Friday October 25 — Saturday October 26
Sandra Reach was no fool, nor was she concerned with people whispering about her actions when her back was turned. Others thought she ought to settle down, or at least stop flaunting that she enjoyed dating. Sandra knew she was an attractive, single woman, but on the far side of 40, she hated the common belief that she couldn't be as picky about her partners as she once had been.
"What about Arald?" her friends would ask.
Sandra would respond, "What about him?"
"He likes you!"
"Then he should do something about it. I've worked for everything I have, and when I want something, I go after it. For once, I want someone else to do the hard work. Let him at least try to chase me."
Sandra admitted to herself that she wouldn't make the chase difficult. All Arald would have to do was literally anything more than stammering a hello and staring at her in the produce aisle.
Morgan Gareth, questionable figure in town as he was, at least strove for what and who he wanted. He made Sandra feel like a lady, rather than an intimidating school marm. Around him, she felt like a woman who would inspire poets or drive men to great deeds of courage for her love.
"I don't intend to marry him," she'd told her friends after agreeing to a second date, "but I deserve more than a cold bed and making my own breakfast the next morning."
Not to mention that sales at her flower shop had spiked since she'd caught Morgan's attentions. The more Sandra sold, the more she could secret way to the jar she kept under her bed. Once the jar was full, she would leave New Gorlan — the only place she'd ever lived — and never look back.
Morgan had opted for their second date to be Friday at his expansive, cliff-side home.
Sandra enjoyed the ocean view from the broad windows; she watched the waves churn like tendrils of an eldritch horror against the rocky shore. Wherever she lived after New Gorlan, she wanted it to be near an ocean.
"You're an excellent cook," she told Morgan over a dinner of fresh-caught lobster. "I never knew that about you."
Morgan didn't smile, but the edges of his black eyes did crinkle with the echoes of warmth. "Thank you, Lady Sandra."
To Sandra's surprise, she giggled. "Why do you always call me that?"
"Should I stop?"
"No. I like it."
He kissed the back of her her. "As you wish, my lady."
That night, as the clock hands turned into the next day, Sandra woke to a startled gasp from Morgan. She kept still and watched Morgan's silhouette against the moonlight. He fumbled with the large stone he kept on a chain around his neck.
"I already took care of this," he said in a hiss of air. There was malice in his voice that Sandra had never heard. The hairs on her arms stood on end.
Morgan fumbled with his side table. A knife glinted silver.
Half-awake, Sandra couldn't help but scream.
"Quiet!" Morgan cut the pad of his thumb. He sneered at her. "Don't worry: you won't remember a thing."
He pressed his bloody finger to the stone. "Make them forget. Turn back until they do."
Sandra slid away from Morgan. "Forget what?"
Morgan's eyes were like coals in his bone-white face. "What are you still doing here?" He sounded confused, then angry. He looked between the stone and Sandra. "Leave!"
After Sandra fled — she hadn't stopped to gather the lilies Morgarath had gifted her — Morgarath pulled aside his pyjamas and pressed the brooch to the skin above his heart.
"Show me," he said, "who is impeding."
When he pulled the stone away, a face appeared on its surface: a dark beard and black eyes; it was the face of the man that had doggedly pursued Morgarath's destruction for more than fifteen years.
He speed dialed Teezal, town banker and his second-in-command. And the only one of his lackeys who knew that this world wasn't real.
"J-j-judge Gareth?" Teezal said around a yawn. "What time is it?"
"Get over here. I need answers from the magician."
Malcom, or Malkallam as Morgarath knew him, didn't know why he had been pulled into this strange, new world, nor why he was kept locked up in the vast basement of Morgarath's home. He had been afforded a large garden of indoor plants, with dozens of bonsai trees, potted vegetables and herbs, ivies, succulents, and hundred different flowers. He even had a small beehive. Malcolm suspected these were all distractions to keep him occupied. When he wasn't tending to the plants, he was looking out the long window that faced the sea and hoping his small community in the northern forest of Araluen was keeping well without his presence.
Malcom remembered everything about Araluen. When he had been pulled in by the stone's spell, Malcolm alone had recognized the magic. Not that he was a magician or had believed in magic until that point, but he knew the old legends of the civilization that had created the relic.
Morgarath treated him like a capricious sorcerer, and Malcolm was in no hurry to dissuade him of that.
The doors to his dungeon quarters burst open, and Morgarath stormed in, followed by a bleary-eyed Teezal. Malcolm had heard a ruckus upstairs and had prepared tea to receive his visitors. Morgarath stopped short at the sight of Malcolm, dressed for the day and sipping from a steaming cup. Malcolm gestured for Morgarath and Teezal to do the same.
"It's not working." Morgarath ignored the drinks and held out his brooch. Halt's face was still visible. "He's stopping it somehow."
Malcolm knew the face, though he'd never met the man. "Halt the Ranger?"
"Halt the backwoodsman. He has no power and no authority in this world, and yet he's too strong for this magic. I refuse to accept it. What's he done, sorcerer?"
"Unfortunately, my lord, I have no knowledge of the outside world."
"He nearly killed my son!" Teezal said. Confusion twisted his face. "Or my son here. Is he my son?"
"Silence, imbecile."
Malcolm spoke to Teezal, "Did that occurrence happen in our original world?"
"It doesn't matter," Morgarath said.
"On the contrary, it's integral to the magic. The power of this stone is built on the power of story. We don't have any writings from the people that crafted this stone because they had an oral tradition, as many cultures have had. I suspect they are quite similar to the Skandians in that respect, though the Skandians have developed a rudimentary writing system over the past century or so."
"Get. To. The. Point."
Malcolm drank his tea and smiled obligingly. "The magic in that stone grows stronger or weaker based on the power of the story behind it. What you've done with New Gorlan is to create new stories."
Morgarath nodded sharply. "And I've been filling their pathetic new lives with stories from this world: high school bullies and crazy people in the woods and lonely old women."
"It would seem that you've done well, for a time. But each of the people in this town have narratives of their own lives back in Araluen, either in events that have happened or would have happened. Halt, I suspect, is especially resistant to this magic because he is so well known."
"That's why I removed him from society. I've made him nothing here," Morgarath said.
"But he's not the only person in town. Anyone could potentially break the magic. All they need to do is stray far enough back to the original narrative of their life in Araluen. The more often here that they repeat events that occurred in Araluen, the more your magic weakens."
Morgarath's mouth turned to a thin line. "They aren't ready to die yet. They haven't suffered enough." He paced from an oak bonsai to the window. "How do I regain my hold?"
It was Teezal who spoke, to everyone's surprise. "You need a stronger story."
Malcolm drank his tea to hide his disappointment. He had hoped to convince Morgarath that there was no fix.
The pale authoritarian's face lit up. "Yes. You're right. A stronger story. But which story?" He asked himself the last question.
"I was thinking stories. Plural," Teezal said. He felt more intelligent in that moment than he had in his entire life. "I have memories of ready to Jenny and Alda. Fairy tales. They aren't well-known in our world, but in this world, they're inescapable." He chuckled and pointed to the stone. "Hopefully literally."
"Teezal," Morgarath said quietly.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Fetch me these fairy tales. I have a world to remake."
Thanks for reading!
Guest (chapter 1) - Thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed it!
Guest (chapter 3) - I really appreciate this review. It got me so excited to get back into this story and inspired a lot of fun ideas. As best as I can answer your questions: (1) I imagine Halt skulks around town fairly often, just to see what's going on. Climbing a school building would be pretty easy for him, and, as it's one of the tallest places in New Gorlan, he'd like it for a watch point. That Will was up there at the same time was writerly coincidence. (2) Family relationships are rather tenuous in this story. I grouped people up based more on personality and conflict rather than blood relation, though blood relation will definitely play a role if/when people start to remember who they really are. (3) Jenny is so fun to write! Nothing can keep her spirit down. (4) The Pauline/Gilan parental relationship is one I hadn't planned on, but I love it now that I've written it. (5) Duncan has not yet been seen, but will likely show up soon. It's part of the curse that he's been unimportant up to this point.
AreiaCannaid - Thanks for reviews for each chapter! You're a great support for the RA fanfiction community here with the support you give all the writers. Deparnieux is pretty awful, I agree, though I do love him as an antagonist for Halt. Up to this point, the fairy tale stuff hasn't really played too much of a role. From this chapter, I think you can see that's going to change real soon.