He barely noticed, though.
A memory had lodged itself in his mind. As Alicia spoke, it crystallized there, and now he’d grown so fixated that nothing else mattered. Not the shattering ground beneath him, not Krystal running to safety, not even his own fate with the heart of Tir Anhrefnus swirling around him.
In this memory, Alicia stood in a dim corner of the rest stop. She held her arms out, fingers splayed so tensely they trembled. Her mouth stretched wide. Everyone in the building froze, their eyes fixed on her, because the tar had found her.
Black veins spread across her face, and her eyes darkened. As he watched the life drain out of the young girl, Brendan’s heart sank. She’d shown him things. She’d unlocked doors in his mind to powers that Samson had been more than happy to lock away. He’d wondered in that moment how many possibilities would die with this girl.
So he saved her.
He hadn’t thought it possible, but he reached deep into the bubbling well of power he’d only recently discovered. He latched onto something, and he took control of the tar again, just like in the basement with Tiger Stripe, just like in the bathroom at the roadside tavern. It happened as naturally as anything else, because it made so much sense. He extended the tendrils of his mind, and he pulled the tar free, like a massive, oily weed.
And now, the very act that saved Alicia’s life would end Merovech’s.
The only thing keeping them from flying into the center of the earth like the rest of Ansel’s castle was the tar that filled their bodies. Neither Merovech nor Brendan had the powers of Samson and Ansel. They couldn’t command the molecules of air around them to bear them up and away from danger. All they could do was command the tar inside them to hover in place.
So if Brendan ripped the dripping black weed from Merovech’s body, he’d fall to his death. It was that simple.
But this was no tiny patch of tar, just big enough to slip through a slit opened in Brendan’s psychic journeys to Tir Anhrefnus. Merovech was no helpless victim of the tar, either. It would take an incredible amount of power to remove all the tar from Merovech’s body, especially once Merovech realized what was happening. Brendan had never tried using this much power, but he’d also never had the heart of Tir Anhrefnus on his side.
Brendan lifted a tar-covered arm and focused all his energy on the mass inside Merovech.
He took hold of the old wizard, this time not with a black tentacle, but with the deep part of him that thrilled when he entered Tir Anhrefnus. Merovech jerked in the air, halted by Brendan’s psychic grip on the tar inside him. Brendan pulled, trying to uproot the blackness from the man hovering ahead of him, but instantly met resistance. Merovech knew what Brendan meant to do, and he planned to fight him every step of the way.
You think you can take this from me? came Merovech’s voice, so loud in Brendan’s mind his head ached. As if it were such a simple matter to remove the source of my power! You give yourself too much credit.
Invisible tendrils wrapped around Brendan’s tar—Merovech trying to beat Brendan at his own game. Brendan pulled on the tar inside Merovech, and Merovech pulled on the heart of Tir Anhrefnus. Slowly, the two drifted closer together. There was nothing left beneath them. Ansel, Samson, and Krystal stood far off on a tiny island of white—the last piece of Ansel’s hideout. Soon that would be gone, too.
Brendan and Merovech hovered in the void, two titans orbiting one another in an invisible battle. Brendan’s head ached. The pain radiated down the base of his skull and along his spine. He realized blood was trickling out his nose, seeping around the tar that fed into his nostrils.
But Brendan felt progress. Panic flickered across Merovech’s eyes. The tar budged, and they’d both felt it. The panic gave way to fury, and those invisible tendrils pulled at the tar inside Brendan even more powerfully. Pain blossomed all over Brendan’s body. He tried to scream, but tar filled his throat.
He would attend to the pain later. He needed to muster every last ounce of power he had, or he would be the one plummeting into the darkness above.
And so he did something stupid.
He opened himself to the heart of Tir Anhrefnus.
All of himself.
All the mental doors he’d kept locked. All the passageways he’d blocked off to keep the stuff from having full influence over him. Every inch of his soul was fair game. If it meant Merovech’s death, it would be one less thing to worry about. Whatever the consequences, he would deal with them later.
The tar didn’t wait long to fill its new territory. It coursed through Brendan, and as it did, it gave him more power. Brendan tapped into it, allowing the heart of Tir Anhrefnus to become his heart.
And then he turned his immense power on the tar inside Merovech.
“Ansel!” Brendan called with his mind. He couldn’t see the old wizard, but he had to hope he heard him. “We need tryfnium. Lots of it. More than you’ve ever made in your life. This is your chance to end it once and for all. Whatever you make, I want you to drive it through this tar like the biggest freaking bullet in the world.” He paused, and, with an effort, added. “Even if I can’t get it out of me.”
The instructions spilled out of him instantaneously, in the compressed-time nature of thoughts, but that instant was long enough for Merovech to regain his grip on the tar inside him. He was on the defensive now, though. The old wizard was just trying to survive, while Brendan had all the power of Tir Anhrefnus at his disposal.
Brendan was more powerful than Merovech had ever been—more than he ever dreamed he would become. Merovech had been too afraid to bring the heart of Tir Anhrefnus with him. He hadn’t even wanted to take the chance that Ansel might drive a tryfnium lance through it. But now that Brendan carried the mantle, he recognized how irrational Merovech’s fear had been. Ansel was nothing compared to the immense power coursing through every corner of Brendan’s being.
And Merovech wasn’t much better.
So Brendan reached in, took hold of the mass of black, and ripped it out.
Merovech made a wet, choking sound as the tar exited body. Hundreds of feet of tentacles poured out of his mouth, his nose, his ears. His body shrank and grew pale, and the hateful gleam in his eyes turned into one of crippling fear. This was no longer a wizard with powers that spanned dimensions. This was a frail old man, recognizing his precarious situation and being forced to confront mortality for the first time.
He seemed to hover for a moment, as if his body had not yet realized the force keeping it aloft was gone. But then gravity claimed him, and with a plaintive scream, he plummeted into the infinite void. Weak fingers of power grasped at the heart of Tir Anhrefnus inside Brendan, but without his own tar to feed him power, Merovech’s attempts were feeble and useless.
And so he tumbled. He spun in the darkness with nothing to catch him. Soon the shadows consumed him, and though Merovech’s waning powers still reached for the tar, the old wizard was as good as dead. He would keep falling until he found whatever waited at the end of Ansel’s endless sky...or until Ansel’s attention completely left the space and the sky became earth and swallowed Merovech whole.
Now Brendan turned from the eternal depths to the place where he’d entered this strange, upside-down world. The last of the white surface had fallen to pieces. Ansel, Samson, and Krystal must have returned to Lou’s Fuel & Fix.
Brendan allowed the heart of Tir Anhrefnus to carry him upward. He stretched out one tar-covered arm, letting the appendage stretch farther and with more strength than he’d ever dared attempt. His dripping, black fingers took hold of the ledge which he’d walked over just a day earlier. That moment seemed so long ago. The Brendan who’d stood dizzily in the reversed gravity was so different from the one sailing through the darkness now. That Brendan only thought he was powerful. But what he’d become now...this was true power.
He pulled himself through the doorway to the hidden cellar of Lou’s Fuel & Fix, whe
re only a day ago he’d watched Samson step through a glowing threshold and into an upside-down world.
Brendan didn’t bother passing through this door the way he’d passed through the portal of Tir Anhrefnus. He didn’t make the tar around himself smaller, didn’t pass the human part of himself through the doorway before allowing the tar to flow through the tiny opening and cover him once again. He forced himself through, snapping the doorway to pieces as easily as twigs. Plumes of dust rose around Brendan as his massive bulk filled the cellar. He had to crouch on all fours in this tiny space. The low ceiling brushed his back as he turned back and forth, searching for his companions. They were nowhere in sight. Maybe they were running along the dusty streets of Black Falls now. Maybe they knew what was happening in Brendan, and they were trying to escape.
He couldn’t let Ansel destroy the heart of Tir Anhrefnus, but he couldn’t take it back to Tir Anhrefnus, either. The whole land had been sucked dry. If the heart returned to the mountain, it would die of starvation. If it stayed here, it would die by tryfnium.
Unless he killed Ansel.
Once the only person capable of destroying the tar was dead, this world would become its home. It would feed until this, too, became a husk. Then it would seek out another home, just as it had two thousand years ago. He understood now what Merovech and the others experienced so long ago. Merovech had been the Chosen One. He’d absorbed the true purpose of the thing Merlin could only describe as a falling star. Everyone else had been collateral damage, their powers only side effects of what Merovech received.
Brendan stood, pushing his roiling, black back through the cellar’s rotting ceiling. Like the doorway, the wood and cement all broke apart with no resistance. Brendan’s body moved up and up, passing through layers of earth and construction. He reached up and tore a wider opening for himself. When he stood at his full height, his feet remained planted on the cellar floor, and his head grazed the roof.
Ansel was not inside the building, either.
Frustrated, Brendan tore the ceiling open. He stepped out of the cellar and into Lou’s Fuel & Fix, allowing his head to burst through the roof. Now he saw all of Black Falls. Every abandoned street. Every broken stoplight. Every vacant lot. They all lay out before him.
And then he saw Ansel. The old wizard stood behind a building in a futile attempt to hide. He held his hands out, palms up. The beginnings of a tryfnium weapon floated in the space above his hands. It was a spear, ten feet long and as big around as a man’s leg. Still, it wasn’t big enough to destroy the heart of Tir Anhrefnus. The spear was growing larger, though, and if left uninterrupted, Ansel might create something capable of destroying the thing inside Brendan.
Blood streamed from Ansel’s nose, and his eyes rolled back. Occasionally he would sway and nearly collapse, but Krystal waited at his side, grabbing his elbow to steady him. The sheer effort of the task might kill Ansel, even before the spear grew large enough. He’d already been so far gone when they found him. He no longer had his castle to hold together, but it might still have been too late. Ansel likely needed more time to recover.
But Ansel didn’t have that luxury.
And Brendan didn’t mean to give it to him.
Staring at the frail old man now, Brendan made his choice. Once, he’d believed he wanted to save the world, but now, as blood and tar mingled in his veins, as the consciousness of Tir Anhrefnus consumed his own, Brendan knew he could not give up this power. He could not return to a life of trading salvage for the sleep he needed to find more salvage. He was a god now, and Ansel would not oppose him.
So he exited the cellar, scattering cement and metal and glass before his massive leg. He stepped onto the streets of Black Falls, and he began walking toward Ansel.
13
Ansel was too absorbed in his efforts creating the tryfnium spear to pay Brendan any mind, but Krystal noticed him immediately. With all the sounds of breaking glass and crumbling rubble, her head snapped in Brendan’s direction, and her eyes widened. She’d seen him from a distance as he fought with Merovech, but now, confronted by the monster that had once been her friend, she could only scream.
Ansel didn’t even react.
The spear grew larger.
Brendan lumbered toward them. He would spare Krystal, of course. The tar had a great, insatiable hunger, but there was plenty here to sate its appetite besides her. Krystal had been good to him, and as a favor, he would keep the tar from taking her until no alternatives remained. She may even have the luxury of dying of old age, depending on how long it took the tar to suck this world dry.
Ansel would have no such luxury. His power threatened the entity inside Brendan, but with a few simple movements, Brendan could end that threat. The tar would stand unopposed. Brendan lifted one arm, gathering the tar to send a network of tentacles racing through Ansel’s body.
“Brendan!”
Brendan froze at the voice. It hadn’t come from Krystal or Ansel. Krystal stood stock-still, eyes wide and mouth slack. Ansel remained fixated on the growing spear above his hands. This voice called from another part of Black Falls, from behind Brendan.
He whirled in time to see Samson standing on top of one of the decrepit buildings. His torn black T-shirt whipped in the wind, and he held both his bony arms out at his sides, like an ancient prophet pronouncing doom. Dozens of white bullets hovered around him.
Tryfnium-coated bullets.
Samson’s sawed-off shotgun lay somewhere on the crumbling planes of Tir Anhrefnus, cast aside when Brendan realized its uselessness. Samson didn’t need the gun, though. Not if he was willing to burn away some of his mind to fire the bullets over the streets of Black Falls.
“This is your only chance!” Samson shouted. “Remove the blight from yourself and allow Ansel to destroy it. I won’t ask again.”
Brendan didn’t respond. He gathered the tar meant for Ansel and hurled it at Samson. What began as one thick blast split over and over until dozens of thin tendrils shot across Black Falls, thirty feet above the streets.
Samson sprinted to one side, sending a swarm of bullets at the advancing tar. Each one found its mark, passing through black trunks and severing them from Brendan’s tar-covered arm. He felt needles of pain as tar fell to the ground, shriveling under the tryfnium’s poison, but the sensation barely registered. The tryfnium’s effects were short-lived. As Merovech had told him, it would take more than pebbles to destroy the heart of Tir Anhrefnus.
But Samson was undeterred. He fired another volley of bullets, these aimed at Brendan’s chest. Brendan didn’t even try to dodge. The projectiles ripped through the tar swirling around him, peppering his hide with inconsequential holes. One bullet grazed Brendan’s human body, but the wound didn’t concern him, either. He had the life of the tar coursing through his veins. He didn’t need the weak frame he’d lugged from Newhaven to Black falls, not now that the heart of Tir Anhrefnus beat inside him.
You have nothing to threaten me with, he called to Samson.
As Brendan’s voice echoed across psychic channels, he noticed how it had changed. It sounded so much like Merovech’s now. Had that truly been Merovech’s voice? After all that time in Tir Anhrefnus, had Samson and Ansel’s former colleague become only a shell to hold the tar?
And had Brendan become the same thing?
On one hand, that thought terrified him. On the other, Brendan wasn’t sure he cared. He was becoming something new. He wasn’t the same paranoid salvager who’d hid under a pile of debris when a group of teenagers wandered into a grocery store.
As if hearing his thoughts, Samson called, “You aren’t any more powerful than you were before. I warned you about this. The blight is using you.”
Samson fired another cloud of bullets, and this time Brendan dove out of the way, crushing buildings and leaving patches of tar in his wake. He was tired of this. Samson’s puny efforts wouldn’t kill him, but they had become an annoya
nce.
So Brendan lashed out with a massive black tentacle.
He didn’t aim at Samson, but at the base of the building on which he stood. Dirt and dust exploded in plumes, and the few remaining windows burst. The bullets surrounding Samson dropped out of the air, no longer under his attention as he fell into the rubble.
This final obstacle cleared, Brendan turned back to Ansel.
The spear was massive now, large enough that a well-placed shot would destroy the heart of Tir Anhrefnus, but the question remained whether Ansel had the strength to wield it. After all he’d endured, he couldn’t have had much left in the tank.
But still Brendan approached. He needed to finish the war once and for all.
Krystal screamed at him, but he tuned her out. She didn’t understand. Brendan raised a fist, readying a network of blackness to plunge into Ansel and end his life. Tar gathered on his arm, coiled and quivering as it awaited his command.
And then, before Ansel could make any more progress, Brendan struck.
His arm split into a multitude of tentacles, each seeking a different path into the old wizard’s bloodstream. Some tentacles joined as they found a home in a nostril. Others crossed and twisted while maintaining separate integrity. Each one struck its mark and pushed in, devouring blood and organs and converting everything inside Ansel into oozing blackness. The tar simultaneously hollowed Ansel out and filled him up.
The whole process took less than ten seconds, such was the force behind Brendan’s strike. But as he finished, he realized something wasn’t right. The tryfnium spear still hovered in the air.
Even worse, it grew larger.
Brendan didn’t understand. If he killed Ansel, the spear should have fallen to the ground with Ansel’s lifeless body, unfinished and impossible to lift. And yet there it floated, spinning like a pure white drill, faster and faster as it gained mass.
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