Balefire

by Jordan L. Hawk

  She showed me how to undo the arcane lines, to tie them on to other lines and unhook them from the Needle, shunt them away from Carn Moreth.

  I recalled what Minerva had said back on Old Grimsby. “What about the capillaries, so to speak? All the little threads that permeate reality?”

  “They depend on constant replenishment from the larger streams.” Morgen gestured to our linked hands. “If you bind an artery tightly enough, the flesh below it will first go numb, then die.”

  I hoped she was right. But she’d had a very long time to contemplate her own death, so I had to trust she knew these things. And it wasn’t as though I had any other option.

  “I need to begin,” I said. I hesitated, though, searching her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish…”

  She put a finger to my lips, silencing me. “I’ve longed for death. If I can take Nyarlathotep into the void with me, then I will consider it a better end than I ever dared hope for.”

  “I’m going to draw as much arcane fire into myself as I can.” I hesitated, but it had to be said. “If I start to sound a bit megalomaniacal, forgive me.”

  Her eyes shone. “You’re the greatest arcane vortex that has ever existed. I understand.”

  I winced. “Er, perhaps, but I’m really just a fellow who gets paid to translate what other people find. I ordinarily try to save my insane ranting for grant proposals.”

  Then I took a deep breath and let the arcane fire pour into me.

  I distantly felt the ache in my body, the sensation of my blood turning to liquid flames, the scars on my arm blazing as though the lightning that had traced them in my flesh had returned. But the pain was swamped by the sense of power surging through me as the world unfolded to my senses. I felt the arcane lines around me as though they were my own limbs, and even though this vortex wasn’t me, it was still mine to command.

  I was fire and blood and power, and Nyarlathotep had been a fool to think I would ever submit.

  The Needle came alive; if I shifted my perspective ever so slightly, I could see it from the carvings in the chamber below. The violet glow intensified until it blazed, and I hoped Griffin and the others had succeeded in drawing Nyarlathotep out of sight of the Needle’s length.

  The Needle had been created to control the lines, to weave and unweave over vast distances. If it had been set too close to the maelstrom, it would have been overwhelmed and shattered. Yet the distance suddenly seemed to me to be one of perception rather than miles. For a moment, I could see as far as I chose—could see everything, the complicated pattern of lines stretching across the globe, forming vortices both great and small where they came together.

  But I wasn’t here for that. I was here to stop Nyarlathotep from hurting my friends, myself, my town, my world.

  So I focused my will and my power on the vortex around the Needle. I lost all sense of time as I unraveled the pattern made by the arcane lines and created a new one. I remembered Basil knitting in the sun on board the Melusine, glass needles flashing as he created a sock. Weaving in enchantment while he spoke to Griffin about magic. Casting a spell with a hole in the center.

  I didn’t know the art, but I’d spent hours watching Miss Emily and my Mother, and I had Morgen’s guidance and the Needle’s purpose. Not to mention the unusual advantage of being able to see everything from the perspective of the yarn being knitted.

  I took up the lines and reworked them, into a great circle of magic, with Carn Moreth in the empty hole in the center.

  My sense of the lifeblood of the world grew fainter and fainter as I worked. I continued to replenish the energy within myself, spending power recklessly and drawing it into my fragile form with equal recklessness. Until only one line remained anchored to the Needle.

  I expanded my focus, searching for Morgen. For a moment, I thought I’d made a mistake, missed her passing. But she hung like a wisp in the abyss of light, barely more substantial than a thought.

  Still, I wasn’t much more than thought at the moment, either, at least not in this place. I reached for her.

  She stared at me, lips parted. How she perceived me, I didn’t know, but a smile touched her lips. “You’re still here.”

  “Widdershins doesn’t abandon its own,” I told her. “And when the masters appear, they won’t find us unprepared. We’ll send them back to the Outside where they belong. No matter the cost.”

  “You must leave,” she said. “Cast off the last line, and flee while you still can.”

  She was right. But I hesitated. “I need to make sure Justinian is where he needs to be with the Source. After everything he did, I don’t entirely trust him.”

  “Then I’ll stay with you, for as long as I can.”

  “I’ll lend you some of my energy.” I didn’t know if it would work, but I could at least try. I made certain our hands were joined, and fed a little of the arcane energy I’d swallowed down into her.

  Her outline firmed slightly. Our gazes met, and she said, “Do it.”

  I wove the final line into its new position.

  Chapter 50

  Whyborne

  I instantly felt as though I dragged a great weight through mud.

  Save for the Source, the last bit of arcane energy on Carn Moreth was within me. Morgen clung to my hand, the energy I lent her all that kept her in existence. She’d been changed and tormented, used and abandoned, but she’d set her revenge in motion millennia ago when she subverted the creation of the maelstrom.

  And now it was time for her to have that revenge.

  Justinian should be in the chamber by now with the Source. So I centered myself, honed my will into a point.

  And then I dove, taking Morgen with me.

  Down through the Needle, and Balefire spread out around me. I glimpsed the world through painted eyes, knotholes, and carved figures as I flew past.

  Griffin stood in the Great Hall, the ketoi-forged Sword in one hand and the cane Father gave him in the other. Iskander, Christine, and Hattie were with him, and they were alive, thank heavens, they were alive.

  “Leave,” Griffin ordered, pointing at the open doors leading to the causeway. “The barrier is gone. Escape now, before the entire island collapses.”

  “I agree, but what about you?” Iskander asked.

  Griffin shook his head. Dried blood masked one side of his face, and a small notch out of his right ear streamed fresher blood. Salt and blood matted his overlong hair, and exhaustion had stamped the flesh around his eyes. “I’m going to help Ival.”

  “I’m going with you,” Christine declared.

  “No. Christine, listen to me.” He gripped her arm. “If we don’t make it off the island in time, Widdershins is going to need you as it’s never needed you before. You’re going to have to fight in our stead, and it won’t be easy, but it will be necessary.”

  No. No, damn it, he had to go with her. I couldn’t risk Griffin getting hurt, not now when he was so close to safety. I tried to shout at him, but I had no voice, and frustration and fear burned through me.

  Christine ground her teeth, but she nodded. “Fine. But if you and Whyborne die, I’ll…I’ll never forgive you, do you understand?”

  He offered her a tired smile. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  Curse it, I’d let myself be distracted. With every passing moment, energy bled from me, not only into Morgen but into the Needle, the air, as though the very world tried to feed on me. I dragged my attention back, dove deeper, seeking…

  The great chamber beneath the crypt opened around me. Justinian was there, and for a moment satisfaction filled me. This was going to work.

  Then I saw the mutated Endicotts circling him.

  The Keeper’s face bore the marks of their acidic tentacles. He’d managed to kill two of them, no doubt using some of the power from the Source, but he couldn’t afford to spend too much of it before Nyarlathotep arrived.

  “Get back,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, get back.”

 
; Another Endicott moved stealthily up behind him. I wanted to call out a warning, but had no means of doing so. I could only watch as it sprang onto his back and wrapped its tentacle around his throat.

  Justinian screamed. He fell, and the Source bounced across the floor, fetching up against the Needle.

  The mutated wretches swarmed the man who had once been the head of their household, and who had condemned them to their awful fate. Justinian’s screams grew more anguished as they sank their teeth into him, feeding in a starved, mad frenzy. Within moments, his shrieks turned to croaks, and then fell silent.

  Justinian was dead. And Nyarlathotep’s shadow filled the open door to the crypt.

  ~ * ~

  The mutated Endicotts scattered at Nyarlathotep’s coming. The Source lay against the Needle, but no one remained to use it to cast the spell and bring down the ceiling.

  “No one but us,” Morgen said.

  Far, far overhead, my heart began to pound faster in fear. “How?”

  “Reach with me, through the very stones of Balefire. Use the Source and cast your spell.”

  Magic was dependent on will. In the absence of rat things and sigils and complicated rituals, will was the only thing that remained.

  I’d spent years honing mine, but using it in this manner, when my consciousness was partly separated from my body, was nothing I’d ever imagined. As for what would happen to my mind, should the collapse shatter the Needle while I was in it, I didn’t want to contemplate.

  But I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t act now, Nyarlathotep would escape to the Outside, and all of this would have been for nothing.

  I reached for the Source.

  The power I’d stored in it earlier flooded out, into the Needle, and thence into Morgen and me.

  “No!” Nyarlathotep roared in the voice of a thousand screaming souls. “Stop this! I order you! I am your creator!”

  Rage burst within me, partly mine and partly Morgen’s. This malignant thing would have used Stanford to corrupt Widdershins. It threatened me and everyone I loved. It had done unspeakable things to Morgen’s very essence, then abandoned her until it wished to use the Needle once again.

  It traded in cruelty and avarice, and I despised it with every particle of my being.

  I stretched out my will, and it was a battle as I had never fought before. My sense of the universe around me was gone; with no arcane energy in the ambient, I was blind. I felt as though I crawled inch by inch through the very stones of Balefire, until I found the massive columns holding up the roof of the chamber.

  Already they were creaking and cracking beneath the stress, the magic that had kept them in place for centuries drained away. It wouldn’t take a great deal of power to bring them down.

  Which was a good thing, because I wasn’t certain how much I had left. Arcane energy gushed from me into the spell like blood from a wound.

  Nyarlathotep turned to flee, but it was too late.

  “Your time is over,” I told it, though without mouth or lungs I don’t know if it could sense my defiance. “You should have stayed in the Outside.” I could feel Morgen beside me, vibrating in fury and triumph. “You thought to use us as tools, but we are the weapon that will destroy you.”

  I unleashed the spell, and it found the cracks in the columns, wrenching them apart. The pillar closest to Nyarlathotep came down first, with a roar that would have deafened me if I’d been present in my physical form. Tons of stone pelted from above as the roof began to collapse, burying the hideous shape of Nyarlathotep beneath it.

  “Go!” Morgen said. “Now!”

  She’d been using my energy to remain in this world, but as she spoke, she pushed every scrap of arcane power back into me. I reached for her, but nothing remained to touch.

  She was gone, her revenge complete.

  More stones began to fall as the second column collapsed. I aimed my consciousness back up the Needle, rising rapidly. Balefire fell apart: floors cracking, portraits falling from the walls, roofs collapsing.

  I could sense the courtyard and my body above me, but I was tiring. I’d spent energy recklessly and now had almost nothing left. If Morgen hadn’t given me the last of her life, I likely wouldn’t have climbed even this high.

  I was so weary. It would be so simple to just float here in the darkness. So much easier than continuing to fight. I could forget about the masters, about the maelstrom’s plans, about everything and just let whatever was going to happen…happen.

  And then, distantly, I heard Griffin calling my name.

  Chapter 51

  Griffin

  I entered the courtyard at a dead run, my heart pounding its way out of my chest. How much time we had left, I didn’t know, but it couldn’t be long. Why hadn’t Whyborne returned from his sojourn in the Needle so we could flee together? I’d expected to meet him in the passageway.

  To my horror, I saw his body still lay at the base of the black stone. The blazing vortex that had once filled the courtyard was gone; the only magic remaining in my shadowsight was in him and in the Needle. A thin line of arcane energy connected his body with the stone, which I assumed meant he was still inside it.

  The light within him was dimmer than I’d ever seen. Sometimes he was a candle and sometimes an arc light, but never this feeble flicker. I dropped to my knees beside him, uncertain what to do. If I pulled him free, would it break his connection with the Needle—and if so, what would that do to him?

  “Ival?” I asked. I touched his pale face. His skin was ice cold, and a fresh infusion of fear pumped through my veins. “Ival!”

  There came a rumble like distant thunder—but it originated far below us.

  An instant later, the entire island shook. A rift opened in the lower part of Balefire’s spiral, and a shower of masonry and glass collapsed into it. The shaking continued, cracks forming in the walls of the courtyard, and one of the big doors toppled from its hinges.

  “Whyborne! Ival!” I grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard. “Wake up; please, wake up.”

  The arcane light drained from the slick black stone and back into him. Even as I watched, the glow within him strengthened, though it didn’t achieve anything like its usual brightness. “Ival!”

  He stirred and blinked. “G-Griffin? I don’t feel well.”

  “We have to get out of here.” I hauled his arm over my shoulders and dragged him to his feet. “Help me if you can, my dear.”

  We stumbled like a pair of drunks into Balefire. Bits of plaster rained down on our heads, and the dust choked our lungs and covered us in a layer of white. A marble bust fell from its plinth and shattered on the floor. Smoke crawled along the ceiling; the shaking had knocked over a lantern or candle, and set fire to the building.

  At any instant, I expected the ground to collapse beneath us, or the roof to crush us. Somehow, we made it back to the Great Hall. Whyborne looked horrible, the whites of his eyes beginning to hemorrhage, blood leaking out his nose. I didn’t know what was wrong with him, if it stemmed from the absence of any arcane energy around us, or if it was some side effect of using the Needle as he had. But there was nothing I could do to help, save try to get us off the island as quickly as possible.

  The groan of stone against stone was the only warning I had. “Come on!” I shouted, and flung us both toward the doors leading to the stairs and causeway. Despite his condition, Whyborne managed to take some of his own weight, and we staggered out of Balefire and into the free air.

  Not a moment too soon. The Great Hall collapsed behind us in a roar of stone and timber. A huge cloud of dust billowed out, stinging my eyes and causing Whyborne to double over with a racking cough.

  We plunged half-blind down the stairs. Rifts opened in the earth as the successive layers of the spiral collapsed into each other, no longer supported by magic. The sea roared, nearly deafening, as it rushed into the deep ruins, then was flung back as tons of stone crashed down into it.

  Whyborne’s feet went out from und
er him, and he nearly dragged me down as well. “Leave me,” he panted.

  “Never.” I pulled him back to his feet. “We’re almost at the causeway.”

  He raised his head, blinking blearily. “Look at the sea. We’ll never make it.”

  Oh no. I’d heard the roaring sea, but I’d been so focused on getting us down the long stair, I hadn’t even thought to look. He was right—the sea thrashed like a living thing around Carn Moreth, slamming into the stones, racing across the causeway, then withdrawing, only to crash back again.

  It wasn’t crashing into the headland, though. Instead, the ocean became strangely calm not far from the island. Someone—probably multiple people—was using magic to prevent the waves from destroying the coastline.

  There came a loud snap from only a few feet away, and a crack opened in one of the rocks jutting up by the stair.

  “We don’t have a choice,” I said. “If we can just get past the boundary line, where there’s arcane energy again, the sea is calmer.”

  Calmer, but deep enough we’d still have to swim. And Whyborne couldn’t swim under the best of conditions. Chances were, we’d both drown before we reached the headland.

  But we had to try.

  A finned arm reached above the churning ocean. Then others, the ketoi fighting through the maddened waves to reach us.

  Thank God.

  They scrambled to meet us, two taking Whyborne’s weight, two others gripping my arms. Before I could hesitate, they dragged us both into the water.

  For a few seconds, all was chaos. Water crashed around me, currents ripped at my clothing and hair, and it took all my strength to cling to my sword cane. Had we been left to our own devices, we would surely have been swept away and drowned.

  But the ketoi were far stronger than us, and they lived in these waters. We broke through the chaos into calmer waves, and I could see the net of magic spread over the sea, redirecting the fury of the ocean back on Carn Moreth. Heliabel stood in the shallows, casting the water spell, along with three Endicott sorcerers who must have made it to the headland after the disaster at the barrier.