previous night, Jezebel overheard them talking about taking a trip. They were supposed to leave by coach over two hours ago. Something is delaying them. "I'm hungry," Taylor starts to whine again.

"Why did we bring him?" Jezebel moans.

"Because we can't do it alone," Malcolm sighs. He does not enjoy relying on others.

"Here they come." Taylor is the first to notice the horse and buggy clopping down the street. A quick moment later the couple has fled the house, taking two suitcases and their best formal dress wear with them. They are definitely on their way to an overnight gathering of some kind. "Now's our chance." Taylor stands up from his hiding place as lookout in the bushes.

Malcolm grabs him by the suspenders and drags him back down. In the bright doorway of the house they can see the butler waving to his master and mistress as they ride off into the night. He closes the door soon after, dousing the oil lamps in the building as he ascends the stairs to his room. He is about to retire for the night.

"Now," Malcolm gives the word. Taylor leaps over the bushes without letting his feet even touch them. Malcolm rolls his eyes. Taylor is far too excited.

"This window's open." Jezebel calls them over to the side of the building.

"She's already thinking like a thief. You're rubbing off on her," Taylor snickers at Malcolm. Both boys sneak around the side to join Jezebel.

"Who's going first?" she asks while lacing her fingers in preparation.

"The lady, of course." Taylor smirks.

"Come on already," she hisses at him. Without further complaint, he steps on her hands so she can boost him through the window which swings on its hinges easily to let them in.

"It's like they're asking to be robbed," Taylor laughs.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Jezebel is getting annoyed. Taylor frowns at her as Malcolm lifts her through the window by the waist. He does not feel that she is an actual part of their group and as such should not be allowed to scold him. Never mind the fact that she is older.

"Stop fighting, kids. Daddy has work to do." Malcolm hoists himself up without help.

"I'll get the lights." Taylor retrieves a match from his boot and prepares to strike it next to an oil lamp on the wall.

"Stop," Jezebel groans.

"What now?" He glares at her.

"Do you want the neighbors to know we're here?" Malcolm asks. "The owners are supposed to be gone for the night." Taylor rolls his eyes as he slips the match back into his boot. He is getting extremely tired of being told what to do. "Grab anything that looks valuable and meet back in this room within an hour; and don't wake the butler or the maid," Malcolm orders.

"It would be easier to look if I had light," Taylor argues.

"And the butler will most likely wake if he smells smoke," Jezebel counters.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Taylor squints at her. "He doesn't like you, you know," he whispers.

"What do you mean?"

"He's not going to marry you. You can't worm your way into a happy ending like that."

"I wasn't trying to…"

"I know what you are," he continues to insult her. "He'll marry Lottie before he marries you."

"Good for her," Jezebel responds sarcastically.

"Oy, I said separate and rob the place," Malcolm claps at them. Both of his underlings scatter in opposite directions. Jezebel descends to the study while Taylor stays on the ground floor and Malcolm heads up. He knows better than to leave the delicate job of robbing the master bedroom to either of his two charges.

Slowly he creeps up the stairs, smelling the fumes of the recently doused lamps. The door to the butler's room remains open a crack, letting the sound of his snoring seep out. He must have been exhausted to have fallen asleep so quickly. Malcolm can only hope the maid has already retired as well.

There are three other rooms than the butler's. One is obviously the maid's while the other two seem more lavish. The master bedroom is locked, probably due to the owners not trusting the help. Malcolm slips a knife out of his sleeve and begins to fiddle with the door jamb in hopes of getting it open.

After five tireless minutes, he finally succeeds. He chuckles quietly as the door creaks open. Despite being his first ever robbery, he is far ahead of schedule. The master bedroom is just as dark as the rest of the house, apart from the moonlight shining in through the windows.

There is a mirror in the corner where the madam of the house probably puts on her makeup and jewelry every morning. There are shiny objects all around the table, reflecting in the silvery blue light. Malcolm has brought a burlap sack for this very purpose. He begins to scoop anything of value off the nightstand and makeup table into it.

He spends the next few minutes emptying all of the drawers to the dresser of valuable looking clothing. After looting everything he can possibly grab, he turns around to leave. A heavy thud accompanies his bag hitting the floor as it slips from his grasp. Blocking the doorway is the shadowy figure of a person sitting in a chair. "Who are you?" the soft voice of a young girl reaches Malcolm's ears.

His heart starts to beat as adrenaline sets in. His eyes dart for the window and the hall behind his discoverer. "Can you hear me?" the girl raises her voice. "What are you doing in my parents' bedroom?"

"Nothing," Malcolm mutters as he retrieves the bag from the floor. For the moment she isn't screaming for the butler's aid. He has time to decide what to do. "I wasn't aware this family had children."

"Just me." She shrugs. "Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to have a sibling. I'm Anna by the way."

"Malcolm," he answers without thinking. He quickly slaps himself in the forehead with his free hand.

"You're funny, Malcolm," she giggles. "Are you robbing me?"

"It does look like that, doesn't it?" He lifts the bag up into view. "Should I put it all back?"

"Why?" she lurches forward, illuminating her face in the moonlight. He is immediately aware that her chair is on wheels.

"Are you alright?" he can't help but be concerned. "Do your legs work?"

"Sort of." She moves her feet to show him. "I'm just extremely weak is all."

"What is wrong?" his eyes reflect genuine interest.

"The people of the city call it vampirism," she admits calmly.

"You're anemic," he realizes.

"That's the medical term. I'm in need of constant blood transfusions. They call me a creature of the night."

"That's not very fair." He frowns. From what he can see her skin is quite pale. From the gothic attire she is wearing he is not surprised that people would call her a vampire. Her hair looks silver in the moonlight and her eyes almost glow bright yellow.

"What do you think?" She rolls her chair toward him by taking tiny steps with her slipper covered feet.

"I think you're beautiful," he breathes. Her cheeks flush radiantly in the dim light. He again slaps his forehead as he realizes how pathetic he sounds. "I didn't mean to…" he tries to backtrack.

"You think I'm ugly?" she accuses him.

"I didn't say that…"

"Then I am beautiful," she asks hopefully.

"Fine, if it's so important to you, you're absolutely ravishing. Now can I please go?"

"Am I blocking your path?" She smirks.

"Frankly." He nods.

"Will you return my parents' belongings?"

"I stole them fair and square."

"And my parents bought them fair and square."

"They don't need them. I'm starving in the streets. Give me a break."

"Why should I?" she is all out smiling now. "All I need to do is scream and my butler will be upon you. You'll be tried and beheaded."

"I'll take my chances." He slings the sack over his shoulder. He does not plan to give up easily.

"Pity, I thought you were interesting." She takes a deep breath, preparing to shriek for the butler's benefit.

Malcolm does the only thing he can think of. He leaps across the room and covers her mouth with his hand. "Please be quiet," he begs.

"Why should I?" she mumbles.

"If you don't, then I shall be forced to restrain and gag you." He retrieves a silk handkerchief from the sack to make his point.

"Fine," she sighs. "You're not very fair."

"What kind of burglar is fair?" He smirks.

"I just thought you might be different." She shrugs.

"What do you mean?" he is becoming drawn in. His eagerness to fit her opinion of him is strange and controlling.

"You seem smart. I was hoping you were one of the dashing ruffians one reads about in stories."

"You can't just turn a bandit into a butler, milady," he scolds her. "If that's your mentality then you'll wind up skinned in the woods someday soon."

"So you are a monster?" she confirms.

"I didn't say I would skin you," he groans. "I'm not a monster per say."

"Then you are my dashing ruffian." She bats her eyelashes mockingly. It seems the world is purely good or evil in her eyes.

"Fine, I'm a ruffian. Whether or not I'm dashing is up for debate."

"I find you rather fetching." She eyes him up and down. "How old are you?"

"I'm almost an adult," he answers vaguely. "What about you?"

"I may not look it due to my weakness but I'm fully grown. I turned lady a month ago."

"You're sixteen?" he is taken aback. "You're so much smaller than me."

"I'll take that to mean you are younger."

"Only by a quarter. In two months I'll be sixteen as well."

"Nice to know. Isn't it rather odd to be so chummy with one's prisoner?" she changes the subject.

"You're not my prisoner," he is confused.

"Really? You are keeping me from reporting you."

"That's different," he argues. "I simply would like to keep my head. If I must be unbecoming of a gentleman then so be it."

"I never said I was offended," she assures him. "I don't get out much so I'm enjoying the company. Perhaps you could stay a while and…"

"Malcolm!" Jezebel's voice echoes from the hall. "Malcolm, we're ready to go."

"You're not alone," Anna realizes.

"It is a large place," he tries to laugh.

"There you are, Malcolm." Jezebel pokes her head through the doorway. "We've finished in the kitchen and…" her voice trails off when she spots Anna. "There's someone behind you, Malcolm."

"I know." He shushes her.

"She's going to call someone. We need to go," Jezebel starts to panic.

"No, I won't tell anyone," Anna assures her.

"We can't trust you. Who are you?"

"Anna Grayshek. I live here."

"Good to know. Malcolm, let's go."

"But you promised you'd stay." Anna grabs his arm.

"Malcolm?" Jezebel is shocked.

"I didn't promise anything," he whines.

"Should I scream then?" Anna threatens him.

"Don't, I'm warning you." Jezebel points a brass candlestick at her.

"Malcolm, who is this girl?" Anna demands.

"Who, Jez?" he plays dumb.

"Is she your lover?"

"Lover?" His eyes shoot open.

"What have you been telling her?" Jezebel gasps.

"Nothing. Certainly not that we are lovers."

"You are?" Anna lets go of his sleeve.

"We aren't!" Jezebel insists. "Why would you think that? Do we look like lovers? Do I give off an air of swooning princess or something?"

"You reek of street rat." Anna crosses her arms.

"Charming, this one," Jezebel scoffs.

"I'm a street rat," Malcolm informs Anna.

"You said you were a dashing ruffian."

"Dashing?" Jezebel's eyes pop. Once again Malcolm's palm hits his forehead. "Where is she getting all of this?" Jezebel demands.

"She reads a lot of books," he tries to explain.

"You're quite chummy for having just met," Jezebel accuses him.

"That's what I said," Anna agrees.

"You're the one who's chummy," he gripes.

"Malcolm, hag, where are you," Taylor's voice travels up the stairs.

"Is he shouting?" Jezebel squeaks. "He's going to wake the house."

"Who's a hag?" Anna raises an eyebrow.

"That's our accomplice's new name for Jez it seems," Malcolm surmises.

"Thanks," she grumbles.

"It suits her," Anna giggles.

"Does anyone here even like me?" Jezebel spouts. Anna shakes her head slowly while staring her right in the eyes. "That really hurts," Jezebel's voice quivers.

"Look what you've done," Malcolm scolds Anna. "You've made her sad."

"Why should I care?" Anna is unapologetic.

"She's my friend."

"And you're my burglar," Anna reminds him. "I still haven't decided whether or not to turn you in."

"Do you really want him dead?" Jezebel asks.

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"I can't decide if having you dead too is worth him dying."

Jezebel's jaw drops. Just how unwanted is she in this story. Suddenly it hits her; this is Malcolm's story. He decided to break into a random home and Anna is who he found. This is not a coincidence. She is now part of his story. "This is good," Jezebel mutters.

"How is it good?" Malcolm whines.

"I'm no longer lonely," Anna answers cheerily.

"No, I mean it," Jezebel insists. "We need to come back here later."

"No we don't," Malcolm tries to argue.

"Are you guys up here or not?" Taylor reaches the top of the stairs. "Malcolm, it's time to go… Malcolm, there's someone behind you."

"I know…" he hisses loudly.

"We need to go, Malcolm," Taylor's voice becomes serious.

"You won't leave me, will you?" Anna's lip starts to quiver. Malcolm suddenly feels extremely guilty.

"He'll be back, I promise," Jezebel insists.

"Really?" Anna is hopeful.

"What? Why?" Malcolm is at a loss.

"Honestly, can you live with never seeing her again?" Jezebel asks.

"Probably," he answers honestly.

Anna looks like she is about to cry. "I mean do you want to," Jezebel changes her question. "Don't you want to meet her again sometime?"

"I guess… on better terms," he admits. Anna's face lights up quickly.

"Then we'll be back." Jezebel pats Anna's shoulder.

"Can we go?" Taylor has lost all patience. Both of his accomplices quickly follow him back down the stairs. Once outside again, Malcolm glances back at the master bedroom. Anna is sitting by the window waving at him with a large smile.

He lets out a deep sigh. This has been more taxing than he intended. It is more Jezebel's words than anything but he is beginning to look forward to seeing her again. A sinking feeling tells him that Lottie will not take kindly to his intentions though, especially when she hears that it is Jezebel's idea.

As they carry their loot away from the Grayshek house, Malcolm takes the lead. He keeps his eyes peeled for any castle guards making nightly rounds or local watchmen holding torches. They will not be on the lookout this soon after their first ever robbery but that doesn't stop him from being extra cautious.

Taylor is close behind him, holding his rather large pillowcase of stolen goods over his shoulder. Despite his skinnier frame and shorter stature, he is still a strong young boy. He is doing much better than poor Jezebel who can barely lift her sack of loot and is instead dragging it along the ground, several feet behind Taylor.

The younger boy sticks out his tongue to mock her rudely, not caring at all that she is struggling. He almost wishes she would fall too far behind and be lost; never to return to the theatre again. Something about this girl is off putting. She has a similar feel to her as Malcolm; always plotting something and acting like a leader. It is bad enough to be looked down on by his friends; why should he let this new girl do the same?

Jezebel starts to wheeze as they come to the bridge that separates the slums from the high end neighborhoods. "Can't we rest?" she begs.

"Hags don't get to rest," Taylor taunts her.

"We'll stop once we reach the other side," Malcolm ignores him to address her. "We can't stay under these streetlamps. We're too open."

Reluctantly, she nods in agreement as she heaves her bag forward again. Taylor makes sure to keep at least five yards ahead of her to make it hard on her to keep sight of him. Malcolm grows worried as he glances back at her. If they continue like this, their shouting alone will draw attention. He slows his pace to that of a crawl, letting Taylor pass him and Jezebel catch up.

"I'm not waiting for either of you," Taylor warns him. "I know the way back on my own."

"And what will you do if you're stopped?" Malcolm scolds him. "If you're with me, I can take the blame. If you're alone, you're going to be the one they take."

Taylor opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. He knows Malcolm is right. The only person who should be getting in trouble for this is Malcolm. This was all his idea. "Can we stop here?" Jezebel groans as they reach a stone wall, running parallel to the cobblestone road and the sidewalk.

"Why are you so weak?" Taylor snaps at her. "You're going to get us all caught."

"You want to help her carry her bag?" Malcolm counters quickly.

"Why do you always defend her?" Taylor remains angry. "What do you see in her? She's just using us."

"She's part of the family," Malcolm spits.

"Not as far as I'm concerned." Taylor crosses his arms while sitting down on the stone wall.

Jezebel sits down next to Malcolm to catch her breath. She stares at him apologetically while panting heavily. She feels like a burden to him in more ways than one. He is putting his neck out for her with both Lottie and Taylor repeatedly. She doesn't understand why they hate her so much. Perhaps they can sense how worthless she really is, just like the word doctors and Cassandra.

"Are you okay?" Malcolm lifts her chin to check her responsiveness. "We need to keep moving. I'll carry your bag."

"I can do it." She slings it over her shoulder as she stands up. "You don't have to coddle me."

"Good, cuz we won't," Taylor shouts as he leaps off the wall. Malcolm watches her as she weaves from side to side, trying to keep her balance. He feels extremely sorry for her. She has been trying her hardest to be useful. She has slowly been learning to keep up with him when they go out pilfering in the streets and he has confidence in her ability to improve. She is already trying harder than Lottie who has never so much as lifted a finger to help him provide for the other orphans.

When they finally spot their hideout, Jezebel heaves a huge sigh of relief. She is looking forward to sleeping off this late night adventure in the loft they have built in the rafters of the theatre along with the other orphans under Malcolm's care.

Upon entering the building through the secret hole in the back, they are immediately accosted by Lottie. "You guys really did it!" she starts to scold them immediately. "You've been talking about it for years but now it's finally happened. Malcolm, I expected better of you. Have you let your better judgment be swayed by this sorry excuse for a woman?" She gestures to Jezebel.

"Not you too," Malcolm groans. "Why is it that no one respects me as the leader? If I make a decision, then I'm doing it on my own. No one influenced my mind at all."

"What about with the vampire girl?" Taylor spouts. "Jez is the one who demanded that you go back to see her later."

"Vampire what?" Lottie turns a suspicious eye toward Malcolm.

"She's anemic," he explains. "She's not a real vampire. Not that there are any such things."

"There could be," Taylor interjects. "I've heard stories about vampire hunters like Van Helsing."

"You can't even read," Jezebel takes a cheap shot at him.

"What did he mean you told Malcolm to visit this anemic girl again?" Lottie has turned her attention to the younger girl.

"She seems to be an important character in Malcolm's story…" she begins to explain.

"Enough with the story!" Lottie cuts her off. "You introduced him to yet another girl."

"He did that on his own. He's quite the lady's man." She smirks.

"You wench!" Lottie screams. "So if you couldn't have him, you made sure I couldn't either, is that it?"

"What?" Jezebel is completely confused. "Lottie, you can't really think that you and Malcolm were a thing."

"We could have been," she argues futilely. "We're the parents of this family."

"You're his charge," Jezebel disagrees. "You owe him. You have nightingale syndrome. You need to let him go. He's bound for something bigger. He's a story owner."

"Stop saying that!" Lottie grabs a butter knife off a nearby table. "He doesn't have to follow the story if he doesn't want to."

"But he does want to," Jezebel tries to convince her. "He decided to meet Anna again on his own."

"She's right, I did," Malcolm agrees.

"Jezebel suggested it before he even considered it," Taylor informs Lottie. "He's just covering for her like he always does."

"I knew it!" Lottie slams her fist against the side of the stage, causing the empty building to echo. By now the other orphans have woken up. They are all staring down at the arguing pair from the rafters. "You just have to push your nose where it doesn't belong, don't you, Jez?"

"What about you?" Jezebel continues to argue. She has no reason to listen to anything Lottie is saying. As far as she is concerned, Lottie is completely delusional. "You're the one messing with Malcolm's story path."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Lottie covers her ears. "I don't want to hear another word about stories. We don't need them here. Malcolm and I will continue to live the way we are. We will raise these children and stay together forever."

Jezebel glances at Malcolm's sulking expression. He doesn't want to have to tell her how he really feels. The only thing Jezebel can do is tell her for him. "He's not going to stay with you."

"Liar!" Lottie refuses to listen.

"He's got someone else. I saw the way they looked at each other. He's not yours anymore. He never was."

"Shut up!" Lottie charges at Jezebel who barely manages to raise her arm in front of her face to protect herself. She screams as the dull butter knife punctures her skin, sinking into her arm until it hits bone. Lottie is breathing heavily as she lets go of the handle and backs away. She seems almost shocked at what she has done.

"That's right, Lottie. Kill the hag!" Taylor shouts. "Come on, everyone," he tries to gather the other orphans in cheer. "Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!"

"Enough!" Malcolm bellows louder than anyone else. "What is wrong with you, Lottie?"

"I… I don't know… I didn't mean to…"

"She deserved it," Taylor spouts.

"Not another word out of you!" Malcolm is seething. "Jez, are you okay?"

Jezebel is staring at her impaled arm with wide eyes. The dull blade is filling its own hole, keeping it from bleeding. She can hardly feel it at all but it looks painful. "You're crazy!" she shouts at Lottie. "I can't believe you actually stabbed me."

"Calm down." Malcolm tries to reach for the knife.

"Stay away from me." She rears back. "All of you, stay the bloody hell away from me."

"I'm trying to help you." Malcolm moves toward her again.

"Help? I've had enough of your help. You're all crazy. You people deserve each other." She backs out of the hole in the wall and turns to run. Malcolm chases after her while Taylor smirks happily. Lottie is clutching her shoulders and shivering violently. She was not aware that she was capable of hurting another person, even someone she hated.

Adrenaline fuels Jezebel's flight as she sprints through the street. She has no destination in mind but it doesn't matter. All she wants is to get as far away from them as possible. She tried to do what Mayberry asked. She tried to help Malcolm with his story. All she has to show for her efforts is a serious injury and a theatre full of people who hate her. How can it be this difficult?

As she starts to tire, she slows to a shuffle. She knows where she is going now; she has to see Mayberry. She has to tell her she was wrong. She can't go through this again. She's not strong enough. It is no wonder she's not cut out for her own story. Glancing around, she quickly identifies her location. It seems her subconscious had the same idea as she is not far from the seer's tent.

She stumbles down the side alley that leads to the old man's home and stops in front of the cloth curtain that acts as the door. "Hello!" She pounds on one of the wooden poles used to support the tent. "Are you in there?"

"Quiet," the voice of the old man hisses at her. "Come in before you attract unwanted attention." She pushes the curtain out of the way as she trudges into the one room accommodation. "What happened to you?" He raises his bushy eyebrows so he can see her properly.

"I can't do this," she starts to sob immediately. "I was almost killed by someone I thought was a friend. This is ridiculous and dangerous."

"Did I say it wouldn't be?" he responds without sympathy. "I warned you multiple times. You said you could handle it."

"But…"

"No buts. You promised. Mayberry has wasted time and ink on you already. You've pushed one story forward in the two weeks since you've been here. Now it's time to move on. Here is a list of story owner's Mayberry is having trouble with." He hands her a scroll. "Find the next name and…"

"But my arm," she cuts him off, gesturing to the knife which is still lodge in her flesh.

"Oh, quit whining," he grumbles as he grabs and wrenches it free. She covers her own mouth with her other hand to keep from screaming as blood starts to seep out. He grabs a jar of salve from underneath his gypsy table and lathers some on her wound. Immediately the blood congeals and her arm starts to feel numb. "That will hold you," he assures her. "Now get started on that list."

"I want to speak with Mayberry," she demands suddenly.

"Excuse me?" he is almost surprised.

"I want to see her." She crosses her arms adamantly before wincing in pain as her wound touches her dress.

"You're funny," he pretends to chuckle. She raises an eyebrow as she waits for him to fulfill her request. "Mayberry is busy. She has dozens of kids waiting on her to write their stories. You think you're important? You're the least important one in the batch. The only way you'll even get mentioned is if you find someone else she is writing about."

"But she came to me personally," she argues.

"And consider yourself lucky she did," he scoffs. "Stop acting so spoiled. You're being extremely ungrateful. I was against her giving you this chance. Prove me wrong."

"I…"

"Prove me wrong!" he repeats louder. She stares at him with her jaw hanging open for a moment before retreating from the gypsy shop. She can not believe how unsympathetic he is.

Suddenly a feeling of guilt hits her. A moment ago she was begging Malcolm not to coddle her, now she is demanding special treatment from an old man she owes a debt of gratitude. She has not improved at all. She is still proving the word doctors right; she is not worthy of a story. If she wants to change anyone's mind she will have to keep trying. She has to find the next name on the list and see if they need any help, just as the seer said.

9: Dead Hand's Reef

"Wake up." Theo taps Cassandra repeatedly until she opens her eyes.

"What time is it?" she groans as she glances at the rising sun.

"It's almost time to pack it in. The week's over." They have spent the past ten days fishing every single night. The fish have finally moved on and the competition for the reef is over.

During the course of the week Theo has gradually been treating her much nicer. Every night he taught her how to fish properly by holding her hands as she casts. He also let her sleep on top of the cabin with him so they could watch the stars together. Despite the fact that he is almost ten years older than her, he is still the youngest person she has met since coming to Ferery. She is not positive but it seems as if he may have developed feelings for her.

Barker is cranking the net up one last time before they weigh anchor to set sail back to the dock. They can see the shore from where they are. The marshal is no longer waiting by the cannon as he is not needed anymore. The only people nearby are the other sailors preparing to return to Ferery with them.

Cassandra rushes off to set the sails while Theo directs the net back onto the deck so his father can lower it. None of them are aware of the other sailors shouting at first. In the distance, a much larger ship is approaching. Scotty is the first to notice it. "What is that?" he asks his captain.

"They aren't fishers," the gray bearded man responds. "Who could they be?"

"Perhaps a trade ship, come to barter with the castle," a sailor from another skiff suggests. Their conversation is now loud enough to catch the attention of the Daring Siren's crew. Barker pulls a tiny telescope from his belt and extends it for a better look. Theo climbs on top of the cabin to his favorite resting spot and leans out as far as he can while shading his eyes from the sun.

Cassandra stays down on the deck but still leans over the edge, squinting at the blur in the distance. The chatter from the other fishers is becoming louder. They have only one thing on their mind now; the strange ship floating towards them. Cassandra can't help but feel it is extremely familiar. She has seen it somewhere before; perhaps in the pages of a book.

That is when it dawns on her; The Legend of the Sleeping Mermaid. One of the lesser distributed stories in Hamish. It was extremely popular when the word doctor Orion first brought it. Somehow a boy named Julius had managed to stow away on a mysterious ship. His adventure looked promising until he was discovered.

Captain Beddary Skip had addressed the boy himself. He was held on trial for trespassing and sentenced to be marooned on a desert island far off the shore of Capitith. At the time the story was brand new, everyone was desperate to know what became of little Julius.

Once alone on the island he began to hunt for food and shelter. He survived on his own for weeks, allowing Orion to sell several copies of The Sleeping Mermaid as everyone in Hamish awaited his escape. After the eighth installment though, it became clear that Julius was not going to ever see civilization again. Very few people actually purchased the ninth book in which his demise due to starvation was cataloged.

The whole incident created an uproar which was not squelched until Orion was banned from ever setting foot in Hamish again. What had started out as a wondrous potential for profit had turned into a career ending nightmare. Almost nobody, no matter how desperate, would ever hire Orion as their word doctor again.

It also earned Captain Skip a horrible reputation. Not many stories ever successfully featured him again as avoiding Skip became common practice. One book was enough for people to realize that he did not take pity on children.

Now the Sleeping Mermaid has found its way to Ferery bay where the yearly miracle fishing tournament has just ended. What could soulless treasure seeking pirates possibly want with the kingdom or perhaps its fishermen? Ten strong boats still float by the reef with bated breath, not knowing what is headed their way.

Cassandra starts to hop from one foot to the other. She is not entirely sure of herself and does not wish to cause a panic but if the ship approaching really is the Sleeping Mermaid, then they are all in trouble. The book never even made it out of the village when it was in circulation. No one in Ferery has probably ever read it. Cassandra is the only person with even a clue.

The chatter of the other sailors is becoming frenzied. They are debating whether or not to return to shore and wait for the ship there. The best argument against the idea is that if the ship will be attacking Ferery, they may be the first line of defense for the kingdom.

While the other sailors argue about whether or not it is their job to act as soldiers for the kingdom, Barker and Theo discuss the situation amongst themselves. "We need to get back to shore," Theo surmises.

"We can't just abandon the other sailors if they choose to stand their ground," Barker argues.

"Whether they fight or not is their choice. We have only two men and we have to protect Cassandra."

"You've taken a liking to her, haven't you?" Barker smirks. "You know, she's only thirteen."

"Now is not the time, Barker," Theo calls his father by his name.

Their argument is cut short by a loud pop followed by a splash as the Sleeping Mermaid fires a single warning shot from their bow cannon. "Oh god, they're privateers," Barker gasps.

"Pirates," Cassandra whispers.

"Pirates!" the voices of the other sailors are now panicked. None of them know what to do but running is now out of the question. The cannon ball from the Mermaid landed right next to the reef, meaning that they are definitely within range. All the Mermaid needs to do is turn portside and fire all ten of its cannons at once and they'd all be sunk.

"Are ye listenin'?" a loud authoritative voice bellows out across the bay, originating from the Mermaid. "Who's the leader amongst you?"

"I am!" the captain of the nearest boat to the Siren answers.

"Prepare to be boarded." The other boat, known as the Croaking Hermit, pulls out ahead of its peers, making it easier to access for the approaching Mermaid. All of the other crews watch with bated breath as the large pirate ship pulls up alongside it.

From where she is, Cassandra can see a man in a large black trench coat crossing over a wooden plank to reach the Hermit. It is most definitely Captain Beddary Skip from the pages of The Legend of the Sleeping Mermaid. This is poor young Julius's murderer.

The conversation that follows is too low for any of the surrounding boats to overhear but it seems to be a discussion of surrender. Soon the captain of the Hermit starts to shake his head. He is not in agreement with Skip at all. The result is swift. Theo covers Cassandra's eyes as the pirate captain draws a flintlock pistol from his belt and shoots the man dead in the chest.

Cassandra gasps when she hears the sound of his body splashing against the surface of the water when they throw it overboard. "Did ya all see that?" Captain Skip Bellows. No one speaks but everyone nods. "Turned down me most generous offer. Do ya know what that offer was?"

Again no answer, save for shaking heads. "I wan' everythin' of value you 'ave; fish, wine, bread, everythin'. Also any able bodied men ready to sail with me. Then you'll all retire to one ship before I blow holes in the rest. Anyone who don't oblige can sleep on the reef wit' him." He gestures to the water where the captain of the Hermit is floating.

"You can't do that!" Barker shouts. "This ship is my life."

"No, your life is your life. If you wanna keep it, then do as yer told." Theo glares at his father, warning him to keep his mouth shut. Skip's eyes are no longer on Barker though; they have stopped on the small blue coated girl hiding behind Theo's legs. "Who's that?" he demands while pointing his empty pistol at Cassandra. Theo moves to hide her from view. "Bring us to them," Skip orders his crew.

A few short moments later, the Sleeping Mermaid has docked with the Daring Siren. Captain Skip exchanges his pistol for a loaded one before crossing the plank. "Move," he orders. Theo does not budge. "I can make you move," he warns him, pointing the pistol at his face.

"Please move, Theo," Cassandra whispers.

"Yes, please move, Theo," Skip mocks him. Reluctantly the young man finally steps aside. "What's yer name, lad?" Skip leans his bearded face close to Cassandra's.

"Ca-Cassidy," she stutters.

"Nice good sailor name," he laughs while glancing at his crew for support. They all chuckle in unison while taking a circular position to surround Theo and Barker. "Ever thought o' bein' a privateer, Cassidy?"

"You mean pirate," she corrects him. His face becomes stern and upset at being talked down to. "Watch yer mouth, boy." He slaps her across the face, sending her hat flying.

"Don't!" Theo leaps between Skip and Cassandra, spreading his arms defensively.

"What's wrong with you?" Skip leans around him to look at Cassandra again. "Boys, look at this one." His crew all begins to peer around Theo as well, trying to glimpse Cassandra's pretty eyelashes and round cheeks. "He looks like a lass." His crew continues to gawk while whispering amongst themselves.

"Leave her alone." Theo grits his teeth.

"Pardon?" Skip raises an eyebrow. "What do you care? Are you courting him?"

"So what if I am?" Theo remains stern.

"That's sick. He's a child you know. You're a wopsy," Skip is disgusted.

"A what?" Theo doesn't understand.

"You like men, and young ones at that. We can't have sick people like you running around." Skip cackles while pointing the pistol at him again.

"No!" Cassandra shouts as the gun goes off. Theo falls limp on the deck with a thud as blood splatters Cassandra's face.

"What have you done?" Barker screams.

"Who are you?" Skip turns around. "Are you the captain of this vessel?"

"The name's John, Skip," he answers sternly.

"John, John, hmmm. I know a John," Skip begins to mutter. "Bill John. No, Bob John. Bark John. Barker?" Skip's eyes grow wide. Barker's expression doesn't change. "Now listen, Barker…" Skip starts to stutter.

"That's Captain John to you!" Barker spouts angrily. Skip takes a shaky step back as Barker lunges for him. He veers off toward a crewman though and elbows him in the gut. As the man falls over, writhing in pain, Barker draws the sword from his belt. On cue, all other crewmembers ready their blades as well.

"Hold on, Captain." Skip raises his hands defensively. "What are you so angry about?"

"My son!" Barker spits.

"Your son? That's right; you left to raise your son. What was his name? Teddy was it? Ted? Theodore? Theo?" Skip's jaw drops as his eyes travel to the body on the deck. "Oh god. Captain, I didn't know."

"That's no excuse." Barker's eyes flare.

"Hold on, John. You don' wanna fight us. You won't win," Skip warns him.

"I'll take half of you with me," Barker threatens.

"Capin, who is this?" one of the crew asks Skip.

"He was the captain before," he explains. "Left to raise a family, years ago."

"He really that good of a swordsman?"

"Better than each and every one o' you," he admits. The crew members scoot closer together on the deck, as if that will somehow make them stronger.

"I'll give you one chance," Barker speaks again. "Leave this harbor alone forever and I won't murder your whole crew."

"I can't do that." Skip shakes his head. "If I leave you alive you'll come back an' slit my throat in my sleep."

Barker shrugs, admitting his intentions. Skip dashes for the plank connecting the Siren to the Mermaid while his crew charges forward. They are too close together to move properly though. Barker easily stabs the nearest one in the stomach before circling around behind the group. "Spread out!" The men scatter to the corners of the boat. The one that ends up running in barker's direction is quickly sliced across the chest and tossed overboard.

The men are starting to panic. "Surround him." The eight remaining pirates create a crescent formation, backing Barker toward the bow.

"What are ya waitin' for? Finish him!" Skip shouts from the other side of the Siren. Cassandra gasps as she turns around. She had not noticed him returning to the boat via the plank. "Yer comin' with me, lad." He scoops her up with his arm under her stomach.

"Barker!" she shouts at the elderly fisherman. He turns his head away from his attackers for a split-second. While he is distracted, one of them lunges forward and stabs him in the stomach. He immediately slices off their hand before they can withdraw it.

The men quickly back up again. "Help me please," the handless pirate screams while writhing on the deck.

"Will 'e make it?" one of his crew asks another.

"Not at sea. We'll 'ave to leave 'im here."

"They'll hang him," another argues.

"So be it then."

"You can't leave me behind," he begs as they all retreat back to the Mermaid with their captain.

"Y'all get off easy this time," Skip shouts at the other fishing boats. "You 'ave Barker to thank for that."

As soon as the Mermaid has set sail again, the other nine skiffs close in on the Siren. The first man aboard grabs Barker by the shoulders to keep him from falling over. The rest of them rush to see the extent of Theo's injuries.

Cassandra is standing on the deck of the Mermaid as it drifts out to sea. She wants to scream and shout for help but it would be a selfish thing to do. Somehow the majority of the fishermen escaped without harm. She has no idea if Barker will survive his injury but she is positive Theo is dead.

She sinks to her knees as she watches the bay of Ferery disappear behind them. She is crying silently to herself. "Don't fret, lad," Skip approaches her from behind. "I won't be hurtin' you." She glances up at him with her tear filled eyes and blood covered face. "Good lord," he gasps.

"Sir?" the majority of his crew rushes to the source of his outburst.

"Nothin'. Get back to work!" he orders quickly. Cassandra continues to blink at him; her pretty eyes dripping down over her freckled cheeks, creating clean streaks in the mess. "By my stars and gardens; ya really are a lass, ain't ya?" he sighs. She nods slowly. "Don' worry; it's our little secret." He removes his hat and sets it on her head.

"The-thank you," she manages to speak.

"Good lass." He winks at her before marching back across the deck to shout at his crew. Cassandra gives the bay one last fleeting glance before standing up again. For the third time in ten days her life has taken a drastic turn. There is nothing she can do but get used to it.

10: The Water God

Despite traveling all the way to the cove, the humans are denied entry by the rest of the matriarch. Instead, Jameson and the tribe members wait on a small island while Califf watches them carefully. It is several days before Drea actually returns with the matriarch's decision.

"Well?" Califf is hopping up and down, impatiently. Jameson finds it extremely surprising that she is even considered part of the matriarch. Apparently what role they will play in the hierarchy can be discerned at birth and someone decided that she was important.

"We have agreed to wake the great water spirit to fight the fire spirit under one condition."

"What? What is it? What, what, what?" Califf is far too hyperactive.

"The sacrifice intended for the fire spirit will instead go to the water spirit."

"Understood," the chief spouts before anyone can object.

"No, no, no!" Jameson is not happy. "Why does this great water spirit need to eat people too?"

"Once woken it will not return to slumber unless appeased," Drea answers.

"So we're basically just trading one monster for another." He crosses his arms angrily.

"This is how things work." Druine places a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "All you need to do is choose a sacrifice."

"Why is it his job?" Califf is curious. "Is he some king of prodigy?"

"He is a great story owner," the chief answers. "He will bring us salvation."

"Can you stop adding pressure?" Jameson snaps. During his time with the tribe he has gotten over quite a few of his original weak habits but it has not convinced him that he is any more worthy of this responsibility than before.

"Do not forsake your role," the chief scolds him. "Druine, make sure he doesn't try to abandon us."

"And where would I go?" Jameson gestures to the ocean surrounding the black rocks they are camped upon.

"Quickly choose the sacrifice and we will wake the water spirit," Drea interrupts. "Which one of you is brave enough?"

Jameson glances at each of the seven children in turn. They all look terrified, knowing that he holds their lives in his hands. "How do I choose?" He grabs his head.

"It's a matter of who is most worthy," Drea informs him.

"I'm not a good judge of worth," he continues to whine. "How am I supposed to make a decision that will end someone's life?"

"This is the man you have chosen?" the chief asks his granddaughter disappointedly.

"He'll learn to be brave," she tries to support Jameson.

"Which will do you no good if he sacrifices you," Califf quips.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Druine's eyes narrow. "You wouldn't even need to sing him a song. You sirens are all the same."

"Enough," Drea interrupts them. "I am ashamed of both of you. Such trivial matters pale in comparison to the situation at hand. Druine, trust me when I say no one understands your pain more than I. If I could change what I did, I would. Perhaps Catlith would still be alive if he had stayed with you. I really did love him, you know."

"I know." Druine nods. "I'm over him. He would not have left me if he hadn't loved you too. I just can't stand the thought of it happening again."

"It will not matter if none of us survive this summer," Drea reminds her. "Think of these things when we are not at war with the fire spirit."

"I still don't know how to choose," Jameson interrupts them. "Why is this my job?"

"Because you are a story owner," Califf answers. "You have great potential and the ability to connect with others. If this truly is your story, you will be able to sense who is the most important character besides yourself. Close your eyes and I'll show you." She takes his hands. Druine sits down on a large rock, crossing her arms and pretending not to be annoyed. "Try to feel the presence of the seven sacrifices. Tell me which one speaks loudest."

Jameson does not entirely understand what she is saying but he does as she instructs. He keeps his eyes shut while trying to sense the nearby tribe members. Slowly an image starts to form in his mind; what he can only assume are the black rocks surrounding them along with several pillars of blue light, each representing a soul.

He can immediately tell that Drea's and the chief's souls are damaged. Their pillars are twisted and faded in some areas, probably because they are older and have had more experiences, good and bad. He also notices that two of the souls are glowing brighter than the others. One of them is right in front of him. "Why are you so illuminating?" he asks Califf in an awestruck voice.

"I suppose I am more important to your story than I realized. Perhaps I am the intended sacrifice."

"Don't be ridiculous," Drea scoffs. "We are not sacrificing one of ours. Choose a human sacrifice."

Jameson turns to face the other seven pillars without opening his eyes. Six of them appear to be exactly the same. The final one is glowing almost as bright as Califf's. He already knows whose it is. "Druine, I'm sorry."

"Wait," the chief is shocked. "Why her? You have six other choices."

"It doesn't work like that," Drea interjects. "His story demands someone with a connection. It seems your granddaughter and he have grown too close."

"That means nothing in the eyes of the spirits," he argues. "It simply means a more interesting story for the men in white."

"It's alright, grandfather," Druine shushes him. "I was prepared for this from the beginning."

"But I worked so hard," he continues to complain. "I did everything I could to protect you. Why didn't you listen when I warned you not to speak with him?"

"I didn't want to," she admits while smiling at Jameson who has only just opened his eyes. "I needed to know more about him. I guess I got my wish. Take good care of him, Califf. I won't forgive you if he joins me in the afterlife too soon."

"Already giving up?" Califf shakes her head disappointedly. "You are a pathetic opponent. I won't allow you to take it back. You have given him to me."

"No one is giving me to anyone!" Jameson finally shouts. "I am not property to be traded. After seeing you two fight like this I don't think I would want to be with either one of you, whether or not I was busy with my story. I have done what you asked; I chose a sacrifice. Now I will take my leave. I have to continue my story."

"Not yet." Drea blocks his path. "You need to see this through. I'm sure you've realized this by now but we are a part of your story, as are the spirits. This is your journey."

Jameson stares at her blankly for a moment. The truth is he knows she is right. He just didn't want her to be. This is not some grandiose adventure like he first imagined; so far he has faced nothing but difficulty. He wants to move on to the next chapter as soon as possible but the only way to do that is to finish this one. "Alright," he finally agrees. "Let's wake the water spirit."

Immediately Califf and Drea start screeching. All of the humans cover their ears as several more sirens rise from the depths of the sea. They quickly move onto the rocks and surround Druine. Somehow they already know who is to be the sacrifice. Perhaps the sound Drea and Califf are making is a form of language. Druine raises her arms, letting the sirens touch her waist.

Slowly they lead her toward the edge of the island while the rest of the tribe members watch with fearful expressions. The chief looks like he wants to attack the creatures before they have a chance to drown his granddaughter but he knows better than to interfere. "Don't worry," Drea whispers to Druine. "It will be painless." She gulps loudly in response but otherwise remains silent.

Jameson watches as the sirens start to leap into the water one by one. Druine takes a deep breath before being pulled in along with Califf. A week ago he definitely would have closed his eyes and refused to look, but now he keeps them open and focused. He is to blame for this. He has no right to be squeamish. Several bubbles rise to the surface of the water as the sirens disappear into the depths. Slowly they start to dissipate until they are no more, leaving a peaceful calm in their place.

Down in the deep blue water, Druine continues to hold her breath as she is dragged by her arms by Drea and Califf. They are pulling her toward the bottom of the ocean. She is surprised to find herself relaxing rather than struggling. She does not even feel the need to breathe yet. As they sink further and further, the light from the sun starts to fade. Soon it is pitch black and she is unable to see anything except for the eyes of the sirens, now glowing with reflected light.

Drea and Califf keep hold of her so she will not get lost as they reach a shelf before a drop off into a large abyss. She can already guess what is below it. Suddenly, several tentacles spring up from the black depths, startling her into trying to breath. She covers her mouth quickly as several bubbles escape her lips. Soon the creature's entire bulbous head has risen above the shelf. It has at least a dozen eyes, all staring right at her.

She struggles as the effects of suffocating start to set in. She is beginning to black out from lack of oxygen and is too dizzy to keep her eyes focused. Finally she passes out. At least she won't be able to feel it when the end comes.

Jameson can see the bubbles rising to the surface. He is sure they are Druine's last breath. Suddenly, Califf leaps out of the water, landing a good twenty feet from the edge of the island. She looks absolutely terrified. Soon the rest of the sirens start to leap up onto the rocks as well. They are running from something.

Jameson peers over the edge of the island, trying to see through the murky water. He notices a large silhouette under the surface, growing bigger. He falls backwards as the very same tentacle monster he saw in the chief's book rises up from the ocean. It blinks its dozen eyes as they adjust to the air. Jameson gulps loudly.

"Run!" Drea shouts at him. He is frozen in place though. Califf has to drag him away by the arm.

He continues to stare at the giant creature as it pursues them both. He can see someone wrapped in its tentacles, dangling in the air unconscious. "Druine!" he shouts when he recognizes her. "What happened?"

"The spirit was unsatisfied with the sacrifice," Califf answers. "He wants someone else."

"Who, me?" Jameson is worried.

"No, me," Califf corrects him. "You were right the first time; I'm supposed to be the sacrifice."

"Good!" the chief shouts unsympathetically as he leads the rest of his tribe to a safe distance.

"I will not have any of my sirens dying for this," Drea is adamant. "Story owner, do something."

"What?" He glances around hopelessly as Califf continues to drag him. By now it is obvious that the creature is only chasing them. The chief tosses him his ritual staff which has a pointed rock tethered to the top like a spear.

"Do not kill our spirit!" Drea warns him.

"I'm not really concerned about the spirit right now," Califf spouts.

Jameson lets go of her hand and takes a stance facing the monster, waiting for it to dive toward him. Even with its whole head out of the water, it is only half visible. The rest of its serpent like body is still slithering somewhere deep in the ocean. Its tentacles knock him backwards before he can even attempt to stab it. Califf quickly drags him away before it can grab hold of him.

"It's too strong," he wheezes. "There is no way I can even get close enough."

Califf takes a long look at the creature, judging its height and distance. She then turns to Drea, silently locking eyes, as if asking permission to harm the great spirit, which she receives. "I can get you close," she assures Jameson. "Please don't kill it."

He is not sure he even can injure it at all but he still nods. Califf leaps into the air, dragging Jameson with her by the arm. To his surprise she is able to lift him with ease. Sirens are apparently much stronger than humans. They soar at least twenty feet into the air, reaching eye level with the great beast. It glares at them intently, almost as if it can't decide what to do.

The entire time Jameson was listening to the chief and the sirens describe the water spirit, he assumed it was nothing more than a mindless monster. He can tell now that it is not. It understands who he is and what he wants from it; it simply does not care. It is not concerned with the fire spirit or sacrifices. It only wants to feed.

The creature moves away from them, letting them fall back to the ground before lunging again. Califf yanks Jameson out of range just as the monster tries to swallow him. It wants one of them desperately; or perhaps both.

It is not hard to understand why it views Califf as the largest threat. Jameson can already feel it again; the way he felt when she touched his hand before, helping him choose a sacrifice. There is something unique about this siren. She has a strange connection to him he can't explain.

Again the creature dips its gigantic head, trying to fit Jameson into its mouth. By now he is just letting himself be dragged anywhere Califf pulls him. If they weren't running for their lives, he might actually be enjoying the attention. He even smiles at Califf when she checks to make sure he is still with her, something that confuses her. "What?" she asks. "Is something funny?"

"You," he answers honestly. "You're helping me for no reason."

"What about you?" she counters. "Why are you with these jungle dwellers? If you absolutely wanted to, you could run off and start your story over again somewhere safer."

"And then I'd just find another monster to fight and have to decide whether or not to run again. There's no way out for me. I am a story owner. This is what we do."

"Fair enough," she accepts his explanation. "Ready to try again?"

"Go for it!" he shouts as she uses her powerful legs to launch them into the air again. This time they actually make it higher than the creature's head. Jameson aims the chief's spear at the softest looking part of its neck, right between the tentacles still holing Druine.

"Don't kill it," Califf quickly reminds him, causing him to roll his eyes. He doesn't see how he could possibly injure this monstrosity anyhow. Califf lets go of his hand finally, letting him fall toward the creature's neck while she lands on the ground, tumbling to keep from hurting herself.

Jameson closes his eyes, just as the spear hits the creature's skin. If this doesn't work, he doesn't want to watch what happens next. To his surprise, the weapon sinks in as easily as teeth biting into a soft fruit. He can't help but cringe as he imagines it. The creature squeals out in pain, making the first sound Jameson has heard from it. Immediately it starts to thrash, trying to throw him off. It is no use though; the chief's spear is strong, even in Jameson's shaking hands.

Again the creature shrieks. It almost sounds like the very noise the sirens use to communicate. After a while the beast's movement starts to slow. It is growing tired. Finally Jameson opens his eyes. He can see where the spear is sticking out of its flesh. There is no blood whatsoever; not that Jameson would even know what the blood of a sea monster looks like. It seems that he has not even caused any permanent damage though.

Eventually the creature falls, colliding with the hard ground. Jameson must have caused it to pass out. "Is it dead?" one of the tribe members asks hopefully while peeking out from behind a set of jagged rocks.

"It better not be." Drea glares at Jameson angrily. "We will avenge our god if you kill it."

"I think I hit a pressure point," Jameson yells from the top of the creature's head where he is trying to free Druine from its tentacles. "It'll recover."

"Good." The chief claps excitedly. Now we lead the fire spirit here.

"How do you suggest we do that?" Drea remains upset.

"I have gone to the volcano every summer and gazed into the fiery abyss," the chief starts to ramble. "I know that the great spirit is about to escape. I…"

Suddenly Jameson's stomach lurches. He had forgotten about the volcano entirely. If he is correct, it should be erupting any day now. "Califf, I need your help."

"Yes?" she calls up to him.

He leaps off the back of the water spirit while clutching Druine close, landing in front of her. "Can you take me to the volcano?"

"Well…" Califf looks to Drea for instructions. She nods once while blinking calmly. "Yes, story owner, I can take you."

"My name is Jameson," he finally introduces himself properly. "Quickly now."

The sirens and humans watch as Califf drags Jameson toward the edge of the island by the arm. She leaps off swiftly and gracefully, pulling him in tow. She dives underneath the water, slithering like a fish. He holds his breath as they glide away from the rocks, faster than he could have imagined. She is in her element now, unrestricted.

He watches the sunlight reflecting off her peach colored scales as they swim through the water, matching the current and letting themselves be swept off. She is a magnificent sight; a creature right out of the fairytales he has read since he was young. The very reason he wanted his own story in the first place.

Even at this pace, it still takes what feels like forever before they even reach another island. This one is just as rocky and black but much larger, with a tall peak extending into the sky. It is definitely the volcano. Jameson gasps for breath as he pulls himself onto the shore. Califf is still swimming in the swallow water, blinking at him curiously. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to wake the fire spirit," he answers truthfully with a twinge of uncertainty.

"You definitely are a story owner; no doubt about that. I just hope your story doesn't end before it even begins." She remains down on the shore as he starts to climb the jagged rocks. They are warm to the touch, probably from molten lava running underneath. It would be extremely uncomfortable for the creature of the water to brave the heat.

Slowly he makes his way to the top of the peak, pausing every once in a while to catch his breath. At the very top the air is thick with smoke, bellowing up from the belly of the volcano. Jameson starts to cough as he peeks his head over the edge. His eyes start to dry out almost immediately, causing him to squint at the boiling inferno. "Well?" Califf calls to him in her shrill voice, startling him slightly. "Can you see the fire spirit?"

"I can't tell." He blinks at the fire bellow. It is impossible to see anything at all with his eyes half closed and the ash rising in the air. He does not even believe there is a fire spirit anymore. After all, how can anything survive the burning pit he is looking at? Just then he hears it, the rumbling groan of something deep inside the volcano. It is definitely not shifting lava like he assumed. Perhaps the chief is correct. Perhaps the fire spirit is still down there, waiting for its chance to escape.

Jameson leans a little closer, trying to get one proper look at the molten rock, just to convince himself he has tried his best. What he is finally able to see startles him so much he nearly falls in. There are two great yellow glowing orbs staring up at him; the eyes of the beast. They are surrounded by what he had mistaken for cooled lava before; black scales in the form of jagged rocks. It is real. The great fire spirit is staring right at him.

"Jameson?" Califf calls again.

"Run!" he shouts.

"What?"

"Run!" he repeats as he leaps off the side of the mountain, falling several feet before hitting a jutting ledge. He can already hear the beast moving on the other side of the volcano wall. It is trying to claw its way out. It may have just mustered the motivation.

"What's happening?" Califf asks as Jameson continues to slide down the side of the peak, bringing a landslide of shale in his wake. Her eyes shoot open as she realizes that she will be crushed if she doesn't move; of course, so will he. She waits as long as possible for him to reach the base of the mountain before leaping as high as she can, grabbing him again and pulling him down into the water.

They sink down as far as they can, avoiding rocks and trying to see through the water now murky with dust and ash. Not until they are at least a mile out to sea do they resurface. Jameson immediately starts to sputter for air. "I'm sorry; I forget you don't have gills. Maybe I should give you some."

"No, no gills," he coughs. "Wait, how would you even do that?"

"It's hard to explain. Hold on, what were you doing up there? You nearly got us both killed."

"I…" his answer is cut off by the sound of something exploding. Turning back to the island they can see the top of the volcano pluming outward. It has begun to erupt. "Go!" Jameson shouts. Califf doesn't need to be told twice. They swim off in the direction of the first island, keeping their heads above water so he can breathe.

Jameson cranes his neck to look back at the mountain now shattered and broken with lava seeping down into the water and causing steam to rise. It is hardly visible behind the screen of smoke and soot but he is sure it is there. He can see its glowing yellow eyes. The great fire spirit has escaped.

The sirens and tribe members are still waiting for them when they return to the first island. "What have you done?" the chief demands. His eyes are wide and terrified.

"Quickly, wake up the water spirit," Jameson orders. He has no time to explain himself. This was in fact the original agreement; have the two monsters fight each other. Drea leads her sirens into a semicircle around the water spirit. They all close their eyes and begin to chant in shrill voices. Califf remains next to Jameson though. She is too tired from swimming between the two islands to help.

As the chanting continues, the water spirit starts to stir. The voices of the sirens seem to have a rejuvenating effect on it. The spear is still lodged in its neck, but it seems unaware as it rises up into the sky once more. It blinks at Jameson and Califf with its many eyes, almost debating whether or not attacking them again would be worth it.

Its chance to act is taken from it though as a huge geyser erupts from the water behind it. The humans and sirens both run for cover as the claws of the giant fire spirit emerge first. It has been following Califf and Jameson all the way back by running along the ocean floor.

It clamps onto the serpent like body of the water spirit before it has time to react. The sea monster responds by wrapping the attacking claws in tentacles, which begin to stretch and snap when the fire spirit tries to escape. Again the water spirit's pained shriek forces all watching to cover their ears.

"This is not good. We have to protect the water spirit," Drea is worried.

"It'll be better if they both kill each other," the chief disagrees.

"I will have all of your heads if my water god dies."

"You heard her," the chief changes his tone quickly. "Ready anything you have and attack the fire spirit. This will be the last year we have to sacrifice anyone." All of the tribe members, expect for the still unconscious Druine, pick up whatever knives and spears they brought along with some heavy rocks before rushing toward the fighting pair of monsters.

At that moment, the fire spirit decides it wants to fight on solid land, rather than it its enemy's element. It leaps out of the water and lands on the opposite side of the island, shaking the entire collection of rocks and knocking everyone off their feet except for Drea. She again leads her sirens in chorus as they sing to their god, rejuvenating it once more.

Jameson can't help but feel that it is a bad thing to do. As Califf is still trying to recover, he takes responsibility for her, leading her away from the attacking humans and screeching sirens. He sets her down on a flat rock at the edge of the island.

The water spirit starts to slither out of the ocean in order to approach the clawed fire monster once more. It moves right past Jameson and Califf, giving them a fleeting glance with two of its many eyes. It is definitely still thinking about eating them. Jameson grits his teeth as it passes them by. "You're going to kill it, aren't you?" Califf realizes.

"You know I have to," he sighs. "Once the fire spirit is gone, nothing will be left to stop it. It won't act as your god; it will simply destroy and devour."

"Drea will never let you. She'll have all of the sirens sing a song so powerful you will bleed from your eyes and ears."

"Can you counter them? What if you sing to me first?"

"I can't out sing the entire chorus. It's impossible. Not even Drea can, and she'll be singing with them. I can't even out sing Drea alone."

"She's that good?" Jameson is surprised. "Can she control the water spirit?"

"It is like a thousand minds rolled into one. She would need at least that many sirens. All she can do is make suggestions she hopes it will heed."

"What about the fire spirit? Will it listen to her?"

"Maybe." Califf's eyes light up when she realizes what he is thinking. "I'll go tell her right away. You need to find a weapon." Jameson's eyes dart toward the neck of the giant sea monster immediately as Califf runs off. He knows it will be difficult to scale it again without her help. At least now more of the monster's body is out of the water, giving him a place to start climbing.

He grabs onto the scaly creature's tail and hoists himself up onto it. He runs up its back, parallel to its fins, making sure to duck every time one of its eyes tries to locate whatever is tickling it. The fire spirit does a good job of distracting it though, clawing at its mane of tentacles every few seconds and even clipping a few of them off.

Finally he reaches its neck. He knows that he will only have one chance as the sea monster will definitely feel this giant pin being removed. On cue, the sirens change their song, switching focus from one creature to the other. The fire spirit's glowing yellow eyes start to blink rapidly, turning a bloodshot shade of red in the process. Try as it might, it can not escape the noise in its head.

The sea monster takes its chance to lunch, preparing to bite one of the claws. It clamps down with its razor sharp shark teeth just as Jameson jerks the spear free from its neck. It shrieks out in pain once again, spreading its jaw wide before snapping them shut, severing the fire spirits claw entirely.

This time it is the fire spirit's turn to scream. A much less shrill sound but still earsplitting. What looks like lava but must be blood pours from its new stump. Its eyes are twisting and changing color repeatedly but it has even less control now between its pain and the song of the sirens. It just barely manages to dodge another attempt at its remaining claw by the serpent only to have its tail flip up out of the water and come crashing down on it.

Jameson cringes as he sees the molten liquid oozing from the poor creature's head. It has been severed in half by the mighty serpent. It squeals and screams, scampering with its pillar like legs, trying to escape the crushing weight but it is too much. The serpent lifts its tail only for a moment, bringing it down on its opponent's head again, this time ending its life.

The attacking tribe members quickly move to avoid being touched by the glowing blood which must be as hot as the volcano it lived in for over two decades. The serpent is the only one of the onlookers not stunned. In fact, it takes Drea a while to realize her chorus has stopped singing. She immediately starts them up again, desperate to control the water spirit before it decides to attack them again.

It is too late though as the giant monster turns its focus back to Califf, the one it has been after this whole time. Instinctively the other sirens move to surround her, preparing to fight their god if they have to. "Do not harm it," Drea warns them.

"We protect our priestess," a deep red siren hisses at her.

"Priestess?" Jameson is shocked. Is Califf the priestess of the sirens? Is that what she was chosen for at birth? It is no wonder the water spirit sees her as a threat. If she so wished, she could imprison it in much the same way Fellore did with the fire spirit. Jameson has definitely stumbled upon the remains of Fellore's unfinished story.

"We can not harm the water god," Drea continues to argue.

"I can!" Jameson shouts loud enough to be heard from the top of the creature's head.

"You wouldn't dare." Drea's eyes widen.

Without another word, Jameson points the spear downward, driving it into the creature's flesh. After imbedding it all the way up to the last inch, it finally hits skull. This time the creature is definitely bleeding, spewing some sort of blue liquid. All twelve of its eyes roll back, disappearing into its head. It sways from side to side, losing all sense of balance. Califf leaves the circle of sirens, rushing toward the falling creature.

Jameson leaps off its back just before its head hits the jagged rocks again, this time much harder. Its tail is not far behind. It falls into the water though, sinking like a stone and dragging the rest of the creature with it. The sirens rush to pull Califf and Jameson away as their god slips into ocean, almost peacefully. Its silhouette grows smaller and smaller as it disappears into the depths. It is almost certainly dead.

"What have you done?" Drea is in utter shock.

"I did what you wouldn't," Jameson answers sternly. Somehow he has found some courage within his normally reclusive shell.

"That was our god!"

"It was going to kill the priestess," the other sirens side against Drea.

"I am the deity vassal. I am responsible for the water spirit. What will I tell the others?"

"We will explain to them," the sirens insist. "It is not your fault."

"They will blame Jameson," Califf realizes. "They will want him drowned as penance."

"Go." Drea waves her hand at him. "Go before we have you executed for your crime, story owner."

"I want to go with him." Califf moves to stand beside him.

"You know why you can't," Drea sighs. "You are our priestess. Without our god you will be needed even more."

"I have no obligation to you," Califf disagrees. "I have a right to choose my own path. You don't you accept the role of priest."

"They will never let me." Drea shakes her head. "Not after this shame."

"It's not my concern." Califf whines.

"You can't live on land. They will never accept you," Drea continues to argue.

"You can't come with me," Jameson interrupts them. "I am a story owner. I must keep moving. You would only slow me down."

"Well said," the chief cheers loudly. "Let us all return to our camp in the jungle. Has Druine woken up yet?"

"I have, grandfather," she responds groggily while standing up slowly, "and I have made a decision."

"Not you too," he groans. "Why do so many young people want to follow you, story owner?"

"It does not matter. She's not coming with me," Jameson insists.

"You can't stop me." Her eyes flare. "You'll never survive on your own."

"Excuse me? I just killed a giant sea monster."

"With an entire armada of sirens helping you. I guarantee you're going to have to fight more creatures like that in your story."

"How do you know? I might have a peaceful life of traveling."

"You are basically in a sequel to Marigold's Priestess Fellore. You are destined to be a beast slayer just as she was a beast tamer."

"I decide what my story is," he disagrees.

"How about a wager then," she suggests. "We will see what your story is called. If I am correct, you are a fighter not a peace keeper."

"How will we find a copy of my story? The first issue will not even be released yet."

"It will be in Capitith by next week, detailing this entire adventure. It won't hurt to read it, after all you already lived the events it will include."

"Fine, what do I get if I win?"

"I will return to the jungle and never bother you again. But if I win, I stay with you and become a permanent member of your story."

Jameson bites his lip as he thinks. If it weren't for the fact that he just killed a monstrous sea creature he would definitely assume he was destined for a peaceful story; now he is not so sure. Perhaps Hemlock was right; he may have some potential after all. "Fine." He holds out his hand so she can shake it. "As soon as we are back on the beach, we make for Capitith."

"That will take a while," the chief informs them. "We will have to row the boats this time." He gestures to the sirens, who are already leaping back into the water. Califf gives Jameson one last fleeting glance before disappearing in the murky blue ocean. He feels a twinge in his chest, almost like sadness. He does not know why though. He is positive he could never actually care for a creature such as her.

11: The Sword Swallower

"Hello? Excuse me? Can you please open the door?" Jezebel bangs loudly on the wooden barrier of the tenth house she has visited since receiving the list of Mayberry's story owners from the seer. "I just want to talk with Nathaniel. Can he please come to the door?"

"There's no Nathan here anymore, child," the voice of an elderly woman hisses as the door opens a crack. "He took off after that mad woman came by telling him he was destined for something better."

"Mayberry was here? When?" Jezebel is suddenly sidetracked. She is still hoping to speak with her word doctor again. Perhaps it is not too farfetched to request a story of her own now that she has actually been part of Malcolm's.

"That wretched hag is long gone," the old woman scoffs.

Jezebel winces at the word. She has not quite gotten over how Taylor always called her a hag. "Please, mum, I simply need to know where she went."

"No idea," the woman's voice softens. "I suppose she offered you something like my grandson. He was so bright and talented. Now he's nothing more than a street performer. He says he's waiting for something. Says he'll know it when he sees it."

Jezebel's heart leaps slightly. It is a little narcissistic but perhaps she is what he is waiting for. "Where is Nathaniel now?" she asks eagerly.

"He goes by Nathan,' the old lady informs her. "He's down by the tavern, making a mint performing his usual routine… unless he's added a few tricks since last time I went down there… to show him my charity," she pauses before adding the last part.

"Thank you, mum." Jezebel curtsies before clopping down the steps in her sandals. Her feet are starting hurt from running so much in them but she has no choice; she left her boots back at the theatre along with the rest of her supplies. She has been surviving for the past week on what Malcolm taught her about pick pocketing. She is nowhere near as good as him though and has almost been caught several times, leading her to the decision to only try when she is absolutely desperate.

She doesn't need to run as she heads for the nearest tavern, but she still does. She feels as if time to find other story owners is running out. If she doesn't join another story soon she will be disappointing herself, Mayberry and the seer. She needs this. She slows to a trot as she reaches the business street. There are bakeries, blacksmith shops and above all else, taverns.

Several of the shop owners wave to Jezebel as she passes by. None of them know her name but she stands out, especially since she started asking questions about other story owners. Her destination is obvious. There is a group of street performers showing off for money right in front of a tavern called Mystics. Rather than interrupting, Jezebel borrows a whicker basket from a nearby shop to sit on.

There is a musician playing a rather annoying tune on a flute along with a juggler tossing lit torches in the air. The center of the performance seems to be a young man holding two rather long daggers though. He is wearing a black vest over a white dress shirt and sporting a top hat, making him look like a regular magician.

The juggler and musician step back to give him room as he holds up his swords for the gathered audience to see. Once he is confident they can see that they are real, he sets his hat on the musician's head and tilts his own neck back. Jezebel watches entranced as he places the tip of one of the swords in his mouth and swallows. The blade slides down into his esophagus with ease. Jezebel starts to clap loudly, definitely impressed. Soon the other onlookers join in.

"You've seen him do this a dozen times people," the juggler scolds them jokingly. "Who wants to see if this big mouthed kid can fit a second blade in there?"

Immediately the audience starts to cheer, daring him to do it. The man who Jezebel can guess is Nathan by now keeps his head tilted so as not to cut himself as he aims the second sword at his mouth. It does not go down as easily but he still manages to swallow it. Another round of applause, with Jezebel still the loudest, and he is ready to retire.

Slowly he pulls the first blade out. He seems to be having trouble breathing though as he grasps for the second one. He tugs a little too quickly, forming a bulge in his throat. The crowd gasps as blood starts to trickle from his mouth. Finally he pulls the weapon out, coughing and sputtering violently. The juggler and musician continue without even blinking as he collapses on the cobblestone sidewalk.

Jezebel's mouth hangs open as she waits for him to move. She just found another story owner and he may have already ended the tale before it even began. Suddenly he starts to twitch. His legs flail awkwardly and his arms flop about. He braces his feet properly and rises from the ground without even using his hands, like a puppet on strings. Slowly the crowd starts to clap as they realize that he is alive.

He watches each one of their reactions with a twinkle in his eyes, coming to a stop on Jezebel whose mouth is still agape. He strides into the crowd, pushing people aside in order to reach her and takes her by the hand, pulling her to her feet. She starts to stammer, unsure what to say. To her surprise, he plants a kiss on her lips, causing the rest of the crowd to gasp.

When he pulls away, she notices something large still covering her mouth. She opens her jaw slightly to let it fall into her palm. Immediately though she drops it to the ground with a wet plop. It is a ripe and fresh strawberry, obviously the source of the fake blood seen earlier. This is his way of putting her mind at ease. He must have sensed that she was not entirely convinced of his recovery.

"Thank you," is all she manages to say. Immediately she regrets it though. Receiving fruit via a kiss is not something one normally thanks someone for.

"You're very welcome, milady. I live to dazzle young hearts such as yours," he takes it as a compliment to his performance. "I'm afraid that this show is over but," he pauses to look at the owner of the tavern, "If I have impressed you all enough, I shall have a full performance inside Mystics tomorrow night."

"Yes, yes," the barkeep grumbles. "I'll put the sign in the window now. I'll give you ten percent of admissions, Nathan." Soon the crowd has begun to disperse, all chattering about whether or not they will bother to attend. Some of them even drop a few donations into Nathan's hat, which the musician is now holding upside down.

Jezebel quickly checks her pockets thoroughly, finding a single shilling and nothing more. She pinches it tightly while holding it above the overturned hat. She is about to drop it when she feels a hand on her shoulder. "Now, now, you don't have to be so kind," Nathan laughs. "I'm not going to rob you of your life's worth."

"I really did enjoy the show," she begins to sputter. "I just don't have anything to my name."

"Neither did I once." He smiles warmly. "I started out with nothing. I bought all of this, these clothes, this hat, these swords with money I earned from generous people like you. I won't, however, take your money." He pushes her hand back into her pocket. "I'm sorry, have we met somewhere before? I feel like I know you."

She quickly shakes her head. "I'm just lost right now. I don't know where to go."

"I can tell you don't mean in the conventional way." He eyes her slyly. "You're lost in life with no place to belong." She nods slowly. "I could always use help preparing for the show tomorrow night. I've never had a stage to perform on. Perhaps you could help with the curtains."

Jezebel's eyes light up. This is a perfect opportunity to show her worth. She used to spend her free time in the theatre fiddling with the ropes and the rafters. She knows practically everything there is about them. "I'll help, I'll help," she is almost too eager. Suddenly a sinking feeling fills her stomach. Why is it that when she finds a story owner, she always ends up needing their help more than they need her?

Nathan keeps his hand on her shoulder as he leads her into the tavern. As it is still early, there are no customers yet. Lawrence, the owner, is busy polishing the bar. "First drink's on the house." He offers them each a tanker.

"Sarsaparilla," Jezebel quickly spouts. She is too young for alcohol but she is not going to turn down anything free.

Lawrence sweeps his graying hair out of his eyes. "Oh," he is startled. "I was not aware you were part of the performance. It makes sense now that I think about it. That was a rather interesting finale."

Jezebel's face turns red as she recalls her lips touching Nathan's. Her mouth also twists into a sad frown. The events of the theatre are still fresh in her mind. She has no desire to involve herself with someone like Lottie again and kissing Nathan is definitely a first step in that direction; though he is not bad looking by any means; slick dark hair and a boyish face despite being at least twenty.

"I won't have anything until after we finish setting up," Nathan informs Lawrence. "I want to keep my wits about me."

"I'll have something." The juggler walks over to the bar while fiddling with his thin handlebar mustache. The musician remains silent but goes to bar as well. Jezebel is struck by the assumption that he is a mute.

"Let's get started, shall we." Nathan waves Jezebel over to the stage. She takes a quick swig of her drink before following him. He shows her the area behind the curtains and all of the ropes she will need to operate. It is much smaller than the theatre of course and there are boxes piled everywhere which he tells her to carry under the stage via a trap door. He retrieves a suitcase full of random items for his show and begins to set them up while she works at cleaning.

Over the next few hours, Jezebel works practically alone preparing the stage for the performance. It becomes apparent to her rather quickly that she was simply the first child he saw on the street who needed money. He hired her for a simple task. This is not an entrance into his story as she thought. It does not exactly matter though as she gets paid well enough.

"I'm impressed." Nathan claps when she finally finishes. "I thought I might have to find you some help but it appears as if I was mistaken." Again Jezebel shows her pride with a smile. She knows that Cassandra would never do anything like this. She is probably still stuck in the dream that some prince will sweep her off her feet. Jezebel almost feels pathetic for ever having entertained that fantasy in her own mind.

"Are you done yet?" Lawrence calls from the bar. "I'm about to open. I need that curtain lowered."

"On it!" Jezebel spouts as she drops the proper sand bags by turning a crank. The curtain falls gracefully in front of the stage, making her extremely happy. It is true that he could have hired anyone to help but for now she can pretend she is the reason his show will even take place.

"Come on, let's grab that drink we were promised." Nathan leads her down the steps by the hand.

"I already drank mine," she reminds him. "I got really thirsty working."

"I'll buy you another one," he insists. She pretends to be reluctant as he steers her to a table in the corner of the tavern but in truth she is actually enjoying the attention. "So?" he sighs as he sits down. "Tell me about yourself."

"Why?" she is suddenly on guard, recalling all the questions Malcolm and the rest of the orphans posed to her.

"You just have a familiar feel about you. Maybe we have a mutual acquaintance."

"I'll bet," she mutters.

"Someone's rather rude." He frowns.

"I don't like giving out personal information," she defends herself. "Why are you so interested in me?"

"I'm just curious by nature. You remind me of myself. If I could, I'd like to incorporate you into our little group." He gestures to the musician and juggler who are already at a different table. The juggler is staring at different women as they enter the tavern. The musician is simply rolling his eyes.

Jezebel weighs her options carefully. If it were anyone else she would probably refuse. However, he is the exact person she came here to find and after ten disappointments, the only story owner willing to even talk to her. "Fine, what do you need me to do?"

"For starters, you can operate the curtains and such tomorrow. You seem really good at that. Otherwise I might need you to play the part of my lovely assistant."

"What?" Her eyes pop. She has heard Cassandra referred to as lovely multiple times; however, as they could always be found together in Hamish, by comparison she was always looked at as average. Perhaps Nathan is simply trying to flatter her. If so, it is working. "I'll do it," she is all too excited."

"Of course you will," he mutters to himself.

As the tavern slowly fills with patrons, Jezebel sits in the corner watching them; all the while sipping on her new tanker of sarsaparilla. Even though she has lived in Baylor for some time now, she still feels out of place. She is obviously from a remote village with tattered and worn clothing. None of the passing people pay her any mind.

After a while Nathan goes to join his fellow performers at the bar for his promised drink on the house. Jezebel stays behind, continuing to judge the faces of strangers. They look exactly like what she imagined city folk would whenever reading a story about large towns. They have clean clothing, mostly black and colorless. The men have mustaches and the women keep their hats over their eyes. Everyone looks suspicious in their own way.

It is not hard to tell what each passing stranger's profession might be. The fishers smell like the sea and the miners all have grime under their fingernails. The women don't seem to have jobs though, other than flirting with the men in order to earn a free drink or two. Perhaps all the working women have better things to do than enter a tavern.

After several hours of simply watching, Jezebel's eyes become heavy. It is late and the sun is long gone. She can see that the mood in the tavern has changed. There are more shady looking people than before and a lot less chatter. She can't seem to find Nathan or the other two performers. The only familiar face is Lawrence.

"Excuse me?" a rather short looking woman approaches her table, swaying her large hoopskirt behind her. "Are you allowed to be here by yourself? I know it's none of me business but still."

"I'm with some people." Jezebel glances around for Nathan again.

"You mean those street performers? They left an hour ago. They tried to wake you but you were in a daze."

"Which way did they go?" Jezebel's eyes shoot open.

"Down toward the river, I suppose." The woman shrugs. "Like I said, I tend to mind me own business."

"Thank you, mum." Jezebel curtsies politely as she pulls her bonnet up. The woman giggles at the young girl's manners. No one in the nighttime city of Baylor is ever polite.

"Be back before I close or you're sleeping outside," Lawrence calls after her as she slips out the front door. As she reaches the sidewalk, she almost trips in her sandals, twisting her ankle awkwardly. She bites her lip to help with the pain as she continues to hop toward the river.

At the edge of the business section of Baylor is a cobblestone plaza with a stature of King Jessup and a metal fence surrounding it, blocking off the river so people and horses won't fall in. "Nathan!" she calls loudly in a squeaky voice. She is torn between wanting to find him and not wanting to alert suspicious people to her presence. Though she has accompanied Malcolm to this goldmine for pick pocketing before, she has never seen it at night. It is quite eerie actually.

"Nathan!" she shouts in a slightly clearer voice. "Nathan where are…" Her voice is cut short as a hand clamps over her mouth.

"Quiet," Nathan hisses at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried. You left me alone in the tavern. What about you? Why are you here?"

"I um…" his eyes bulge as he tries to think of an excuse.

"Nathan, are we ready yet?" The juggler pokes his head out from behind King Jessup's statue. "Oh, the young one has found us, how nice."

"Shut up." Nathan glares at him. "I'm handling it."

"Handling what? What's going on?" Jezebel continues to pry.

"Funny you should expect me to answer your questions when you won't answer any of mine." He places his hands on his hips. "I'll ask you again, who are you, and why are you following me?"

"You're the one who offered me a job," she tries to distract him.

"I knew there was something wrong with you the moment I saw you in the crowd. Are you one of them? Have you come to overthrow this city?"

"Overthrow? Who are you talking about?"

"She doesn't know anything," the juggler sighs. "To be honest I don't exactly know why we are here."

"We are here because this is the epicenter of the town," Nathan scolds him. "If one wants to learn the secrets of the nighttime city, this is where they begin."

"Nighttime city?" Jezebel raises a confused eyebrow. She has heard Baylor called that before but she doesn't know why.

"The city that never sleeps," Nathan informs her. "At any given moment, at least half the city is awake and active. If you stayed up long enough you'd notice it change into a completely different city just by its occupants." Jezebel quickly recalls how the type of person entering the tavern had changed over the hours.

"Can we trust her, Nathan?" the juggler is still on edge. "Will she keep this a secret?"

"I can't be sure," he sighs. "I'll have to test her. What is your name, young one?" She stares at him defiantly instead of answering. "Oh come now, it can't be that bad to tell me. I could just have Anthril tie stones to your feet and drown you." He gestures to the shadow of the statue where she hadn't noticed the musician before. He waves to her while flashing a toothy grin.

"Jezebel," she sputters quickly, "Jezebel Flowers. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She thrusts her hand how to shake his.

"That's better, isn't it?" He smiles while taking her hand and instead kissing it. "It's not so hard to be forthcoming. Now, why are you following us? Are you an agent of Lord Creashure's?"

"Who?" she is utterly bewildered.

"I'll take that as a no. Lord Creashure is a part of King Jessup's council. He is looking for his chance to rule as soon as the old man finally passes."

"But the queen…" Jezebel interrupts.

"Queen Rittier is set to take the throne, yes." Nathan strokes his chin. "Unfortunately she is not very popular. People in this city prefer patriarch rule. She only received the title of queen when she married Lord Astral but we all know what became of him." Jezebel shakes her head while gawking at him, showing that she, in fact, does not. "He died," Nathan spouts. "Good heavens, where have you been for the past year or so?"

"I'm not from around here," she answers nervously.

"What? Of course you're not, don't be ridiculous. Who do you think you're fooling with that outfit?"

"I'm not…"

"Moving on," he doesn't give her time to explain herself. "We are agents of the late Lord Astral. You see, he knew his beloved wife would have trouble ruling when he passed. Died of illness if you didn't know," he realizes that she is probably uninformed of all of this. "He tasked us with the queen's safety."

"You?" Jezebel can't help but scoff.

"You think that's funny?" Nathan's eyes narrow. "I knew Lord Astral personally. We grew up together. My grandfather was his grandfather's personal guard. We lost contact when they both died. He obtained the role of lord on Jessup's council while I failed to become a castle guard and fell into this mighty fine role." He gestures to his street performer getup.

"I see," Jezebel responds in a mocking tone.

"I'll not be looked down upon by a child such as you. Who are you?"

"That is none of your concern." She smiles sweetly. "Just know that I am here to help. Think of me as your personal fairy."

"Fairy? Like those magical creatures who leave dust everywhere?" Nathan cringes.

"In a sense." She crosses her arms angrily. She is not happy with how poorly other people seem to view fairies. In stories they are always her favorite characters. Even though the majority of them are tiny tricksters who hinder the main characters, she remembers those who give hints on a path or bestow magical potions.

"I don't need a child getting in my way. I need an assistant."

"I said I'd be your assistant, didn't I?" she reminds him. "What is it you need of me?"

"First of all, we need money; that's why we're having the show at all. Lord Astral was most worried about Lord Creashure seizing control of the throne. He believes a charismatic man such as he could raise an army of militia to overthrow the castle. He simply needs to pay the right people."

"So you're taking preemptive measures?" Jezebel tries to understand. "You need money to…"

"To pay spies to watch him and to buy information from shady people," he answers. "We might even have to hire our own militia to help defend the castle."

"Is all this really necessary?" she is skeptical. "This is all just a hunch of a dying man."

"Don't ever call Lord Astral just a man. He was going to be our king once. He was my best friend."

"But why now?" she continues to question him. "You lost contact with him long before his death; why all this loyalty now?"

"Well I…" Nathan is stumped for a moment. "I suppose it's because of Mayberry. Yeah, that's it. I was going nowhere with my life. I was living with my grandmother and performing in the streets when she found me. She told me I was destined for something better."

"For a story," Jezebel interjects.

"That's right," Nathan agrees. "She said I had potential; that I was a risk taker and…"

"And worthy," Jezebel cuts him off again. Her expression has sunk significantly.

"Do you know Mayberry?" Nathan is starting to put the pieces together. "Are you another story owner? Do you have potential too?"

"No." She shakes her head violently to make him stop. "I'm not worthy of a story. I'll never be worthy. All I can do is follow around story owners like you and try to help them."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that. Being a story owner must mean a lot more to you than to me."

"You have no idea," he voice is quivering.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offers. "I'm not sure what help I can be. Perhaps if I talk to Mayberry…"

"Stop." She holds up her hand. "I know I'm bad at showing it but I'm over it. I've accepted my role. I'm here to help you. What do you need?"

He stares at her for a long time, not convinced in the slightest that she is actually over her jealousy and regret but he knows she will not discuss it further. "First I'd like to show you something," he finally responds. The juggler and the musician move away from the statue as he leads her by the hand. At the base of the bronze figure is a plaque with an inscription.

"What's this?" Jezebel is confused.

"It's the first clue Lord Astral left for us. As you said, I was estranged from him when he died. I'm not actually on a personal mission from him; I'm just the only person who has found any of his deathbed messages."

"What does it say?" She squints at the plaque, trying to read the strange impressions.

"It's a sort of prophecy," he answers. "I had to take a rubbing to the seer to have him translate it."

Jezebel holds her breath to keep from mentioning that she has also met the seer. She still does not want to tell him more than she needs to. "So what did it say?" she breathes out.

"It details everything Astral found wrong with the way Jessup ruled and everything he planned to change. His first decision was to have Lord Creashure dismissed from the council. As I said, he suspected an uprising."

"Shouldn't you show this to King Jessup, or at least his daughter?" Jezebel suggests. "They can still strip him of rank and power, can't they?"

"Why?" Nathan poses a good question. "Why should they listen to a dying man's words? They can't simply dismiss a lord who has served loyally based on another lord's instincts, even if it is the queen's late husband. We need proof. That is why we need one of two things; either Astral's second clue or enough money to buy proof from spies."

"I understand." Jezebel nods. "So how do we find the second clue?"

"As with most riddles, the first clue leads to the second one," he explains. "There's only one problem." Jezebel takes a deep breath, assuming she is not going to like what she hears. "From what we've discerned, the second clue is at the bottom of the river."

"What?" she is shocked. "How?"

"The riddle is as such, 'a hundred tons of stone, I can send you to hell with one word, what am I?'"

"What?" Jezebel is immediately taken aback. "What kind of riddle is that?"

"It's rather simple if you like playing with words," Nathan chuckles. "I'll give you until we make it back to the tavern to figure it out."

"A hundred tons of stone," Jezebel begins to mutter as they walk. Several times she stares up at King Jessup's castle, debating whether or not the only stone building in the entire city is the answer but convincing herself that it isn't. It can't very well send her to hell, can it? Not unless the king wishes damnation upon her. "That's it!" she shouts while turning back to stare at the stone structure in front of the river. "It's the dam."

"Very good," Nathan chuckles as he pushes on the door to the tavern. "I expected it to take you longer."

"I'm smarter than I look." She grins proudly.

"If you think you just praised your intelligence, you're wrong. In fact, you just insulted your appearance."

"Shut up," she grumbles. "What does the dam have to do with anything?"

"In order to create the moat around the castle, water is siphoned from the river via that dam," he explains while leading her up a set of stairs near the bar. Lawrence waves to her as they pass by, bidding them goodnight. "It underwent repairs about a year ago right before Astral passed," Nathan continues to explain.

"So you think Astral hid the next clue there?" she confirms.

"Isn't it obvious," he chuckles again.

"But how can we get down under the water. And how can we even take a rubbing of the next plaque?"

"This time we're going to have to remove it and take it to the seer in person," he informs her. "The only way to get to it though is to shut the dam entirely so the river runs dry."

"Is that even possible?"

"Not by normal means but anything is possible. Only a true magician could get away with such a trick."

"Surely you don't mean yourself," she giggles. "You're not really magic… are you?" she is suddenly not so sure of herself.

"My magic is all smoke and mirrors," he assures her. "Of course, that's all we need. I need only distract people while you retrieve the plaque from the base of the dam when it dries up."

"But how will do that?" she is curious. "It flows from two great holes in the face of the dam. You can't possibly stop two tons of water."

"We've been planning this for a while, young one." He grins sheepishly. "Over the past few weeks we have been stringing rope over those two holes. It is now crisscrossed like a spider's web. It doesn't affect the flow, and luckily can't be seen through the white water but it is more than enough to support the barricade we plan to place."

"What is the barricade made of?" Jezebel is simply full of questions.

"Wood, much like the slats of a barrel. We built them ourselves. Cost us a might pretty pence down at the lumber mill, mind you."

"Will this really work?" she is still skeptical.

"If it doesn't then we're sunk and nothing else matters. Now get some rest, young one. We have a performance to put on tomorrow."

Jezebel spins around as she notices where they are; in a loft above the tavern. There is a long hallway with several doors. She peers inside the first one, finding two small beds and a basin for washing up. "Are we sleeping here?"

"Lawrence offered us two rooms. Sorry but we'll have to share. Is that alright with you?"

"Um, sure." She shrugs. She can't see a reason why not. She won't be changing into a nightgown seeing as she has only the clothes on her back.

"Very good," Nathan yawns while kicking his boots off and lying down on the closer cot. His long legs hang over the edge of it awkwardly but he doesn't seem to notice. In fact, he starts to snore almost immediately. He must have been extremely tired. Jezebel yawns as well as she takes off her sandals. She is starting to get used to his company, even after only one day. She lies down in the second cot quietly, making sure not to wake him.

As she stares at the ceiling her mind begins to swim with the events of the day. She has finally found another story owner, after having so royally messed up with Malcolm. He doesn't seem to need any help though. He has the plan well under way. Her only purpose for joining him is to receive an honorable mention. Once again she is just using another story owner to get what she wants. It doesn't make her feel good about herself at all.

12: Pirate Lass

Cassandra sighs loudly as she sits at the edge of the Sleeping Mermaid's deck. She is making sure to keep from facing anyone else on board while keeping her hair hidden underneath the hat Captain Skip gave her. It has been a month since she came aboard. She has done almost nothing except scrub the deck and watch the pirates set the sails.

"What ya doin' there, lazy bones?" a crew member calls to her. "Help us carry these barrels below deck."

"Aye, aye," she tries to make her voice deeper as she responds. It doesn't help much. When she approaches, the man hands her a smaller barrel then the rest of them are carrying. "What's in this?" she is curious.

"Fruit," he answers. "Need it well stocked."

Cassandra recalls the warm lemon juice Theo gave her on the Daring Siren and is immediately saddened. She barely knew him but she misses him greatly. She does not feel his attraction to her was as wrong as Skip keeps telling her it was. She is positive he did not deserve to die.

She is shaken from her thoughts as one of the other men bumps into her, dropping the barrel he is holding, which splits at the sides, splashing both of them with water. "What ya daydreamin' for, boy? Look what you done."

"Sorry," she mutters quietly.

"Don't be like that, lad," he sighs. "Come, we'll both get changed. Don't wanna catch the sniffles." He grabs her blue coat by the sleeves and yanks off. She gasps in a very high pitched feminine voice, attracting the attention of the other sailors.

"Well this is a surprise." They start to gather around her as she covers her bare arms while shivering from the cold water.

"What's all the commotion?" Beddary's cabin door flies open, banging against the wall loudly.

"Look, captain. It's a lass."

"Calm down," he grumbles as he moves to stand between the staring men and Cassandra. "Y'all act as if ya never seen a woman before."

"Tis been a while, sir," they admit.

"Ya know, tis bad luck to bring a woman on board."

"She ain't old enough to be a woman."

"Twas old enough for that wopsy in Ferery."

"If he knew she weren't a lad, was he really a wopsy?"

"He was still shamelessly trying to court a child!" Beddary bellows above the voices of his crew. "Any of you thinkin' of actin' like 'im will get the same treatment, understood?"

A murmur goes around as they discuss the risks and rewards of disobeying their captain. "Come on, sir, you can't expect us to jus' ignore this, can you?" one of them decides to argue with Skip.

"I'm warnin' you now, boys…" he draws his cutlass. "She be a member of this crew. She has as much rights as the rest of you."

"Maybe she ain't actually a girl," another one suggests. "We should check every part of her." He reaches for Cassandra's arm. She screams while leaping back, grabbing her jacket from the man who dropped the water. Skip moves to confront his insubordinate crew, giving her the opportunity to escape, which she does. She darts between two surprised crewmembers, catching them off guard, as she sprints for Skip's cabin.

She veers off toward his personal store room next to it and slams into the locked door, which gives way easily though. Before anyone can follow, she piles several heavy crates in front of the door. Immediately the crew starts to bang on the barrier, threatening to break it down with swords or cannon. "Enough!" Skip shouts louder than all of them. "Leave 'er alone. She'll come out when she feels safe, which'll be sooner if ya go about yer business as usual."

"But, captain…" they try to protest.

"That's an order. Anyone caught botherin' 'er will have to answer to me."

"Yes, sir," they finally give up. Cassandra sighs with relief as she sinks to the floor of the tiny dark store room. The only source of light is what shines through the cracks of the boards. She does not know how long she can stay here but she has no plans of leaving while the men outside remain. Luckily there is no shortage of food.

Over the next couple of weeks, several of the crewmembers try to sneak into the cabin hole to see her. None of them are successful and some are even caught by Skip and punished. Finally, a few of them actually remove some of the floor boards beneath the store room. The hole they make is not large enough for anyone to enter through, but they now have a proper way to communicate with her.

They ask her several questions about where she is from while also offering her food and water, which she accepts graciously as her supplies are starting to spoil. After a while a few of them become bolder; asking her if she really is a girl and to prove it by removing her clothes. One of them even tries to reach into the store room to grab her.

This does not sit well with Skip who actually sends seven of them to the brig for a week's time. This deters all further interactions with Cassandra. She is left alone in her hole for several more weeks until she has exhausted all of her supplies and is on the brink of starvation. Finally Captain Skip comes to see her personally. "How ya holdin' up, lass?" he tries to be polite.

"Go away," she mumbles weakly. "Just let me die in peace."

"Is it really so bad aboard this ship that you'd let yerself starve to death?" he is genuinely confused and annoyed. "What can possibly happen worse than the pain in yer gut you must be feelin'?"

"I could be attacked by those savages," she responds. "They want to tear me apart and rip off my clothes…"

"I swear to you, that won't happen," he insists.

"You can't speak for them," she disagrees. "They don't share your gentlemanly morals."

"They don't have to. I'm the captain. They must do as I say."

"And if they don't?"

"They walk the plank. I swear on Barker's son's grave that no harm'll come to you; not under my watch."

Cassandra grows silent as she thinks about his offer. There is not much to consider though. She has no other choice than continuing to starve. "Fine," she reluctantly agrees.

"Good lass. I was startin' to miss me personal stores," Skip tries to keep a humorous outlook.

The entire crew is waiting outside the door when she opens it, all curious as to how she has faired in the last month. "Need any food?" the cook is the first to speak to her.

"Water," she answers hoarsely. Two other men grab a barrel of rainwater and drag it close to her. She stares at all of the men cautiously before dunking her entire head inside. They watch with concern and interest as she half swallows and half chokes on it. She falls backward onto the deck, gasping for air when she has had her fill. Some of the crew chuckles at her pathetic yet adorable performance.

She tries to squeeze as much of the water out of her hair as possible as she stands back up. "Here, mum." One of the men hands her a pair of boots. "I notice you ain't got no shoes when you come on board."

"Um, thanks."

"This was my pick of the jewels last time we boarded a ship." A different man offers her a shiny emerald set ring.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Marry me?" he asks with a half serious expression.

Skip has drawn his sword before Cassandra can even respond. "I thought I made meself clear, nothin' unbecoming of gentlemen."

"That's the whole point, captain," another man speaks up. "It's not really inappropriate if she's were his wife."

"Becoming his wife is inappropriate," Skip bellows. "I am the only person on this ship vested with the power to unite anyone. I'll make you'll marry each other before you defile a child in my presence. Is that understood?"

"Sir." They all salute. Some of them start to grumble about how pathetic their captain has become as they return to their posts but he seems unconcerned. Cassandra is beginning to wonder if it is really worth his crew's loyalty to keep protecting her. She seems like an unnecessary burden to him. Perhaps he feels guilty about killing Theo after all.

Her thoughts are quickly interrupted by the man in the crow's nest shouting down to the deck below. "Trade worthy ship off the port. Ten klicks east."

"Haul sails," Skip orders. "We're goin' huntin'."

Cassandra has a vague idea what is about to happen. During her self incarceration, she could hear some of what went on outside. Whenever a ship was spotted, they would raise sails and chase after it. Often they were outrun, but sometimes they successfully caught up. When they did, it was time to board.

The act of pillaging another ship almost never involved fighting within earshot of her hiding hole, but from the chatter of the men during the days following, she could usually tell what went on. At least three times during the past month, the Sleeping Mermaid had successfully robbed another vessel. Today just might be number four.

Cassandra stands next to Skip on the deck as he takes the helm to steer. She is not sure what her job would be if she even helped at all. Skip smiles when he notices her confident yet confused expression. "Jus' stay 'ere an' watch me," he orders her. "We'll make a helmsman out o' you yet." Her only response is a nod.

The ship is gaining speed, and the deck is rocking violently. It is hard to keep from falling over without holding onto something for support. In the distance, what was once only visible to the lookout is growing larger. It is a great ship with more sails than the Mermaid yet still much slower. It is loaded down with dozens upon dozens of crates, filled with god only knows what.

"This is it, boys," Skip is becoming excited. "We've struck it rich, this time."

Cassandra tries to imagine what a ship like this could possibly be carrying, while also wondering what their crew must be thinking. It was dreadful being aboard the Siren when the Mermaid entered Ferery bay. These poor sailors must be just as scared.

She does not have to wonder long though as they are quickly catching up. The fleeing ship starts to swerve erratically, trying to confuse their pursuers. It does little good though. They are in open water with no obstacles in sight. Nothing will keep the Mermaid from its prize. "Ready cannons!" Skip gives the order. Instinctively Cassandra covers her ears.

The navigator pokes his head above deck from the safety of his map room for a few moments to speak with Skip before retreating to the hulls where the rest of the crew has begun to load the cannons. Cassandra knows that it is his job to help them gauge distance and wind along with any other deciding factors.

The first cannonball goes wide, missing the fleeing ship by no more than a yard. It does its job of scaring them though as they veer in the opposite direction. This makes the navigator's calculations more difficult but not very. The second cannonball hits the stern of the trader ship dead on, blasting a hole, almost two feet wide, straight into the lower decks.

Immediately the ship begins to slow as several of the crew members abandon their posts to take cover from continued fire. Skip is not intending to sink them before boarding them though. He gives the order to cease fire to a nearby crewmember, who relays it to the cannon deck below. Instead the Mermaid increases speed again, pulling up alongside the massive vessel.

"Prepare to board!" Skip shouts over the sound of the ocean.

"Prepare to board," his order is repeated by the rest of the crew. Cassandra holds her breath as the men begin to grab several ropes dangling from the masts of the Mermaid. With a running jump, they leap off the deck, swinging across to the trading vessel and startling the civilian crew.

"Stand down or die!" the pirates warn them.

"Are ye ready?" Skip taps Cassandra on the shoulder.

"For what?" she is confused.

"Didn't ya hear me? We're goin' aboard."

"Me?" She points at herself stupidly.

"What's the problem?" He frowns.

"I can't do that." She gestures to the swinging pirates.

"I'll hold ya," he offers. "You'll need to learn sometime. You're a part o' this crew now."

"Um…" she is unable to make an excuse before he has lifted her off her feet by the waist. He uses one free hand to grab a loose rope and leaps off the deck without warning. She screams as they fall toward the water below. She feels his arm tighten around her as the rope pulls taut. Soon they are rising back into the air from the recoil alone.

Skip lets go of the rope just as they are level with the trade ship's deck. He spreads his legs to land in a proper stance, letting go of Cassandra in the process. She immediately falls over as her legs are shaking too much to support her. Some of the pirates start to laugh while Skip pretends not to notice. "Does anyone wish to fight?" he addresses the civilian crew. At first no one responds.

By the time Cassandra has managed to stop shivering and stand up, four men have gathered on the deck in front of Skip. "What happens if we don't surrender," the one in front tries to act tough.

"Don't be a fool, sir," Skip sighs. "Me whole crew's a waitin' to tear you limb from limb. Our ship be smaller than yours; we can't possibly commandeer more than a quarter of your wares. You have more to lose by fightin'."

The lead man glances back at his three friends who are all retreating to cower with their peers. "Will you face me one on one?" he asks skip in a much less confident voice than before.

Skip glances around at his invading crew, asking them their opinion. They all chortle and laugh, eager to see their captain in action. "Looks like ya have yerself a fight, lad." Skip draws his sword while one of his crew hands the brave man a blade of his own. "At the ready!" Skip bellows as he lunges for the man.

The much younger opponent dodges him easily, spinning around to the side and swiping at Skip's coat. It does him no good though as his dull blade doesn't even break the fabric. "Is this a real sword?" he whines.

"Why in hell would I give ya a real sword, boy?" Skip laughs while swinging at him again.

"How is this fight fair?" the man complains as he dodges again, leaping up onto a barrel to stay out of reach.

"It ain't." Skip shrugs. "Even if ya win, my crew'll simply shoot ya dead. I told ya not to bother. Wouldn't listen, would ya?"

"Alright." He drops his useless sword. "I surrender. You've made your point."

"No I 'aven't." Skip draws his pistol and shoots the young man in the chest. "Now I 'ave." Cassandra covers her ears again. She is rather sensitive to loud noises, especially violent ones.

"Murderer!" one of the other civilians shouts.

"Keep yer mouth shut or I'll do you next," Skip is unsympathetic.

"Just take what you want and go," he starts to snivel.

"Excellent," Skip laughs again while reloading his pistol. He is quickly joined by the rest of the pirates. "Search for any booty but this be a supply ship, not a royal vessel. We mightn't find anything at all. Take anything that won't perish and of course the good rum." Again the pirates laugh along with their captain.

Cassandra stands perfectly still, trying to keep her legs steady. The deck of this ship is made out of a completely different type of wood and bobs in the water at a different rate. Everything about it is unfamiliar. She wishes desperately to be back aboard her own vessel, or perhaps dry land. Of course, leaving would require another trip across the ropes of which she is not looking forward to at all.

"What ya doin'?" Skip finally notices her. "Get to searchin' with the rest of 'em."

"Aye, aye," she whimpers before rushing off. After his unnecessary show of force she is suddenly scared of him again, something she thought she had overcome. She can't forget that he is a murdering pirate and not a gentleman.

"Where ya goin'?" one of the other pirates notices her rushing around the deck stupidly. "Help me search the captain's hole."

"Where is the captain?" she asks as she enters the cabin.

"Coward leapt from the bow after the first shot. Can't imagine 'e survived. Must 'ave thought we'd kill 'em either way. Look in the desk while I check the trunks," he instructs.

Cassandra leafs through what appear to be maps for charting the ship's course. There are several shiny instruments for gauging direction but none seem to hold actual value. The most interesting looking thing is a wooden box with engravings on the top. "To the Hefty Dragon from his majesty wise King Jessup," she reads out loud.

"What you say? Give that 'ere." The pirate snatches it from her. "It won't open."

"Maybe there's a key."

"Oh, I got it." He breaks the hinges easily. Cassandra rolls her eyes. She wishes that these brutes cared even a little about anything. "My stars, what 'ave we got 'ere?" he seems impressed. "The cap'll wanna see this."

"What? What is it?" Cassandra chases him out of the cabin, trying to peek over his shoulder.

"Capin, capin, look at this." The pirate skids to a halt right in front of Skip who is supervising the transfer of goods from ship to ship.

"What is it, Burns?" he is not pleased to be interrupted.

"As you said, there ain't nothin' of value on this ship… 'cept…" he pauses for dramatic effect.

"Except?" Skip takes the bait.

"This." He holds up the small wooden box.

"Interestin'." Skip flips the lid up with a squeak of its broken hinges. "What is that?" his voice reflects a state of awe. The other man tips the box upside town, letting a small golden sphere on a leather string fall out. From where Cassandra is standing she can tell it is some sort of necklace. Not anything of value gold wise but if it really is a gift from a king, it is worth a lot toward reputation alone. "I'll keep this safe." Skip smirks while slipping it into his pocket. "Good work, man. An extra week's rations for you."

"Thank ye, capin." He salutes before running off to continue helping his peers loot the ship.

Cassandra continues to stare at Skip with a sort of awestruck expression. She has read quite a bit about pirates in the books of Hamish. They were all greedy gold pilfering ruffians, unlike the refined and well mannered Captain Beddary. This is the first act of fairytale piracy she has seen him commit. He is finally living up to her expectations. "What ya lookin' at?" he notices her staring.

"Can we go back to the Mermaid now?" she asks in a shaky voice.

He bursts into laughter immediately. "Ya really are a weak one, ain't ya? Alright, that be enough action for today. Head back and rest. Be prepared to board again next time though," he warns her.

"Wait, aren't you going to swing me across like before?" she asks with wide eyes.

"I 'ave a few things to finish up here," he informs her. "Just grab the rope an' go. It ain't hard." She takes a few steps toward the side of the ship before turning back to him. "Go on." He makes a shooing motion with his hand. "Get a move on."

She takes a deep breath as she grabs the loose rope and backs up as far as she is able before starting to run toward the edge. Just as she reaches it she leaps into the air. She drops like a stone, speeding toward the ocean surface and gripping the rope as tight as possible, making sure it will not rip out of her hands.

When the rope is taut enough, she starts to rise again, swinging like a pendulum. As she floats above the deck of the Mermaid, she reaches out to grab it. Unfortunately the boats have drifted further apart in the time since Beddary brought her over. She can hear him laughing behind her though. "You 'ave to let go," he instructs her.

"Now?" she asks as she swings back toward the trade ship.

"No, when ya reach the Mermaid. Le' go at the right moment and the speed'll carry you to her."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then the sharks eat well tonight," he tries to joke. She is not amused in the slightest. She closes her eyes as she starts to drop toward the water again. She can feel the air changing direction as she swings upward once more. She opens her eyes just as she becomes level with the deck of the Mermaid. "Now!" Skip shouts, startling her into letting go.

Like he promised, the momentum carries her toward the ship. Looking down she can see absolutely nothing but water beneath her. It is twice as scary without the rope to cling on to. Her jacket flutters out like a cape as she bridges the gap between the two ships. Just as she reaches the edge of the ship, she closes her eyes again, preparing to either hit the deck or fall to her death. She has no more control over whether or not she will make it. There is no reason to watch.

13: City of Sand

"How far is this place?" Jameson groans for the hundredth time.

"Capitith a long ways from our little section of the jungle," Druine answers. "It is the nearest kingdom though. We have traveled here many times."

"So you've been?" Jameson is curious. "What do jungle folk do in a kingdom?"

"We trade with the locals," Druine explains. "They pay well for pelts and ivory."

"So you just kill animals and use them as currency," Jameson mocks her. He is still rather passive at heart.

"Says the man who killed two great spirits," she retorts.

"Stop, I don't want to hear about that anymore. We're here to find a copy of my story. Where would you look first?"

"I'd start by finding a hall of records. It would be a large building with people entering and exiting constantly."

"You sure know a lot about city life for a jungle dweller."

"I told you before, we are not primitive. We simply choose to reside in the jungle. City people will always take advantage of you."

"I come from a small town," he explains. "Everyone knows everyone there. It is impossible to rip someone off without suffering the consequences."

"Welcome to the real world." She gestures to a clearing in the trees.

"Is this it?" he gasps as he runs out onto the beach. There is a high wall made of chopped tree trunks directly in his path. It extends all the way from the edge of the jungle out into the sea. Jameson stares at it in utter bewilderment.

"This is Capitith." Druine makes a presenting motion. "This wall keeps out all the animals of the jungle and sometimes unwanted people."

"How do we get inside?" Jameson stops just shy of getting his boots wet.

"We knock." Druine pounds on a wooden door in the tree trunk wall.

"Who goes there?" a straggled voice emanates from the other side. "What business have you in Capitith?"

"Trade," Druine answers sternly. "Will you let us through?"

"Hold on, let me get a look at ya." The door opens to reveal a sun burnt man wearing sandals and a sleeveless tunic. "Kids?" he is almost surprised. "From the jungle, I'd wager… or maybe not," he changes his mind when he sees Jameson.

"Can we enter or not?" he is in no mood for pleasantries.

"Go ahead." The man steps aside. "It's not like you'll bring down society single handedly."

"Thank you." Druine bows politely, earning her a toothy smile. "You have very poor manners." She nudges Jameson as they walk past the gate.

"I have no desire to actually be here. I only wish to settle our wager," he reminds her.

"Why are you so dull? Look at this place. We are in a gigantic beach kingdom. There isn't even a forth wall." She gestures to the open ocean.

"Why not?" Jameson is extremely concerned. "Doesn't that make them vulnerable?"

"If anyone is going to attack them, it will be from the sea," she informs him. "They have only one direction to defend and a dozen catapults ready to hurl flaming rocks to do so."

"Bit paranoid." Jameson eyes bulge.

"One can never be too careful. Now, let's take in the sights."

"I told you, I'm only here for the hall of records." He marches down the sandy beach, glancing at the adobe structures that are now surrounding them. The beach was positively lifeless on the other side of the wall. It looks like an entirely different place now.

"You're so boring," Druine grumbles.

"Then why do you want to travel with me?" he argues.

"Because you'll die without me."

"I can handle myself." He crosses his arms. He knows he is weaker than almost every girl he has met so far, including Jezebel and Cassandra. He doesn't need her to rub it in.

"We came all this way," she continues to whine. "I'm definitely visiting the bazaar. They have the best food. You've got to try it."

"Fine." He rolls his eyes. "He never really planned on leaving without taking in the sights; he just didn't want to appear overly excited. He is here as a story owner after all. He can't just start acting like a child. Druine seems to have no shame though. She does not hide her excitement in the slightest. Jameson has trouble keeping up as she sprints through the sand toward the center of the city where music can be heard.

Jameson has to stop after only a few feet to remove his boots and pour out the sand. After only another yard he has to repeat the process again. Finally he simply ties his shoelaces together and hangs them around his neck again. The sand is hot under his feet but not scorching. Druine's feet are callus enough that she is unaffected, convincing Jameson to pretend he isn't either.

When they finally reach the bazaar, Jameson is stunned into silence. There are dozens of people moving around a circular area filled with tradable wares. Everyone looks like they are from different places. A few of them are even jungle dwellers like Druine; not from the same tribe though. "What do you think?" Druine spreads her arms welcomingly as she walks backwards into the open area.

"It's amazing," he can't hide his astonishment. "It's like a cultural mixing bowl. Where are all these people from?"

"This is the trade capital of all kingdoms," Druine explains. "Pirates, traders, navy, everyone is welcome so long as they don't fight."

"No fighting?" Jameson is suddenly happy. This seems like the perfect place to practice being passive.

"Everyone saves their energy for the pits," Druine continues to explain.

"What are the pits?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Capitith isn't just famous for trade; people come from all over just to see the gladiators fight in the arena."

"I thought you said there was no fighting?" Jameson is slightly disappointed.

"Not between people. In the gladiator pits, warriors fight monstrous creatures."

"How do you know all this?"

"I've told you before." She grabs a random book off of the table of one of the nearby peddlers. It is titled The Beast Tamer. She opens it to show him a detailed illustration of a man cracking a whip at what seems to be a cross between a bear and a wolf.

"What is that thing?" Jameson is horrified.

"It's a creature of the pit," she answers. "They are all foul abominations that have no place anywhere else."

"And people gather to watch them die? That's barbaric."

"You act like the creature has no chance of winning. More often than not, people die in the pits."

"That's no better," Jameson argues. "Who decides they want to face off against a deadly monster?"

"It's mostly prisoners," Druine admits. "People convicted of crimes are trapped in the pits and forced to fight for their lives."

"Again, totally barbaric," Jameson is thoroughly upset.

"Come and watch one of the fights," she insists. "You'll understand when you see it."

"Do you have money to pay for a viewing?" He crosses his arms.

"Well…" she is at a loss. "What about you?" He shakes his head. "Did you bring anything to trade?" she asks while setting the book back down before the peddler notices.

"I have the clothes on my back and the boots around my neck."

"Boots? Did someone say boots?" the peddler finally notices them.

"What about my boots?" Jameson backs away from him.

"Boots are so interesting, aren't they?" He raises his own feet to show he is wear sandals like most of the locals. "I've always wanted a pair. They would be useful for foraging in the jungle."

"I'm not giving you my boots." Jameson takes another step back.

"But you can't very well wear them around here, can you?" He gestures to the sand covering the entire area. "They're pretty much useless."

"But I…" Jameson tries to argue.

"I'll give you six shillings and a complimentary pair of sandals."

"What?"

"Wait, I'll throw in a pair for the skimpy lady too."

"Skimpy?" Druine moves to cover her bare midriff.

"Don't be embarrassed, dear. You're from the jungle, I can tell. It's so muggy out there, isn't it?"

"Jamie, let's go." She moves to leave.

"Here." Jameson hands his boots over quickly before he has time to change his mind. He hops after Druine while pulling on the sandals.

"I'm not wearing those," Druine gripes as he tries to offer her the second pair.

"Don't your feet hurt?" he sighs.

"No," she lies.

"Just wear them… for me," he adds after a moment.

She can't help but smile slightly as she finally takes them. "You didn't have to do this."

"How else will we afford food?" He walks her over to a man serving something resembling fish or shrimp on a kabob stick over an open flame. He takes one of the six shillings and hands back ten pence and two kabobs.

"Thank you," Druine mumbles as she bites into the seafood graciously. "I suppose we won't be going to the arena, will we?"

He shakes his head. "We don't have enough. For now, do any other peddlers sell books?"

"Not new ones. They are too expensive."

"Then it's off to the hall of records." He starts to march.

"Wait." She grabs his shoulder. "Can't we stay here for a bit?"

"Why?"

"If you win the bet then I'll have to leave. Can we just pretend it doesn't matter for the moment?"

"Oh." His eyes bulge slightly. He had not really thought about it but the truth seems to be that she enjoys his company. Perhaps he has been too hard on her. "We don't have to base everything on that wager, you know. Why don't you come with me regardless; at least for a while?"

"Really?" She pulls him into a tight hug. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry about everything I said."

"I don't get what's so great about following me, though," he mumbles. "I'm no one special."

"You need to start valuing yourself more," she scolds him. "You are a story owner. One of the men in white already thinks you have potential; why don't you?"

"Because I know who I am better than he does. I know that I am weak and useless."

"Then let's make a new wager. If I can prove to you that you're not useless, you have to stop wallowing in self pity."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I really will leave you. And I can tell you don't want that anymore."

"Everyone seems to think they know me better than I do," he sighs. "Fine, you have yourself a new wager. We'll head to the hall of records in a bit. For now, we can continue to look around here."

They spend the next several hours flittering from table to table at the bazaar, examining everything but mostly only buying food. They end up spending the rest of the ten pence on random things but keeping five shillings. Things they decide to buy include a tunic for Druine so she doesn't look like a jungle dweller and a leather wristband for Jameson; mostly because he liked how it looked.

The sun is almost gone by the time they decide to find the hall of records. It is a tall building surrounded by stone pillars with steps leading up to it. There are several people piling out of the front, leaving for the night. Druine and Jameson are the only two heading in. "Sorry, we're closed. You'll have to come back tomorrow." A man is waiting by the entrance.

"We just need to see the collection of new stories," Druine begs. "It won't take long."

"Yeah, and then I'm waiting here all night while you read them instead of buying your own copy," he scoffs.

"It'll only take a second," Jameson joins in.

"I said no, and I meant it," the man is not happy. "What will it take to make you leave so I can go home?"

"Can I just…" Jameson tries to lean past him but the man shifts to block his path. "Just a minute…"

"Fine," the man groans. "What book are you looking for? We have all the new ones from Ambrose to Zerena."

"Um… do you have Hemlock's new book?"

"Hemlock, why didn't you say so," the man suddenly laughs. "I was afraid you were some lowly fan of the weak works like Tabitha or Mayberry."

"So you'll let me read it?" Jameson is hopeful.

"Not tonight but I'll show you which one it is." The man disappears into the building for a moment before returning with a stack of books. "Here are all the good ones. This one here is called From Beyond the Woods. It's Ambrose's latest work."

"Sorry, but I'm not here to compare lists of favorite writers," Jameson tries to be polite while pushing the book out of his face. The cover looks strangely familiar; a set of trees very similar to those at the edge of Hamish. Jameson doesn't have time to pay attention though.

"Here it is." The man holds up a slightly thicker book. "Hemlock has a habit of getting carried away. He always adds unnecessary information," he chuckles. "Each issue is supposed to be a chapter's worth. Look here though; this boy swam all the way to a volcano and back with the help of a siren. I can't believe it all fits in one issue. He killed two giant sea monsters."

"I take it you've read it." Jameson frowns.

"I work here because I like to read," he answers. "Hemlock and Ambrose are two of the best."

"Can you just stop talking about Ambrose," Jameson groans. "I'm not interested in whatever simplistic material he may be peddling."

"Simplistic?" the man gasps. "I'll have you know, Ambrose is a sophisticated writer. His works are milestones ahead of anyone else's. Have you ever read a work by Mayberry? All of her characters live in cities like Baylor where nothing ever happens. Ambrose keeps you on the edge of your seat. I mean, half of the time the main character dies before the end even."

"That's very interesting." Jameson pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep from snapping at the man who has been so helpful. He doesn't want to admit it but he is a little vain. Now that he has a story of his own, no other works interest him. It's not like he knows anyone Ambrose has written about. Most people in Hamish are smart enough not to accept story offers from a man who likes killing characters for fun. Surely no one Jameson knows is stupid enough to hire him as their word doctor.

"I guess it is late," the record keeper sighs. "I'll give you a minute to look at the book and then you'll have to return it for the night."

"The Pits of Capitith," Jameson reads slowly. "What does that mean?"

"I'd assume it means the warrior is coming here," the man answers.

"The who?"

"The warrior; it's what Hemlock calls his new hero. He can't very well give out names, can he? No, we won't know who the warrior is until the story ends."

"I'm the warrior?" Jameson's jaw hangs open. "But I hate fighting."

"You did kill two gods." Druine shrugs. "I actually never got to thank you. You're the reason I didn't have to be sacrificed."

"But I'm not a warrior," he continues to sputter. "And what's all this about the pits of Capitith. Isn't that where the gladiators fight?" He is running his hands through his curly blonde locks while trembling.

"I guess Hemlock intends for you to be a gladiator." Druine shrugs again. "He thinks of himself as clever, doesn't he?" Jameson nods with a gulp. He can't believe his title or his story's title at all. It seems so farfetched. Hemlock can't possibly expect him to fight as a gladiator, can he?

"I'm sorry but I really need that back." The record keeper retrieves the book from him. "I hope you found what you were looking for. Stop back tomorrow if you want to read some of it."

"Tomorrow?" Jameson repeats slowly. "I hadn't thought about that. We need a place to stay for the night."

"There are several inns near the plaza," the keeper informs them. "A shilling per person should be enough for a night. See you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, until tomorrow." Jameson waves to him absentmindedly as he descends the steps. His mind is still occupied with the course his story is taking. He definitely needs to find Hemlock and have a word with him before his path is set in stone.

"Are you alright?" Druine is concerned.

"I'll be fine. I just need some sleep," he assures her. "Let's just find an inn."

The first set of lodgings they find is a tavern next to the plaza where the keeper told them to look. A man is outside sweeping sand off the front porch while smoking a pipe. "Good evening," he greets them politely. "How may I help you weary travelers?"

"You could give us a room," Jameson answers honestly.

"Sorry, no can do. We're booked up for the night. This time of year's extremely busy. In fact, I don't think any of the places around here will have any place for ya today… unless you're a prince with a crest. Then you could have anyone kicked out of their room," he adds after a moment of thought.

"I guess we're sleeping in the street," Jameson sighs.

"Oh, be careful doin' that. The guards round up anyone out after curfew," he warns them.

"Why?" Jameson is annoyed.

"Anyone not indoors is considered a spy. We don't take kindly to spies here in Capitith."

"But I just asked for a room. I'm not trying to spy on anyone."

"It's not me who you'll be in trouble with," the inn keeper tries to explain. "I'm just givin' ya a friendly warning. Stay out of sight of the guard or you'll be spending the night in the pit."

"What?" Jameson is suddenly alert.

"I told you, the gladiators in the pit are all prisoners," Druine reminds him.

"Is that how they get so many; they just toss in anyone they find roaming the streets?" Jameson frowns. "I told you they were barbaric."

"Now that you put it that way…" Druine strokes her chin.

"Excuse me, but I'm gonna have to ask you to move along." The inn keeper shoos them from his porch. "Curfew starts in ten minutes."

"But we won't even be able to get out of the city in time," Jameson argues.

"Even if you wanted to, the gate's closed for the night. Leaving will earn you the same label as a spy."

"What is with this town?" Jameson growls. "It's designed to trap travelers as entertainment."

"Just don't get caught," the man suggests as if it is a simple solution.

Jameson glares at him as Druine leads him away by the arm. "Come on, maybe we can sleep behind a different building."

"Or on the roof of one," Jameson joins in plotting.

They have only just rounded the corner when a man in a leather tunic holding a spear spots them. "Halt. What are you doing out this late?"

"Um… curfew hasn't started yet, has it?" Jameson stutters nervously.

"It began ten seconds ago. Where are you going?"

"Oh did it?" Jameson plays coy. "Well, that is a surprise. We'll have to be much more careful next time." He starts to back up, dragging Druine by the hand.

"Wait, you didn't answer my question." The guard starts to run toward them.

"We got lost. We're not from around here. Perhaps you could let us off easy this time? We didn't mean any harm."

"You are acting suspicious. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in for questioning?"

"Take us where?" Jameson is practically skipping backwards by now.

"The magistrate will hear your story tomorrow morning. Until then you will spend the night in the pits."

"Now that's a problem." Jameson turns around, sprinting to get away.

"Halt!" The guard gives chase.

"Why are we running?" Druine asks.

"You know what happens if he catches us, right?" Jameson whispers.

"You don't really believe they're just going to throw us in the gladiator pit for no reason, do you?" she is skeptical.

"This is reason enough for them already," he answers.

"I don't understand. This isn't how a kingdom should operate," Druine is confused. "Don't they have any shame?"

"It's easy to be morally lacking when you can blame it on the orders of your king," Jameson is not surprised in the slightest. "This is why I should have never left Hamish."

"Quit complaining and act like a story owner," Druine snaps at him. Jameson glances back at their pursuer, trying to decide what to do. Finally he stops running, turning around to face the guard with his hands up defensively. "What are you doing?" Druine is surprised.

Jameson doesn't answer and instead waits for the guard to reach him. Instead of even trying to apprehend him, the man swings his spear, trying to injure him. "Watch it!" Jameson jerks back to dodge it.

"Stop resisting!" the guard orders.

"I'm resisting being killed."

The guard is about to swing again when Druine kicks him in the side. Jameson had not even seen her circle back around. The guard is injured enough to stop chasing them. Druine drags Jameson away by the arm. They duck in-between a set of adobe houses, leaving the guard's line of sight.

"We have to get out of this city." Jameson kneels down to catch his breath.

"Or…" Druine is not so sure.

"Or?" Jameson's eyes narrow.

"Or, we could let them catch us," she suggests.

"No. You're not actually thinking of going to the pits. I'm not following this story Hemlock threw me into. He lied to me. He said he'd prepare me."

"All you do is whine," Druine scolds him. "You wanted a story; this is the price you pay. This Hemlock has laid a path right in front of you; stop being so picky." Jameson stares at her blankly, trying to decide if she is right. In truth he knows she is; he is being far too selfish. "Well?"

"I, I don't know," he sighs. "I'm not cut out for this. I'm not a story owner. I don't know why Hemlock chose me."

"I do." She hugs him. "Don't even think about it. I'll be with you the whole way. I'm a part of your story too now."

Jameson stands up while taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what he is about to do. Druine follows him into the open again where the guard is still searching for them. "Halt!" he shouts angrily. "I order you to surrender."

"And we do," Druine speaks first. "Right, Jamie?"

"Yes, we do," he agrees. "We surrender to you. We won't run anymore."

"Uh, good," the guard is almost surprised. "Um, this way."

Obediently the pair follows him down the sandy beach, toward the arena which is barely visible in the dark. Druine strokes Jameson's hand, trying to convince him he has made the right choice. He is still not completely confident though, but there is no turning back now. He knows exactly what is guiding her; the same desire to have a story that grips all the children of Hamish. This is her only chance. She is basically just using him.

The guard leads them around the outside of the gated off area housing the arena, down a slope toward the edge of the beach. After wading through a foot of water, they come to another gate on the opposite side, much lower than the first one. The guard knocks four times to alert someone of their presence. A few moments later the gate has opened to reveal a tunnel.

Two more guards are waiting inside to search them. After taking what remains of their money they are carted down the tunnel until the reach several holes in the sides. Other prisoners are sleeping on piles of hay inside. "This is your new home," the first guard informs them. "Good luck on your first fight, whenever that may be."

"Wait, didn't you say we were going to speak with the magistrate?" Jameson asks. "What happened to hearing us out?"

"That was before you ran. You have been found guilty of fleeing a figure of authority. Your punishment is a week in the pits; during which time I doubt you will survive."

"And if I do?" Jameson glares at him. "Will I be released?"

"No," he scoffs. "Not dying in the pit is a crime on its own. Your sentence will increase indefinitely."

"That's not fair!" Jameson shouts. "I'm not doing this." He tries to push past the guard. He is immediately clubbed on the top of the head by the side of a spear, rendering him incapable of resisting further. As he tries to refocus his eyes, he glances down the tunnel to the end where several wooden poles have been tied together with rope, making a grid of bars. It is too dark to see any further but he can guess the pit of the arena is on the other side. Tomorrow, someone will be fighting and perhaps dying at the mercy of an abomination while people watch and cheer without compassion.

"Come on, let's get some rest." Druine drags him into a cell with fewer people. "Who knows, we may end up fighting tomorrow."

He doesn't respond as they lay down in the itchy straw. He can't understand how she can be so unconcerned. He is the main character and will most likely survive anything Hemlock puts him through. She is not so lucky. She could be snatched away from him at a moment's notice. She is not safe here. Why can't she understand that? "What's wrong?" she can sense his apprehension. "You'll do fine."

"It's not me I'm worried about," he finally speaks.

"I can handle myself. I'm here to protect you, remember?" she is overly confident. He falls silent again. There is no way she is going to understand. She wouldn't give up this chance for anything and he can't make her. It is not his fault if she doesn't survive. He tried to warn her.

14: Lord Astral's Legacy

"Welcome one and all to the first ever indoors performance of the great Nathaniel Leadfist," Nathan introduces himself without modesty at the start of the show. Jezebel is hiding backstage, watching the ropes and sandbags that operate the curtains, while the musician plays a piano next to her. The juggler is nowhere to be seen though as he is already at the top of the river, waiting to block the dam.

"For my first trick I will be playing it safe. You all know that I can swallow swords; you wouldn't be here if you didn't. Just to be sure you all get to see my signature talent we will start there. Now some of you have been complaining that the swords I use aren't sharp. I don't know what that has to do with swallowing them but I have offered you the chance to bring your own this time. Anyone have an item you don't mind getting back slightly wet?"

The audience laughs a little but not much. They are not here for comedy but to be impressed with this so called magician. Someone in the crowd steps up to the stage, holding a wooden walking cane. "Well this is a little unsanitary but I did promise, didn't I?" He takes a rag from his sleeve and wipes it down quickly.

Over the next several minutes, random people hand him everything from a parasol to a chain of scarves tied together, all in the name of proving he has no gag reflex. Once the initial part of the performance is over, Nathan retreats backstage while Jezebel drops the curtain. He washes his mouth thoroughly before drinking a tanker of water to sooth his sore throat. "What did you think?" he asks Jezebel as he returns to the stage.

"Um, yeah. You're really good at that," she doesn't know how to respond.

The crowd cheers excitedly as the curtain rises once more. "Now it's time for a little magic." Nathan claps once, pulling a wand from his sleeve, out of sight of the onlookers. It is not a very impressive trick but some of the younger audience members are impressed. "We'll start with a simple trick like… levitation!" he shouts the last word while waving the wand at the audience.

Immediately several of them start to scream as they are lifted into the air. Jezebel stares in awe. She has no idea how Nathan has done this. "Put me down!" some of them start to panic.

"Yes, well, sorry about that." Nathan lowers them to the floor again. Soon the whole crowd is whispering, wanting to know how he achieved his trick. Real magic is not unheard of in Baylor but it has been banned by King Jessup. If Nathan really is a magician, he will have a trial and execution to look forward to.

"Anyone want me to read their mind?" Nathan shouts above the chatter.

"I'll have a go." A rather burly man steps forward.

"Now see, here we have a prime example of misconception," Nathan sighs. "People often believe intelligence is relevant to strength. This man could probably rip the jaw off a wild hound with ease."

"I've been known to, now and again," the man laughs.

"Strength won't help you protect your mind though." Nathan grins suspiciously.

"Really? What am I thinking about right now then?" the man asks confidently.

"You are still wondering how I lifted your wife off her feet a moment ago but that's not important." The man's eyes widen in shock but Nathan is not paying attention. "We need to prove my skill to the audience. We shall use the simplest of tricks. Pick a number and hold that many fingers behind your back."

The man's hands disappear from sight as he follows Nathan's directions. Jezebel can't help but snicker as she knows what happens next. From the very back of the tavern Lawrence holds up a number of shot glasses equal to the fingers he can see, effectively giving Nathan the answer. "Now this is very curious, everyone always goes for seven," Nathan pretends to be disappointed.

Again the man's face reflects surprise. "Let me try that again," he begs.

"If you must," Nathan yawns.

"This time I'll think of a number in my head and not use my hands."

"That won't do. How will I prove to the audience that it really is your number?" Nathan frowns.

"I'll whisper it to my wife," he offers. "Just watch." He leans over to speak with the woman next to him. Jezebel starts to snicker again. This is the part where the musician, who she only recently learned is practically deaf as well as mute, reads his lips and hand signs the answer to Nathan.

"Five!" Nathan shouts proudly.

"Okay, I give up." The man tosses his hands in defeat. "What's your next trick?"

"Have any of you ever suffered from illness. Oh who am I kidding, of course you have. Do you know what causes illness?" Nathan asks. Most of the crowd shakes their heads. They are simple townspeople with no knowledge of medicine and germs. "Illness is caused by unhealthy practices letting disease enter the body," Nathan makes something up. In truth he knows little more than they do; he is just trying to set up a trick.

"Define unhealthy practices!" a woman in the audience shouts.

"Not washing regularly or eating food that has spoiled," he explains. "Dirt builds up in the body and must be expelled somehow."

"How?" another woman asks.

"Boiling water expels disease. Sneezing expels disease. Lots of practices are helpful. Today I'm going to show you what disease looks like when it leaves the body. For this I will need an assistant." Of course, no one volunteers as they assume he is going to make them sick. This forces him to fall to his backup plan. "I would like to introduce you all to my lovely assistant; Jezebel." He bows as she walks out on stage. She is wearing a white and black bar maid's dress loaned to her by Lawrence, making her look less like a villager and more appealing.

"Is she sick?" someone in the crowd asks.

"What? No, not at all," Nathan answers quickly. "Everyone has some amount of dirt inside them. Only when it becomes too much for the body to handle on its own does one become sick. Today I'm going to show you what the normal dirt inside your body looks like. Don't worry, Jezebel, you'll actually feel much better after this." She tries to smile at the audience as he leaves the stage to retrieve several large eggs.

He is juggling five of them when he returns. He is not as good as his absent fellow performer but he isn't bad either. "What are those for?" an audience member asks.

"These are the vessels of which I will use to purify her," he answers. "First, let me show you." He hands a bowl to Jezebel before cracking one of the eggs against his wand and letting the clear and yellow liquid fall out. "As you can see, these are normal eggs. They are completely solid and unbroken." He shows the rest of the spotless shells to the audience.

Jezebel takes a deep breath as he touches her arm, lifting it while rolling up her sleeve. He brushes the shell of another egg against her, letting it roll all the way down her arm. When he cracks this one against his wand, the liquid that falls out is completely speckled with black dots. Immediately the audience starts to gasp. "What is that stuff. Was it in the egg already?"

"How would he have known which egg it was? He was just juggling them."

"Now, now, keep calm. I'll show you again." Nathan cracks another egg to show that the color is normal before repeating the process of touching one to Jezebel's skin, this time her right arm. Again the egg is filled with black specks.

"What is going on? What is he doing?" the audience is astonished.

"I told you, I'm collecting the dirt from her body in the vessel." This answer seems to appease the people for a moment. Jezebel tries to keep a straight face. She knows full well that Nathan did something to several of the eggs before the start of the show. He made sure to leave them in a warm area as well so he could tell them apart from the cool ones which are untainted. "Now it's time for a very special trick," he moves on. "If everyone would please step outside."

Slowly the crowd starts to jostle out of the bar, all the while complaining about having to move. Nathan leads them toward the river where Jezebel found him the night before. "Who here thinks it is impossible to dry up an entire river?" he asks loudly. The entire crowd starts to laugh. None of them think it is possible. "Who here wants to see me try?" The crowd responds positively, either cheering him on or daring him to fail.

Jezebel leans against the fence around the plaza, staring out over the water as Nathan sets up a crate to stand on. He waves his wand in the air a few times before pointing it at the dam in the distance. The water is already starting to slow down. The juggler must be done setting up the barriers. Some of the members of the crowd have noticed it too. "What are you doing?"

"Magic, isn't it?" Nathan grins with pride.

"How long will it take for the river to drain?" an audience member is curious.

"Are you even allowed to do that?" another asks. "What about the saw mill?"

"It's not running at this time of night," Nathan answers. "I assure you, this is merely a trick."

"If it's a trick, then maybe the water isn't even stopping. Prove it's real."

"I suppose you want to climb over the fence and walk along the riverbed yourself," Nathan offers.

"Not particularly, no. If the dam starts flowing again I'll drown."

"Then I shall have my assistant take the risk." Nathan grins at Jezebel. She is not upset in the slightest. This was the plan from the start. Nathan lifts her over the fence by the waist easily, dropping her down into the now very shallow riverbed. The crowd leans over the railing to watch as she runs along the winding path up toward the dam.

As it is rather far, it takes her a while to reach it. She is positive that no one can see anything she is doing anymore. Even with both barriers in place it is impossible to block off all water flow. She has to be careful to avoid the heavy streams still falling. It is not hard to find what she is looking for. At the base of the dam, not even hidden from sight, is a brass plaque. It is bolted into the stone with two long metal spikes.

"Hello down there." The juggler peeks his head over the top of the dam, startling Jezebel with his echoing voice. "Need any help?"

"Do you have a pry bar?" she asks hopefully.

"I have a hammer." He holds the tool up.

"It'll have to do. Drop it to me."

"Don't break it." He lets it fall into the water, which seems to cushion its impact into the riverbed. It is undamaged when she picks it up. She rears back and swings at the plaque, denting the area around one of the spikes. This makes the hole big enough to wiggle the bolt head through. The second spike is easily pried out by using the plaque as a lever. "Got it?" the juggler asks excitedly.

"Yeah, you can move the blocks as soon as I'm out of the way."

"Will do," he agrees. She runs back along the riverbed until she finds a low enough part of the bank so she can climb out. Once the river starts flowing again, the juggler climbs down from the dam to meet her. She hands him the plaque so he can examine it while they walk back to the bridge into Baylor.

By the time they reach the tavern, Nathan has already completed his performance and everyone is gone. "Were they impressed?" the juggler asks hopefully.

"It wasn't perfect but these people have never seen real magic before," Nathan admits. "King Jessup's ban on the occult makes it easy to peddle illusions as a substitute. Now, show me the goods."

"Can't make out a single word, just like the first one," the juggler sighs as he hands it to him. "We'll need to visit the seer again."

"Good thing he never sleeps," Nathan chuckles as they leave the tavern again.

Jezebel pretends not to know exactly where they are going as she follows the three performers through the nighttime cobblestone streets of Baylor. They cross another bridge and duck through two alleys until they come to the familiar small road with the purple cloth tent. To Jezebel's surprise, the seer is waiting outside, clad in his signature blue robes with his bushy white eyebrows still clouding his vision. "I've been expecting you, Nathaniel," he does not seem happy to see them.

"Great seer, we seek your assistance once again." Nathan holds up the plaque.

"I know why you are here," the seer interrupts him. "You have dedicated yourself to Lord Astral's cause; a noble one but a futile one, I assure you."

"Do not let yourself be swayed by anything until you have read the tablet," Nathan urges. "Just tell us what it says. If I can not pursue this further then I won't."

"Do not tell me what to do," the seer grumbles as he snatches the plaque. All four onlookers wait in silence as he mutters to himself in a different language. His eyebrows actually move up to allow him to see, something that disturbs Jezebel. When he is finally finished, his face reflects concern.

"Well?" Nathan is impatient.

"I think you should stop following this path immediately," the seer gives him an opinion instead of an answer.

"I just want to know what the tablet says. You are bound to the truth. I know what happens when you lie."

"What happens?" Jezebel asks while tugging on Nathan's sleeve.

"I am a visionist," the seer starts to explain. "I have the unique capability to see things no one else can. Of course what good does that do anyone if I also have the ability to lie about what I see? If I had a vision of your death and sent you on your path anyway I would be abusing my power. As such, I experience great pain when I am deceitful."

"Very good, so tell us the truth now, great seer. What does the tablet say?" Nathan demands.

"It is a writ of permission regarding Lord Creashure. It grants the new king or queen the right to banish him despite the laws protecting council members from being removed immediately after a new reign begins."

"Elaborate," Nathan does not fully understand.

"In order to keep our royals in check we elect members of a council to give advice. Your Lord Astral and Lord Creashure were both members. Whenever a new dictator inherits the thrown the biggest fear is that they will discard the previous council and buy off the replacements, giving them uninhibited rule. This is prevented by laws laid down by the predecessor, demanding that no council member be removed within the first year of rule and a limited number per year following."

"All of this means that Lord Creashure's position is protected," Nathan starts to understand. "So what is this writ of permission?"

"You see this?" The seer points to a small circle at the bottom of the plaque.

"Why it looks like King Jessup's emblem." Nathan examines it closely.

"It is," the seer agrees. "It is his seal of approval for this document allowing Lord Creashure to, not only, be removed from the council, but to be banished to the Daplands as well."

"Very good then." Nathan's eyes light up. "So Astral actually convinced the old sod. That's a load off my mind. This'll go so much smoother now."

"I'm afraid I must insist that you drop the matter." The Seer is now glaring at him.

"Why would I ever do that?" Nathan is laughing. "We have him by the neck this time. Lord Creashure will have no power from the Daplands."

"Why must you pursue this course?" The seer stomps his foot.

"You forget your place," Nathan's tone changes. "I am the story owner; I decide what I do and you follow my lead."

"I am not Mayberry!" the seer shouts. "I am a servant of Baylor and I believe that Queen Rittier is wrong for the throne. Lord Creashure is our savior."

"So the truth comes out," Nathan sighs while shaking his head disappointedly. "I never would have pegged you for a traitor."

"You're the one's letting this woman ruin this kingdom," he spits angrily. "I'll see my brittle bones burning on an open flame before I let you banish Lord Creashure."

"There's nothing you can do." Nathan snatches the tablet back. "Even if I can't find someone else to translate it, you still can't lie. Queen Rittier will hear its words. Lord Creashure will be banished."

"I have not toiled for a hundred years in this godforsaken city to have it all destroyed by you," the seer's voice deepens. His normally hunched posture straightens, making him appear taller than even Nathan. "Give me that plaque, boy," he demands.

"In the name of King Jessup and the Late Lord Astral, I hereby declare you an enemy of this kingdom," Nathan remains stern. "You will accompany me to the castle where the guard will take you into custody."

"There's a better chance of me dropping dead from old age first," the seer refuses. He holds his hand up in front of his face, clutching at the air like he is trying to grab something. Suddenly his fingers start to glow as a light extends outward. He jabs at Nathan who dodges quickly but not fast enough. The light cuts him like a blade, singeing his wrist. Immediately the juggler and the musician take stances, preparing to fight the old man if necessary.

Jezebel glances around in confusion, not sure who is friend or foe anymore. Mayberry told her to trust the seer, but it seems she was wrong. Her only logical option is to continue supporting the story owner and follow Nathan's lead. The seer continues to jab at Nathan, trying to either grab the plaque or injure him; it is not entirely clear.

Nathan draws a knife out of his belt for defense, along with his wand in the other hand; not that it will do much good. "What are you two doing?" Jezebel tries to get between them. "You can't fight each other."

"Stay back." Nathan pushes her away as the seer tries to strike her. Nathan raises the knife to block the next attack but the glowing energy slices through it like butter. The seer is just about to lunge at him when the musician plays a loud note on his flute, causing Jezebel and the juggler to cover their ears. Nathan quickly drops his items to do the same while the seer only covers one ear with his free hand.

The noise persists for a good minute. Jezebel is sure she can see blood trickling out of the seer's uncovered ear. "What did you do?" she asks the musician who is not looking at her and can't read her lips.

Nathan takes the opportunity to lunge at the seer who seems to be off balance. He knocks him to the ground and tries to pin his wrists. The seer flexes his fingers, extending the light coming from each until they are long enough to cut Nathan again. He leaps off of the old man before he can do too much damage.

"Stop it!" Jezebel tries to intervene again. She can't understand what would turn them into enemies so quickly. This time the juggler holds her back. He leads her to a safe distance as the musician blows into his flute again. This time the seer douses the glow on his hand to cover his ears. Nathan doesn't though, using the opening to attack again. By now his ears are bleeding too. There is something unnatural about the musician's flute.

Nathan manages to shove the seer into the tent where Jezebel can no longer see them. The musician stops playing as he chases after them. "Let me go," Jezebel squeals while squirming. "They're going to kill each other."

"If the seer has betrayed us then he must die," the juggler is unsympathetic.

"But he helped me." Tears well up in her eyes. "He's the whole reason I'm even here."

"Then you are truly pathetic," he sighs.

"What do you mean?"

"Why does his instruction give you worth? Have you only been doing what he has told you to thus far? It is no wonder you have accomplished so little. Learn to make your own way. That is what makes a true story owner like Nathan."

"But I'm not a story owner. I…"

"Neither am I," he reminds her. "But my story will still end when Nathan's does. I am an essential part of it. Are you?"

"I…"

"Are you?" he repeats.

"Well…" she is still unsure.

"Are you?" he asks one last time.

"I could be."

"That's not good enough." He shakes his head. "Just go. You're not a part of this story and you never will be." Just then, an earsplitting scream from Nathan resonates from the tent. The flute starts to play again as both Jezebel and the juggler rush to see what has happened.

The seer is crawling out of the tent on his hands and knees when they reach him. He is still bleeding from the ears and it seems to be getting worse. There is broken glass all over his cloak, probably from one of the crystal orbs he kept in the tent. He finally collapses when the musician hits a high note, knocking him out cold.

Jezebel enters the tent first, immediately spotting Nathan on the floor. He is lying face up, starting at the ceiling where tent poles connect and breathing heavily. "What happened?" Jezebel asks. The musician is kneeling next to him, trying to apply pressure to a set of wounds on his chest. There are five of them, in the proper proportions for a hand. He must have been stabbed by the seer's mysterious energy.

"Will he be alright?" the juggler is concerned. The musician shakes his head, not to say no but to say he can't tell yet. The flute is still clenched in his teeth, preparing to blow again if necessary. The juggler leaves the tent to return to the seer, just in case he wakes up.

"What can we do?" Jezebel's voice is quivering. She is still on the verge of crying.

Nathan lifts his hand to grab hers, bringing her down to kneel next to him. "I never got to know who you really were," he groans.

"It's not over yet," she tries to stop him.

"It is for us. You can't stay with us. We are leaving Baylor."

"But I'm a part of your story," she actually is crying now.

"I don't think so," he tries to laugh. "I think you're going to play a different part. If I survive this, I'm going to the Daplands."

"But it's dangerous there," she gasps. All she knows of the mysterious land on the other side of Baylor is that it is filled with banished criminals, all seeking vengeance against King Jessup and his family. She can only imagine what Nathan plans to do there.

"I need a favor from you." Nathan lifts his head so he can see her better.

She nods quickly. "Anything."

"I won't be able to return before the queen's coronation next year. I need you to give the tablet to her so she can banish Lord Creashure."

"Can't you bring it to her before you leave?"

"Jessup probably doesn't even remember giving his seal. He will not stand for such a blatant disregard for the law. I'm sure he will have it destroyed. You must only give it to the queen when she is ruler, is that understood?"

"Yes." She laces her fingers with his to convey trust. "I'll stay in Baylor and wait for her coronation, I promise."

"Good girl." He wipes a tear from her cheek. "Leave now. I don't want you to see what happens next."

"What do you mean? What is happening?"

"We will try to wake the seer," the juggler answers as he drags the unconscious man back into the tent. "Only he can heal a wound like this. If he values his life, he will do it. If he doesn't, then Nathan will die."

Jezebel's eyes widen. "No!" she sobs as she presses her forehead to his shoulder.

"The tablet can't be here when the seer wakes up," Nathan whispers. "Go!"

Jezebel glances around the tent at all four faces, not knowing what to do or say. Finally she stands up, sprinting from the tent without another word. She starts to pant as she darts through the alleyway. She is panicking too much to breathe properly. Everything that just happened was far more real than she could have imagined. It is far worse than her encounter with Lottie and a butter knife at the theatre. This story is much more serious.

After crossing several bridges and reaching an unfamiliar part of the town, she collapses in the street. She can hear the sound of rain dropping on the cobblestone and feel it on her skin. She clutches the plaque close to her chest while trying to catch her breath. Once again she is completely alone in the unfriendly city. She is growing tired of starting over.

She feels something warm on her cheek despite the cold rain. When she touches it she realizes that she is bleeding from the ear. She starts to feel incredibly dizzy and lays her head down on the wet stone to rest, closing her eyes tightly and letting the sound of the rain drown everything else out.

15: Monsters and Gold

"Nothing in sight; not one bird as far as the eye can see!" Cassandra shouts from the top of the crow's nest.

"Not even land?" Skip calls up to her. "That be strange. The map was awfully specific." He is referring to a piece of paper discovered aboard the Hefty Dragon, after Cassandra had already left. Apart from the golden necklace, of which no one has seen since, it is the only thing of extensive value they found. It details a distant island, near the kingdom of Westhime, supposedly scattered with gold from a wrecked crew of pirates much like themselves.

"There's nothing," Cassandra repeats. "I can't even see Westhime."

"It be there, jus' keep lookin'," he orders. She doesn't know what he expects her to find. The trained eye of the normal lookout would be much better had he not taken ill. He will recover but someone has to do his job, and, according to Skip, Cassandra had better learn to make herself useful or they have no need to keep feeding her.

"Wait, I see it," Cassandra finally spots something more than birds or fish. "It can't be Westhime; it's too small."

"Let us get closer before ya judge, lass. Jus' stay up there 'til we're within range," he orders.

"Aye, aye," she doesn't argue.

As the minutes tick by, Cassandra fiddles with her jacket and her fingers, everything to stave off boredom. There is nothing she can see except the small patch of land growing larger. It is covered with trees like a jungle with a sandy beach at the shore. It appears completely desolate of life. There aren't even any birds flying above it.

"Well?" Skip finally calls up to her again.

"What do you want from me? Surely you can see that it's just an island."

"Hold up, we're goin' ashore!" Skip gives the order. "Get yer butt down 'ere." Cassandra slides down the knotted rope dangling from the crow's nest with ease. She has been up and down from the lookout several times since coming aboard. The entire crew has been helping her learn to fit in. Each one has a set time when she helps them with their chores. She has even been learning how to fence with a cutlass.

As the island grows closer, the other crew members start preparing to leave the ship. They gather rations and weapons alike. Cassandra is surprised when the armory master hands her a cutlass without a sheath. "Slide that in yer belt," he orders.

"What? Why? I don't need a weapon. Why would I need a weapon?"

"We don' know what's on this island. We don' want nothin' to happen to yer, do we?"

"Um…" Cassandra doesn't know how to respond. She has become rather sheltered since coming aboard the Mermaid. Almost all of the crew looks out for her and protects her. It is actually quite unsettling at times but she has no way to make them stop.

"Grab some grub too," he instructs. "We don' know how long we'll be out there. This treasure's bound to be hidden." Cassandra nods obediently. She is not sure why she even has to go with them but Skip has ordered her to pull her weight, after all.

The helmsman steers the Mermaid starboard just as they reach the reef off shore from the island. Cassandra is shuffled into a longboat along with five other crewmembers. There are two other boats with Captain Skip in the third one; a total of sixteen crewmembers going ashore.

All of the pirates pile out of the boats before they even reach the beach, dragging them the rest of the way while wading through the water. Cassandra is lucky enough to ride all the way to dry land though. One of the pirates lifts her out of the boat by her shoulders unnecessarily. She still thanks him though.

The first thing any of them notice is the fact that the trees are much taller than any they have seen before. Unlike the jungle of Capitith this is a full fledged rainforest. It is completely void of noise though as there are no animals screeching or cawing. It is dead silent, striking fear in most of the pirates, including Cassandra. "What does the map say?" Skip turns to his navigator.

"Yer not gonna like this capin."

"Spit it out, man," Skip is impatient.

"We make for the trees. First step is a stone pedestal smack dab in the center o' the forest."

"And what's wrong with that?" Skip is not concerned. The rest of his crew is shuddering though. "Yer all yellow bellies. Anyone who doesn' follow me'll be left behin' when we set sail," he threatens them. It only takes a second for them to collectively agree. Even on an uncharted island in the middle of nowhere, their captain is still the scariest thing they can imagine.

Cassandra lags back as she follows the pirates into the forest. She is not sure if she is included in Skip's threat but she doesn't want to find out. She is actually more afraid of being left on the island than of being trapped on the Sleeping Mermaid with a bunch of unruly pirates. She also does not want to be first in line for whatever they find in the forest.

The navigator leads them in circles for over an hour before they finally come to the first destination on the map, a giant stone pillar sitting on the forest floor; definitely not a natural occurrence. "It says 'ere that we gots to challenge the right to the stone," he reads aloud.

"Challenge what?" Skip is annoyed. "What are ye readin'?"

"It says it right here, sir," the navigator whimpers. "Challenge for the right to the stone."

"Let me see that." Skip grabs it from him. "Oh, so it does," he calms down slightly. "What d'ya spose it means?"

The crew begins to chatter amongst themselves, debating the hidden riddle. "Do we fight each other?"

"Maybe we fight the stone."

After a while of listening to their pointless yammering, Cassandra becomes impatient. "Maybe there is something guarding the stone. The captain should announce our presence and issue a verbal challenge."

Immediately the chatter changes as the crew begins to agree with her. "Right brainy lass, aren't ya?" Skip chuckles. "Here goes nothin'. I challenge anyone who dares stand against me!" he bellows. "Show yerself ya coward!" Cassandra rolls her eyes. She knows it was her idea but he still sounds pretty silly. Even the other pirates are trying to keep from laughing. "What ye lookin' at?" he growls at them.

Just then, something shakes the ground beneath them. Turning around, they all notice that the stone obelisk has tipped over and smashed in two. "Things like that happen all the time, right?" a scared pirate asks while hiding behind the navigator.

"This stone's ben sittin' here since forever. There ain't no way it jus' fell by accident," he squashes the terrified man's hopes.

"What's this underneath it?" another crew member circles around to the other side. "There's a hole down 'ere."

"Let me see that," Skip strides around the fallen pillar to get a good look. "'e's right. Thar's somethin' 'ere. Get us a torch."

Cassandra is jostled back and forth as the pirates begin to dig through their provisions to see who brought what. When they finally find what the need they hand the lit pole to Skip so he can see into the hole. "Tis not very big," he mutters while stroking his chin. "Almost seems like an animal's den." No sooner have the words left his mouth than a low growling rumble emanates from the hole. "Don't spose anyone can guess what that is," he chuckles nervously.

"Obviously the next part of the riddle is down in there." The navigator gestures to the hole. "We need ta fight whatever's guardin' it."

"Or, or we could try ta sneak past it," one man suggests.

"How would we do that?" the pirates all start to complain.

Skip shushes them quickly though. "We'll 'ave the smallest one climb down with the torch an' look around."

Cassandra gulps loudly. "I don't suppose any of you are smaller than me, are you?" Without even answering, they shove her forward. Skip hands her the torch before lowering her into the hole by her arm. It is not likely that whatever creature that is dwelling down here is actually asleep considering the fact that it already knocked down the obelisk when Skip yelled at it. It would be pointless to try explaining that to the pirates though.

The torch lights up the walls of the small tunnel, casting eerie shadows from the roots of trees and other plants. Cassandra breathes steadily, trying to keep from alerting anything down here of her presence. The winding passage seems to go on forever. She has already come quite far from the entrance where Skip and the pirates are waiting. Whatever sounds they heard were obviously echoes.

Finally she comes to a split in the tunnel. Both choices seem much larger than the original hole. There must be an entire network of passages down here. It suddenly dawns on her that this might be exactly what the map intended. These tunnels might lead to the treasure itself or at least the next step along the way.

Cassandra goes right out of instinct. In Hamish it is considered bad luck to go left on an unfamiliar trail. To her surprise, she can see a light a little further on. She quickly stops though upon seeing something moving underneath it. Whatever it is, it is large. She can hear it making a sound not quite like growling; more like purring. Perhaps it is some sort of giant cat.

Slowly Cassandra starts to backtrack, not wanting to encounter this thing on her own. As soon as she is a safe distance away, she starts to sprint. The creature's hearing is incredible though and it notices her almost instantly. It bounds down the tunnel at a tremendous speed scaring Cassandra enough to scream. Soon she can hear the voices of the pirates as well, panicking about what to do. "Can ya hear me?" Skip calls down the hole.

"I'm here!" she shouts back. "Something's down here with me."

"Get back ta the hole. We'll pull ya up."

Cassandra does not have to be told twice. She discards the torch, tossing it at the creature behind her and slowing it down slightly. She can see the light from the entrance to the tunnel only a few yards away but she knows she will not make it. "Help me!" she screams as the creature starts to gain speed again.

"Damn it all," Skip curses as he climbs down into the hole. He sprints from the opposite direction planning to meet Cassandra halfway. When she reaches him, she ducks under his elbow, leaving him to face the creature, which stops in its tracks, unsure what to do about the new intruder.

Skip is much larger than Cassandra and not obvious prey like her. The creature must first asses his strength before taking him on. It paces back and forth in the confined area, trying to size him up. Cassandra can see it much better now in the light of the hole. It is definitely catlike. It has sharp fangs for teeth and pointed ears. She can also see spots on its fur and the outline of its spine which is arched almost to the roof of the tunnel, making the creature even taller than Skip.

"Get out!" Skip growls at Cassandra. "It's ripe to attack." He draws his sword. Cassandra quickly remembers that she is also armed and pulls the cutlass from her belt. "What are ya doin'?" Skip is furious. "Get the hell outta here."

"I can fight," she insists.

"Ya don' even know how to hold a blade properly. Lift yer elbow more. Don' grip it so tightly. Not so loose either," he snaps when she tries to correct herself. "Keep one foot forward an' the other one back," he continues to instruct her. "Don' look at its eyes. Watch its claws an' its teeth, got it?"

"I think so," she gulps while trying to follow everything he is saying. The creature finally decides to make its move, lunging at Skip with its powerful jaws. He moves out of the way easily as it smashes its head into the side of the narrow tunnel. It is obviously not good at fighting in closed spaces.

"I think we can do this," Skip shouts as he realizes the creature's limitations. "Jus' follow my lead."

"Aye, aye," Cassandra breathes heavily.

Skip swings his sword at the giant cat's head a few times, mostly clanging off of its strong teeth but sometimes missing entirely. He also manages to cuts its gums a few times but nothing serious.

Cassandra decides to take a chance while it is distracted and duck underneath Skip's swinging arm, stabbing it in the toe. The creature squeals in pain, giving Skip an opening to chop off one of its fangs. It roars angrily before charging forward, leaping over Cassandra and knocking Skip off his feet.

It slithers its way out of the hole and into the sunlight, pursued quickly by the pair. By the time they climb out the other pirates have already surrounded it, keeping it boxed in so it can't run. It tries several times to leap over them and grab onto nearby branches but every time someone slashes its underbelly. Skip and Cassandra watch patiently as the marks on its stomach only grow, bleeding thick red ooze.

Finally it is too tired and injured to fight anymore. It rolls over onto its side, panting and wheezing loudly; crying almost. Skip walks over to it slowly, raising his large sword above its head. "What are you going to do?" Cassandra asks. She can pretty much guess but she doesn't see the point; the creature is already beaten.

"The point of issuing a challenge is ta claim victory," he reminds her of why they are here. She winces as he brings the sword down on the creature's neck, severing its head from its body. "Now everyone, down in that hole, on the double!" Skip orders.

Cassandra continues to stare at the dismembered creature as the pirates start leaping into the hole. She feels incredibly sorry for it. Now that it is in the sunlight she can see its white fur with black spots. It is almost majestic in some way. Of course it is also dead. Standing here and moping will do nothing for it. She quickly chases her crewmates down the entrance to the tunnel, putting the miserable creature out of her mind.

The rest of the pirates are already further ahead. Cassandra saunters after them with her hands in her jacket pockets. She has nothing in common with these pillaging animals and she doesn't want to be near them anymore. At the end of the tunnel, Skip and the navigator are already discussing the next step when Cassandra arrives. She doesn't give any input this time, not wanting to be responsible for any more unnecessary bloodshed.

The next few steps take them up above ground, through a set of ruins left by some form of civilization, over a waterfall, down a river, all the way to the other side of the island and finally to a stop at the base of a rather large cliff which was hidden from sight at the shore by the trees. "Well?" Skip pesters his navigator. He is becoming impatient. The island was supposed to be littered with treasure. It seems more like a hoax than anything else by now.

"We're in the righ' place this time, I'm sure of it," the navigator insists. "There's a openin' in the cliff some're around 'ere."

"God help you if yer lyin' to me." Skip's eyes flare dangerously. It is almost morning as they have been at this all night. He is twice as tired as the other crew members simply because he hasn't stopped to rest at all. Some of them are still scattered in the jungle, waiting for him to fire his pistol and summon them.

"Everyone, fan out," the navigator orders the five remaining pirates, including Cassandra. "Touch every part o' this wall 'til you fin' somthin'."

Cassandra darts off in the opposite direction as the majority of the pirates, not wanting to put up with them. She is also quite tired, despite having taken an hour long nap near a large boulder and only recently rejoined the expedition. She has no idea what rules the navigator is following to find this supposed treasure and is even less informed after her absence. All she can do is trust that he knows what he is doing.

After a while of simply walking along the face of the cliff, running her hand against the dirt and stone, one of the other pirates calls out. Everyone present rushes to see what he has found, including a few of the missing crew members from the jungle, bringing the total to ten including the navigator and captain.

"What is it man, what 'ave ya found?" Skip is impatient.

"It's some sort o' cave," he answers while backing away from the cliff. Skip approaches the grouping of vines pressed to the rock face. They are blocking an opening from view.

"It's huge," Skip breaths. "What d'ya spose lives in there?"

"One hell of a huge cat," one of the other pirates answers. No one laughs though.

"Who's goin' first?" Skip glances around at his subordinates before resting his eyes on Cassandra.

"Again?" she complains.

"Jus' get in there." He hands her another torch before lighting it. She rolls her eyes as usual before brushing the vines aside to enter the cave. She is almost surprised at her own willingness to be bossed around. This is definitely something Jezebel would have done if they were together. She has become much less spoiled since leaving Hamish.

"There's nothing in here," she calls to the pirates as she shuffles into the dark damp hole.

"Yer not even a yard in yet," Skip gripes. "Get a move on."

"Aye, aye," she sighs as she starts to trot. She doesn't know what he expects her to find. This entire island has been void of life apart from the guardian of the obelisk. There have been no shortage of bones though; probably all food for a much bigger creature. Perhaps there were other trials they should have faced but were long dead by the time they arrived.

"What d'ya see?" Skip's voice echoes distantly. She wasn't even aware of how far she had come. She is already further in than she thought the cave went. The air inside is much more musty than it was before. In fact, it smells quite horrid. Cassandra covers her mouth with her sleeve while coughing loudly. "What is it?" Skip calls again. If he's so desperate to see what's inside then why doesn't he do this himself?

Cassandra holds up the torch, trying to cast more light into the cave. She suddenly drops it to cover her mouth as she sees something she can't believe. "Hello?" Skip shouts into the cave.

"Shut up," she hisses. Slowly she crouches down, trying to find the no longer lit torch in the dark. She has to be sure of what she saw. Finally her hand brushes against the still warm head of the torch. She falls backwards while squeaking in pain and blowing on her burnt hand. She sticks out her foot until it touches the torch again. She rolls it back to herself and quickly relights it.

Rising to her feet slowly, she holds it in her undamaged hand, leaning as far forward as she can without taking a single step. She gulps quietly as her fears are confirmed. Directly in front of her is a gigantic head. It is resting on a set of forearms with one great eye open but unfocused. This is a Cyclops; one of the most dangerous creatures ever mentioned in any of the stories Cassandra has read.

Just past its form she can see something else; sparkling light being reflected back from the torch. She has also read plenty about treasure and what it is supposed to look like; this is no exception. Piled almost as high as the ceiling are mountains of gold and jewels; rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds.

Cassandra's mouth hangs open in awe. She has actually found it, the fabled treasure. Obviously this monstrosity has been collecting it ever since the shipwrecked crew abandoned it here a decade ago. Who wrote the map is a different story though, as this was definitely the intended destination. They must have known about the Cyclops all along.

Having learned from her mistake with the cat, she does not immediately run. Instead she backs away cautiously, not even turning around. It is several minutes before she makes it back to the vines covering the entrance. She almost screams when one of them touches the back of her neck but she covers her mouth instead. "Well?" Skip is waiting just outside the cave. "Did you find the treasure?"

"That and more," Cassandra scoffs.

"Enough lip, lass, what did ya see?" he snaps.

"You want to know what I saw? I saw the end of this crew if you go in there. My advice is to turn around and head back to your ship. Forget this whole endeavor."

"Damn it, lass, did you see the treasure or not?"

"Oh I saw it," she chuckles. "Along with a fifty foot monster from your worst nightmare."

Immediately the crew starts to debate what she could possibly mean. The ideas range from the water god of Capitith to the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. "Enough!" Skip puts a stop to their senseless chatter quickly. "If you don't give me a proper answer this instant, I'm gonna…?"

"You'll what? Send me back in there?" Cassandra crosses her arms. "I'm done. There is nothing you can do that will make me go back in there. You can march in there yourself and get everyone killed. I'm not doing it."

"What in the blue blazes is in thar, lass?" Skip is finally taking her seriously.

"It's a Cyclops, captain," she answers calmly. "It's got one horn on its head and one gigantic eye in the center of its face. It's a Cyclops, no doubt about it."

The look on the faces of the crew is sheer terror. "That's it then." The navigator drops the map. "We're done."

"We're not done 'til I say we're done," Skip is not giving up.

"You'll get us all killed." The pirates start to pack their things, preparing to return to the ship.

"How much?" Skip turns back to Cassandra.

"Pardon?"

"How much gold was there?" he clarifies. "Was it magnificent? Did it shine like the sun itself?"

"Did it ever," she answers honestly.

"Go on. Elaborate," he urges.

She tilts her head as she thinks about it. "Have you ever seen a mountain of gold? I'd say it was at least as tall as the entrance to this cave; just as wide too."

"Well that settles it now, don' it?" Skip asks his crew. "Are we really leavin' all that behind?"

"But sir, we'd need a cannon just to break the hide on a Cyclops," the navigator argues.

"Good thin' we gots ten of 'em back on the ship," he laughs.

"Yer not serious," he gasps.

"All we need ta do is bring the beast to the Mermaid. We'll 'ave 'im cryin to 'is mother."

"Is that an order, capin?" the navigator clarifies.

"You bet yer bottom it is!" Skip is all out cackling now.

The rest of the crew looks extremely nervous. They are caught between the riches Cassandra described and the imminent threat of death by Cyclops. "Um, capin, who ya gonna get ta bait 'im?"

"Does anyone want to volunteer?" Skip glances around at his crew with gleaming eyes. All of them step back, except for Cassandra. "How thoughtful of you." Skip grins at her.

"I knew it, I just knew it," she grumbles as he jostles her towards the cave again. "Why is it always me?"

"Cuz yer the newest member o' the crew," the other pirates remind her. "Jus' don't get yerself killed."

"Not gonna try to," she responds with a frown as she passes through the curtain of vines again. She is entirely used to drawing the short straw by now. "Come out come out wherever you are," she whispers as she shuffles down the dark cavern again. She is not actually trying to wake the Cyclops yet.

She arrives at the end of the cave a lot sooner than before. The giant is still sleeping with its one eye open. Cassandra takes a long glance at the mountain of treasure behind it, reminding herself why she is doing this. As she approaches its face, she is struck by an idea; her chances of out running this thing are bound to increase if it is injured. She is holding a torch and its eye is right in front of her.

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she jabs the giant in the eye with the burning pole. It starts to scream immediately, scampering to its feet slowly. It blinks repeatedly, trying to shake the cinders from its vision. Cassandra can see the searing redness where she successfully burned it. Outside of the cave she can hear the pirates panicking. They can obviously hear the creature they weren't even sure existed a moment ago.

On cue, she begins to sprint toward the entrance, making enough noise to attract the creature in her wake. It chases after her rather unsuccessfully as it is still reeling in pain. It slams into the walls of the cave several times before managing to squeeze itself out through the entrance. "Good work!" Skip congratulates Cassandra happily. "Lead it to the shore. We'll be waitin' with the cannons a loaded."

"Aye, aye," she shouts before running back to tap the giant's leg, just to make sure it is still following her. The creature stumbles forward, still rubbing its wounded eye, especially in the light of the morning sun. It can't even see her and she is not the only one making noise anymore, as the rest of the pirates are scattering. Still the great Cyclops manages to pursue her and only her into the jungle, knocking down several trees as it goes.

After running ahead of it with ease for several minutes Cassandra stops in her tracks. She turns around to face the blundering creature. It is not recovering at all. Perhaps she did more damage than she thought. She is sure that Skip and the rest of his crew are already clearing out the cave as fast as they can. They probably aren't even preparing to meet Cassandra at the shore with the cannons.

Suddenly she throws her head back, laughing at the top of her lungs. She is not enjoying the creature's suffering or the fact that Skip is a greedy user. She is simply feeling free and relieved. She is in no danger as the creature can barely figure out where her voice is coming from. It is echoing around the forest from every direction.

Soon her voice starts to quiver though. She is no longer laughing. In fact, she is almost crying. Why? What is there to be sad about? She's not thinking about her family or about Theo; she's simply extraordinarily sad for no reason. She can't even tell what she is thinking anymore. The sound of the Cyclops wailing is hurting her ears even more than her own sobbing.

"Um, are ya alright?" Someone taps her on the shoulder.

"Hey, Burns," she recognizes him instantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was jus' wakin' up. Tis already mornin', isn't it? Where's the capin?"

"He's raiding the treasure," she answers with a shrug.

"Ya found it?" Burns's eyes light up. "Was it really that simple? Wasn't anythin' guardin' it?"

"Well yeah, the Cyclops." She turns toward the giant again. He jaw drops as she realizes it is not there.

"The what?" Burns's eyes shoot open.

"Oh no," she groans. "Where did it go?"

"The Cyclops you mean?" Burns confirms.

"It was just here." Cassandra starts to peek around the nearby trees, hoping that it simply fell down or something. "No, no, no," she starts to mutter as she checks again and again.

"There ain't really a Cyclops here, is there?" Burns is becoming worried.

"It's pretty much harmless," she assures him. "I'm supposed to lead it to the Mermaid so we can shoot it with the cannons."

"Why you?" Burns is confused.

"Believe me I've been asking myself that for a while now. I don't think the captain's even going to be there when I bring it; if I manage to find it again."

"Tell you wha', I'll get back to the ship on me own and make sure everythin's ready. You find that monster again an' bring it."

"Will do," she sighs as she wanders off into the forest again. She bangs her fist on her forehead as she walks. How did she manage to lose a fifty foot monster?

Luckily the creature has left a trail of fallen trees in its wake. She finds it underneath the waterfall the navigator took them past, washing its eye out; without much success though. "Come on, you great imbecile," Cassandra insults it. The Cyclops spins around, startled by the sound. It tries to focus on her, twisting its expression and squinting but it is simply impossible. The damage to its eye is too severe.

"I'm sorry," she changes her tone. "I was only trying to follow the captain's orders. The Cyclops seems oblivious to her words. It can't understand her at all. "What does it matter?" She tosses her arms in annoyance. "I'm not going to lead you to your death. Just stay out of sight until we've taken everything from the cave."

This seems to catch its attention though. It roars loudly before bounding off toward the cliff again. It can tell that its stash is in danger. "No, no, no." Cassandra chases after it. "You can't go back there, they'll kill you; or worse, you'll kill them," she mutters to herself.

The pirates are still busy cleaning the cave out entirely when the Cyclops enters the clearing at the base of the cliff again. "What the…" Skip drops a barrel full of gold. "Where's the lass?"

"Here." Cassandra waves her hand in front of his face before scooping up a handful of gold from his barrel.

"What are ya doin'?" He tries to snatch it back from her.

"Small price to pay, trust me," she shouts as she ducks under his arms and darts back toward the forest, tossing a few pieces of gold at the Cyclops's face as she goes. It catches them in its hands and sniffs them until it recognizes them. With another mighty roar it turns around to chase her again, following the scent of the trail of gold she is leaving.

"What a smart, lass," Skip sighs while shaking his head. "Alright, men, let's grab the las' of it."

"Aye, aye." They all continue to carry their pilfered treasure away from the cliff. They are not even slightly concerned for the young girl running for her life in the forest.

Cassandra leads the Cyclops further and further into the jungle, dropping a few pieces of gold every few yards. It is barely able to pick them up before realizing she is still ahead of it and continuing to chase her. Once again she is laughing. This is the strangest thing she has done since starting her story. At moments like this she can forget everything that has ever happened to her and pretend none of it matters.

"Come on," she calls to the Cyclops as it starts to run out of breath. "We're almost to the ocean." It seems to understand her this time as it heaves itself forward. It makes it all the way to the beach on the opposite side of the island before collapsing. It falls flat on its stomach with its tongue hanging out, panting desperately.

"There we go," Cassandra cheers happily while dropping the last of the gold in front of it. "You can keep that. I'm sure Skip has more than he needs now anyway." She continues to hum to herself softly as she saunters back into the jungle, quite pleased with herself.

By the time she makes it back to the ship, the pirates have already loaded most of the treasure. She can already see that they have unloaded most of the other supplies in order to fit it all. "Seriously?" she starts to complain immediately. "What are we going to eat?"

"We're headin' straight for Capitith to unload," Skip explains. "We'll get new splies there an' be back on the seas in no time."

"What's in Capitith?" Cassandra is curious.

"Tis the trade capital of all the kingdoms," Burns answers. "Say, weren' you spose ta bring a Cyclops here?"

"I lost it in the forest," she lies. "Not that it matters anymore, right?"

"Don' go disobeyin' me orders," Skip warns her. "Ya got lucky this time. It won' 'appen again."

"Understood," she grumbles while frowning.

"Now ge' on board," he orders. "The navy o' Capitith is a gnarly one. They're always desperate to keep their dungeons filled for entertainment."

"Why?" Cassandra asks.

"The kingdom strives off visitors comin' for the bazaar spending money on the fights," Burns explains. "Can't have a fight without fighters though."

"So they arrest anyone they can?" Cassandra is appalled.

"Tis jus' the way it is." Burns shrugs. Cassandra grabs a piece of dried meat out of one of the discarded crates before climbing into the long boat. She counts the pirates' heads to make sure none of them have been left behind in the jungle; not that she really would care if they were. Almost immediately after reaching the ship, she retires to her quarters to rest, passing out instantly from sheer exhaustion.

16: The Beast Slayer

"Get up. Get up already!" Jameson is waken from his sound sleep by the voice of one of the guards. "Get out of your holes this instant. We are picking competitors now."

"What?" Jameson groans while wiping his eyes.

"You're the new one, aren't you?" The guard glares at him. "This makes things easier. You're the first up. Grab your weapon and enter the arena."

"Excuse me?" Jameson raises an eyebrow.

"You heard me. You're fighting first. Let me just get the other four." Immediately the other prisoners start to scramble around until they are lined up neatly. Obviously standing out is a bad thing. "You, you, you, and you." The guard picks four of them at random. "You're all competing today. Grab a sword, spear or axe and get out there."

Jameson is jostled toward the end of the tunnel by the other four competitors. They stop at another cell just before the arena bars. This one is filled with racks upon racks of weapons. "Hey, why don't we just turn these on the guards?" Jameson is curious.

He receives a quick whack to the back of his thigh from the only guard present. "Do you think any of you are skilled enough? You'll just get the whole kingdom's army down on you as soon as you're out. No, you're better off staying right where you are. Besides, some of these people wouldn't survive without the food we give them."

"You're terrible people all around," Jameson insults him. "You throw homeless people and harmless visitors in the dungeon just for entertainment's sake. How many of them actually survive?"

"More than you'd think," the guard chuckles. "We'd need to arrest ten people a day to keep up if none survived. We have two sessions; morning and evening. You are obviously competing in the first. You won't be picked for the second one. That wouldn't be fair."

Jameson spins around, turning his focus to the weapon racks. He has realized that he is not getting out of here any time soon so he better follow the rules. Instinctively he reaches for a spear; after all it is the only weapon he has ever held before. "No, no, don't go with that," a rather muscular and tan man stops him. "You want something heavy that can cleave a beast in two."

"Is that what we are fighting?" Jameson gulps. "Some sort of abomination?"

"All of these creatures were bred by the beast master over a generation ago," the man explains. "Surely you've read the story." Jameson nods slowly. "Good, then you can guess what we're up against. Probably some sort of griffin."

"Really?" Jameson's voice reflects excitement for a second. "Are there really griffins?"

"Somewhere out there perhaps but these aren't the creatures of legend you're used to. These are abominations bred to look like them. The beast master went through some horrific means to combine the body of a lion and the head of an eagle."

"That sounds sick." Jameson cringes.

"These are the descendents of his creatures. Nature has made them less twisted in the half century since the beast master died."

"So they could pass for the real thing?" Jameson is hopeful.

"They look normal enough but they're just mindless animals. They can't even be trained like a dog or a horse. All you can do is put them down."

"So that's the whole point of this," Jameson sighs.

"I wouldn't be worried about them right now," he warns him. "Worry about surviving this."

"Are they hard to kill?" Jameson is losing hope again.

"Look at yourself and these three." He gestures to the rest of the chosen prisoners who are still struggling to even lift their weapons. "I'm the only one of these people who's ever killed a creature before. These ones survive by letting people like me do the dirty work."

"I'll help," Jameson is eager to prove he is not useless.

The man laughs loudly. "Thanks, kid, but you'll only get in my way."

"I've killed a monster before!" Jameson spouts without thinking.

"Have you now?" the man is suddenly interested. "I'll have to see this to believe it."

"Wait, I didn't say I could do it again," Jameson starts to stutter.

"No, no, go ahead, I insist. I'll let you handle the creature on your own if you want. I usually kill it pretty quick to avoid casualties like them, though." He gestures to the incompetent three again.

"But if I can't…"

"Then their deaths are on your head," the man laughs.

Jameson's mouth twists in fear as he realizes what he has just done. He doesn't have time to dwell on it though. He grabs a different spear than he was going for originally; one with a heavy blade on the end, more like a lance. "Are you ready?" the guard asks as he prepares to open the gate to the arena. No one answers but he does it anyway.

Immediately the sound of cheering meets their ears. They are in a circular area covered with sand while onlookers shout from a stadium above them. None of their faces are even identifiable. Jameson feels a knot in his stomach. Dying at the hands of a hideous beast is one thing; dying while hundreds of people watching and doing nothing is another.

"Release the beast!" a man in the stadium shouts. Two other guards are standing at the opposite end of the pit. They raise a second gate before disappearing through a set of smaller doors. A loud clang behind him alerts Jameson to the fact that they are now locked in with no way to escape.

The five of them wait patiently as a low growl emanating from the second gate grows louder and louder. Finally the promised beast appears. Like the muscular man said, it looks exactly like one would expect a griffin to. Jameson's mind flashes back to the last time he read The Beast Master or something similar. He can't recall any instructions on how to kill a monster like this.

The griffin rears its head back, giving a mighty roar that sounds a bit more like a screech than anything else. It charges forward into the center of the arena, closing the distance between itself and its prey. The wings on its back are tucked together tightly. It does not even seem to be able to use them; not that they could carry its weight to begin with.

The three other prisoners start to panic, cowering behind their muscular hero in hopes that he will save them. Instead, he is looking at Jameson, waiting for the promised performance of a beast killer. "Is there any chance you'll change your mind?" Jameson stutters.

"Learn not to rely on others," the man snaps. "Imagine what would happen if I wasn't chosen along with you. Would you still whine about it or would you already be thinking of a different wait to survive." Jameson quickly realizes that he is right. Even if he survives this he will not be freed. He will have to fight again sooner or later and he may not be so lucky as to have a strong companion again. He needs to learn how to fight for himself.

With renewed confidence, Jameson charges forward, pointing his lance at the griffin's beak. It doesn't even try to move and instead clamps down on the heavy piece of metal. Jameson quickly realizes that the man was right about his previous choice of weapon. If the blade were not so thick, it would have been torn clean off. Luckily he still has a tool to fight with.

He starts to dart back and forth, wedging the lance out of the griffin's beak bit by bit. Finally he manages to slice the corner of its mouth, causing it to howl in pain and let go. He tumbles backwards from the force of his own tugging, leaving the lance in the sand. The creature takes the opportunity to charge forward, snatching it off the ground.

Jameson's eyes widen as he stands back up, watching the creature attempt to devour the heavy pole. He fails miserable and instead upchucks it violently. The spear flies through the air, directly at the muscular man, who dodges it skillfully. Unfortunately, the prisoner hiding directly behind him is not so lucky. The lance impales him directly through the stomach. His eyes bulge as he spits blood from his mouth before falling forward on his face.

"That's one loss," the strong man shouts. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"You can jump in anytime!" Jameson is in no mood to be taunted.

"I think I'll wait a bit longer. This is getting interesting." Jameson glares at him for a moment before being distracted by the griffin who is charging forward again. He rolls out of the way just in time.

The strong man circles around to the other side of the arena, avoiding the creature's line of sight entirely. The two remaining prisoners try to follow but one of them is spotted. He starts to scream for help as he trips and tumbles through the sand. Jameson chases after the creature but he doesn't have a weapon to use anymore. He grabs onto the griffins wings, ripping several feathers out in the process.

It screams in pain again but is not deterred. It clamps its massive beak down on the poor man's head, crushing it easily. Jameson's jaw drops in utter disbelief. Looking up at the audience he can tell that they are enjoying every bit of this. None of them even care that people are dying.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of someone watching through the gate to the prison area. Druine has her face pressed to the bars, trying to see if he is still alive. He stares at her for a moment before being thrown from the griffin's back as it fluffs its wings. He lands several feet away with a sickening crunch. His leg has twisted awkwardly and his face is contorted in pain. "Want help now?" the strong man continues to laugh. "You've already let another one die."

"Shut up!" Jameson spits angrily. He is trying as hard as he can. If anyone is to blame, it is the man who is doing nothing. The creature has heard his outburst though and turned around to chase him again.

"Move!" Druine shouts from the gate, not that telling him will do any good. He scampers along the ground, pulling himself back toward the first fallen prisoner. The sand is hard to grasp though and he is not making much progress. Finally he reaches the corpse, just as the griffin starts to bear down on him. He grabs the handle of his spear, still slimy from the beast's gullet, and rips it from the dead man's stomach, sending a spray of blood with it.

Druine covers her eyes as the griffin accidentally impales itself on the lance. It screams louder than ever before, spewing chunks of its internal organs out of its mouth. Finally it collapses on top of Jameson. The crowd starts to scream in either outrage or delight; it is indiscernible.

Jameson starts to cough and sputter as the strong man lifts the dying creature off of him. He pulls the spear out and stabs it in the throat to make sure. "Not bad, kid." He lifts Jameson to his feet so he can hobble back to the prisoner gate. "I have to admit that I thought you were lying."

"I don't need to lie about something like this," Jameson groans as the gate starts to open. The third and final prisoner rushes past them both, screaming and crying. He dashes into his cell and buries his head in the straw.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're alright." Druine hugs Jameson tightly, taking his weight onto her shoulders. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this. I was wrong. This is a horrible story. We have to get out."

"We can't," he groans. "This is the path I chose. I need to rescue all of these prisoners."

"It's impossible." Her eyes are wide with disbelief. "You'll kill yourself."

"He'll have help," the strong man interjects. "He's proven himself a warrior in my eyes. I'll train him until he can lead us like an army."

"But…" Druine continues to sputter.

"Don't worry." Jameson hugs her back. "Everything is going to be fine. I think I've finally found my calling."

"What?" She jerks away from him. "You hate fighting."

"I did," he admits, "but that was before. I've killed two creatures now and it was extremely invigorating. Can you imagine having the power to stand up to the monsters from the stories you've only read about."

"This isn't you," Druine whines. "You're peaceful."

"I killed two gods to save you," he reminds her. "How peaceful is that?"

"I wasn't conscious when that happened," she pouts. "In fact, I'm glad I wasn't. You've changed. I don't like what you've become. I think we should leave."

"I can't leave, not yet," he is adamant.

"What about me? How am I supposed to survive this?"

Jameson's eyes pop as he realizes that she is right. "Don't worry, I'll think of a way to get you out. Maybe I can bargain with one of the guards."

"What about you; won't you come with me?" Her eyes are wide and hopeful.

He kisses her cheek softly. "I can't. I promise to come find you as soon as I free all of these prisoners."

"You're really doing this, aren't you?" she is in disbelief. He nods slowly. He doesn't like the idea of abandoning her, especially after the fact that she was right about everything. He is a beast slayer and this is his story, though. He can't change it, not even for her.

Druine spends the rest of the morning sulking and refusing to speak to Jameson at all. When another guard enters the tunnel with the intention of choosing five new competitors, all of the prisoners line up, with the exception of the three morning survivors. "What have we here?" He stops to examine Druine. "I wasn't aware we had any women today."

"Do women have to fight as well?" she asks hopefully.

"Just because we don't get many doesn't mean you are exempt from fighting. Enter the arena along with um… you four."

"What? No, you can't do that. I can't fight," she starts to beg.

"It's too late, you've been chosen. Get a weapon and get out there."

"No!" she wails as she is dragged to the armory. "Jamie, help me."

"I, I will," he tries to assure her. "I'll think of something, just try to stay alive."

"You." The guard taps Jameson on the shoulder. "You won this morning's fight, didn't you? If not for that I might have to discipline you."

"What have I done?" Jameson frowns.

"You won't be allowed to interfere with this fight," the guard warns him.

Druine is still screaming when the gate to the arena opens. She finally stops when she trips and falls into the sand. "Release the beast!" the same voice from the morning gives the same order. Again two guards open the opposite gate and disappear before they can become targets for the new creature.

This time it appears a lot more natural than the griffin. It almost looks just like a large cat with white fur and dark spots. It blinks rapidly as it adjusts to the sunlight. It must be naturally nocturnal. Jameson rushes to the gate to watch as Druine stands back up. "Help me," she whispers to him.

"I'm trying." He starts to fiddle with the ropes binding the wooden poles together.

"Don't let it kill anyone!" one of the other four prisoners shouts. "Kill it quickly."

The other three agree, charging forward. The cat is surprised by their screaming and tries to retreat into its hole, only to find the gate shut behind it. It circles around the outside of the arena, trying to avoid the prisoners at all cost. Jameson can hear the audience groaning. They are not interested in a scared beast, only a vicious one.

Finally one of the prisoners manages to catch it, slicing part of its tail with his sword. It screams loudly as it turns around, slashing him across the chest with its long claws. The man is wounded badly but not dead. He drags himself along the ground until he reaches edge of the arena. His companions quickly take his place though, chasing the creature around in circles. The audience is even starting to laugh.

"Stop!" Druine shouts at them. "Can't you see she's scared? Why would you want us to harm such a gentle creature?"

"Gentle? It nearly took my arm off," the injured prisoner scoffs.

"That's your own fault," she disagrees. "Here, kitty, kitty," she starts to call to the cat. It avoids her at first but after a few more times of barely escaping getting slashed by the other prisoners it starts to slink towards her.

Its pursuers finally stop when it leaps over Druine to hide behind her. "What the…?" they are left speechless. "Are you joking?"

"Just kill it!" someone in the audience shouts.

"Kill it, kill it," everyone else joins in chanting.

"No, no killing!" Druine is adamant. "Look at it." She pets the side of its head. It closes its eyes while purring happily.

"Now, while its distracted!" the lead prisoner shouts while charging forward again. The cat rears back in fear but Druine stands her ground. She flips backwards, kicking the prisoner in the chin elegantly, knocking him onto his butt. "What? Why?" he growls angrily while checking his chin for blood.

"Come on," she whispers to the cat as she grabs a tuft of hair and uses it to pull herself up onto its back. "Let's get out of here." She leads it back to the gate where it easily cuts the ropes Jameson is still working on with its claws. "Come with me," she begs. He shakes his head silently. He has already given her his answer. "Please." Her eyes are welling up again.

"I promise this isn't goodbye." He touches her hand softly. She jerks away again, feeling a sudden bout of rage. Why can't he just listen to her? He knows nothing about this land and is completely hopeless without her. Being a story owner doesn't make him special.

With searing anger in her eyes she yanks the cat's fur, directing it away from the gate. Jameson watches as she tries to convince it to scale the walls to the arena. On its forth attempt it manages to dig its claws into the railing of the upper stadium and pull itself up. The audience starts to scream and scatter as it bounds through the seats making its escape. She gives Jameson one last fleeting glance before she is gone.

17: The Thief of Baylor Bridge

"Thank you. We hope to see you here again." Jezebel waves to her most recent customer as he leaves the bookstore.

"Oh you will, you can be sure." He smiles at her as he walks down the street. She has been working at Worshire's Book Tavern for almost a year now. She hasn't seen Nathan or either of his fellow performers since the rainy night when the seer attacked them. Looking down at her rolled up sleeves, Jezebel can still see the shiny thin line on her forearm where the seer healed the wound Lottie gave her with a butter knife. It seems like such a petty event now, especially after the seer's betrayal.

She still remembers the night vividly. She had woken up in the street, still bleeding from the ears and quite disoriented. For three days, she scoured the city for anything that would lead to another story owner, desperate for a place to fit in. She knocked on multiple doors but was always turned away with angry words meant for the glasses clad word doctor Mayberry who had yet to deliver on the majority of her promises.

After three days of tireless searching, without anything to eat and barely any sleep, Jezebel was on the verge of collapsing in the street from hunger and exhaustion. That was when she wandered into the bookstore. The elderly gentleman behind the large green marble counter had rushed to get her food and water.

After nursing her back to health, Mr. Worshire had offered her a job. He said that he was too old to deal with customers anymore; he just wanted to stay in the back room with his books. She had accepted for two reasons; the obvious being she needed money and a place to stay, the second was pure interest.

The books on the shelves are all stories of other children who met word doctors; not a single one isn't true. Jezebel has spent the past year reading up on all the stories of the little children, not just from Hamish. Since the discovery of story owners, the word doctors have spread out to convince children from all kingdoms to start journeys like the ones from Hamish.

Every story Jezebel read terrified her and excited her equally. If her mother had been able to afford books like these, she is sure she would have grown into a worthy candidate for her own story like Cassandra. She had never owned a single book growing up; she had borrowed any she had read from her friends.

The things these children do seem magical from behind the pages of a book but she knows the harsh reality. As she watches the passing people outside the glass window of the shop, she slowly pushes open the book she has been reading most recently; The Thief of Baylor Bridge. It is an entire detailing of Malcolm's life. Had she not lived at least part of it, she would believe he was a hero.

The story is written with a sort of censorship. It tells fantastical tales of how brave Malcolm rescued several orphans and was forced to turn to robbery to support them. He has since gone on to become a professional burglar and has raised enough money to completely reconstruct the broken theatre into a care center under Lottie's supervision.

What Lottie doesn't know is that he still sneaks into Anna's house on a nightly basis. They have gone from simply talking to sharing a kiss and even planning to run away together. It is the thief's affair according to the chapter title.

Jezebel runs her fingertips over the raised letters on the spine. The author really has a romanticized view of Malcolm's life. It is written plainly in gold leaf; Mayberry. She has made special note of Jezebel's intrusion too. She names her as a potential love interest for Malcolm but more as a swooning fanatic. She makes it seem as if Jezebel was obsessed with him.

Lottie's attack on her seems less far fetched the way Mayberry explains it; two girls competing for puppy love getting tangled when they find out their obsession has a new target. According to the most recent edition, Lottie is trying to get back on Malcolm's good side. She has no idea that he is already long gone, planning to leave with Anna within a week. Come to think of it, the issue Jezebel is reading was released a week ago.

Jezebel's heart starts to beat faster. Anna and Malcolm could be eloping together at this very moment. It also gives her a sad feeling to know that he has done so much better since she left. If given the chance, she would love to see him again but she will never take on the role as Malcolm's guiding fairy again.

Of Course Malcolm is not the only fond memory she has of Baylor. Not every person on the seer's list turned her away. She met several of them and helped them along their paths but none have touched her the way Malcolm did. She actually lived with him as part of his makeshift family. She wants to see the results of what she started a year ago with her own eyes.

While waiting for the store to close, she hastens to finish Malcolm's most recent book, wanting to know if he has left with Anna yet. It seems that he has one last large robbery to pull off before he retires for good. She knows better than to expect a location to be given. If Mayberry gave out personal information like that, Malcolm would have been caught and beheaded a long time ago.

It does not matter to Jezebel though. She does not have the time to go searching for him. She has a much larger calling tonight; the night before King Jessup's daughter's coronation as queen. It seems Jessup's age has finally caught up with him. Rumors say he is on his deathbed. It is finally time to show her the plaque and fulfill her promise to Nathan.

As she starts to douse the oil lamps in the store, Mr. Worshire makes his first appearance in the front of the shop. He is yawning and stretching with a year old issue of From Beyond the Woods, under his arm. "What is that?" Jezebel asks. The cover looks slightly familiar.

"Oh it's this wonderful tale about a young girl pretending to be a boy on a fishing boat," his eyes light up as he explains. He is an avid reader who especially enjoys when people take interest in his hobby.

"What is her name?" Jezebel asks impatiently.

"Oh you know the rules. No names are given in the stories, at least not real ones. We can't have people hunting down our celebrities and hassling them. You've been reading the thief's books since you came here. Have they ever once called him by name?"

"No. He's the thief of the theatre or the bridge because it separates the slums where he lives from the nobles he robs. He was called the orphan in the earlier issues."

"This young girl is called the spoiled brat in issue one and soon the prisoner. After that she earns the name the sailor and now the pirate."

"The pirate?" Jezebel gasps. "What happened to this poor girl?"

"She was kidnapped off a fishing boat about a year ago. I have so many stories to read, I haven't kept up. I can give you the next issue if you want."

"It'll have to wait. I have somewhere to be."

"You're not thinking of going out at night are you? It's dangerous, especially for children."

"You forget, I used to live on the streets."

Mr. Worshire smiles while shaking his head disappointedly. "A small country villager comes to the big city a year ago and she thinks she knows everything." Jezebel's eyes widen as she realizes he knows who she is. "You think I don't read The Thief?" He smiles again. "If it's any consolation, I think you're much better for that tramp of a boy than the cripple or the crazy theatre lady."

"She's anemic, not crippled," Jezebel interjects, "and I'm not in love with the thief."

"Don't worry, it's our little secret." He winks as he returns to the back room. She grumbles loudly as she goes about collecting her coat and boots. Since starting work here Mr. Worshire has gifted her many things she didn't have before, claiming he can't simply sit by and watch her struggle to get by. The final thing she does before leaving the shop is place the plaque, which she has kept hidden behind several books all this time, in a satchel.

As she walks down the dark cobblestone street, she glances at all of the people and buildings. A year ago this was all new to her, now it is her home. She misses her mother terribly but she knew what she was agreeing to. It is actually probably easier on the middle aged woman now that she does not have an extra mouth to feed.

Jezebel arrives at the small moat that surrounds the castle just as the sun finally vanishes. She can see two guards posted on either side of six miniature drawbridges at the end of each of the streets that touch the moat.

Glancing at the wall up and down, she quickly identifies the only form of entrance she will be able to use. There is a tree growing straight out of the swampy water of the moat. It leans heavily on part of the wall with its trunk while its branches reach all the way to the street like a bridge in the air. It is like an invitation for trespassers like herself.

Jezebel stays in the shadow of the nearest building until she is sure the guards at the two drawbridges on either side are not paying attention. When it is safe, she starts to sprint toward the tree. The sound of her boots clopping on the cobblestone echoes down the street. The guards can definitely hear her.

She grabs onto the lowest hanging branch and uses it to swing over the moat until she reaches the trunk of the tree. She lets go of the branch just in time to pull out a small shiv she brought and jam it into the tree to keep herself from falling into the water.

The guards are twisting their heads in every direction, trying to identify the source of the noise. Jezebel takes this time to slither up into the leaves of the tree and shimmy along the largest branch until she is past the wall and above the castle grounds. Letting go, she drops to the ground, landing on her feet in a crouching position.

As she stands to dust herself off, she comes face to face with her first ever view of the actual castle itself. Despite King Jessup's modesty, it is an absolute wonder, built by his predecessor King Anoch. Jezebel's mouth hangs open in awe for a moment until she notices a dark shadow on the side of the castle. Someone is climbing the structure like a cat.

She rushes across the grassy courtyard, coming to a stop directly below the figure. She can tell from the signature black cape and large brimmed hat which have become a symbol for the thief of the theatre that it is Malcolm. He arrived even earlier than her. "Malcolm," she hisses at him from the ground. "Malcolm, what are you doing?"

While dangling from the ledge of an open window, the thief glances down at her, revealing a half masked face and a crooked smile. He hooks a metal grapple into the sill before sliding down the attached rope like a bucket in a well. He lands directly in front of Jezebel, causing her to gasp. "How do you do, milady." He bows while taking off his hat.

"You look positively ridiculous," she insults him.

"I look like a thief," he disagrees.

"I don't understand this whole getup." She rolls her eyes.

"I take it you've been following my work." He smirks.

"It's hard to miss. Why have you become like this?"

"Wasn't it your idea?" he passes the blame. "You wanted me to get my story started."

"You could have done anything; you could have become a doctor and tried to cure Anna."

"Her parents have already hired the best doctors," he counters, "her condition's rather manageable, actually."

"That's not the point," she grumbles. "Why do you have to endanger yourself? You could have fallen just now."

"I've fallen exactly twenty-five times since I started. Never once has it killed me."

"That isn't very reassuring. One day you will end up dying. What happens when the guard catches you robbing the castle vault? What will happen to Lottie? What will happen to Anna?"

"And what about you?" he counters. "What are you doing here?" Before she can answer, he grabs her by the waist. He clips a metal pulley onto the rope in his hand and begins to crank it with a gear on the side. Soon they are rising into the air at an incredible pace.

"What are you doing? Put me down!" she squeals.

"Quiet," he hisses as they stop just below the ledge he hung the grapple from. She quickly checks to see if any of the guards have noticed them and sighs with relief when all seems calm. She lets him place a hand under her butt to boost her through the window. She lands on her hands and knees on a soft carpet. Malcolm quickly swings himself over the ledge, landing next to her in a crouching position.

"You've really gotten good at this," she breathes.

"And you; are you going to tell me why you are here?" he asks.

"I have my own reasons," she refuses to answer. "Maybe I knew you'd be here. Maybe I just wanted to see you again."

"I'm flattered but as a man, I am spoken for."

"Say that to Lottie." She slaps his shoulder in annoyance. He is the last person she needs thinking she is obsessed with him like the stories say.

"I don't really talk to Lottie anymore," he admits.

"Really?" she is shocked.

"I give her enough money to keep the refuge house up and running but I let Taylor be the one to take it to her."

"Why?"

"I think they make a lovely couple, don't you?" he jokes.

"Lottie will throttle Taylor first, but that's not the point; she loves you."

"I never asked her to." He crosses his arms. "I just couldn't deal with her after she attacked you. She is far too possessive."

"Does she know why you're avoiding her?"

"I'm sure she has guessed," he sighs. "She has only herself to blame."

"I'm the one who should be mad at her," Jezebel feels extremely guilty.

"You left," he reminds her. "I couldn't have asked you to but it needed to be done. I can't thank you enough for making my job easier. I just want to know that you are safe."

"Still treating me like a member of the family?" She rubs her arms nervously.

"The family is dead," Malcolm's voice is stern. "I abandoned it for personal pleasure."

"People grow up," she tries to patronize him.

"I'm not sorry," he quickly explains. "It was never a healthy situation. I can't blame Lottie for assuming I felt the same way she did. We were the oldest. I can't pretend the thought never crossed my mind either."

"Then why not?" Jezebel is genuinely curious. "Why have you never given her that kind of chance?"

"Because it was never her." He has a far away look in his eyes. "I never felt the way I do with Anna when I was with her."

"So Anna's special?" Jezebel's voice quivers slightly.

"Please don't tell me…"

"No." She holds up her hand to stop him. There are tears in her eyes but she doesn't know why. She is not jealous of Anna and she definitely could never see herself stealing Malcolm away but she is still sad. She has been reminded of how alone she is compared to him. Since she was young, all she ever wished for was her happy ending.

Even though she will never have her own story, she is still searching for it. She will search through the depths of a hundred story owners' darkest adventures if she can only find her small spec of hope. Perhaps Taylor is right about her. Perhaps she is planning on stealing someone else's happiness.

"Hello? Who's there?" a soft voice calls out into the moonlit hall. Malcolm rushes to the nearest door and tries to open it. It rattles loudly, alerting the voice's owner to their location. "Who are you?" the small pale round face of Princess Littier, Jessup's granddaughter, becomes visible in the moonlight.

"Hello." Jezebel rushes to block her view of Malcolm.

"Are you the thief of the theatre?" Littier leans around Jezebel's legs to look at Malcolm anyway.

"I am." He brings his cape in front of his mouth mysteriously.

"I am so sorry, milady." Jezebel tries to drag her back down the hall.

"Wait." She clings to the wall. "I want to talk to the thief. I've read all your stories, Mr. Thief. I love reading about you and the sick girl. Are you her?" She turns to look at Jezebel's face. "You're not," she is disappointed.

"I don't bring her with me when I'm out stealing," Malcolm tries to explain.

"So you're here to rob me?" Littier seems halfway between terror and excitement.

"Sort of," he admits.

"We need to go," Jezebel urges.

"Please wait," the young princess begs. "I want to hear all about your adventures."

"What is it with you and girls?" Jezebel glares at Malcolm.

"I'm just that dashing, I guess." He grins smugly. "Now Milady, what would you like to hear first?"

"First I'd…" Littier stops mid-sentence as she hears several voices approaching. "Oh no, that will be the guard. They must have noticed I'm not in my room. I've been sneaking around the castle because I couldn't sleep. Mom's coronation is tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Milady, but I must leave you." Malcolm dashes for the window.

"What about me?" Jezebel demands.

"I can't be caught, Jez. It's not just my hand it's my head they'll chop off."

"What about my head?"

"I'm hoping it won't come to that." He leaps out of the window, gliding down the rope like a diving bird.

"There she is!" The guards are upon them in a matter of seconds. They quickly separate Littier and Jezebel, placing the elder's hands behind her back. "Who are you?" they demand.

"I, I…" she is too scared to think of anything.

"This is my new whipping girl," Littier is faster. "Her name is Jez," she remembers what the thief called her.

"I see." The guards release them both. "Well it's very fortunate you are here, Miss Jez. Milady is supposed to be resting in preparation of her mother's coronation."

"Is she now?" Jezebel gulps nervously.

"This is not the first time she has misbehaved. She will be severely punished this time."

"Is that so?"

"I'm sorry," Littier whispers.

"You should be." The guard lifts her chin to look her in the eyes. "She would not suffer if you would only behave. Ten lashes."

"Ten?" Littier screams in outrage.

"It was one the first time and two the second time. I'm sure you understand the pattern by now."

"But she's new here. Look at her soft skin. She has never been whipped in her life."

"And neither have you," he reminds her. "If you wish to keep it that way then I suggest you shut your mouth." He draws a long black coil from his belt.

"I'll take it!" Littier shouts.

"What?" he is caught by surprise.

"I'll take the beating."

"Milady, that's awfully kind of you but your mother would never hear of it."

"I won't tell anyone, just don't hurt Jez."

"It's not that simple. I can be hanged for laying a hand on her majesty's progeny."

"I don't care," she is wailing.

The guard looks at Jezebel, begging her to intervene. She frowns at him angrily. If he really wanted to he could send the princess to bed without punishment. He is the one forcing the issue. If he is so against beating the girl himself then why doesn't he just lessen the punishment or stop it all together. "Fine," she finally interrupts. "Just make it quick."

"Please lift your dress," the guard requests.

"Why?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Do you wish me to ruin your clothing? It won't make it hurt any less." Jezebel bites her lip angrily before turning around and lifting her dress above her back, revealing her bloomers beneath. A different guard is tasked with holding Littier back while the man with the coil prepares to swing.

Jezebel screams as the black leather licks her flesh. It is a hundred times worse than she ever imagined. Her mother only ever slapped her when she misbehaved. Never has a man even raised a hand to her. The second lash is twice as bad, re-inciting the pain from the first.

Eight lashes later she has gone numb. She is unable to keep count and is actually surprised when the guard puts the whip away. She slides down the wall and lays her head on the floor, crying silently. She can still hear Littier whimpering behind her. "Where are your quarters? We shall escort you."

"You mean drag?" another guard jokes. The look he receives causes him to halt his laughter immediately.

"She'll stay with me tonight," Littier manages to answer.

"So be it." The guards lift Jezebel off the floor by her arms. One of them tugs her dress back down to cover her torso before they begin to drag her down the hall. Her boots scrape against the carpet as her legs dangle loosely. She did not expect it to be so draining. She used up all of her strength in endurance.

The guards simply toss her on the floor of Littier's chambers without even checking to see if she is still conscious. "Jez?" Littier taps her face.

"Water," she manages to groan. Littier rushes to a basin beside her bed to retrieve a saucer full of water. She hands it to Jezebel who drinks half of it before pouring the rest over her face. Littier grabs her knees and starts to rock back and forth as she waits patiently.

After a while Jezebel finally manages to pull herself to her feet. She wobbles unsteadily for a moment before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?" Littier is concerned.

"Why did you do that?" Jezebel asks. Litter appears not to understand the question. "Why did you protect me? Why did you lie and why did you try to take the beating?"

"Because you didn't deserve it," she answers quietly. "I'm the one who left my room."

"But I'm a thief," Jezebel argues.

"No, you're the good girl from the story. I recognized you right away. You helped the thief plan his robbery and you stood up to the theatre lady. You are the voice of reason. You help the thief do what's right. I've read all of Mayberry's stories. You help all of the story owners in Baylor."

"No one I know looks at me that way." Jezebel's eyes are welling up again. She is not sure if it is a young girl's delusion or not, but for once she feels that she has done something right. She spent a whole year regretting the decisions she made while following Malcolm. At least someone believes she made the right choice.

"Let me look at your wounds," Littier tries to lift her dress.

"It's better if you don't." She winces while grabbing Littier's hands. "I'll be fine, I promise."

After a moment of staring at her suspiciously, Littier removes a crescent pendent from her neck. "Here, this will help you assist others the way you did the thief."

"I can't accept this," Jezebel tries to refuse.

"I insist. It is the order of the future queen," Littier is adamant. After staring at her with her mouth open for a moment, trying to think of anything to counter with, Jezebel finally bows her head, letting the young princess place the pendent around her neck. "With this I name you guardian to the children of the books. Watch over them and protect them with all your wisdom and strength."

"I don't know what to say." Jezebel's mouth remains open.

"Don't say anything. Just accept it." Littier smiles.

"Okay."

"So?" Littier starts to fiddle with her fingers.

"Yes?" Jezebel raises an eyebrow.

"Why did you come here?"

"Oh, I almost forgot." Jezebel opens her satchel. "I need to speak with your mother."

"You can't. Not tonight anyway. She is very busy with the coronation. What is that?" She tries to reach into the bag.

"It's something very important that your mother must see." Jezebel jerks it away from her. Littier seems almost hurt that Jezebel doesn't trust her. "Um… I'm sorry, it's just…" Jezebel tries to calm her.

"It's okay," Littier cuts her off. "My mother never tells me about anything either. I'm used to it."

"I didn't mean to…" Jezebel attempts to apologize.

"Hey, can I ask a favor," Litter interrupts her again.

"Um, of course. Anything, milady," Jezebel knows better than to argue with a princess.

"Stay with me tonight." Litter crawls under the covers of the bed.

"What?" Jezebel is surprised.

"I can't sleep. I want you to be my friend and look after me the way you look after the thief. Will you do that for me?"

"Um," Jezebel ponders for a moment before smiling. It seems that this young princess is still quite childish. "Of course I'll stay with you," Jezebel adopts a sisterly tone. She has always wondered what it would be like to have siblings like Cassandra. Littier snuggles close to Jezebel as she lies down next to her.

Through the window the moonlight shines directly on Littier's forehead, lighting up her pale skin with a blue tinge. Her bright hair appears almost silver and her small frame like a doll. It is hard to believe she is actually a princess. Some day the city of Baylor and this castle will belong to her. From what Jezebel can tell, she will be a wonderful leader.

18: The Legend of the Sleeping Mermaid

As Cassandra sits at the edge of the Sleeping Mermaid's deck, she uses a small carving knife to shave splinters off a piece of bark she brought back from shore the last time they docked. She is sighing loudly while letting her long hair flutter in the wind.

In the year since she was brought on board, she has become used to the way things are. The men still offer her special treatment and smile when she walks past but none of them bother her for fear of Captain Skip's wrath. She has become entirely absorbed into the crew. She even receives her own cut of the treasure they have taken since she came aboard; not much though.

They are currently on route to Capitith once again. Captain Skip is itching to check on the treasure he buried there last time they visited; directly after leaving the uncharted Cyclops inhabited island. "How ye feeling, mum," one of the crewmembers decides to be brave enough to talk to Cassandra.

"Hey, Burns," she sighs. She has become accustom to talking with the pirates. She is much less quiet and reserved than before. She has grown several inches and started wearing the boots given to her by one of the crewmen rather than going barefoot. "I'm just feeling a little sad is all," she admits.

"Still thinking of that wopsy, are you?" he reminds her of Theo.

"Don't call him that," she responds sternly while rising to her feet. She misses Theo greatly and still wishes she were back at the reef learning how to fish with his strong arms on her shoulders.

"He was right knocked in the head, to be sure," Burns tries to argue, "even if he was Barker's son."

"You seem to know a lot about Barker," she is becoming curious.

"He was the capin before Skip took over. Actually, none of us even knew 'is name; 'e was jus' the captain.

"Why did he leave?"

"Family," Burns answers with a sly smile. "We once raided a tradin' ship off the coast of Abith. On board were dozens of wrought fancy folk buying passage to some lost island. One of 'em was this gorgeous lass named…"

"Allegra," Cassandra interjects.

"I see you've met the ol' lass. She was quite the looker in her youth, I'll tell ya that. I was jus' a cabin boy and Skip wasn' much older. She swooned for Barker immediately; left her rich fiancé for 'im too."

"That's rather cruel." Cassandra frowns.

"Love knows no bounds, mum."

"And yet you kill any wopsies you find."

"That's different, mum. Imagine what'd happen if a man like that 'ad a daughter of 'is own?"

"A man like that?" she raises an eyebrow.

"A man who courts children, an' can't control 'is impulses. We all live 'ere on this ship together with you an' none of us 'ave laid a 'and on ya."

"He never laid a hand on me either," she lies.

"I can' tell if yer tellin' the truth or not but I won' force you ta speak ill o' the dead. All I'm saying is that man would have 'ad you for 'imself if he could."

"So what if he had?" she is becoming annoyed. "Maybe he just couldn't control himself around me. We could have been happy together. There was no need to kill him."

"Trust me, mum, it's not jus' you. Don' get me wrong, yer absolutely beautiful, jus' so ya know, but yer not unique. Any pretty lass comin' 'is way would've wound up in the same boat. Yer face is all 'e saw. He wasn' in love with yer soul. Neither am I, nor the rest of the gents, for that matter. Do ya really think we'd 've let you live if you was ugly?"

Cassandra's head jerks back in shock. The thought had never even crossed her mind. She has always been referred to as one of the prettier girls in Hamish. Never has she been so glad about it before. "What are you saying?" she asks as she calms down. "You don't think Theo was right for me?"

"Theo wasn' right for anyone," he continues to insult the poor dead man. "He was just lookin' for a quick distraction. The bes' thing fer you ta do is marry a man who don't need another pretty gal. Marry a man women are swoonin' toward, not a man swoonin' to you."

"Is that why every girl grows up wanting to marry a prince?" Cassandra surmises. "I always thought I was simply selfish and spoiled."

"The appeal of a prince is not 'is wealth or riches. Ya marry a prince because 'e asks ya to. If the prince of Ferery asked you ta marry 'im what would you say?"

"I'd say to go burn in hell," she spits angrily.

"Easy now, lass. You'll get beheaded for turning down a prince, much less insultin' 'im."

"I don't care." Her eyes are seething. "One day I will take my revenge upon the kingdom of Ferery and all of its royalty."

"Seems like I 'it a nerve." Burns bites his lip. "I din' take ya for a fighter. That's not yer fault though. As I said, mos' o' us are struck by yer beauty. We can' see past the fac' that yer a lady. If ya wish to continue pretendin' yer name's Cassidy, I can' change yer mind. I only ask that ya consider what yer givin' up. You'll never settle down with a nice man like this."

"You want me to get hitched to a prince and make dozens of babies?" She glares at him.

"As I said before, when a prince asks you ta marry 'im, you don' say no."

"But then I'd be accepting a man who swooned on me. Didn't you say not to do that?"

"I…" Burns is caught by his own words. Finally his face twists into a smile. "Never min', mum. Ya seem ta 'ave yer mind set. I only 'ope ya don' end up in Davy Jones's locker like the rest of us."

"Naval vessel off the port!" the lookout suddenly bellows from atop the crow's nest.

"Wait 'ere," Burns instructs Cassandra as he runs off to the center of the deck to speak with the captain.

"I'm coming too." She tries to follow him.

"Ya need to wait below deck where it's safe," he disagrees.

"But I've done this before. I've even been part of the raiding parties," she argues.

"Those were unsuspectin' trader ships. This is a naval seeker. There's no fleet with them. They 'ave no reason to be here, 'cept for huntin' pirates. They'll be much better skilled in cannon and sword."

"How likely are we to survive this?" Cassandra gasps.

"Not a chance in hell," he laughs as he runs off.

"Hard to port!" Captain Skip begins barking orders. "Bring all the cannons to one side o' the ship an' open fire. Don' even let 'em get a single shot off." He is interrupting by the booming sound of a cannon firing and the splash of the heavy lead ball hitting the water right next to the Mermaid, dashing Skip's hopes to fire first. All of the pirates look at their captain with terrified expressions. "You have your orders!" he shouts at them.

The crewmembers begin rushing around, setting sails to turn the ship and rolling the cannons to the port side. The naval vessel fires three more shots which all miss because the mermaid is practically spinning in the water. "Captain!" Cassandra ducks between a passing crewmember's legs as she reaches the center of the deck.

"What are ya doin' up here?" he is surprised. "Get below deck an' take cover."

"I want to help," she begs.

He glances around at the circling men. Suddenly the ship starts to slow down as they take the proper position to fire. The wheel behind him begins spinning rapidly, letting the mast move unhindered. Skip reaches out and grabs it with one hand, holding it steady, causing the boat to lurch. Again he glances down at Cassandra's pleading expression. "Fine," he gives in. "Hold this an' make sure it don't move for anything, understood?"

"Aye, aye." She nods as she grabs hold with both hands. He quickly rushes off to help the navigator gauge the proper angle to fire the cannons. Cassandra grips the helm tightly while watching the pirates work. It is not the first time they have let her steer but she has never done it while under attack.

Cassandra feels a droplet of water on her forearm just as the Mermaid fires its first shot. It whizzes past the bow of the naval vessel without even touching it. "What happened?" Skip demands.

"The wind's pickin' up, capin," the navigator answers. "A storm's approachin'."

"Of all the goddamn luck," he starts to grumble.

"They'll be havin' just as much trouble," the navigator assures him.

Cassandra's heart starts to beat faster. She can see the spray of the sea increasing. It is almost like a pasty mist, circling around both ships and making them hard to see. She knows what comes next. In these situations, Skip always resorts to ramming his prey. It feels so strange to be the hunted and not the hunter for once.

It seems the navigator has noticed it as well; the naval vessel is changing directions, preparing to barrel straight at them. "They're mad!" he gasps. Cassandra knows she has been told to keep the wheel steady but she can't simply sit by and do nothing. As the ship approaches, she prepares to steer away.

Just as the bow of the naval vessel reaches the Mermaid, she spins the wheel to the right, causing the ship to veer off. The bows scrape against each other, grinding and sending splinters flying. The movement slows as the friction builds. Soon the boats have both stopped, locked together like one solid vessel with a double deck.

Most crewmembers of both vessels have been knocked off their feet by the sudden jolt. Just then it starts to pour. No thunder or lighting, just pure heavy rain. As soon as the men regain their footing, they realize their close predicament. The pirates barely have time to draw their swords before the naval crew jumps ship, leaping to the Mermaid's deck, ready for battle.

Cassandra jerks on the helm several times in an ill-advised attempt to dislodge the two vessels. It is impossible though; they seem to have melded together. Even with only half of the navy crew boarding the Mermaid, the pirates are still outnumbered. Cassandra does not go unnoticed in the naval crew's attempt to overtake the pirates.

The first group to turn in her direction is headed off by Skip and the navigator, giving her time to leave the helm. She draws her sword, preparing to fight alongside her crewmembers but Skip blocks her path. "Go an' hide in me cabin," he orders.

"But I…" she tries to argue.

"That's an order!" he is adamant. She re-sheaths her sword before darting towards the swaying wooden door. She barely reaches it before more of the men, fancily dressed in blue, find their way to her. She ducks under their drawn swords, sliding on the rain soaked deck as she slips into the cabin.

She slams the door shut behind her, leaning against it and using her full weight to keep it closed. She sighs when she realizes that they are not banging against it or even trying to get through. Her relief is short lived though as instead of attempting to bash their way in, they simply decide to plunge their swords through the soft sea weathered wood.

Cassandra opens her mouth to scream as she feels the sharp pain of a navy cutlass piercing her back. However all that escapes is a sick gurgling sound. She covers her mouth with her hand as the taste of her own blood fills her senses. She feels like throwing up but she knows it will be her guts spilling out.

She stumbles forward from the door, knocking over a barrel of maps near the captain's desk which rolls behind her, blocking the entrance to the room. She uses her free hand to hold her stomach where the sword poked through her front. She can feel her warm blood gushing out; she will not stay conscious much longer.

As she reaches the other side of the room, she falls to her knees. She stretches a bloody hand out toward the trunk Skip keeps at the end of his bed. As expected, it is filled with different items he has pilfered on his travels, all too extravagant to sell or bury with the majority of the booty. There are crowns and lockets, rings and necklaces, all sorts of jewelry and treasure that caught Skip's eye at one point.

Cassandra digs through the mass of objects, smearing blood on everything. She is probably looking for something to bind her wounds but she is too delirious to even understand herself. As she tosses each item behind her, the trunk slowly empties. Finally all that is left is the same small sphere shaped pendent on a necklace that she saw him pocket aboard the Hefty Dragon.

She lifts it up into the sunlight shining in through the window of the cabin, trying to get a good look at it. The carvings in the small piece of gold almost make it look like a miniature person rolled into a ball. She coughs violently, spewing blood from her mouth which covers the floor and the trunk; not to mention the pendent. As her breathing becomes labored, Cassandra grips the string to her chest, wishing against all odds for a miracle.

Suddenly the light glinting off the pendent begins to grow. It brightens and shines until it is blinding. Cassandra is sure she is delirious and chooses to simply watch in her final moments. However, the pendent is actually changing. What appeared to be a tiny person is now unraveling itself from its tangled fetal embrace.

Cassandra watches as the figure goes from solid gold to stark white. The string falls to the floor of the cabin as it slips from the tiny person's back. It is not a human; no, it is a magnificent shining fairy. The glimmering creature remains fluttering in the air even without the string, held up by her own wings.

She is only two inches tall with a wispy white dress as her only form of clothing; barely reaching her knees. Her eyes are cold and black while her hair is brown and long; all the way down her back, covering the part where her silver transparent wings grow from her flesh. Her skin is as pale as daisy pedals and as smooth as buttermilk.

She is having trouble staying afloat in the air though. Each of her four wings is marked by gashes and tears that have only just healed. There are ten in total. "Oh my god!" the little creature exclaims in a high pitched voice while covering her mouth in horror at the sight of the bleeding giant in front of her.

Cassandra reaches a blood covered hand toward the fairy while struggling to speak. Again no words come. The fairy glances down at the discarded string that was once tethered to her back. "You summoned me?" she asks. Cassandra is barely able to nod. "Then I am yours. I shall grant you anything you wish; you need only speak the words."

Again Cassandra chokes. Her throat is filled with blood and she is moments from blissful unconsciousness. "Just say something," the tiny fairy begs. "Anything."

"Help… me…" Cassandra finally sputters before her head falls to the floor. The creature wastes no time, fluttering down to examine the wound on her torso. The flowing blood has slowed as there is almost none left to give. With a wave of her hand, bright sparks fly from her dress, covering the gash and closing it up.

As soon as it has completely healed, the fairy flutters down to Cassandra's face. She lifts each of her eye lids, trying to see if she is still conscious but she is unresponsive. Just then the wall behind her shatters as a stray cannonball from the navy ship smashes through. Splinters cover Cassandra's once blue coat now stained red. The roof starts to leak as the rain pours in, soaking the fairy and her wings.

She grabs the collar of Cassandra's jacket and tries to lift her up. Of course it is impossible. Even if her wings weren't damaged or wet, she would not be able to carry her. The men outside are shouting and screaming as the battle of swords rages on in the rain. From the looks of the fancy navy blue coats worn by the majority, the pirates are not winning.

In fact, as the fairy peers through the hole in the wall, all she can see are three men still standing, one of which is Captain Beddary Skip. He is deflecting five different attackers at once but he looks tired. He will not hold out much longer. The pirates have lost. The rest of the navy crew has begun to search the rubble of the splintering ship, stabbing any remaining body they find still breathing.

As expected, their next target is the caved in cabin where Cassandra still lies unconscious. As three men approach, the fairy dives back to her charge, trying again to wake her. It is no use; she has lost too much blood. Even after the great effort the fairy went through to save her, she will still be slaughtered by the navy crew.

The fairy closes her eyes as she tries to think of any way she can save her. Her shimmering glow grows brighter and brighter the more she concentrates. Finally she settles close to Cassandra's lips. She sucks in a large breath before blowing on the young girl's face, transferring the majority of the glow.

Immediately, Cassandra shoots up, standing on her feet with her own cutlass drawn. "What the…" the first of the three men gawks at her. Her blue icy eyes are practically glowing white as she stares at him blankly. He draws his own sword and charges forward, only to have it knocked out of his hands.

The two men behind him draw their weapons as well. Silently, Cassandra glides forward, her feet barely even touching the deck of the ship. Both men cry out as she slices through their blue coats and into their flesh. "What are you?" the first man asks in awe. Rather than answering, she glides toward the edge of the boat, leaping off in a flurry of glowing sparks.

Captain Skip has time to turn and watch as she lands in the water. Instead of sinking to the bottom of the ocean, she remains standing on the surface as if it were made of ice. She glides along the sea like she is floating; her destination is the shore. The fairy is fast in tow.

Skip smiles happily as his sword is taken from him by the naval officers and he is bound and chained. "Captain Beddary Skip, you have been charged with piracy, pillaging and murder," the captain of the Naval ship confronts him. "You will be brought to Westhime to stand trial where I assure you, you will be found guilty and executed. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Skip glances around at the bodies of his fallen crew. Burns is lying to his left and the navigator to his right; neither of them is moving. "Well gents," Skip speaks to the dead instead of the navy crew. "Tis been an honor serving with you. I'll see you all in Davy Jones's locker." He is still smiling as they cart him to the brig of their ship.

Far off in the distance, Cassandra finally reaches the shore. The white glow leaves her eyes in the form of sparks which settle around the fairy until they are absorbed by her wings. Cassandra's eyes drift lazily before closing completely as she falls to the ground face down. She is still unconscious.

Several hours pass as Cassandra continues to sleep on the sandy beach with the sound of waves crashing on the shore and seagulls crying surrounding her. She rolls onto her side as she moans in her sleep, dreaming of her simple life back in Hamish. She would give anything to be home again. Why did she ever want to leave in the first place? Even if she returns, though, her family will not be waiting for her. The only person she has left is Jezebel.

"Jezebel!" Cassandra shouts as she sits up. "Jezebel, where are you?" Her eyes dart around the shaded area of the beach where a canopy of palm trees is blocking the sun. Her gaze falls to rest on the tiny creature sleeping next to her. Its high pitched breathing can be heard like the buzzing of an insect. "Jezebel, wake up." Cassandra lifts the fairy off the sand.

"Good morning," the creature smiles at her while yawning. "I thought you were gone."

"Why?" Cassandra is confused. "What happened to me?" The fairy lifts off from her hands, taking flight with her own wings and buzzing around Cassandra's torso where her leather vest has been torn. Her blue coat is lying a few feet away, still stained with blood. The hat Skip gave her is nowhere to be seen though. "Was I hurt?" Cassandra gasps.

"You don't remember?" the fairy asks as she lands on her shoulder.

"I remember being attacked by the navy and then…" her voice trails off as she recalls the events that led to her injury. "How can that be? How am I alive?"

"You're welcome." The fairy grins proudly.

"You did this?" Cassandra pokes her hand through the hole in her vest.

"At your service." The fairy bows.

"Why are you a fairy, Jezebel?" Cassandra is still confused.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" The fairy raises an eyebrow. "My name is Flower."

"Yes, Jezebel Flowers." Cassandra nods.

"No, just Flower," she corrects her.

"But you… I mean… you look like… you have to be Jezebel."

"I'm sorry but I've been a fairy for as long as I can remember," Flower assures her.

"How long is that?" Cassandra is suspicious.

"Since you summoned me," she admits.

"You don't remember anything before that? Isn't it possible that you are Jezebel then?"

"Perhaps." She shrugs. "It doesn't matter now though. I am your faithful fairy, Flower, and I shall accompany you on your journey."

"My journey?" Cassandra is quickly reminded of things she put out of her mind a year ago. "That's right; I was seeking vengeance for family."

"What happened to your family?" Flower is curious.

"They… they died," she admits solemnly.

"I'm so sorry," Flower gasps. "I wish that I could help you. I can't bring back the dead though."

"I know." Cassandra nods. She is suddenly feeling like crying for the first time in a while. Being part of a pirate crew was taxing. She had little time to be alone with her thoughts and grief. The last time was in the middle of the jungle on the uncharted island. Now the same feeling is flowing back again.

"Do I really look like this Jezebel friend of yours?" Flower has become intrigued.

"You're her spitting image," Cassandra assures her. "All you need are pigtails and to be four feet tall."

"She sounds wonderful," the tiny fairy giggles. "Maybe you can introduce me."

"I don't think so." Cassandra lowers her head. "I'll probably never see her again."

"She wasn't killed with your family, was she?" Flower gasps.

"No, no," Cassandra quickly calms her. "She's just not a part of my story. To be honest, I really don't know what my story is anymore."

"You said something about vengeance," Flower reminds her. "It's not the prettiest path a story should take but I will do my best to help you. I can heal any wound you receive, given enough time, and I can bestow the skills to fight upon you the way I did back on the boat."

"I don't remember that." Cassandra shakes her head.

"You were unconscious. I saved your life."

"Well, thank you," Cassandra hastens to show how grateful she is. She continues to stare at the fairy silently for a long while.

"What?" Flower grows nervous.

"You really do look like Jezebel. Oh, I miss her so much. We had a fight right before I left Hamish. It was all my fault too. It's been over a year since then. I've missed two of her birthdays."

"You missed my birthday too," Flower adds cheerily.

"Really? Didn't you say you were born yesterday?"

"And you slept through the whole day," she reminds her.

"I'm sorry, I guess."

"It's okay." She flutters around in a circle excitedly. "We can celebrate today."

"You really are a strange creature." Cassandra can't help but laugh. Flower seems to go from being mildly depressed to overly giddy without much cause. She is almost like a child. "We'll have to put any form of celebration on hold. We can't stay on this beach. We need to find civilization."

"I wouldn't be too hasty," Flower disagrees. "Do you know the punishment for piracy?"

"How do you know I'm a pirate?"

"I'm not stupid." Flower crosses her arms.

"You were born yesterday," Cassandra reminds her.

"Yes, but fairies have natural instincts that help them survive. We don't have families like normal creatures. We just sort of pop up when needed. We already know everything about the world we are in and how to navigate it. That's what makes us such wonderful guides to travelers."

"Really?" Cassandra is impressed. "Show me what you can do."

"Okay then. We were in the middle of the westward ocean, which connects the ports of Westhime and Capitith," Flower surmises.

"We were on our way to Capitith to sell our booty," Cassandra interjects. The tiny fairy covers her mouth to hide her snickering. Cassandra just stares at her, shaking her head disappointedly. "I'm a pirate; it's how I talk," she defends herself.

"Well lose the language quick or you'll be hanged in no time," Flower insists. Cassandra nods vigorously. "We probably washed up on the east side of Capitith, meaning we are on the complete opposite side from the trading docks," Flower continues to assess the situation. "If we keep walking along the beach, we should come to the kingdom first."

"There's a kingdom of Capitith?" Cassandra is intrigued.

"Every civilized location in this world should have a castle and ruler of some sort," Flower informs her.

"But why?"

"Because."

"Because why?" Cassandra pries.

"Because we're in that section of the library!" Flower raises her high pitched voice even more. Cassandra jerks her head at the sudden outburst. She is fully aware that they do not reside in the real world but she has never really known if people outside of Hamish also knew. In reality, she is the fictional great granddaughter of two real people who were trapped in the book long ago. She doesn't know if that makes her real or not.

"I'm sorry," Flower sighs. "I didn't mean to tell you that."

"It's okay. I know what I am. Just explain it to me," Cassandra remains calm.

"Alright." Flower lands in the palm of her hand. Cassandra starts to walk along the beach, leaving her torn blue coat behind. It is warm enough without it. "When you leave one story and enter another, how do you suppose you end up in a place like Baylor?" Flower asks.

"Huh, why Baylor?" Cassandra is curious about the reference.

"It's a place I'm familiar with." Flower shrugs.

"But you were born…"

"Yes, yes, can you stop reminding me? I just have stronger memories of Baylor than anywhere else. Maybe that's where I'm from. For now, just imagine it; how would you get from one book to another?"

"I suppose I'd exit the pages and walk until I reached the next one," Cassandra ponders.

"But what if you couldn't? What if the only way was to walk through blank unwritten pages until you found a place where they intersect?"

"Like the ocean?" Cassandra surmises.

"Or the forest," Flower adds. "Because you can't leave the pages, all you can do is walk until you reach a different one. You have to travel through each book in-between before you get to the next one. It's almost like a collection in a library."

"So that's why you used that word," Cassandra is starting to understand. "So we're in a library."

"It makes sense." Flower nods. "All of these books are medieval fairytales about kings, castles and other forms of adventure. They vary in location, time, technology and language but only so much. It's like an adventure section in a library."

"I get it." Cassandra hops up and down excitedly, making sure not to shake her fairy too much.

"What do you get?" a cheery male voice calls to her from the tree line at the edge of the beach.

"Who's there?" She draws her sword.

"Put that silly thing down." A man in white leaves the cover of the trees, ridding a silky brown horse complete with leather saddle.

"Hemlock!" Cassandra gasps.

"Ah, so you remember me." He tips his top hat politely.

"I'll kill you." She charges forward.

"Stop!" Flower flutters up into her view, blocking her path. "You can't attack a word doctor."

"Listen to your sprite," Hemlock laughs obliviously.

"You." Cassandra continues to point her cutlass at him.

"Yes, it is I. How wonderful for you," he pretends to be conceited. "How may I help you?"

"You can die!" Cassandra is still furious.

"Calm down," Flower shushes her.

"I am calm!" she snaps.

"What a naughty girl. Is this how you thank me?"

"You two know each other?" Flower is confused.

"You know me too, little one. We met back in the village of Hamish," he recalls. "It was over a year ago."

"Sorry." She shakes her head. "I was born yesterday."

"Ah yes, that would be the problem, wouldn't it? You are not a natural fairy. You must have been forced into this form by a cursed item of some sort."

"The pendent," Cassandra gasps.

"That was my summoning chalice," Flower disagrees.

"Have you ever been summoned before?" Hemlock asks.

"I can't remember," she admits.

"That's because you are not originally a fairy. Someone gave you half of the cursed pendent. When your friend called for aid, you were summoned in this form."

"I'm a human?" Flower is shocked.

Cassandra quickly holds out her hand to catch her. "So she is Jezebel."

"She looks like Jezebel to me." Hemlock smiles behind his half mask. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"You can tell me why you did it!" Cassandra's rage boils up again.

"I don't understand what you mean, child," he continues to play coy. "I did you a favor. You wanted a story of your own. You were so desperate. I knew no one like me would ever help you so I sent word to the less orthodox players. They have ways of getting a story rolling."

"So you sent me Ambrose?" Cassandra shouts accusingly.

"What?" Hemlock's smile vanishes for the first time. "Ambrose is here?"

"No, he's the one who started my story."

"Dear child, I expected someone like Mayberry to answer the call. If I had known Ambrose would… please tell me you didn't bring him here."

"He's not here. He abandoned me at the start of my story."

"No, no, child, he'll be watching you. He's writing down every little detail of your story. He is a terror tale teller. He writes the most gruesome and horrifying things."

"But I haven't seen him since Lord Nedan…"

"Lord Nedan," Hemlock suddenly cackles. "Lord Nedan is the least of your worries. Tell me, child, what has happened since you left Hamish? How often has your life been overturned? It didn't stop with just your family did it? I bet every single home you've had has been destroyed."

"How did you…?"

"It's Ambrose. He is still controlling your story. You are simply a character. He has the means to make things happen to you."

"Wait, he's the reason Theo died?" Cassandra's eyes widen.

"I haven't kept up with your story, dear." He draws a book from his satchel. The title is From Beyond the Woods. It is the first issue of Cassandra's story. "I haven't even read the author's name." He runs his fingers along the raised gold leaf letters on the spin. "Ambrose," he breathes out. "This is bad. You have to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't understand; I have a story in this land. Remember young Jameson?"

"Jameson's still alive?" Cassandra is surprised.

"He won't be if you drag that monster here," Hemlock responds accusingly. "He'll mash our stories together and kill everyone in sight."

"That's not my problem. He doesn't seem to want me dead."

"Not yet," Hemlock disagrees. "What kind of story kills off the main character before the end? He's waiting for the opportune moment."

"But he promised." Cassandra's eyes widen. "He said I'd have my freedom."

"He said you'd have your story," Hemlock corrects her. "He promised that in the end you'd no longer be here. What does that sound like to you?"

"He's going to kill me," she realizes.

Hemlock nods sternly. "Now go, child. Go before you ruin my story as well."

"Why won't you help her?" Flower's squeaky voice is hard to hear. "You got her into this mess; isn't there anything you can do?"

"Even if I wanted to, I'm not allowed to," he explains. "Ambrose is in charge of her story. You don't switch writers halfway."

"But we can stop him," Flower continues to argue. "We can convince him not to write her story this way."

"You can threaten him," Hemlock half laughs, "but not much scares old Ambrose. No, he's going to be writing this story the way he wants. He won't stop 'til you kill him."

"But if we do that…"

"Then the story's over," he finishes her sentence. "Without Ambrose to write it, you'll simply sit on a shelf, unfinished. You won't be able to move forward. It'll be a fate worse than death."

"There's nothing I can do," Cassandra realizes.

"No, there isn't," Hemlock sighs. "I'm terribly sorry, child." Cassandra's sword drops to the sand as Hemlock pulls on his reins. The horse grunts as it turns back toward the trees, carrying its rider with it.

"Cassie?" Flower nudges her friend's face. She doesn't respond. She simply watches the horse disappear into the trees with her mouth gaping open. "Cassie, we need to keep moving."

"What's the point?" Tears start to roll down her cheeks. "I've lost everything; not once, not twice… three times. I can't do this again. It's just going to keep happening over and over. I'll walk into Capitith, holding my head down and pretending to enjoy being alone. I'll avoid everyone and not get involved at all. But one day, it will happen; I'll meet someone who I like and who cares about me. I'll let my guard down and be happy for a fleeting moment and then… just when I have become content with my life again…"

"Stop," Flower begs while covering her ears. Her face is completely wet with tears. For someone so small, she can cry quite a bit. "I don't want to listen anymore," she sobs. "I'm sorry, Cassie, I really am."

"It's not your fault, Jezebel."

"Why? Why can't I remember?" Flower starts to pound on the sides of her head with her tiny fists. "I don't know who I am? I can't even feel sorry for myself."

"It's okay." Cassandra lifts her up to eye level. "We're in this together now. After all this time, we've finally found each other. We'll be alright." Slowly the crying fairy begins to nod. She is not sure if she believes her friend, but she has nothing else.

19: Friendly Strangers and Estranged Friends

It takes Cassandra three days to reach the kingdom of Capitith on foot. By the time she makes it to the wide wooden gates, that extend at least a mile out into the ocean, she is exhausted, dehydrated and starving. Flower has been unconscious for the last six hours, sleeping soundly on her shoulder. A guard is standing outside the gates, holding a spear and wearing a leather tunic. "Who goes there?" He points his weapon at her.

"Water," she groans.

"That's what they all say. The last three people I let in here all gave me that name."

Cassandra is in no mood for jokes. She marches toward him, drawing her sword, to which he responds by readying his spear. "Let me in," she demands.

"If you give me that weapon, I'll let you through," he assures her. Her hand is shaking as she lifts it. She can barely even grip the metal hilt anyway. It drops into the sand, standing like marker on a grave. "You may pass." He steps aside while unlatching a small door in the log wall.

Inside is the bright and sunny kingdom of Capitith. The entire city seems to slant as it reaches the sea. Instead of a fourth wall on the East side, it simply relies on the ocean to keep unwanted intrusions away. The other half of the city extends into the jungle; however the trees have been dug up, making it like a floor of dirt.

Everyone Cassandra passes in the kingdom is wearing sandals as there is no need for shoes when dirt and sand makes up the ground. At the shore Cassandra can see the boats that are probably used for fishing. They are a complete different design than the kingdom of Ferery. In fact, they seem to have no sails or ropes whatsoever. They are long canoe styled boats with paddles and hand held nets on long poles.

Everything about Capitith looks more simplistic and less advanced than Ferery. A groan from the fairy on her shoulder announces her return to consciousness. "Are we there yet?" she yawns.

"Welcome to Capitith," Cassandra responds with a weary sigh and a smile.

"I'm hungry," Flower mopes.

"Me too, but I don't have any money."

"Don't worry." Flower winks before fluttering off. She returns a moment later, carrying a rather plump looking tropical fruit.

"Did you steal this?" Cassandra gasps.

"Little trick I remember from Baylor," Flower giggles. "It tastes like a peach."

Reluctantly, Cassandra takes a bite. She is more worried about getting caught stealing than about moral restrictions. Glancing around, she can see the cart it came from. She swallows the juicy fruit gratefully as it sooths her throat but decides to leave before the vender has time to notice her.

After walking through the streets for a while, Cassandra starts to yawn. It has been days since she has slept, unlike her fairy friend who could use her shoulder as a bed. "We should find somewhere to stay," Flower surmises.

"We don't have anything to trade for a room either," Cassandra reminds her. "I gave my sword just to get past the gate."

"What about there," Flower points toward the shore. "I'm sure no one will notice you laying in one of the boats." At this point Cassandra is willing to try anything. She follows Flower's pointing finger towards the beach and one of the long rowboats tethered to a wooden stake in the ground.

"Good day, sir," a voice catches her off guard. She spins around, coming face to face with a rather oddly dressed person, at least for Capitith. "Not sir," the man quickly realizes his mistake. "How do you do, milady." He bows.

"Um, hello," she tries to respond politely. "Who are you?"

"That is not important." He waves his hand as if to brush the question aside. "I am in need of a guide. This is my first time to Capitith, if you can't tell." He chuckles with a smile.

Looking down, Cassandra can see that he is, in fact, wearing boots, unlike any of the locals, most of which have sleeveless outfits like her vest. He has a ruffled white dress shirt with leather ridding pants and vest. His hair is long yet curly, keeping it from touching his shoulders. In all honesty he reminds her of the princes she has read about in stories. "Milady?" he is concerned about her silence.

"I must decline." She holds up her hand. "I am new here as well. I have only been to Capitith for trading reasons and not at the kingdom ever."

"That is unfortunate. I was looking forward to a lady of your beauty being in my company." She stares at him blankly. She knows that her appearance has been steadily declining since she was first dragged from her home in Hamish. After walking for three days in the sun she must be a total dried out mess. He is obviously trying to flatter her.

"He's dreamy," Flower whispers in her ear.

Cassandra jerks her head, having forgotten about her traveling companion entirely. "What was your name again?' she turns back to the man.

"I didn't say," he reminds her. "I do not wish to draw attention to myself during my travels."

"Your travels?" she is becoming suspicious.

"My father has decided that I am too reclusive. He requires that I travel to at least five different kingdoms and explore each equally before returning home. I shall also be bringing a souvenir to prove my exploits. I have a servant keeping my things at the inn for me right now."

"So you're some kind of wealthy folk," she surmises.

"Some kind, yes," he snickers. It is obvious he finds it funny to watch her confusion.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be much company for your type." She shakes her head.

"Wait a second," Flower interrupts. "What if this is part of your story?"

"Then Ambrose is responsible and I will have no part of it," she hisses.

"Who are you talking to?" the man leans close to her face. She stands her ground while staring at him angrily. She does not enjoy having her personal space violated.

Flower however is blushing feverishly. "Hello," she squeaks at the giant in front of her.

"My word, what an extraordinarily lovely looking creature."

"Why thank you." She curtsies.

"Or lord, don't encourage him," Cassandra groans. "He'll flirt with anything female." There was a time when she would have given anything for the attention of a handsome stranger. It has long since passed though.

"I'm your fairy; it is my job to help you follow your story. I insist you take him up on his offer," Flower suddenly becomes rather bossy.

"His request is that I show him around the kingdom. I have no experience to lend in this matter." Cassandra crosses her arms adamantly.

"I do." Flower waves up at her happily. "I am your guide, remember?"

"Excellent." The stranger is smiling happily as well. Cassandra grits her teeth. She has nothing left to argue with. Flower moves to the stranger's shoulder, leaving her friend behind, only increasing her annoyance. It seems the fairy wasn't listening when she said she didn't want to get involved with people anymore.

The trio walks all around the edge of the city, sticking close to the log structure wall in order to get a good idea of the size of the kingdom. Afterward, Flower leads them to the center bazaar where traders and venders have set up their booths. It is like a carnival market place. Cassandra's stomach starts to growl as she is reminded of how hungry she is.

"Not to worry," the mysterious stranger is more than polite. He hands a gold coin to a food vender in exchange for two fried meat dumplings on sticks. He lets Cassandra have one to share with Flower while he starts to blow on his to cool it down as it is fresh from the boiling oil.

"Thank you," Cassandra remains polite. "I can't pay you back."

"It's of no matter to me." He waves his hand, again discarding information he finds unnecessary. Cassandra wonders if this is the way she used to treat people with less money than her back in Hamish. It is easy to forget how the world works when looking down from above.

Flower takes a bite of the dumpling and screams with delight. 'It's salty yet juicy and sweet at the same time."

"We can try other foods than this," the stranger offers.

"I want to try everything!" Flower squeaks excitedly. Flower and the stranger are both staring at the booths with equivalent awe filled eyes. Cassandra is beginning to wonder if she is the one with something wrong with her. Should she be just as enthralled as them? Perhaps they need to experience some of the harsh realities she has.

Cassandra follows the happy pair as they invest time at every booth. Flower is unable to eat more than a bite of anything but the stranger still buys it for her. Cassandra is more than willing to eat anything she can get her hands on though. The longer she watches the stranger's unconcerned attitude about money though, the more annoyed she becomes.

After trying all of the available food, the stranger begins his hunt for a proper souvenir to show his father. They examine everything from pottery throwers to wood carvers. Finally he settles on an elaborately hilted sword made from twisting metal into an abstract form. It doesn't look like it would be any use in dismembering an enemy but it is not for fighting after all.

"Thank you for accompanying me." The stranger bows to them as they prepare to part. "It would have been lonely by myself," he reveals his true agenda.

"Thank you for all of the food." Cassandra gestures to a burlap sack she has filled with extra items she could not finish.

"It was my pleasure. I can not bear to see a lady in trouble. I wish you would let me buy you some proper garment as well."

"Oh no, I couldn't accept that," she refuses.

"Why not?" Flower argues. "You need clothes and he is offering. He can afford it, can't you, kind stranger."

"Of course I can. Who do you think I am?"

"You won't tell us who you are," Cassandra reminds him.

"That's right." He grins happily. "What do you say; one more hour together before we lose each other and ourselves in the night forever."

Cassandra stares at him blankly. "He's a poet of some sort," Flower surmises.

"I pride myself on quotes and literature," he informs them.

"That's an odd coincidence," Flower is suddenly perky. "What do you know about the stories of the word doctors?"

"Flower?" Cassandra hisses at her. "Don't tell him anything unnecessary."

"I was wondering if that was your predicament," he sighs. "You have a sort of main character vibe about you."

"I do?" Cassandra is taken aback. Flower's lip turns out to pout. She is not exactly pleased to only be an extra.

"Come on, I'll tell you what I can while we find you some proper clothing."

"I haven't decided to let you buy me any yet," she giggles playfully. She is finally starting to let her guard down. Flower flutters away from the two as they begin to talk. At first Cassandra was avoiding speaking, letting her and this handsome stranger consort by themselves. Now she is feeling slightly jealous. Who says that the main character always gets the prince? If she weren't a fairy she would definitely throw her bid into the ring.

Cassandra has become rather chatty by the time they arrive at the clothing vender's stand. She has all but forgotten her original reservations. Flower has not landed on either of them the entire time they were walking. She is trying to clear her head of her petty jealousy. She is only a fairy after all; a guide for the main character. She can't try to steal Cassandra's story or her happy ending. That is if Ambrose is even planning on giving her one.

"Do you have a story?" Cassandra asks the stranger, who is practically no longer estranged.

"I might." He shrugs. "I've had plenty of offers from word doctors but my life is already an adventure without anyone documenting it." Cassandra can't tell if he is lying or not. "What about you?" he turns the question on her. "Are you happy with your story?" She shakes her head sadly. "Why did you start it then?"

"There's no simple answer," she struggles to think about it. "I always dreamed of having my own story since I was young. We both did." She gestures to Flower who is still avoiding landing. Her wings are becoming tired and she looks like she might fall any second.

The stranger puts out his hand for her, which she lands on reluctantly. "What happened to your wings, little one?" he is concerned.

"I'm not little," she snaps at him.

"In most cases I would apologize for offending a lady but this time I must insist; you are little. You are a sprite; the very definition of little actually."

"I know," she finally agrees. "It's just not fair. How come you two get to be main characters? I want a story of my own."

"I can't really help you there," he apologizes. "I can only pray that some word doctor finds their way to you. I do not read many of these stories so I am not sure what makes one successful."

"I haven't had time to read any in a while either," Cassandra agrees.

"I read one once," Flower recalls. "I think it was called The Thief of Baylor Bridge."

"Why are you so familiar with Baylor, Jezebel?" Cassandra asks.

"Please don't call me that." Flower pouts.

"But it's your name. Please try to remember."

"I don't want to." She turns her head. "I am a fairy now. I had no life before this one."

"That's not a bad outlook to have," the stranger interjects.

"Don't encourage her," Cassandra hisses.

"Something horrible may have happened to her before she became a fairy," he continues. "It is not uncommon for people who wish to change to have their desire granted perversely. Something traumatic drove her into reclusion and this is her way of stepping past it."

"You mean she forgot on purpose?" Cassandra tries to understand.

"It's possible." He nods. Flower glances back and forth between the two giants as they discuss her like she isn't even there. She is starting to like the situation less and less.

Cassandra and the stranger continue talking the entire time they are shopping for clothes. In the end she buys a frilly white dress and a pair of black boots. She uses several ribbons to tie up her hair so it is no longer just loose down her back. She is starting to look like the beautiful child of Hamish once more. "Milady, you look stunning," the stranger compliments her.

"Gorgeous," Flower grumbles.

"Would you care to accompany me to one last place?" the stranger asks slyly.

"Where could that be?" Cassandra takes his hand so he can lead her. This is becoming a fairytale right out of her dreams. It is too soon to consider marrying a complete stranger but that won't stop her from imagining it.

"I heard quite a lot about Capitith's largest commodities on my travels," he starts to explain. "Apparently they have a most unique pastime. People come from distant nations just to see the amazing creatures located in their famous sand pit dungeons. It's like a zoo."

"That sounds fantastic," Cassandra exaggerates her interest. She is almost trying too hard to impress the handsome stranger now.

"Cassie?" Flower is not quite as exited.

"Not now." She waves her fairy away.

"I don't think it's just a zoo," the sprite continues to sputter.

"You'll see it soon." The stranger continues to lead his newly dressed companion. He is practically positive that he is courting her by now.

"Do you remember who we saw at the beach?" Flower asks. "It was Hemlock."

"So?" Cassandra feigns ignorance.

"You know why he would be in a place like this. He's writing a story right now."

"I don't understand," Cassandra is losing patience with the annoying creature. "Spit it out already."

Flower does not have time to say any more as the stranger pushes Cassandra through the gates of a tall wooden arena. As it is dug down into the sand like a dungeon, it was not visible from the other side of town near the open ocean. The stranger hands two gold coins to a man beside the entrance. He directs them toward their seats amongst a crowd of onlookers.

The two of them sit down in the front row, with a perfect view over the wooden guard rail into the pit where the animals are supposed to be. "What's going on?" Cassandra is immediately confused. "Why are there people down there?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Flower spouts.

"Just watch." The stranger grabs the fairy out of the air and holds her still.

There is a group of five people standing in the center of the sandy pit below. They are all wearing light leather armor and carrying large spears and swords. "Are they fighting something?" Cassandra asks.

Just then, a barred gate lifts up on the far side of the pit. The men in the center all scramble to the other side in fear. Out of the dark cage a large monstrous feline emerges. It looks like a mixture of a lion and a lizard with a mane and scales. "What is that thing?" Cassandra gasps.

The audience starts to cheer as the creature charges forward. Before the men have time to react, it has clamped its massive jaws on one of their arms and ripped it clean off. Cassandra screams while covering her eyes. "This is a gladiator arena," she realizes.

"Isn't it amazing." The stranger is leaning as close to the rail as he can; his eyes glowing with excitement.

"It's perfectly horrible," Cassandra disagrees. "Why did you bring me here?"

"You can't come to Capitith without seeing the dungeon fighters," he insists. "Just watch them. They'll find a way to kill it."

"I don't want to watch anyone kill anything," she whines.

"Isn't it exhilarating though? I think all people crave action and violence in some form. This is the only way to see it up close though."

"What about them?" Cassandra points at the people in the pit, one of which has just lost a leg. "They are living this. It's not fun for them."

"I…" the stranger has no rebuttal. He had not even been considering the fact that these were real people. "I'm sorry but I can't do anything to stop this," he finally admits. "You can leave if you want."

"Of course I'm leaving." She stalks down the row until she reaches the edge of the seats. Flower quickly pries herself loose of his grip so she can fly after her.

"Wait, am I ever going to see you again?" he asks with a hopeful expression.

"That depends," Cassandra sighs. "What is your name?"

"It's Gavin, Gavin of Ferery. Prince Gavin if you prefer." Cassandra's eyes grow wide as her jaw drops. "What? What's wrong?" Gavin is worried. He reaches out to touch her hand but she backs away.

"Don't come near me!" she screams.

"What did I do?" he is confused. "Don't you understand? I am a royal; you could be my princess."

"Like hell!" she bellows angrily. "I hate you. I hate all of Ferery."

"What did I do to you?"

"Ask lord Nedan."

"The leader of the guard?" He raises an eyebrow. "What does he know?"

"Ask him," she repeats while barging through the gates to the arena.

"Wait, wait, please wait," he begs. "I don't understand. Cassandra!" She is gone by the time he makes it out of the arena. He tangles his fingers in his curly hair while kicking the ground angrily. He has no idea what he did to upset her. Perhaps all women are just crazy. He sighs loudly as he walks back to his seat. He can see that all but one of the fighters has been killed or maimed. The creature is also missing some chunks of flesh.

His original fascination with the sport is gone. He feels sick to his stomach now. Perhaps what Cassandra said is growing on him. She obviously has a more real view on life than he does. He tries as hard as he can to put her out of his mind but it isn't working.

He just had the most magical day of his life with a complete stranger. He would give anything to have kept things the way they were forever. He can't give up on her. He'll just have to hunt her down and ask her why she suddenly hates him. It won't be hard for a prince like him. He'll find her; of that he is sure.

"Are you okay?" Flower asks as Cassandra marches through the sandy streets with her fists clenched. "Was he really that bad?"

"You don't understand," Cassandra sighs.

"Of course I don't. You won't tell me," she whines.

"You don't remember anything from Hamish so you wouldn't understand even if I told you," Cassandra continues to mope.

"I liked him. If you aren't gonna go back then maybe I should," Flower tries to force the issue.

"That's not a good idea," Cassandra sighs again.

"Why not? Don't be selfish. If you don't want him then…"

"It's not that," she snaps. "He's from Ferery. He's the prince of Ferery for that matter."

"I know, isn't it wonderful?" Flower coos excitedly. "I've never met a prince before."

"Will you just listen?" Cassandra is losing her patience. Once again the fairy's oblivious nature is depressing. "Lord Nedan came to Hamish on the king's orders. His father ordered my family's death."

"What?" Flower is shocked. "How could he do that? Why?"

"Ambrose played a nasty trick on him. He claimed they were a threat to his majesty," she explains.

"Well that's ridiculous. I can't imagine lowly villagers being able to overthrow a king, can you?"

"Actually, he was probably right. In all honesty, I plan to overthrow the king of Ferery myself now."

Flower's jaw drops. "It's impossible. It can't be done."

"I have to," Cassandra disagrees. "It is my purpose for living."

"So this is what you meant by vengeance." Flower frowns. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand."

"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters today anymore. I'm tired. Let's find somewhere to sleep."

"I bet Gavin would have let us stay with him at the inn," Flower sighs.

"Enough, the discussion is over," Cassandra is adamant. Flower continues to mope as they make their way back to the shore. Cassandra lies down in one of the rowboats tethered to the beach with a stake before nodding off almost instantly.

It is past dark when she finally wakes again. There are voices all around her, echoing in the hull of the tiny boat. As she sits up, she comes face to face with a lantern held by a bearded man. "What the devil?" he is startled. "Hey, thief!" he bellows, drawing his friends over. "Get out of my boat."

"Your boat? Oh I'm so sorry, sir. I just needed a place to sleep," Cassandra tries to apologize.

"What are you, homeless?" He flips the canoe over, dropping her on the cold wet sand below.

"I'm a traveler," she explains. "I'm not from around Capitith."

"Likely story. Oh I was just passing through. I'm not really a street rat who robs for a living," he mocks her.

"But I'm not," she tries to defend herself.

"Have you seen any other street rats like yourself in this city?" one of the other fishermen asks. "There's a reason we are so civilized and not overrun like Baylor. Whenever one like yourself is found we toss 'em in the pit. It deters people from choosing to become homeless."

"That's barbarically ridiculous," Cassandra shouts. "No one chooses to become homeless. It's not a crime."

"It's the start to a bad road," another fisher interjects. "After you lose the home you lose the money. Soon all you have left is resorting to thievery. It's only a matter of time. At least in the pit you'll get a healthy meal and a roof over your head."

"No, please," Cassandra starts to beg. "I can't go back to the pit. I barely survived the first time. It's so dark and cold. I thought I'd never see the sun again."

"We ain't talking about the prison pits of Ferery, lass," they cackle. "You're going to the arena to fight for your life. If you hate it so much, then die quickly. It'll at least be over, won't it?"

Cassandra starts to kick and scream as she is dragged along the beach by the strong scary men. This is the fourth time she is being taken somewhere against her will. It seems as if her story has become one large joke where happiness is a lie and imprisonment always awaits. After a while she settles down, accepting her fate once again.

The fishermen haggle with the guard at the arena for a good price before turning her over to him. He leads her to the far side where the land dips down to be even with the entrance to the pit rather than the stadium. He barely shoves her inside before locking the barred gate again. She doesn't even try to protest.

"Flower, are you there?" she calls out to her fairy.

"Cassie, I'm sorry. I didn't realize sleeping in a boat would turn out like this," the tiny creature is once again on the verge of tears.

"Sleeping anywhere else would have had the same result. I can't believe being homeless is considered a crime. I wish I had my share of the booty from the ship."

"We should have begged Gavin to put us up at the inn," Flower continues to whine. Cassandra wants to argue but she knows the fairy is right. At least then they would have avoided becoming prisoners in a gladiator pit.

"What's all the racket? Who's out there?" A shadow steps out of one of the side cells into the long hallway that leads to the arena. "Really; new comers at this hour?" he groans.

"Shut up and show me where to sleep," Cassandra is in no mood to be polite.

"Cassie?" The shadow moves closer. "Cassie, is that you?"

"My word," she gasps. "Jameson?"

"The very same," he chuckles. "It's been a long time." He hugs her.

"Not long enough." She shoves him away. "What are you doing here?"

"Remember Hemlock the word doctor?"

"I just saw him four days ago," she informs him.

"Well this is the nasty story he put me in. I've been a prisoner here for half a year now."

"You look completely different." She eyes him up and down. He is now taller than her and his once smooth and shiny blonde hair has become dark and curly. His thin features have been replaced by strong lines and he is definitely more physically fit.

"Do you like it?" He strikes a pose so she can examine his muscles better.

"Don't be silly, Jameson. You'll always be the whiny little weakling we picked on in Hamish."

"How rude," he pretends to be shocked. "I guess I won't be helping you survive this dungeon then."

"Wait, I was just joking," she tries to apologize. "I need your help Jameson."

"First, answer my questions. Do you have your own story?"

"Yes." She nods.

"And you have a different word doctor than Hemlock?" Again she nods. "Then how did you end up in the middle of my story?"

"What exactly is your story?" she is curious.

"I am supposed to be overthrowing the evil practices of this gladiator arena and perhaps the king who sanctioned its construction."

"Sounds noble." Cassandra allows herself to smile.

"What about you? What's your story?"

"I'm seeking vengeance for my murdered family."

"What? Renae is dead?" Jameson is shocked. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"The king of Ferery had them killed to deter a prediction that one of them would overthrow him. In the process, he set me on a path with that very same intention."

"What a buffoon," Jameson sighs while shaking his head.

"So tell me how to get out of here?" She bounces on her heels excitedly.

"It's not that simple. You can't just simply leave; they'll throw you right back in or kill you. I'm training a group of followers to help me fight my way out. The problem is that they need to be strong enough to survive the battles everyday that we wait. I have already lost ten people in the process."

"Sounds harsh," she tries to patronize him. "I bet I could slip out unnoticed."

"You'd need climbing skills like a spider or the strength of a wild boar," he disagrees.

"What about a magical fairy?" She lifts her palm to show off Flower.

"Jezebel?" Jameson gasps. "What happened to you?"

"I don't really know," she laughs nervously. "I just woke up like this and I can't figure out how to change back."

"We need to find you a seer or a witch doctor," he surmises. "They'll know what to do."

"No, no seers!" she shouts suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Cassandra is concerned.

"I… I don't know." She blinks at her calmly. "I just felt really scared just now."

"See Jameson, you need to help us escape," Cassandra begs.

"The best I can do is include you when my team and I make our break for it," he offers. "Unfortunately, that is still a month away. I'm sorry, Cassie, but I don't think you have what it takes to survive in here that long."

"It's been a year, Jamie. Do you really think I haven't learned a few tricks since then? I've been living my own story, you know."

"Really, like what?" he is intrigued.

"I was a pirate at sea for quite a while. I got rather good at sword fighting and even got to fire a few cannons."

"I don't see any cannons around her." Jameson pretends to look for some.

"Then hand me a sword," she counters.

"I'll show you the armory." He leads her to the cell where the prisoners are allowed to pick weapons before their daily battle with the beasts. He draws a large cross hilt from a rack and hands it to her. "This is the lightest weapon we have."

"I used to be stronger than you, remember?" She is partially offended.

"I assumed you wanted something similar to a pirate's cutlass," he explains himself. "If you're going to keep acting like this is a contest then I'm afraid I'm not going to include you in my escape plan."

"I was only trying to…"

"Whatever problems you had with me back in Hamish don't apply here," he cuts her off. "This is life or death for more than just us. I have people relying on me. I can't afford to jeopardize them for your petty rivalry."

"I'm sorry. I…"

"Then let's move on," he doesn't let her finish. He doesn't want to give her the chance to dig herself a bigger hole.

Flower flutters over to the weapon rack to rest as she watches the two of them sparring. Their swords clang together repeatedly as they dance in a circle, trying to outdo the other. Every few clashes, Cassandra's sword is knocked out of her hand simply because she is not used to how heavy it is. Jameson does not mock her though; he just hands it back to her so they can continue training.

After almost three hours of grueling practice, Cassandra is finally able to disarm Jameson once. She knocks him over and sits on his chest to keep him from getting up. "Very good," he laughs while lifting her by the waist effortlessly. "This should be enough for now. We'll need our strength in case one of us is fighting today."

"Where do we sleep?" Cassandra asks as he sets her back on her feet.

He picks up the discarded weapons and returns them to their rack before answering. "There are cells in the walls of the tunnel from the gate to the arena. Newcomers are usually in the first one but I'll let you stay with me tonight. These people haven't seen a woman in a while and I don't exactly trust them."

"Women don't get put down here?" Cassandra is curious.

"Most women are deterred from committing crimes because they know they will never survive the punishment. Also, most people who catch them take pity on them and don't report it. We do get women sometimes though, just none as pretty as you."

Cassandra jabs her elbow into his side without warning. "I don't want to hear that from you."

"Is that supposed to hurt?" He jabs her back. He is starting to let his guard down. Flower is once again feeling left out. Try as she might, she can't remember who this boy is or why he is so friendly with Cassandra.

As they enter Jameson's cell, Cassandra pounces on him, knocking him to the ground as they tumble into a pile of straw in the corner. They are both laughing as they sprawl out comfortably. After a while though they calm down and simply stare at each other.

Jameson is the first to notice Flower keeping her distance. "What's wrong, Jezebel?"

"I can't do anything," she mopes. "I'm not big enough to even hold a sword let alone fight."

"You can help in other ways," he patronizes her. "Why just by staying here you are doing more than you need to. You could slip through the bars of the gate or fly up above the arena anytime you wanted to."

"I could," she is surprised. She had not even considered escaping without Cassandra.

"You're the one who saved my life on the pirate ship, remember?" Cassandra chimes in. "I would not be here if not for you."

"But you both have stories of your own. Why am I like this?" She drops onto her friend's lap.

"Don't ever underestimate side characters," Jameson warns her. "Imagine how boring of a story I'd have without anyone else in it. It'd just be me standing in the middle of a pit of sand. There would be no city, no antagonist, no you. I would be terribly lonely. It's actually really nice to see you two again."

"You're just saying that," Cassandra laughs at him as Flower manages to smile. "We used to make your life hell."

"And yet here we are," he sighs contently. "If you'd asked me who I missed from Hamish yesterday I definitely wouldn't have picked either of you. Now I'm not so sure."

"Is that the best you can do?" Cassandra frowns.

"It's all you're gonna get."

"Then I'll take it." She lays her head down in the straw again.

Flower watches as both giants quickly nod off to sleep. She is feeling much better now but something is still wrong. How long will she be stuck like this? Will their stories end without her? If they both achieve their happy endings and leave her behind, will she even have the motivation to keep going? Perhaps she will move on to another owner over and over again. Will she one day look back on Cassandra as a distant memory?

20: The Gladiator Pit

Early the next morning, Jameson shakes Cassandra awake. "Come on, it's time to see who will be fighting today." He drags her out of the cell, leaving Flower sleeping in the straw by herself.

Cassandra stumbles to a stop at the front of a long line of prisoners. Immediately they begin to chatter about the new comer. She feels extremely nervous as they discuss her lack of armor and the fact that she is wearing a dress. It has been over a year since she has worn one. Half of her finds it refreshing while the other half feels that something is missing; like pant legs.

Some of the prisoners are stepping and leaning out of the line, attempting to get a better look at her. Jameson does his best to stare down most of them; something she is not sure she needs him to do. It is insulting to have someone she used to pick on trying to protect her. If he knew what she has been through since Hamish he wouldn't still think of her as weak.

Soon all chatter ceases as a guard in uniform enters through the barred gate outside the arena. "Listen up!" he bellows. "Most of you know the drill and any that don't will learn fast or die. I will be choosing five of you at random. Well, not really random. It depends on if I like the way you look at me."

Cassandra snaps her hands to her sides, trying to appear polite and obedient so as not to draw attention to herself. Of course being the only prisoner there wearing a dress makes it extremely difficult. As the guard walks past he leers at each prisoner smugly. They all know he holds their lives in his hands. He stops in front of Cassandra to stare with wide eyes. "And what are you supposed to be? Did you get pinched for stealing a dress?"

"What? No," she quickly answers. "This is mine."

"Oh, you're a woman." He blinks at her. "Most prisoners are male, you see. Doesn't matter, you're up."

"What?" she gasps.

"Sir, that's not fair," Jameson argues.

"I decide what's fair, Warrior."

"Well then I want to fight today as well," he volunteers.

"Not happening," the guard grumbles. "You always kill the beast before anyone gets really hurt. It's no fun to watch. You get your one mandatory fight a week and that's it." A few of the other prisoners laugh while some groan. It is obvious they would prefer to have their champion protecting them constantly. The guards know this and therefore barely let Jameson fight at all.

"Don't worry," Jameson tries to console Cassandra. "Try to stay away from the monster's teeth and…"

"I'm not an idiot," she snaps at him.

"Quiet," the guard interrupts. "I haven't even chosen your companions yet. You men, it's your lucky day." He points at four more prisoners. "Get your weapons and enter the arena."

Cassandra is shuffled forward with the four unlucky candidates as they enter the armory. For the name it bears, it does not actually have much in the form of armor. The best she is able to do is don a leather torso piece and rip off the hem of her dress to make movement easier. A few of the other prisoners show interest by leering at her but the majority simply laugh. They do not expect her to survive long.

Wishing for familiarity, she chooses the same practice sword from the night before. After all of the prisoners have taken weapons, the guard marches them out into the center of the arena. From where she is standing, Cassandra can not even see the faces in the crowd of onlookers. However, she can see a large pair of glowing green eyes peeking out from the opposite barred gate. She can only guess what is behind it.

A man up in the stands gives a quick indiscernible announcement before signaling his fellow arena personnel to raise the bars and release the beast. Cassandra circles around to the back of the tiny group as the creature slowly emerges from the shadows. This time it is a cow-like animal with large horns and black fur.

It roars loudly, causing all five prisoners to shiver, not to mention several audience members. Cassandra gulps loudly as she raises her sword. The creature circles the outside of the arena, getting accustomed to its new freedom. It quickly learns that it is still trapped though, despite the larger accommodations and obvious food source.

Cassandra's breathing slows as she waits for the animal to make a move. It seems to be sizing up how much of a threat they pose in their tight knit group. The other prisoners are just as uncomfortable. They are sweating and shivering. Some are even whimpering. Finally, the one closest to the creature loses his patience. He does not wish to wait for the creature to come and kill him.

He charges forward, screaming at the top of his lungs with his sword held high. He brings it crashing down on the forehead of the beast. The other prisoners wait hopefully with bated breath. Unfortunately the creature seems unharmed. In fact, the blade quickly snaps as it comes into contact with the monster's thick skull.

All onlookers gasp, prisoners and crowd members alike. Even the guards are surprised. The creature quickly retaliates by scooping the man up with its gigantic muzzle and horns, flinging him high into the air. Cassandra covers her eyes as he falls to the ground with a sickening crunch. There is no possible way he survived.

Immediately the other prisoners begin to strategize. They discuss plans to circle around and attack the monster from behind while also entertaining the slight chance of success at attempting to scale the walls and escape. They seem completely oblivious to Cassandra's presence though. Perhaps they do not consider a woman to be an asset.

Jameson is watching cautiously from the gate to the arena which has been barred once again, preventing him from intervening. He feels a weight on his shoulder and turns to find Flower sitting there, biting her nails and squealing in horror. "What can we do?" she whines. He simply shakes his head while gripping the bars tightly. He has no way to help Cassandra at all. He does not even expect her to survive.

Cassandra continues to hide behind her fellow prisoners as they try out some of their tactics. One of them actually manages to circle around behind the beast, only to have it mule kick him in the chin. Just from the sound the audience can tell that his jaw is broken.

The next attempt is to have one prisoner distract it while the other two attack its legs. The two remaining prisoners shove Cassandra forward, demanding that she be the bait. Once she has caught the creature's attention, she has no choice. She starts to run, holding her sword against her chest to keep it from swaying and dragging her down.

Just as the monster is about to bite the back of her neck, the two other prisoners swing their swords at its legs. This seems to work as it immediately begins to bleed from its shins. Their weapons are not strong or sharp enough to dismember it but it still falls to its knees, screaming in agony. The crowd goes silent as they wait to see if the beast will stay down. After a moment though, the bleeding stops and it begins to recover. The prisoners rush to hide behind Cassandra as it stumbles back to its feet.

Up in the stands the audience has erupted into gasps and cheers, mostly for the beast but some for the prisoners. They have had enough time watching them to choose a favorite. Seeing her in the white torn dress and acting shy and timid has earned Cassandra a certain amount of sympathy. Soon the majority of the crowd starts to chant in her favor.

At this moment, Flower becomes fed up with just watching. She leaves her perch on Jameson's shoulder, slipping through the bars of the gate and into the arena. Cassandra is too busy defending her cowering peers to even notice. Flower buzzes past her ear a few times, trying to get her attention, before simply rising up out of the arena and into the stands.

She zigzags through the crowd, looking for anything that might help her friend. None of the onlookers seem aware that she is even there, which is why she is caught off guard when one audience member makes a grab for her. She is unable to avoid being trapped between the man's hands as he cups them around her, making sure not to damage her wings. "Let me go!" she squeals as she tries to slither through his fingers.

"Flower, it's me, calm down," Gavin whispers.

"You," she hisses accusingly. "What do you want?"

"What are you doing here, Flower?" He unfolds his hands enough for her to poke her head out.

"You know, it's very rude to touch a lady."

"You're a sprite," he scoffs. "I don't even think you qualify as a person let alone a lady." Her mouth hangs open in genuine shock. "Hurry up and tell me why you're here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she gestures down to the arena. "That's Cassandra."

"I thought so," he sighs. "I couldn't tell if that was the dress I bought her or not. Why is she fighting? Is she still mad about yesterday?"

"Do you think she's down there voluntarily?" Flower snaps. "She's a prisoner. They are trying to kill her."

"She looks like she can handle herself." He motions to the pit again where she has just managed to stab the monster in the stomach. Once again the crowd gasps as they anticipate the creature's defeat and once again they are disappointed as it charges away to collect itself, leaving a trail of blood and a cloud of dust in its wake.

"What are you waiting for?" Flower asks. "Shouldn't you be trying to save her?"

"But…" he is taken aback.

"She's the star of this story and she needs her handsome prince to rescue her," she continues to scold him.

"She doesn't want me," he argues. "She said she hates me."

"That sounds like a great start to a romance story if you ask me," Flower is adamant.

"What are you exactly?" His eyes narrow. "Aren't you supposed to be her guide?"

"I'm her fairy; I'm the one who decides what's best for her whether she knows it or not. Now get down there and do something."

"How?"

"Easy; jump," she answers with a smirk.

His eyes widen in shock. "You're crazy." She simply laughs as she twirls around him, leaving a trail of white sparks. As soon as they touch him, he begins to feel lighter. His eyes start to glow the same way Cassandra's did on the pirate ship.

Without even hesitating, he swings himself over the banister separating the crowd from the pit. Slowly, he floats down to the sandy arena floor below almost like sinking in water. His feet barely touch the ground as his glides like a bird toward the creature, drawing his own sword from a sheath on his belt. The crowd has begun to whisper loudly as they discuss what this intrusion could possibly mean.

Even the guards outside the gate are paying attention, leaving Jameson free to retrieve a weapon from the Armory. He starts to hack away at the ropes binding the wooden bars of the gate together. It is not long before he draws the guards' attention back though.

As Gavin approaches the beast, he lifts his thin blade above his head. He is barely in control of his actions. Cassandra drops her sword when she sees him. The other two prisoners start to cheer. The noise keeps the creature distracted right up to the end. With one clean swipe, he slices its head from its shoulders. His sword is much stronger and sharper than any of theirs.

The creature's head falls to the sand with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust. Its body soon follows, collapsing to the side in a lifeless heap, yet still twitching every few seconds. Gavin turns to stare at Cassandra with his white eyes. She in turn glances at Flower who is just fluttering down into the arena. "What did you do to him?"

"I made up his mind for him," she answers honestly.

"You're controlling him?" Cassandra gasps.

"The power is," she explains. "He wasn't capable of fighting so I gave him the strength. Apparently it was too much for him. His mind has shut off and basic instinct has taken control."

"Will he be okay?" Cassandra rushes toward him.

"I wouldn't…" Flower tries to warn her as he swings his rapier in her direction. Cassandra stops running, letting her feet slide in the sand until she is lying on her back staring up at his blade directly above her.

Finally, Jameson manages to chop his way through the gate, leaving the majority of guards incapacitated. Gavin reaches down and holds out his hand for Cassandra who takes it cautiously. "Stay back!" Jameson shouts as he charges toward the prince, whose eyes are still glowing white. Gavin seems unable to hear him though. He is focused intently on Cassandra who is staring back with wide eyes.

Slowly Gavin brings his face close to hers. His basic instinct seems to be attraction to her. Cassandra looks to Flower for help but the tiny fairy is busy covering her eyes and peeking through her fingers. "What are you doing?" Jameson shouts as Gavin closes his eyes. Not knowing what else to do Cassandra does the same.

Flower squeals giddily. This is just like a scene in a story book; the brave prince will now kiss his princess after saving her life and they will live happily ever after. Unfortunately this does not sit well with Jameson who raises his sword, posed to strike Gavin. "Let her go!" he warns him.

Gavin's eyes snap open as he drops Cassandra back to the ground. He glides toward Jameson, dodging the young warrior's swings effortlessly. Flower covers her mouth as the prince's blade slides neatly into Jameson's stomach. He starts to groan as blood pours from his new wound. "What have you done?" Cassandra screams as she leaps at Gavin. She pries his sword from his hand before slapping him across the face.

He clenches his eyes shut for a moment. When they open, they have refocused; all traces of the white glow are gone. "Cassie?" he quickly recognizes her. "Where am I?"

"Flower, what is wrong with him?" Cassandra turns back to her fairy. The tiny creature is no longer fluttering behind her though. She has landed on Jameson's torso as he lies bleeding in the sand. She sends several white sparks out from her palms which settle around the wound, trying to close it up. "What's wrong?" Cassandra asks. "Can't you heal him?"

"It's not working," she squeaks. "I don't understand."

By now the guards have found their way through the gate and are closing in around the four of them. "Do something!" Cassandra screams.

"Um, okay," Flower starts to breath steadily. She closes her eyes to focus while spreading her arms. Sparks fly out from her white dress, dancing around the three giants and covering them in bright light. The guards are almost upon them when suddenly all four of them shoot into the air, launched by whatever magic Flower is summoning. They sail across the sky in the direction of the sea as the crowd in the arena watches in awe.

After flying for several minutes, the white light starts to fade. Slowly they all descend into a clearing near the beach surrounded by trees. A man in white on a horse is already waiting for them with his arms open to catch Jameson. "What have you done?" he demands angrily.

"Hemlock, do something!" Cassandra begs.

"I can't; I'm just the writer. I'm not allowed to interfere with the story. Have your fairy heal him."

"I've tried," Flower wails.

"Who inflicted this wound?" Hemlock glances around at them all suspiciously. Slowly, Gavin raises his hand. "What possessed you to do such a thing?" he shouts.

"It was her." He points at Flower. "She made me do it. I was cursed."

"No wonder you can't heal this wound, sprite. You're the cause of it."

"I what…?" Flower's eyes widen.

"You can't heal a wound you inflicted."

"What if I order her to?" Cassandra suggests.

"It won't matter." Hemlock shakes his head. "We need a more powerful magic. We must get him out to sea. Perhaps the sirens can save him."

"The what?" Cassandra reels in shock.

"Mystical creatures who hate sprites and love undoing their curses," Gavin explains. "Quickly, to the shore; I have a ship waiting for me."

Hemlock remounts his horse as Cassandra and Gavin hoist Jameson onto their shoulders. "Aren't you going to help?" Cassandra grunts.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't." He shakes his head.

"What do you mean even if you wanted to? You're his word doctor. Your story hinges on him."

"And I warned you to stay away. This has Ambrose's scent all over it. Why couldn't you just listen to me?"

"If he matters so much to you, then help us!" Flower cries.

"It's just not possible, child," he sighs. "I will do the only thing I can." He retrieves a leather bound book from his satchel and begins to scribble.

"You're writing?" Cassandra gawks at him. "He's bleeding to death and you're writing about it?"

"There is no better form of literature than that perceived first hand. If I wait even a day before writing this down I may forget something."

"You'll have nothing left to write about if he dies!" she is furious.

"There will be other children," he brushes her threat off like water. "If this is to be the end of his tale then I need it to be perfect. I can't have any excuses. You'd want his death to be well written wouldn't you?" Cassandra's jaw hangs open as she and Gavin continue to carry Jameson toward the shore. She can't believe she fell for it a second time; he is no different than Ambrose. What is it that makes word doctors so cruel?

As soon as they leave the cover of the trees, they can see the bright blue ocean ahead of them. There is a rather fancy looking ship floating just off the coast in the distance. "There she is!" Gavin shouts. "That's my ship."

"How do we get to her?" Cassandra asks.

"My crew will bring a rowboat out for me." Cassandra watches as he digs in his pocket for something which turns out to be a roman candle, a type of flare. He strikes a match on his boot before tossing the burning candle high into the air. Immediately a boat can be seen being lowered into the water off the side of the ship.

Cassandra lays Jameson down on his back and applies pressure to his wound while they wait. Flower tries one last time to heal him with no success before simply breaking down and crying. Gavin stays standing, watching the boat row closer and closer. It is the longest three minutes of their lives.

In the shadow of the tree line they can see Hemlock on his horse, still writing his story and refusing to help them. Cassandra glares at him angrily as Gavin helps her lift Jameson up again. Two men jump from the boat to help carry him out into the ocean. After all of them have piled back in, they begin to row, twice as fast as before, now that they know how urgent the situation is.

"Sir," they turn to Gavin for instructions as they row out to sea again.

"It's nice to see you, lads," the prince sighs happily.

"Do you have a destination in mind?" the dark skinned one asks in his deep accented voice.

"I'm not sure where we are going right now." He glances down at Jameson for a moment. "But I think I've had enough adventure for a while. As soon as possible I would like to return home." He stares at Cassandra as he makes the decree, judging her reaction.

She had almost forgotten her hatred for him and his kingdom. Whatever rage she has is being kept at bay by concern for Jameson. Any objections she has will have to wait until he is safe.

As soon as the boat has been raised up onto the ship, Gavin's men carry Jameson down below the deck to a cabin with medical supplies. There is a man with a gray beard and half moon spectacles, looking at several vials and writing in the light of an open flame inside a cast iron stove. "This is Doctor Bandar," Gavin introduces them. "He is my personal physician."

"Dear lord, what happened?" the doctor drops his pencil.

"He was stabbed. Can you help?" Cassandra asks.

"I'll do my best, child, but this is not a disease I can simply cure. I need to cauterize the wound to prevent infection. Someone get me a bucket of water, some rum and a piece of metal I can heat on the fire." Cassandra stays perfectly still as she watches Gavin and his men rush out of the infirmary. "How did this happen?" the doctor asks while ripping open Jameson's shirt.

"He was stabbed by Gavin…" she starts to explain.

"That's Prince Gavin to you," he corrects her. She is stunned into silence for a moment. "Why is the prince helping this man if he is the one that stabbed him?"

"He didn't mean to," she defends. "Besides, I think he's doing me a favor."

"You're very lucky, milady. Young Gavin is not usually this kind to strangers. You best be considering how you plan to repay him."

Cassandra falls silent again as she ponders his statement. She is strangely reminded of the last conversation she had aboard the Sleeping Mermaid. Burns had told her that when a prince asks her to marry him her only answer should be yes. It doesn't seem fair; son of a king or not, she should not be giving him special treatment. It is as if her own opinion is irrelevant when a prince is concerned. The look on the doctor's face tells her she is exactly right; they all have to obey the prince or face the consequences.

A moment later Gavin returns with the requested instruments. The doctor pours the rum over the wound while setting a metal axe in the stove to heat it up. Jameson is not speaking, though he is still conscious. His eyes are rolling around in his head and blood is sputtering up from his mouth and nose. "Give him something to bite down on," the doctor orders.

Cassandra quickly removes her leather torso piece and tears a strap off the side. The doctor ties it around Jameson's mouth like a gag before retrieving the axe from the fire. Jameson starts to squirm and scream through the cloth but it is no use. The rest of Gavin's men hold him down as the doctor presses the hot metal to his torso. His back arches as he lifts off the cot, contorting in agony.

Cassandra holds her breath as Flower once again covers her eyes. By now she has noticed how indifferent to suffering and pain her friend has become. Perhaps the horror of having already been stabbed once has numbed her. Gavin reaches his arm over her shoulder, trying to comfort her. She is too busy staring at Jameson to notice at first but when she does, she steps away, letting it slide off.

Gavin glares at her in surprise. It is obvious he has never been so boldly rejected before; after all, he is a prince. With a single word he could have her thrown overboard simply for being rude to him. He decides to wait on that order though, giving her a pass due to her friend's predicament. She will have to learn her place on his ship soon though.

Jameson passes out from the pain before the doctor lifts the axe from his wound. "Will he be okay?" Cassandra asks.

"No." The doctor shakes his head. "I've said this before; he's not sick. This isn't some disease he will get over. Even if he somehow recovers, his muscles have been torn, his stomach punctured. He will be lucky to survive the night."

"What can we do?" Cassandra's eyes are welling up.

"Pray," the doctor answers sternly, staring over the top of his spectacles with cold black eyes.

"Beg," Gavin corrects him.

"What?" Cassandra turns to the prince.

"Beg me to take him to the sirens," he orders her.

"Excuse me?"

"The sirens may be able to remove the curse of the sprite and heal him. Beg me to take you there."

"How dare you? He is dying."

"Which should make the decision easier." Gavin glares back at her; his green hazel eyes equally as stern as her icy blue ones.

"Why are you doing this?" she demands.

"Because you insulted me," he reminds her. "My dignity is on the line."

"For that you'd let him die?" she is furious.

"For that I'd go to war with a thousand kingdoms. I am not like my father; I am not a tyrant. However, I am not weak either. Those who intentionally oppose me must be put in their place. When we were on land your hatred of me was an entitled opinion, now it is considered mutiny. Would you care to amend your previous accusations?"

"Not on your life," she spits. "You've only proven my point. If you really were a just king you wouldn't hold people to the same beliefs as yourself. Differing opinions are important. Why do you think your father confides in his council?"

"There is a great difference between giving advice and outright insulting someone," he argues. "If we were friends your opinion would be welcome, but you have not extended that kindness; even after everything I have done for you."

"Fine!" she shouts as she crouches down on her knees. "Is this what you want?" The rest of Gavin's men, including the doctor, start to leave the room, except for one young man about Gavin's age who seems to be the second in command. He has slick black hair and sunken in eyes not quite as black as Jezebels. He is a little taller than Gavin with a slightly more shaped chin.

"Please stop this," Flower flutters close to Gavin's face.

"This is all your fault," he shouts while swatting her out of the air. She hits the floor and rolls under Jameson's cot.

"You bastard!" Cassandra shrieks at him.

"What did I just say about insulting me?" He grabs her by the arms and lifts her to her feet. Their faces are only an inch apart.

"What is wrong with you?" She shakes her head disappointedly. "This isn't how a prince should act." Immediately he releases her, stepping back until he bumps into the stove. She rushes to collect Flower from under the cot. The small creature is unconscious but breathing. "You could have killed her!" she screams at Gavin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"What kind of a prince are you?" she continues to berate him.

"I don't know. That's why my father sent me away. He doesn't think I have what it takes to rule. He's probably right too. I mean look at me. I can't even control one hysterical woman."

"Why is it so important for you to control me?" Cassandra's eyes narrow.

"What kind of king lets a woman push him around?" he argues.

"What about your mother?" she counters. "Doesn't your father listen to her?"

"My mother was executed when I was five for smiling at the duke. He was drawn and quartered shortly there after."

"My god!" Cassandra's eyes widen. "And you still think your father is a good ruler?"

"He's my father." Gavin shrugs.

"He killed your mother!"

"He's the king."

"He killed his own wife," she repeats. "He is no king; he is only a monster."

"What should I do?" Gavin starts to panic. He is having a life crisis.

"Will you listen to the opinion of a lowly woman?" she asks while handing her unconscious fairy to the remaining crewmember. Gavin nods slowly. She crosses the room and wraps her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. He drapes his arms over her shoulders. "Do as I say and you shall be a greater ruler than your father could ever be."

"I will," he whispers.

The second in command finally decides to give them some privacy. As he leaves the lower deck, still holding Flower loosely, he finds the rest of his shipmates waiting and listening.

"What is the captain thinking, Casper?" one of them demands. "He's going to let this random lass boss him around?"

"I don't know," Casper answers. "He's finally growing up. I think we shouldn't interfere." Immediately cries of outrage meet his suggestion as the crew scatters to begin gossiping about who this mystery woman could be.

The most common theory is a princess from another kingdom, which would certainly explain her lack of obedience. Another theory is that she is actually a man in disguise, which does not gain much support amongst the level headed sailors. Finally the most worrisome theory is that she is a temptress; a witch in disguise seducing their prince with the intention of marrying into the throne.

21: Bound for Life

As they sail for the sirens' cove, the crew continues to whisper amongst themselves, discussing what to do about Cassandra in order to save their prince. Every time Gavin catches them talking though, he threatens severe punishment for any who harm his new advisor.

It does not take Flower long to recover, but she has learned to avoid approaching Gavin again. She spends most of the journey sitting on Casper's shoulder and talking to him about what few memories she has since waking aboard the Sleeping Mermaid. He seems extremely interested in the world of pirates but she has little to tell him.

She spends the rest of her time slipping into cracks of the ship's hull and hiding. From there she can spy on the crew and on Gavin, who is starting to make excuses to be around Cassandra quite often. He invites her to dinner in his cabin almost every evening. They talk of Ferery and his father's rule late into the night. Cassandra gives advice on how his reign should differ and even suggestions on laws that he should challenge. All the while the two of them are growing closer.

The more time they spend together, the more anxious Flower becomes. She knows she was the one who wanted to add Gavin to Cassandra's story in the first place but she is beginning to regret her decision. It is going too smoothly. Jameson is lying in the hull of the ship, bleeding on a cot while Cassandra flirts with the prince of the kingdom she hates.

Flower continues hiding and waiting, refusing to show her face or admit how jealous she is. Why doesn't she have a story? Why doesn't she have a handsome prince of her own?

Finally after nearly a week, the ship arrives at the sirens' cove. It is a collection of large jagged black rocks with holes worn through them by the wind and sea. The entire crew crowds to one side of the ship to get a good view of the mystical place. They can all see the remains of sunken ships sticking out of the water where they fell after being lured in by the fated sirens' song.

"This is the hard part." Gavin turns to Cassandra. "None of us will be immune to their seducing voices except…"

"Except Flower," Cassandra finishes his sentence.

"Me?" the tiny fairy is surprised.

"Your magic will protect you," Gavin explains. "I would ask that you use it to protect us as well but I do not want your magic anywhere near me again." He is glaring sternly.

Flower hides behind Cassandra's shoulder shamefully. "Don't be mean to her." Cassandra pets her affectionately to calm her down. Before Gavin can respond, a loud shriek rips through the air, emanating from below the ship. Bubbles ripple on the surface of the water as dozens upon dozens of fish begin to swarm.

"Look at that," the crew laughs excitedly. "I bet we could eat for a month if we caught them all."

"Don't disturb the water!" Gavin warns his men as they start to gather fishing supplies.

"But sir, we haven't had fresh food since we left port."

"Not a one of you goes near it!" he makes himself heard. "You'll be pulled down to the bottom of the sea and drowned."

"He's not serious, is he?" the crew is skeptical.

"Oh he's very serious," a soft voice whispers from below the ship. All of the men rush to peer over the edge again. They leap back quickly as a geyser of water rises into the air. Several scale covered arms reach out to grab hold of the deck. The men scamper back as the creatures drag themselves on board.

"Back you devil's mistresses!" The crew draws their swords.

"How rude." The full form of a grown woman rises over the edge of the ship. She is completely naked save for scales covering every inch of her skin. They reflect a murky blue tinge similar to the water below. "What have you come here for? We weren't even singing yet. Dusk is still a few hours away."

The men all cower behind their captain. Gavin glares at them disappointedly before stepping forward. "My name is Prince Gavin of Ferery. I…"

"Oh I've heard of Ferery." Another Siren leaps up onto the deck. She is younger and smaller with peach colored scales.

"Really now?" the first siren is curious.

"They like to fish there. The entire kingdom depends on it," Califf explains.

"Sounds lovely." Drea feigns interest.

"Really?" Gavin raises an eyebrow. "You're not mad that we farm your fellow water dwellers for food?"

"Silly human, always thinking you're the center of everything. Do you know what we eat?"

"No." He shakes his head.

"Fish," she cackles. "We aren't so different, you and I. The only problem is cooking. Starting a fire underwater is hard to do." Gavin tries to laugh at her joke but instead makes a nervous wheezing sound. "Are you afraid of us, prince?" She leans closer to him.

"I'm not afraid of anything." He straightens his posture.

"King's orders," Casper whispers to Cassandra, "this whole trip is to make him strong and reliable."

"I would have liked to have met him before his father took hold in his head," she sighs.

"You there!" Drea points at her. "You're his mate right? Come and stand by your prince."

"I, I don't… he's not…" she starts to stutter.

"Shut up," Gavin hisses at her. "What about you," he asks Drea. "Where is your mate?"

"He was killed by a sinking anchor last year." She turns out her lip to pout. Califf touches her shoulder to convey solace while the other scaled creatures start to pull themselves up onto the deck. They consist of an array of colors all the way from red to orange to green to yellow.

"Amazing," Casper gasps.

"What a strange bunch of people." Drea glances around at the sailors. "I have never seen so many idiots flocking to their deaths."

The entire crew gasps at her statement. "Now hold on here." Gavin raises his hands to protest. "What makes you think we want to die?"

"Why else would you come here?"

"We need your help." He steps aside to let the doctor and another crewmember carry Jameson forward. His head is hanging limply, hiding his face from view.

"Oh what a poor soul," Drea gasps. Her expression suggests lack of sympathy though. "What do you want me to do about him?"

"We need you to heal him," Gavin states calmly.

"Why us? Surely you could have found a number of mystical creatures capable of healing a wound like this. Unless…" her voice trails off as she notices Flower hiding behind Cassandra's ear. "Sprite!" she shouts while pointing. Immediately Cassandra is surrounded by the sirens as they all try to grab at the fairy.

"Stop where you are!" Gavin draws his sword. "Do not lay a hand on her."

"You have brought a fairy into our midst," Drea hisses. "Why would you do this?"

"We're not here to attack you," Gavin tries to explain.

"Liar! Seize him!" The sirens start to scream shrilly as they charge forward. The crewmen all drop their weapons to cover their ears but it is too late. Their eyes go blank as the shrill noise takes hold in their heads. Cassandra glances around as they all fall under the sea creatures' spell. The sirens slither between the men, binding their hands with seaweed and shoving them toward the edge of the boat.

"Stop!" Cassandra begs. "We haven't done anything to you."

"And we're not waiting until you do," Drea hisses. "Humans are all the same."

"I said stop!" she screams. At that moment her eyes start to glow white again as she floats into the air. Flower holds onto her shoulder tightly as her power drains into her friend. The sirens swarm into a group on the other side of the boat as Cassandra uses a sword to cut the bindings on Gavin's wrists. When she is done she turns to face Drea again. "Will you heal him or not?" She points the sword at her threateningly.

The sirens are all cowering behind their leader now. "Do you know what will happen if you cut anyone with that blade?" Drea asks in a serious tone. "The wound will never heal. The sprite's curse will eat away at them until there is nothing left."

"There must be something you can do," Cassandra begs. Flower is almost surprised that she has remained in control of herself unlike Gavin.

"We will not waste one of our lives on your pathetic human," Drea spits angrily while waving her cowering sirens toward the edge of the boat where they begin leaping off into the sea one by one.

"What do you mean?" Cassandra is confused. "Why would your life be wasted?"

"Because…" Califf starts to answer.

"Enough!" Drea stops her. "Back to the nest, Califf," she orders. Just then, Jameson starts to groan. He is lying on his side where the doctor dropped him when the sirens began to scream. He rolls over onto his back, coughing and spitting up more blood. Flower flutters down to him and sweeps his curly hair away from his face. "Go." Drea continues to nudge Califf.

"Wait." Califf breaks free of her. "Jamie?" she asks as she walks toward the injured man.

"Stay back!" Cassandra points her sword at her. Her eyes flare brighter for a moment.

"Don't." Drea grabs at her arm.

"Look, Drea." She jerks away. "It's the story owner; the one who killed the fire spirit. I never thought I'd see him again."

"And that would have been for the best," Drea sighs. She does not like the look on Califf's face.

"I will heal him!" she spouts suddenly. Drea presses her palms to her eyes disappointedly. This is exactly what she feared.

"Don't come any closer," Cassandra warns her.

"Just give me a chance," Califf begs.

"You can't." Drea blocks her path. "You'll die!"

"What?" Cassandra's eyes return to normal as she lands on her feet again.

"Sirens can only heal someone once," Drea explains. "Once they do, their life is bound with them. It is as good as dying."

"I do not mind." Califf shakes her head. "I will be bound to this human."

"You can't…"

"I've made my choice." She steps toward Cassandra who has difficulty holding her ground. "Bring him to me."

"I can't let you do this," Drea's voice is stern.

"You can't stop me," Califf is defiant.

"The water god can," Drea mutters.

Suddenly Jameson's eyes shoot open as he stands up. He is glaring at Drea from underneath a menacing shadow cast by his sweat drenched hair as blood drips from his torso and mouth. "What did you say?" he whispers hoarsely. "I killed the water god with my own hands."

"Or so you thought." Drea is smiling now. Jameson continues to glare as she shrieks loudly, calling to the rest of the sirens below. Soon the sound of screaming sea creatures is resonating throughout the entire cove. The boat starts to rock as the calm sea becomes unbalanced. Something large is rising up from the deep.

"Not possible," Jameson is in disbelief. "I killed you." His mouth hangs open as the familiar tentacles of the giant water spirit rise up around the ship, preparing to pull it down into the depths of the ocean.

"Don't," Califf begs Drea but the blue siren is not listening. Leading the chorus, she directs the water spirit to attack Cassandra first. No longer imbued with Flower's magic, she is barely able to avoid being crushed by the falling tentacle, which causes the deck to creak but not break under its crushing weight.

This seems to snap Gavin out of his daze somewhat as he realizes the danger his ship is in. He stumbles toward Cassandra drunkenly; his eyes fluttering and his rapier still in hand. Before he can reach her though, Jameson grabs him by the shoulder. "I need your sword." He tries to take it from him.

"Never try to separate a man from his weapon," Gavin mumbles through slurred speech. Jameson starts to pry at his fingers as another tentacle sails in their direction. Instinctively Gavin lifts his arm, slicing the serpent's appendage in two.

"No!" Drea wails as the creature raises its head above water to scream in pain. Soon all of its tentacles are surrounding Gavin and Jameson, trying to remove the nuisances before they can do any more damage. Gavin stumbles through the web of fleshy ropes easily, surprising both Drea and Cassandra equally. Jameson is having more difficulty though as he is also tasked with holding his side to keep the cauterized wound from splitting open again.

Drea is too busy singing to the monster to realize that Califf is no longer at her side. She slithers between the tentacles even faster than Gavin. The creature seems to know better than to attack her while Drea is in control of its mind. When she finds one of the men's hands, she pulls them free of the maze, only to find herself clinging onto Gavin and not Jameson. "You!" he is furious. "Devil's mistress!"

She shoves him toward Cassandra before diving back into the mess of tentacles. She finds Jameson kneeling in the center of the web, breathing heavily and holding his side. "Jamie!" she shouts as she rushes to help him. "What happened to you?"

"Who…?" He blinks at her in confusion. It has been over a year and he is not in the best condition to recognize anyone. She doesn't waste any time. She grabs his arm and leaps up above the web with her powerful legs, bringing them face to face with six of the sea monster's twelve eyes.

It shrieks when it notices them, drawing Drea's attention. "Califf, get away from him!" she shouts. Califf and Jameson land a few feet away from Cassandra and Gavin, who are both still dizzy from the effects of the sirens' song.

"Give me the sword." Jameson tries once again to pry the rapier from Gavin's fingers. When he finally does, Gavin tackles him to the deck and starts to punch him in the face repeatedly.

Cassandra has to grab him around the waist to pull him off. "What's wrong with him?" she asks Califf.

"It's the song; it makes men stupid," she explains. "He's nothing but an animal right now."

"I am not!" Gavin stands back up. "I am the prince of Ferery. You will respect me."

"I am the priestess of the ocean and I obey no king or prince," Califf spits back at him. Their argument is cut short by several more tentacles falling around them. Jameson slices through each one easily though. Gavin's rapier is better than any weapon from the gladiator armory. After a while of dicing its tentacles it becomes obvious that the creature has no limit. It continues to thrash and scream, trying to crush them permanently.

"How do we kill it?" Cassandra asks. "It must have a weakness."

"I almost ended it once before," Jameson admits. "There is a soft spot on the top of its head."

"There is no way to get up there," Gavin mumbles.

"There is one," Califf disagrees.

"Can you really jump that high?" Cassandra is skeptical.

"I won't know until I try." She grabs both Gavin's and Jameson's wrists and leaps off the deck, dragging them into the air with her. Cassandra shades her eyes against the bright gray clouds above the monster's head as she watches them rise. It tries to swallow them but Gavin kicks its teeth, causing it too much pain.

Once they stop rising, Califf tosses Jameson just a little bit further before Gavin's weight starts to bring her down. She uses the momentum of him falling to twirl herself and him around until she can toss him up as well. Jameson stabs the rapier into one of the creature's eyes while reaching out with his other hand to grab Gavin. He tosses the prince even higher before bracing himself against the creature's soft skin to pry the sword out.

Gavin lands on top of the creature's head and quickly glances down to see Jameson puncture each of its left six eyes once. Now completely blind on one side, it is screaming constantly, thrashing its head as hard as it can. Gavin refuses to be shaken off though. His drunken daze almost seems advantageous as her remains standing vertically on the creature's forehead regardless of its movement.

Jameson however is unable to keep from being thrown off. Just as he starts to fall back toward the ship he tosses the sword up to Gavin. Califf leaps off the deck to catch Jameson before he falls too far. Gavin's sword lands in his hand flawlessly, almost like magic. He runs along the creature's skull until her finds a scar from where Jameson punctured it before. "Stop!" Drea shouts from the ship below as he plunges his sword into the creature's head; all the way to the hilt.

Drea and the rest of her sirens all start to scream in pain. Their connection to the sea monster allows them to feel its death; and it is most definitely dead this time. It falls forward, throwing Gavin from its head as it crashes into the ship's deck. The boat tips to one side as the weight of the monster starts to drag it under. "Quickly, get it off before we all drown!" Gavin shouts at his men who are still tied up.

Cassandra quickly cuts their bindings so they can help her push the creature off of the deck. The sirens are still too busy holding their heads to keep them under their spell. It takes every ounce of strength they have to heave the giant sea monster off of the ship. Just as it finally starts to slip, Gavin grabs the handle of his sword and braces himself against the edge of the boat. As the creature's head falls toward the water, the sword finally wedges itself loose, causing Gavin to fall backwards at Cassandra's feet.

Immediately the creature disappears bellow the water, sinking back down to the depths from which it rose, never to be seen again. After watching to make sure it is truly gone, Jameson steps back from the edge of the ship. He has a large smile across his face, almost equivalent to Drea's scowl. Suddenly, he falls forward into a heap on the deck. "Quickly!" Cassandra shouts at Califf who rushes to his side.

She drops to her knees before bringing Jameson's head into her lap. She whispers something into his ear that sounds like another language. The wound on his stomach starts to glow white as sparks fly out. They flutter around Cassandra for a few moments before settling at her shoulder where Flower is still hiding and fading back into her white dress.

"Filthy fairy," Drea mutters. Cassandra instinctively moves her hand to hide Flower from view. Suddenly Califf throws her head back to shriek. Cassandra can see a wound forming on her torso in the exact same spot as Jameson's. "See what you've done?" Drea shouts at the humans.

Slowly Califf's voice becomes less shrill as she runs out of breath. After sucking in more air she starts to hum. Rather than screaming she now seems to be singing. All of the crewmembers begin to rock back and forth as they listen. Cassandra feels oddly calm. She can see the wound on Jameson's torso now covered with peach scales. At least part of him has transformed.

Finally he opens his eyes. He leaps to his feet but stumbles backwards, falling onto his butt and scurrying until he bumps into Cassandra's legs. "What is that?" he breathes while staring up at his friend. He is finally coherent enough to realize his surroundings.

"That is your savior," she answers in a calm dreamy voice. Her eyes have become heavy and she is barely managing to keep herself upright. The rest of the sailors have already begun to topple over onto the deck in a drunken stupor; all except Gavin.

"Hello." Jameson extends his hand to Califf as she slinks across the deck to examine him. He immediately starts to blush when he notices her lack of clothing. Her peach scales are the color of human skin and her red hair looks almost like wet seaweed. Slowly he reaches out to touch her face. Suddenly he keels over, grabbing the sides of his neck in pain.

"What is happening?" Cassandra is shocked.

"He's growing gills," Califf answers. Jameson's eyes widen as he struggles to breathe. Suddenly it is all over. He falls into Califf's arms, gasping for breath but otherwise unharmed. Drea glares angrily as Califf smiles with glee. "I want to keep him," she whispers.

"Of course you're keeping him," Drea grumbles. "We're not trusting these savages with his safety."

"Stop right there." Gavin finally finds his voice. "You're not taking him anywhere."

"You have no say in the matter," Drea hisses at him before taking a deep breath. Gavin's eyes start to blur as she begins to chant in her ringing siren wail of a voice.

He wobbles from side to side as he stumbles forward, somehow still able to resist her. "What are your intentions for him?" he mumbles incoherently.

"His life has become bound to Califf's," Drea reaffirms. "They are now mates."

Flower's eyes bulge as she covers her mouth to keep from squealing. Somehow she feels rather excited about the prospect of marrying a creature of the sea. Cassandra is equally as surprised. "Is there no way to undo it?" she asks without much hope.

Drea shakes her head. "We sirens are all female. This is the only way we reproduce. We lure ships to these rocks and save the survivors from drowning. Califf here has chosen your sailor as her own. I can not nor will I try to separate them. Now let us go in peace."

"Not a chance!" Gavin readies his sword, still dripping with the blue blood of the water spirit. He continues to stumble drunkenly as he speaks. "This is my ship. I am the captain. I am the prince. I will be king."

"Gavin, calm down." Cassandra grabs his shoulder.

He jerks his elbow, nearly knocking her over. "I will fight you," he warns Drea.

"You will lose." Her eyes narrow.

"Wait," Califf shouts. Gavin jerks his head down to look at the sea creature still crouching next to Jameson. He had almost forgotten about her and the reason he is even yelling. "I will stay here with them," Califf offers. "I want to be with him."

Jameson's mouth twists into a smile as he stands up, bringing her to her feet with him. "Problem solved." Gavin turns to glare at Drea again.

"Don't be ridiculous." She rolls her eyes. "Boy, do you recognize that saber in his hand?" she asks Jameson.

He leans toward Gavin's swaying form to examine the rapier closely. He glances down when Califf touches the scaly wound on his torso. "You stabbed me," he suddenly recalls.

"It wasn't my fault," Gavin brushes him off.

"You stabbed me!" he repeats louder.

"It was the sprite's doing," Gavin passes the blame.

"See what it's like living with humans?" Drea interrupts. "This prince is irresponsible. Your death will come sooner than later. I'm not willing to risk Califf's life by trusting these savages; are you?"

Jameson turns to look at Cassandra who simply averts her eyes. "You're staying with him?" He gestures to Gavin. She nods slowly. She made a promise she intends to keep. With his hand in Califf's, Jameson starts to back away from Gavin.

"Wait, you can't go with them." His mouth hangs open. Jameson responds by kicking off his boots, preparing to enter the water.

"You've made the right choice, my son." Drea smiles happily as she takes his other hand. Cassandra and Gavin watch as the two sirens leap off the deck, dragging Jameson with them. The splash that follows is accompanied by the entire crew scrambling to stand up. It seems that the sirens' hold has finally been lifted.

Gavin drops his sword as his eyes finally start to focus. Cassandra catches his head in her arms as he tips over. She strokes his hair as he breathes against her chest. "I failed again," he whispers.

"It's alright. It's alright, my prince," she tries to sooth him.

Flower grits her teeth as she flutters above them. Cassandra's story is moving far too quickly. A deadly encounter with a creature of the sea has drawn her even closer to the wayward prince. Jameson also seems to have found his happy ending, whether or not it was in Hemlock's plan to begin with.

Everyone's stories are moving forward. What will happen to Flower when she is no longer needed? How long before she is left all alone with nothing. Will she have to find another story owner to follow? Will she watch them earn their happy ending too? Will she grow old watching others enjoy bliss while she withers away?

22: Queen's Invitation

It is almost a month at open sea before Gavin's ship even approaches another harbor. Flower spends the journey moping by herself or talking to Casper while Cassandra and Gavin only grow closer. They talk about Cassandra's story and how he wishes to help her in any way he can. She also continues to criticize his father's kingdom and give him advice.

All the while the crew is becoming more annoyed. None of them feel that this village girl is worthy of even speaking to their prince let alone insulting their king. What they fear most however is the fact that she is a story owner. They have read the tales like Cinderella where an unsuspecting prince swoons for a poor girl at first sight. How can they let their captain fall prey to her charm the same way?

For all of their talk, none of them actually have the guts to approach Gavin and complain. His attitude has almost completely changed. He no longer seems insecure about his role as a prince. In fact, he has begun to act much kinder. The exception is when Cassandra is concerned. If any of the crew speak ill of her, he immediately flies into a rage. They have all concluded that he is already head over heels. The only two who are oblivious are Cassandra and Gavin himself.

During the third week, the supplies finally start to wear thin. "Sir, we have just enough to make it back to Ferery, if we all agree to ration what's left," the quartermaster informs Gavin.

"Before we resort to that, where is the nearest port?"

"We are parallel to Queen Rittier's kingdom of Baylor. There is a port within riding distance of the city."

"Come with me." Gavin ascends above deck. "Everyone, gather round," he shouts loud enough to gain the crew's full attention. "We will now take a vote; who all wants to head straight back to Ferery and who thinks I should pay my respects to the new queen of Baylor?"

A murmur travels around the deck as they debate the choice amongst themselves. Cassandra has no one but Flower to talk to though. "We're near Baylor?" the tiny fairy is excited. "We need to stop here. We definitely have to."

"Easy now," Cassandra tries to calm her. "I remember you mentioning Baylor before. Have you regained some of your memory?"

"I'm not sure," she admits. "All I know is the answer is somewhere in that city."

"That settles it then." Cassandra stands up while raising her hand. "I vote to stop in Baylor."

A groan resonates through the crew as they realize that their choice has just been revoked. If Gavin's lass wants to stop somewhere, then he will definitely listen. Gavin rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as Cassandra moves to stand beside him. The look she is giving the crew lets them know just how powerless they are compared to her. She has their prince wrapped around her little finger.

After docking at the port near Baylor, Cassandra and Gavin rent horses to carry them to the city while the crew stays put to re-supply. It is a half hour ride to Baylor and Flower spends the journey clinging to Cassandra's shoulder.

"I've never actually been to Baylor," Gavin admits as they cross the bridge over the river that separates it from the farmlands. The whole city is divided by five different rivers and reconnected by large cobblestone bridges with room underneath for ferries to cart people around quickly. "I always planned to visit Baylor on my travels," Gavin continues to rant. "It is so close to Ferery after all."

"I've been here before," Flower speaks up finally. "I used to live around here."

"Here?" Cassandra raises an eyebrow. "This is the slums. These aren't houses, they're shacks."

"I lived in there." Flower points to the once shabby and broken down theatre, now bright and lively due to the thief's financial assistance.

"You lived in an opera house?" Cassandra is surprised and concerned.

"It was better than the streets." Flower shrugs. "I wonder if Lottie is home. Perhaps she misses me." The fairy flutters off toward the only building which is not falling apart in the rickety neighborhood. Cassandra climbs down from her horse to chase after her while Gavin takes the reins and goes to tie both animals up.

"Wait for me," Cassandra gasps for breath as she chases her fairy. She is not exactly out of shape but living on a boat does not provide for much exercise and the creature's wings carry her much further and faster.

Flower stops dead in the air when a young boy with matted hair and freckles exits the theatre through the front doors. He is carrying several sheets that look wet and ready to be hung on the clothes line strung between the building and a nearby tree. He drops his payload upon spotting the fairy dangling in the air in front of him.

"Flower, get back here," Cassandra pants for breath as she reaches the edge of the cobblestone street where the theatre property begins.

"Is this yours?" The boy points at the fairy.

"Yes, sorry." She extends her hand so Flower can land.

"Taylor, it's me. Don't you recognize me?"

"Of course I do, hag. Now leave."

"But…" Flower's jaw drops. "I came all this way."

"Where have you even been?" Taylor spouts. "Malcolm was worried sick when you weren't at the castle the day of the queen's coronation, which you missed by the way. He thought you'd been secretly executed."

"Malcolm was worried about me?"

"He was the only one," Taylor scoffs. "Why'd you come back? Why didn't you just stay dead?"

"How dare you?" Cassandra gasps. "What kind of friend are you?"

"Friend? I'm not her friend. She's a user. She infiltrated our family and destroyed it."

"The family's gone?" Flower's eyes widen.

"Like you didn't know," he spouts accusingly. "It's been dead a whole year; ever since you convinced Malcolm to consort with that hussy. He's run off with her now, didn't you know."

"I… I forgot." She lowers her head apologetically.

"She's only just starting to remember," Cassandra defends her friend.

"Well she's lucky," Taylor is unsympathetic. "Why don't you just leave already?"

"What about Lottie? Can't I come in?" Flower begs. "I want to see her."

"She doesn't want to see you," he snorts. "She hates you. I hate you. In fact, Malcolm's the only one who doesn't hate you. He kept trying to say how happy he was that you helped him with his story. Why couldn't you just leave him alone? Things were perfect before you came along. Is this what you call a happy ending? Is it?"

"That's enough." Cassandra shields Flower with her hands. "Stop being so selfish. This Malcolm fellow has admitted that he's happier. Instead of being jealous and petty, you should be excited for him. You're not his friend if you want him to be miserable. You're the user."

"I…" Taylor seems stumped for a moment but he quickly regains his anger. "Leave." He points toward the street. When Cassandra doesn't move fast enough for him he begins to shout. "I said now! Go before I rip those pathetic wings from your back!" Cassandra stomps away from the theatre as Taylor bends down to retrieve the sheets he dropped. He is grumbling about selfishness, trying to convince himself that he is none of the things Cassandra accused him of being.

"How did it go?" Gavin asks as Cassandra returns to the place he tied up the horses. She opens her hands to show him the crying fairy. "What happened?" he asks.

"I think she's regained some of her memories from when she was human," Cassandra sighs. "It wasn't pretty."

"I never really considered the fact that she wasn't born a fairy," Gavin admits. "I guess I shouldn't have been so mean to her…"

"Don't." Flower finally lifts her sulking head, revealing her tear stricken face.

"I just meant that…"

"I don't want your sympathy," she refuses to listen. "Just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry," Cassandra sighs. "I didn't realize how hard it has been on you. When Gavin said you had been through a trauma, I assumed he meant your wings." She gestures to the ten dark streaks that mark her silver appendages.

"These?" She suddenly smiles. "They are my precious reminder."

"Reminder of what?" Cassandra asks.

"Of the princess," she sighs happily. Her eyes are unfocused like she is daydreaming.

"What's happening?" Cassandra whispers to Gavin.

"She's blocking out her painful memories with something else," he answers.

"But who is the princess?"

"Perhaps she means Rittier's daughter." He shrugs.

"Littier?" Flower overhears them. "Can we go see Littier?"

"If she'll let us in the castle," Cassandra is skeptical.

"She'll let us in." Gavin smirks.

After a short trek across town on horseback, the three of them arrive at the center drawbridge to the castle. "Halt, who goes there?" A guard points a spear at them.

"I am Prince Gavin of Ferery. I was unable to attend the queen's coronation last month due to traveling but I am here to pay my respects now."

"Ah, Prince Gavin. You are the spitting image of your father," the guard pretends to recognize him. Gavin notices Cassandra staring at him and shakes his head to assure her he looks nothing like his father. "I'll inform the queen of your visit right away. Come with me." They dismount and tether their horses before following him across the drawbridge. He leaves them waiting in the courtyard while he enters the castle to fetch the queen.

Cassandra is too busy glancing around at the marvelous garden to notice Flower ascending into the air. She flutters up several stories until she reaches the window she recognizes as Littier's from the night she spent with her. She taps on the pane gently, alerting the girl inside to her presence. Immediately, the glass frame swings outward on its hinges. "Hello little fairy," the young princess whispers softly as she extends her hands to catch her. "What brings you to my castle?"

"Littier, it's me," Flower squeaks in her high pitched voice.

"Jez?" The girl's eyes widen. "Oh my god, I thought I'd never see you again. You vanished in the middle of the night."

"Sorry." Flower frowns apologetically. "I don't know what happened."

"I do." Littier is beaming proudly. "It's the pendent I gave you." She points to the tiny crescent dangling on her neck. "I told you it would help you."

"I don't understand." Flower lands on the sill to rest her wings.

"Oh no," Littier gasps as she notices the marks. "Is that from the whipping? I'm so sorry."

"I'm not." Flower shakes her head. "They are a part of me now. I like them."

"Well I don't." Littier crosses her arms. Flower has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing, but ends up snorting anyway. After a moment Littier starts to laugh as well. "I really am sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just so glad to see you again."

"Did you really miss me that much?" Littier is surprised. "We only met once."

"I haven't met many people that were nice to me." She starts to fiddle with her thumbs.

"Oh." Littier recalls how Taylor and Lottie treated her in the story of the thief. "I know it doesn't mean much but I think you are the best character in the books. You're not selfish or obsessed like the theatre lady. You help people. That's why you are a fairy."

Flower tries to smile but now she is feeling extremely guilty. All she has been doing for the past month is sulking because she doesn't have a story of her own. She has not been a very good fairy at all. In fact, since becoming a fairy she has done less helping than she did before. Now that she is finally back in the familiar city, things are starting to resurface in her memory. She actually came to the castle for a specific reason in the first place. "Oh no," she gasps as it finally comes to her.

"What? What is it?" Littier is caught off guard.

"Where is it?" Flower starts to buzz around the room frantically.

"Are you looking for your bag?" Littier realizes. "You left it here when you disappeared. I kept it under my bed this whole time."

"You did?" Flower is relieved. She flutters around impatiently as Littier retrieves the satchel and the plaque from inside.

"I've tried reading it but it's impossible. What language is it written in?" Littier is curious.

"I have no idea but…" her voice trails off as she looks at the slate. "Wait a minute, I can understand it now," she is shocked.

"You can? How?" Littier is equally as surprised.

"Maybe because I'm a fairy," Flower surmises. "We are born with a certain set of knowledge. I know things about kingdoms I've never even been to."

"That's amazing," Littier is becoming giddy. "What does it say?"

"It's a petition brought on by one Lord Astral," Flower begins to read.

"Lord Astral?" Littier interrupts her. "He was my father."

"I think I knew that," Flower mutters before continuing to read. "He brought this petition before King Jessup and had him stamp it, giving him permission to remove Lord Creashure from the council and have him banished. I don't think King Jessup even knew what he was agreeing to."

"Lord Creashure?" Littier gains interest. "He's a creepy lord on my mother's council. He has been asking her to marry him in order to earn the rank of king. When she said no, he asked me to marry him."

"I hope you refused as well." Flower cringes.

"Of course I did," Littier assures her. "My mother thinks he's trying to take over but she can't dismiss any of Grandpa Jessup's lords during her first year as queen."

Suddenly more memories start spilling into Flower's head. "Nathan said that Lord Creashure is gaining power. The longer he is on the council, the harder it will be to convince the other lords to dismiss him."

"Who's Nathan?" Littier asks. "Never mind. You said this was a writ of permission stamped by my grandfather, right? This means we don't need to wait a year or get the approval of the other lords. I wish I had known about this before my mother's coronation."

"Yeah, sorry." Flower averts her eyes guiltily.

"It's my fault for giving you the pendent," Littier takes the blame. "It's not too late though. We need to show my mother immediately." Littier grabs the fairy before dashing out of the room. It is a long trek down the stone steps to the castle foyer but Littier slides down the banister, making it much quicker.

As soon as she leaps off onto the red carpeted floor, she bumps into the back of her mother's legs. "Oh dear me," the queen mutters while turning around. "Oh, it's only you, dear."

"Mom…" Littier starts to shout.

"Don't bother me right now," she shoos her away. "I was just about to greet the prince of Ferery."

"I'll come too, Mommy." Littier chases her into the foyer, hopping from one foot to the other impatiently.

"I can't have you embarrassing me in front of royalty," her mother argues. She is a rather tall lady with hair the same color as her daughter's. It is said that anyone standing next to her looks like a dwarf. This is certainly true for the two children who have just been let into the foyer by the castle guard. Cassandra and Gavin bow respectively as Flower hides in the palm of Littier's hand. "Welcome," the queen spreads her arms to greet them.

"Who are they?" Littier whispers into her hand.

Flower opens her mouth to explain that Cassandra is her friend but suddenly changes her mind. "She's the person I'm helping now. She owns the Beyond the Woods books."

"I've heard of that one." Littier smiles happily. Her expression changes quickly though. "Those are by Ambrose, not by Mayberry."

"Is there something wrong with Ambrose's stories?" Flower is worried.

Littier brings the fairy close to her face so they can speak without being heard. "He's not very nice to the characters in his stories. The biggest selling point is figuring out whether or not they will even survive. Only about half of them ever do."

"That's terrible," Flower gasps. "Cassandra's in one of his stories right now."

"Then you need to help her. Be the best fairy you can be."

"I… I'll try." Flower nods nervously. She has not been doing a good job so far.

Before either one of them can say anything else, the queen has shushed them so Gavin can introduce himself. "It is an honor, milady," Gavin acts with the utmost politeness.

"I can guess who you are," the queen cuts him off. "Who is your companion, though? Is she your handmaiden?"

"Oh no, ma'am." Cassandra's eyes bulge as she shakes her head.

"She is an esteemed acquaintance I met on my travels," Gavin quickly answers for her. "Once again I am sorry for missing your coronation."

"Oh well, not that it matters. Your father was here to make a scene. You know how he and Jessup argued relentlessly since your grandfather's passing."

"It is the price for building our kingdom's so close to one another," Gavin pretends to apologize.

"No offense but I do hope the throne will pass to you soon. You seem level headed enough."

"I hope you won't mind if I do take offense." Gavin's eyes narrow. She has basically just said she doesn't like his father and expects him to be just as unruly.

"Take it however you want. I did not ask you here." She waves her hand uninterestedly.

"And she thought I would embarrass her," Littier whispers into her hand.

"What's that? What have you got there?" Cassandra points across the room. "Flower, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Cassie." The fairy flutters into view.

Littier tries to grab her back as her mother turns to glare at her. "What have you brought into this castle?" she demands angrily.

"I'm sorry about this, milady," Gavin takes her attention. He struts across the room and snatches Flower out of the air before retreating to hand her back to Cassandra. "She has been a most essential guide on my travels."

"Well," the queen seems stunned that her daughter is not to blame. "Make sure you keep such things out of my castle. I don't very much care for magical creatures. They always like to poke their noses where they don't belong. Come along, Littier. This visit is over."

"Wait," Littier squeaks. "You have to see this." She hands her mother the plaque.

"What is this?" Rittier is confused. "Is this my husband's stamp?" She points to the top right corner.

"And Grandpa's." Littier directs her attention to the center bottom part. "It's about Lord Creashure."

"Oh I hate Lord Creashure," Rittier grumbles. "Of all the horrible people on that council…" she stops mid sentence as she remembers that Gavin and Cassandra are still present. "I think you should go." She tries to shoo them away.

"She can read it," Littier interrupts again.

"What?" Rittier doesn't understand her at all.

"The fairy; she can read the slate. She knows what it says."

"I'm not going to trust the word of an insect," Rittier refuses to listen. "There is a reason my father banned all magic in this kingdom. I suggest you take that thing elsewhere before I have my guards squash it."

"But the slate," Littier whines.

"I'll have the royal translator look at it," her mother assures her. "You there, stop gawking and get out," she loses her patience with her visitors.

""Of course," Gavin grumbles as he drags Cassandra out by the arm.

"I don't understand," she tries to resist. "That was a horrible encounter. Why is she so stuck up?"

"All royalty is like that." He shrugs.

"But shouldn't they at least pretend to get along with other important people?"

"They pretend in the view of the public," he informs her. "It would be even more insulting if she lied to my face about not liking me."

"So this is your way of being honest," she tries to understand.

"A leader must never appear weak to her subjects. There are very few people who ever get to see their true colors. It's like a secret we royals all share. We understand each other's plight and will not reveal it to the people. We each have an equal amount of power to lose."

"But she was rude to me as well," Cassandra recalls. "I'm not a royal."

"And you're not one of her subjects either. What are you going to do; tell people in Ferery that the queen of Baylor is stuck up? They already know, I assure you."

"I'd rather not go to Ferery," she mutters. Just then Flower pokes her head out of Cassandra's hands. "What's wrong?" she quickly notices the fairy's concerned expression.

"I just remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"I remembered who you are, Cassie."

"Finally." Cassandra smiles at her. "It's nice to have you back, Jezebel."

"They're dead."

"Who's dead?"

"Your family."

"Oh." Cassandra covers her mouth.

"It didn't hit me until Littier mentioned Ambrose. He killed them didn't he? He killed Renae, Joshua and David," Flower realizes. Cassandra nods solemnly.

"What are you talking about?" Gavin is confused. "Who killed your family?"

"You did," Cassandra mutters.

"Pardon?"

"Your Lord Nedan."

"He wouldn't…"

"He did," she cuts him off. "He murdered my whole family."

"I had no idea…"

"No, you never do!" she raises her voice. "You're the oblivious prince. You stand by while beasts murder prisoners in a pit."

"I have no authority in Capitith," he defends himself.

"You just watched as your father ordered your own mother's execution," she continues.

"I was five!" he reminds her. "What was I supposed to do?"

"It's never your fault, is it? What about Jameson? You stabbed him and now he is trapped with the sirens."

"That was…"

"I know, I know," she stops him again. "That was Flower's fault. When are you going to take responsibility? When are you going to do something about any of this? It's a king's job to fix things, even when he's not the one at fault. Is blaming someone else all you can do?"

"I…" he can't think of anything to say that won't sound like an excuse. "What should I do?" he finally asks.

"Anything, everything, just do something!" her eyes are welling up.

"I can't raise the dead," he shouts.

"Then you better learn how!" she shouts in a quivering voice.

23: Calling

Immediately after opening his eyes, Jameson starts to panic. He is lying on a ledge overlooking a dark chasm in the ocean floor. Califf is lying next to him with her face nuzzled against his arm. He coughs and sputters as he tries to focus on using his gills to breathe instead of his mouth. Even though he has been living with the sirens for a while now, he is still not used to sleeping under water.

Califf seems to notice his struggling as she quickly wakes up. She strokes his back softly until he finally calms down enough to breathe through his gills. She smiles at him happily as he signals to her that he is okay. While underwater, it is completely impossible to speak, making hand signals important. Jameson has already learned how to communicate quite well.

Califf has been given the task of looking after him and keeping him out of trouble with the other sirens; after all, she is the reason he is even here. She does not mind at all and is rather happy that he can not leave even if he wanted to. Jameson does not hold it against her though. He knows that Gavin and he are more to blame for this than anyone else, including the small fairy, who looks like Jezebel.

Califf has shown him the reaches of their territory in the ocean, all the way from the shores of Capitith to the island of Westhime. She has also introduced him to most of the other sirens and informed him of their societal rules. To his surprise, he is not the only human living amongst them. As Drea explained, there are only female sirens; all males were once normal humans who were either lured to the depths by song or rescued by accident, like him.

It is not a bad way of life and Jameson finds himself enjoying it a lot, especially Califf's company. Even though she is quite energetic and quick to become upset when dealing with Drea and the other matriarchs, she shows him a side of herself no one else sees. She is shy and flirty as well as smart and funny. Often times they swim to the surface just so they can speak instead of just signaling. She has even started wearing a skirt of seaweed to help lessen his embarrassment.

They spend almost every moment together. Drea says it is so he won't die and take half of Califf's soul with him but she actually seems to enjoy his company. By now Jameson has resigned himself to the fact that he can not ever marry anyone else so he may as well at least try to act like Califf's mate. He does owe her his life, after all.

The only thing that still bothers him is that his story feels unfinished. He never did liberate the other prisoners from the pit or overthrow the kingdom's perverse way of life. Finally he still feels bad about what happened with Druine. He has not seen her in over a year, despite promising that they would meet again. She will probably never forgive him for marrying a siren the same way Catlith did. She won't understand why, especially now that he is actually falling for Califf.

Today his mate notices his apprehension even more than usual. She silently asks him if there is anything she can do to which he shakes his head. He knows she would do anything to make him happy, even if it meant going against the matriarch, but he can not explain to her how he still thinks about another woman.

Normally Califf would let it go, hoping that he would forget about it in time, but today she reacts differently. Jameson's brooding nature is only going to become worse. She still remembers how much he doubted himself when he first became a story owner and how seriously he takes negative comments. He can be overly depressing at times, which clashes with Califf's cheery nature quite often.

Califf drags Jameson away from the shelf above the dark chasm that serves as the priestess's home. She leads him back towards the open ocean where the light from the sun breaks through the surface and shines on the sandy floor, giving everything a bluish tinge.

There are dozens of other sirens already swimming around the great area Jameson can only assume serves as their version of a city. It is quite hard to imagine that all of this is happening below the surface when above the water the ocean is so calm. There is not a sailor alive who would not be surprised at the sight.

Califf leads him away from the other sirens and their male mates, not stopping to chat with any of them like usual. Instead, they are headed straight for the large grouping of black rocks that make up the matriarch's lair. Califf obviously has something to discuss with them. Drea swims out to meet them before they even reach the first hole in the rocks.

After signaling back and forth for a moment, both sirens start to rise to the surface to speak while Jameson follows after them as best he can. He has never been good at swimming. "Are you two having trouble?" Drea is extremely concerned. "You have years to wait before you are even mature enough to mate properly…"

"It's not that." Califf is blushing deeply. "He's distracted. I think he still longs to finish his story."

"Well we can't have that," Drea sighs. "It'll be far too dangerous. He almost died once already."

"Please, it's really important to him," Califf begs.

"Is this true?" Drea turns to Jameson who is simply treading water while the two of them have already climbed onto one of the large black rocks.

"I wish to stay with Califf," he answers dully. "I ask no more from the matriarch than you have already given." In his time with the sirens he has already learned his place.

"He's lying for my sake," Califf argues.

"You're not a prisoner, young human," Drea assures him. "You can speak your mind. Do you long for the life of a story owner once more?"

"I know this is strange, especially after how weak I used to be, but I feel I was meant for something more. I have never felt more alive than when I was fighting in the gladiator pits. I was the warrior. I had a purpose; something I was good at. I felt complete."

"And having our priestess as your mate is not fulfilling?" Drea asks slyly, causing Califf to blush again.

"I love your priestess, of that you can be sure," Jameson insists. "I felt a connection the moment we met. Nothing makes me happier than seeing her every time I wake, but…"

"But it's not enough," Drea finishes his sentence. "You have a calling you must fulfill. You are obligated to complete the contract with the man in white and to claim the right of every child born to the mysterious village of Hamish."

"How did you…?"

"How do I know where you are from?" Drea's eyes gleam mischievously. "Do not take me for a fool. Just because your village is always left out of the scriptures doesn't mean it is unheard of. I have spoken with your word doctors and learned all about Hamish. It is the birthplace of story owners and the most plentiful garden to pick them from. You are definitely one of its children. You were raised with the promise that you would be famous one day."

"It's not just about fame," Jameson tries to explain. "It's like it's expected of me. I've already come this far. All I need is a few more chapters."

"Will finishing your story bring you happiness?" Drea asks warily.

"I don't know," he admits. "All I know is that never even trying will guarantee misery."

"Then it's settled."

"What? What is settled?" Jameson is confused.

"You will have to take responsibility for anything that results from your actions," Drea continues.

"What actions?"

"You are free to go. Take the priestess with you and don't let anything happen to either one of you."

"Are you serious?" Jameson is shocked. "I can return to Capitith?"

"I won't stop you, but I won't help you either. This will not be easy."

"I know. I will protect Califf with my life."

"Your life is Califf's life," Drea reminds him before slipping off the rocks and back into the water.

"Well that was surprising," Jameson is still in disbelief.

"You didn't think Drea would let you go?" Califf asks.

"Well she is pretty strict."

"Drea is my best friend. I've known her my whole life. She was there when I hatched. She's basically my mother."

"I thought you didn't know who your mother was," Jameson recalls a similar conversation. "Perhaps she really is your mother."

"She's not old enough. Drea didn't choose a mate until recently. His name was Catlith and he died when a sinking anchor dragged him into a chasm," Califf explains.

"I remember that," Jameson sighs. He is now thinking about Druine again. "We should start heading for Capitith soon."

"So you mean to go through with this?" Califf gives him one last chance to change his mind.

"What do you mean? This was your idea."

"I know, and I'm trying support you but I'd be lying if I said I was as positive about this as you are. I only want what's best for you; whatever that may be."

"Now I feel guilty," Jameson mumbles as he starts to swim for the shore of Capitith. Califf leaps off the black rock to follow him, barely making a slash as she enters the water.

It takes them a long time to reach the beach. They end up stopping at an island halfway to rest for the night. Somehow they make better time than Gavin's boat did though, reaching the shore by the third day. From the shape of the coast and the arrangement of the trees Jameson is quickly able to recognize it as the area where he first met Califf when the jungle people were constructing their boats.

"Is this where you wanted to be?" Califf asks skeptically.

"Not exactly," he mumbles inaudibly as he makes for the jungle.

"Wait for me," Califf whines as she chases after him. She is already beginning to regret agreeing to let him finish his story. It takes them another full day walking through the damp jungle to reach the same clearing where Jameson first met Druine and her grandfather. They are already setting up their campfire for their usual nocturnal feast.

Califf frowns when she recognizes where they are. She assumed his story would take him straight to Capitith and not back to the jungle dwellers. She glares at Jameson with her arms crossed as he tiptoes toward the campsite. The chief has begun to dance in front of the fire like last time, tossing his colored powder into the flames to create the same mystical effect.

Jameson waits behind a tree just outside of the camp, listening to the old man tell a different story. He is bragging about how he miraculously defeated the great fire spirit, saving all of the tribe members from ever needing to pick a sacrifice again. Everyone seems to believe him except for the seven children that were there and know the truth. "That's an interesting story." Jameson makes his move.

"Who goes there?" The chief points his spear at him.

"Don't you recognize me?" Jameson pushes it away by the tip.

"You are not welcome here, outsider," the chief spits angrily. "I know you not." He rears back, preparing to strike at Jameson.

Druine leaps from her place by the fire to stand between them, blocking the spear with her forearm. "Grandpa, calm down, it's Jamie, the story owner."

"The what?" The chief cups his ear while squinting at her.

"Is he alright?" Jameson is concerned.

"He's getting old," she admits. "Pretty soon he won't be fit to lead us anymore."

"Will your mother take over?" Jameson asks.

"Actually, I am the favorite to succeed him. My mother is weak and lacking in wisdom. Everyone believes I will make a much better leader. Enough about me though. Where have you been? I was getting worried."

"I was in the gladiator pit where you left me," he answers accusingly.

"I begged you to come with me," she reminds him. "You had to follow the path of your story."

"I still do," he is unapologetic. "I'm about to attempt to end the gladiator fights once and for all."

"Then why are you here?" She raises an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be in Capitith?"

"I thought you'd be happy to see me." He frowns.

"I'd be happy if you were here to help me lead the tribe, or at least beg me to forgive you. You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he is becoming annoyed. "You loved the fact that I was a story owner. You fought with Califf for my attention, remember?"

"Well I was wrong," she snaps. "I know now that I shouldn't have gotten involved with you or your story."

"You've been listening to your crazy grandfather." Jameson glances at the chief again. He is still walking around in a daze with no idea who the intruder is. Perhaps his mind really is fading.

"You don't have to insult me," Druine raises her voice. "I'm not being controlled by my grandfather. I chose this path myself. Why don't you go crawling back to the beach so you can flirt with naked fish women like Catlith?"

"Maybe he already has." Califf finally emerges from the cover of the jungle.

"I knew it." Druine glares at Jameson accusingly. "You just had to go back for the singing temptress, didn't you?"

"At least I didn't abandon him," Califf argues. "I left him in your care and look what happened." Califf tugs on Jameson's shirt, which is still ripped from when Gavin's doctor treated him, in order to show Druine the scale covered scar.

Druine's eyes grow wide when she sees it. "What is that? What have you done to him?"

"So you do still care." Jameson smirks. Califf pinches his cheek to show that she is annoyed with him.

"Answer me!" Druine screams at her.

"She saved my life," Jameson finally explains while draping his arm over Califf's shoulder to show affection. Druine's jaw drops as she realizes that they are in fact a couple. "I'm sorry…" Jameson tries to patronize her.

"Don't!" She backs away. "I don't even know you. I was wrong to even ask to follow you a year ago. I should have never gotten involved."

"Druine, I know you don't believe that," Jameson remains calm.

"How would you know what I think?" she snaps at him again. "You've been off living an adventure while I've been stuck here with this miserable tribe."

"That was your choice," he snaps back. He is getting tired of her blaming him for things that are obviously her own fault. "I can offer you a part in my story now though. We're heading back to Capitith after this."

"I'm not going with you," she responds curtly.

"We could really use your help," he tries to convince her.

"Didn't you hear her?" Califf is extremely annoyed. "She doesn't want anything to do with us. Let's just leave her to her pathetic jungle people."

"Wait!" Druine shouts as they start to leave. "Califf, I… thank you for rescuing me from the water spirit. I know you didn't have to and I know you didn't want to."

"What makes you think that?" Califf is confused. "I'm not petty like you. I never wanted to see you dead."

"You went against Drea though," Druine reminds her. "You killed your god for my sake. I am grateful. I will come with you if you need me. I will bring the whole tribe. We are merely hunters but it's a start to the army you'll need to need to take on Capitith." She whistles loudly, calling all of the tribe members to gather around the fire.

Jameson's attention is drawn to the sound of something in the trees behind him. He turns around just in time to see the same giant white cat Druine escaped on slinking out of sight. "You still have that thing?" he is surprised.

"Her name is Aquish," Druine answers with a smile. "She is my trusted pet."

"Impressive," Califf gasps. "Perhaps you are a descendant of the beast master."

"I hope not." Druine cringes. "He was a horrible twisted person who started all of this. It's his creatures they are killing in the gladiator pit."

"I'm sure the beast master would be sad if he knew what his creations were being used for," Jameson is sympathetic.

"Well not anymore," Druine is slowly becoming more involved in their plan to disrupt Capitith's system. "Stay with us tonight and feast," she offers. "We will discuss it more and I will have time to prepare our hunters as warriors."

"Thank you, Druine." Califf bows and is quickly joined by Jameson. Even having known Druine personally, they are still in the presence of the soon to be chief of the tribe. They know enough to show respect. Druine is slightly embarrassed by their display though and doesn't know how to respond. It is quickly removed from her mind though as the rest of the tribe begins to prepare the feast.

24: King's Blessing

Though traveling to Ferery would take four days walking and resting at night, Gavin's ship is able to take them in two, as it does not stop while the crew sleeps. Flower remains rather quiet the entire time; she is still reflecting on her regained memories. Cassandra has also become reclusive, avoiding talking to Gavin directly and refusing to apologize for snapping at him.

Finally when they come into port, she breaks her silence. "It looks so small," she breathes as she glances over the docks and piers that served as her home aboard the Daring Siren for ten short days. She is not sure if she misses it but it is still nostalgic.

The bay marshal is waiting by Gavin's ship's official pier, yawning and checking his watch repeatedly. "So you've finally arrived," he speaks in a drawling voice. "Shall I fetch some servants from the castle." He prepares to mount his horse.

"Not necessary; my crew can handle any lifting I require." Gavin's brushes him off.

"How did the reef race go this year?" Cassandra interrupts.

"Excuse me?" The marshal moves his spectacles away from his eyes to see her better. "Do I know you?"

"Not personally." She shakes her head. "I was one of the competitors in last year's reef race."

"Which batch, day or night?"

"Night."

"And that would be the ones that had the run-in with the pirates, correct?"

"Yes."

"Not possible. I questioned everyone involved personally; everyone except for the captain of the Hermit of course."

"I was from the Daring Siren," she spouts.

"Aw yes, tragic event all around. We had to hang Barker when we learned of his pirate ways. Well I say hang but we really just let him bleed to death in a cell awaiting trial."

"What?" she gasps. "He saved us all."

"He didn't save you." The marshal's eyes narrow. "I recognize you now. You're that boy they took with them. How did you survive? Did you turn pirate?"

"Definitely not!" Gavin interjects, holding his head high like a true royal. "I'm sure they kept her prisoner until the navy of Westhime rescued her."

"Actually…" Cassandra tries to correct him.

"I'll stake my reputation on it," he refuses to listen to anything else than his own comforting assumption. He does not want to believe that she could have ever participated in piracy. Cassandra bites her lip, not sure what to say now.

"Very well." The marshal rolls his eyes. "Proceed to the castle. I'd normally inspect your crew to make sure none of them are entering Ferery illegally but I'm sure you'd just pardon anyone who is." He is glaring at Cassandra.

"Technically she's not illegal either." Flower buzzes in front of his face. "She was captured by Lord Nedan and sold as a slave here. That makes her…"

"Shut up," Cassandra hisses at her fairy.

"You have a lot to learn, little one." The marshal is grinning now. "Seeing as Barker is dead, we would have to return her to his widow as property."

"Then I pardon her from her servitude," Gavin interrupts again.

The marshal grits his teeth angrily. "Very… well… sir!" he grumbles loudly.

"Don't give out information so freely," Gavin scolds Flower as they ascend the sloped streets from the bay toward the castle. It is the only structure not made of graying sea weathered wood. It has little more color though as stone is of the same hue. "Welcome to my humble home." Gavin bows as they reach the front gate.

Both Flower and Cassandra are standing with their mouths hanging open, the smaller one on the larger one's shoulder. They both knew what it looked like from afar but seeing it up close was not even a possibility until now. It is built into the side of a cliff which overhangs the bay, keeping the city shielded from wind and storms. It is much taller than Rittier's castle and the courtyard is much more compact.

"Are we going in there?" Cassandra gulps. She has her own reasons for being nervous. This is the home of the king she has sworn vengeance again and Lord Nedan is his most trusted guard. He will surely recognize her.

"Of course we're going in," Gavin laughs. "You need to meet my father."

"I thought we talked about this," she begins to sputter, "you're father isn't exactly the most benevolent of rulers."

He immediately covers her mouth while shushing her. "Do not speak ill of him here. He is still the king and he will have you executed if he hears you."

"Then why did you bring me here?" she whispers angrily as she pries his hand from her mouth. As the gates swing open, they are met by an entourage of horns sounding. There are two rows of servants with brass shiny instruments lining the long hallway, accenting just how thick the castle exterior wall is. It is almost completely dark as little sunlight reaches it. In fact, when the gates closes behind them, the end of the tunnel becomes the only source of light.

As they walk down the covered path, the horns grow louder and louder until Cassandra can't stand it. She covers her ears and starts to shiver, crouching down to the ground. "Enough!" Gavin shouts when he notices her. The servants quickly stop the noise and retreat from sight, leaving their annoyed prince alone with his guest. "What's wrong with you?" he asks as he lifts her back up.

"I don't like loud noises," she answers while starting to walk again. "How long is this tunnel?"

"It's meant to be a deathtrap for anyone trying to break into the castle," he admits.

"That puts a thorn in my plans," she mutters. Gavin does not seem to notice.

Outside of the tunnel, there is a cobblestone path leading directly into the castle foyer. There are two large oak doors barring entry though. "Hello!" Gavin pounds on the barrier. "Why has no one alerted the king of my return?"

"Sir!" a voice calls from a window above him. "Sir, the king is preparing to greet you. It will be only a moment."

"Preparing? He can present himself in his long johns for all I care."

The servant above him stifles a laugh before responding. "The king wishes to impress your lady friend," he explains.

"Ew," Cassandra cringes.

"Come on, dad," Gavin mutters to himself in embarrassment.

"Ah, it's time," the servant yells before disappearing from the window.

A moment later, the doors to the foyer open, revealing a double staircase and a balcony above. The king is standing behind the railing with his hands on his hips, staring down at his son. He is wearing shiny golden armor and a red flannel cape fringed with white. His hair is much darker than his son's and he has none of the curls or waves. Perhaps age has straightened them out. "How do you do, Father?" Gavin bows.

"I see you have returned from your journeys," the middle aged man responds curtly. "Did you complete your task?"

"My men are bringing everything I collected on my travels up to the castle as we speak."

"Excellent. And who is this fetching young lady?"

"Um…" Gavin has no idea how to introduce Cassandra.

She seems to realize this as she steps forward to speak for him. "Good day, your majesty." She curtsies politely. "My name is Cassandra Redresh of Hamish. It is a pleasure."

"I have yet to decide whether meeting you is a pleasure or a nuisance," he reacts snottily. "What is your business in my castle? What is your business with my son?"

"I met her on my travels, Father," Gavin finds his voice.

"Is she one of the trophies you brought me? Surely I have no need of another concubine."

"I'm not yours… sir," she adds the honorific after a moment.

"Excuse me?" He moves toward one of the two staircases. "If my son purchased you, then you, in fact, belong to me. Where do you think he gets his wealth?"

"I wasn't purchased," she remains stern. Gavin's eyes are wide with fear by now. He wants to tell her to shut her mouth but can't bring himself to speak.

"Then what are you doing here, wench?" the king is furious.

"I am Cassandra Redresh of Hamish; Prince Gavin's fiancé," she spouts suddenly. "We are engaged to be married."

"Is this true?" The king glares at his son.

"What? Yes. Of course it's true. Why would she lie about something like that," Gavin sputters.

"She's rather rebellious. Are you sure about this, son?"

"She's intelligent and strong willed. She'll make a wondrous queen someday, don't you think?" Gavin chuckles nervously.

"Women should know their place," the king gripes. "Let it be known that I am against this."

"You will not give us your blessing?" Gavin is suddenly sad.

"How old is she?" the king asks a different question.

"I don't understand," Gavin is confused.

"Is she old enough to be married?"

"She'll be sixteen in a year's time," he answers.

"Then the wedding will take place a year from today. She has until then to earn my favor and my blessing."

"Thank you, Father." Gavin's eyes widen in disbelief. He had not expected him to be so reasonable.

"I would like to see my trophies now," the king yawns. "Show her to the tower. She is not to leave the castle unaccompanied by one of Nedan's men. I don't trust her. She could be a spy for this place I've never heard of; Hamish."

"Hamish is a small village just beyond the endless forest…" she begins to explain.

"And teach her not to speak out of turn," he cuts her off before turning to leave.

"That went well." Gavin is hopping up and down excitedly. "I did not expect that. Do you really want to marry me?"

"Of course I do, Gavin." She links their hands. "You saved me from the gladiator pit in Capitith. This is how I shall repay you."

"Thank you so much. Nothing could make me happier. I must go and tell the servants to prepare a room at once. Stay here and wait for Lady Paxel. She will be your personal attendant."

Flower flutters around the foyer as he runs off down a side hall. When she is confident he is out of earshot, she returns to glare at Cassandra. "What?" the blonde girl crosses her arms innocently.

"You're lying to him." Flower lands on a suit of armor so she can look down at her friend. "You're using him to get close to his father."

"You knew that was the plan from the start," Cassandra reminds her. "Did you see that gate we came through? There is no way I'm going to be able to sneak back in. I need an excuse to stay here and roam the castle freely. Everything is falling into place. I will have my vengeance on Ferery."

"What about Gavin? Will you kill him as well?" Jezebel interrupts her rant.

"If all goes well, he shall be a more benevolent king," Cassandra remains confident.

"And you as his queen?" Flower scoffs.

"What?" Cassandra is caught off guard.

"Do you love him? Will you still want to marry him after you have killed his father? For that matter, will he still want to marry you?"

"He won't know it was me. I have a plan."

"One that involves me, doesn't it," Flower realizes. "Did you even consider how I felt?"

"You said you were my faithful fairy. You promised to help me with my vengeance."

"That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before I remembered who I was. I'm not your servant, Cassie. I'm your best friend. I'm Jezebel."

"You still have to do what I say though," Cassandra counters. "This is my story."

"Don't remind me," Flower mutters while crossing her arms. Since speaking with Littier she has tried to control her jealousy but it is only getting worse, especially with the knowledge that Cassandra is abusing her relationship with Gavin. She is supposed to be the swooning lass, not the cunning killer. She is acting like the antagonist of the story.

"Will you do as I say?" Cassandra asks. Flower glares at her without answering. "You have to obey me, don't you?" Again, no answer. "Don't you?" she repeats louder.

"Yes!" Flower finally shouts. "Yes, I must obey you. I will follow any order you give me. I will kill if you so order me."

"That's all I wanted to hear." Cassandra is smiling. "Now come, we have a year's worth of planning to do." Flower dives off the suit of armor into the palm of her master's hand. She is beginning to sympathize with her less and less. She can't imagine how she would feel if she lost her mother but she is confident she would never use her best friend like this.

25: The Beast Tamer

Capitith has not changed at all in the time since Jameson has been gone. It is still surrounded by three log walls and open to the ocean on one side. People wearing tunics and sandals strut through the beach kingdom's streets. From how peaceful it looks it is hard to believe that it thrives on the death of wrongfully imprisoned gladiators and monstrous abominations.

"I never thought I'd be here again," Druine sighs as she stretches from the long journey. Luckily it was not all spent on foot as they each took turns riding Aquish who is still quite cowardly when meeting new people.

As usual, a guard is waiting beside the gate to the city. Normally it would not be hard to gain entry. However, they are not alone this time. At least half of the males in Druine's tribe are with them, all carrying hunting weapons they made themselves. "Um, who may I ask are you?" the guard stutters nervously while shrinking back against the gate.

"Surely you have seen the gladiator fights." Jameson steps forward as the leader.

"Aw, it is the warrior. I didn't recognize you. I thought you had escaped."

"And now I am back." He places his hands on his hips proudly.

"I'm afraid I must bar entrance as you are a known criminal in Capitith."

"Criminal?" he pretends to be shocked. "I thought I was a hero."

"Mr. Warrior, you are well liked to be sure but the only people you have ever saved are other criminals. You are all law breakers."

"Are you seriously doing your job?" Jameson raises an eyebrow. "Is it really worth it? You know we could kill you right now if you stand against us. Do yourself a favor and move out of the way."

"I…" The color in his face drains. He knows they are absolutely correct. His job is to prevent people of interest from entering the city, not whole invasions. "I'll just be waiting in the jungle." He slinks away from the gate.

"That was easy," Druine chuckles as she instructs Aquish to break down the gate.

"It'll only get harder," Jameson warns her. "I've never even been to the far side of Capitith where King Atlas resides in his giant sand castle."

"It's an adobe castle," Druine corrects him.

"You two sure get along well," Califf mopes.

"And you are far too jealous," Druine counters. "If you're so insecure, then maybe you two aren't meant for each other."

"Really?" Califf believes her.

"She's just teasing you," Jameson assures her while glaring at Druine. He knows that it is partially Califf's fault for being so gullible but that doesn't mean Druine has to take advantage of her.

"I must say, it is very strange to see a siren wearing clothes," Druine changes the subject. Califf is currently clad in the same animal hides as the rest of the tribe members, except for Druine who is still wearing the tunic Jameson bought her a year ago.

Califf glances at Jameson who averts his eyes, trying to prove that he is not interested in their conversation at all. Califf blushes as she also looks away. Druine rolls her eyes at the annoying pair. Watching them dance around like clueless newlyweds is painful.

It does not take long for the citizens of Capitith to realize that something is wrong. They are used to seeing creatures like Aquish in the arena, not walking the streets. Soon the party is surrounded by guards in leather tunics holding spears all pointed at the large cat. "I wouldn't do that," Druine warns them. "She is ever so frightened of sharp objects."

"It takes five people to kill one of these things in the arena. We are ten strong. We can handle it," the guards are confident.

"When was the last time you ever saw all five men leave the arena alive?" Druine smirks cruelly.

"Only when the warrior is fighting," they admit.

"And guess who you are fighting against right now?" Jameson reveals himself, causing the guards to cringe in fear. While they are distracted, Aquish snaps, using her powerful claws to slice the heads off of the nearest two spears. The guards leap back and take another stance only to have Aquish leap over them, bounding toward the arena where she can smell other cats like her. "Guess it's just us now." Jameson shrugs.

All ten guards rush forward at once while Druine slips past them to chase her pet. Instead of a sword, Jameson is wielding a club made from bone by Druine. He cracks it against one of the spears, knocking the metal tip off easily. The guards spread out to surround him. At the same time the hunters from the tribe also ready their spears. It quickly becomes at battle of poking each other while trying not to get poked back.

During the chaos Califf takes Jameson's hand and leaps over the fighting crowd. Once behind them, he begins clubbing each one on the head, knocking them out cold. It suits the tribe members just fine as they have no real desire to kill anyone.

In a similar fashion, the group continues through the streets. Every time they come across a new group of guards, the hunters distract them while Califf and Jameson sneak around and pick them off one by one. It can be said that these guards are not very competent at all.

It is not surprising considering the fact that none of them have ever been in a single battle their entire lives. In reality Capitith is quite peaceful due to its open gate policy and usefulness to traders. Why attack it when everything it has to offer can be bought at the bazaar? Their best defense is an array of catapults to deter invading ships. However they are useless for repelling Jameson as he is already inside the kingdom.

Soon they have reached the Arena without so much as a single casualty. Screams can be heard emanating from inside. Perhaps the morning gladiator fight is already underway. Jameson takes the lead as they burst through the heavy log doors into the stands. As usual, they are filled to the brim with cheering spectators, all too busy watching the pit to even notice the intruders.

Jameson instructs the hunters to lower their weapons so they can move through the crowd unnoticed. They press themselves against the guard rail as they slink to the far side, not bothering to look down at the spectacle distracting the entire crowd. In a box separate from the rest of the onlookers is a slightly portly man in a longer tunic, more like a toga. He has a wreath of green leaves in his hair and a golden staff in his hand. It never really crossed Jameson's mind when he was in the pit but this is the man who always ordered the release of the beast.

He is clapping along with the rest of the audience when they surround him. "Um, hello? Who are you?" he asks before his eyes fall on Jameson. "Hello, Mr. Warrior," he starts to stutter. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I'm real popular aren't I?" Jameson smirks.

"Listen, you can't really hold me responsible for your arrest. I'm not in charge of all that. I'm just the magistrate."

"And what does a magistrate do?" Jameson asks with a scowl.

"I listen to the pleas of the imprisoned and try to discern the truth and subsequently their punishment."

"More like listening to their dying screams!" Jameson snaps. "You never once listened to me. I never got the chance to defend myself. How is that fair?"

"Not all prisoners survive to face judgment. I try to listen to the newer and weaker prisoners first before they are killed. Strong fighters like you can stand to wait."

"Is that your excuse?" Jameson has completely lost control of his temper. "You never planned to listen to me. I was never going to be released."

"And yet here you stand," the magistrate chuckles unconvincingly.

"You're pathetic," Jameson spits. "You don't deserve your title."

"I assure you, I was appointed this position by King Atlas himself," the magistrate defends.

"Don't worry, we're heading in his direction next." Jameson smiles at him.

"I see," the man swallows nervously. "Well let me wish you luck with all that. I'll just be on my way." He tries to leave the box. He is quickly grabbed and tied up by the hunters who then lower him down into the arena via a long rope. It is only a moment before the audience notices the sudden change. To Jameson's surprise, they seem overjoyed at the thought of their magistrate being mauled by whatever creature is on display today, which just so happens to be another cat like Aquish.

In fact, Jameson can already see Aquish in the arena, circling around the outside trying to find the perfect moment to pounce on the orange male cat. They are obviously not getting along. Druine is shouting at her from the railing above to no avail. The five people in the pit are already dead, proving that this cat is much tougher than most of the creatures Jameson has ever fought.

Aquish leaps at the orange cat, knocking it over and sending the pair tumbling through the sand. When the dust settles the two of them are scratching and biting each other. Aquish manages to clamp down on the second cat's neck though and after a long minute of waiting, it finally passes out from the pressure on its veins.

Druine leaps over the railing as soon as it is safe. She tumbles in the soft sand to keep from hurting herself and quickly rushes to check Aquish's wounds. Apart from a few deep gashes she seems unharmed, which is surprising considering the size difference between the two. Druine strokes her fur happily while the crowd watches in confusion and interest.

The magistrate is finally able to free himself from his binds only to be knocked unconscious by Druine with another bone club like Jameson's. By now the audience is thoroughly bewildered. They have no idea if this is all part of the show or not. "Listen up, people!" Jameson shouts from the magistrate's box. "Anyone who is not a citizen of Capitith should leave immediately."

Obviously nobody moves. They all begin to chatter amongst themselves about who he could possibly be. "I will not warn you again!" he shouts even louder. "I am the warrior! If any of you haven't seen me fight then you should ask a local resident who I am. I am personally taking over management of these games. Any of you who do not wish me to set the beasts upon you will leave this place immediately!"

This time everyone is listening. The entire audience begins to scamper for the small entrance, trampling each other in the process. Califf winces sympathetically as Jameson simply watches. He has no remorse for people who watch others dying for entertainment.

By now the guards from the pit have started to gather around Druine and Aquish. They are once again readying their spears despite being absolutely terrified of the creature in front of them. Druine is ignoring them though. She is far too busy trying to instruct her pet to break open the gates to the prison where the other gladiators are trapped.

The guards rush forward, attempting to stop her. They dig their spears into Aquish's flesh painfully. Her hide is thick enough to protect her from major injury but the already existent wounds from the other cat are a different matter. Some of the guards manage to poke at the holes until they start to bleed again.

Jameson takes this as his cue to enter the pit. Together he and Califf leap from the box, landing in the center of the arena while the rest of the hunters use the magistrate's rope to slide down. The guards are caught by surprise and easily dealt with. Aquish is having trouble standing up though. "I don't know what to do," Druine is panicking. "She's never been this hurt before."

"Stay here and take care of her," Jameson instructs her. "I'm sure that someone at the bazaar will be selling healing salve. Califf, can you find some?"

"What? Me? I've never been alone with people before. You aren't going to come with me?"

"You two, go with her," Jameson orders a pair of the hunters.

"But I…" Califf tries to protest as they drag her back to the rope. She does not need to waste time climbing it though. Instead she grabs both of her escorts and leaps up out of the pit with ease. Jameson sighs as he realizes how easy it would have been to escape this horrible place if she had been with him all along.

He quickly turns his attention back to the prison gate though. All of the gladiators inside have gathered around it by now. Some have even begun to hack away at it with the dull armory weapons. The hunters quickly join in, making the task go much quicker. Finally the gate gives way, freeing the desperate prisoners from their horrid fate.

Jameson is quickly surrounded by the men he originally enlisted to help him escape. "We did not think you would return," they admit. "All hail the warrior."

"It's not over yet," he reminds them. "We are still fugitives and I guarantee you that the castle will be much better guarded than this place."

"You're mad. Why should we attack the castle at all?" they argue. "We could be on a ship out of here by tonight."

"And where would we go?" Jameson asks. "Do you think this will all be forgotten? The king will hunt us down."

"He will not. You just want to kill him so he can't ever do this again."

"So?" Jameson admits his ulterior motive. "How can you sleep at night when you know people are being treated the same way you were?"

"Warrior, we're glad you came back for us, we really are, but we're not like you. If one of us had escaped, you can guarantee we wouldn't have done this. We would live our life contently as far away from here as possible. You're the only person who's fool enough to risk your own life for others."

"Is that how you all feel?" Jameson glances around with wide pleading eyes. Almost all of the prisoners avert their gaze, looking extremely guilty. "Well that's it then, I can't do it alone," he begins to sulk.

"Don't feel bad, man," the very same strong fighter he met when he first arrived, whose name he has learned is Abe, tries to console him while patting his shoulder. "You've done something to be proud of. Look at this place; it'll be quite a while before anyone is ready to open another gladiator arena, I guarantee ya."

Jameson takes another look at everyone in his presence, this time trying to see their side of things. It still doesn't feel like enough. He came all this way to finish his story and it almost feels too easy. He barely encountered any resistance at all. In fact, the most difficult challenge was fighting off the male cat and Aquish did that all by herself.

Suddenly it hits Jameson, the large orange creature is no longer lying in the sand on the opposite side of the arena. "Run!" he shouts just as it appears behind the prisoners, bearing its sharp teeth and threatening to swallow them whole. With the dull weapons from the armory they try to deflect its teeth while Aquish struggles to stand up. It is no use though.

The cat is just bearing down on one of the weaker prisoners when Druine ducks underneath its chin and strikes it in the throat with her club. It immediately starts to choke on its own tongue. The prisoner escapes unharmed while the creature lunges at Druine, trapping her under its large paws. Luckily it is not using its claws for some reason.

Jameson grabs his club and copies Druine, ducking under its chin and slugging it in the throat. Again the creature starts to choke. Its eyes are crossed now just from trying to bear the pain. While it is distracted, Abe leaps up onto its back and plunges a dagger into its hump. The cat screeches while lifting its head again, giving Jameson and Druine the opportunity to club it in the throat two more times.

The large animal has finally had enough. It rolls over onto its back, scrapping off Abe and his dagger while also signaling surrender. It is still struggling to breath through its now swollen throat. "Is it dead?" the prisoners ask hopefully.

"I think it's winded," Jameson answers while kicking it in the side, causing it to whimper.

"Should we kill it?" Abe suggests.

"Why? You won't attack us again, will you?" Druine coos while scratching its chin.

"You're not serious, are ya?" Abe is appalled.

"These things are the sweetest creatures you'll ever meet," Druine insists. "Why with a bunch of them we could probably storm the castle."

Jameson's eyes light up immediately. "Oh no, you got him thinking again," Abe groans.

"Just hear me out…" Jameson tries to explain himself.

"We already told you, we're not going with you to the castle," the rest of the prisoners argue.

"We do sort of owe him," Abe takes Jameson's side.

"Then you go," the rest of them remain adamant.

"Fine, I will," he grumbles as he heads for the gate to the creature's cage. "Bring that scrawny one with you," he instructs Jameson.

"I'm not scrawny," Druine mumbles. "Actually I'm pretty strong for my age. I was bigger than you once." She slaps Jameson on the chest to remind him of her strength.

"And now look at you," Jameson chuckles as they walk side by side. Just like Cassandra, Druine is a full head shorter than him now. Jameson is the true definition of the potential the word doctors always refer to.

As they enter the tunnel, a foul smell accosts them. It is obviously connected to the place the animals are kept. Abe leads the way while Druine and Jameson walk close together to keep from getting lost in the dark passageway. None of them have ever been down here before. Where the animals they fight come from has always been a mystery.

When they reach the end they are in a larger area with gates along both walls like stalls in a corral. There is only a minuscule amount of sunlight bleeding through the thin roof but it is enough for them to see the large creatures packed into each section. As their eyes adjust to the light it becomes apparent that the structure is gigantic; large enough to house a dozen of each of the creatures they have ever fought. It is no wonder they can kill two a day and never run out.

"There is no way we're going to be able to control all of them," Abe breathes.

"Let's start with the cats," Druine suggests as she paces the stalls, looking for the same species as Aquish. Each set of cages shocks her though as she sees horrifying creatures she couldn't even imagine. Jameson and Abe are not surprised though. They have been fighting these animals all this time. Finally she sits down on the ground and hides her face in her knees.

"What's wrong?" Jameson rushes to check on her.

"This place is just cruel. Look at them. Do they look like blood thirsty animals?" She gestures to a cage full of large horned creatures with leathery gray skin. "They are forced to fight and die for nothing. You, you're the one that kills them."

Jameson's eyes narrow. He does not feel that this whole situation is his fault. "This is why I'm here to stop it," he reminds her.

"But we won't be able to save them all, will we?" she continues to whine. "We can't just release these creatures into the wild, they'll destroy everything."

"We can't leave them here either. They'll starve in their cages," Abe surmises.

"Then we'll have to come back for them later," Jameson makes a decision.

With a little help from Jameson Druine is able to stand again. She continues to search the corral until she locates the same gigantic cats just like Aquish. Unlike the other creatures, who are either moping or growling, these ones are simply sleeping. They are locked in separate stalls to keep them from attacking each other as predatory cats often do. "Hello, kitty," Druine starts to coax one of the smaller ones. "Would you like to come out and play?"

Abe gives Jameson a concerned look and receives a shrug in response. He has no answer to why Druine acts like this around the same dangerous creatures they have been fighting and killing just to survive. The cat seems to be responding though as it rolls over onto its stomach and opens its eyes. It yawns and stretches for a long while, waiting for Druine to disappear but she never does.

Finally the cat scoots along the ground until its nose is poking out of the bars. It is trying to smell Druine. Immediately it recognizes the scent of another cat and starts to hiss at her. She grabs its snout and pinches its mouth shut quickly before it can attempt to bite her. It struggles for a good five minutes, growling quietly the whole time. Eventually it gives up trying to intimidate her and starts to lick her face, asking her to let go politely.

"I don't believe it." Abe's mouth hangs open. "What is she?"

"She's really good with animals, that's all I know." Jameson shrugs. The two men watch as she makes her way through the cages, convincing each cat to accept her unconditionally. After they are all rolling on their backs to show obedience Jameson finds the lever to release their cages. Immediately they all rush out, pouncing on Druine and licking her face. Abe stands perfectly still, not wanting to make himself a target.

After leading the cats out of the tunnel and back into the sunshine, Jameson is not surprised to find that most of the prisoners have fled, leaving only the hunters and Califf who has returned with healing salve for Aquish. Druine quickly regains her concern as she rushes to her pet's side. Aquish growls at her for a moment before recognizing her under the scent of the other cats.

Jameson expects Druine's new followers to attack Aquish on sight, but instead they all wait patiently for instructions. "This is your superior," Druine explains in a loud voice, as if they can all understand her. "You will treat her as your leader and do nothing to harm her, is that understood?"

Abe rolls his eyes while Jameson watches with held breath. Califf moves to stand beside him and clenches his hand to show that she missed him. All twelve new cats move to surround Aquish and slowly start licking the blood off her fur. Soon she is completely clean and appears to be feeling much better. The particular orange cat that originally injured her seems extremely apologetic. He is nudging her chin to make sure she knows he is sorry.

"What is going on?" Califf whispers.

"We are heading to the castle tomorrow," Jameson answers. "Everyone, get a good night's rest!" he shouts to all of the hunters and what few prisoners remain. "We march at dawn." No one answers but no one argues either. They are not doing this for any other reason than loyalty. If their warrior wishes them to fight then they shall do so. Even Califf is concerned for Jameson's state of mind. He just can't seem to let this go.

With the city all but abandoned it is all too easy to find food and shelter. Jameson takes the opportunity to show Califf around the city she has only ever read about; just in case they don't get the chance later. Not wanting to upset Jameson Califf adopts her usual energetic attitude, pretending she is not dreading the challenge they will face tomorrow.

Druine spends some of her time traversing the abandoned town with them and the rest of it feeding her army of cats and preparing them for tomorrow's castle assault. She is much less concerned with the danger than anyone else. She almost seems to agree with Jameson's over enthusiastic behavior. Califf finds their similar attitudes extremely threatening and as a result refuses to leave them alone together again.

Abe does what he can to prepare both the prisoners and hunters for battle with professionally trained castle guards. The hunters are obedient but untrusting while the prisoners are cowardly and weak. In the end he gives up just as the sun is setting. With all inns abandoned it is not hard to find places for everyone to sleep.

For safety they choose two sets of lodgings next to each other, just in case something attacks them in the night. Califf makes sure that Druine is not in the same building as her and Jameson, causing the tribal heir to become annoyed with her. She is no longer trying to pursue Jameson in any way so all of Califf's efforts only show how untrusting she is. It will be difficult for the two women to work together if Califf does not put her petty jealousy aside.

26: Blinded

As the sun rises, it shines through the window of Cassandra's room atop the highest tower. She rolls over to avoid seeing the light through her closed eyelids and continues to snore loudly. In a small box, set on her nightstand, her best friend and loyal fairy is lying on a rolled up handkerchief and staring at the ceiling of the tower. She was unable to sleep last night.

Since becoming a fairy, Jezebel has been rather restless. She always feels as if there is something she should be doing. It has been a month since Cassandra's return to Ferery and she has spent the entire time getting to know the seaside village's subjects as they are all desperate to see the girl who won over their prince during his travels.

Flower has spent very little time with her, and has actually begun to explore the town. She has even found a few of Mayberry's story owners in need of assistance. Since becoming a fairy, her role in stories has changed. She no longer lives amongst them as equals and mostly ends up granting requests instead. The majority of her charges want simple things, but a few are quite demanding.

It is beneficial for the tiny fairy to travel with a human for protection. As Gavin and Cassandra are busy, she has been spending her time with the second in command from Gavin's ship; Casper. He is more than willing to help the fairy acquire anything she needs for her charges. Flower has actually grown rather attached.

They already have a normal ritual where she meets him every day after breakfast. However, recently she has started to become impatient, flying down to the docks to meet him earlier and earlier. She knows that Cassandra has more important things to worry about than acting as her friend, but she still feels neglected. Casper basically acts as a close substitute for her best friend.

Today she has made the decision to let Cassandra sleep in while she interrupts Casper's morning meal with the other sailors down at the bay. Unlike Cassandra who must descend the endless staircase daily, she simply leaves through a crack in the window. As she flies toward the docks, she closes her eyes, letting the wind rush through her long hair. Flying gives her a feeling of freedom, something she never had in Hamish.

She still feels trapped though; by her current predicament and of course Cassandra's situation as well. She is not sure if what they are doing is right. Should they really be plotting such unethical things for this seemingly innocent kingdom? It all seems so trivial sometimes, especially from up in the air; everything looks small and unimportant. When she descends to the ground though, Flower quickly realizes that she is the one that is small.

All of the sailors from Gavin's ship have found other boats to join, mostly for fishing. The only two people still tending to the prince's personal vessel are Casper and the helmsman. Today they are enjoying breakfast with the other dock occupants, served by a slew of cooks operating out of a seaside shack. Casper immediately notices Flower floating down from the sky as usual.

She smiles as he clears a place for her to stand on the bench his food is setting on. She is always impressed with his keen ability to spot her. She is used to going unnoticed by humans in this form. "You're early," Casper greets her with an equivalent smile.

"I couldn't wait," she admits.

"So you missed me, eh?" he chuckles.

"I miss a lot of people," her voice becomes sad. "I don't have many friends anymore."

"Well, you have me," he reassures her.

"So, what are you doing today?" she perks up quickly.

"Well, as you may have guessed, until the prince decides to go traveling again, I'm out of a job."

"Couldn't you make a living fishing with the rest of your crew?" she suggests.

"I get bored easily," he brushes off the idea. "I'm built for the excitement of the open sea. I kinda wish we'd spent a longer time with those mermaid creatures."

"You mean the sirens," she corrects him. "I didn't like them."

"I wouldn't expect a sprite to," he agrees. "You've got to appreciate the romanticism of it though. Can you imaging what that Califf siren did for your friend? Wouldn't you just love to meet a mystical creature like that?"

"I always dreamed of marrying a prince," she informs him.

"Like Gavin?" he is intrigued. "It seems a little farfetched for someone so small, don't you think?"

"I wasn't always like this." She puffs out her cheeks to pout. "I was a human girl once; with ambitions like Cassandra."

"Are you jealous of your friend?" he seems to be able to see right through her.

"I don't mean to be," she is ashamed. "I just feel that I could be a better princess than her."

"I don't doubt it," he agrees. "Her heart definitely isn't in it. She's got something else dragging her down. But is that a good enough reason to take this away from her? Should she put the wedding on hold simply because she cares about other things in her life?"

"Shouldn't Gavin be the most important thing in her life right now?" Flower argues.

"Being married to the prince is what will define her in Ferery's eyes, but is it what defines her in yours?" he counters. She shakes her head slowly. "Your friend consists of her life before all this and what will happen long afterward. Sure Gavin is important, but it's not the only thing she will ever have to worry about. If you ask me, she's doing a good job of keeping her head straight. I can't say you would do the same."

"So?" she becomes defensive. "Is it wrong to love the person you are marrying? Is there such a thing as caring too much about a person?"

"When your wedding day comes, I pray you will be this concerned and excited but you must have other interests. Were you dreaming of your prince when you helped those two story owners last week?" he asks. Again she shakes her head. "You have other priorities as well. Keep a healthy balance. Your day will come, just wait."

"I doubt it," she starts to mope. "I'm going to be stuck like this forever."

"You said you were a human once," he is drawn back to her previous statement. "You're a human girl?"

"Yeah, why?" She raises an eyebrow.

"I just thought that I would have loved to know what kind of a human you were."

"Do you like me?" she giggles.

"If it makes you feel better, then yes."

"Well, thank you, Casper. I guess I needed that. Maybe someday we'll meet again when I'm back to normal."

"I hope so. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." He stands up from the bench.

"Already? Where are you going? Weren't we going to spend the day together again?"

"You're welcome to come along if you want." He offers her a place on his shoulder. "I'm sure Celia would love to meet you."

"Celia?" Flower is suddenly worried. "You didn't tell me you already had a woman."

"What? Oh, you misunderstand me. Celia is my younger sister. She is only eight. She is demanding that I spend almost everyday with her now that I'm finally back. It was a long journey and she's trying to make up for lost time."

"I'd love to meet your sister." Flower flutters around excitedly before settling on his shoulder. "I have a way with little girls."

"I bet you do," he chuckles as they start back toward the town.

It is much easier to keep her eyes open when she is not flying through the air, allowing her to see the kingdom much better. She is also much closer to the ground now. She starts to feel nostalgic for the shanty village of Hamish. The knowledge that she will never see her home or mother again is painful.

If she left now, she could probably reach it beyond the woods before sundown. It is still sitting there, waiting for any of its lost children to return. She will not though. None of them will. It is not allowed. It is an unwritten rule of story owners; a story can't take place in the village from the real world. It just can't happen.

Finally, the pair comes to a rather well kept house atop a slanted piece a land. It is steep but it seems as if one could climb to the top of the over hanging cliff from this location. Unlike the other houses of Ferery, this one is neither gray nor weathered. In fact, it seems to be almost brand new. "How long have you lived here?" Flower is curious.

"All my life." Casper shrugs. "My father holds an important position in King Adrian's castle. As a result our house is kept in good repair."

"I can see that." Something is making her stomach turn. She feels incredibly guilty entering a house technically owned by the king; the same way she feels when sleeping in Cassandra's tower. It does not feel right to be using the resources of a person Cassandra has sworn vengeance against. It is like adding insult to injury.

"Are you okay?" Casper notices her apprehension. Flower nods quickly. She does not want him to worry about her. None of her feelings are his problem. She can't rely on him more than she already has. "Come on." He opens the door. If she doesn't want to talk to him, he won't make her.

She hides behind his collar as they enter the building, not wishing to startle the eight year old waiting inside. The first thing she notices is how well kept it is. It reminds her a lot of Anna Grayshek's house in the high class district of Baylor. Like most high class homes, there are oil lamps built in to the walls, but they are not necessary at the moment as it is early morning and light is flooding in from the windows.

"Master Casper, is that you?" an older woman's voice echoes from the kitchen.

"Good day, Lady Annette," Casper calls back.

"Celia said you'd be round. Now where did that girl get off to?" A dark skinned woman enters the living room. From the way she is dressed Flower can tell she is a servant.

"Celia!" Casper calls out for his sister. "I came all this way, Celia; don't keep me waiting."

Flower can hear the voice of a child giggling at the top of the stairwell in front of the main door. It appears as if neither giant has noticed. Perhaps fairies have keener senses. She kicks off of Casper's shoulder and floats into the air above the staircase. She can see no one directly at the top though.

Suddenly, something touches her back. She spins around to find a small child waiting on the ledge above the stairs on the opposite side from the top step. "Hello," she breathes out.

"What are you?" the little girl asks while reaching toward her again. Instinctively, Flower moves away, not wanting to be touched. The girl's face twists into a frown.

"No, don't do that," Flower coos softly. "I'm a fairy. I came with your brother."

Celia presses a finger to her lips, warning Flower to stay quiet. "I'm hiding from him," she informs her.

"Why?" Flower is slightly confused.

"For fun." She shrugs. "He always finds me eventually."

"Got you!" At that moment, Casper pokes his head up into view. "You thought you had me, didn't you?" He grabs Celia off the ledge and starts to tickle her.

She is much smaller than him, at least half his age, as he mentioned. Her hair is much lighter but still darker than Flower's and it is knotted into a single braid over the front of her left shoulder. She is wearing a grayish blue dress which reaches her knees with white stockings the rest of the way down and black buckle shoes.

"Put me down." She starts to kick wildly. Flower gasps as Casper struggles to keep from dropping her. Finally she is able to wriggle free, landing on her feet properly. She waves her arms to keep her balance but seems otherwise unharmed. "Is she your fairy?" She gestures to Flower who is still floating near the ledge.

"This is Flower," Casper informs her while holding out his hand for her to land on. "She's a good friend of mine."

"But is she yours?" Celia repeats. "You own her, right?"

"Nobody owns me," Flower is slightly offended.

"All fairies belong to someone," Celia insists. "Who do you call master? Who do you obey?"

"I suppose that would be Cassandra," Flower ponders out loud. "She's my best friend though."

"What about me?" Casper complains jokingly. "Don't I count for anything?"

"You've been a wonderful friend," Flower humors him. "Cassandra and I have always been close though."

"I suppose that's why you are blinded," he suddenly says something odd.

"Excuse me?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You've been telling me about your friend for almost a month now," he reminds her. "It sure sounds like she takes you for granted."

"I'm just wallowing in self pity," she defends. "I've exaggerated the situation."

"Still, she's making you do something you don't want to, right? Maybe you should talk to her."

"I've tried that," she sighs. "It's not really my place to disagree. She is a story owner, you know. She has a set path to follow."

"It's not as set as you might think," he says something cryptic. "The type of story is still her choice. Does she really wish to make it a tragedy?"

"I don't think she's even aware of choices like that." Flower shakes her head solemnly. "She's blinded by her obsession. She wants what she wants, no matter who is hurt by it. She's already numb to her own suffering."

"Is that a good thing? Do you think she's handling things the right way?"

"I told you, it's not my place to question her. I'm just a side character."

"You're her best friend," he disagrees. "It's your right to talk to her. If she won't listen to you, then maybe she doesn't deserve your loyalty."

"You don't understand," she suddenly shouts. "If I don't help her, no one will. She'll find a way to do this with or without me. She stands a better chance of living if I help her. You can't convince me not to."

Casper looks extremely apologetic. "That was not my intention," he finally speaks. "You do what you think is right. I won't burden you with my opinion any further. I'm not even sure what it is she wants you to do."

"What are you two talking about?" Celia interrupts. Both of them had forgotten that she was even there. "Are you two fighting?"

"It's nothing," Casper assures her. "Flower and I both just have very strong opinions we like to share. Don't worry about us."

"Please don't fight." Celia crosses her arms. "Daddy always says arguing leads to violence. I don't want you two hurting each other."

"Daddy would know," Casper sighs. "He's seen his fair share of fighting in his day."

"Your father is a solider?" Flower is curious.

"He's part of the guard," Casper answers. "He is personally responsible for the king's safety. Unfortunately it can become rather taxing. He is almost never home. He brings Celia to the castle from time to time, but I haven't seen him in over a year. I'm sure he knows I'm back though. He would have met the prince at the castle."

"Maybe we should go see him," Flower suggests.

"Can we?" Celia is immediately excited.

"He has a lot of work to do," Casper shoots down the idea. "We'd only be in his way."

"You're just saying that because you don't want to see him," Celia accuses him. "Why are you mad at Daddy?"

"I… I'm not mad," he sighs. "I just don't know if I can live up to his expectations. I earned my rank on Gavin's ship because of him. By now he knows that I failed to protect the prince from this bewitching seducer. He's disappointed, I know it."

"Don't talk about Cassandra like that," Flower becomes angry. "She's not seducing Gavin at all. He's the one who fell in love with her. She's just…"

"Do you really believe that?" Casper leans close to her, causing her to take flight again, just to move away. "You keep talking of this plan of hers. I'm sure her wedding to the prince is involved. I haven't said anything because it's not my place, but it's true, isn't it? She is using the prince."

"No," Flower lies. "It's not like that. She loves him, I'm sure."

"As much as you love him?" Casper asks in an accusing tone.

"I don't…"

"You love the idea of him," he corrects himself. "You wish a prince would look at you the way Gavin looks at her. You wish you could steal him for yourself."

"That's not true," she screams. "I want Cassandra to be happy."

"Is she though? Is she really happy? Will this wedding give her happiness or will it solidify her in despair."

"I don't know!" Flower places her face in her palms. "I honestly don't know."

"Then find out," he starts to calm down.

"How?" she whines. "I'm so confused."

"Talk to her. Try to understand how she feels. Tell her how you feel. Tell Gavin how you feel."

"I can't." She shakes her head. "I won't betray her like that. She can't ever know I have these thoughts. She would hate me."

"She won't…"

"She will," she sputters. "Promise me you won't tell her."

"Flower, I…"

"Promise me!" she won't let him speak until he agrees.

"I promise," he finally gives in, "but you have to make a promise to me too. Think about your own feelings from time to time. What if you're not wrong? What if you're the one who's right?"

"You're too kind to me." She smiles through her tears. "I'm not worthy of your pity, Casper. You don't realize how useless I am. I'm not the main character in this story and I never will be. What I think doesn't matter, but I thank you for caring."

"Flower," he groans. It seems he is not getting through to her.

"Don't." She holds up her hand, signaling the end of the discussion. "I don't want to think about it anymore. Let's just do something else. We have a full year before the wedding. We can spend it however we want."

"But Flower…"

"That's enough, Casper. I'm content as I am. Don't make me feel things I don't want to. You keep asking me if Cassandra is happy; I honestly don't know. However, I do know that I am happy. In this moment when I don't have to think about far off things, I am happy. Let me have this at least. Let me forget the horrible things I will do tomorrow. Let me pretend that this is normal."

Casper's eyes reflect pure pity. These are the words of someone who has given up. There is nothing more he can say. "So… you wanted to spend time with me and Celia," he changes the conversation with a fake smile. "We like to eat in the garden and lie in the grass sometimes."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." She smiles back.

Celia is bouncing excitedly as well. She understands very little of what was just said, but for the moment, Casper and his friend seem to be getting along. "My brother loves mystical creatures," she retorts. "He's been obsessed with stories about them since he was little."

"Really now?" Flower smirks at him. "This wouldn't have something to do with why you enjoy my company, would it?" she asks slyly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lies.

"Come on, I'll show you his collection of books." Celia runs up the stairs again.

"Wait, don't." Casper chases after her in a slight panic. Flower starts to laugh as she flutters up the stairs in tow. She is enjoying having real friends unlike Lottie and Taylor. She does not know how long she will stay in Ferery with Cassandra but she intends to enjoy as much of it as possible.

27: King of West Capitith

Jameson wakes up the moment the sun rises above the horizon. It almost seems to burn hotter in the tropical climate of Capitith. Jameson braces himself for the scare of drowning only to find that he is on dry land and extremely thirsty. It is very important to keep one's gills moist. Califf is still asleep in the bed next to him, making a rasping sound like a suffocating fish. She needs water too.

Jameson grabs a basin from the corner and pours it over her face, causing her to cough and sputter. "What was that for?" she in not pleased. He starts to stutter instead of answering. "I won't die from one night out of water. I can handle myself," she scolds him. He stares at her with a dejected expression making her feel bad. "I know you mean well," she sighs, "just don't do that again."

As it is still early, the rest of the group is still sleeping. Jameson stares out the window at the orange sky with a sad expression. He spent almost a year living in this city and never saw it from the prison pit. It almost feels like a completely different place when visited willingly. As he continues to bask in the beautiful moment of peace, something catches his eye. At the very edge of the bazaar, a group of people has gathered. They do not look like normal citizens.

Jameson climbs out the window onto the roof of the inn and leaps over to the next lodging. He raps on the window he knows belongs to Abe, alerting the fellow gladiator of the danger. "Who are they?" he notices the people as soon as he pokes his head out.

"They must be the soldiers from the castle," Jameson surmises. "Someone must have alerted the king."

"Why only just respond?" Abe ponders. "They could have killed us in our sleep."

"They don't know how many of us there are. They probably spent the night preparing."

"Like we should have," Abe grumbles.

"We did our best," Jameson is undaunted. Even the strong gladiator is starting to question the warrior's mental health. He doesn't seem to think that normal battle odds even apply to him. If they were fighting on a proper battlefield, any other general would have retreated by now. He is still acting on his own. A fighter like him can probably take on ten men at once. He doesn't realize that the rest of his fighters wouldn't even win one on one.

"If I may suggest…" Abe tries to change his mind.

"You may not," Jameson doesn't even let him speak. He can't let himself be talked out of this a second time. He has to finish his story. Abe stares blankly at Jameson for a moment. "What are you waiting for?" he finally snaps at the strong man. "Get our soldiers up."

"Um, right away." Abe scampers back through the window to wake the hunters and prisoners.

Looking down from the roof, Jameson can see Druine on the street petting one of the cats and whispering to them. When she notices Jameson watching she waves to him. "I didn't think anyone else would be up this early. How are you, Jamie?"

"I think you should come up here," he responds sternly. She obviously hasn't realized how close the enemy is.

She has the same cat she is petting lift her up to the roof on its back so she can talk to Jameson face to face. "What is it?" she is curious.

"Look over there." He twists her head around so she is looking at the bazaar.

"Oh no," she groans. "Already?"

"I have Abe waking the soldiers…"

"They're not soldiers," she interrupts him. "They're not ready for this."

"Not you too," he grumbles. "Last night you seemed eager for this."

"I was, I mean I am, I just…" she stumbles over her words. "We need to think logically. We weren't attacking head on yesterday. They are ready for us now."

"It's no different," he disagrees. "We are still better fighters."

"No, you're a better fighter," she corrects him. "We are just hunters and a few cats. You're playing with people's lives, Jamie, start taking things a little more seriously." Jameson glances over her shoulder at the other inn where Califf is leaning out of their window. "Are you going to tell me to stay away from him?" Druine asks in an annoyed tone.

"Actually I was going to agree with you," she surprises them both. "Jamie, it's not too late to turn back. We could live in the ocean with the sirens and forget this whole thing."

"This was your idea," he reminds her. "You're the one who begged Drea to let us come here."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I've never really done anything like this before. I thought it would be easy. Yesterday made me realize that this is dangerous. It's nothing like I imagined. It's not fun at all."

"This isn't supposed to be fun!" he is shouting by now. "This is about my story and unfinished business with King Atlas. This is about the year of my life I spent trapped in his dungeon!"

"So the truth finally comes out. This is about revenge." Druine shakes her head disappointedly. "I asked you to come with me a year ago. You chose to stay."

"I was naïve." He looks away guiltily. "I thought I could make a difference. I wanted to have a wonderful story. I didn't realize it would take so long. I didn't realize what it would cost." He touches the scales on his stomach.

Both women look down at the scar where Gavin stabbed him. "I didn't realize it was that bad," Druine tries to apologize.

"It, it wasn't at first," his voice is much calmer. "I fought dozens of animals in that pit and I killed them all. The thing that kept me going was the fact that none of them were as big as the water spirit. I never thought I'd have to see that thing again. It wasn't even fighting it for a second time that did it. It was seeing Cassandra and Jezebel again. They were so different. They were so far along on in their stories. Cassandra even found herself a man. Stupid prince Gavin," he mutters while shuffling his feet.

"So this is about a girl you used to know?" Califf is becoming suspicious. Druine snickers quietly. It seems any girl is a target for this siren, not just her.

"It's not just Cassandra," Jameson continues. "Jezebel was a completely different creature. She possessed a prince and nearly killed me with a single strike. I've never been so afraid of dying, not even when facing the water spirit. Those two, my friends, they are more monstrous than anything I have ever fought. I spent a year making myself stronger than them. I promised myself that if I ever saw them again, I would prove I was no longer the weak nobody they used to pick on."

"But they got stronger too," Druine realizes what he is saying, "even after everything you went through."

"I'll never beat them." Jameson grits his teeth. "They will always be the same two girls who picked on me in Hamish. Even in the midst of three separate stories, they are still mocking me."

"Jamie, it's not like that at all." Califf leaps across the gap between the roofs to hug him. "They were just as scared as you are, more so even. I saw how that fairy cowered when she saw the other sirens. They are in exactly the same place as you; story owners without a clue what to do. They are not your enemies; they are your friends." Jameson seems to agree with her as he hugs her back. "Besides, Cassandra's not the only one who met someone," Califf adds slyly, making Jameson smile.

Druine stands perfectly still watching them for a moment before clearing her throat to bring them back to reality. "We still need a decision, Jamie. Will we fight or not?"

Jameson looks Califf in the eyes, silently telling her what she already knows. "You don't have to come with me," he offers her the chance to run.

"I'm never leaving your side again," she insists.

"What about you?" Jameson asks Druine.

"Let me talk to the hunters." She leaps off the roof, landing on the cat's back before sliding down onto the sandy street. Jameson glances back at the bazaar again where the castle soldiers have just started to march. They will reach them in only a few minutes.

Druine's hunters agree to stay, as do the remaining prisoners; after all, it is too late to run. The castle soldiers have already surrounded the two inns. The leader of the soldiers takes a position at the front of his legion to shout. "This is Osaris, legate of this battalion. Who is laying siege to Capitith?"

"I am the warrior!" Jameson shouts back. "Any who have watched the games know of me."

"What is your reason for desolating our fair city?" Osaris demands.

"Fair?" Jameson scoffs. "Do you really believe anything about this corrupt kingdom is fair?"

"I am but a servant of the king," Osaris doesn't give a straight answer. "I do as I am bid."

"And what does the king bid of you, Osaris?" Jameson is almost laughing now.

"He bids your destruction," Osaris answers with a sigh. "Your surrender will not be accepted. You have destroyed the dungeon you would be placed in."

"As I expected," Jameson actually does laugh this time. "How about a fair fight, Osaris?"

"I strongly distrust anything you offer, warrior. This will be a bloody affair and nothing less."

"So be it, Osaris," Jameson continues to use the legate's name either out of respect or to taunt him. It does not matter though as the battle has already begun. Osaris's first order is a volley of arrows, which blankets the streets that host the two neighboring inns. Luckily no one is out in the open where they can be struck. However fear is instilled. Their inability to run has been established.

Jameson keeps his party under shelter until the barrage of arrows has ended. While the soldiers are reloading, the hunters sneak out onto the roofs of the inns and pelt them with stones. As they scatter for cover, the prisoners rush out from differing street corners, grabbing as many of the panicking soldiers as they can and dragging them back to the two buildings where they have made their stand.

"Hey, Osaris, can you tell? We have some of your men," Jameson warns their enemy. "Are you still willing to fire at us?"

"It is an honor to give one's life for the king," Osaris responds like an obedient servant. It is clear he does not value his or his soldiers' lives.

Jameson's face twists into a frown. As with yesterday he had hoped to end this with as little bloodshed as possible. The majority of the guards they knocked out left on the same boats as the civilians. A few of them obviously retreated to the castle. If they had killed them all, they might not be in this situation right now. Of course that is something he does not want to think about. Is it really a victory if he gives up his own morals to achieve it?

Once again Osaris sends a volley of arrows at them and once again none of them find a single target, despite some of the prisoners asking Jameson if they should leave their captives in the open to die. After a third volley, Osaris seems to grow bored of ranged combat. He has his men ready their spears for marching.

The hunters resume pelting them with rocks as they approach the stronghold but this time they are undaunted. They use their arms to shield their faces as they press forward. After they reach the nearest street corner, the hunters give up. They are almost out of stones and they aren't doing any damage at all. "Is this the best you can do?" Osaris decides to try taunting his enemy.

Jameson does not take the bait. They are now close enough to locate him just from the sound of his voice if he were to respond. Instead he decides to move, just in case they already have a clue. He sneaks over the two roofs back and forth, getting a good view of the soldiers and where Osaris is. Even if they are trained professionals, it still seems like they would not choose to fight if something happened to their leader.

Jameson can already tell which one Osaris is just from his vestments. He is slightly less fit due to a more lax training regime and a richer diet. His clothes are dark blue instead of generic brown leather and his hair is darker, not quite as bleached from long hours in the sun. All together he looks slightly spoiled; like he has enjoyed the easy life for far too long while his soldiers have endured hardship.

Taking a chance, Jameson decides to try eliminating the problem at the source. He uses one of the hunter's spears like a javelin and launches it at Osaris's head. The legate brings a large wooden shield up in front of his face just in time. The look of shock in his eyes shows how close Jameson came to ending the battle prematurely. "You won't get another chance at that!" Osaris warns him as he retreats to the back of his ranks, forcing his soldiers to shield him with their bodies.

This time Jameson can definitely see how annoyed and frightened the men are. Is it really worth dying for this selfish man's honor? Jameson does not give them the chance to think about it as he orders another strike. This time it is Califf's turn to be useful. With her inhuman strength, she tosses several of the remaining stones into the midst of the soldiers. Each one is moving fast enough to break bone, and they do.

Osaris is shocked to see at least five of his men go down with twisted limbs or shattered jaws. Four more are now missing eyes. Califf cringes at the sight of what she has done but Jameson pats her back reassuringly. He is also becoming used to having people as his enemy instead of simple animals. It is even more exhilarating and sickening at the same time.

Osaris finally loses his patience and orders his men to charge. They break through the door of the first inn enthusiastically, expecting to spar with the escaped gladiators wielding dull weapons. Instead they come face to face with three large cats, all growling and hissing at them. Osaris can hear his men screaming as they are mauled to death by the horrible creatures they themselves bred and kept imprisoned.

"Sir, we must retreat!" his men beg.

"They're not going to stop," Osaris informs them. "Even if we run they will simply chase us. We either fight them now or at the castle and I'm not letting them reach the king."

"But we can't fight like this. They are dirty tricksters. We should draw them out into open ground."

"Agreed," Osaris finally heeds their advice. "All men, retreat!" he gives the order.

Jameson's party starts to cheer, with Druine and Califf as the loudest. "We survived!" they are absolutely shocked. Jameson is a little annoyed that none of them had more faith in themselves. "Now we have a chance to get away," they begin to discuss escape strategies.

"Wait, hold on," Jameson stops them. "We have them on the run. This is the first legion of the castle. If we pick them off before they make it back then only the second and third legions are left. We could take them."

"Is he serious?" Abe asks Califf.

"Trust me, he is," she sighs.

"Just hear me out…" he continues to sputter.

"We barely managed to keep everyone alive this time. Next time our luck won't hold," Druine tries to dissuade him.

"Let's just follow them back to the castle," he insists. "If we can't take out all of them before they reach it I promise I will give up."

Abe, Califf and Druine all share worried glances. The truth is that each one owes Jameson more than they can ever repay. None of them want to disappoint him. "Fine," Califf gives in first. "You have to promise though. No one is going to die."

"I will do everything in my power to prevent it," Jameson worms his way around an actual promise. His subordinates don't seem to notice though. Druine leaps on Aquish's back to chase the soldiers before they are too far ahead. Her hunters quickly mount the remaining cats to follow their leader.

Califf and the prisoners climb out onto the roof of the larger inn to watch as Druine and her hunters stalk the fleeing soldiers. Aquish makes the first attack, lunging at one of the men and dragging them to the ground by the leg. She clamps down hard enough to seriously injure him. Califf covers her eyes at the sight of the spurting blood. Jameson quickly realizes exactly what he has set in motion.

Over the next several minutes the prisoners watch in equal excitement and horror as the cats systematically tackle and disable each of the now terrified men. Some are bitten on the arms and legs while others have their limbs ripped completely off. Some are even beheaded. The large orange cat that fought with Aquish has a habit of flinging them into the air so that the resulting fall kills them. Califf has to leave the roof before it is over.

Osaris is all out sprinting by the time the last of his men is torn away from his once strong legion now reduced to one man. He is not holding a single weapon capable of defending himself and is tripping over his robes while panting for breath. It is over and he knows it. If he hadn't decided to retreat he might have at least been able to kill some of the invaders that threaten his king. Officially he has accomplished nothing at the cost of his entire regime.

Finally he stops running, falling to his knees in the sand. He is not even halfway back to the castle which stands looming in the distance. He has failed his king more thoroughly than he even thought possible. There is no reason to even fight the inevitable anymore. "Do with me what you will!" he wails. Jameson is too far to even hear him.

After tying up the captured soldiers properly, Jameson leads the prisoners into the sandy expanse which marks the rest of the soldiers' graves. Druine is waiting with her foot on Osaris's chest as he lies on his back in complete surrender. "You are a miserable opponent, warrior," he spits at Jameson.

"I have you and your city to thank for creating me," he spits back. "You are now my prisoner."

"I will not betray my king. I will die before I help you in any way."

"I would prefer not to kill anyone else today but you know that can't happen," Jameson's voice is solemn. "We are ending your kingdom today and everyone who stands in our way."

"You are two dozen. How did you defeat fifty of us?" Osaris whines.

"Will you stand in our way?" Jameson asks instead of answering.

"I will!" Osaris is adamant. "I am a servant of King Atlas. I will die for him."

"Then die." Jameson head knocks him, rendering him unconscious. Califf hands him a length of rope to bind his hands. Afterward, Jameson hoists him onto the back of one of the cats. The remaining prisoners each join one of the hunters until they are all riding towards the castle.

At the top of the adobe wall in front of them they can see more soldiers with telescopes watching them and scampering about, trying to prepare for the impending attack. Soon they have set up a line of archers and launched a row of arrows at them. Instinctively, each cat avoids them with ease. Once again the battle will not be decided by ranged combat.

As they approach the wall the soldiers prepare stacks of rocks to push down on them along with several cauldrons filled with burning oil or boiling water. It will be impossible to get close without sustaining injury. The hunters begin directing the cats as close as possible to throw their spears before retreating to a safe distance again. They are unable to hit any of the soldiers but they do manage to knock some of the cauldrons over, wasting them on the empty sand below.

Once again patience wins out as the hunters slowly exhaust the soldiers' supplies. Soon they have nothing to drop on them when they approach, giving them a clear run. Scaling the wall is not easy but the cats are exceptionally good climbers. They dig their claws into the hard adobe clay and scamper up as quickly as possible. Some of the soldiers even choose to leap from the wall in fright rather than stay and face the creatures they have seen kill hundreds of gladiators in the arena.

Again Califf covers her eyes instead of watching from the ground as Druine leads the hunters up the wall. With their sharp fangs they toss any soldiers who don't flee to their deaths. The sound of screaming and crunching bones is unbearable. "I can't take this any more, I want to go home," Califf cries. "I am a priestess of the ocean, not a murderer."

"Do you know what these people have done?" Jameson asks. "This isn't even half of the death they have caused."

"And killing more people makes it right?" Califf screams. "It has to stop somewhere!"

Just then a loud thud draws their attention. One of the cats has fallen over the wall, landing a few yards away from Jameson and Califf, who quickly rush to give aid. The hunter who was riding it is hanging onto the wall above them. He lets go just as they reach the cat. He bounces off of its stomach and rolls in the sand. Califf checks him over hurriedly and finds that his shoulder has been broken. The prisoner who was riding with him is pinned underneath the dead cat. He has no pulse.

"See!" Califf points at Jameson accusingly. "I told you this would happen. Did you really expect none of us to get hurt?" He shakes his head. "You knew this would happen and you still did this! What if this was Druine? What would you do if she died?"

"It will be fine," he tries to calm her. "Everything will work out in the end. We are still winning. As long as I have you then I am fine with whatever happens."

"What?" she is taken aback. "You don't care if Druine dies? You don't care if Abe dies? What about Gerith? What about Patine? What about Odrin?"

"I…" Jameson takes a step back. He has not bothered to learn any of the names of his subordinates.

"This man's name was Darin." She points at the dead prisoner trapped underneath the cat. "His name is Apach." She gestures to the injured hunter. "His cat's name was Ferlin."

"Enough!" Jameson shouts at her, causing her to shake. "I don't want to know their names. I can't be a proper leader if I get too attached."

"You made sure to know Osaris's name," she reminds him. "It's strange, you two seem very similar to me."

"Can we not do this now?" Jameson grumbles.

"What? Can we not do what?" she demands.

"This; our first fight. I'm extremely busy. Even if I wanted to stop this fight, I couldn't. I need to lead these people." As if to stress his point, another cat lands directly behind him. This time both the hunter and the prisoner riding it hit the ground as well, neither one survives the fall.

"Cordith, Anderal," Califf gasps.

"Why do you know all of their names?" Jameson snaps.

"Why don't you!" she counters. "You don't deserve to lead them. You aren't worthy of having people die for you." Jameson stares at her with his mouth open. He never thought he would hear her speak against him.

"Jamie, I could really use some help!" Druine shouts from the top of the wall. Aquish, go get him." She sends her pet down to help him scale the wall.

Califf watches him with pleading eyes as he climbs onto the cat's back. "Please stop this, Jamie," she begs. "For me, please, just stop."

"Jamie, I need you." Druine is struggling to hold off several soldiers at once.

"I'll be right back," Jameson assures Califf.

"I might not be here when you return," she threatens him. He keeps his eyes focused on her as Aquish climbs up the wall. She stares back at him, making sure he knows she is serious.

As soon as he is at the top of the wall, he leaps at the enemies surrounding Druine and knocks several of them off. They fall to the ground on the other side. Even with the soft sand beneath them they are still seriously injured, probably dead. He feels a twinge of guilt as he thinks about Califf begging him to stop the killing. He does not have time to dwell though as more soldiers are climbing the wall with ladders from the courtyard below.

He uses his club to fight them off, striking several of them at once and dodging all of the long spears, which are not very useful in close combat. It is almost too easy. The soldiers are nothing compared to the beasts he has slain. He should have been fighting at the front with Druine from the start, maybe less of his subordinates would have died if he had.

He struggles to keep the mounting number of soldiers back but eventually some slip past. They stab another prisoner and toss his accompanying hunter from the wall just like the rest, bringing their casualties to five people and two cats. This is no longer sitting well with Jameson. He has to end it quickly.

Desperate to prevent further loss, he places himself in the center of the wall, blocking all of the soldiers trying to slip past. Those he can't push off either side of the wall end up getting smacked in the nose or jaw with his club. He can hear the sound of their bones shattering. He is like a one man army, taking on everything the second legion has to offer by himself.

As Druine lags back to help the hunters and prisoners he continues to plow forward, clearing away what remains of the second legion. Soon the last of the soldiers has fallen and no more enemies remain on the wall. From the ground he can see the third and final legion, waiting for the order to attack.

Across from the wall in a large tower several men in noble dress are watching. From his cape and crown it is obvious which one of them is King Atlas. He seems unsure whether or not he should order the third legion to attack or not. When he notices Jameson staring at him, he clears his throat to address him. "Warrior, I must admit I am surprised you made it this far. I'm sorry to say that it is over now. You barely beat my first two legions. You will not survive the third."

"I beg you to reconsider," Jameson calls across the gap to him. "With two dozen men I have already killed a hundred of yours. You must see where this is going. Do your subjects a favor and save their lives."

"You know I can't do that. As a captured king I would be executed. I will sooner see every last soldier die than give you my head. This is my final decree."

Jameson pauses to think about Califf down on the ground below one last time before responding. "So be it. This is the end of your rule, King Atlas." Before he has even finished his sentence, the king gives the order for the third legion to fire their arrows at him. This time there is nowhere to hide. They are not arching toward the hunters and prisoners behind Jameson. All fifty projectiles are headed straight for the warrior.

Jameson knocks as many of them away as he can with his club before simply covering his face and bracing for the impact. At least half of them connect with his flesh. Each puncture feels less painful than the last as he slowly goes numb.

Looking down at the fresh wounds he can see the scales from his scar growing to cover them up. Even now Califf is still protecting him. He knows that she must also be in pain though. This is why he avoided fighting at the front for as long as he could; to keep from hurting her.

From the top of the wall, Druine can also see Califf holding her stomach as small holes appear on her body. She quickly has Aquish carry her back down to check on her. "What is happening? Is this because of Jamie?"

"We're connected," Califf explains. "We share everything good and bad now."

"My god, he still wants to risk his life for this? We've got to get you both out of here. This isn't worth it."

"He won't stop," Califf groans. "He's obsessed. We need to help him win now while he has a chance. If we don't he'll just keep coming back and there will be more soldiers next time."

"We need an advantage," Druine starts to think out loud. "If only we had more animals."

"Why not? There's a whole corral full of them, isn't there?" Califf reminds her.

Druine hugs Califf tightly before hoisting her up onto Aquish's back. They ride off toward the arena again while the rest of the hunters and prisoners continue to fight. Druine monitors Califf's health closely though, making sure Jameson is not getting seriously hurt.

Back at the top of the wall, Jameson is still being pelted by arrows. It does not seem like the third legion is going to run out any time soon. While he distracts them though, the hunters are able to sneak down one of the ladders and circle around behind them. The prisoners start throwing pieces of the crumbling adobe wall at them to gather their attention, right before the hunters start stabbing them with their spears.

They manage to kill at least twelve of them before the legion realizes what is happening. They quickly overwhelm the remaining hunters, killing or injuring all of them. During that time Jameson is able to descend the ladder. It is lucky Califf is absorbing half of his injuries. Each arrow that struck him feels as if it barely penetrated his flesh.

The soldiers are caught off guard when he attacks them from the front, brandishing a club and a spear. He stabs and beats two of them before they manage to surround him. The prisoners continue throwing rocks at them but they are no longer paying attention.

As the remaining thirty soldiers close in around him, Jameson prepares for one final stand. They are too near to use the spear but he continues to brandish his club to ward them off. He takes out three more before one of them manages to stab him in the back of his shoulder. He drops to one knee while continuing to swing the club to make sure they can not rush him. It is no use though, he is finished.

Just before the soldiers can converge on him, something loud draws their attention. The wall behind them is shaking and cracking. After two more loud booms the center of the wall shatters. Through a cloud of dust and sand dozens upon dozens of creatures plow through the gapping hole, trampling everything in their path.

Aquish leaps over all of them in time to swipe Jameson from the center of the soldiers before they too are demolished. The rampaging animals do not stop as they tear down the adobe castle with ease. They make another equally large hole in the opposite wall before charging down the beach. Soon all that remains is a trail of dust in their wake.

Any of the soldiers that were not killed are badly injured. Druine rushes to help what remains of her hunters, but finds only three of them still breathing. Aquish drops Jameson from her jaws into a heap on the ground in front of the castle ruble. The tower the king was watching from has also been reduced to powder. The king himself is only just emerging from the wreckage.

Jameson pulls himself to his feet as best he can. He limps toward the coughing king while swinging his club in front of him repeatedly. "You can't be serious," King Atlas chuckles unconvincingly. "You're done for. Even I can kill you now." He plucks the broken head of a spear from the rubble and points it at Jameson.

Before he can even attempt to stab him though, Califf leaps from Aquish's back and lands between them, bringing her foot down on the top of the king's head, knocking him to the ground. Jameson can see that her shoulder is bleeding also. The wounds are not as severe but she is still struggling to even move.

"You can't do this," Atlas coughs. "I am the king. I rule everything."

"Not any more." Jameson brings the club down on his head, splitting it open like a melon. For once Califf does not look away. She glares at the dead king with malice in her eyes. He is the cause of all of this.

She turns around just in time to catch Jameson as he falls forward, completely unconscious. With his task complete, it is time to rest. She lowers him to the ground carefully while checking to make sure he is still breathing. Suddenly the sand around them starts to shift. It rises up like a dome, covering them from sight.

Druine is still tending to her hunters when a shriek from the siren disturbs her. She glances around at the wreckage for Califf but she and Jameson are nowhere to be seen. It is as if they sunk into the ground without a trace. She hurries over to the king's body and begins to dig in the soft sand where Jameson's and Califf's blood has seeped in, panicking and screaming for help from the remaining prisoners.

Only Abe moves though. He walks straight past her, patting her on the shoulder. She stops digging to watch as he removes Atlas's blood covered crown from the dead king's head. He scales what remains of the castle stairs and seats himself on what she can only assume was once the throne. "I hereby claim this kingdom in the name of Westhime!" he announces boldly. "Welcome to West Capitith!"

Immediately the prisoners begin to clap for him. "All hail King Abraham!" they shout.

"But…" Druine starts to stutter.

Before she can move the prisoners have dragged her up the stairs and seated her on her knees beside him. "All hail Queen Druine!" they cheer.

"What…? I…" she is at a loss.

"Welcome, my queen." Abe grins at her.

"Um, yes your highness," she gulps while staring up at him with wide eyes.

28: A Wedding Duel

As the sun creeps through the window into the room at the top of the tower, it casts a diagonal grid across the sleeping princess's face. Today is Princess Cassandra's sixteenth birthday, as she has so been called by the people of Ferery since the announcement of her engagement to Prince Gavin a year ago.

She stirs and stretches as the light hits her eyes, waking her from her dreams. She had been back in Hamish, running and playing with her best friend near the edge of the forest, making fun of young Jameson and gossiping about the most resent stories she had read. As she slowly returns to reality, the smile on her face fades. She is in a castle tower, hundreds of miles from home.

She glances around quickly for her only source of solace; the tiny fairy named Flower who is actually her best friend Jezebel. "Good morning," the small creature yawns as she rolls over on the pillow next to the princess.

"Good morning," Cassandra responds with a smile. Things are not so bad in the kingdom of Ferery. Though she is always accompanied by one of the castle guards, she is allowed to go anywhere she wants. She has explored the entire town several times over and even returned to speak with the widow Allegra on several occasions.

She has gotten to know several people in the bayside town and the castle itself. She has become a sort of idol for the subjects of Ferery. They have not had a queen since the king stole theirs so suddenly. They are all looking forward to her and Gavin's union, which is to take place tonight of all nights.

Flower has been busy as well. Mayberry has quite a few story owners in the seaside city of Ferery and several of them have come calling for aid. She has done her best to act as their voice of reason and guiding fairy. She has become quite good at helping story owners. However she is still sad that she is not able to enjoy her own story instead.

"Are you awake, milady," the voice of Miss Paxel, travels through the solid oak door. "Shall I come in?"

"Yes," Cassandra answers her attendant. "I'm ready to start the day."

"How wonderful." The slightly pudgy woman bursts through the door. "Do you know what today is?"

"How could I forget," Cassandra responds sarcastically. She is not as excited about her wedding as the rest of Ferery. She has ulterior motives and dark plots to attend to. She has no time to be a swooning princess in a story.

"Let's get you ready to greet your guests. They've come from so far away." Miss Paxel dances around the room collecting the clothes she plans to dress Cassandra in. Flower is buzzing excitedly as well. Several invitations were sent out to neighboring kingdoms, asking royals to the wedding, including to the city of Baylor. Littier and her mother should be waiting at the bay at this very moment.

Miss Paxel forces Cassandra to don a grayish blue dress under a shawl, complete with sunhat, gloves and parasol; anything to keep her in the shade to prevent more freckles from obscuring her pretty face. As soon as she is fully dressed, the attendant sends for a guard to escort her down to the docks. As luck would have it, the first to respond is Lord Nedan himself. "Good day." He bows to his princess.

"Good day, sir." She forces herself to smile. Lord Nedan does not have to use his imagination to know why she is so stiff around him. He is fully aware of who she is. He recognized her immediately after the marriage announcement. He has refrained from telling the king only because he finds it amusing.

A once poor orphaned prisoner has somehow wormed her way into the very castle where the man who ordered her family's death resides. She is now marrying his son. How low has this girl sunk to actually accept a proposal from someone she should despise? It is absolutely hilarious in the eyes of an untouchable lord like Nedan. He need only sit back and watch her suffer while pretending not to hate her husband's guts.

Cassandra rides on the back of Nedan's horse as they leave the castle. They trot down the wet dusty road that leads to the pier in silence, pretending they only met last year. Cassandra is not rude to Lord Nedan. In fact, she is rather polite. She takes great relish in the fact that he must treat her like a princess and obey orders from her.

"Here we are." He dismounts to lead the horse down the pier. She remains seated atop the saddle, holding her parasol to block the sun. She twirls it gently as she smiles cheerily, preparing her façade for greeting the guests.

It is extremely exhilarating to be playing the role of a bride, even if it is just for show. This is what she spent her childhood dreaming about. Why shouldn't she enjoy it? It is made all the more sweet just knowing what she really has in store. Lying to people is just as exciting.

The first guests off the boat are from Westhime; a broad shouldered man in white uniform complete with thick beard followed by at least three women, probably all concubines.

Next is Capitith. Cassandra is surprised to see a muscular man with lighter skin than most of the beachside kingdom's occupants instead of King Atlas. He is accompanied by a much shorter but equally athletic looking woman with eyes as black as Jezebel's. She seems extremely uncomfortable in her fancy white dress. Something has changed in the time since Cassandra last visited Capitith as a trading pirate.

After them are the Daplands, an exile colony condemned by Baylor but still recognized as a sovereign nation by Ferery. The tall king is wearing a dark cape with a hood which hides most of his face but he still smiles at Cassandra, or perhaps the fairy on her shoulder. He is followed not by a queen but by another man, much shorter and older with, also wearing a dark cloak, hiding all but his bushy eyebrows.

As more and more royals walk past, Cassandra curtsies for each one in turn. The women respond in kind while the men bow. After a while, Gavin arrives by coach to join her. He politely introduces all of the people he met on his travels to his wonderful fiancé, of which he is completely in love with.

Flower watches the passing people without much interest. It is not until she sees the queen of Baylor that her eyes light up. She glides down to land on Princess Littier's shoulder before the young girl has even spotted her. "Jez?" Littier is surprised.

"It's Flower," she corrects her.

"I see. So you're still enjoying your life as a fairy?" Littier asks.

"Very much so." She nods vigorously, grinning ear to ear. "There is so much to do in Ferery. So many ships come to trade at the bay. There are so many children who need a fairy."

"I've been reading all of your exploits," Littier informs her. "You certainly get around."

"Cassandra lets me go out on my own whenever I want."

"So you're still helping your friend?" Littier confirms. Flower's expression sinks slightly. "Are you not happy with her anymore?" Littier is concerned.

"I love being with her," Flower tries to assure her. "I just don't know if she is doing the right thing."

"You don't want her to marry a prince? Isn't that the goal of all story owners?"

"That's just it; she could be so happy with him. He could be her happy ending."

"But she's not going through with it?" Littier tries to guess what is wrong.

"She wants me to do something," Flower whispers. "Something I'm not very comfortable with."

"You don't have to obey her, you know. I gave you that pendent so you could help people, not serve them."

"But I'm a fairy. I'm her guide. I'm basically her servant."

"Because you chose to be," Littier interjects. "The pendent was only supposed to help you do your job. You must have wanted to be a fairy."

"Are you saying I chose this form?"

"Basically. You must have been thinking of helping people as a fairy. I'm not surprised. It seems to be your ideal side role."

"But now that I'm her fairy, I can't disobey her," Flower explains.

"You can stop being a fairy any time you want," Littier informs her. "Just remove the pendent and you'll turn human again."

"But then Cassandra won't have anyone to rely on."

"And she should realize that and give up on her plan," Litter interjects.

"She's not going to." Flower shakes her head. "She was plotting this even before I became her fairy. All I've done is keep her from getting herself killed while she does all these reckless things."

"And you're going to continue protecting her, aren't you?" Littier's face reflects disappointment.

"I have to. She'll die if she does this alone."

"You're a good person, Flower. You've helped so many others. She doesn't deserve you." Flower doesn't respond and instead starts to fly away. "Wait." Litter grabs her. "What did I say?"

"You have no idea what Cassandra has been through," Flower accuses her. "She's my best friend."

"I guess I just can't see her the same way you do," Littier sighs.

"Goodbye, Littier," Flower is still upset with her.

"Wait, just in case we never see each other again, I want to thank you. The royal translator inscribed the plaque you gave me. My mother was able to legally banish Lord Creashure along with any one who tried to object."

"It can't be that simple," Flower is concerned.

"Rumor has it he is building a regime using other exiles in the Daplands," Littier whispers. "In fact, my mother is thinking of shutting down all ports to Baylor soon."

"I wish I could help you," Flower mopes. "There is something I forgot to tell you. Did the translator understand the riddle leading to Lord Astral's third message?"

"Yes but…" Littier is unable to finish her sentence though as Cassandra and Gavin have just climbed into the back of the carriage the prince arrived in. Flower flutters off to join them as Lord Nedan takes his horse back up the path toward the castle, leading the way for them and seven other carriages carrying their guests.

As they travel through the city streets, the royals ooh and awe at all of the buildings and especially at the length of the castle wall tunnel. Gavin bounces giddily with the rhythm of the carriage as he holds Cassandra's hand. He is extremely excited about getting married and proud to be playing host to such important people.

Cassandra smiles at him weakly, trying to share his enthusiasm. She has other things on her mind though. Suddenly the sound of horns blowing in the courtyard causes her to cover her ears again. Gavin grabs her shoulders to comfort her while she shivers violently.

Each group of guests is led out of their carriage and into the courtyard where several tables, tents and umbrellas have been set up. All of the castle servants and several of the townspeople, including the employees of the baker shop, butcher shop and boutique have all gathered in fancy dress. There is an entourage of musicians waiting to play and several young girls running around with baskets overflowing with flowers.

Cassandra grabs her head and starts to grown. "I feel sick."

"You're just getting cold feet," Gavin tries to sooth her.

"I've had a year to prepare for this. I'm getting anxious. What if everything doesn't go according to plan?"

"Then my father will behead anyone responsible," he tries to joke.

"Or he'll lose his head," she mutters under her breath.

"Come on." He takes her hand again to lead her out of the carriage. "You need to change in the tent. You will look so beautiful in your white dress."

"Like me," Flower spouts while fluttering into the air. She twirls around a few times, sending several sparks flying, before settling on Cassandra's shoulder.

"Hello, Jezebel." Cassandra smiles at her. "Do you know what to do?"

Flower glances at the back of Gavin's head as he drags Cassandra toward her tent. He is not paying attention. "I know." She nods. "Cassandra, are you sure you want to go through with this?" she calls her by her full name for once. "What about your happy ending? Gavin is your prince. You could be together."

"I'm already happy, sweetie." Cassandra is grinning ear to ear even though her cold blue eyes look like she is about to cry. "I'm happy that it's almost over. I'm happy that my revenge is finally here." Flower shakes her head sadly before fluttering off as Cassandra disappears into the tent. The onlookers all applaud as they prepare for the princess to reemerge.

Flower floats into the air high above the festivities, looking for her target. She immediately recognizes the matted hair and long blue cape of Lord Nedan. He is leaning against a pillar in the courtyard garden, yawning and watching the flower girls running around.

When one of them trips, he rushes to help them up. "Thank you, Daddy," she mutters with a smile as he pats her back, sending her to rejoin her friends. Flower stares for a moment, wondering if she heard right. She was not aware that Lord Nedan had any children. Glancing at the girl's braided hair and buckled shoes it hits her like a brick wall; it is Celia. Lord Nedan is Casper's father.

She nearly falls out of the air in shock. Suddenly different thoughts start to fill her head. Is this loving father really the murderer of Cassandra's family? There is no possible way she can go through with this. She feels sick to her stomach as she continues to watch Lord Nedan while waiting for Cassandra to reemerge from the tent.

The musicians are instructed to begin playing right before she makes her appearance. She is clad in all white with bellowing hoops and a long veil. Flowers adorn the skirt and laces keep her corset tied all the way up her back. She is holding her silk gloves instead of wearing them and her long blonde hair has been pinned up into a tight bun. Flower watches in awe as her beautiful friend blinks in the sunlight, showing off her dark blue eyeliner. Her freckles have been completely hidden under her powder foundation.

"Presenting our princess and future queen, Lady Cassandra Redresh!" the bishop introduces her. The onlookers cheer as she waves to them with a bright and welcoming smile. Gavin waits in the center of the courtyard as she approaches, dressed in a military uniform much the same as Nedan's with a white jacket, brass medals pinned to the front and a blue cape down to the ground.

Cassandra takes his hands as the music changes to that of a waltz. The rest of the royals join them in the open space of the garden to start the first dance. Flower lands on the branch of a tall tree, high above the garden where she can watch without being noticed. She sighs jealously as her best friend lives her story book wedding fantasy. She would give almost anything to switch places.

Her eyes drift lazily as she tries to imagine what she might look like dancing next to Gavin. She would definitely be a better match; not because of her darker hair or less stiff appearance but simply because she would be in love with him. She wouldn't be using him for revenge like Cassandra.

She grips the pendent around her neck, remembering what Littier said. If she removes it now she will return to human form and ruin Cassandra's dastardly plans. She will also fall off her high perch and crash to the ground and die. Again she sighs as she tries to decide what to do. She is running out of time to change her mind.

Just then, her decision is made for her as the fanfare picks up again, announcing the king's entrance, fashionably late to draw attention away from his son on his special day, like a good king should and a good father shouldn't. "King Adrian!" the bishop bellows over the loud horns which are once again bothering Cassandra who is holding her stomach as Gavin holds her to keep her from crouching down in the middle of the garden.

"Welcome, everyone," the king is equally as loud. "I hope you are all enjoying the festivities. After all, your taxes paid for them." The onlookers know that they are expected laugh at their own expense. "This is a wondrous day indeed. Two years ago, when my son turned sixteen, I sent him on a journey to find himself… and some priceless artifacts as well." Again the crowd laughs on cue.

"He seems to have found something more. We all know that he is now eighteen and the age of a young man. He is ready for most of the challenges in life; though I'm not sure marriage can ever be properly prepared for." The crowd is growing tired of pretending to find the king funny.

He seems to notice this. "All joking aside, I would like to remind the princess of the task I put to her a year ago. I asked that she integrate herself into the kingdom and become worthy of my blessing. I suppose you have been waiting to hear if you impressed me." He turns to Cassandra as Gavin leads her out of the garden toward the king's pedestal.

She kneels down in front of the bishop while Gavin does the same in front of the king. "Son, I can not express how proud I am of you. When I sent you away, I feared you would be killed within a month. You proved me wrong and for that I am glad. You have grown into a fine man with a wonderful taste in women. Now I give you my blessing." He touches his son's forehead with his right hand and Cassandra's with his left.

The crowd once again cheers as the bishop prepares to read from his book. The onlookers grow silent as they watch and listen. The only other sound is the soft beating of wings fluttering in the treetops above. It is time for Flower to make her move. She glides down to the garden below, letting the breeze blow her back and forth like a leaf.

She wishes desperately that something would happen to incapacitate her and prevent her from completing her task. As luck would have it, nothing does. She finds her target still yawning lazily with his back against the courtyard pillar, watching the bride and groom with a mischievous smile. Oh how she must be suffering.

Flower lands on the collar of Lord Nedan's cape silently. He is far too engrossed in the ceremony to even notice. She sucks in a large breath as her dress begins to glow. As soon as it is bright enough, she blows on the back of his neck. Immediately his arms drop to his sides. His eyes go white as they are filled with the sparks from her dress. He is now under her control.

He glances around at the people in the garden, searching desperately for something. He spots it in the hands of one of his men, a drawn crossbow without the arrow in place. He dashes through the crowd, knocking people out of his way and causing several shouts of which stall the bishop's speech. "Sir?" his soldier is surprised to see him.

"Hand it here, there's a good lad." He snatches the crossbow.

"Sir, I don't understand."

"No time. Give me your arrow."

"But, sir, we're in the middle of the wedding."

"I said give it to me." Lord Nedan shoves the guard off his perch while slipping the quiver off his belt.

"Sir, what are you doing?" the guard shouts as he falls to the ground. This draws the attention of everyone in the crowd. All eyes are upon Lord Nedan as he drops an arrow into place.

"Nedan!" the king shouts from his pedestal. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Long live King Gavin!" Nedan shouts as he fires. The king has no time to move as the projectile flies through the air, imbedding itself in his chest. As expected, his shiny gold armor is useless for protection.

"Lord Nedan, what have you done?" the king groans as he falls over.

"Father!" Gavin shouts as he rushes to his side. "Somebody seize the lord!" Immediately the entire guard is upon Nedan, binding his hands behind his back. "Why?" Gavin shouts at him.

"Now you are king." He throws his head back to laugh madly.

"I never wanted to be king. Not like this." Gavin's eyes are welling up. "Father, please hang on. Flower, can you heal him?" He glances around the garden for any sign of the fairy. His eyes fall on Cassandra who is still kneeling in front of the bishop. "Call her!" he orders. She shakes her head slowly as a grin spreads across her face. "Please call her."

"It won't do any good," she chuckles quietly. "You'll need a siren to save him."

Gavin's eyes widen as the truth dawns on him. "Flower did this? Why would she? She wouldn't, not without you. But why?"

"We've been engaged for a year and you've never asked me about my family," her voice turns to anger.

"You said Lord Nedan killed them," he tries to recall.

"He did… under your father's order."

"What?" His jaw drops. "I don't believe it. All this time, you've been plotting this. You never loved me."

"How can I love the son of my family's murderer?"

"This can't be happening!" Gavin grabs the sides of his head, smearing his hair with his father's blood. "I'm in love with a monster."

"I didn't ask you to be." She glares at him with her icy blue eyes.

Gavin rises to his feet, his hazel green eyes still wide with disbelief. "No, you just used me. You had a year to enact your revenge and you chose today. Why did you let it get so far?"

"Because it was fun." She is smiling again. He stares at her in utter shock. "It was fun to pretend that this was my story; to pretend that I would marry a prince and live happily ever after, to pretend my family hadn't been brutally murdered and that they'd be here to see my wedding."

"You're sick," he is horrified. "Not in the twisted way. You're just plain sad and broken. I'm sorry for what has happened to you, but it is not my fault. My father sent me away the very same night your family died."

"What did I tell you before? Learn to take responsibility. You are king now, Gavin. You are responsible for everything that has happened here today. Now do your job and have me executed, your majesty."

His lips quiver as he struggles to respond. "As you wish." He reaches for his belt only to find his sword missing. Cassandra twirls it in front of him, taunting him. "Give it here." He holds out his hand.

"Come and get it, love," she laughs madly. He dives for her hand, leaving himself wide open for her to cut him, but she doesn't. Instead she knocks him on the head with the hilt. "Try again," she is snickering.

"What is wrong with you?" he is appalled. "You think this is funny?"

"It has to be," she almost chokes on her laughter. "What else should I feel right now? Is it joy? Is it rage? Tell me what I should be feeling?"

"Remorse," he answers honestly, "guilt, anything to prove to me that you're not my enemy."

"Look around you." She gestures to the crowd. Half of them have scattered to give the sparring pair room but the guards are all prepared to fight for Gavin. The rest are standing behind Cassandra.

"What? What is happening?" Gavin is confused.

"They hated your father," she answers. "They are on my side. I have spent a year acting as the most benevolent princess I can. They believe in me. I haven't just taken your father from you; I've taken your kingdom."

"Don't," he begs. "Do you realize what will happen? These people will be killed. They can't stand against the guard."

"Is the guard really on your side though?" Cassandra directs his attention to Lord Nedan who is kneeling with two swords above his head, waiting for the order to execute him. Neither guard seems to want to do it though. He is their respected leader. "There is only one way out of this," she informs Gavin. "If you can fight me and win, then you are the king and they will do as you say. Until then, they will wait and hope that I win."

"You can't do this, Cassandra. I don't want to fight you."

"Then this will be all too easy." She jabs at him. He leans to the left, letting the blade slide between his torso and his arm and then snapping his hand to his side so as to pinch the blade. She tugs on it several times before realizing that he will not let go.

As soon as she releases the hilt he has turned the weapon on her. "This is my sword," he spits through gritted teeth. "It was made for me the day I left this kingdom. It answers to no one else."

"That's fine by me." She shrugs while holding out her hand, catching a slender blade falling from the sky. Gavin is shocked when he recognizes it as Lord Nedan's. Looking up he can see Flower perched on a tree branch above the garden. How she lifted the weapon is beyond him.

It does not matter though as he is quickly forced to parry a slew of strikes from Cassandra. This is the first time he has ever fought her but he recognizes her stance regardless. "You really are a pirate," he accuses her.

"Oh, poor Gavin; can't catch a break, can he? His beautiful fiancé is not only an assassin but a sword wielding buccaneer as well; how sad."

"Don't mock me!" he shouts as he swings at her legs, slicing off part of her dress. "All this time of listening to your advice; hanging on every word. I believed in you. You said I'd be a better king than my father."

"And you will, once you kill me," her voice wavers. He can tell she is almost crying. Why won't she stop smiling?

"You can't be enjoying this," he pleads as he stabs through the hoops of her dress.

"Why can't I?" she asks. "I have little left in this world but enjoying my revenge." Her sword glances off his shoulder guard, tearing his cape away.

"You have me," he offers hopelessly while knocking her veil off.

"Can you replace all of them?" she demands. This time her sword barely avoids puncturing his eye. "Can you be my father, my mother, my brothers, my sister? Can you be my family? Can you love me the way they did? Can you?" She swings at his torso.

"I'll try." He drops his sword, shocking all onlookers. Cassandra stops right before hitting him. She is all out crying now. He grabs her shoulders and brings her into a hug. "Attention please!" he shouts in his wavering voice. The screaming of the crowd quiets down to listen. "As the new king of Ferery I have an announcement. Lord Nedan will not be executed for his crimes. He will stand trial and be imprisoned for his role in my father's murder."

A gasp travels through the audience as they try to understand what he has just said. Perhaps he was the one who ordered Lord Nedan to strike. Perhaps this is his way of seizing the throne. "When I believe he has been reformed, I shall petition for his release," Gavin continues. "Now, lord bishop, I believe we have a wedding to finish."

Cassandra's jaw drops in shock. "You can't be serious. I just had your father killed. You should be hanging me."

"You are a sad and pathetic woman, Cassandra, but I still love you. I can not think of any better punishment for you than having to marry the son of the man you killed. You will be locked in the tower after the ceremony and I will judge when you are fit to leave it."

"You can't to this!" she screams. He holds her tightly so she can't escape.

"Do you, King Gavin of Ferery, take Princess Cassandra Redresh to be your wife, 'til death do you part?" the bishop begins.

"I do."

"Stop!" Cassandra wails. "I can't be married to you. I won't."

"You don't have a choice. You spent the last year promising me we'd be together forever. I was unconvinced at first but you reassured me every day. You played your role perfectly. You told me intimate details about your past and I told you of mine. We have been lying for so long that it has become true. We are to be married and that is the king's order. How am I doing as a ruler now, Cassandra?"

"Do you, Princess Cassandra Redresh, take King Gavin to be your husband, 'til death do you part?" the bishop asks sternly.

Cassandra stares at Gavin with wide eyes, pleading with him to change his mind. When he doesn't respond she glances up to the trees where she can see Flower perched on the highest branch. She seems to be judging her silently. Cassandra can't ask her for help now, not after what she just made her do.

Her only option is to plunge her sword into Gavin's side right now. She takes a deep breath, trying to will her hand forward. Instead she drops Nedan's blade with a clang. She can't possibly bring herself to kill Gavin. It would only increase her sorrow. Finally she returns the stern glare of the bishop. "I do," she answers confidently.

29: The Pits of Capitith

"Where am I?" Jameson groans as he sits up in the dimly lit room. "Califf?"

"I'm here." She touches his forehead. "What is this place?" She stands up to look around. A single green lamp shade is the only source of light. "What is that device?" she asks Jameson.

"It's glowing." He crosses the room to examine it. "Do you suppose it's magic?"

"In a sense," an echoing voice answers him. Jameson spins around to face the doorway where a shadow is now cast. The dark haired man steps forward so they can see him. Despite not wearing his signature white mask, Jameson can recognize him easily.

"Hemlock!" he shouts while running towards him. "I haven't seen you in years. What happened? Where are we?"

"This is my drawing room," Hemlock explains. "How did you get here?"

"We were in Capitith," Califf answers. "Jameson just killed King Atlas."

"Did you? Oh I must write this down." Hemlock rushes to grab a pencil. "You were sleeping at the inn last time I checked."

"If you weren't watching, then how can you be writing my story?" Jameson is confused.

"I can enter the pages of Hamish at any point and travel from there to watch your story unfold," he answers.

"I don't understand." Jameson raises an eyebrow.

"I guess this was never explained to you but you are from a real town trapped in the pages of a book," Hemlock starts at the beginning.

"I know that, what did you say about entering its pages though?"

"Hamish is still growing and its story is still writing itself as we speak. When read by someone with my unique skill I can enter its pages at whatever point I am reading. Then all I must do is travel to Capitith and watch your story unfold. Sometimes I spend days inside the story at a time."

"So this isn't part of the story?" Califf asks while taking in the room again. "We are in the real world, but how?"

"It is the reward given to those who complete a story like Jameson," Hemlock explains. "See here." He hands them a copy of The Pits of Capitith. "It's not been published in the real world yet but I have to fund my expenses somehow so I release it chapter by chapter in the written world. That way I earn both real and written money."

"Sounds fascinating but what does that mean for me?" Jameson asks. "Will I never return to its pages?"

"That actually depends on the ending you want me to write," Hemlock answers cryptically. "If you so wish to return to the ocean of sirens then I can make it so with my words alone. Do you wish to go back?"

"I… I don't know," he answers honestly. "I don't really have anything there except for Califf and she's already here with me. I'd hate to pass up the reward I have worked so hard for. Won't Jezebel and Cassandra be coming here soon?"

"Well that I can't say." Hemlock shakes his head. "That will be up to Mayberry and Ambrose. I am only in charge of your story. I must say though that most people actually choose to remain in their story so they can enjoy the rewards they have earned."

"What do you mean? What rewards have Cassandra and Jezebel earned?"

"The same as you, I'd imagine. Most stories don't end without meeting one's special partner." He gestures to Califf. "Cassandra will want to live her life with Gavin won't she?"

"Can't she bring him here? I mean, Califf came with me."

"That is actually very peculiar." Hemlock's eyes narrow. "I have never heard of this happening before. The only reason you can leave the pages of the book is because you are a descendant of two real people from Hamish. If either one of them had married a fictional character, this would not be possible."

"But Sirens are all fictional… right?" Jameson asks.

"Correct. There is no such thing as a siren in the real world. As such, Califf should not be able to exist outside of the written world."

"Then how?" Jameson is still curious.

"I believe the bond you share has brought her with you. Your lives are bound together so as long as you exist in the real world, so does she. That, I'm afraid, can't happen for Cassandra and Gavin."

"So she'll either leave him or stay in her story," Jameson surmises. "And she won't leave him, will she?"

"I do not believe so, no." He shakes his head. "You will probably never see her again."

"We could go back," Califf offers.

"But we're already here," Jameson argues. "This is the ending all story owners from Hamish work towards. I've achieved it; I'm free."

"Congratulations." Hemlock claps before rushing into his living room and opening a large picture window. "This is Manchester, England, in the real world. Welcome."

Jameson gawks at the bright city lights. "It's amazing. Will I live here from now on?"

"If you like, or you could travel the world. Anything is possible."

"But I haven't any real money." Jameson folds out his pockets.

"We're both covered in scales," Califf adds. "We'll draw attention."

"Nonsense, you look perfectly normal from a distance," Hemlock tries to be supportive. "You're rather lucky she isn't a blue siren like that mouthy one." Califf seems to be annoyed with his opinion of Drea.

"But money…" Jameson reaffirms.

"Oh pish-posh." Hemlock waves the idea away. "Do you know how much money I stand to make from selling your story? It would be a crime if I didn't at least share the profits with you. You see, nothing will stand in your way."

"You're rather helpful," Jameson is suspicious.

"I must admit that none of my characters have ever decided to stay in the real world with me," he sighs. "I'm rather lonely, you see. This is a rare opportunity. You are free to enjoy your happy ending with your siren friend right here with me. There is no reason for you to return to the written world, is there?"

"What about Druine?" Califf asks.

"Ah yes, that jungle girl," Hemlock mutters as he scans the pages of a different book. "I haven't gotten around to writing about her yet but she is to become queen of West Capitith, along with Abraham as king."

"Are you serious?" Jameson is impressed. "Are they married?"

"In Ambrose's book they are." He shows them a chapter of From Beyond the Woods called The Wedding Duel.

"Is this true? Is Cassandra marrying Gavin?" Jameson takes it from him. "Wait, they're fighting. Why are they trying to kill each other? I have to get back there."

"Hold on there, you can't enter Ambrose's story," Hemlock stops him. "You nearly died the last time you became entangle with him. I won't let it happen again. Besides, this hasn't even taken place yet."

"What do you mean?" Jameson is once again at a loss.

"I told you, I fell behind on writing your story. Ambrose must be reading further ahead than me. You were last seen in the ruins of Capitith almost a year before this wedding takes place."

"But I was just there. How can that be?"

"I told you, different points in the story. Time is an irrelevant thing when something is inscribed to paper. Every second is set in stone forever. See?" He turns the pages back until they are reading about Druine and Abraham stepping off the ship to greet Cassandra and Gavin. "This is what it means to be in a story."

"I don't like it." Jameson frowns. "It feels like I have no control."

"Exactly why I want you to stay here. I want all of my characters to live in the real world with me but none of them ever do. You will be the first. It'll be like watching my work come to life… and maybe play their own part in the movie deal I'm negotiating," he adds.

"What's a movie?" Jameson doesn't understand.

"Never mind, we'll talk about that later. Right now you need to go to the hospital." Hemlock notices the wound on his shoulder.

"What's a hospital?" Jameson is still completely clueless.

"It's like an infirmary," Hemlock explains as he leads them both outside to his car, a shiny black Porsche.

"And this is?" Jameson asks immediately.

"It is an automobile."

"An automatic mobile," Jameson expands the word. "Does that mean it moves on its own?"

"You're pretty smart." Hemlock grins as he starts the car. Jameson and Califf climb into the backseat and stare out the windows in awe as he drives them to the hospital.

He makes sure that they see a special physician who already knows about the written world and is actually a word doctor in his free time so as not to draw suspicion. He patches Jameson and Califf up easily before sending them on their way. His only price is some publicity from Hemlock when The Pits of Capitith is released.

"I still don't understand entirely," Jameson starts his questions again as soon as they are back in the car. "Are you also real?"

"I was born in the real world, yes," Hemlock answers. "As such I can leave any time I want."

"But that means that all word doctors are real people. They probably could write anyone they want out of the book of Hamish at any moment," Jameson realizes.

"It's not an impossible idea but how would that benefit anyone? Who would take care of every new person leaving the story? We can each only handle one person at a time and only because of the stories we write. Think of the story as a test. You earned my support and the reward of freedom."

"I guess it would be pretty difficult to bring the entire village here at once," Jameson realizes. "I always assumed word doctors were just selfish."

"That's not entirely untrue either," Hemlock admits. "We all have different morals. I like to think of myself as honest but not all of us even think of you as real people. We feel no remorse when one of you dies or is killed."

"I didn't want to know that," Jameson is saddened. "I was just starting to like you."

"I'm just being honest," Hemlock assures him. "If you're lucky then you end up with Mayberry or Tabitha. They actually treat you like real people. Mayberry has story owners from all over while word doctors like Ambrose refuse to write about anyone not from Hamish."

"I think I would have liked to meet this Mayberry," Jameson is intrigued.

"Someday I might introduce you. She is working on three different stories right now so she is too busy for me to just drop in on. As I said, she accepts all sorts of story owners, worthy or not. I don't want to bother her until I know her workload has decreased."

"I can wait," Jameson agrees. "I still have to get used to this real world," he stresses the words as if he still doesn't believe it.

"Why don't I show you around Manchester tomorrow," Hemlock offers. "You can tell me about the ending of your story firsthand afterward and I will have it ready for publishing any day."

"I don't know how to thank you, Hemlock. It appears I was wrong about at least one word doctor."

"You can call me Lawrence, and you're welcome Jameson. I look forward to your company for a long time to come."

30: From Beyond the Woods

Cassandra yawns as she rolls over in the large comfortable bed. Her arm falls on the empty space next to her where her husband would be sleeping if she'd had a real fairytale wedding. Instead she is sleeping alone in the high tower where she has been locked for almost a month.

Gavin has come to visit her every day. He talks to her for hours about everything and nothing, trying to convince her to abandon her quest for vengeance and live as his queen. She has not completely shut him out. She responds to his questions and asks him different things in return. If not for the door between them they would almost seem like a normal married couple.

Now that she is no longer playing a role and plotting her revenge, she has actually started to listen to him. She has learned much about the man she thought she could never love. In fact, she has caught herself thinking about him as her actual husband more than once. He is obviously still in love with her as well. If not for her stubbornness she is sure he would have forgiven her a long time ago.

Her only other contact with the outside world, apart from food and water, is Flower. As she does every morning, the tiny fairy slips through the keyhole of the locked door to greet her master. "Good morning." Cassandra smiles at her. "How have your stories been?" she shows interest in her best friend's side hobby of helping other story owners.

"The usual," Flower sighs. "I'm not sure I can do this much longer. I've helped dozens of children find their way and I'm no closer to getting any form of honorable mention. I'm more like the hag they dread having intrude upon their story."

"Don't give up," Cassandra tries to be supportive. "They just don't realize how lucky they are to have you."

"Neither do you," Flower mutters almost inaudibly.

"Excuse me?" Cassandra is offended.

"You are the worst of them all!" Flower loses her temper. "You used me."

"I had no choice. This is what having a story has earned me. You're the lucky one."

You got your revenge and now you're paying the price," Flower spits angrily. "Is it nice? Is it nice, Cassandra? What is it like having a story? Is it everything you ever dreamed it would be? Do you love your prince? Are you happy? Is this your happy ending?"

"It's not over yet. We're still here. If I was happy then the story would have ended."

"What will make you happy?" Flower is breathing heavily. "Are you going to just be miserable for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, Cassandra, what will make you happy?" a deep voice interrupts them. Both girls spin around to face the intruder blocking the still locked door.

"Ambrose!" Cassandra gasps when she recognizes the red skin and sun bleached hair.

"It's been a long time." He smiles at her. "How have you been?"

"How have I been?" she is furious.

"Wait, don't answer that." He pulls a book out of his satchel; From Beyond the Woods.

"My book," Cassandra breathes.

"Do you like it? It's selling rather well. You have become quite popular."

"I hate you." She grits her teeth.

"Aren't you grateful?" he pretends to be confused. "I gave you everything you asked for. You are now married to a king? Aren't you happy, Queen Cassandra? Isn't this what you wanted?" She continues to glare without responding.

Slowly he flips the book open to the first page. "There once was a young girl in the village of Hamish. She was extremely conceited and spoiled. She dreamed of having her own story but the only way to make that happen was…"

"Shut up." Cassandra points at him angrily.

"I'm just reading the story," he feigns ignorance. "She was so desperate that she agreed to trade the lives of her family…"

"Shut up!" Cassandra repeats louder.

"You asked for this," he taunts her.

"You killed them, not me!" she spits.

"I am but a humble word doctor. I do what I can to get a good story; nothing more."

"How many?" Flower interrupts.

"Pardon?"

"How many children's lives have you ruined?"

"Oh come now, you're just jealous. Deep down you wish you could marry a prince as well."

"So why then? Why did you take Cassandra and not me?" Flower changes her question. "Was I not good enough?"

"Now there's a very interesting question." He strokes his chin in thought. "When Hemlock sent the notice, I was overjoyed. I could not believe how stupid he was. You two were chalk full of potential. All he needed to do was harvest it the right way. He never thinks outside the box. He just grabs a child and tosses them into a story head over heels. What fun is that? Come on, Hemlock; take a little risk now and then."

"Risk?" Flower recalls the word. "Mayberry used that term."

"She would." He smirks. "Mayberry loves risk. She takes all of the sorry excuses for stories and she calls it risk."

"But she wouldn't take mine!" Flower screams. She is getting angrier by the second. "Why not? Why am I not good enough?"

"On the contrary, Mayberry begged me for your story. She demanded that I leave you to her," Ambrose informs her.

"I don't understand. Mayberry said I had no potential."

"Then she lied to you. She was desperate for your story. I can't tell why. You ended up like this after all. But then again, you did come galloping into my tale. You set up shop and repeatedly messed the whole thing up. That's the trouble with extra characters like you. Mayberry needs to learn to stay out of my business."

"So you didn't want my story?" Cassandra tries to understand.

"I didn't say that. I said it could have gone either way. I would have loved to see how losing dear old mommy would have affected this explosive cannonball." He gestures to Flower.

"Why did you make my story so horrible?" Cassandra demands. "You killed everyone I got close to."

"Not everyone. I let Hemlock's boy live, didn't I? And you're still married to a prince, am I right? Of course that can be changed."

"Don't you hurt him," Cassandra and Flower spout at once.

"Oh dear," he realizes the situation before they do. "You like him too, don't you, little fairy."

"No," Flower lies.

"I can see it in your eyes. Maybe it's not him; you just want your own prince to sweep you off your feet. Well you're never gonna get it like this. How would you like to switch writers? I'll have an opening pretty soon. One of my stories is about to end." He grins at Cassandra.

"You're going to kill her?"

"That depends." He shrugs. "I like to watch what holes characters dig for themselves. I may be the writer but she's still the main character. Do you think she's innocent in all this? She's the one who had you kill the king. I may have set her on the path to revenge but I had no idea how it would go. I must say, I have never seen a more magnificent wedding in my life. The guests will be talking about it for decades."

"Shut up!" Cassandra loses her temper again.

"He's right." Flower turns to her friend. "He didn't tell you how to kill the king. You did that yourself."

"It's still his fault. He started everything. He's a monster. He doesn't care who dies as long as he gets to write about it. How can you be so cruel?"

"Because you're not real," he answers coldly. There is none of the normal mocking laughter in his voice this time. "You are nothing but written words in a book. You don't exist."

"But neither do you." Cassandra's mouth hangs open.

"Oh I'm real alright. I'm not some scribble on a piece of paper. I'm a living breathing person."

"Why are you standing here then?" Flower asks an interesting question. "How did you get here?"

"The king let me in." He gestures to the door.

"Gavin? Gavin sweetie, are you out there?" Cassandra calls through the wooden barrier.

"I'm here, Cassie," he answers. "Are you okay? Have you spoken with the wizard?"

"Why did you let him in here? Make him leave at once."

"Why? He is the great wizard. He lends his council to Ferery in times of need. I thought he could help us overcome this difficult time in our lives together."

"I love you, Gavin, but you're an idiot. This is my word doctor. He is dangerous."

"What?" Gavin opens the door immediately.

"Hello, your highness." Ambrose bows politely. "The queen and I were just having a friendly chat as you requested."

"Never mind that, what did she say about a word doctor?"

Ambrose glares at Cassandra. "Please don't involve me in this. It ruins the authenticity of the story." He then turns back to Gavin with a smile. "She's just being unreasonable."

Gavin slowly relaxes his stance, accepting Ambrose's lie. "Gavin, what have we been talking about," Cassandra scolds him. "You need to be a more capable ruler. You can't trust the people your father put in place."

"Um… right." He draws his sword. "What now?"

"Stop this at once," Ambrose snaps. "I'm just about to leave anyway."

"Don't let him," Cassandra orders her husband. He widens his stance to block the doorway.

"Are you going to let her speak to you that way?" Ambrose tries to reason with him.

"I'm his wife and the queen. He should listen to me."

"She's lied to you before. Don't be fooled again. She's just using you the same way she used the fairy and Lord Nedan." Again Gavin lowers his sword.

"How would he know about that?" Cassandra asks. "He wasn't here. He's the writer. He's controlling everything."

"Did you write my father's death?" Gavin's voice grows stern.

"I merely transcribed it. I had nothing to do with the actual event."

"He planned the murder over two years ago," Cassandra spouts. "He had Nedan kill my family so I would seek revenge."

"Then why didn't you take it out on him?" Gavin argues. "Why did you kill my father if he was just a pawn?"

"I knew he wouldn't appear again until I completed my story. I had to follow his plot in order to get my revenge against him."

"Well he's here now. What are you going to do?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to kill him."

"No." Gavin shakes his head.

"Please, I have to do this."

"Haven't you killed enough? You're a bottomless pit of death, Cassandra. It has to stop somewhere."

"It will; with him. He's the last person I will ever harm. After he is dead, I'll do whatever you want me to. I'll hang for treason or rule by your side as queen. I'll stay in this tower for the rest of my life if you so wish it. Just let me kill him."

Gavin's hand is shaking. "Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

"You've lied to me before."

"Not this time. I need your help, Gavin. I need you."

"What a time to finally be honest," he tries to laugh.

"Give me the sword, Gavin." Cassandra reaches toward him.

"Now wait just a minute." Ambrose stomps his foot. He can hardly believe that Gavin is willing to trade his life for his wife's obedience.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore." Cassandra moves to stand next to him. She has grown several inches in the two years since they last met. She is no longer the frightened child whose life he ruined. "Give me the sword, Gavin."

"No," he refuses.

"Gavin, I'm serious." Cassandra grabs his hand, trying to wrench the sword free.

"Stop it!" He shoves her away. "This is my sword. Why does everyone try to take it from me?"

"Gavin honey, just give it to me." She knocks him backwards, causing him to drop it. He lunges for it but she is quicker, scooping it up and pointing it at Ambrose.

"Now you've made me angry." His eyes flare as he opens his leather bound notes to write something. "And then the troubled queen turned the blade on her husband," he mumbles out loud as he scribbles as fast as he can. Without meaning to, Cassandra's hand sways, pointing the blade at Gavin.

"What are you doing?" Gavin demands.

"It's not me." She struggles to maintain control.

"Her hatred for the kingdom of Ferery was too great. She had to destroy the entire bloodline, even if it meant killing her own husband," Ambrose continues.

"No, that's not true," she resists. "I love him; I don't want him to die. Flower, help me." The fairy flutters above her, casting an array of sparks down on her. Her eyes glow white as she manages to pull the sword back toward Ambrose.

"You stubborn little sprite!" he is furious. "Why can't you just get out of my story?"

"I don't answer to you," Flower mocks him.

"We'll see about that," he threatens her. "Having spent all of her energy controlling the strong willed Lord Nedan, young Flower soon felt her power fading. She was unable to keep the sick queen from enacting her final revenge on King Adrian's progeny. In fact, at that very moment, the string to the pendent around her neck broke, severing her short lived existence as a fairy and returning her to human form."

On command, the necklace falls to the floor. All of the sparks swirling around Cassandra return in a flurry, obscuring Flower from view. When they finally fade, Jezebel is standing in the middle of the room instead. She sways back and forth dizzily as she tries to compensate for the sudden rush.

It is all the time Ambrose needs to take control of Cassandra again though. "With no more interference, the queen managed to plunge the great sword into King Gavin's chest, completing her quest for revenge once and for all!" he practically shouts.

Cassandra struggles as her arms move to obey. They drag her towards Gavin with his sword pointed directly at his chest. The king does not move though; he does not even seem concerned. With ease he slaps the back of her wrist, causing her to drop the sword where he catches it with his other hand and quickly turns it on Ambrose. "I told you before, this is my sword. It only obeys me!" He stabs the word doctor in the back and twists the blade painfully, puncturing Ambrose's left lung.

"No!" Cassandra shouts as the word doctor falls to the floor.

"What the…?" Ambrose's eyes are wide with horror. "You can't have. I'm the word doctor. I'm invincible. You're just a story."

Gavin grits his teeth as he glares at the bleeding man. He has almost no idea what he is talking about. Cassandra is still enraged though. "He was mine!" she screams at Gavin. "I waited two years for this. You stole it from me."

"I'm the king now, isn't that what you said? I have to take responsibility."

"But my revenge!"

"You are my queen. I will take on any burden for you. You have never killed someone with your own hands before."

"Neither had you," she counters.

"Well now I have." He shrugs.

She grabs him by the shoulders, hugging him tightly. "You're such an idiot," she sobs.

"I know." He pats the back of her head. "That's why you love me."

Ambrose's jaw hangs open as he stares at the pair. He is unable to even talk anymore. His blood is seeping into the floorboards. Finally he simply collapses, lying perfectly still. "What now?" Jezebel asks as she props herself on Cassandra's nightstand. "Is your story over? Will it ever end?"

"I don't know," Cassandra admits. "It's kinda strange. I never even thought about it. I was so obsessed with my revenge that I couldn't even imagine living after it was over. I always thought I would die achieving it. I don't know what to do now."

"You don't have to do anything." Gavin hugs her again. "This is your future. You are my queen." She manages a weak smile that quickly fades though. Something seems to be clinging to her feet. She starts to scream as she sinks into the floor like water. Gavin tries to grab her arms but it is too late, she is gone.

Cassandra can't see anything as she sinks in the darkness. The voices of Gavin and Jezebel shouting above her quickly start to fade. She can distinctly feel the sensation of falling. It seems to last forever. Finally she lands on a carpeted floor with a soft thud. As the room becomes brighter, she stares up at a different ceiling than that of her tower.

The room is dimly lit with an arching roof and high windows. As she stands up she notices shelves lining every wall. They are filled to the brim with books. "Excuse me," a woman with short black hair, a round face and thick rimmed glasses stares down at her from a ladder propped against the nearest shelf. "What are you doing in the library? It will be closing soon."

"I don't understand. Where am I?" Cassandra tries to look outside the window but it is too high to see anything but the sky, which is orange with twilight.

"Dear child, where are you from?" The woman slowly descends the ladder. She leans closer to examine her.

"H-Hamish," she stutters. "I was just in Ferery."

"Oh dear." The woman shakes her head. "What should I do?"

"What is going on? Who are you?"

"My name is Iris Mayberry." She shakes Cassandra's hand. "You are a story owner."

"I know that." Cassandra jerks her hand free. "I just finished my story."

"How?" Mayberry is curious.

"I got my revenge. That was the whole point."

"But most people with stories like to live happily ever after with the prince they married or in the town they saved."

"But isn't escaping the whole point?" Cassandra disagrees. "Doesn't anyone ever choose to leave their story to live in the real world?"

"I've only ever heard of one." Mayberry hands her a rather thick book; The Pits of Capitith.

"Is this Jameson's story?" Cassandra asks.

"It's by a friend of mine named Lawrence Hemlock," Mayberry explains. "He ends it with the main character marrying a siren who saved his life. I helped him write part of it. Normally the reward for a successful story is freedom from its pages. However, not many actually choose to leave. Jameson is uniquely able to stay with his wife despite leaving his story."

"You wrote part of it?" Cassandra is surprised.

"One of my characters became tangled in the story," she admits. "A small fairy named…"

"Jezebel!" Cassandra shouts.

"How did you know that?" Mayberry's eyes narrow. "Where are you from? What story?"

"Beyond the Woods," she answers. "I am Princess Cassandra of Ferery."

"I was worried about this. I was helping Ambrose write your story recently."

"You helped him?" Cassandra grits her teeth.

"I had to write about Jezebel, you see. She's very important to me."

"I don't understand. Why aren't you aware of how my story ends?"

"Ambrose was going to talk to you. I was supposed to meet him here when he was finished. I have part of his latest work right here though." She holds up an unfinished copy of From Beyond the Woods.

"So you don't know what happened to Ambrose?" Cassandra asks cautiously.

"No. What did happen? I'm anxious to see." She quickly turns the pages until she reaches the end. "Oh my god!" she screams as she drops the book. "What have you done?"

"I took my revenge," Cassandra answers confidently. "He killed my family."

"They weren't real, child. You aren't real. Ambrose was a real person. He was a writer in the real world."

"I don't understand."

"Long ago, Avis Silverman found the book of Hamish and brought it to this library. He learned how to infiltrate its pages and travel into different stories. When he was too old to write them himself, he started a society in the real world known as the word doctors. He told them his secret and passed on his teachings. Two generations later, here we stand. I have only been a member of the word doctors for five years. Ambrose has been at it for much longer."

"And you just jump into the pages of a book and mess with peoples' lives?" Cassandra accuses her.

"It's no different than writing a story normally. You don't exist."

"I'm standing here right now!"

"That's actually a problem, you see. None of the characters we write about ever outlive their stories. The world would be overrun by you fictional people if you did. You're not supposed to choose to leave the story."

"But I was promised…"

"And you were supposed to find something better inside. Where is your prince? Aren't you happy with him?"

"I…" Cassandra is at a loss. She is not sure if she really loves Gavin at all. He has done so much for her while she just keeps using him. "I don't know. Besides, isn't it too late?"

"It's never too late." Mayberry smiles sweetly, forgetting about Ambrose for the moment. "All I have to do is write you back into the story; say something like and then Gavin and Cassandra lived happily ever after as husband and wife."

"Can you also do that for Jezebel? You are her word doctor, aren't you?"

"What is it you want me to do?"

"Give her a story of her own," Cassandra suggests hopefully. "She deserves it more than anyone I know. She's so kind and helpful. She answers the beck and call of any story owner in need."

"Yes she does, doesn't she?" Mayberry's smile grows. "She's been ever so helpful. I was being laughed at for the stories I was writing. None of my characters ever did anything amazing until she came along. Look here." She retrieves a copy of The Thief of Baylor Bridge from the shelf.

"Young Malcolm and Anna have eloped. They are living in a mansion he was able to afford from his exploits. She has a doctor making regular house calls for her condition and receives iron supplements from red meat instead of blood transfusions. They are expecting their first child. The people of the town call him the mysterious young lord. Isn't it wonderful?"

"No," Cassandra shouts. "You used her. You used Jezebel."

"As did you, child."

"She's my friend; my fairy."

"I needed help too and there was no fairy for me; so I created one. Is that so wrong?" Mayberry counters.

"Yes! She deserves her own story. I demand that you begin writing one for her immediately."

"Oh poor naïve child," Mayberry laughs.

Cassandra glares at her as she pulls another book off the shelf. "End of Happiness," she reads allowed. "What is that?"

"This is the story of a poor young girl from the village of Hamish. She desperately wanted her own story, but just wasn't worthy."

"That's not fair," Cassandra interrupts.

Mayberry ignores her and keeps reading. "While most main characters fight monsters and marry princes, this little girl would take a different path. This is the story of young Jezebel Flowers; a side character in her own story. Written by I. S. Mayberry."

"That's horrible. Why would you do that to her?" Cassandra gasps. "She deserves more."

"Isn't it interesting though?" Mayberry continues to smile mischievously. "All this time she wasn't worthy of being a main character, she became one. She is the main extra character in dozens of my stories. She's been honorably mentioned by two of the most famous writers of the society; Hemlock and Ambrose. She's the answer to my prayers."

"You can't keep using her," Cassandra disagrees. "When will her story actually end?"

"When she finds happiness, I suppose." Mayberry shrugs. "She's been so busy helping others, she hasn't realized that she's in a story of her own yet. When she stops beating herself up for the feelings of jealousy she is having and actually embraces them, she'll be ready to find her own path."

"You did this all on purpose," Cassandra realizes. "This was all to make her worthy."

"Exactly. If I had come to your door saying you needed to be a side character…"

"I would have slammed it in your face," she admits.

"Jezebel believed me. She believed that she wasn't worthy and that's what made it true. When she overcomes her low self respect, she will be ready."

"What if I tell her?" Cassandra suggests.

"That might work if she believes you, but it also might make her think you are patronizing her and set her back even further."

"So I shouldn't say anything?" Cassandra sighs.

"Before you even decide, does this mean you intend to return? You won't ever see her again if you don't."

"How do you know? She might choose to leave as well."

Mayberry shakes her head. "Does she seem like the type of person to give up her prince when he comes along?"

"No," Cassandra admits with a smile. "She'll stay with him forever."

"So now it is your choice to make. Will you go back?"

"Of course I will." She nods. "I want to see Gavin and Jezebel again."

"So be it." Mayberry opens From Beyond the Woods and starts to scribble. Almost immediately, everything goes black again. Cassandra can feel herself rising from the floor of the library. She is sure she has passed the ceiling without even touching it. She closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling of ascension as the air flows past her.

When she finally opens them, she is lying on the floor of the tower again. "Cassie!" Jezebel hugs her. "Where did you go?"

"I don't know," Cassandra groans. "Where is Ambrose?" she quickly spots the blood on the floor where his body had been.

"I had the guards remove him," Gavin answers. Cassandra smiles when she sees him. "Welcome home, my queen." He spreads his arms. She leaps off the floor, knocking Jezebel away as she grabs him around the waist and kisses his cheek. Looking over her shoulder, Gavin can see the look of disappointment on Jezebel's face. "Do not worry, Flower. She's hasn't forgotten you."

"Of course I haven't." Cassandra grabs Jezebel's arm and drags her closer so she can hug them both at once. "I'm so sorry for everything I did… to both of you. I was blinded by revenge and I hurt so many people."

"There are reasons why I must forgive my wife," Gavin explains, "but I'm not so sure others will understand."

Jezebel is looking at her feet with a dejected expression. "I'm going to have to continue being a fairy, aren't I?"

"Not if you don't want to," Cassandra chooses to risk encouraging her. "You don't need someone writing about your life in order to have one. Go and find your prince. Live your life the way you want to. Forget what Mayberry told you."

"Mayberry? You met her? What did she say?"

"Nothing I plan to repeat." Cassandra smiles. "Go, Jezebel. Find your own story. Mine is over."

"But you're my best friend. What if I never see you again?"

"You can return here anytime you want," Cassandra assures her. "Besides, I know how to call you." She pulls the string from the original pendent out of her pocket. Somehow the sphere has returned to its rightful place at the end. The engravings still make it look like a tiny person tucked into a ball. "Any time you want to see me, just put on the necklace," Cassandra explains.

Jezebel hugs her again. "I won't leave right away," she informs her. "I need to make sure you two are happy together."

"I'll prepare a boat to take you anywhere you want to go," Gavin offers, "and I shall have my most trusted men accompany you. We will always be in your debt, Flower." He lowers himself onto his knee and kisses the back of her hand.

She immediately starts to giggle. "My name's Jezebel."

Cassandra taps her foot impatiently as Gavin continues to hold her best friend's hand. "What about me?" She finally breaks them apart. "We never even kissed at our wedding. We haven't spent one night together."

"That can be arranged." Gavin winks at Jezebel before scooping Cassandra into his arms, causing her to scream. Jezebel hops up and down giddily while covering her mouth to keep from squealing. He carries her down the steps of the tower with Jezebel in tow.

When they reach the bottom, he kisses her on the lips, surprising both girls equally. Jezebel feels the familiar twinge of jealousy but is not upset. She knows that she yearns for her own story, not to steal her best friend's. It has been two years since she left the village of Hamish. She is finally ready to start her own journey.

31: Days in a Dungeon

Following the end of Cassandra's story, as promised, Gavin sets Jezebel sailing on a ship with a crew of ten good men, one of which is Casper, who volunteered for the journey shamelessly. He was almost desperate to leave Ferery and clear his head of his father's sudden turn to treason. He seems completely unaware that the only woman on board is actually the fairy which he used to consort with.

None of the men accept the designation of captain and instead choose to nominate her. The first order she gives is to sail into port at Baylor where she wishes to revisit some of the people she once helped with their stories. Perhaps seeing them again will help her decide how to begin her own.

It is a three day trip in the small vessel. They arrive at the seaside port only a few miles from the city that never sleeps. The normal traders that would usually offer them transportation to Baylor are nowhere to be seen. Instead, several castle guards are waiting with spears raised. Not knowing what to do, the crew looks to Jezebel for instructions.

Although she started the journey in a tan dress given to her by Cassandra, Jezebel has become accustom to wearing men's clothes during the three days she has been at sea. It is much easier to stand on deck without the hem of her dress getting caught under her boots. She is now wearing slacks and a loose fitting white shirt not unlike the one Gavin was wearing when they first met. Her hair has once again been braided into pigtails, following her return to human form and she is wearing a three cornered hat.

As she steps off the ship and onto the docks, she spreads her arms wide and welcomingly, to show the guards that she does not mean them harm. "Good day to you," she greets them politely.

"Halt!" They point their spears at her. "What business do you have at this port?"

"We sail from Ferery to the nighttime city of Baylor," she answers honestly.

"The nighttime city sees no visitors anymore, mum," the lead guard informs her.

"I don't understand." Jezebel raises an eyebrow. "We just saw the queen at King Gavin's wedding."

"And that was her last public appearance. The city of Baylor is under marshal law at the moment. No ships are being allowed in or out," the guard explains.

"Why?" Jezebel is utterly surprised.

"A civil dispute has broken out. The queen has become suspicious of all outsiders and has closed the harbor."

"You should at least send word to nearby kingdoms, lest they waste a journey," she argues.

"That is not our concern. Unfortunately, we can not allow you to leave now that you are here."

"What? What does that mean? Are you going to detain us?"

"Precisely, mum." He motions to the other spear holders who quickly move to back him.

"You can't be serious. Just let us return to our ship and we'll be on our way."

"The queen believes you may take sensitive information back with you if you are allowed to leave," the guard argues.

"We've been here five minutes," Jezebel is becoming angry. "We've learned nothing."

"Except what I just told you."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Because you asked." He shrugs.

"I don't believe this. Fine, we'll enter your stupid city."

"I'm sorry, but you won't be allowed to roam the streets."

"This just never ends, does it?" she groans. "Where are we to stay, then?"

"The castle dungeon," he answers in an almost apologetic voice.

"So we're prisoners?"

"Basically." He lowers his head to show how sorry he is.

"And if we refuse?"

"Then I have orders to kill you all and burn your ship."

"Of course you do," she sighs. "Anything else I should know?"

"If you have any weapons, it would be wise to surrender them now."

"Men, show them the armory," she orders.

"Right away, mum." They rush off obediently.

The trek to Baylor is longer than anticipated as they are required to walk. The spear holders are as polite as possible without breaking the orders of their queen. Jezebel spends the entire time grumbling about how ungrateful and paranoid Rittier is and how Jessup would never have let this happen. The guards only seem to agree.

After arriving in Baylor, they are paraded through the town like common criminals. No one seems to be around to stare at them though. The entire population has left the streets desolate as they remain locked indoors. Something has them scared enough to let the normally bustling city lay quiet for once.

Eventually they reach the castle drawbridges where they are led over the moat and through the main gate. Across the courtyard and into the castle, they are marched down several flights of large stone steps until they come to a dark damp prison ward that can only be the dungeon. "I'm terribly sorry about this," the guard apologizes one more time before locking them each in separate cells.

The sound of their captors ascending the steps again is all the ten men and their female captain can hear from this far underground. There is only one source of light in Jezebel's cell; a high window far above. "Is everyone alright?" she calls to her subordinates.

"We're all fine, mum," Casper answers from the cell next to hers. The stone walls between them make it impossible for them to see each other. "What is the plan?"

"For now, we wait," she answers. "Let us hope the queen comes to her senses soon."

"And if she doesn't?" Casper is skeptical.

"Then we escape, simple as that."

"Simple eh?" he does not sound convinced. "Whatever you say, mum."

Jezebel grips the crescent pendent in her pocket tightly. It would be all too easy to put it on and transport to Cassandra like she did before. Of course that would involve leaving her loyal crew behind. If done properly she could return with a proper fighting unit from Ferery to save them… if they have not been executed in her absence.

Something stays her hand though. She is not excited about the idea of relying on her friend. Cassandra's story is over; this is her time to show her true colors. Perhaps this is part of her story. She should at least try to figure a way out on her own before crawling back to Cassandra like a beggar. She lies down on the floor of the cell, staring up at the window and hoping for a miracle.

As the hours turn to days and eventually weeks, Jezebel continues to wait. She is almost dreading having to make a decision. Her loyal crew is not against sitting still as they have no idea that she holds the key to their salvation. She seems as powerless as them.

After nearly a month, Jezebel finally grows tired. She decides to wait one more day before abandoning her pride and returning to Ferery with her tale between her legs. It is early morning after a restless night and she is once again lying on her back staring up at the barred window above her cell.

She sighs to herself as she stands up. During her time here she has learned a few tricks. She uses the cracks between the bricks in the wall to climb up to the window. Just as the last time she did this, all she can see is the wall surrounding castle grounds. She has been waiting for anything opportunistic to come along, but of course there has been nothing.

Once again she drops back down to the floor of the cell without accomplishing anything. The noise can be heard by the other prisoners nearby. "How are you fairing, milady?" the next cell's occupant asks.

"I'm fine, Casper," she responds quickly, not wanting to worry her fellow shipmates. They have all been rather protective of her considering she is the only woman they have ever sailed with. During the trip they got to know her rather well.

"What's the plan?" Casper shouts back.

Jezebel rolls her eyes. She finds it amusing that all of these strong men are relying on her to rescue them. "For now, just wait," she responds calmly.

"We've been waiting for weeks. You're the captain. Think of something."

"Who made me captain?" she argues.

"We're a small crew, milady. King Gavin only spared one ship and the minimal manpower to sail it."

"I said that we were going to wait for the queen to realize her mistake and let us go?" she reminds him.

"What if I said you'd gone mad? If only we'd had a time schedule to keep; the king and queen would realize something is wrong and send someone to rescue us."

"Quit whining," Jezebel grumbles. "You're probably safer in here than you are out there." As if to litigate her point, a sudden crash outside shakes the entire dungeon. Quickly scaling the wall again, Jezebel peeks out the barred window once more. She immediately notices a giant hole in the castle wall and several armed attackers plowing through. "The castle's under attack!" she warns her fellow prisoners. "Perhaps we are being rescued."

"Not likely," Casper disagrees. "These will be the rebelling citizens the queen's afraid of. They've come to reinstall the government."

"You mean overthrow it?" Jezebel corrects him.

"I guess the queen is not as well liked as her father. There'll never be another leader like Jessup. I don't see the reason for all this though. They could have called for her resignation before resorting to treason."

"What will happen to the queen?" Jezebel is worried.

"If all goes well for the rebels, she will be executed along with any family member who can claim right to the throne."

"Littier," Jezebel gasps.

"Yes, the princess would be the first to go," Casper agrees. Jezebel leaps down off the wall and throws herself against the door to her cell, trying to break through. "Watch yourself." Casper can hear what she is doing. "You'll not get out like that."

"I have to try." She pants for breath. "I can't let anything happen to Littier."

"What's so important about the princess of Baylor?" Casper is curious. "You'd think you was in love with her."

"All subjects are supposed to love their rulers unconditionally," Jezebel spouts an excuse.

"I heard no concern about Queen Rittier," he counters. "You've met the princess, haven't you?"

"And if I have?" Jezebel grunts while slamming against the door again.

"You're an interesting woman, milady," he retorts. "I'd like to see what you have planned when you get out of here. You'll not be able to stop all those rebels by yourself though, and mind you, we're not going against them for any reason. Not even for you, mum."

"I'm not asking you to." She slams into the door again. "I only ask that you not say where I've gone if they ask. Not a word about the princess either."

"You'll have to get out of here before you plan that far ahead," he chuckles. As if to prove him wrong, the door gives way at that very moment, breaking from its hinges and crashing to the floor of the dungeon with Jezebel on top of it. She scampers to her feet as quickly as she can. "I can't believe it," Casper gasps. "Are you hurt? Did you break any bones?"

"I'm not sure." Jezebel winces. Her adrenaline is keeping her from feeling any pain yet. "I don't think I can do that again." She pounds her fists against the door to Casper's cell.

"Don't mind us, mum. We'll be safe down here.

"Good luck to you, Casper." She taps his cell door on her way toward the dungeon stairs. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, milady."

At the top of the stairs, there is another window, this time waist height. She can see the castle attackers dispatching the guards outside easily. She dashes for the next set of stone steps of which she knows lead to the upper levels where she slept in Littier's chambers once. She does not have much time before the rebels breach the main structure.

After climbing ten flights, she reaches the same floor of which Malcolm once brought her through the window. She recognizes the carpet she first set foot on as well as the wall she clung to while the guards whipped her. It is not far from Littier's room. She rushes around the corner as fast as she can.

Immediately she bumps into another person, much taller. She falls backwards onto the floor, as does the woman in front of her. "Watch where you're going!" Queen Rittier shouts while rubbing her sore behind.

"Your majesty," Jezebel shouts when she recognizes her, "my apologies!"

"Well, considering the current situation, I can forgive you," she refers to the rebels raiding the castle. "Now who are you?"

"I'm the whipping girl," Jezebel lies. "I'm looking for the princess."

"She's in her room," the queen answers while standing up. "I told her to wait for the rebels and pretend to be you. They probably don't know what she looks like. I need you to get to her and pretend to be the princess." She lifts Jezebel to her feet by the arm.

"I'll be executed!" Jezebel is appalled.

"That's part of your duty as her servant."

"But I'm not a subject of Baylor."

"You just said you were her whipping girl."

"I…" Jezebel is trapped by her own words. "What about you?" she tries to change the subject. "How will you escape?"

"I won't." She shakes her head. "It's impossible. Even if I did run, they'd track me down. Everyone knows what I look like. No, I'm going to face them and ask that they keep their destruction to a minimal. I know the man responsible for this. Lord Creashure will want his new castle to be undamaged."

"Lord Creashure? Are you sure?" Jezebel gasps as she recognizes the name. "I thought he was banished."

"He was," Rittier answers while rolling her eyes. "He was an advisor of mine who was gaining too much popularity. I feared being overthrown by him. I had him stripped of power and rank and banished; obviously, not soon enough. I should have had him executed."

"But he hadn't done anything treasonous," Jezebel argues. "He didn't deserve to be killed."

"And neither do I but he's still going to do it. I made a choice at the time that I regret now. Is it so wrong to have regrets? I would execute a thousand lords if it meant keeping my head. Do you understand?"

"I think so." Jezebel nods vigorously. The queen is starting to scare her.

"Go." Rittier waves her away. "Protect my daughter."

"Yes, mum." She bows before rounding the next corner. She can already here the rebels clamoring up the stairs. It is too late for the queen to escape.

Jezebel pounds on the door to Littier's chambers loudly. Just as it opens, the sound of the queen screaming echoes through the halls. "Mom!" Littier shouts as she rushes out of her room. Jezebel grabs her by the shoulder and drags her back inside, slamming the door behind them. "Jez?" Littier gasps. "You're human again? What are you doing here?"

"I've been in your dungeon for weeks. Your mother is refusing safe passage for traders."

"She doesn't trust anyone coming in through the harbor," Littier explains. "Lord Creashure has been sneaking rebels in since before the Ferery wedding. How is your friend by the way?"

"She's fine, I guess. Now is not the time to talk. They are going to burst through this door any minute. We need to get out of here."

"There's no way. I've tried everything." She points to her bed where she has been tying her sheets together in hopes of making a rope. Unfortunately it is nowhere near long enough to descend from the tenth floor. Jezebel starts to dig through her pockets quickly. "What are you doing?" Littier is confused.

"Remember this?" Jezebel pulls out her crescent pendent.

"What are you going to do with that? It can only turn one of us into a fairy at a time."

"Cassandra still has the other part to it. If you put it on, you should be summoned to her."

"But what about you?" Littier whines. "You'll be left here to die."

"I'm not the princess. I'm your lowly whipping girl, remember?"

"They don't know what I look like. They'll think you're lying," Littier argues.

"So? At least you'll be alive. That's all that matters."

"Why do you care so much?" Littier frowns. "Why do you have to help everyone? Can't you ever just save yourself?"

"It's not everyone I want to help, Littier; it's you."

"I'm not your concern."

"Of course you are." Jezebel hugs her. "You're the first friend I made in Baylor. You believed in me when no one else did. I love you, Littier." She kisses the young princess's forehead.

Littier's mouth hangs open in shock. "I love you too, Jezebel," she uses her full name for the first time. "That's why I can't let you die, no matter what." She yanks the pendent from Jezebel's hand, cutting herself on the crescent in the process. She is just about to loop it over the older girl's neck when it starts to glow. "What's happening?" she gasps.

"I think it's summoning a fairy," Jezebel surmises.

"Who has the other half of the necklace?"

"My friend from the wedding," Jezebel reminds her. Just then the crescent starts to change color. It is now as red as the blood dripping from Littier's hand. When it finally stops glowing, there is a tiny fairy floating in front of them, wearing a knee length red dress with beautiful transparent pink wings fluttering behind her. "Cassandra?" Jezebel's jaw drops.

"Not quite." She winks at her. "Call me, Radish."

"Redresh?"

"No, Radish; like the vegetable. You had a special name when you were my fairy."

"We don't have time for this, Cassandra. Why are you here?"

"I missed you, so I tried to summon you. You must not have been wearing the pendent though. I decided to wear mine until you needed me; looks like it was a good idea."

Just then, someone starts to pound on the door. "Who's in there? I can hear voices."

"Quick, give me an order," Cassandra instructs.

"Um… I can't think of anything," Jezebel's mind goes blank.

"Not you; her." Cassandra points at Littier.

"Me?" the princess is confused.

"It's your blood that summoned me," she explains. "Ask anything of me and I shall make it a reality."

"We need to survive this!" Littier shouts without thinking.

"So it shall be." Cassandra waves her hand, sending red sparks out of her dress. Immediately, Littier's eyes start to glow the same color.

"What did you do?" Jezebel gasps.

"This is how you protected me, remember? With this she can fight."

"But that's the princess of Baylor. She doesn't fight."

"Well, she's about to." Cassandra shrugs. Littier leaps across the room, landing in front of the door just as it swings open.

"What the…?" the rebel behind it is caught off guard. "Are you the princess…?" his voice trails off as he notices her glowing red eyes. "What are you?" Littier doesn't answer and instead punches him in the center of the chest, sending him flying backwards into the hall.

"Sir!" the men outside all gather around him to see if he is alright.

Jezebel stares at Cassandra with wide eyes. "How did you do that? I could barely even control you let alone Nedan. It took me twice as long to build up the strength."

"Maybe I'm just better at it than you are." Cassandra shrugs again.

"But that's not fair. I was a fairy for over a year."

"It's not a contest, Jez," Cassandra tries to calm her.

"But I worked so hard." Jezebel continues to whine. "Why does everything come so easy to you? Why are you even here in my story? You have your own story. Go back to your prince and leave me with my princess."

"Jezebel, stop it." Cassandra is becoming annoyed. "You know very well that I didn't ask for my story. It was forced upon me."

"Was it?" Jezebel spits angrily. "It was a good trade, wasn't it; your family for Gavin?"

"That's enough." Red sparks fly from Cassandra's dress.

"You have everything now, don't you?" Jezebel doesn't stop. "You're here to take away my story too." She bounds across the room and grabs Littier tightly, as if to protect her from Cassandra.

"Jezebel, I'm here to help you," her friend pleads. "I couldn't have completed my story without you. Please let me return the favor."

Jezebel is shaking her head as she squeezes Littier even tighter. "You did this," she accuses her friend. "Look what you've done to her."

"Why are her eyes still red?" Cassandra is suddenly concerned. "It should have worn off by now."

"It doesn't work like that," Jezebel mutters.

"What then? How does it work?"

"I don't know. I always felt drained before the power returned to me. It transfers into the person attacked until they either die or are healed. That's what happened with Jameson."

Littier looks up at Jezebel who is still holding her, staring at her without blinking. "What's wrong with her?" Cassandra asks.

"Her mind is too weak for the power you gave her. She's moving on instinct alone."

"You mean like Gavin?" Cassandra realizes.

"Exactly like Gavin," Jezebel agrees. "How did you snap him out of it?"

"He tried to kiss me and then he stabbed Jameson. I'm not sure which actually made a difference."

"Well we're not letting her stab anyone," Jezebel is adamant. "Maybe I should try kissing her."

"What good will that do?" Cassandra is skeptical.

"It's worth a try." Jezebel takes a deep breath before leaning down so her face is next to Littier's. The princess stares at her with her head cocked, not even aware of what is happening.

"Wait!" Cassandra stops her. "That's not what snapped Gavin out of it. I slapped him, remember?"

"You want me to hit the princess of Baylor?" Jezebel is appalled.

"Just do it!" Cassandra shouts in her small squeaky voice. Jezebel closes her eyes before striking Littier across the face. She reels back in pain as the redness drains from her eyes and the sparks return to Cassandra's dress.

"It worked," the fairy is impressed. "It actually worked."

"Littier?" Jezebel presses her hand to the princess's cheek.

"Did you just hit me?" she asks slyly. Jezebel's face turns red as she averts her eyes guiltily. "It's okay." Littier kicks off the floor so she can reach Jezebel's height, wrapping her arms around her neck and kissing her cheek. Jezebel feels extremely awkward as she pries the tiny princess off of herself. Even though Littier is only two years younger than her, she is much smaller, the exact opposite of her giantess of a mother.

Suddenly their attention is drawn back to the doorway, where the men in the hall have finally regrouped. "Which one of you is the princess?" the leader demands.

"Over here, quick." Cassandra directs the two girls toward the window. "How did you make Gavin land in the pit?"

"Don't even try doing that!" Jezebel warns her.

"We don't have a choice," Cassandra argues as the men pile through the door.

"Concentrate as hard as you can to build up energy," Jezebel starts to explain. "Choose a direction in your mind and wish to go there. That's how we ended up at the beach when Jameson was hurt."

Cassandra closes her eyes and tries to follow her friend's instructions. Her dress starts to glow bright enough just as the men are upon them. All of them are knocked back as the three girls lift into the air, smashing through the window and shooting toward the ground. A crater forms around them when they land but they are unharmed. The men continue to shout at them from the window above but they have no way of following.

"Did you see that?" Cassandra squeals excitedly. "I was almost as good as you." Jezebel remains silent as they start walking toward the gate. She knows that Cassandra is trying to be polite but the truth is that she is a much better fairy than Jezebel ever was. This is not a new feeling for Jezebel. She is used to living in Cassandra's shadow. Even in her own, self-proclaimed, story she is not the main character. No matter what she does, she can't escape her own inferiority.

After fleeing the castle, Jezebel, Cassandra and Littier cross the drawbridge into Baylor. They are now fugitives in an overthrown kingdom. It is not likely they will be recognized by the men who raided the castle if seen again, but it is still too risky to try leaving any time soon. "We need somewhere to hide," Littier is the first to speak.

At the moment they are sneaking through the empty streets, trying not to draw attention from any of the people still hiding indoors. "Is there anyone you know who would harbor us?" Jezebel asks.

"None of my mother's trusted council will take me in. They will not want to risk treason against Lord Creashure. What about you? You used to live here. Do you know anyone?"

"None that would help us. Lottie will throttle me if I show up at her door. I'm sure Malcolm is long gone."

"Malcolm? Is that the thief of the bridge?" Cassandra asks.

"How do you know that?" Jezebel is surprised.

"Mayberry told me. She showed me his story. He's living up on a hill somewhere happily with an anemic girl."

"Do you mean the mysterious lord?" Littier asks.

"The what?" Jezebel is curious.

"The mysterious lord. When Creashure was banished, my mother had to fill his role on the council. As you might have guessed, anyone with money is allowed to bid for an advisory seat."

"Why?" Cassandra asks. "What does money have to do with it?"

"Several things, actually," Littier continues. "First off, a poor person is more likely to support tax cuts and such. Also a rich person is more recognizable and will receive support. Finally, a rich person can not be bribed as easily."

"Some of those reasons actually make sense," Cassandra seems surprised. "But what makes you think this thief is now a lord?"

"He appeared out of nowhere on the same night Lord Creashure was banished," Littier explains. "He had money and support so my mother gave him the position, despite being quite suspicious of him. I should have guessed he was the thief."

"Do you know where he lives?" Jezebel is hopeful.

"Up there." She points toward a hill just inside the wall of the city. As Baylor rests at the base of a mountain, where the castle is set, it only requires three walls for protection. One is the gate in front of the bridge everyone enters through while the other two have no opening.

The three companions continue their trek through the streets, avoiding passing strangers who may or may not be part of the rebellion and ducking through alleys whenever they can. Finally they reach the high class part of town where all the nobles like the Graysheks live. "His is the creepy dark mansion at the very top," Littier informs them.

"You always were dramatic, Malcolm," Jezebel sighs.

"I can't wait to meet this guy," Cassandra is excited. "Why aren't you and he a thing?"

"The thief has a vampire mistress," Littier answers before Jezebel can.

"Anemia is not vampirism," Cassandra scoffs. "I'm just curious. You had your chance to join his story and be his mistress, didn't you?"

"Jezebel is too good for a lowly thief," Littier interrupts again.

"Can you stop it," Jezebel shushes her.

"She's jealous," Cassandra surmises.

"No, she doesn't hate the thief," Jezebel insists. "In fact, she reads his stories. That's actually how we met."

"And then Jezebel was whipped by my guards," Littier adds.

"Ouch." Cassandra winces sympathetically. Jezebel glances at her friends wings for a moment, noticing how beautifully unmarked they are. She grabs her shoulders and shivers as the memory of her whipping comes back. She knows it is not Cassandra's fault but it is hard not to be resentful.

Cassandra notices her friend's apprehension and starts to pout. She is getting tired of Jezebel's attitude. It's not like she has had it any easier. She has no family left and almost bled to death on a ship full of pirates who kidnapped her after killing her first new friend. Why is Jezebel so competitive?

"Here we are," Littier announces their arrival loudly as she lifts a brass knocker from the dark oak door.

Before she has even dropped it, the barrier swings open. "Yes?" A man in a shiny black butler uniform is standing in front of her.

"I…" Littier doesn't know what to say.

"Presenting her highness, Princess Littier," Jezebel gives the introduction.

"Oh dear," the old man gasps.

"What was that?" a younger male voice emanates from the parlor. "Did she say the princess? Let them in at once. We can't have anyone seeing her here."

"Right this way." The butler bows.

The lord of the mansion is sitting in a large chair next to a burning fire, sipping from a glass of wine. "Malcolm!" Jezebel shouts as she leaps onto his lap. "I've missed you so much."

"So… have… I…" he grunts while shifting her to the armrest. "What brings you to my humble dwellings?"

"Humble my foot." She crosses her arms. "What did it take to get all this?"

"Not much really," he answers in an uninterested voice. "Once I stopped giving my earnings to the theatre, I had plenty to spend on myself."

"So you got greedy," she confirms.

"I got wise," he corrects her. "Why should I waste a fortune on ingrates like Lottie and Taylor?"

"But they were your family," Jezebel argues.

"Were is the key word, my dear," he counters. "I gave them everything and look how they repaid me."

"You don't do things like that for reimbursement."

"Look how they treated you," his voice becomes stern. "Do you miss them, Jez?"

"Actually, I do," she admits.

"Me too, that's why we will move on from this topic before we do something we'll regret like going to find them." He smirks while waving his hand as if to discard the subject.

Jezebel can't help but laugh. She knows he is not wrong. At some point Taylor and Lottie have to learn to support themselves. They are no longer the same innocent children Malcolm rescued. They are not entirely deserving of abandonment simply for a few mistakes, but it is Malcolm's choice whether he wants to stay with them or not anymore, and he has chosen not to.

"Are you two done catching up?" Cassandra interrupts them.

"And what is that thing?" Malcolm is startled.

"Hey." Cassandra is offended.

"This is my best friend, Cassandra."

"I told you to call me Radish."

"I'm not going to call you that. It's ridiculous."

"I thought I was your best friend," Malcolm pretends to pout.

"You are… I mean…" Jezebel starts to fumble over her words. Now Cassandra is pretending to be sad as well. "Will you two stop it!" she whines. "Cassandra was my best friend first. I met you much later, Malcolm."

"But I'm still your best friend now, aren't I?" he continues to badger her.

"Actually, I've been with Cassandra for the past year or so."

"Malcolm, who's out there?" the familiar voice of Anna Grayshek emanates from the next room. "Oh dear, it's the hag," she quickly recognizes Jezebel upon entering the parlor.

"That's not very nice," Malcolm scolds her. "This is my good friend, Jez. You remember her."

"I certainly do." Anna rolls her eyes. "She's the pushy girl."

"I never pushed you," Jezebel loses her temper.

"You boss my Malcolm around all the time. He told me everything."

"I said she offered me advice. Honestly I would never have met you without her help."

"I…" Anna is genuinely surprised. She actually has not had much contact with Jezebel and has no reason not to like her apart from the fact that she is a female friend of Malcolm's. "I'm sorry for what I said," she swallows her pride. "I get rather testy when Malcolm talks about other women."

"He is quite popular," Jezebel tries to laugh.

"Well now, who is this?" Anna's eyes widen as they fall on Littier. "What is the princess doing here?"

"I didn't want to tell you this, dear, but Lord Creashure forewarned the entire council that today would bear his uprising," Malcolm explains solemnly. "If I'm not mistaken, the castle has fallen."

"I can't believe you managed to con your way onto the queen's council?" Jezebel is impressed.

"Not anymore," he sighs. "It's now Lord Creashure's council; soon to be King Creashure."

"He can't be king," Littier disagrees. "He's not of royal blood."

"He needn't be. All he needs is to marry someone who is."

"Who?"

"Is she really that clueless?" Anna whispers to Jezebel.

"She's just young," she defends her princess.

Finally Cassandra becomes sick of waiting for them to tell her. "He's going to marry you," she spouts.

"Me? But I don't want to marry him."

"You don't have a choice. He's going to have you executed if you don't," Malcolm informs her.

"And the council went along with this?" Littier is horrified.

"The council agreed to sit by and watch. Lord Creashure made great threats to the reach of his rebellion. Any one of our closest allies could have been working with him. There was really nothing we could do but wait and see if he was bluffing."

"And he wasn't!" Littier is still angry.

"I'm sorry, milady, but there is nothing I can do. I am scheduled to meet Lord Creashure within a week to discuss the future of Baylor with the rest of the council. Right after…" his voice suddenly trails off.

"Right after what?" Littier is anxious.

"Right after the queen's execution," Anna answers for him.

"Oh." Littier sinks into a nearby chair. Jezebel rushes to hold her. It is not the response she was expecting. She seems almost accepting of her mother's fate. It would not surprise Jezebel if Rittier had prepared her daughter for this possibility. "When is it going to happen?"

"Soon," is all Malcolm can tell her.

Littier's lip starts to quiver, as she tries to keep from crying. Jezebel strokes her cheek softly as Malcolm and Cassandra share intrigued glances. They are both realizing the same thing; there is something more than simple friendship between these two.

"That's it!" Malcolm suddenly shouts.

"What?" all other occupants of the parlor are startled.

"I know how we can keep Lord Creashure from becoming king."

"How?" Anna asks impatiently.

"If the princess marries someone else, before Lord Creashure, then he can't worm his way into power."

"Won't he just overthrow Littier, and whoever she marries?" Anna is skeptical.

"Do you know how many people died in this uprising? He's going to have to peddle something more than his own right to the throne if he wants to do it again. All we have to do is present the princess with her new partner and ask that the people of Baylor follow her. If he has a problem with it, he'll have to start a whole new rebellion. I don't think anyone wants that."

"We'd be basing quite a lot on your instincts," Jezebel is skeptical. "They might just kill her on the spot."

"They can't do that," Malcolm disagrees. "Assassinations are not part of legal rebellion. They must properly execute her."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Littier whines. "Besides, I don't want to get married. I've never met any men except for the guards at the castle and they are all old, not to mention dead."

"Who said you were marrying a man?" Malcolm is smirking again.

Both Jezebel and Littier stare at him in confusion. "You two are so dense." Cassandra shakes her head disappointedly.

"Me?" Jezebel finally catches on. "I can't marry Littier… can I?" her voice is almost hopeful.

"You don't want to?" Malcolm taunts her.

Littier holds her breath, waiting to see what Jezebel will say. "It's not like that." Jezebel is blushing. "If I were a man of course I'd want to," she finally answers. "It's just…"

Malcolm looks at Littier, urging her to help him ensnare Jezebel in his plan. "You'll be my prince, won't you?" Littier asks with pleading eyes.

"I'm not a prince," Jezebel spouts. "Is it even legal for two women to get married?"

"There's no precedent in Baylor so there's no law against it," Malcolm informs her. "Besides, no one will know you're a girl. We'll dress you up as a boy to fool everyone."

"I know a thing or two about dressing like a boy." Cassandra raises her hand.

"So do I," Malcolm reminds her. "If you don't mind, I'll handle this."

"Oh, I can't believe it," Littier squeals. "We're going to be married, Jezebel."

"Me neither," Jezebel's voice reflects doubt. She is not sure how good of an idea this actually is. She knows she loves Littier but this is asking a little much. Perhaps the circumstances and adrenaline have warped her outlook. All she has ever wanted since she was young was to marry a prince. This is nothing like what she imagined. Can she actually go through with it?

32: Lord of the Daplands

High up in the rafters of the church, Cassandra flutters around energetically. She is too excited to stay still. Finally she descends down from the roof to sit on Jezebel's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" she asks her friend who is silently staring in the mirror in front of her.

"I look like a fool," she mopes. She is dressed in proper prince fashion with white slacks and a red military jacket pinned with medals that mean nothing. It is the exact same uniform King Jessup wore to his wedding.

"Of course you do, that's the point," Cassandra tries to cheer her up by teasing her.

Jezebel betrays a smile but doesn't feel much better. "I always thought I'd be wearing the dress on my wedding day."

"I did too," Cassandra agrees. "I just knew I'd be your maid of honor and I'd catch the bouquet and kiss the very next guy who smiled at me."

"And yet you got married first and I'm marrying a girl. Our lives have become completely overturned."

"We both knew it wouldn't be easy," Cassandra reminds her. "The books make it seem so glamorous."

"Is a little glamour too much to ask for, though?" Jezebel whines. "It's not even a proper ceremony. We're just barging into Rittier's execution dressed like idiots."

"Jezebel, there are more important things happening right now. If you get through this, then I promise you will have a proper wedding ceremony later. It'll be in Ferery with me and you can marry anyone else you want."

"Anyone?" Jezebel repeats with a sly smile.

"Anyone except Gavin," Cassandra can see through her. "He's mine. Besides, he'll be footing the expense."

"That sounds incredibly selfish," Jezebel giggles.

"It's your wedding day; you're allowed to be selfish. I assassinated my father-in-law at my wedding, remember?"

"Yeah, I didn't think Gavin was ever going to forgive you for that."

"I have him wrapped around my finger," Cassandra laughs. "Now, it's time for your wedding."

Jezebel leaves the sacristy of the church and enters the sanctuary. Littier is already standing in the congregational, wearing a plain sparkling white dress and holding a bouquet of yellow flowers, picked by Cassandra. She blushes at the sight of her partner dressed in her grandfather's uniform. "You look ridiculous," she giggles. "Where are your pigtails?"

"Don't you like this better?" Jezebel turns her head to show off her long brown ponytail.

"It suits you," Littier lies.

"I look like a fool," Jezebel huffs.

"Don't say that," Littier coos. "We only need to fool Lord Creashure. Just hold out for a little bit. You're all I have, Jezebel. I need you. Can I rely on you?"

"Look at this." Jezebel removes her jacket and rolls up her sleeve to show her the bruises from knocking down the door to the dungeon cell. "When I thought you were in trouble I…"

"I know and I am grateful to you, Jezebel, but it's not over yet. This is the last thing I'll ever ask of you, I promise."

"Don't say it like that," Jezebel sighs. She suddenly feels extremely guilty for trying to back out. "I'm here aren't I? This just isn't how I imagined things when I started this journey."

"Quiet, someone's coming," Cassandra hisses. Jezebel re-dons her jacket quickly.

"Is everyone ready?" Malcolm pokes his head into the church. "My you look wonderful," he mocks Jezebel.

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes.

"Come on, the execution is about to start." He waves them out of the church. There is a carriage and a driver already waiting to take them to the town square where Lord Creashure and Queen Rittier will be. Malcolm hands the man a coin before climbing in the back with the princess and her groom. With a crack of the whip, they are off down the cobblestone street.

A short moment later they have arrived at the location of the queen's execution, the very same riverside plaza where Nathan found the first plaque at the base of King Jessup's statue. Practically the entire town has gathered to watch the passing of their short lived ruler. It is obvious that more than one of the onlookers is not at peace with the idea of killing wise King Jessup's own daughter but there is not much they can say.

Lord Creashure is unmistakable, standing next to the stockade that plays host to the queen upon the stone stage in the exact center of the town. He is not quite as tall as her majesty but definitely not short either. He is at least in his forties, making him even older than the queen. His hair is receding and his cheeks are pudgy, as is his stomach. He is wearing high socks and buckle shoes like most of the men of power in Baylor, along with a black cockel hat and a long blue and white wool cape.

"We are gathered here today to commemorate Queen Rittier and her reign to the afterlife," he begins his speech. Immediately cries of appall and agreement erupt, demanding to know why he is not still banished or cheering him on as the future ruler. "Now, now, the queen brought this on herself. She should have taken more of her father's practices into account. What kind of woman tries to run a whole kingdom on her own? Why did she never remarry after Lord Astral's passing? I offered on many occasions."

Littier almost gags at the thought of this man being her new father, let alone his intention of marrying her after beheading her mother. Surprisingly no one has noticed the fancily dressed couple near the back of the crowd. None of them are even facing in their direction.

"Now, without further ado, it is time for the queen's reign to end," Lord Creashure shouts while waving a rather muscular man with a scythe over to the stockade.

"He's big." Cassandra's jaw drops.

"Thief, what do we do?" Littier turns to Malcolm.

"It wasn't in my original plan to save the queen," he admits. "Your rule will be more solidified if she is not alive to challenge it."

"I don't care to rule," Littier spouts. "Just save my mother."

"As you wish, milady," he responds with a smile while donning his signature hat and mask. It has been a while since the thief has appeared in Baylor, but everyone has read the stories. The executioner is just raising his scythe when Malcolm drops down onto the stage next to him, having climbed up and leaped off King Jessup's statue.

"What the…?" the normally silent man is startled into speaking.

"Hello, Ratchet. It's been a while." Malcolm offers to shake his hand.

Slowly the man reaches out to him before jerking back. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh don't play coy with me, Ratchet," he laughs. "We robbed the city treasury last year, remember? Come to think of it, you took the biggest cut."

"Hey, I remember that," Littier realizes. "I read it in The Thief."

"You were always going on about how pathetic King Jessup and Queen Rittier were," Malcolm continues. "Wait a second, you were planning this coup all the way back then, weren't you? The robbery was for funds to hire mercenaries and bribe officials."

"Shut up, thief," Ratchet hisses. "You're not in your right mind."

"What is he saying?" people begin to whisper in the crowd.

"I think he's saying that Creashure and his men are responsible for the break-in at the treasury."

"The one we had to ride through by increasing taxes?"

"We didn't eat well for months."

"Is this true, Creashure. Did you do that to us?"

"Now please, you're not going to take the word of an admitted thief, are you?" Creashure backs away from the edge of the stage.

"We've all read his stories, lord. He's just a child. He's not lying."

"Then you know that he still has your money. He's living happily in a mansion he built with it. What have you done to find his writer? She could have gotten your money back a long time ago."

"But you have most of the money, don't you?" the crowd is starting to turn on him. "You're still using it to fund your rebellion."

"This was a necessary change in leadership. I'll remind you that I still have my rebel army." He gestures to several guards behind the stage, wearing the armor of the castle soldiers and pretending they didn't take it off of dead men.

"I can't believe Malcolm had this up his sleeve the whole time." Jezebel crosses her arms. "Why am I dressed like your grandfather anyway?"

"Because the people still agree with Creashure on some level," Littier sighs. "My mother was under a lot of stress to live up to her father's name. Obviously she didn't. Now they want a replacement and preferably a male one. After the rebellion, no one is going to accept anyone my mother marries unless they are already a royal, and that's if she even makes it through the day without losing her head."

Jezebel swallows nervously. She feels guilty for making Littier talk about her own mother in this dissociative manner. "So your mother can never be queen again?" she asks.

"Not unless she marries someone who is already a king," Cassandra takes over explaining. "Littier can though. If she marries a worthy enough man, Baylor should be willing to follow him and everyone will be happy."

"What if they try to overthrow her again, though?" Jezebel worries.

"The contrast between Jessup's rule and Rittier's was too great. The people couldn't stand how bad of a leader she was. All Littier has to do is be slightly better than her mother and they will be satisfied. Rittier will serve as the example of how bad things can get."

"That's pretty harsh." Jezebel cringes. "Besides, I can't be king forever. I'm not even a man."

"We'll worry about that later." Cassandra directs her attention back to the stage where Malcolm is now locked in combat with two of the guard impersonators. Each one has a long spear that is easily dodged by the skillful thief. However, without a weapon of his own, keeping out of reach is the best he can manage.

"Cassandra, do something," Jezebel begs.

"Why me?" She crosses her arms. "I'm the smallest here."

"You're also the most powerful," Jezebel reminds her. "I didn't want to admit it, but I'm nothing compared to you. You have so much more potential then I ever will. I'm useless."

"There you go again, feeling sorry for yourself," Cassandra groans. "When does your pity festival end?"

"Radish!" Littier shouts at the fairy.

"Fine, I'll do something," she grumbles. With a flash of red sparks, Jezebel's eyes start to glow. Soon she is gliding toward the stage, knocking people out of her way as she goes.

Malcolm turns just in time to see her leap into the air. "Jez?" he is shocked at the sight of her red eyes. She lands between him and his attackers, cracking the stone stage in half.

"My god!" Creashure shouts as he flees the scene. At the bottom of the stage he is met by Cassandra and Littier, both glaring menacingly. "What is that thing?" He points back at Jezebel who is currently blocking attacks from both spearmen with her forearms.

"That's the new king," Littier responds confidently.

It is at that moment that Creashure notices her white dress. "But I'm supposed to be king. You're supposed to marry me."

"It's too late." Littier shrugs. "Unless you kill him, you'll never be ruler. And I guarantee you, assassinating a king is punishable by death." Cassandra tries not to look guilty. She has, after all, gotten away with killing a king before.

"We'll see about that." Creashure waves to the rest of his guards. Before they can even approach Littier though, the crowd of onlookers is upon them. It seems they are still angry after hearing about Lord Creashure's involvement with the treasury break-in. They attack the rebels with anything they can get their hands on, starting an all out fight for Baylor.

Up on the stage, Ratchet has joined his peers in combat, swinging his scythe at Jezebel who dances around it like it isn't even there. "He's impossible," Ratchet gasps. "There is no way he can be this fast."

"Want to put a wager on that?" Jezebel hisses. Ratchet's eyes widen as a red glow extends from her fingertips. It is the same technique the seer used to attack Nathan almost two years ago. With Cassandra's power, Jezebel has somehow managed to emulate him.

Ratchet tries to run but she is faster, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him into the air. He drops the scythe to clutch at his neck as the heat from her fingers starts to burn him.

"Jez, put him down," Malcolm orders. "You're not in control of yourself."

"I'm in perfect control." She leers at him. "Unlike all of the weak minded fools I overtook, I am in command. I can feel Cassandra's power coursing through me and I can direct it. I'm not a slave to my instincts."

"Then put him down," Malcolm repeats.

"Why?" she whispers. Ratchet's only response is a whimper.

"Because you won't be accepted as king if you do this. They'll think you are a wizard."

"So what?" She rises higher into the air, bringing Ratchet with her.

"Stop!" Malcolm calls after her but it is too late. The crowd gasps in horror as she floats up above the trees. Ratchet is only able to scream when she releases his throat. It lasts a mere second as he plummets to the ground below. Malcolm takes a step back while covering his mouth at the sound of the sickening crunch. Looking up at Jezebel, he can see that she is smiling.

By now Lord Creashure and Littier are watching in stunned silence as well. "Oh no," Cassandra breathes.

"What's wrong with her?" Littier asks.

"I bestowed upon her the power to defend herself. Most people are overwhelmed and simply let instinct take over. I don't know what's controlling her though; perhaps rage."

"Maybe it's you," Littier suddenly accuses her. "Maybe you're the problem. Did this ever happen when Flower controlled people?"

"Even if it did, she never gave them enough power to be dangerous. She only ever made us fly once and it wasn't for very long."

"So it is you. You gave her too much."

"I was holding back!" Cassandra is becoming angry. "Why does everyone feel the need to assign blame? I'm just trying to help. I'm new to this. You're the one who told me to do something."

Littier's expression changes as she realizes that Cassandra is right. Yelling at her will not help. "We need to do something."

"Try slapping her," Cassandra suggests.

"Thief, you have to strike her!" Littier yells at Malcolm.

"I don't think I stand a chance," he argues.

"Radish, can you…?" Littier starts to suggest bestowing him with power as well.

"Don't even think about it," Cassandra warns her. "I'm not turning him into a monster too."

"You're crazy. You're all crazy!" Lord Creashure has begun to panic. By now his two guards have fled the stage and been drawn into the fight with the crowd of citizens. At the moment a clear victor between the rebels and the people of Baylor is uncertain. Lord Creashure quickly slips through the masses, escaping the fight and running toward the castle. Nobody tries to stop him.

Littier is too preoccupied with Jezebel's situation to even notice. "Radish, I swear to god, you better do something about this," she is losing her tempter with the fairy again.

"You asked for it." Cassandra shoots off toward the stage. Malcolm can see the red sparks and knows what is about to happen. He takes a deep breath as they surround him. Immediately he feels invigorated, despite having just been fighting with two skilled rebels. For that matter, the rest of Lord Creashure's rebellion seems to be fleeing towards the castle as well; those who don't live in Baylor that is. Those that do are trying to blend in and act like they were never a part of the coup.

Malcolm's eyes start to glow red behind his mask, making for a rather fearful sight. The crowd is too mesmerized to turn away though. He quickly rises into the air to match Jezebel who is still smiling evilly. His first attempt to hit her is blocked easily and soon they are all out attacking each other, faster than humanly possible. "See?" Cassandra turns back to Littier. "Is this what you wanted?"

The princess does not have time to respond. She has already scaled the stage and is attempting to free her mother from the stockade. The queen is barely conscious, having not been fed in the past week and only given enough water to keep her alive. She doesn't even seem to recognize her own daughter. Littier finds the keys to the locks binding her in a pocket on Ratchet's lifeless body.

High above them, Malcolm has begun to circle Jezebel, looking for any opening he can find. His second serious attempt to strike her is blocked by a wall of red sparks which begin to shred his dark clothing. It appears that Cassandra was not able to allot the same amount of power to him; either that or Jezebel is simply better at controlling it than he is. "Jez, you need to calm down," he tries to reason with her. "This isn't part of the plan."

"To hell with your plan," she spits angrily. "It was pathetic to begin with." She removes the band from her hair so it can flow out behind her. "Why do I have to pretend to marry a girl?" Red light starts to extend from her fingertips again. "I'm supposed to marry a prince. I'm supposed to marry Gavin!" she continues to shout.

"That's enough." Cassandra rises up in front of her. With a wave of her hand she reabsorbs most of the red sparks. "You're my best friend, Jezebel, but you're really getting on my nerves. I'm sorry that your story hasn't stacked up the way you want it to and I'm sorry I married the first prince we met but you have got to stop this. You are acting childish. Look at me? I left my husband in Ferery to help you. I'm two inches tall for god's sake. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing! Everything. I don't know," Jezebel screams while swatting her away. "I want your life. I want your kingdom. I want your story. I want all of it and yet none of it. I want my own story," her voice starts to waver. "I want my own prince. I want someone who talks to me and loves me unconditionally. I want someone who will forgive my mistakes and… and…" her voice dissolves into senseless blubbering.

"What?" Cassandra demands. "What can I do to make you happy, Jezebel? I'm done with my story. I did what I wanted to. I'm happy. What about you?"

"Casper," Jezebel whispers.

"What is a Casper?" Cassandra is too annoyed to think.

"There." Jezebel points in the direction of the castle. On the street that leads to the drawbridges, there is a group of ten men, all marching toward the town square. Jezebel can recognize them as her crewmates from the dungeon. "How did you get out?" Jezebel asks Casper who is leading them, and dragging Lord Creashure by his cape.

"We employed your tactic." He shows her his bruised arm. "What are you doing, mum? I thought you were sick of flying when you turned human again."

Jezebel's jaw drops. "You knew?" She looks extremely guilty as she sinks back down to the stage.

"I'm not stupid, mum," he chuckles. "I knew why you didn't tell me so I thought I'd let you come clean on your own."

"Casper, about your father…"

"Save it." He holds up his hand. "I'm not my father. I have nothing to be angry about with you. I just want to know why."

"Who is your father?" Cassandra is out of the loop.

"Um…" Jezebel doesn't know where to start explaining.

"For starters, little one, why don't you fix these two?" Casper gestures to both red eyed assailants.

"I don't know how," Cassandra admits.

Casper turns a disappointed eye on Jezebel. "You haven't told her, Flower?"

"Told me what?" Cassandra is becoming angry.

"You were already a better fairy than me…" Jezebel tries to explain herself.

"So you wanted to be better than me at something?" Cassandra tries to understand.

"Flower and I spent a lot of time helping people in Ferery," Casper interjects. "She learned a lot about her powers; including how to drain other people of energy."

"Oh my god!" Cassandra is appalled.

"I wasn't trying to," Jezebel mopes. "I was just trying to take the power back."

"She almost killed someone," Casper continues.

"Can you not!" Jezebel is angry. "I don't need everyone knowing the things I've done."

"The whole town knows," Malcolm speaks for the first time in a while. "Everyone in Baylor is here today, Jez. They all saw you ruin the plan. They all know you're a girl."

"Good!" Jezebel scoffs.

"Thief, you're not helping," Cassandra shoos him away. "We're way past dealing with Creashure here."

"Then perhaps you can let me go?" he suggests in a whimpering voice.

"Not likely." Casper drags him up onto the broken stage next to Littier. "I spent a month in a dungeon because of you."

"Everyone, please pay attention!" Littier suddenly shouts. "I am Princess Littier of Baylor. I am your next ruler." Immediately murmurs of agreement and disagreement can be heard. "If you will not have my mother as queen then I shall replace her. Does anyone object?" Several voices ring out, claiming that she is too young and or complaining that she is not a man. "Does anyone have the power or the guts to stand against me?" Littier changes her question.

Suddenly the crowd grows silent, debating if they could actually oppose her. Soon they have rallied again though. Instead of all shouting at her pointlessly, they choose one person to represent the city as a whole. He is one of the lords who supported Creashure, named Hampton. "We will not accept anymore women as ruler!" he informs Littier. "If you do not marry one of the lords then we shall have you executed along with your mother."

"See," Creashure snickers. "You still have to marry me, or at least your mother will."

"Quiet!" Lord Hampton shouts again. "I did not say we would rule under you either, Creashure. We hereby strip you of your rank once again and sentence you to be executed so you can not pull this foul trickery again."

"What? You can't do this!" Creashure struggles as Casper forces him into the very stockade the queen was just freed from. "This won't stand, you know. What about my men from the Daplands? They want a new ruler as well."

"And they shall have it!" a loud voice drowns out all others. The crowd parts as a tall man in a cloak emerges from the far back. He is quickly followed by three other robed figures.

"Um, hello, your highness," Hampton quickly recognizes him as the king of the Daplands.

"Good day to you too, Lord Hampton," he responds politely.

"You!" Lord Creashure has also recognized him by now. "What are you doing here? I made sure you were unaware of my plans."

"Forgive me but I have an all seeing eye." The king gestures to the same old man who was with him at Cassandra's wedding.

With the hood to his cloak down Jezebel can immediately recognize the seer she met at the start of her journey. "I'm sorry, milord," the seer apologizes to Creashure. "I serve a new master now."

Jezebel's eyes pop when she realizes that the king of the Daplands is none other than Nathaniel Leadfist. "That means… but how?" she is in disbelief.

"The third message left by Lord Astral," he speaks to her directly. "It gave directions to the lost crown that signifies the ruler of the Daplands. I found it and took my place as king almost two years ago. I have been waiting patiently for Lord Creashure to make his move ever since and now I am here."

"But why?" several of the onlookers are dissatisfied. "Shouldn't you be wallowing in exile?"

"Just because I chose to rule the Daplands does not make me an exile. I was once a nobleman just like Lord Astral."

"I knew I recognized you!" Rittier suddenly shouts, startling everyone. "You and Astral were both at that party several years ago. You both tried to court me."

"Guilty as charged." Nathan bows with a mischievous grin. "You were ever so charming. I'm afraid Astral and I both fell hard."

"Wait, you were in love with the queen?" Jezebel is shocked.

"She was only a princess then, and to be honest I still am. I have been searching for a way to prove myself to her all this time."

"So you became a street magician?" Jezebel asks skeptically.

"I'll admit I had given up hope until you came along. I immediately realized that you were a gift from Mayberry. She was begging me to keep trying to win Rittier's heart and earn my happy ending. I am ever so glad to have met you, Jezebel."

"I don't believe it." Rittier seems about to faint; maybe more from exhaustion than shock.

"Now my queen, would you do me a great honor?" Nathan kneels down in front of her.

"I… I don't know what to say."

"It's not like you have much choice, mum," Casper whispers.

"No, no." Nathan holds up his hand in front of Casper. "I swear that no one will hurt you regardless of your choice. You are now under my protection. Technically all of the mercenaries Creashure hired to overthrow this city hail from the Daplands. They will all answer to me if I wish to take control of Baylor, and I will if anyone tries to harm you again. Is that what you want?" he shouts to the crowd.

The rebel Daplanders seem perfectly content with the idea but the citizens of Baylor are less happy. After a while of debating the risks and rewards of fighting or surrendering and realizing they should have never let Lord Creashure convince them to go against their queen in the first place, the citizens of Baylor all vote to let Rittier live. Hopefully King Nathan will not invade and conquer them if his love is no longer being threatened with execution.

It is Rittier's turn to speak next. "I will consider King Nathan's proposal in a few weeks when I am feeling better and I am confident we have put this time of poor judgment behind us. I assume that I am still queen and that you will do your utmost to obey me. Am I correct?" The crowd quickly cheers to show approval.

It seems none of the citizens are willing to continue Lord Creashure's rebellion. They are all simple people with menial skills and jobs. For now at least, the rebellion has been quashed. "Thank you for your continuing loyalty." Rittier bows.

"There is still one matter to attend to," Jezebel draws everyone's attention back to her. On instinct the seer prepares to fight her if necessary, taking a stance with his palm facing her and the same energy extending from his fingers. Instead of responding to him, Jezebel paces to the back of the stage where she retrieves Ratchet's scythe. "We have yet to execute the treasonous Lord Creashure." She lifts it up above the whimpering lord's head.

"Don't!" Casper grabs the weapon from her. "Do not stain your hands further."

"Wow, you sound just like Gavin," she sighs.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Cassandra doesn't need Gavin to protect her and I don't need you," Jezebel is slightly annoyed.

"Gavin is the king and Cassandra is his queen. He will protect her whether she likes it or not."

"Why are you such a loyalist?" Jezebel demands. "Are you people born to serve?"

"I may not see eye to eye with my father but I am still his son. I was raised to respect my king, regardless."

"How noble. It still doesn't give you any rights over me. If I want to kill this horrible lord, then I will."

"All in favor?" Nathan shouts to the crowd. Jezebel's face turns red as she realizes that their argument was on display for the whole city.

The onlookers all point their thumbs down, sealing Creashure's fate. "You'll regret this, one day," the blubbering lord reuses to take his death with dignity. "She is not fit to rule. You all know I am right. I did this for you."

"The rules of rebellion state that the victor may execute the loser," Jezebel taunts him. "I'm afraid you have lost." She brings the scythe down on his neck, severing his head from his shoulders. Casper is glaring at her disappointedly. "Don't ever call me weak," she whispers to him through clenched teeth.

"I pity what you are. How did both Gavin and I fall so hard for such savage women?"

"What did you say?" Her eyes bulge.

Any response he gives is drowned out by the sound of the cheering crowd. They seem rather pleased with the lord's passing. Rittier descends the stage soon after, helped along by Nathan and Littier. Malcolm leads them to his carriage and instructs the driver to take them back to the castle. Without anything left to witness, the crowd slowly starts to disperse. "Well that ended better than expected." Malcolm shrugs.

"Go back to your mansion," Cassandra snaps at him. "You've been no help at all."

"She's just under stress," Casper tries to cover for her.

"I don't need you to censor me," she is equally mad at him. "Who are you anyway?"

"I'm a subject in your kingdom."

"That's right; you're Gavin's boat captain," she remembers him.

"That's not all," Jezebel interrupts.

"Don't," Casper warns her. "She doesn't need to know."

"This is Lord Nedan's son," Jezebel spouts before he can stop her.

"What?" Cassandra's eyes widen.

"He has two children," Jezebel continues.

"I didn't know…" Cassandra's voice is shaky.

"Stop it!" Casper's eyes narrow as he glares at Jezebel. "Your highness, I have been and will always be a loyal servant of Ferery." He bows to Cassandra. "I will not pass judgment on you for any of the actions you took to avenge your family. You are my queen."

"Why are you forgiving her?" Jezebel is angry.

"Why are you trying to make me mad at your friend?" he counters.

"Because she's a better person than me," Cassandra interrupts. "You both are. Thank you for your loyalty, Casper. I will talk to Gavin about your father's incarceration when I return to Ferery. As for you Jezebel, you have some explaining to do."

"Cassie, I just thought you needed to know."

"Not to me." She gestures to Casper. "Explain to him."

"I don't know what you mean." Jezebel backs away from him.

"Why do you care so much about him?" Cassandra continues to pester her. "You feel bad about what we did to his father, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Jezebel suddenly explodes into tears. "I had every opportunity to stop. I didn't want to."

"And if you could take it back?" Cassandra asks sternly.

"Not a chance." She holds out her hand so the fairy can land.

Instead Cassandra grabs the pendent from her neck and rips it off. A blinding flash of red sparks knocks both Jezebel and Casper off their feet. When they open their eyes again Cassandra is standing in front of them; over four feet tall again. She drops to her knees in front of Jezebel and hugs her tightly. "Thank you," she whispers.

"We chose this," Jezebel continues to explain through her tears, mostly to Casper who seems confused. "We wanted our stories so badly we were willing to do things I couldn't have dreamed about back in Hamish and the worst part is I'm not sorry. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Does that make me a bad person?"

"I can't answer that," Casper is honest. "I don't know anything about what you two went through but I spent an entire year getting to know Flower and your husband is my best friend. I trust both of you. I don't need to know what you two have done and I don't want to."

"That's a very unique outlook," Cassandra is impressed. "I wish I was so forgiving. Maybe none of this would have happened."

"Do you regret it?" Casper asks her.

She stares at Jezebel for a moment before answering. "No."

"Are you ready to come home, Flower?" Casper asks Jezebel.

"I think I am." Jezebel nods. "I thought I needed to go somewhere else to have my own adventure but I think I've already had it. I've encountered enough people to fill my own story if I wanted. I don't need Mayberry to write it for me. In fact, I don't need it written at all."

"Well, too bad." Cassandra smirks.

"What?" Jezebel is confused. Cassandra simply continues to smile. "What?" Jezebel is impatient.

"You'll see." Cassandra refuses to tell her.

33: End of Happiness

After saying goodbye to both Littier and Malcolm once again, Jezebel accompanies Cassandra back to Ferery along with the rest of her crew. She spends the three day journey catching up with Casper the same way she did when she was a fairy. If he is upset about his father in any way, he is very careful to hide it.

Gavin is waiting for them at the bay when they arrive. Cassandra practically leaps off the deck to hug him. "Where have you been?" he demands. "I was worried sick."

"I took good care of her," Casper assures his king.

"I'd have had your head if you hadn't," Gavin is half joking half serious. Jezebel peeks out from behind Casper's shoulder shyly. She doesn't want to face Gavin at the moment. She is not sure if she has lost her feelings for him or if she ever had them to begin with. Her desire to marry a prince simply made him a target the moment they met.

"What about you?" Gavin waves to her. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I think so." She nods.

"Were you helpful?" Gavin asks Casper. "I left my wife's best friend in your care."

"Is that why you volunteered?" Jezebel asks.

"Not just that; I was curious. I wanted to know what kind of human you were."

"You what?" Jezebel blushes.

"I always wondered, Flower, what you were like before you became a fairy. I knew you were pretty and smart but I didn't realize how sensitive you were or how much pain you dragged with you."

"I don't understand," Jezebel is at a loss. She never expected to hear these things from Casper.

"I wasn't lying when I said I liked you, Flower."

"My name is Jezebel," she corrects him.

"To me you'll always be that tiny unconscious fairy Cassandra gave to me. You were sleeping so peacefully and I didn't know what to do. I think I fell in love at first sight."

"I…" Jezebel's eyes grow wide. Cassandra is covering her mouth to keep from squealing in excitement.

"You had three days on the ship and whatever time we spent in the dungeon to tell me this," Jezebel is slightly annoyed. "Why did you wait until now?"

"I was afraid," he admits. "Just like you, I thought my father would be a problem between us. I'm not afraid anymore. Jezebel Flowers, will you…?"

"Will I what?" Jezebel's eyes narrow, warning him to think about what he is about to say.

"Will you stay with me?" he asks. "Can we continue to see each other like when you were a fairy? I want to know more about you and what type of girl you are. May I?"

"I guess that's okay," she pretends not to be excited. Something is building in her mind. Perhaps she needn't have gone searching far for a prince after all.

Cassandra is still giggling like a child. "What am I gonna do with you?" Gavin sighs.

"You know you love me." She kisses his cheek.

"And don't you run off like that again." He kisses her back. The king and queen walk ahead of Casper and Jezebel, getting reacquainted after their two week separation. Apparently being in love makes ten days feel like a year. Jezebel and Casper laugh at their best friends while continuing to discuss their new found feelings for one another.

Eventually the two pairs part ways; Gavin and Cassandra head for the castle while Casper leads Jezebel to his house on the hillside. Celia is already outside, chasing a fluttering butterfly. Upon spotting her brother she rushes down the hill to greet them. "Flower?" she gasps when she sees Jezebel. "You got big."

"She sure did," Casper laughs while lifting Jezebel into the air by her waist, as if to gauge her weight.

"Hey." She slaps at his hands until her lets her down again. "Don't touch me so recklessly."

"Why not? I used to carry you around on my shoulder," he reminds her.

"Yeah, well…" she doesn't have a rebuttal.

"Come here." He starts to tickle her stomach. She can't help but laugh as she tries to get away. Eventually she falls over on the grass. He crouches down next to her without even stopping.

"Enough!" she finally punches the bruise on his shoulder.

Celia is staring at them both with a confused expression. "Oh!" she finally exclaims.

"What?" Jezebel rolls over onto her stomach to look at the little girl.

"You two like each other," she laughs at them.

Jezebel's face suddenly turns red again. "This is never going to stop, is it?"

"Nope." Casper grins. "I'm going to pursue you until you give in."

"Fine; Cassandra promised to pay for my wedding anyway."

"She did? How nice of the queen. There must have been some condition, right?"

"She said I could have any man I wanted except for Gavin."

"Well I'm not Gavin." He is grinning.

"I didn't say I was marrying you."

"You didn't say you weren't."

"You're so full of yourself."

"I'm not wrong though."

"What if you are?"

"I'm not."

"How can you be sure?"

"I am."

"How?"

"I just am," he is adamant. Celia laughs and claps as the two of them continue to go back and forth.

Finally Jezebel gives up, letting Casper think that he has won. For the moment at least, she is happy where she is. She has met a man she enjoys being with and is living in the same town as her best friend, who is now queen. The only thing that could make it better would be her own story. If only Mayberry were here. "Mayberry," Jezebel gasps as she sits up in the grass. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long, child." The short haired woman straightens her glasses. "It's nice to see you again, Jezebel. How have you been?"

"Okay, I guess," she is reluctant to burden the word doctor with the twists and turns her life has taken since they last met. "I've been doing what you asked me to."

"I know." Mayberry smiles. "I've been writing about it."

"Really?" Jezebel's eyes light up. "Have I been in that many of your stories?"

"You've been in dozens of them," Mayberry assures her. "But it's almost over now."

"I'm sorry." Jezebel lowers her head. "I'm sort of taking a break. I'll get back to helping your other story owners eventually."

"No need, child. You've already done more than enough."

"But I haven't gotten my honorable mention yet. How am I supposed to find happiness?"

"My dear child, you already have." Mayberry gestures to Casper who is busy playing with Celia.

"But he's not part of a story… is he?"

"He's part of your story," Mayberry answers.

"But I don't have a story. You said I..."

"I said you weren't interesting enough," Mayberry finishes her sentence. "Do you still believe that? Haven't you had more than enough adventures to prove me wrong?"

"Yes but…"

"But nothing; End of Happiness is one of my best selling stories. Have you read it?" She hands a copy of the unfamiliar book to Jezebel.

"This is… but this is me. I have a story? When? How?"

"Since always, dear." Mayberry continues to smile. "I've been writing about you from the start. This whole adventure has been about you."

"But I'm the side character," she is still in disbelief.

"Exactly." Mayberry claps happily. "Isn't it the most unique take on a story you've ever seen? Have you ever wondered what becomes of all the characters that seem to just pop up when it is convenient for the main star? Right now thousands of people who read From Beyond the Woods and loved it are dying to know what happened to you and your friends. They'll get their chance in my final issue of End of Happiness."

"Why do you call it that?" Jezebel is slightly concerned. "When did my happiness end?"

"It never started, child." Mayberry shakes her head disappointedly. "The common factor for you has been patience. So far you have put off your own happiness with the excuse that you will get to it later. Well later has arrived. Are you happy yet?"

"I… I think so." She glances back at Casper. "I think I finally am."

"Well congratulations. Now it's time to go."

"Wait, what?" Jezebel jerks her head back to Mayberry. "Where am I going?"

"Oh don't you remember; you get to leave when your story is over."

"But I don't want to leave. Does anyone ever really choose to leave?"

"No." Mayberry's smile turns sinister for a moment. "They never do. They never ever, ever leave."

Jezebel is starting to become unnerved. "What are you, exactly?"

"I'm real, child. I'm a real human being. I am a writer in the real world. I meet real people and I sell real books."

"Stop saying that word." Jezebel covers her ears. She has no idea why it hurts so much. Perhaps it reminds her of how fake she is.

"What's the matter, child? Do you remember what happened to poor Ambrose? You killed him."

"I did not! That was Gavin."

"It doesn't matter. You're all responsible. The word doctors' association had a grand ceremony to commemorate him. It's not the first time a writer has let the story get the better of them."

"Go away!" Jezebel is beginning to panic.

"Why did you do it?" Mayberry raises her voice.

"I didn't!"

"Everyone is reading his final book now. The only reason I'm even getting any publicity is because I helped write it. Do you think it was worth it? I would trade a thousand publication deals to have Ambrose back."

"Do you want me to apologize?" Jezebel screams loud enough to attract Celia's and Casper's attention. "Do you think I'm sorry he's dead? I'm not sorry. I hope he suffered. He was a monster."

"And you're any different?" Mayberry opens her book to the second to last chapter. "And then Jezebel rose into the air, dragging Ratchet with her…"

"Shut up!" Jezebel grits her teeth.

"Her eyes glowed with all the howling rage she felt…" Mayberry continues.

"I said shut up!" Jezebel repeats.

"What about this?" Mayberry flips ahead. "Jezebel brought the heavy scythe down on Lord Creashure's thick neck without the slightest hint of remorse."

"Enough!" Jezebel screams.

"What's going on?" Casper interrupts. "Who is this woman?"

"Hello, Casper, I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Miss Flowers's word doctor." Immediately Casper leaps into a stance, drawing a dagger from his belt. "How rude." Mayberry wrinkles her nose.

"I've heard about your kind. You use people to get your stories. One of you sent the queen on a path to kill both my and Gavin's fathers."

"So what if we did?" She waves her hand as if it means nothing. "We have every right to influence the stories; we're the writers."

"You monster." He raises his blade.

"Don't." Jezebel grabs his wrist.

"Flower, she's the person who put you through all this."

"I need her," Jezebel spouts.

"That's right. That's a good girl," Mayberry coos.

"What?" Casper is confused.

"She has to finish my story."

"You can't be serious," he is shocked.

"Otherwise this will have all been for nothing," Jezebel explains.

"Is that all that matters to you? How can you be so selfish?"

"It's my life's work." She drops to her knees, scuffing her dress with grass stains. "I've been waiting for this since the day I was born. I'm not going to give it up now. Go, Mayberry; go back to whatever twisted world you come from where writers torture their characters for amusement. Go before I let him loose on you."

"As you wish, child. Just one thing before I go; never forget what your story made you do. Never forget what it has turned you into. You're no longer the innocent little girl from Hamish. Your hands are stained with the blood of your friends and your enemies. You will live with that for the rest of your life."

Jezebel swallows hard, trying not to be shaken. "I told myself a thousand times that I knew what I was signing up for and I stand by it even now. That is the one thing that has kept me going. I've always known that I might not like what I became. Now that I'm at the end I realize, there are far worse things I would have done. You barely scratched the surface of my potential. You lost out."

A slight twitch in Mayberry's eyebrow suggests she may believe Jezebel. Perhaps this side character could have been convinced to slay giants or murder children. Maybe she could have even become a queen like her friend. All of that potential is gone now though. Her story is over. Mayberry will have to take what she already has.

Casper and Jezebel watch as she begins to scribble in her leather bound notebook. Upon writing the final lines to End of Happiness she falls backwards into the grass of the field, sinking below the ground and vanishing in much the same fashion as Cassandra did at the end of her story. She has returned to the library in the real world where she will finally publish Jezebel's story. The young girl from the village of Hamish has finally gotten her wish.

"Is it over?" Casper asks cautiously.

"I hope so," Jezebel sighs. "I don't think I can take another minute of being part of her story."

"Why did you agree to it in the first place?" Casper scolds her.

"She was so nice at first." She shrugs. "The seer said she took pity on the less fortunate children. I should have realized what a hack writer she was. She only got the scraps left behind by real writers. She had to mold them into something worth writing about."

"You mean she had you mold them," he corrects her. "You're the whole reason she's had any success. You are her secret tool. Be proud of that, Flower."

Jezebel rubs her arm shyly. A moment ago she wouldn't have believed him. She has spent so long assuming she was worthless, it is almost shocking to realize how important she was to Mayberry. She will have to thank her the next time she sees her; if she ever does see her again. In her own roundabout way, Mayberry did exactly what she promised; she helped the less fortunate children without resorting to methods as cruel as Ambrose.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" Casper asks as he opens the door to the house.

Celia rushes past his legs before Jezebel can answer. "I could stay a lot longer, if you want." She offers with a shy hopeful expression.

"I'd like that." He smiles happily. He places his arm around her shoulder as she walks through the door. He half expects her to remind him not to touch her, but no such complaint comes. Instead she kisses him on the cheek, putting his mind at ease. Celia giggles at the couple as they try not to blush. They are both new to this sort of thing. They have a long time to get used to it though. After all, this is only the beginning of their happy ending.

The End

34: The Word Doctors

"Iris, have you seen this?" Hemlock shoves a newspaper under her face as soon as he enters the library. "Even in death Ambrose has outdone us. From Beyond the Woods has sold more copies than The pits of Capitith, End of Happiness, The Thief of Baylor Bridge and Lord of the Daplands combined."

"What did you expect, Lawrence," Mayberry sighs. "Everyone is desperate to read the great Walter Ambrose's last story. Besides, what are you complaining about? We're both still in the top three in the word doctors' association this year. That makes you number two and me number three."

"I've been number two before," Hemlock reminds her. "This must be new for you though. Your strategy of quantity versus quality is finally paying off."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she is offended.

"If you didn't have three or more stories coming out in a year, you might be able to focus on one enough to actually write something good."

"You know the quality of the story is not my fault." She crosses her arms. "All of my characters are weak and lazy."

"That Jezebel was a hard worker though. Maybe you should have focused more on End of Happiness, instead of The Thief."

"For your information, The Thief is actually the most popular out of the three. Not many people care about The Lord and the majority of Happiness takes place in-between chapters of Ambrose's story. Only diehard fans who want to know every detail about even the side characters in his last story will ever buy mine."

"Exactly why you shouldn't rely on Ambrose so much," Hemlock continues to preach to her.

"Just wait until next year. It will just be me and you this time."

"That's worth a good laugh," he scoffs. "You got lucky this year. Without Ambrose I'm basically guaranteed to be number one. You'll have to pull something amazing out of your hat. Reputation is everything around here."

"How am I supposed to gain reputation if no one ever buys my stories?"

"It's a vicious circle," he admits. "Ambrose became famous because he found the most likable child in Hamish and took everything from him. Then he built him up again into a king before bringing it all crashing down in the end. I think that was his plan this time too. Can you imagine if he'd had Cassandra kill Gavin as well? Fans would have been outraged but also captivated. It would have solidified her in misery and made for a much more emotional story."

"Maybe I should have done something like that with Jezebel," Mayberry mutters to herself. "I really thought about it."

"Why didn't you?" Hemlock asks. "I mean, I know I'm just too afraid. I started off with a sacrifice early on and I couldn't even go through with it. I'm glad I didn't. Druine became a real star in her own way."

"Isn't it weird though?" Mayberry argues. "You're two main characters just vanished after the final fight and suddenly Capitith has a new king."

"It was rather rushed, wasn't it," Hemlock mutters while thinking about it. "I wanted to have them actually fight King Astral and perhaps almost lose. I even had a dragon prepared to lift the king on its back and fight with Aquish, tooth and nail."

"Wow, a dragon," Mayberry seems impressed.

"Yeah, who doesn't love a good dragon." Hemlock seems pleased with himself.

"So why didn't you?" Mayberry is curious.

"Well, think about it. There wasn't one ever mentioned in Marigold's Beast Master. All of the creatures in Capitith came from him, remember. Besides, Atlas is just a normal man with large ambitions. He should not have been any stronger than any of the men Jameson killed to get to him."

"He could have at least put up a fight. I mean, one hundred and fifty soldiers were killed by a mere two dozen. Doesn't that seem a little too simple?"

"I'll admit that I played favorites with Jameson, but can you blame me? Who wants to read a story where the main character loses outright… apart from Ambrose," he adds after a moment. "I knew he couldn't win so I had the animals help him at the end."

"Which wasn't fair," Mayberry continues to complain. "It's a cheap way to end a battle. That's why you needed at least one more fight scene. Atlas should had at least tried."

"He was one man without any training," Hemlock defends his decision. "Those animals killed the entire third legion. How was King Atlas supposed to miraculously be stronger than thirty good men."

"I… I guess I see your point," Mayberry finally gives in. "I'm just not sure Marigold would have approved."

"Dear old Grandma, rest her soul, is from a different age. Her two most famous stories were The Beast Master and Priestess Fellore and that's not saying much."

"Still, it's how you got your start. You wouldn't have even been accepted into the guild if not for her," Mayberry belittles him.

"What about you? How did you finagle your way into this esteemed organization?" Hemlock is curious.

"The board actually liked my submission five years ago," she explains. "They thought I had potential."

"Boy, were they wrong."

"Are you going to keep insulting me, because I don't have to sit here and take it, you know."

"It's just fun to tease you," he tries to calm her. "I don't mean any harm."

"Yeah well, stop it already."

"You never did say why you didn't kill Jezebel or someone close to her. Imagine if she had failed to save the queen or maybe even the princess."

"First of all, the queen was a character in The Lord. I needed her alive. Have you even read it?"

"Actually, no," Hemlock admits. "I suppose the whole rebellion with Lord Creashure was better explained in that book, wasn't it?"

"Exactly. If you only read Happiness, then you only see Jezebel's chopped up adventures. You never even encounter Astral."

"He sounds like a fun guy. Was he actually included in The Lord?"

"The first scene is the ball where Astral and Nathan both meet Rittier. She's actually a bigger character than her daughter. Littier is only important in Happiness."

"That's what's so strange about your stories. You chopped all three up and interlaced them. Reading them is like a puzzle."

"Isn't it interesting though?" Mayberry's eyes are glazing over as she daydreams. "If you read all three then it makes perfect sense. It is more elaborate than either The Pits or The Woods."

"But you have to be motivated to actually read all of them," Hemlock pokes a hole in her intensions. "You could have at least had them all make sense on their own. That or you could have put them all together in one large book."

"I'll think about doing that next year," she barely acknowledges his suggestion. Following common rules is not her strong point. This is not the first time she has overcomplicated her stories and made them less coherent. She is almost self-sabotaging.

"So how about it; care to give me an inside look into what happens to your three separate stories?" Hemlock coos.

"Well obviously all three couples end up getting married," she answers with a smug grin while straightening her glasses. "Rittier accepts Nathan's proposal within a week and he joins the Daplands and Baylor together again for the first time since before King Jessup's rule. He of course adds the musician and the juggler to his council and has the seer as his wisest advisor."

"You never gave the musician or the Juggler names," Hemlock interrupts. "In fact, you only ever described one of them as having a handlebar mustache; I forget which one."

"The juggler had the mustache but I can't tell you much else. They were spur of the moment characters that I didn't have much of a plan for. Names and faces never really came to them. They are the real extras. I did call one of them Anthril once though. I think it was the musician."

"Okay, so let's hear about the thief. I heard somewhere that he and Anna were expecting a child. Is she also ill?"

"Anemia is rather treatable," Mayberry informs him. "Their daughter is no sicker than her mother and they were married before she was born. Lottie of course came back to try disrupting his peaceful life but you know that didn't go over well with possessive Anna. She kicked that girl right back to the slums and…"

"Speaking of Lottie, did she and Taylor ever make a go of it?" Hemlock interrupts her again.

"I suppose so. I mean, no one else will have those spoiled two. It's funny; you always hear of rich children being spoiled by their parents. You never think of an orphan being spoiled by a thief."

"Are you saying that Malcolm is to blame for how they acted toward Jezebel and pretty much anyone who threatened their simple way of life?"

"Imagine being raised without consequences," Mayberry explains. "Taylor was taught that he was Malcolm's favorite and could sneak extra food and call the others names. Did Malcolm ever once scold him for his behavior?"

"Not really," Hemlock agrees. "What about Lottie though. What led to her spoiled behavior?"

"She was relied on too heavily," Mayberry continues. "She became accustom to Malcolm's attention and the fact that he needed her. It was only logical that she would assume he owed her for all of her efforts. Running off with Anna was almost like a betrayal."

"You make is sound like Lottie was in the right," Hemlock is confused. "Is that how you meant it to be?"

"I wanted the reader to sympathize with Lottie," she informs him. "Like her or not you have to understand what made her the way she is. It's not like she gained feelings for Malcolm overnight. They built out of continued time spent supporting one another. In fact, without the appearance of Anna, Malcolm may have one day returned Lottie's affection."

"I guess we'll never know," Hemlock gives a fake sigh to show that he does not actually have much sympathy for Lottie. "Of course the big question is Jezebel and Casper," he finally gets to the point. "I want to know if those two ever got married."

"Well marriage is a strong commitment and you know how Jezebel likes her freedom. I will say that they remained together and he never stopped asking her to marry him. I just don't want it set in stone. I like the idea of young couples not bound by old people customs. Jezebel and Casper are happy together without having to make it official. I'll leave it at that."

"Nice. A bit of mystery never hurt anyone. Speaking of which, I'm perplexed by something mysterious that happened during Malcolm's and Jezebel's face off. Did she really copy the seer's glowing finger thingy?"

"I guess I wasn't very clear about it but Jezebel picked up quite a few skills along her journey. Even after becoming human again she maintained the ability to control energy. That's why she wasn't rendered mindless the same way Cassandra and Gavin were whenever she possessed them."

"I guess I would have liked to see her actually use that technique on someone though. I feel almost let down."

"It is a pretty cool skill, isn't it?" Mayberry laughs. "Well I'm sorry you didn't get to see her use it but did you really want her to stab Malcolm with it? I felt it was enough just to show that she learned how to do it. If she ever ends up fighting without a weapon again she can always fall back on it."

"Well thank you for telling me this, Iris," Hemlock is finally done with his questions.

"At least I don't have to ask to know what happened to Jameson and Califf, do I?" Mayberry smirks.

"No, they are still living with me at my house. I can't simply read ahead to see what they will do with their lives. I can say that Druine is adjusting to being queen of Capitith finally. Her husband is just her type; charismatic and strong."

"I'd like to meet Jameson though," Mayberry admits. "I've never known anyone to leave their story behind. He must be so interesting to have living with you."

"Every day is an adventure," Hemlock laughs. "You're welcome at my place any time. I know you and Ambrose were pretty close. I'm hoping I can be at least as good of a mentor towards you as he was."

"Still treating me like a child," she pretends to be annoyed. "I'll prove myself to you one day. You're not my mentor, Lawrence, you're my equal; perhaps even my rival."

"We'll see," he remains unconcerned. To him she will always be the new girl but that doesn't mean he does not find her stimulating. He is looking forward to discussing their next pieces of work and facing off against her again. They seem to have a long future ahead together.