AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thanks to anyone who read the first chapter!

Sorry for the cliffhanger in the last one. Thank you to deliriumsdelight7, who created the prompt, for the lovely review on Chapter 1! I definitely tried not to info dump too much because I think we all know Belle pretty well, and can guess at the shenanigans she got up to during her travels. I also think that if she's alone with her horse, and she's had him for a few years, then she'd definitely have nicknames for him. Anyone I know who has a horse has at least two or three nicknames for it. Given Emilie de Ravin's background, I thought "P" (as in 'pea') was a cute nickname that would also work in her accent if that's the image you've got in your head.

As to the cliffhanger and who the person who followed them is, it will all become clear in this chapter...

What I liked a lot about this prompt is that the "stranger" was left vague enough that it was pretty open to interpretation. It doesn't have to be anyone in particular - but we all sort of want to know what's going on. Lovely prompt, love the challenge.

T/W: mention of bl**d, t*rture, de*th, sk*nning, and m*iming.

And now, to the story!

Dun dun dunnnnn!

CHAPTER THE SECOND

A Wager.

As they drew closer, Belle could see a small number of people milling about. There was a well, in the center of the town's main cobblestoned courtyard. A number of charming shops dotted the area — a tailor's, a smithy's, a bakery, a weaver's. And, of course, the tavern-inn, with its stables.

By this time Belle had rehooked the wagon onto Philippe's saddle leads, and she was walking by his side. She brought him up to the stable boy, recognizable by the pieces of straw in his hair, who stood by the tavern door. A strapping young man, with strong forearms and dirty blonde hair.

"'Lo, ma'am," said the young man. "This'un yours, then?"

"Yes," said Belle, nodding, petting Philippe's side. "How much for the night? I want him warm, fed... the usual, please."

The young man looked at her with approval. "Good to see someone lookin' out proper for their 'orse. We'll do right for 'im, ma'am." He made his price clear, which she was happy to pay. It was only two silver pieces, which she could easily afford. And apparently, it wasn't unusual to have people come by who could easily part with silver pieces, for the young man's face was relaxed when she handed the pieces over — plus a bronze piece as a gesture of thanks. "Thank you, ma'am."

"It's Belle, and don't thank me, it's only right to pay for services given. What's your name?"

"Tom." He took off his cap and scratched the back of his ear.

"Thank you, Tom." She gave him a small smile, and left him standing bewildered for a moment, before he snapped to attention and went to her horse. She turned to Philippe. "Be good. They'll take care of you. Rest well."

Philippe snorted, then nickered. Belle smiled. And, after giving him a small piece of sugar, she went inside the tavern. As she went in, she was glad for the hundredth time that she'd had the foresight to ask her maid for common clothing before leaving the castle. Traveler's clothing. Here, wearing the leather garments associated with roadside tinkers, but also with bounty hunters and tradesmen alike, she blended in with all the folk who tended to pass by inns that sat on the frontier between two kingdoms. No one took notice of her.

None, except one.

The figure that had shadowed Belle of Avonlea since the first week of her voyage now stepped out of the gloom, and into the glow of the firelit lamps on the walls. Beneath the cowl of his cloak, his skin looked moist and toadlike in both color and texture. His teeth, bared in a silent snarl of anticipation and hunger, were disgusting — crooked beyond belief, sharpened, black and yellow, some missing. His face was round but also strangely long. The look in his eyes was all gluttony and greed.

He followed Belle to the bar, and when she ordered her drink — a piping mug of cider — he stood at her shoulder until she took notice.

It was with a frightful start that Belle did notice him, and scalding cider sloshed over her hands. She gasped, but then the stranger waved his hand, and her hands were warm, but dry, and unharmed. Wide-eyed, she looked up into the face under the hood.

"My hands! How —?"

He gave a croaking laugh, a sound as toadlike as he looked. "And there I thought you might be a bright one, as far as human scum-of-the-earth can be bright….," he said. His smirk deepened when Belle made an odd choking sound in the back of her throat. "Go on," he mocked in a tense voice, "Make an educated guess."

She tried not to notice the unnatural snakelike sibilance, and the strange hissing, in the word 'guess.' It was a characteristic that would remain in his manner of speech for the rest of their brief acquaintance; a long hiss in any word that contained the letter S.

"It's…," she started, before looking around, then leaning forward to whisper. "It's magic, isn't it?"

The creature leaned his head back and cackled. Several people glanced their way, then just as quickly averted their gazes again. Belle felt a chill go down her spine and upper arms. Why were they turning away?

"It'ssss magic, isn't it," mocked the creature, in a whisper. His eyes darkened, and all of a sudden, he slammed a bag on the table. "A wager."

"I — I'm sorry?" said Belle, looking between him and the bag that was spilling over with gold coins.

"A… wager," he said, dragging it out. "Do I need to explain the term to you?" He sneered and ran his fat, black tongue over his revolting teeth.

"I don't wager with strangers."

"But we aren't strangers," said the figure. His blackened lips stretched wide, to the point where it looked painful and Belle nearly winced. "We are… acquaintancesss."

Belle looked at him with wide and then considering eyes. She squinted. Paused. And then reared back.

"You."

"Me. I saved you once," he said, "And now you owe me."

"What?" she said in disbelief. "I thought you helped me, out of the kindness in your heart. Surely anyone who sees a horse and wagon stuck in a ditch, and a person waving their arms about for help will do their best to get them out of the mud. Goodwill exists, you know."

The creature cackled. "Goodwill existssss, you know," he parroted again.

"I had thought... I thought, back then, that you were helping me."

The creature's face suddenly became dark, lethal, poisonous, dangerous. He leaned over her and leered, speaking in a rapid and dark voice. "I'll tell you what to expect from the Dark One. There are favors, and deals. And as soon as you accepted my aid, you became indebted to me. You entered a contract which you, by the laws of magic, must fulfill. Do you understand, girl? You. Owe. Me."

At the same time that Belle was reeling from this news, she was exultant. Finally. Some danger. Some risk. A purpose. A goal. She paused in her thoughts. Have I gone mad? she wondered. Was it normal to feel excited in the face of danger?

No. "Yes," she said, ignoring the thought. "I understand. I'll listen to what you have to say," said Belle. "After you tell me your name."

The creature grew still. "Zoso," he said, caressing the syllables with his tongue, drawing it out with a hiss.

A ripple of magic rolled off him when he said the name, and Belle felt it running through her. It felt dark and powerful, and it left her feeling tainted, slimy, poisoned. She knew instantly that this being was not the same creature as the cautious if helpful rotund middle-aged man that had come to her aid in the woods.

It was then that she realized how powerful this creature was. He would do whatever he could to get what he wanted. She was sure that his decision to help her had been carefully calculated. Legends spoke of the Dark One. Zoso the Zealous, Zoso the Cruel. Some stories said that he enjoyed turning people into snails and stepping on them. Others said that he enjoyed ripping people limb from limb. So why, Belle wondered, was he interested in her? What did he really want?

Belle looked at him warily. To run now would be foolish in the extreme. He was powerful enough to catch her without lifting a finger. She would have to play by his rules.

"Ssso. How did you recognize the Dark One?" said Zoso with a knowing look in his muddy eyes, pulling up a chair and sitting in one movement. He did not remove his cloak. His gaze never moved away from hers. With one gloved hand, he summoned the bartender.

She looked at him carefully. "Your eyes were the same when you were disguised. It was a disguise, wasn't it? I don't know how you did it. It was very convincing. I suppose that must have been magic, too."

He hissed. "Yes." He looked at the bartender. "Quit sssstanding there gawking like a fish. You know... what I want."

The bartender nodded hastily, and with hands shaking, poured out a glass of deep red liquid.

"Another, for the girl," said the Dark One.

"Woman," corrected Belle, offended despite herself.

"No," said the Dark One, turning his eyes to her with a look of cool analysis, and then dismissal. He curled his wet, slimy lip. "No. Not yet."

She recoiled, and Zoso cackled, wrinkling his nose and leaning back. "Too easy," he said. "So proud. So innocent." He picked up his tumbler and drew from it, then set it down. He coughed wetly. Belle wrinkled her nose. It was then, taking a sip from her glass, that she realized their drinks were different.

His lips were stained, but not with the purple tint of red wine. His lips were scarlet. Did the bartender just serve him a goblet of blood? she thought. Suddenly feeling rather ill, Belle tried not to think about what kind. When the creature spoke, she jumped.

"A game of chance," said the creature.

"The terms?" said Belle.

"Three questions. For every one you get right, I'll grant you one wish. If you get two right and one wrong, I will let you go with two wishes, but for a hefty price. If you get two wrong and one right, you will give me what I ask for, and, out of the kindnessss in my heart," he said in a higher voice before dropping back down again, "I will grant you the one wish for the question you guessed correctly. And if you get none of them right….," said Zoso, grinning, saliva dribbling down his chin and a predatory look in his eyes, "Well, then, you are mine. Mine for the night, and you will give me my favor."

Belle's face grew pale. "I thought you were in jest."

"The Dark One does not jessst."

"No," said Belle quietly. "No, I suppose not." She shut her eyes. Courage. Do the brave thing, and your heart will follow. "Alright, then," she said. "Ask me your questions."

Zoso leered at her. "What is the name of Queen of Hearts?"

"That's a trick," Belle said, disbelievingly, her heart racing. "She'd have my head just for saying it. She can hear her name through mirrors and glass, and she'll send her soldiers the minute her curse warns her of treason. You'd have me killed for answering your question correctly. There's a curse on her name, surely you know that."

Zoso remained silent, watching her, waiting, grinning.

"Of course you do," she said, under her breath. "The only name she goes by is Your Majesty."

He hissed, and she knew she'd spoken correctly.

"How can one enter the realm of Camelot without traveling by foot... nor by horse... nor by flight?"

She suddenly remembered the person who had told her about the curse on the Queen of Heart's name. The hatter. Jefferson Hatter. Jefferson Hatter, and his magic hat. The one that could open portals. Surely it wasn't that simple?

"By hat?" she said, uncertainly.

This time Zoso's grin dropped a fraction, but he quickly masked it, and the nauseating sneer was slapped back on again.

"Ask your last question," said Belle. "I'm ready."

Zoso stared at her steadily. She saw a spark of cunning in his eye and dreaded his words.

"Very well. What," said Zoso, "Is my true name?"

And as the look of desperate realization dawned on her face, Zoso began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he began to cough, hack, and wheeze. He let out a high groan and wiped tears from his eyes.

She frowned. "You really are a monster."

He grinned again, and she saw blood appearing in the cracks in his lips. "Ahhh," he said, and leaned back into his chair. She heard his back cracking multiple times and grimaced. Waiting, she held her cooling mug of cider close.

"Your two wishes, then," he said, at length, whipping the mucus off his protuberant nose with his black sleeve. It glistened there, like slug slime. "I grow tired of this game. I have been lenient with you, girl. Lenient. Be grateful I haven't ssstripped you of your ssskin in the town ssssquare." This last, he said with a look of what almost looked like... arousal... in his eyes.

Belle swallowed hard, fighting off a shudder of revulsion, and squeezed her mug until her knuckles turned white. "Right." She took a deep breath. "My first wish is…. That my loved ones will always be happy and safe. Even if they encounter danger, and troubles, I want to know that they'll always survive it — unless there is truly nothing that can be done for them — and that they'll live to see old age. All of them. My father, my friends, my children and my descendants. My horse, Philippe."

Zoso grimaced and made a noise of disgust, though there was a knowing glimmer in his eye that she didn't like. "It is done." He looked nauseated at the good deed as he waved his hand, and she felt the magic ripple through her. For the briefest of moments, she felt simultaneously like a chained prisoner and a powerful god. "Your second wish?" said Zoso, low and dangerous.

She paused. This was at the heart of everything she wanted.

"To find my true love."

At this, Zoso suddenly looked almost cheerful. And it made her wary.

"Isss that sssoo?" he said, slowly. "And you would be willing to have that wish come to pass….at any cosssst?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Yes, I think so. Provided you keep the deal you made when you granted my first wish."

His black eyes looked quietly victorious. He removed something wrapped in cloth from his cloak. Something long. And he placed it on the bar top.

"Open it. Without showing it to the room," he said, warningly. "Have a look-see," he said.

She peeled back the cloth and saw beneath it a long, curved dagger. A cold pulse seemed to emanate from the blade, which itself was almost black. All of a sudden she remembered the poems and verses about this very knife, hidden in scrolls in the oldest libraries of Avonlea.

"A blade so black it could have rivaled the night, / A blade so bright it matched the fire for its light," recited Belle, reaching out to touch the blade.

"Touch it, and it will be painful," warned Zoso with an anticipating expression, looking for all the world as though he really wanted her to do it.

"I've only heard of this," said Belle, looking at the object carefully, "No living person has ever seen it before. The Dagger of Redemption, some legends call it."

"Names matter not. This is the Dark One's dagger," he hissed. "Look."

He took the back of her head in one hand and pushed it low with force, until she was inches from the dagger. And she saw it. The word glinted and looked as tainted as the creature who had handed the object to her. She turned her face.

"Why is your name on it?"

Zoso laughed bitterly and released her with a shove. "Why, indeed? To make One lower than the lowliest of slaves. Lower than those who sell their flesh for bread, who sell their lives to protect a crooked king. Heed this, girl. To become the Dark One, you would have to take my life with that blade, and drive it in me, to the hilt. I would cease to be the Dark One the sssecond a sssingle drop of my blood was drawn with that blade's edge."

"Oh," said Belle, not knowing what else to say.

"Make no mistake, girl, the Dark One is, in all ways and in every respect, a curse gifted to the most desperate of souls. Slugs. That is what Dark Ones are. Nothing but sssslugs, each doomed to eradication, each fated to be usurped by one more pitiful and lowly than the last. A long, miserable, interminable exissstence. We sell our souls for ultimate power, and for what? For what…," he croaked.

He looked into some middle distance and seemed to forget that she was still there. He seemed to blink sharply when she gave an intake of breath.

"I came here planning to give you this blade and convince you to do the deed yourssself. But I see now that that path is no longer wise. You are simply not desperate enough. I'd wager that you wouldn't know the meaning of true desperation if it crawled on its knees before you." He sneered. "Someone else, then. Yes, yes. Yes. I could…. I will make you forget this night took place," said Zoso, a crazed look entering his gaze as he pierced her with his eyes. "My promisessss... will be kept. The Dark One never goes back on his word. But... But, but but. You will leave here with no recollection of ever having met the Dark One. And…. you will go running back to your poor old Papa...," he hissed, a look of rapture appearing briefly on his face before she cut him off.

"I can't!" said Belle, suddenly in a panic. "He wants me to marry a — a — simply horrid man, and I can't possibly return to that. It's a fate worse than death. I'd be condemning myself to a life of misery. I am in charge of my Fate, and I don't choose that. Please."

Zoso looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Hm. Yes." He tapped his disgusting teeth with one equally nauseating nail. "Your luck, where that is concerned, continues. The chances of it happening... are slim. You are as unlikely to marry that dolt as a frog is likely to be a prince."

Here, again, he looked pleased of his turn of phrase, though Belle didn't notice.

"What?" said Belle, blinking. "But... Father would —"

"Father would, father would," hissed Zoso. "Father would, nothing. His wish is nothing more than that — merely a wish. The wish I granted you is a command given to Fate itsssself. Yes….," he muttered, standing now and wrapping the blade once more, before stowing it in his cloak. "You would return, with no memory of me… and with no need to concern yourself with Gaston LeGume. Yes, I know his name, no need for the look of surprise — I know everything." This was said emotionlessly, flatly. "Though of course," said Zoso, this time with a cruel look of pleasure on his face, "If I take your memory of this wager, you wouldn't know that you were safe. You wouldn't know your own luck," he spat. "You wouldn't know that your people would always be…. protected," he said in mocking tones.

Belle gaped at him, her face turning pale. "That is horrific."

"No," said Zoso madly, his eyes wide, lips dripping. "It is One's way. I am the incarnation of every Dark One to have ever existed. And just as the Dark One before me is as much a part of me as the air I once breathed in another life, I would be so entwined with the next Dark One's very being that if you dared to look into his eyes, you would see me. If he crushed you under his boot, you would feel me. If you heard him speak, you would hear me. Indistinguishable. From the minute the blade plunges beneath the skin, we are One. And One does not fall prey to human weaknesses such as clemency. This is the true Dark One's way. Every Dark One has been the same, and it will never change. And you, girl, agreed to the wager."

Belle closed her eyes against oncoming tears. What had she done?

"Ahhh, I can see it now…," continued the Dark One, hissing more and more as his excitement increased, "You would be desperate… while never knowing that your Fate, girl, has been secured. You will simply return to your father, tell him you made a mistake." He narrowed his eyes. "You will be desperate — and I do so enjoy it when souls despair. Yes," he said, wrapping his cloak shut decisively. "Removing your memories would be just the thing. Ah, don't snivel. Be grateful this wager didn't end in your death. You can have the gold," he said bitterly. "I've had more than enough of that in my time. I'm sure you'll soon understand that." He cackled, then spat on the floor, before glaring at her with his murky eyes. "You will not know me when we meet again, but trussst me, that day will come, and sooner than One might expect."

She stood up and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he snapped his fingers. The air around Belle seemed to grow still. For a matter of seconds, Belle of Avonlea froze. Every hair on her head ceased to move. Her eyes became fixed on the spot where the Dark One had been, seconds before. A look of blankness came into her eyes. The creature caressed the side of her cheek with one hideous blackened nail, almost dreamily, as though imagining all the things he could have done to her.

Then, the creature left the building, wearing a mask of satisfaction on his frog-like face — knowing, in a way that no one else could, that his plan was shaping up perfectly, and with a little pinch of extra suffering added into the bargain. Not, he mused, a bad way to end his career. To be sure, this was certainly not violent, as some of his former ploys had been. The cruelty of this particular plot lay in its insidiousness, and it was all the eviler for its subtlety and simplicity. Pleased with his work, Zoso left the Three Jolly Bargemen in a puff of rancid smoke to indulge in some celebratory torturing in a suitably far-off land. There was always someone somewhere that needed proper maiming, after all. And he always felt so refreshed afterward.

Back at the inn, Belle returned to herself with a series of rapid, confused blinks, and found to her surprise that the sudden weight in her pocket was a fresh supply of gold. How it came to be under her cloak was a mystery, and she had no recollection as to where it had come from, try as she might to remember its origin. She asked the men next to her, and the woman by the door, but none seemed to want to claim the gold that she held towards them in her palm. Each person she asked said "S'not mine, miss," and Belle was stunned by the notion that the honest folk of this town wanted nothing to do with her gold, and seemed completely unfazed by the way they glinted and shone in the firelight. No one wanted to come forward, despite her honest attempt to do what was right and return the gold to its rightful owner. What was more, the people seemed to be avoiding her more than they were avoiding the gold, and she reeled from the realization that somehow, in walking into the tavern, she'd become some sort of pariah.

As Zoso had promised, she remembered nothing of his wager, nothing of their game. Even the memory of the strange man from several weeks ago, with the sludge-colored eyes, who had helped her and Philippe out of the ditch — even that memory was covered with hazy white fog. She couldn't remember the event that had been so sharp in her memory only minutes before. She didn't even know that memory existed.

But while she may have lost her memories of that night, Belle was now in possession of something far more dangerous than gold: a sealed Fate. Had she been permitted to keep memories and had time enough to reflect on them before they got destroyed by the slimy sorcerer, Belle would have abhorred the very notion of a decided fate that could not be controlled. After all, hadn't it always been her belief that she, and she alone, could change her fate?

In truth, while her unknown fate would without question put her repeatedly in the path of danger and death, it would also give her the answers to a number of impossible questions. Belle of Avonlea's fate was a direction, a destination, with many different roads leading to the same place. And Time, in its course, would reveal that this new unchangeable destiny would be the guide to her greatest adventure of all.

But every journey has to start somewhere, and Belle's would, to her dismay and discomfort, begin with an interminable, humiliating, bone-cold, and very wet voyage back home the next day — home, to her Father's castle.