Sounds of shuffled papers and harsh muttering echoed through a still library. Five armed men lay unconscious on the polished floor. A figure moved about the room in frenzy, walking over strewn books and papers. Her frantic movements halted when faint sparks of magic stung her fingertips as they brushed against a leather-bound book. Wide-eyed, she removed the book from its place with trembling fingers and laid it on the closest table. Mathilda flipped through the dusty tome only stopping when she found what she had been searching. Gulping down her fears she read the written words.
Dated back to the last three centuries the Fairy Council, bound by their magic from killing mortals, had manipulated mankind in annihilating those who can bring stories to life. Too much destruction was created by those who enslaved these people. Echidna was what they were called and only death can take away their ability. Releasing the tight grip she had on the tome she continued reading the passage:
Limited to only five creations, the Echidnas must be enslaved for their magic to work. They are compelled to do their master's bidding. The power that wields control over an Echidna's creation comes in various forms. These conjured beings are only permanent after the creation of the fifth creature, wherein means the Echidna's death. If the Echidna were to die before creating the fifth being or were freed from enslavement, whether by the master or on his/her own, their creations will perish.
As the fairy read further the more agitated she became. With the storyteller's ability and the king's cunningness, he could easily become the most powerful ruler. He already had the Dark One in his thrall and wasted the second gift on his dead child. From what she had gathered the woman was once a slave to a fool for whom she conjured two beings. Somehow she escaped and lived a nomadic life before she was enslaved by Rumpelstiltskin.
Anger and fear welled up in her. She needed the storyteller dead. One could only guess the king's thoughts. There was no knowing what the beauty had spun around him—after all, Rumpelstiltskin was only a man. A lonely man who could easily fall for the woman if she played her cards right. With every chance on the woman's life closed to her, she wondered if this would be the time her reign would end. No. She couldn't—wouldn't—let that come to pass. Rumpelstiltskin's soul is hers. If he confessed his love to Belle it would break the magical bind she has on his soul. Then, how else would she sustain her life force?
The feeling of being watched broke Mathilda's train of thought. Ghostly fingers trailed down her neck. She sharply turned to her right. A frown marred her ageless face and wild eyes scanned the length of the room. There! At the corner or the library stood an ominous figure cloaked in darkness.
"How you managed to survive to a century I shall never understand," the creature sneered.
"The coward has finally sent you to kill me, has he?"
The creature chuckled darkly. "No. I come with a truce."
Mathilda looked at the Dark One through narrowed eyes.
"I need someone to move a certain pawn in the right direction… and you're the best candidate there is. In return, you'll get your heart's desire."
"You're the mighty Dark One; surely you do not need a proxy to play this game?"
The Dark One smiled tightly before leaving her corner to approach the fairy in slow strides. "Enthralled as I am by the king, I can still bend the rules tying me to him. However, there are limits to which I can twist them," she sneers. "I can't do anything that might directly harm him. Neither can I conjure anything without his explicit command." Hira stopped a foot away from Mathilda before lowering her hood. The air in the room, if it was possible, became darker and heavier.
"The king is going to station me in the west to guard his precious ports for however long it'll be. So you see that leaves me in a rather tight spot." The Dark One faked a pout. "I can neither leave my post nor offer riches to those who would bed my means to an end. Not that I blame them." Hira circled the fairy with a scrutinising look. "Ugly as a pig and poorer than a rat, he is. Who would want to associate themselves with a downtrodden man? But I know you're desperate to end the storyteller and will do anything for an opportunity." The woman stopped in front of the fairy. "So, I offer you a deal: you'll have access to the storyteller and can do whatever you wish with her as long as you help me get my dagger. Do we have a deal, Mathilda?"
"Wouldn't her death mean yours, too?"
"Don't worry your pretty head over me. I'll live through this and for many years to come." Hira gave her a slimy smile. "His name is Caleb; a pimply man who frequents the taverns. I'm sure you'll be able to handpick him amongst the trashes. All you need to do is tempt him with sweet nothings. Tempt him and he'll do exactly as I've planned. He and the dagger will be mine and she will be yours."
"How would I know you shan't kill me after?" the fairy glared.
"What do I gain in killing you? I only want my freedom." With that, Mathilda agreed to the terms.
"If you're late again do not bother coming… ever." Caleb cringed at the king's clipped tone. Controlling his breathing and quaking hands, he went about to serve the king and his son. He had been delayed, once again, by the arms of Catrina, a lissom blonde beauty. Smitten was he by her on their first encounter that he made tall tales to impress. Luck would have it that she bought his lies. He wondered what he did right to gain her attention. Women avoided him and saw right through his words, but not Catrina. Sweet, darling Catrina with her ample bosoms, she made him feel good about himself.
On their first encounter, an arm-full of said woman pressed herself against him after a few rounds of drinks and conversations. With heated eyes she took his hands and led him to the dark alley behind the tavern. He lost count on the ways and places that he brought her pleasure. Masculine pride surged through him whenever he passed those locations.
A month into their meetings, he decided Catrina was not a flighty woman. He wanted to keep her and so promised her riches and power. Caleb intended to hold on to that vow, especially after he received a taste of her talents after uttering those words. His ego swelled at the thoughts of last night. Finally, his life had pieced itself together.
The sound of a whimper brought him out of his musings. Prince Baelfire was trying to pry opened his father's grip. Heaving a sigh, the king released his clutch, watching with solemn eyes as his son ran from the room. Taking off his robe, the king slumped on his chair, eyes staring vacantly out the window.
Out the corner of his eye, Caleb saw the object of his dreams glinting in the sun's light. The dagger was tied loose to the king's waist. Ever since that chance encounter with the old woman he had worked himself back to a position of trust. It wasn't easy, but he had finally established himself as a reliable worker. Dreams of a powerful dagger plagued him while ghostly whispers told him to search for it. He had scoured every accessible corner but failed at every attempt. That was until he stumbled upon the king stowing away a knife in a secret compartment. He tried to unlock it but gave up when it refused to open. At first, he was uncertain whether it was the Dark One's dagger. Anyway, no one knew what it looked like, but it was eerily familiar to his dreams so he decided to observe.
With time, Caleb noticed the pattern with which the king took it off him; it was always on the fifteenth of each month. It was a mystery at first as to why and where he disappeared to on those days. Judging from the path taken it was to his son's grave. The king tried to be discreet about his destination, but Caleb knew of enough secret passages and peeping holes to uncover the answer. Later on, the king started to take the storyteller along on these visits. Once, they stopped a little too close to his hiding place that he caught part of their hushed conversations. The storyteller asked the king why he did not have the dagger on him. The king replied that an object that controls evil should not mar the purity of his son's grave. Caleb snorted loudly at the king's sentimentality. He was fortunate that the wall was too thick to carry his stupidity to the pair.
After the dead prince was revived, the dagger never left the king's side. Caleb moaned at his misfortune; his dreams seemed to turn into ashes. This however, didn't last long. In the fourth month of the Prince's revival, Caleb noticed that the king once again traversed the path that led him to his son's grave sans storyteller. Ever since then, it became a weekly routine and the dagger was back in its secret compartment on these visits—well, not so secret since he knew its location. Caleb assumed the failed attempts at reconnecting with the prince triggered it, but the workings of the mad king's mind were of no importance to him. What mattered was the dagger. All of his wishes and longings lie on it.
"Your Majesty…" Caleb started tentatively, but the king waved his hand in dismissal. Silently, he exited the room. In his trek back to the kitchen he told himself that people suffering emotional exhaustion would always make a mistake. It was only a matter of time. As cunning as he was the king is just a man. Rumpelstiltskin would be careless, leaving him with the opportunity to swoop down on his bounty. He could feel it in his bones that his desires would be soon realised.
Everything changed on a beautiful Sunday morning when Caleb found a skeleton key underneath the king's bed. He was elated to discover that it could open any kind of locks.