Balefire

by Jordan L. Hawk

  “You don’t look particularly pleased at the upcoming reunion,” I remarked to him.

  The wind stirred the grass and ruffled the hedgerows. Old Grimsby boasted little in the way of trees, either because of the constant ocean breezes or due to farming practices, I didn’t know. A sign indicated we walked up Tommy’s Hill, and I idly wondered who Tommy might have been, and what he’d done to have a hill—or perhaps it was the road?—named after him.

  “There is little to be pleased about,” Rupert replied. “We are here to plan a battle, from which some of us will surely not return. Beyond that, the Seeker will likely be less than happy I told you as much as I did. I still believe it was necessary to speak of Morgen’s Needle, so you understood the magnitude of the threat. But the Seeker isn’t exactly known for tolerating disobedience.”

  “You could tell her I had done research on the Endicotts before,” I suggested. “Or even that Theo had spoken of it to me, before he knew about my hybrid nature. I doubt she has a very high opinion of my character to begin with, so it hardly matters if you blame me.”

  The moonlight flashed from Rupert’s spectacles as he looked up at me. “A kind offer, Dr. Whyborne, but I will not hide behind you. I will face whatever punishment the Seeker deems fit.”

  The inn looked as quaint as the rest of the town: rough stone and timber walls, battered by wind and storm, pierced by mullioned windows whose bubbly glass gave only a distorted view of what lay within. Smoke streamed from its two chimneys, and the scent of cooked beef set my stomach to growling.

  “Thank heavens there’s something to eat,” said Christine, currently finishing off a loaf of bread brought from the ship.

  Griffin dropped back beside me. “Some sort of spell has been set on the doors and windows,” he murmured. “Whether to ward off attack or to conceal what’s inside from prying eyes, I couldn’t say.”

  “I wonder if there’s any way for you to learn to tell what a spell does by the way it looks?” Perhaps I should have suggested Griffin accompany me to the Ladysmith and peruse the tomes of lore we had within. Or even lent him the Liber Arcanorum. But would they tell him anything about the patterns formed by the warp and weft of magic? No other human, so far as I knew, had ever been able to perceive magic the way Griffin could.

  “A bit too late to worry about it now,” he said. “Just be aware.”

  The door swung open, and a familiar face looked out at us. “Oi, Basil, Rupert,” Hattie called. “You brung the abomination, then?”

  “A pleasure to see you again as well, Miss Endicott,” I snapped. “I’d almost forgotten how very charming you are.”

  She let out a bark of laughter and slapped one trouser-clad knee. “I always said you’re a funny one, for a monster. Iskander, good to see you. Maybe you’ll decide to stay here in England with us, eh?”

  He gave her a rather strained smile. “I doubt it.”

  “Enough pleasantries,” Rupert said. “Where is the Seeker?”

  Hattie stepped back from the door and gave us a mocking bow. “Right this way.”

  We entered into a long, low-ceilinged room that took up most of the first floor. Men and women ranging in age from youths to elders sat elbow-to-elbow within, their conversation falling silent as we entered. As they were dressed rather more finely than fishermen or farmers would be, I assumed they were yet more cousins. Had the family paid the inn keeper a generous sum to keep the locals out tonight, or used their sorcerous arts on him? Or both?

  Tables dark with age and stains crowded so close to one another it would be difficult to navigate between them on a busy night. The far end of the long room, away from the bar, was much less cluttered. More of a parlor than a place to eat, it offered a scattering of chairs near a large, stone fireplace that looked as though it had stood for centuries. Likely it had.

  A woman near Mother’s age and dressed in black sat near the fire, knitting placidly. Strands of silver amidst her dark hair gleamed in the firelight, the lines in her pale skin a testament to a lifetime of toil. The glass needles flashed so quickly in her hands they looked like streaks of flame.

  “Grandmother!” Basil exclaimed, bounding across the room to her. This, then, must be the woman who had taught him to windweave.

  “You didn’t send the ship to the bottom, I see,” she said in a crisp voice. She reached the end of a row and set her knitting aside. “Well done, Basil. Rupert?”

  Rupert slipped past us and went to her. “Allow me to present to you Dr. Percival Endicott Whyborne, Mr. Griffin Flaherty, Dr. Christine Putnam-Barnett, and Mr. Iskander Putnam-Barnett.” He turned back to us. “This is Minerva Endicott, the Seeker of Truth and current head of our family.”

  Chapter 14

  Whyborne

  “Welcome to the Isles of Scilly,” the Seeker said. She didn’t bother to rise to greet us.

  “The ketoi envoy—Dr. Whyborne’s mother—has departed to speak with their relatives beneath Seven Stones Reef,” Rupert informed her. “Dr. Whyborne knows of Carn Moreth and Morgen’s Needle.”

  Her eyes were sharp enough to cut. “Does he, now?”

  Griffin folded his arms across his chest. “There is a great deal more we need to know. What sort of defenses surround Carn Moreth. How you mean to breach them. What sorts of magical weapons the Fideles might have taken from your armory to use against us.”

  Minerva looked at him silently for a long moment. He returned her gaze steadily, refusing to yield.

  “You colonials have no manners.” She stood slowly, her back straight as a queen’s. “Demanding as spoiled children. There are few in the British Isles who would dare to speak so to me.”

  “Perhaps if your family hadn’t tried to kill us more than once, I would be more deferent,” Griffin replied. “We came at your request. But we will not go blindly into this. We’re not here to die for you.”

  She glanced at me. “Do you allow your man to speak for you?”

  Her tone implied Griffin was nothing more than a servant. “The four of us are united,” I replied frostily. “And equals.” Despite whatever Griffin thought about my role in defeating the masters.

  “Ah, yes, you Yanks do love to talk about equality. I might respect it, if you followed it up with action, rather than keeping it an empty platitude those at the top of society can spout to make themselves feel better.” Minerva turned to the door. “Walk with me, Dr. Whyborne. The rest of you will be given food and drink.”

  “Food?” Christine said hopefully. Then she shook her head. “No. We’re not letting you make off with Whyborne, no matter how good that smells. Is it some sort of meat pastry?”

  “Focus, dearest,” Iskander cajoled.

  I kept my gaze on Minerva. It seemed obvious she considered all of us beneath her, but equally that my magic gave me some rank above that of my friends. Turner had said as much in Alaska, that those without sorcery were considered lesser.

  The Seeker was clearly a proud woman, used to obedience. I didn’t intend to give it to her, but I had a better chance of learning more if I agreed to her suggestion now. “Mrs. Endicott wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if she meant to murder me,” I said. “Go and eat. I’ll be back soon.”

  Griffin didn’t look at all happy, but refrained from arguing. Minerva put out a hand, and one of the other Endicotts sprang forward to place a blackthorn walking stick in it. Though it appeared nothing more than a cane, I suspected it was in fact her sorcerous wand. Certainly she didn’t seem to lean upon it when she led the way back to the door and into the night air.

  Hattie fell in behind us, a silent shadow. No doubt she meant to protect Minerva, should I suddenly take it into my head to attack.

  We strolled away from the inn, toward a small ruin higher on the hill. What the square building had once been, I couldn’t have said. Beyond, the ocean rolled and crashed against the shore. The occasional light across the water betrayed the presence of the other Isles of Scilly.

  The Seeker stared out over the b
lack waves for so long I began to wonder if she meant to speak, or merely wanted to put me in my place by forcing me to accompany her on a fruitless walk. Eventually, she said, “Can you imagine this land as it once was, Dr. Whyborne?”

  The wind toyed with my hair and brought with it the scent of hearth fires, mingled with salt and fish. “What do you mean?”

  She stretched out one gnarled hand, as though to pull aside a curtain and reveal a window onto the distant past. “Millennia ago, all of this was above the waves. What are now islands were hills. There were forests and fields, farmers and craftsmen, towns and cottages. All erased in a single night.”

  The ocean breeze seemed suddenly colder. “Lyonesse.”

  “I’m sure Rupert told you it was more than just a legend. In a time so long ago it was ancient when Arthur walked these lands, people thrived here. Humans. Now their bones rot beneath the waves, and ketoi swim amidst the ruins of their cities.” She let her arm fall. “I want you to appreciate the power of Morgen’s Needle. Of the incredible responsibility the Endicotts shouldered, when our ancestors agreed to take Carn Moreth.”

  “Mr. Endicott—Rupert, not Basil—said it was given to you by Henry VII, after the Cornish Rebellion,” I said. “In return for some service he failed to specify.”

  Rather than answer directly, she said, “It’s rumored you fought the Eyes of Nodens.” She turned from the waves to look at me closely. “Did you?”

  “They turned against the ketoi.” Though I hadn’t known of my heritage at the time. “The Eyes sought to compel the dweller in the deeps to walk the land and use its power against humanity.”

  “I see. The cult went by a different name then, but centuries ago, Carn Moreth was one of the sites where they performed their unholy rituals. Where the ketoi came up from the depths in answer to their summons.” Her lip curled in disgust. “Where they took wives and husbands from the sea, and to which the abominable offspring of such unions returned.”

  She spoke as though she stated facts, as though her words couldn’t possibly cause offense. I scowled. “Might I remind you I’m descended from a similar union?”

  “As though I might forget. I’m simply explaining the situation to you.” She turned away from me. “The Endicotts had already hunted monsters for centuries. Our ancestor, Richard Endicott, learned of the rites at Carn Moreth and of the dangers of Morgen’s Needle. He went to the king in secret and told him what he knew of the cult and the ketoi.”

  “But not the Needle?” I asked.

  “Of course not. Who would trust a king with such power? King Henry ordered him to put an end to the cult, or at least this branch of it. Sir Richard, along with the strongest of his family, went to Carn Moreth and waited until the celebrants were either drunk or exhausted from their unholy rites. Then the Endicotts struck. It’s said the blood stained the headland for miles.”

  “And in exchange, the king gave them Carn Moreth,” I said.

  “Indeed.” Minerva gripped her blackthorn cane more tightly. “Many Cornish lands were seized after the rebellion and given to loyal Englishmen, so it didn’t seem an unusual gift. Sir Richard built his house around Morgen’s Needle. He named it Balefire Manor, after the fires that had burned the night the Endicotts drove back the cult and the hybrids.”

  “I imagine the ketoi weren’t pleased.”

  “No.” A smile of grim satisfaction turned up the corners of her mouth. “But they’ve never been able to take it back from us, not in five-hundred years.”

  Silence fell between us. The wind sighed around the stones of the ruin, waves crashing against the shore. When she seemed disinclined to continue, I said, “Though interesting, I’m not certain why you felt it so important to give me a history lesson.”

  “So you understand what we are sacrificing by asking you here. By extending the hand of peace to the ketoi.” She looked suddenly older, her shoulders slumping as if beneath the weight of years. “Your kind have killed so many of us. And now I must ask the murderer of my beloved niece and nephew…” Her breath caught sharply.

  I wanted to argue that Theo and Fiona had tried to kill me first. They’d meant to destroy my mother, my town, everyone I loved.

  I didn’t bother. As far as Minerva was concerned, I was like a stag who had turned on the hunters. In her eyes, they had the right to kill me. I had no such right to fight back.

  After a long moment, she forced her shoulders straight once again. “We were never able to unlock the full potential of Morgen’s Needle. We used its power as we could. Sir Richard was the most successful, using it to weave the barrier which prevents the ketoi from attacking from the sea.”

  “I encountered a similar barrier in the city of the umbrae in Alaska,” I said. “It was a spell of the masters, meant to keep their rebellious slaves confined. So how did our ancestor learn of it?”

  A line sprang up between her brows. “I…do not know. The Keepers of Secrets might have passed down such knowledge over the years, but if so they haven’t shared it with the rest of us. Morgen’s Needle was used to adjust the barrier more than once over the years, I do know that. First to keep out sorcerers, then anyone not of our blood, and finally to remain impermeable at all times unless the Keeper opened a gateway through it. The barrier didn’t extend across the causeway, though that changed when Balefire fell. I had wondered how that might be possible, but if it is as you say a spell of the masters, the Fideles might have known it.”

  “So they likely are able to use the Needle.”

  “Indeed.” She paused, as if debating with herself. “I will tell you one of the secrets of the Endicotts, Dr. Whyborne, and pray my brother the Keeper will forgive me for it. If he still lives. Obviously, you know of the arcane lines. Do you understand how they interconnect?”

  “Not precisely.” I didn’t wish to reveal my ignorance to her, but a misunderstanding could be worse. “I know I’ve found them everywhere I’ve traveled. I know some of those in far flung places are connected to the maelstrom in Widdershins.” Because it used them to collect people, but that I kept to myself. If the Endicotts realized the maelstrom had the power to influence others, even subtly, they wouldn’t rest until Widdershins was destroyed. Starting with me.

  “They are all interconnected.” She gestured in what I assumed to be the direction of Carn Moreth. “Just as all the veins and arteries in your body are connected. Some are larger, and some are smaller. Some are mere capillaries—tiny extensions of the arcane lines permeating reality, which allow us to cast spells even if we aren’t directly on a line.”

  “Oh.” It made sense, I suppose. “What does this have to do with Morgen’s Needle?”

  “It is our belief the Needle was created to function as a sort of master switch, to put it in modern terms. Someone who understood its workings and could control or influence any point along the arcane lines, could starve some places of magic, or flood others. Perhaps worse.”

  All the blood seemed to drain from my extremities. “Dear lord.”

  “That is why we’re so afraid now.” Minerva turned away from the ocean and back toward the inn. “That is why I’m willing to pardon you for the deaths you caused. The Fideles cannot have such power. They will use it to destroy their enemies and prepare for the coming of the masters. And I cannot allow that to happen.”

  I listened to the whisper of her footsteps receding toward the inn. But I didn’t follow. Instead I stared out over the crashing waves in the direction she had earlier indicated.

  Last February, I’d discovered Nyarlathotep, the Man in the Woods, the servant of the masters, was the architect of the enormous maelstrom beneath Widdershins. However the arcane lines had been formed, whether through some natural phenomenon or by the hand of the masters, he had been the one to twist them into a vortex. One large enough to tear a hole in reality of a size for beings as powerful as the masters to pass through.

  Had he done that work here? Stood atop Carn Moreth when it was a hill and not an island, directed and re
directed the flow of energy through Morgen’s Needle and given birth to the maelstrom? To what would become sentient and, well, me?

  If the Needle could do that, there was no telling what the Fideles had planned. If they tried to starve the maelstrom of arcane energy, it couldn’t power the gateway to allow the masters in, so likely they wouldn’t do that. But I didn’t know enough about Morgen’s Needle to begin to guess what other horrifying possibilities existed.

  We had to take Carn Moreth back from them. That became more apparent with everything I learned about the Needle.

  And if the Endicotts ever learned how to use it against me? Against Widdershins?

  A chill that had nothing to do with the ocean breeze seized me. I crossed my arms for warmth, and turned back to the lights of the inn.

  Chapter 15

  Griffin

  I sat with Iskander and Christine at one of the pub tables, keeping an eye on the door as we ate a hearty meal of crab soup, pasties stuffed with beef and onions, and whortleberry pie.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t have lemons,” Christine complained. “What sort of place doesn’t have lemons?”

  Iskander glanced in the direction of the waitress, who didn’t seem to have overheard. “I expect on these islands they mainly eat what they produce themselves.”

  “Which apparently doesn’t include lemons.”

  “Likely not, no.”

  She eyed him. “You think I’m being irrational.”

  “Not at all,” he assured her hastily. “Really. Lemons should be, er, a staple of any establishment.”

  Most of the Endicotts present sat in small groups, speaking in low voices or not at all. Some stared into their drinks grimly; others sharpened knives or practiced lighting, then extinguishing, candle flames. No doubt many of them feared to learn the worst, that the Fideles had slaughtered everyone inside Balefire Manor.