Balefire

by Jordan L. Hawk

  It raised two of its uppermost arms, and the sky split open. A pair of byakhee burst through from the Outside and into our world. Ragged wings buffeted the air, and their wet, mold-furred skins tainted the wind with their noxious stench. One wheeled down, making for Heliabel. She rolled away from the Source, lifting her hands and hurling a gust of wind at it. The other avoided her spell, however, and dropped straight down at Rupert.

  The Needle suddenly flared in my shadowsight, so bright I flung my arm up against it. There came a sound like a bomb going off, fragments of rock exploding outward from where Whyborne had lain trapped. The byakhee started to wheel back, toward the Needle, but it was too late.

  Ival rose to his feet. He still had his left hand on the Needle, and its power roared through him, turning his eyes to suns. His sleeve charred away from the scars on his right arm as he lifted his hand.

  “Get away from my family,” he said in the voice of something ancient.

  Blue fire blazed from his hand. The byakhee shrieked and charred into ash, followed by the Hounds and the rat things. The second winged monstrosity attempted to flee, but instead tumbled like a burning star into the sea.

  He turned the fire on Nyarlathotep. But it never made contact. Rather, Nyarlathotep’s multitude of fingers flashed like the needles of some great machine, reweaving the flow of arcane energy.

  Turning it back on Ival.

  “Look out!” I cried, but too late. The blast slammed into Whyborne’s chest, flinging him back and away from the Needle.

  “Traitors,” Nyarlathotep said. “I will make the two of you pay for your defiance. As for the mortals, your petty lives are at an end.”

  Its hands twitched, and Hounds and rat things poured forth from the Outside.

  Chapter 47

  Whyborne

  I lay gasping, all the breath knocked from me. I’d fallen well back from the Needle, behind a boulder. My ribs ached, and I felt as though I’d been kicked in the chest by a horse.

  “Percival!” Mother ran to me, grasping my arm. I managed to sit up. Beyond the slight cover of the boulder, I glimpsed the rest of my companions battling the Hounds and rat things summoned by Nyarlathotep. Griffin had put himself between us and anything attempting to come in this direction. As I watched, he dispatched a Hound with a single swing of an odd looking sword, as though the blade itself was somehow inimical to its existence.

  I gaped at the carnage. “Are those the ketoi weapons?”

  “Yes.” She winced. “They’re powerful, but they aren’t enough. Nyarlathotep can simply continue to summon more enemies from the Outside, until we are worn down.”

  Morgen had spoken of redirecting the lines, destroying the vortex and draining the magic. She’d wished me to do so to set her free, but could we perhaps use such a plan against Nyarlathotep as well?

  “I went into the Needle,” I said. “Well, part of my consciousness did. There’s—well, not is, but used to be—a ketoi woman in the Needle. She said Nyarlathotep must maintain a connection with the masters. It can only cross the veil in certain places such as this one, or the Draakenwood, or the fane in Egypt. Morgen seemed to think it possible to reorient the arcane lines around Balefire using the Needle. I could create an empty space around Carn Moreth without arcane lines. Isolate Nyarlathotep from the veil and the masters.”

  “A good plan,” Justinian said from just behind me, “so long as we trap Nyarlathotep at the end.”

  I reached instinctively for the arcane fire, then caught myself before actually unleashing it on him. The Keeper of Secrets looked wretched, his white hair hanging in strings around his face, his eyes red from weeping.

  I felt no pity for him, not after what he’d done to the Endicotts. But at the moment I’d take any help I could get. “Trap it how?”

  “The Source.” Justinian nodded at the object in question. “One of you can stuff it to the brim with arcane power. Cut off Carn Moreth from all arcane energy, and it will be the only source of magic for Nyarlathotep to use to maintain its connection with the Outside and the masters.”

  “Ival?” Griffin called in alarm. “Whatever you mean to do, please hurry.”

  I peered around the boulder. Griffin still held position, but Christine, Iskander, Rupert, and Hattie had been forced to give ground. “Just hold them off a little longer,” I shouted back. To Justinian I said, “So we lure it somewhere with the Source?”

  “The chamber beneath the crypt.”

  I thought I saw what he meant to do. “And then use the magic in the Source to shatter the stone columns? Bring the roof down on Nyarlathotep?”

  “Exactly.” Justinian bowed his head. “It’s the only way I have to atone. I’ve destroyed my family. Destroyed the Endicotts. All that remains are rebels and abominations, and few enough of those. At least let me do this one thing.”

  The idea was madness. Luring a being beyond any of our comprehension into the accursed chamber where the mutated Endicotts clustered around the Needle.

  But we were out of time. Christine wielded the Spear with an abandon that made me thankful she ordinarily didn’t have access to magic, but it was clear she was tiring. Iskander’s Shield did an impressive job of keeping Hounds and rat things back, but he was flagging. Hattie looked close to her limits. She’d lost one of her knives in the fight, and was busy bashing a rat thing with a flail.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll need to get back to the Needle once I charge the Source.”

  I held my hands out for the artifact. “Percival,” Mother said, as she passed it to me, “your brother…”

  Oh no. He’d become a thing of the Outside, and if I’d had the opportunity to even ponder it, I would have hoped he’d dissolved before she could see what had become of him. If beholding him in such a shape had been difficult for me, what must it have been like for her?

  “He distracted Nyarlathotep and gave me the chance to commune with Morgen.” I folded my hand over hers. “I know that doesn’t help. But I think…I spoke of his children and I believe, in the end, he remembered them.” Thought of them for once in his blasted life, more like, though of course I didn’t speak the sentiment aloud.

  Probably I didn’t need to. “I see. Please, please be careful. The moment you’ve cleared away the arcane lines, you need to abandon the Needle and flee.”

  I didn’t know how careful it was possible to be, considering our plan was to collapse the island beneath us. “That’s my intention. Someone will need to help Katherine and the children to escape. If you and Rupert can do that, perhaps the others can distract Nyarlathotep. Draw him away from the Needle while Morgen and I work.”

  “I’ll let them know.”

  I kissed her brow; then she turned and made for Rupert without a backward glance.

  I pulled arcane energy through me, my bones filling with fire, my scars aching as I funneled as much as I could into the Source. Magic poured into it, as much as I could draw, and I felt as though I heaved water into a deep well. But still I continued, until the fire spilled out around me.

  “Don’t fail,” I warned Justinian as I held it out to him. “Wait for a moment of distraction, then run for the chamber and don’t look back.”

  Nyarlathotep had moved away from the Needle, toward my cluster of faltering companions. As I watched, it lifted its hand and tugged on arcane lines I couldn’t see.

  “Iskander, Shield!” Griffin shouted.

  Griffin flung himself to one side, rolling as far as he could get out of the path of whatever his shadowsight indicated Nyarlathotep was about to unleash. Iskander brought up the Shield, putting himself as a bulwark between the monster and everyone else.

  A moment later, a bolt of lightning exploded from the sky with a titanic crack. It struck the Shield as though drawn to it, and even over the ringing in my ears I could hear Christine’s cry.

  The bolt seemed to gather into the Shield. For a moment, the metal glowed like a fallen star.

  Then the lightning exploded back out, straigh
t at Nyarlathotep.

  Through surprise or some other element of luck, it struck before Nyarlathotep could unweave it. Nyarlathotep let out a sound like the hiss of a thousand furious cats, and the stench of burning rot tainted the wind.

  There was never going to be a better moment of distraction. I ran for the Needle, and didn’t dare look back to see what else might be happening. All of my concentration sharpened onto the task before me. My palms slammed against the slick, glassy stone of the Needle, and the world vanished around me.

  ~ * ~

  Once again, I floated in the abyss of light. Morgen awaited me there, her expression one of desperate hope. “We need to use the Needle to redirect the arcane lines away from Balefire, in order to severe Nyarlathotep from the Outside,” I said without preamble. “Which means…”

  “I’ll die.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

  I wished I’d had a chance to really speak with her. To discover more about the creation of the maelstrom, or question her more closely about the masters. “Is there anything you can tell me that will help us fight the masters when they return? Anything at all?”

  She paused a moment, clearly wracking her thoughts. “I’ve forgotten so much.”

  Blast. “But you can show me how to redirect the arcane lines?”

  “Of course. I can’t do it myself, without Nyarlathotep’s direct order.” Anger sharpened her features. “It was one of the ways he made sure I couldn’t act against him.” She paused. “I don’t know what will happen to this place, once the magic is gone.”

  Or me, though I didn’t say it aloud. Presumably the arcane fragment that was myself would be the only bit of magic left on the island save for the Source. Would I still be able to cast spells? Or would I be cut off from the world, as surely as if I wore witch hunter’s manacles?

  Only one way to find out. “Very well,” I said. “Let’s begin.”

  Chapter 48

  Griffin

  The sound of fury Nyarlathotep unleashed almost drove me to my knees. Two of its arms hung useless, and the lightning had burned a hole through its leathery cape. I firmed my grip on the Sword, heart pounding and throat dry, and exchanged a look with Christine and Iskander.

  Whyborne slumped at the base of the Needle. Heliabel ran toward us, and Justinian fled inside the manor, cradling the Source. “Percival has a plan,” she said, speaking quickly. “He’s going to redirect all arcane energy away from the island. You need to keep Nyarlathotep away from him and the Needle. Lure it into the mansion if you can.”

  “And Justinian?” I asked.

  “He’s taking the Source to the chamber below. When the rest of the magic is gone, hopefully Nyarlathotep will follow. The Keeper will use the arcane power of the Source to collapse the chamber—and probably the rest of the island—onto them both. That’s why it’s critical you disengage and get yourselves to safety the moment Nyarlathotep goes below.”

  It sounded an insane risk, but we had no other options. I nodded. “I understand.”

  “Rupert,” she went on, turning to him, “you and I need to get Katherine and the children to safety on the causeway before things begin to fall apart.”

  “Of course.” A moment later, they both hurried inside, leaving us to our task.

  Christine gaped at Nyarlathotep. “Lure it? How are we to do that?”

  “Leave that to me,” Hattie said. “Hey you! We ain’t afraid of you, you arse-faced prick! I’ve seen scarier things in the privy!”

  It swept toward us on its column of supporting tentacles, moving much faster than I’d expected. “Run!” I said, and bolted for the doors.

  Rat things and Hounds exploded into being, blocking the way. I swung the Sword and cut through them, while Hattie lay about with the flail. Iskander acted as rear guard, Shield up and ready in case Nyarlathotep tried to use lightning against us again.

  As we entered the upper part of the spiral passageway, reality itself seemed to warp around us. The portraits on the walls altered, the painted figures horribly changed and mutated. The hall seemed to lengthen, and things gibbered from the shadows. My shadowsight offered a strange double-image, but even then I couldn’t tell if what Nyarlathotep had done to Balefire was simply illusory, or fueled by magic and terribly real.

  Beneath my feet, the floor began to grow softer, as though I ran through mud. The chittering shadows expanded, swallowing all light. Christine let out a string of curses in both Arabic and English, choked off as the very air thickened in our lungs.

  “You have thought to defy the hands that helped to shape your very existence.” Nyarlathotep’s words crawled into our ears. I turned in its direction, saw its shape filling the passageway behind us. “Your resistance is pointless. You will die, and once you are gone, I will bring the spark here and show him your mutilated forms. Then, if he still refuses to submit, I will do whatever it takes to break him.”

  I couldn’t let this creature hurt my Ival. We just needed to keep its focus on us a bit longer. “Keep running,” I panted. “We have to keep running.”

  Rat things swarmed us, their horribly human faces utterly revolting. I tried to kick one, but missed, and it sank its teeth into my ankle. Another leapt onto my back, its hand-like paws grabbing my hair for balance before it bit my ear. My companions shouted, and Christine managed to kill some of the rat things, but we were reaching the end of our fight.

  I tore the rat thing from my back; warm blood ran into my ear as I hurled it into the wall. Hattie stabbed the other with her remaining knife, and it shrieked and died.

  We stumbled into the Great Hall. The doors to the stairs and causeway stood wide, and I hoped Katherine and the children had successfully escaped, along with Rupert and Heliabel. Our weapons lay on the table where Ophelia had left them, including Iskander’s knives and my sword cane.

  The Great Hall shifted and shivered. For a moment I expected it to change, as the passageway had changed…but it didn’t. Magic flared in my shadowsight, but then faded quickly.

  In fact, all the magic seemed to be fading. The Sword in my hand no longer glowed, though I assumed that was because of its separation from the Source that had fueled it. But my breath came easier, and the shadows reverted to their usual dimensions.

  Ival. Whatever he was doing with the Needle to remove the magic, it seemed to be working.

  Christine motioned with the Spear, but nothing happened. With a frustrated snarl, she slammed the point into a rat thing. A second one leapt at her—and dissolved into slime in midair.

  Apparently the lack of ambient magic was having an effect.

  The other rat things began to die and dissolve, cut off from whatever gave them horrid life. Nyarlathotep emerged into the Great Hall, and it reached for the arcane lines, no doubt to summon more Hounds or other minions.

  Nothing happened. Its searching fingers encountered no strings of the world to pluck.

  It recoiled. Then its empty hood turned back, in the direction of the courtyard and the Needle. “How dare you,” it boomed in a voice like the end of the world. “I will tear your mind out by the roots for this.”

  Was it my imagination, or was Nyarlathotep losing definition? The edges of its leather cloak seemed to be more frayed than they were before, and its arms were more like black smoke than shining chitin.

  For a terrible instant, I thought it would destroy our plans, retreat up the passageway and kill Whyborne where he lay. But how could we possibly stop it?

  Or perhaps we didn’t need to. Perhaps all that was needed was a bit of misdirection.

  For all its alien qualities, Nyarlathotep had taken an interest in humans over and over again through the millennia. From Nephren-ka in Egypt, to the medieval sorcerers who met it in the woods, to the members of the Cabal who exchanged loyalty for power.

  In other words, it was used to humans bargaining with it.

  “Let us go, and we’ll tell you where Justinian took the Source,” I called to it. “That’s the only scrap of magic left
on this accursed island. Let us leave here safely, and I’ll divulge where he’s hidden it. Otherwise, you’ll never find it.”

  It turned back to us—and I felt its gaze again, like a physical weight, even though it had no eyes and no face. I staggered back, but it didn’t linger on me. Instead, it turned its hooded head down, down, until it seemed to stare through the very stones of the floor.

  Perhaps it did. Or perhaps some other sense found the Source, far below us. Either way, it let out a sound that had me clutching at my ears—then swept past, like a black wind, heading below.

  Chapter 49

  Whyborne

  Without the Needle, our task would have been impossible.

  But this was why it had been created—why Morgen, whatever her name had originally been, had been forced into this stone prison.

  She took my hand, and my consciousness expanded as it had before. I could see every stream of arcane fire pouring into the island, feel it bound and held by the slender length of black stone.

  She dove down, taking me with her, all along the length of the great menhir. I saw through the eyes of carvings, heard through the vibrations of stone. Over the centuries, Morgen’s consciousness had seeped out along the arcane streams, expanding to fill not only the Needle, but the entirety of Carn Moreth and Balefire Manor.

  When I’d touched the maelstrom a year ago, it had been very much like this—I’d seen all of the town, felt the thoughts of its inhabitants. The maelstrom might never have been human, or ketoi, or anything but itself, but Morgen had put something of her spirit into it nonetheless. Something about the way she had shaped it, the quiet, small choices she’d made in the midst of reorienting rivulets into streams, and streams into rivers, and rivers into the massive vortex on the other side of the ocean, had changed its essence and brought us—brought me—to this moment.