DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, Maze, or Jack.
SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.
Fable
Dawn of Sorrows
Maze was a private man. He never spoke about his past. I asked him once, and for the briefest of moments, I saw fear flickering in his glowing blue eyes. I had never seen him so afraid before or even since. Then he would steel himself and say, "I don't want to talk about it; if you ever want to continue being my friend, then don't ever ask me again," and then go back to what we were doing as if nothing had ever happened.
--Weaver, Guildmaster of the Guild of Heroes
The boy was crouched by the lake, intently staring at a glowing blue mushroom. He had never seen one before. All the mushrooms he had ever seen were plain and brown. But this one was strangely beautiful—and hypnotic. He reached out and lightly poked it.
His parents said that they were going on a trip, that they were going to stay with some relatives in Oakvale for the winter. The boy had never been on a trip before, and so he was very excited. He saw so many new things. But it was a long trip though. They had to go all the way through Greatwood and Darkwood, and they weren't out yet. The trip had already taken one day, and now the sun was going down again. It would be dark soon, and it was already getting cold.
He and his family had stopped at one of the highway shelters along the road. His father had said that these shelters were built so that weary travelers like themselves could have a place to sleep for the night. While it wasn't anything like home, at least it had a bed.
His mother and father were out looking for food—they had said something about saving their supplies for the trip—and they had asked him to gather some kindling for the fire. He had already had a small bundle tucked under his arm when he got sidetracked by the mushrooms. They were so pretty. He wanted to tell his parents about them. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the mushrooms and started back toward the house. He would wait for them there. But just before he got to the clearing, a howl suddenly pierced the air, and the boy froze. A Balverine!
The boy's father had told him that if he ever were to hear one, then he should get back inside immediately. But the Balverine sounded so close, as if it were not that far behind him. He was so scared; he took off running toward the house.
Then suddenly another sound pierced the air, but this time it was the sound of human screaming. The boy stopped, dropping his sticks on the ground in an untidy heap. He thought immediately of his mother and father. They were in trouble.
He jumped out of the tallgrass into the clearing—and he nearly fell back, totally unprepared for what he saw. His mother and father were on the ground, screaming in agony and desperately thrashing about as a pack of Balverines devoured them alive. There was blood everywhere, and the sound of ripping flesh and crunching bone soon overcame their rapidly silencing screams.
The boy shook violently, fighting tears as he clawed his way back into the tallgrass. But then he heard something else that chilled his blood—the racing of the Balverine that had been behind him. He thought he was going to die. The Balverine had gotten so close to him that he could smell it, that he could feel its hot breath as it pounced into the air. But before there was any contact, there was an explosion. The boy instinctively covered his face. When he summoned the courage to look up again, the Balverine laid next to him, charred to the bone.
Time seemed to stop, and the boy looked toward the source of the explosion. The other Balverines looked up too. Three men stood on the pathway leading toward the shelter. From this distance, the boy couldn't make out any details other than they all wore robes.
The Balverines, furious at this disturbance, started to rush them. Then very casually, one of the robed figures raised his arms into the air, and all the boy could do was watch as fire began to gather them. Then suddenly, the robed figure released his fireball, and the Balverines went up like living torches, howling in pain and misery as they ran around trying to put themselves out. They were dead within seconds.
The boy trembled, unable to move as his young mind tried to take it all in. His parents…
Two of the figures walked to where his parents lay. The other—the one who had destroyed the Balverines—walked toward him. The stranger stopped barely two feet away, just staring at him. He wore a red cloak and black armor, and he had a mask. He was as sinister as the Balverines. The boy curled into a ball and began to cry.
The other two strangers joined them. These two weren't dressed like the third. Instead, they wore the robes of the Guild of Heroes. The boy's father had told him about them. "Dead," the first one said solemnly, tilting his head toward the two bodies.
"What are we going to do?" the second one asked.
The third one remained silent.
"Well, Oakvale is not too far from here. Maybe there's someone there who knows him."
The second one crouched down. He placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy looked up, tears streaming from his crystal blue eyes. "It'll be okay. What's your name?"
The boy didn't answer. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the dark one. He had yellow eyes, evil eyes. The boy couldn't bear to look at them, yet they were also so strangely hypnotic. The boy didn't move, not even when he heard the screams of the two Guildsmen, dying of some unseen force, or saw the fires engulfing their still bodies. He didn't move when the dark figure scooped him up in his arms and they disappeared together in a swirl of thick blue light.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is stand-alone for now, but I do have a larger one in mind, so stay tuned for that.