Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable) Read Free Page A

erupted from within him like uncorked champagne exploding from a bottle. Thomas screamed at the top of his newly liberated lungs. There were no words; it was pure, inarticulate horror spewing into the air.
    Surprisingly, the creature actually seemed taken aback. It shook him even more, and then it spoke.
    â€œThomas!”
    The fact that the monster was suddenly speaking in an understandable tongue was enough to shock Thomas to a halt. He stared uncomprehendingly at the beast with its fearsome yellow eyes, except instead of savagery, they were filled with confusion. “Thomas, wake up!”
    With those words, it was as if a veil had been lifted from Thomas’s mind. Slowly, the monster that had been looming over Thomas, threatening his life, dissolved like morning dew dissipated by the sun’s rays. In its stead was the face of his father. He was jowly, with a gleaming, bald head that always seemed beaded with sweat regardless of whether it was hot as hell or cold as hell. His room likewise came into focus. It was a simple affair in terms of furniture, with only a single dresser and a bed with a lumpy mattress and a threadbare sheet.
    The reason for this was that Thomas’s father was a big believer in teaching his son how to properly apportion money. Rather than furnish the room himself, his father told Thomas that he had a certain amount of money available to him every year specifically designated to be used for room furnishing and that he was free to use it as he saw fit.
    But Thomas set little store in such things as mattresses or dressers or even clothing. Instead, his entire focus was on books.
    Lots of books.
    Copious numbers of books. Books that were stacked everywhere, in no particular order, and yet somehow Thomas was always able to locate whatever particular volume he might be seeking at any given time.
    â€œThomas—!”
    â€œI’m awake, Father,” Thomas said with a croak, sitting up in bed. His nightshirt was soaked with perspiration, and his long, thick brown hair was likewise hanging damp around his face. “I’m awake—”
    â€œWhat was hammering through your skull, boy?” said his father, stepping back. He glanced around suspiciously at the books as if they were the source of all his problems. “More foolishness gleaned from your endless collection of nonsensical tales?”
    â€œThey’re not nonsense, and no,” said Thomas.
    â€œWhat was it, then?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œYou don’t.” His father did not sound particularly convinced, which was largely due to the fact that Thomas was an abysmal liar.
    And Thomas knew perfectly well that his father was aware of his obfuscation. He tried to look his father in the eyes but wound up lowering his gaze, staring fixedly at the sheet as he insisted, “No. I don’t.”
    His father considered pushing the matter but then shrugged it off, as if he had issues of far greater import on his mind. “You need to see her,” he said.
    â€œHer?” It was at that point that Thomas abruptly realized the earliness of the hour. The sun was not yet above the horizon. His father had always been an early riser, but this was excessive even for him. “Her who? Mother, you mean?”
    â€œShe began coughing, and she will not stop.”
    â€œDid you send for a doctor?” Even as he spoke, he tossed aside his blanket and settled his bare feet on the floor, which seemed unconscionably cold.
    â€œYes. And he suggested I send for you. He said that now would be a good time for you to see her.”
    Then did his father’s meaning become clear to him as the last dregs of slumber fell from his mind. Forgotten, or at least shunted aside for the time being, was the snarling creature from his dreams. Instead, his focus was entirely on his father’s concern for his mother. Not that his father was ever the most demonstrative of men, but even so, his worry