Towers and Braids Read online

  Table of Contents

  TOWERS AND BRAIDS (BOOK #4)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Abnormals Underground Series

  The Flamestone Trilogy

  The Barren Trilogy

  The Timeless Trilogy

  Chapter One

  A light streaked across the night sky.

  I lifted my head from the windowsill to watch it sail through the stars. The golden line passed overhead with a faint whooshing sound, lit the tops of the trees in a brief magical glow, and arched down to vanish somewhere in the forest. Leaves rustled as it crashed through them and then silence fell back over the night.

  I remained still for a long time, waiting for something else to happen, but all remained dark. From my vantage point on top of my tower, I scanned the tops of the trees for any sign of the light, but it had vanished. It had fallen somewhere to the west. The only activity I spotted were the blinking green fireflies between the trees, oblivious that this had just happened. The cylinder of the old tower stretched out below, the last standout from rubble long since reclaimed by nature. My home was all that remained of a castle of an unknown size and age.

  And tonight, I hated that I was on top of it.

  “Mother,” I called to the darkness. “Mother—are you down there? Did you see that?”

  But there was no response. The crickets dared to sing again.

  “Mother?”

  She should have been back by now. She returned by dark after traveling to the market and back, the basket stuffed with supplies and food. Then I’d have the painful task of letting her back up.

  Those were the times I hated my hair.

  I grabbed onto my braids and pulled them into a pile, then set them up on the windowsill. It felt great to get the weight off the back of my head. I checked the ground. The night had fallen so deep I could barely make it out along with the grass and the purple flowers, now blue in the deep dusk. I spent my evenings watching how the setting sun made certain colors fade and others come to life. Many kinds of flowers spread out around the tower and filled our clearing, ranging from reds to yellows to violets. Blues were the last to fade every night.

  Mother was always back by time that happened.

  My stomach growled. Where was she? I hadn't eaten since last night when she realized we'd run out of bread and vegetables.

  Investigating that fallen star, perhaps.

  I sat up straighter and looked in the direction the sun had sank in. Only a bit of fire remained on the horizon. Darkness had collapsed, leaving no trace of the visitor. I checked the sky, hoping for another glimpse, but nothing. The familiar expanse of stars stretched overhead, forming a cloud of light I imagined went on forever.

  I always asked Mother what was up there.

  She always told me she didn’t know, and that curiosity was bad for me.

  But tonight, I couldn’t hold the feeling down.

  Mother was missing and something odd had landed.

  * * * * *

  When I was eight years old, I asked Mother if I could go with her to the market.

  “Please,” I begged, pacing around the round room of the tower. “I get so cooped up in here all the time. I get so bored!”

  “No, Rae,” Mother said. She held her basket close as if scared I would snatch it. “It is a big, dangerous world out there not fit for little girls. I bring you books and cards and playthings. Stay occupied with that.”

  “You always say that!” I tugged on the skirt of her black dress. “You always say it’s bad, but then you come home safe every single day. I want to go out, just once.”

  She leaned down and grabbed my arms. Sighed. “Rae,” she said, clutching my arms almost to pain. “You will not like it if you go out. You need to stay within safety. Besides, I need to braid you hair tonight. I never got the chance yesterday."

  “I hate safety. Just let me go. Just once. And why do you always want to braid my hair?”

  Mother released my arms, turned away, and did a lap around the tower. "Because I want to." Around our beds. Around our baskets and around our iron stove, which stood against the wall with soot I had forgotten to sweep up that morning. I feared she would notice and get out the switch, but Mother was too distracted. She stopped in front of the stove and put her hand on her chin.

  Her eyes seemed different today. Darker.

  “Can I go?” I asked. The morning beams of sun spilled in through the window, making the stone bricks sparkle.

  Mother muttered something.

  “Yes. You can go, just this one time.” Mother extracted a key from her pocket and went for the trapdoor, the one she didn't allow me to touch. I watched her undo the padlocks and for the first time, I got to see the ancient, crumbling stairs below that Mother said weren’t safe.

  “We have to climb down those?” I asked. The stone didn’t look sturdy.

  Mother smiled. “Yes. If you go with me, we have to use these stairs. Whose braids will I climb down?"

  A nervous feeling bloomed in my stomach. “I don’t want to go down those.”

  Mother put her hand on my back and pushed me forward. I bit in a scream. The stairs were steep. Narrow. The darkness inside the tower looked like the entrance to a scary cave with no bottom. If I fell, I might plunge into darkness forever.

  “Go!” Mother ordered. “This is what you wanted.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  She gave me a swat on the bottom. Tears of shame rose, and I took my first step.

  Then another.

  It was my job to lead the way.

  I hiccupped on the way down the stairs, trying to keep them quiet so Mother wouldn’t know. My eyes adjusted to the dark. Lines formed before me. The borders of the old bricks. Moss. I held onto the wall and the slippery stuff brushed my hand every few seconds. The air smelled of moisture. I had caught a whiff of this while holding my nose and ear to the trapdoor for hours in the past, but never this bad.

  “Hurry, Rae,” Mother ordered. Her impatience shoved me forward. I walked faster and loose stone slipped under my boots, but I kept my footing. I could do this. Letting Mother send me back to the top of the tower would show failure. I had dreamt of this ever since I had grown tall enough to look out the window.

  For the first time, I would touch the ground.

  I would walk on the grass and see what it felt like.

  The trees would tower over me. I’d smell the flowers that the bees buzzed around.

  There was a light down here.

  Not much, but it formed a border in the brick below and it looked like an arch. “What’s that?” I asked Mother.

  The fear dissipated. I could do this. The light might be the way out of here.

  “An old door,” Mother said. “Push it open when you reach the bottom.”

  I walked faster down the steps and another piece of stone slid. I went down on my bottom and pain spread up my back for a second, then vanished. “Sorry,” I said.

  “Get to the door and push it open,” Mother demanded.

  My feet hit dirt. The moist smell got stronger. Dizzy, I walked forward with my arms out, then ran into the door.

  The wood was old. Slippery. I bit in a cry and pushed.

  “Now, Rae.”

  The door came open and light assaulted my eyes.

  I had to sq
uint as I took my first step out into the world. But when the light stopped hurting so much, I opened my eyes to a strange sight.

  The trees were so tall down here.

  And they made such huge shadows.

  Mother pushed me out of the bottom of the tower and I eyed the grass. I hadn’t imagined that the outside world would have such detail. Tiny white flowers grew between the blades and they looked like little stars. I leaned down to feel one.

  “Walk, Rae. We need to get to the market and back by time night falls. Night is dangerous.”

  Disappointed, I straightened up and grabbed Mother’s hand. I looked back at the tower. The wooden door hung wide open, leading to darkness. This was the side of my home I had never seen. My window looked out in the opposite direction.

  "Mother, don't you go west to the village?"

  Mother sighed, impatient. She remained silent, and we walked into the trees, along a narrow trail of dirt that I had never realized was there. Her auburn hair bobbed up and down as if angry I wanted to come along.

  “We are not going that way today. I’ve had word from the village that a group of bandits are waiting on that trail, ready to surprise anyone who ventures past. There is another, less traveled way to the village.”

  “Bandits?” I asked. Mother had told me about men who would rob you or even kill you for the things you had. They were everywhere in this world. In Fable.

  “Yes. Bandits,” she said. “If they catch us, we might both die. Do not let go of my hand.”

  I held Mother’s hand tight, checking behind the trunk of every tree for men who might hide there, holding knives. I had seen no men. Did they look like normal people?

  We walked for a long time down the trail which grew more narrow and less traveled. Bushes grew alongside the trail that had blackberries and raspberries growing on them. So this was where berries came from. Mother must have come this way to pick them on the days she told me she wouldn’t go far.

  But she didn’t stop. I reached out and grabbed a berry, then recoiled when something on the bush sliced at my hand. “Ouch!” A dotted line of blood appeared on the top of my hand and I brought the wound to my mouth, holding it there until the sting went away.

  “Those plants are dangerous,” Mother explained. “Would you like to come out here and pick those berries for me every day?”

  “No,” I said, hating that I agreed with her. Maybe she was right and I wouldn’t like the world.

  We passed more of the bushes, clusters and clusters of them. I kept my arms at my sides, grasping my yellow skirt instead. The cut on my hand had swollen shut. My long braid trailed behind me. Branches slapped at Mother as she pulled me deeper into the forest. I glanced back. Our tower rose above the trees, its brown roof worn with age. We were heading the same direction the sun liked to drift in each day now.

  And then I spotted something I didn't like.

  Darkness up ahead as if the forest itself grieved.

  The trees grew thicker up ahead and their leaves darker, almost black. The whole ground looked like a lake of shadow. Thorny bushes grew everywhere along the trail and murky water surrounded all the evil trees. The area of darkness stretched out and took up an area about five times the size of the room at the top of our tower. I had never imagined there was anything like this out here.

  In the trees, birds cawed. I hated the sound of these. They were harsher than the others I was used to.

  And then I realized with horror that the trail went right through the middle of this horrible thing. Mother pulled me closer and my throat went dry.

  "What's this?" I asked. My stomach got upset. It wasn't so much this strange area itself. It was something else.

  It was the thought that I was wrong to want to come out here.

  We stopped. "This is a dark spot," Mother explained, keeping a tight grip on my wrist. She sounded almost...happy. "They're all over the place these days and they keep growing bigger."

  I eyed it. "Isn't there a way around?"

  "Look," Mother said. "Where does the trail go?"

  She stared down at me, demanding an answer.

  "Through the dark spot," I said at last.

  "Then through there we go," she said, walking again.

  I dragged my feet into the strange, uneven ground. Mother smiled at me as I struggled and pulled harder. She was enjoying my fear. She wanted me to fear. Mother wasn't like this often. Something was wrong with her today.

  And then she pulled me over the threshold to the dark spot.

  Fear coiled in my belly like a snake. It lashed out, biting at me. I bit my lip. Mother was staring at me. I could sense her gaze, cutting like that berry bush.

  “See?” She asked me. “See? This is what the world is like. Do you want to explore more of it?”

  I said nothing. Shame burned in my eyes and I struggled to keep the tears back.

  “Answer me, Rae.”

  We stopped in the middle of the dark spot, right under a huge, gnarled tree that had a large hole in its trunk. The hole looked like the entrance to some underworld. Something scurried inside.

  “Answer me!”

  I wrestled my hand from her grip. I thought of the flowers we had passed. The springy grass. “Yes! I want to see parts that are better than this.”

  Mother’s mouth fell open, and she brushed her curls away from her face. “This is the world, Rae. Do you need to see closer?” Her gaze shifted towards the tree with the hole.

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  “I think you do,” she said. Mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the tree.

  “Let go!” I yelled. But Mother smiled now, and I dragged my feet in the muck. I wanted out of this place more than anything. The rustling noise grew louder. Something was in that tree hole.

  And then a large, hairy form shot out towards us, squeaking.

  A rat.

  The biggest I had ever seen. It was bigger than the rabbits I’d seen hopping below the tower. Bigger than any rat should be.

  I screamed and jumped, but it was too late. Grimy fur brushed my skirt and my shins and something sharp dug into my leg.

  “Rae!” Mother kicked at the rat and sent it flying back into the tree trunk. She picked me up, hugged me close, and ran.

  Meanwhile, blood ran down my leg.

  * * * * *

  I hiked my skirt up to examine my scar. I could barely see it in the dark, but the faint lantern on the other side of the room was just enough for me to see.

  Even after eight years, the mark remained where the rat had bitten me, halfway between my knee and my foot. It was the only mark on my leg, my one reminder of what had happened when I ventured outside.

  Mother reminded me of that often.

  The familiar shame burned in me and I tried to push down my forbidden sense of adventure. The light had been nothing important, anyway. It was probably some fire from the heavens, something dangerous that no one should be touching. It would be terrible for me to go out there in the dark. Dark was when the bandits came out. They could never get up here unless I dropped my hair for them.

  Or if they got lucky and found the right bricks, the loose ones that stuck out from the aging tower. Mother used them for footing when she climbed up.

  But Mother didn't appear. The last of the light had faded. A crescent moon rose, giving a little light to the expanse of trees below.

  She was down there.

  I wasn't supposed to be.

  But I always wondered if the entire world wasn't dark. The world around the tower always appeared light, with rabbits and foxes and birds. They weren't like the rat at all.

  This was night though. Things could be different at night.

  I tried to make out the flowers below, but the last blue color had vanished.

  "Mother?"

  Still not here.

  I stood up. My stomach rumbled. We should finish our dinner by now. If she got caught by bandits—

  I didn't want to think about that.

&n
bsp; I paced around the room, making a circle and walking over our worn carpets. My hair dragged behind me and I had to pick it up again. Braids shone gold as I passed the faint lantern. The oil had almost run down. Mother had to bring back some of that, too. And perhaps, something to keep my hair up in. I wanted that more than anything.

  Except for perhaps dinner. My stomach cramped in pain. If Mother didn't come back, I'd get a lot hungrier. She had already gone far longer than she should have.

  I stopped at the trapdoor which Mother kept locked at all times. She only used it to go out on days she was sick and too weak to climb the tower. On those days, my scalp thanked her. I wished she would use the trapdoor all the time, but she always said the steps were even more dangerous than they used to be. I had to keep growing my hair, and she wasn't happy if she didn't get to touch it at least once a day. She almost needed that the way she needed food.

  I wished she understood how heavy it was to lug around.

  I paced three more times.

  No Mother.

  She might be lost. She never carried a lantern with her.

  My heart raced with anticipation. I could take this lantern. I had to. Maybe all she needed was light to get back here. I could climb down the loose bricks. Memorizing them had been easy. It was my world and I knew it well.

  Even in the dark I might scale them. Mother had even climbed back up on them by herself a few times when she didn't have her basket.

  I grabbed the lantern because I didn't have a choice anymore.

  I had to go down there.

  Chapter Two

  The first thing I did was heave my braid back up onto the windowsill. It landed and coiled like a fat, gigantic golden snake. Like a rope. I wondered if there was something I could fix my braids to up here so I could have a better handhold on the way down, but once I reached the ground, how would I untangle my hair?

  I’d just have to take the chance.

  The second thing I did was slide my arm through the metal handle of the lantern. The light wavered and returned. It was uncomfortable, but if I tossed it over the edge, I would break it.

  I knew where the first brick was where I’d have to step. Mother had planted her foot there on plenty of occasions.