The Curious Case of Jacob's Hallow

by Patrick Walsh

  “Heh. Oh, I would be lying if I tried to tell ya I wasn’t savoring this.” She swung her arms back down and aimed her staff to the surface. “The gauntlet is strong, but the era of using it to rule a nation is long since passed. They’ll deny it, like the snakes they are, but everyone knows the Paladins have a few of those old weapons squirreled away in one of their vaults. Nah...I had..well have...much bigger goals in mind.”

  Han watched as her hand fell to her satchel, reminding him of what sat within his own.

  Aza, on the other hand, stepped forward. “I felt the gauntlet’s power...whatever you had planned can’t be any bigger than that.” He spoke the words firmly but tinged with a dark curiosity.

  “Ha! Oh, kid.” She looked north, back to the mainland. “This ground was rotten long before me or the gauntlet ever showed up. An I wasn’t the only one that knew it. That damn glove ripped at your souls. Begged and bellyached like a child to anyone that would humor it...” Then a fire suddenly lit in her mind. “That reminds me. I assume you lot found old Junior...I’ve been wondering where he’s been hidin out all these years.”

  “Hiding? He’s dead.” Aza pointed back to the necropolis. “Has been for nearly ten years. I would have thought you’d have picked up on it by now.”

  “No...no, that can't be right.” Her words echoed with uncertainty. All the souls of the dead here went through her. They were bound here by her. He couldn't be dead...unless…

  Both Aza and Han were put off by the slight fear that flashed within her eyes, if only for a moment. That was when the puppetmaster thought back to something he had set aside. “It’s the thing in the pit isn’t it.”

  “What?” Her red eyes narrowed, thinking this some strange lie or trap.

  “We were all connected to the gauntlet. We were all pulling scraps of its power...even you. But there was something else there...underneath it. I saw that same pit in the lower levels of the crypt.” He began to feel a bit of unease himself thinking back to it. “What is that thing...at the bottom?”

  “No...no…” Her eyes began to fly around the room, as if the walls were capable of telling her their secrets. Then her gaze honed in on the scholar, who was looking right at her. His bag was now opened and within was the top of a book much like her own. All at once, she began to grasp the true severity of her situation. “What was your name again, puppetmaster?”

  “Azriel. The angel of hope.”

  “Azriel?” She pronounced it with a hard emphasis on the “z” and “i” opposed to the much smoother way they said it. “Angel of death, actually.”

  With that, she swung her staff back and fiery red energy burst forth from it. Aza fired his threads straight at her chest, but she was merely pushed back. From behind her, a massive crab comprised of orange light began to take form. Azriel pulled his strings, while Dullahan raised his blade. The witch, on the other hand, hobbled back over to the minecart.

  “Coward!” Aza was furious but blamed himself for trying to get answers as opposed to just ending things when he had the chance.

  “After you kill them, keep their souls within yourself and guard the bodies.” She smiled as the crab turned towards the boys and began shuffling forward. From there, a single blast of magic from her staff cleared the track of debris and allowed her to escape. Her pet would put an end to the two pests, though more than anything, she wanted to do the deed herself. Fortunately, reason won out and leaving this land was brought back to the forefront.

  Aza made his strings incorporeal and shot them straight into the behemoth's chest. To his shock, he couldn’t seem to grasp its soul. The thing was there, but felt...off. It was scrambled or jumbled in some way alien to him. “Han, what is that thing?”

  “A sea spirit!” He bolted to the right as one of its legs slammed down and through the rock beside him. “Though the name is misleading since its technically a fae!”

  The strings became solid again and sliced at its shell, passing straight through it without harm. “Ok, then how do we kill it?”

  Han looked around the cave, seeing nothing but corals and sea stones. “Do you see or have any iron?”

  “No, I…” Aza began coughing as the air around the crab became increasingly humid. Within moments, being around it felt as if one were drowning in sea water.

  The beast struck down its claw and began scuttling towards Aza, very aware the puppet master had no defenses against it. What followed was not a clash, but a one sided fight where the crab kept forcing Aza closer to the wall. While the puppetmaster could not grasp or even really understand its soul, he could still feel it and predict where the strikes might land. This saved him from being crushed but didn’t help with the increasingly hazardous air. Though he wasn’t fighting alone.

  Han had only used a blade during a few failed sparring matches that he had been pressured into. So, until now, using it so soon was out of the question. Yet, with no iron in sight and his friend unable to fight back, he charged forwards. The back leg crackled as the icy sword passed through it. He hoped that whatever enchantment empowered the blade might have some effect on the fae. When there was no visible damage he became terrified that they might not have a way to win this. Yet, while the blade was as useless as the strings, the cold within it began shooting up its leg and into the creature’s very essence.

  At once, the air began fading back to normal. Aza looked up to see the lively orange being replaced by a chilling blue while the blade began subduing it. The fae tried to move away, but its joints were slowed and the scholar could simply walk with it and keep up the pressure. “Go!”

  Aza looked to where Han’s gaze had fallen. Next to the track was another string of three minecarts, though it looked like they had been blasted off their rails. While the middle one was nearly broken in half, the other two were more than functional. The puppetmaster took a deep breath and began firing out thread after thread. The writhing swarm yanked at the heavy vessels and, though it pushed their strength to the limit, pulled them back onto the track. He dispelled all but a few and used them to rip the pins from the middle of the carts. As he hopped in, he looked back to Han, afraid to leave him alone, but confident in his ability to at least stay alive. With nothing holding him back, he shot down the winding railway and back towards the village.

  At first, there was only darkness and a few lanterns. Then eventually the eerie light of the necropolis came into view. He flew clean through and began ascending upwards. Within no time at all, the track leveled off and a depot came into view. There, the witch had leaped out and was quickly trying to change the angle of the track. Yet the mechanism was old and rusted from a lack of maintenance. While she had hoped for a speedy escape, it offered yet another hindrance.

  The puppetmaster's cart was sent grinding to a halt and seized the witch's full attention. While she had hoped her pet would be able to deal with them, she had suspected they’d find some way to weasel out. This once more made her question whether or not to stay and finish them off, or run again. While the latter seemed safer, especially with the track nearly in place, the former seemed so much more satisfying. Besides, if she left him again, he might simply pick up the chase with that neverending sack of luck he kept pulling from. So once again, a blast of red light erupted from the staff and sent the cart careening off the track and into the wall. Yet, Aza was already off and in the air, using the threads like the many legs of a spider. Another storm of power snaked through the air, only to be deflected by the strings. The puppetmaster landed and once again found himself standing across from the witch. Their battleground was much the same as it had been before, only now the vibrant hues of the sea stone had been replaced by a suffocating grey. The ceiling was vast, with the deep tunnel networks of the leviathan hidden just above their heads.

  “Ya just don’t know when to quit do ya boy?” The witch muttered a spell and her frozen familiar faded away.

  “No, I don’t suppose I do.” He began walking towards her, noticing her carts. They looked ready to go
and yet here she stood.”

  The witch noticed and just smiled. “Oh, I don’t plan on runnin until I put ya down. I’d reckon you can relate?”

  Aza didn’t reply. He just extended his fear, filling the cave and spooking the squirming horrors above.

  “Oh, that won’t work on me, kid.” The orange crab legs began to appear around her back. Each one stretched and contorted, hoisting her into the air. “Ya shoulda kept the gauntlet when ya had the chance!”

  Aza braced himself as a blast of red light exploded down from above and clashed with his growing bundle of threads. His mind traveled down the web of memories and thought to everyone he had lost. He remembered Gregory, the man who had spent his life fighting the wights. The man who had raised him when he had no family left, who taught him loyalty, bravery, and so much more. He thought to his parents. The mom that was stolen and the father that gave his life for him. There were Aggie and her group who had sacrificed so much in their own right to bring this witch down. Then there was Luke. His oldest friend, who believed in him, built him up, was there for him in the face of danger...who died saving him. Lastly, there was Han. The liar who came back...the only one he knew was left...the one he would make sure didn’t die like all the others.

  The puppetmaster's soul split further as power radiated out. It burned, it hurt, but he kept pushing. The threads warped and congealed as they matched the blast of the witch's staff. She was right overhead, crushing him down like an insect. For a few moments, the straining boy was able to push her back. Then he looked up. She was smiling. Not the coy grins or curious looks she had given in the cave, but one of pure hatred. One of someone who knew they were about to kill the person who had ruined all her plans. He was pinned down now, flesh ripping apart as blue light radiated out. In fact, the entire chamber seemed to be shaking as the twisting, thrashing attacks pushed against one another.

  “I bet ya thought that gettin rid of the gauntlet would get rid of my magic!” She shouted as the sound of the clashing powers intensified, the raw might of the staff crushing further down and snapping his puny strings. “This thing soaked up enough power from the gauntlet to go for weeks! There isn’t a thing your weak lil soul can do against it!”

  Aza dug both feet into the stone as more cracks began to form. He was thinking of everyone, giving it everything, but it wasn’t enough. The growing realization began to show in his now purely blue eyes, each one an orb of fire.

  The witch's face was twisted with manic glee, seeing, feeling, knowing that this was at last the end for him and his troublesome bloodline. He knew she had won. The puppetmaster was breaking apart, even without her blast reaching him. Infact, he couldn’t even break from his pathetic last stand anymore. Spiteful indulgence took hold of her mind again as she drew ever closer. “And ya know what boy? You were right!”

  He looked up at her, unable to speak as the red, crackling death pushed down ever closer.

  “I ain’t never gonna stop! That whining, disloyal piece of metal was just gonna be a fuel source! The real prize is still here and you can bet your loa that I’m commin back for it! An when I do I’m gonna call on every connection I have to come back with me and make this night look like nothin more than a walk in the field! Everyone that survives will die in agony! Everyone who leaves will be hunted down and killed! I will make sure that you, your dad, your friends, that scholar kid...all died for absolutely nothing!

  Aza couldn’t move as four more claws extended from her back. Each one warped as they reared up for a single strike he had no way to block. Two sliced in from the left and two from the right. Azriel closed his eyes as his death finally came. Then they opened. The claws were a few feet away, straining to stab inwards and put an end to him. Yet there were four orbs of blue fire blocking their path. Before, they had been impossible to see through the haze of clashing magic, but now they took form. One was an old man, free of the fungus that had crippled him. One was a man whose mind was now free from a spell that had kept him blind for so many years. One was a woman who lost her life to bring Aza into the world. Then the last was his oldest friend. One who smiled with confidence, even as the person he came to save seemed all but lost. Each one stood tall, easily holding back the claws with their mere presence.

  The witch reared back, shocked beyond all belief that these spirits had found them, let alone held the audacity to stand against her. Pompous overconfidence seethed back into rage as they stood before her. Aza looked to them, to Luke. Their two gazes met. The puppetmaster cracked a painful smile as, with new energy, he began to push back up. Just as fast, the witch tried to move further down. Yet just as his threads would have shattered, something slammed Aza in the back. It flowed through and empowered him. Then another struck. Then another after that. With each one, the pain was replaced by a familiar euphoria. With each new addition, the cracks in his skin became more numerous as his body burned away.

  Swirling around the cavern, like a thousand fireflies, were souls. None of them could harm the witch who they were bound to, but they could stand against her. They could rally behind someone who had made it his life’s work to save this town, even as so many had scorned him. One by one by one they all lent him their power. Some knew what they did. Some had supported him in life. Some merely followed the others, dimly unaware of what transpired around them. Yet no matter the reason, their strength became his strength as the witch's confidence crumbled to dust. There were too many of them, too many souls all rallied together. Aza could feel them. There was joy and excitement as his threads began to cut through the witch’s seemingly unbeatable power. Yet there was also a tinge of sadness as he watched his body burn away until only blue fire remained.

  One blast. One impossible strike that slammed through the witch’s magic and shattered her staff into splinters. It struck her right in the stomach and sent the villain flying into the ceiling faster than anything Aza or the spirits had ever witnessed. The unyielding torrent of threads didn’t stop, as the top of the cave was obliterated against their might. Even the great leviathan, one of the many things that had kept this town isolated for so long, was smashed like a mirror into millions of shards as the blue light tore through it. The great swirling tower could be seen by everyone. The scholar who had just arrived in the chamber. The townspeople recovering from the biggest fight of their lives. The warring commanders on the edge of their waters. Even the Paladin fleet, still miles away, bore witness to it. Yet not just one leviathan fell. The threads tore through the sky and slammed down upon its twin. Even the very earth itself shook as the great beasts were reduced to little more than dust and fragments.

  Aza fell, dropped to his knees, as the souls began dispersing from him, from the very attack he had cast. As the puppetmaster’s work was finished, the work of a loa began. To the shock and terror of the now frenzied townspeople, the sky began to swirl with violet light. Though the mania was short lived as a calm seemed to fall over them. The souls were heading towards it, finally being released to the other side where they might find peace. To them, they were not orbs in the sky, but bodies walking towards a light in the plane of darkness. Among them was Aza. He was sitting down as the dead from ages new and old disappeared into whatever lay beyond. He wasn’t alone. To his right was Thomas, his dad.

  “The others have passed on already.” He laughed. “I would have too, if so many others hadn’t pushed past me...an I weren’t so stubborn.”

  Aza gave a weary smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s what got us this far...just a whole lot of...pigheaded stubbornness.

  He put his hand around Aza’s shoulder. “Ohh, I know that more than most.”

  “So then who are you?”

  “Hmm?” His dad looked over to him with feigned confusion.

  “I’ve felt him, and I’ve felt you.” Aza shook his head and looked down to what was now a steep drop off laid out before them. “I don’t have much time left...couldn’t hurt to share anymore.”

  “Oh kid, you underestimate yourself. Thom
as did the same more times than I can remember.” He smiled as he thought back to so many misadventures the two and Amellia had taken part in. “Though to be fair, so did a lot of people...some fatally so.”

  Aza just nodded.

  “But nah, I was hoping you would keep the glove around. Throws out most everything I had planned...though who knows, you’re time ain't up yet.”

  Suddenly the puppetmaster felt a pull from his back. He turned around and saw a single blue thread begin drawing his consciousness to his true surroundings, to his true body now dust in the wind. As the world he had found himself in began to blur, he was ripped back across the shadows and away from the light. The last thing he saw was the spirit waving to him, its eyes alight and a cheshire grin across its face...

  Chapter 26: The Evening Passes

  Han was running, sprinting as the last of the dust settled around him. They were still underground, but now cold moonlight shone down from above. The clouds, pinned there for so long by old magics, were dispersing. The many feet of stone, that had cut them off from the surface, were either cast aside or decimated entirely. Aza’s body was gone, but the construct of blue flames remained. It was kneeling, head down, with countless souls pulsing out and into the night. Even Han could feel the strength draining away as his friend was whittled down to just the original spirit within. With no body, no tether to the mortal plane, it would pass on as well. The scholar thought of everything as he blindly ran towards him. There were no spells, even if he was able to do them. No runes. No teachers to fall back on. He had only himself.