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.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I need to take a quick hiatus from this as school is really starting to heat up. (I'm actually supposed to be doing homework right now. :P ) Well, enjoy!
Fable
Dawn of Sorrows
The boy groggily opened his eyes, wiping away sleep as he tried to take in his surroundings. It was dark, and he suddenly noticed that he wasn't in his own bed. He vaguely remembered that he and his parents had stopped at one of the highway shelters in Darkwood for the night. That must be where he is now.
"Momma? Papa?" he called out. He had just had the most dreadful dream.
For a moment there was silence, but then he heard the scratching of a match, and he turned his head just in time to see the dimly illuminated figure of a man in a white mask. "They're dead," the man said, his voice quiet and almost silky. The boy froze. It was the same man from his dreams: the dark one who wore the red cloak and the black armor. He had evil-looking eyes. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked.
The boy swallowed, and suddenly memories came rushing like a flood to his young mind. Tears were already forming in his crystal blue eyes as he began to see images of fire and blood. "Th-the Balverines…" he choked.
"Yes. Yes, there were Balverines. And what else?"
"They killed Momma and Papa."
"What else?"
"You saved me."
The dark figure seemed to regard him thoughtfully, as if he was pleased with his response. Then he asked, "Are you hurt?"
The boy shook his head. "No."
"Good. What's your name?"
The boy told him. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asked.
The dark figure didn't answer. Instead, he beckoned him to follow and said, "Come with me."
The boy froze for the briefest of moments, but then cautiously climbed out of bed. If the dark figured noticed his reluctance, he said nothing about it.
The boy followed the dark figure through a labyrinthine fortress. It was made of massive stones and was perpetually dark, lighted only by intermittent torches mounted along the walls. Also along the walls were huge tapestries, each one telling a different story. Some depicted battles. Others showed certain men and even women, depicting scenes from each of their lives. The boy glanced at each one as he walked by. The ends of the tapestries were always the same—always ending by sword or fire or even magic. And then the boy realized something: the dark figure was in every one of them.
They walked for a little bit more, but then the boy finally summoned enough courage to ask a question. "What's your name?"
The dark figure gave a chuckle of sorts. "Jack."
The boy picked up his pace slightly to walk alongside him. "Are you famous, Mr. Jack?"
The dark figure stopped suddenly and looked down at his tiny companion. The boy unconsciously tensed under the gaze of those piercing yellow eyes. Was he angry? "You could say that." He didn't sound angry.
They continued walking again.
"Tell me, boy. Have you ever heard the story of Jack of Blades?"
"No, sir," the boy replied. "Are you Jack of Blades?"
"You mean you've never heard?"
"No, sir."
The figure seemed pleasantly surprised. "Well, that's okay. You'll learn soon enough."
A few more minutes of twists and turns and Jack finally stopped at a particular tapestry. The boy looked at it. It was mostly blank—unfinished—save for the top. The boy squinted. It depicted the events of last night! He could see himself and the Balverines; he could see his parents, and then there was Jack coming to his rescue!
The boy looked up at Jack questioningly.
"This is a tapestry of your life," he said. "There is an old cliché that says that life is not what happens to you but rather what you do with what happens to you. Essentially, it means that every action you take has a consequence, and those consequences can tell you how you have lived your life, whether it was good life or a bad life.
"But there are some people to whom this cliché does not apply. Their life literally is what happens to them. They have no choice over what to do because their choices are dictated to them by others."
The boy blinked, not really understanding.
"I know you don't understand it now, but you will later." He beckoned him forward. "Come with me. I have something else I want to show you."
While they were walking on, the boy couldn't shake the feeling that this was very bad. He didn't know why; he just felt it.
"Earlier you asked me what was going to happen to you," Jack said into his silent musings. "Well, I'll say this: you're going to live with me from now on. You will do what I tell you when I tell you, and if you disobey me, you will be punished. Do you understand?"
The boy swallowed but nodded dutifully. Yes. Yes, he did understand—all too well.
Jack finally led him into a great room. It was large and cylindrical, and right in the center was an elaborately carved throne, fashioned out of some strange rock that shimmered even in the darkness. But Jack was not focused on that. Instead, he was directing the boy's attention to the walls where even more tapestries hung.
"Do you see these tapestries?"
The boy didn't reply. He was too awed by them. They were large and magnificent. The first tapestry showed the formation of the world. It was the same story his parents had told him, but this one showed something different: a dark being walking amidst the fire and chaos. The clothing wasn't the same, but the boy immediately recognized the white mask.
He looked up at Jack.
"I was there at the beginning of the world. I am older than you could ever count."
The boy went on to the next tapestry, which showed all sorts of scary creatures he had heard about from storybooks, like dragons and the Balvorn, but these were apparently real. And then came man in the next tapestry and then great and terrible wars in the next. In the midst of each was Jack.
"Today, you will learn who I am, but not in stories that were designed to scare children. From my own lips you will learn my name."