Brendan remembered something Samson had said, back when they first left Newhaven.
No power comes without a price.
At the time, he’d been talking about the power he got from whatever he’d found in that crater, but now Brendan saw the breadth of that statement. All power came at a cost, including the power to convince two strangers to drive across a ruined wasteland, hoping to rid the world of its horrific infection.
“You didn’t trust us,” Krystal said, her voice soft and empty.
“I couldn’t afford to trust you.” Samson glared at Brendan. “He is the only one who can travel to Tir Anhrefnus. He is the only one with the power to destroy Merovech. Would he have joined me had I told him the full truth?”
Brendan didn’t bother to respond, and Samson didn’t wait for him.
“And then what? Merovech continues to send the blight into our world and infects it until it is just as ruined as Tir Anhrefnus, all because I trusted someone I’d never met. I have lived too long and seen too many people fail to rely on anyone but myself. The only reason I rely on you now is because I have no other option. I still trust neither of you, but if Merovech is to be defeated, I must behave as though I do.”
Samson’s voice grew stronger the more he talked. The echoes rang off the smooth, hard walls.
“I lied to both of you, but I will not apologize.” Samson spoke much softer now. “If this day ends with Merovech dead and the blight gone, it will all be worth it.”
“The cost is not too high,” Ansel murmured.
17
Brendan settled on the floor, trying to make himself comfortable while Krystal worked. Samson watched from the dancing shadows. Ansel stood at the entry to the cavern, flipping through the Book of Memory, a bewildered expression on his face.
“This thing is incredibly advanced,” Krystal said, obviously more interested in offering an olive branch after the argument than in understanding the nature of the portal. “If this really was built two thousand years ago, Merovech was using technology way before its time. Heck, he was using materials way before their time.”
Samson sniffed. “With his power, Merovech was unbound by the availability of materials. He created what he needed at will. And with his mind expanded the way it was, there was no limit to the things he could create.”
“So he created this thing out of thin air, like you do the gasoline in your car?” Krystal asked.
Samson grunted his assent.
“I thought when you did stuff like that, it only held together as long as you focused on it. Shouldn’t this have fallen to pieces by now?”
Samson only shrugged. “It is true for me. But Merovech is more powerful than I. Maybe more powerful than all of us. Clearly, when he calls materials into existence, they hold together.”
“Good news for us, I guess,” Krystal said, and returned to her work.
Brendan didn’t know how long Krystal worked after that. Maybe an hour. Maybe eight. It was long enough for his back to grow stiff from lying on the ground. She worked in silence, focused on the strange technology before her. Even though the portal was built using concepts and materials Krystal saw every day, she’d encountered nothing like this.
And yet, when she brushed the dreadlocks out of her face and declared, “I think I’m done,” there wasn’t a doubt in Brendan’s mind she’d succeeded.
Samson wasn’t as convinced. “You think?”
Krystal cocked an eyebrow. “I’m as confident as I can be, but I’m sorry to say I’ve never repaired an interdimensional portal before.”
“And yet you put it together.”
He was right. The portal had gone from a pile of scraps to something that resembled an actual structure. It was a doorframe standing free in the center of the cavern. Its surface was a polished white, with the symbol from Merovech’s journal carved into the top piece. The strange carving seemed to bleed shadow. Brendan didn’t want to look at the symbol, didn’t want to see the images it called to mind every time his eyes traced its curves, but he found himself continually drawn back to it.
And now that the portal had been repaired, excitement and revulsion in equal parts warred inside him.
“Sure, I’ve fit all the pieces together,” Krystal said. “We’ll only know if it works after we try it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like...kind of like a puzzle,” Krystal said. “You’ve put together a puzzle before, right, Samson? Or have you been too busy saving the world?”
Samson frowned. Krystal smirked.
“I had one back in Newhaven,” she continued. “Me and Uncle Jeff worked on it every night for a while. Only problem was, we didn’t have the box it came in. It was just this ratty paper bag I found in an abandoned house one day. That made it tricky because the box always tells you what the finished puzzle is supposed to look like. So if you have a red piece or a blue piece, you at least know by looking at the box that there’s a lot of red over here or a lot of blue over there. But Uncle Jeff and I didn’t have that. Our only clue was if the edges of two pieces lined up. We did the whole thing just by finding edges that fit together. Eventually, we got it done, but it was hard.
“Here’s the thing. We knew we got it right because the puzzle made a picture of a house. We’d seen houses before, so we knew the roof went on top, and there was supposed to be a door, and some windows, and that the grass all needed to be at the bottom of the picture. But with this portal? I’ve got the puzzle pieces, and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what edges line up. But I never had a box to work with, and on top of that, I’ve never seen a portal to Tir Anhrefnus before.”
Krystal looked the portal up and down. “So, yeah. All these pieces fit, but it’s totally possible I put the grass on the roof, or a window in the tree...so to speak.”
“And if you did?” Samson asked.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Silence settled over the cavern. Krystal’s statement wasn’t quite right.
“No,” Brendan said. “I’ll find out.”
Krystal swallowed, nodded.
Sure, everyone in the room would learn of the consequences if Krystal hadn’t done her job right, but if there was something dangerous about the way she’d rebuilt the portal, it was Brendan—and only Brendan—who would bear the weight of those consequences. Krystal was a good mechanic, but Brendan was putting more than just his mod in her hands now. He was putting his life in her hands.
“How does it work?” Samson asked, pushing past the weight of the moment.
“I think...” Krystal paused and lifted one finger toward Brendan. “I think he needs to activate it.”
Brendan looked at the portal. Of course he needed to activate it. He was the one with the tie to Tir Anhrefnus. He was the one with the power over the tar. For all her mechanical ability, Krystal couldn’t open a gate between worlds. Only Brendan had that power.
Brendan approached the portal, and now he didn’t try to tear his eyes away from the symbol carved into the top. He let the carving hang over him, bleeding its shadows and filling his mind with images of roiling black and men turning to monsters. He felt the pull from Tir Anhrefnus, a vibration penetrating deep into his bones and thrilling every nerve in his body.
And then, just like he’d known how to direct the tar into Tiger Stripe’s body, he knew how to operate the portal. He placed one hand on each side of the portal and reached out with a power he hadn’t known he had a week ago.
It was startlingly easy.
From the Book of Memory
If only Merlin could see me, actually writing in his foolish book. But if I do not, nobody will. Not now that Ansel lies languid on his bed, murmuring to himself of costs and labyrinths. He would surely continue to write given the opportunity, but if you are reading this (whoever you are) you read his last pages. You know the mental strain from which he suffers.
Maybe o
ne day it will return to him. If not his memories, then his sense of reason. At least he may one day regain enough of his mind to care for himself. Perhaps he will even regain enough of his mind to craft more tryfnium. Though we succeeded in trapping Merovech in Tir Anhrefnus and in placing the curse on him, the blight remains in this town. Perhaps it has even spread to surrounding towns. More tryfnium weapons would be truly helpful.
But Ansel’s mind is too ruined for him to even leave his bed. As it stands, ridding the world of the blight has fallen to me.
And I suppose that would be right. My part of the story will be the battle. Merlin’s was to lead us to that crater, Merovech’s was to call the blight forward, Ansel’s was to learn how to fight it.
And now I will finish the fight.
Thus far, I have been the least powerful, the least knowledgeable, the least involved in this whole saga, and yet I am the last one standing. I am the one who has not succumbed to death or a worse fate. And so I will carry this mantle. It was me and my companions who brought the blight onto this world, and if I am the last of my kind, then I alone will drive it out.
x x x
I had never expected to write in this book again. The blight had not spread far, so I destroyed every patch and every poor infected soul with ease. Once I had tryfnium weapons and Merovech was no longer around to interfere, the blight wilted under my attack.
Ansel remained behind, never agreeing to join me or even to create more tryfnium. There is so little of him left.
I should have written in this book more often. I am sure I have forgotten much of my travels, but I simply could not bring myself to add a fresh chapter to our story. It should have ended after we placed the curse on Merovech and drove the blight from the city.
And yet I continue roaming this earth, wondering if the day would ever come that the blight returns and calls me to fight it once again. After two thousand years, I had begun to hope we had seen the end of it. I had begun to hope I had wasted my time melting down tryfnium weapons to create a coating for bullets after the invention of gunpowder.
But then, in my wanderings, I heard stories. I traced the stories and followed the rumors, and now I am certain Merovech is escaping the labyrinth Ansel and I placed in his mind. He is sending the blight back into this world, but he is not doing it alone.
The rumors and stories have led me not only the source of the blight, but also to its cure.
I write this now because of the long road ahead of me. Should this mission require enough power to burn my mind away, this one fact should remain:
The blight is coming from a city named Newhaven. I am certain of it.
TIR ANHREFNUS
1
The energy rushing out of Brendan was a physical sensation, like all the blood draining from his veins. It was simultaneously exhausting and thrilling, the whole experience bringing him to his knees. His hands still gripped the frame of the portal, trembling from the power he’d just expended. He stayed there, listening only to the sound of his ragged breath echoing in the open cavern.
Samson’s voice cut through the black.
“Did it work?”
Reluctantly, Brendan opened his eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on the earth between his knees, unsure of which sight he hoped for when he looked at the portal—either the cracked wasteland of Tir Anhrefnus, or more of the stone cavern. No breeze reached from beyond the portal to tousle his hair. No heat or cold emanated from the frame. But of course, that meant nothing.
With great effort, Brendan lifted his head to see the fruits of all the energy he’d put into the simple device before him.
And there, stretching out in endless emptiness before him, lay Tir Anhrefnus.
It was the same cracked, gray earth from his dreams. The same sky, bleached of all color. Even if he’d never seen it in his dreams, even if his only exposure to Tir Anhrefnus had been his connection to the tar, he would’ve known. He knew the emotion welling up in his chest. It was an emotion that, sickeningly enough, told him he was standing on the doorstep of his home.
“Yeah,” he said. “It worked.”
“Are—are you serious?” Krystal asked. “I don’t see anything.”
Brendan faced her, and something inside him shrieked in disappointment.
But Krystal only shrugged. “All I see through that door is the other end of the cavern.”
“We will never see Tir Anhrefnus,” Samson said, folding his arms. “When Merovech went through the portal for the last time, Ansel and I never saw Tir Anhrefnus. To our eyes, Merovech only walked through the portal and vanished.”
Brendan stood, returning his gaze to the portal. He’d find Merovech through there, and likely more tar than he’d ever seen. He might not even come back. The realization opened a pit in his stomach, freezing him before the gate. He’d spent so long surviving by placing himself in the safest situations possible, and now he planned to walk straight into a place that was the source—directly and indirectly—of every danger he’d faced in his life.
“Brendan,” said Krystal’s voice, and this time Brendan was relieved to turn his back to the portal. She smiled at him and held out her mod, fingers already flipped back and tools revealed. “Let me fix up your mod. One last time.”
Brendan chuckled, and he gratefully walked from the portal to his old friend. She took his mod in her hand and began to work.
As she did, Samson approached, holding out his short-barreled shotgun. He shook it expectantly when he was close enough for Brendan to take it, and Brendan did.
“You will need this,” Samson grunted. “Use the bullets wisely.”
Brendan nodded and tucked the gun into his jeans.
A few minutes later, Krystal had finished her tune up, and when she looked up to tell Brendan she was done, tears glistened on her cheeks.
“You come back, okay, Brendan?” she said, her voice thick. “Whatever it takes, you come back. I want you around when I’m trying to figure out how to live in a world without tar.”
Brendan put a hand on her shoulder and offered as convincing a smile as he could muster. “Sure,” he said. “I will.”
He wished it was a promise he knew he could keep.
2
Brendan stepped through the portal into Tir Anhrefnus. The earth turned dry beneath his feet. A network of deep, black cracks stretched out before him. Samson’s gun weighed heavy in his hand, and the tryfnium-coated bullets burned in his pocket, already reacting to the hostile environment around them. But the strongest sensation was the buzzing, thrilling excitement inside the dark part of himself that he’d cultivated these past few days.
This was it. The source of all the power he’d been wielding.
He tried to hold on to every memory he had of someone infected with tar. The prisoner in the Tin Can Man’s hideout, writhing in a cube. Eagle Eye, missing half his head with tentacles of black reaching out of the fresh hole. Uncle Jeff, pinned to his bedroom wall.
The images paraded, one after another, and Brendan stoked the feelings of horror, because now, more than ever, he wanted to abandon his mission and learn just how powerful he would become if he surrendered to the energy here. The growing hunger had to be the influence of Tir Anhrefnus on his mind, some sort of defense mechanism built into the tar, or even Merovech himself, reaching inside Brendan to pull all the levers and push all the buttons that would convince him to leave Tir Anhrefnus alone.
Whatever its cause, the hunger burned white hot in Brendan’s mind.
Brendan didn’t know where he would find Merovech, but still he walked. Samson wouldn’t have been able to offer guidance. The gray-haired wizard likely didn’t even remember what Merovech looked like. The Book of Memory held no pictures to remind Samson of his old friend’s face.
Behind him, the portal remained open. On this side, there was no frame. A rectangular hole opened in the gray world, and through it Brendan saw Krystal staring
after him, a tear glistening at the corner of her eye. That was enough, at least for the moment, to quell the dark desires inside him.
He had to end this. After the dust settled, he’d know he did the right thing. The conflicting emotions would dissipate.
At last. You have arrived.
The voice rumbled over the wasteland. It pierced Brendan’s entire being, vibrating in his chest, coursing through his veins, and echoing in his mind. This was not mere sound traveling through air. This was the reality that permeated Tir Anhrefnus.
My old friend has sent you to kill me.
Brendan hefted the short-barreled shotgun. It felt suddenly puny in his grip. What hope did Samson’s weapon have against such a powerful creature? Brendan couldn’t even see the voice’s source. No shape loomed on the horizon as it had in his dream.
Still he raised the gun. He gripped it in both hands, aiming straight ahead at nothing.
And this is your weapon of choice. After all these years, the best my friends could muster was a plaything with stones in its mouth.
Brendan whirled, but the voice echoed from every direction and no direction, from without and within, all at once. It laughed, a cold sound with no melody, a thrumming rumble that threatened to shake the skin from Brendan’s bones.
Am I a dog that you come to me with stones?
Finally, Brendan noticed the tar, immediately wondering how he’d missed it. He’d thought the cracks in the ground were only that—cracks, casting stark shadows in the blazing sun. And maybe they had been only cracks at one point. But now, as he looked for the source of the voice, he realized the crisscrossing black lines undulated, flowing over their predefined edges.
The black lines weren’t shadows. They were tar.
All of them. Tar.
Emboldened in its discovery, the tar rose from the earth, and that deep and terrible laughter grew in volume and intensity. If the laughter came from anywhere, it came from the tar itself, like the black infection had become a living radio tower, broadcasting a signal of cold malice all over Tir Anhrefnus.
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