Fire & Chasm

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  “Yes.” I close my eyes, feeling the knife—my own knife—dig into my skin. Deeper this time. Maybe I shouldn’t be pissing him off. Maybe dragging this out is only going to make it that much worse. But I have to try.

  “Just because it’s forsaken you,” he says.

  But I’m not so sure it has anymore. Leora said the Fire was protecting me all this time. It could have just been trying to keep the Chasm’s spells at bay, to keep hidden what the wizards never should have dredged up. But it still kept me safe from all the dark memories that might have destroyed me. It let me have a few good years. And then there was that candle that lit for me the other night at the church. Not right away, not until I fled, sparing that Father’s life. But it happened, and that has to mean something. I hope.

  “I never touched wizard magic,” Endeil says, the knife jerking and digging in deeper. “I— You.” He suddenly whirls around, glaring at Leora. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Leora’s hand is out, frozen in place. She looks like she was trying to touch the dark fire surrounding her. Like she was trying to unlock it.

  Before she has a chance to say anything, Endeil reaches into the circle and grabs her by the arm, yanking her toward him. “I can make him bleed just as easily with you in that chair,” he snarls.

  Leora spits in his face. “Then do it. There’s no saving you. You’re already too far gone. So it doesn’t matter what you do—Az is still going to kill you.”

  Rage flares on his face. He raises a hand to hit her.

  And that’s when the boy loses it. Trapped in the chair. Screaming. Like before. Like a thousand times before.

  The priest hits the girl, and the boy’s mouth fills with blood. It makes his words taste like metal as he casts the spell to turn the priest’s lungs to ash. The priest is no tattooed wizard, but he guards himself with his magic, so the boy takes the energy from the girl. Too much. She cries out, looking at him for mercy. Like he’s hurting her. Like he should stop.

  But the boy is in the chair, and he will kill the one who put him there. And the priest is fighting against him, using his magic to block the boy’s. So the boy takes more energy from the girl, because she’s the only source besides himself.

  “You promised,” the priest says. He grabs the girl by the throat and squeezes. Starting to strangle her.

  The girl tries to say something that sounds like the boy’s name, but it only comes out a choked gasp. She’s going to die. And the boy switches spells, trying to make the leather straps on the chair decay before the priest finishes her and comes for him.

  And then the wizard appears in the doorway. He throws a handful of herbs in the priest’s eyes and chants a spell. Fire scorches the priest’s skin, and he screams and lets go of the girl. The dark flames disappear, and the knife clatters to the floor as all the priest’s attention goes to the fire trying to consume him. He swipes at the wizard, first with a wave of his hand, then with a wave of his magic.

  The girl puts a hand to her throat and gasps for breath. Then she rushes over to the boy. “It’s going to be okay,” she lies, touching a hand to the straps on his wrists. They fall away as soon as she does, and he pulls his hands back. She touches the ankle straps, too, and then he’s free.

  She tries to grab his arm, but the boy jumps out of the chair, snatching up the knife and warding her away. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says. No one has ever helped the boy before.

  “Az, I had to. He was killing you.”

  She thinks he means something else. She uses his name—part of it—but she doesn’t know him, otherwise she wouldn’t have freed him. “Who are you?”

  She looks into his eyes then, startled. Like he should already know. And then she looks afraid.

  The wizard’s spell comes to an end. He screams as the priest recovers and throws dark fire at him.

  The boy sheathes the knife. “You should run,” he tells the girl. He’s never told anyone to run before. Not unless he was going to chase them.

  “You know me better than that,” she says, even though it’s not true, because he doesn’t know her at all.

  And still, part of him wants her to stay. He doesn’t know why.

  Then the priest has the wizard against the wall. The boy casts the spell to destroy the priest’s lungs. If he can’t breathe, he can’t use magic. He can’t put the boy in the chair again. He can’t steal the wizard from him, killing him before the boy gets a chance.

  But the boy only gets a few words out before the priest coughs and whips around, his eyes full of hatred. He holds out both hands, summoning up a wall of dark flame.

  The boy concentrates harder, drawing more energy from the people around him. Until the girl standing too close to him turns pale and the wizard cries out, still slumped against the wall. So many people have tried to stop the boy. The wizards gave him the magic—made him pay in blood—and then wouldn’t let him use it. But he uses it now. He won’t stop until he’s killed the priest. And the wizard. And if the girl is stupid enough to stay in the room while he drains her, after he told her to run . . .

  The boy hopes he doesn’t have to drain the wizard yet. He wants to save him for last. To put him in the chair and make him suffer.

  He shouldn’t be able to drain the wizard at all, but he remembers cutting into him, slicing the tattoo.

  You’ve become like a son to me.

  The words flash in the boy’s head. A memory of the wizard saying them. Meaning it. His stomach twists and his magic falters.

  “You think you can beat me?” The priest laughs. “You with all your spells. Even knowing where they come from, you try to lecture me on the Fire? I don’t care if it has forsaken me—I still have all the power I need!” There’s a whoosh as the wall of flames grows and moves toward the boy and the girl. The floor cracks, a giant fissure opening up, like the Chasm itself is trying to swallow the room.

  The flames grow higher and move to circle them. The boy draws from the girl and the wizard and now even himself, but it’s not enough. He could kill them all and it wouldn’t be enough, not with that crack in the floor feeding the priest endless power.

  The boy seeks out more energy, feeling for more sources, farther away. There are more people in the building, far above them. His muscles burn and his head feels like it’s on fire, all without touching the knife. It’s harder, because they’re not in the room. But he does it anyway. There must be several dozen people he’s pulling from now. He’ll kill them all. He’ll be the only one who walks away from this.

  Then the girl moves closer to him. She slips her hand into his, their fingers automatically intertwining. As if they’ve done it a million times before.

  And he doesn’t want to remember, but he does. Suddenly he remembers crying at her bedside when he thought she would die. He remembers telling her he loves her.

  Lying in her bed, letting her trace his scars.

  Falling from an apple tree.

  Kissing her.

  The boy concentrates harder on the spell, focusing all the energy he’s drawing from everyone near enough. Everyone except the girl. He won’t be the only one to walk away from this.

  The dark flames die down as the boy’s magic overpowers the priest’s. The priest struggles for breath, the boy’s spell finally taking hold.

  In a few more moments, there won’t be a priest. A few more words of the spell, and he’ll—

  The priest is on his knees, but he shoots out a new blast of flame. A desperate attempt to save himself. And it works. The force of the flames sends another whoosh of air through the room. The flames push the boy’s spell away, letting the priest breathe again. Letting him live. The giant crack in the floor widens. The chair tilts to one side, sinking toward it. The crack is big enough that a person could fall in.

  The boy doesn’t want to think about how deep it goes, as if the Chasm was really there, in the room with them.

  The priest gets to his feet, his face red, a fevered look in his eyes. But
he’s nowhere near spent. Or maybe he is, but the Chasm isn’t.

  The girl squeezes the boy’s hand. “Keep . . . going . . .” she pants.

  And he realizes he’s drawing from her again. From her and the wizard, who’s kneeling on the floor. The wizard, who put him in the chair. Who let him go. Who thinks of him as a son.

  It won’t be enough. No matter how many people are in this building, no matter how many the boy draws from, it won’t ever be enough to stop the priest and the Chasm. The girl will die for nothing. The only person who ever truly helped the boy. The girl he loved in another lifetime. In a dream. One he’s woken up from, but that still feels so vivid.

  “Are you ready to give up?” the priest asks. As if he could go on for days like this.

  The boy is the one the priest wants. Maybe he can’t beat him, maybe he’ll die here, but the girl doesn’t have to. She and the wizard could escape.

  He remembers something else about her. About the spell the wizard cast long ago. The wizard said he couldn’t sever the link between them, that he wasn’t powerful enough.

  The boy isn’t powerful enough, either. Not on his own.

  And that’s when he does the unthinkable. He stops casting altogether.

  The priest’s flames encircle them, tugging at what energy he and the girl have left, trying to suck them dry.

  “Giving up?” the priest says.

  The boy falls to his knees. He closes his eyes. “Please.”

  “Yes?” the priest asks, because he thinks the boy is talking to him. Because he expects him to beg.

  But that’s not happening, not this time.

  “Please,” the boy says again, praying to the Fire. “Please sever the bond between me and Leora.” The wizard isn’t strong enough to break the link, and neither is the boy, but surely the Fire can do what they can’t. If it will listen. When he speaks again, he’s not sure if it’s him talking, or the part of him that’s still living in the dream. “I know I don’t deserve any favors, but you can’t want her to die.”

  “What are you doing?” the priest demands.

  The wall of flames inches closer.

  “Az, no,” the girl sobs. “You have to fight him.”

  But the boy doesn’t listen. It’s over. “I loved her,” he tells the Fire. “A weapon can’t love, but I did. And now she’s going to die, because of me—”

  “Azeril,” the wizard warns from across the room.

  “—and I don’t care what happens to me, but please let her live. Please keep her safe from all the monsters, even me. Especially me.”

  “You can stop that,” the priest says. “It’s not going to work. And if you don’t stop, I’ll kill you.”

  The boy gets to his feet. He stands in front of the girl, holding his arms out. “Let him kill me. Just keep her safe. I don’t care what happens to me, as long as she lives.”

  “Az, don’t,” the girl cries. “You can’t do this! You can’t just let him win!”

  “This is foolishness!” the wizard says. “I won’t stand here and watch you do this!”

  “Then take her and run.” The boy glances over his shoulder at the girl. Their eyes meet. Hers are pleading with him. Begging him not to do this.

  Memories of her come back to him in bits and pieces, in floods and waves. “I love you,” he tells her, because right then he does. He remembers what it feels like to be a boy and not a monster. To feel her heart beating next to his. “Don’t forget that.”

  “You’re making me sick,” the priest says. Then he holds up a hand, and the boy’s obsidian flies out of its sheath and stops in front of him. The priest aims it right at the boy, the edges of his mouth curling in a grin.

  The girl screams the boy’s name. The wizard swears.

  The boy doesn’t flinch. It’s fitting, him dying the way he killed so many. He just wishes the girl didn’t have to watch.

  But the knife doesn’t hit him. It’s like it runs into an invisible wall a foot away from his chest and falls to the ground.

  “No,” the priest breathes, gaping at the boy, just as shocked as he is. The priest gives up on the knife and hurls a ball of dark flame, as if he’d only chosen the wrong weapon. It hits the invisible barrier and veers to either side of the boy, completely missing him.

  Then there’s a warm feeling in the boy’s head. It starts out as just a flicker, a sort of tingle, and then burns brighter. New energy seeps into his limbs. The priest’s dark fire doesn’t seem so oppressive, and it feels like a huge weight lifts from his shoulders.

  An image burns in his mind, like it did when the Fire sent him that warning before, about the girl. About her sobbing and covered in blood. Only this time what he sees isn’t a warning. The Fire shows him an image of himself, his hands glowing with a white light. A light so bright it purges away the darkness.

  And it’s more than an image. It’s a question tugging in the boy’s mind, weighing all his spells, all the power the wizards gave him, against one single gift from the Fire. Asking him to choose between them, between revenge and mercy, darkness and light.

  The boy always chose to hide in the darkness before. Even in the dream. The wizards never taught him mercy, only bitterness and pain. He might never have ventured out of the shadows if it wasn’t for the girl. The one who freed him from the chair. Who didn’t run even when she was afraid.

  All these thoughts flash through his head in only an instant. One quick flicker, and then he’s making his decision. Choosing light over darkness. Order over chaos.

  Love over revenge.

  There’s a burning feeling in my head, and then I blink, not sure where I am for a moment. Who I am. I remember being in the chair, watching Endeil raise his hand to Leora, and I remember giving in to a fight I didn’t think I’d come back from.

  I was the weapon, and still I chose to save her.

  I look down and see my palms are glowing. The white light is real and blinding. And I don’t know if the bond between me and Leora is severed, but I do know the Fire wants us to win this fight.

  An invisible barrier still holds back Endeil’s magic, but now I meet his gaze, and for the first time tonight, I see fear there.

  “Wait,” he says when I take a step forward. The barrier moves with me. My hands glow brighter. “You can’t do this. It won’t work. The Fire still favors me. The Fire and the Chasm both.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” I hold up my hands.

  He holds up his, but not to attack. He’s trying to ward me off. “No, don’t—”

  But he’s too late. There’s nothing he can say to stop me. The white light gets bigger and brighter, spreading out from my hands. It’s so bright it makes my eyes water, but I don’t blink or look away. The light grows until it fills the room. This room that was once so dark, so full of nightmares. The chair is just a chair in its light. Ugly and stained. But inanimate. A piece of old furniture.

  The light reaches its peak. It flows into Endeil, and he cries out, but it’s more of a sob than a scream. And I feel the darkness leave him. The Fire purging out the Chasm, cleansing him of whatever damage it did.

  And then it’s over. The light vanishes, leaving Endeil huddled on the floor. I stagger, suddenly dizzy and drained.

  Leora grabs my arm to steady me. “Az,” she says, “what in the Chasm just happened?!”

  “Not the Chasm, Leora,” I tell her, feeling like I could sleep for a week and it wouldn’t be enough. “The Fire.”

  “That might have been the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,” Leora says. But she throws her arms around me, hugging me tight and pressing the side of her face against mine.

  I half hug her back, half lean into her, ready to collapse. “But it worked.” I feel a lingering warmth from the Fire’s magic. And . . . I can feel the white light inside my palms still. A light to banish the darkness. Channeling the Fire’s power to defeat Endeil might have been a onetime thing, but the light wasn’t. “I gave up all my spells. I chose mercy, and light, and
the Fire gave me this gift.”

  Now I have the ability to undo what I started when I let Endeil look inside my head. I can heal all the people who’ve been corrupted by his magic. Everyone except Rathe.

  Hadrin waits until I’ve stepped back from Leora before putting a hand on my shoulder. He hesitates, trying to find the right words. And then he gives up and hugs me instead.

  I share a surprised look with Leora. This is the last thing I ever expected to happen here, in this room, with the chair. Not to mention a giant crack in the floor and the newly healed High Priest huddled in the corner.

  Hadrin pulls away, as if he’s ashamed of his display of affection for me, and says, “Your curse? Is it lifted?”

  “I think so,” I tell him. “It feels like it is, but . . . I’m not in any hurry to test it out.”

  “Let’s go,” Leora says. She wraps her arms around herself, as if it’s freezing in here. And I catch a glimpse of the letters that Endeil carved into her arm and feel a pang of sadness and guilt. The physical wounds will heal. But I wish she hadn’t had to go through that. There’s a bit of blood welling up from one of her wounds, but my arm is clean. So I guess the bond really is broken.

  She catches me staring at her and says, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “You say that now, but—”

  “I wasn’t the one in the chair. I can take it. And”—she shakes her head—“all that stuff he said, about me being afraid of you—”

  A high-pitched scream interrupts her. There’s a flurry of movement as Endeil rushes toward us, my obsidian in his hand. He has this crazed look that I must have had a million times. It happens in the span of a heartbeat. He cries out and leaps at me, the knife aimed directly at my heart. And obsidian never misses.

  My last thought is that at least Leora is safe. At least the bond is broken.

  But then Hadrin jumps in front of me. The knife sinks into his chest. He kicks Endeil, throwing him off balance. Endeil tumbles backward, pulling the knife with him. It clatters to the ground as he trips and falls into the crack in the floor.

  Hadrin stares down at his chest, holding his hands to the wound as blood pours out. He sinks to the ground.