herr_bookman | 03 - The Spinners, part II

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"What did you do to Fakir?!" Duck demanded after Autor opened the door, allowing her entry into the replica study.

"Nothing."

"Liar!" she said, crouched protectively over the collapsed boy.

Autor wondered if Rae would challenge him like this. She probably would, he thought, and a pang of regret hit him. But only for a moment.

"It's true," he said to Duck. "He just stood there for three days without food or sleep."

"Why would he do...?"

"This way he sharpens his mind and spirit," Autor said, folding his arms. If I can handle it, he should be able to as well. "If he starts complaining at just this, I'll really have no hope for him at all."

"Talking like that--" Duck started, frowning fiercely at him.

"I'm fine," Fakir said, struggling to his feet.

"Fakir," Duck said, hovering.

"Then hurry and stand back up!" Autor said. "Tonight I'll give you a test to measure your aptitude. Continue until then."

Duck refused to leave, so Autor let her remain near Fakir until midnight, annoying as she was. Under the cover of darkness, the three teens struck out for the museum near the school. Autor scowled at his shoes for clattering on the cobblestones, wishing he could simply call out his flying carpet.

His anticipation felt like it was about to break him. This is it. The pivotal moment. I'll test Fakir, and then... Then I don't know. We'll have to see.

Autor stopped walking once they reached the museum, and led his straggling pupil and his tag-a-long behind it. "Long, long ago," he said, letting loose his practiced speech, "the Spinners of Stories had an evergreen oak in Goldkrone Town that they used to test their power. When the midnight bells stopped ringing, and someone touched the tree... if they had power, they would hear the voice of the oak."

He curled a hand around his hip, shifting to put most of his weight on it. "By the way, I have clearly heard the oak before, as a faint, distant voice," he said, placing his other hand over his heart. "However, if you have no power, I'm sure you'll hear nothing but the sound of the wind."

"But where is this oak tree?" Duck asked, still hovering around Fakir.

"That's right," Autor said, gesturing across the grassy yard. "The tree was cut down long ago and only a sprig remains here, below the museum. But there is one stone here that is best as a point to initiate contact with the oak."

He adjusted his glasses, careful not to look at the stone yet. "Even for me, it was difficult to figure out which stone it was but I'll make an exception and tell yo--"

Fakir shrugged off Duck's attentions and stumbled straight to the rock.

"Oh," Autor said. Wait, what? What? He can't have--but he did, clearly. That's... All right. I can work with this. He shook himself. "Very well done, finding it. You are praiseworthy, as a direct descendant."

Fakir said nothing, so Autor narrowed his eyes and continued speaking.

"That is the best position to hear the oak tree's voice. But be prepared. There are many who have failed to make contact," he said, eyes glittering, "and were sucked into the tree, losing their life."

"No way!" Duck shrieked. "Fakir, maybe you shouldn't..."

Fakir smiled a bit at her over his shoulder. "Didn't you say I should hurry and Write the Story?"

"I'm sorry!" Duck said, and Autor rolled his eyes at her flailing. "But, I didn't think it would be such a terrible task. I thought it would just be some writing, so... so..."

"It's midnight," Autor said, glancing at his watch.

"Fakir!" Duck cried, reaching out for him as Fakir grasped the stone.

"Don't interfere!" Autor said, seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her back.

"Fakir!" Duck said, struggling against Autor. "Stop!"

They waited a moment while nothing happened. Autor released Duck, and brushed his hands against one another. "Well," he said. "It looks as if it was pointless, after all."

Autor felt... relieved. If Fakir wasn't a Spinner, then he wouldn't have a chance of ending the Story, and it would be Autor's job. And, as Mirai pointed out, Fakir would be dangerous as a Spinner, so this meant Autor wouldn't have to worry about him as much.

He strode to Fakir. "Hey," Autor said, reaching down to grasp him by the shoulder. "Hey, you might as well give up--"

As soon as his fingers brushed Fakir's blazer, lightning traveled from his hand to his toes, throwing him back towards Duck. He struck the ground and bounced, glasses knocked askew.

"Fakir!" Duck screamed, and Autor's vision faded. Through his throbbing headache, he could hear her crying her friend's name, and when she stopped, Autor knew it was over.

He raised his eyes, and saw Fakir--his rival, his enemy--cradled in the arms of a ballerina, flanked by the wings of a great, glowing swan. "He was... chosen," Autor murmured, and then his vision went black.