Cobalt Crown - Book One

9 The Fable House

     Everyone had a story at the Fable House. A man called The Teller was usually the one who made new ones. Interesting new ones, at least. He was known to Kyrael, as was as much a friend as the other serving girls were. He was, of course, paid a sum for his "work" by the owner. Good bards were hard to come by. He would stand atop a tall wooden stage that dominated the center of the main room's floor. The Talebox. The one he was telling now was "The Angel of the Fable House."

     "This tale is about the first time someone learned not to mess with the Angel of House Fable. A tale about a drunkard!" The ale would flow, as was customary any time alcohol was mentioned in a tale. "He spun her at first, by her hand, as a gentleman should, landing her in his lap, as a gentle man wouldn't." There was a slight pause for cheers and whistles. "Yes, a classic maneuver, but be warned, good people. Because the Angel of the Fable House is no angel, at all. She is a demon!" The ensuing display involved two fingers at the Teller's forehead. Horns, naturally. And a strut whose gait was every bit aggressive as it was confident and sexy. Everyone had a story about him or herself at the Fable House. That's what the establishment was about. This just happened to be Kyrael's, and because of it, everyone knew that she didn't take any shit from anyone. And that she had a damn good right hook.

     Everyone had a story at the Fable House and Kyrael grabbed another plate of drinks as she listened to hers continue. "She served the men there, right from his lap, with a smile on her face. And when it came time to serve his drink... she stood up, poured it on his trousers, and socked him so hard on the mouth his head spun clean around!" Laughs erupted through the tavern. Kyrael's back muscles tightened as she carried the tray through the floor.

     "Oy there she is, now," One patron called, recognizing Kyrael. "Come on now, give me one! Clock me right on the cheek!" More laughs. Kyrael saw that the man's face was red as a beet. She moved on, as the laughs slid from her onto the beet-faced man. The room fell slightly, changing from a laughter to a hearty jeer at the beet-faced man, who appeared as if he'd been refused some kind of cultural honor. Maybe she should have punched him and been the room's hero. But she avoided that attention as best she could, like her mother always told her to.

     Everyone had a story at the Fable House. The Teller had the most, of course, but others came up to try their hand in between his many tales. The good stories were usually the ones who weren't told by drunken farmers. But one story stuck out, because it was the exception to that rule. A farmer walked up. He had unwashed brown hair, worn long and put up in a horse's tail. Kyrael didn't recognize him. But she hadn't spent time out of the walls in at least several years. Her mother had always refused her the opportunity to travel with her to other towns for work. The thought of it made her wonder if her mother really wanted her to become an apothecary or not. She listened to the man begin.

     "This is not a story I tell happily. It's not one I tell to frighten, either. It's one I tell you all as a warning. It ain't no angel what's lurking in them woods south of the town! I saw it myself! My brother and I were out in those woods, the Grey Woods, our daddy used to call 'em. Now I know why. It's because dead men are grey, and dead men are what's in them woods, I tell ya!"

     The room was split. Most had already dismissed the man's story. They had heard a thousand tales of ghosts and bogeymen. A few listened, intent on hearing what he had to say, at least for now.

     "Fen and I, we were out in the woods looking for the witch that's said to live there. It was Moonsday night, and there was no wind. We thought we might find her and see what kind of harvest we'd have this year. Well we got down to Green River when it jumped us. A huge thing, bigger than a horse, at least seven feet when it stood. It didn't have any skin! Just bones and muscles. And it had four heads! And a bunch of arms and legs, too! The worst part was, all its parts were parts of men. I don't know what my brother and I did to deserved it, but I've been going to temple ever since, paying worship to Siora. All must Rest," he said with a prayerful sweep of his hands. "And I suggest you all go there too, just in case that thing decides it wants to come to the town and do what monsters do." He stepped off the Talebox.