Caller of Lightning

by Eytan Kollin

  Ben walked to the window, staring through the fog at the brief flashes of light above. A storm brewed . . . and what is a Franklin without a lightning rod?

  “I say, I feel like I’m thinking clearly for the first time in far too long.”

  Jane harrumphed. “That look always gets my husband in trouble. What are you plotting, Benjamin Franklin?”

  Ben tapped his cane twice against the floor. “It is said, those who would seek peace should prepare for war. Well, those who would seek magic should prepare for science! Benjamin Loxley, you so-clever artificer, do you still have my storm kits in your shed?”

  “Of course. If Peter—I’m sorry, I mean Mobo—can give me a hand, I will hitch up the horses and have your battery of Leyden jars and the electrostatic machine ready in the back of the wagon, as always, in just a moment or two. We can quickly load up the work cart too, and harness both the horses, so they are ready to be hitched.”

  Benjamin and Jane led the way down the stairs, where they put on their cloaks. Ben and Mobo had never taken theirs off, so they were prepared for the chilly Philadelphia spring evening that greeted them. Ben glanced wistfully at their cozy home. It looked as if Benjamin might finally have it almost completed.

  Hitching the horses was fast work, and in no time they were underway. Mobo drove the wagon with Jane at his side, Benjamin and Ben rode separately in a cart. Even though they kept a fairly slow pace to keep from damaging the electrical equipment, Ben watched the evening sky. The comet was even brighter here than it had been in London, but fog wended through the streets, hiding the cobbles. It was as though some greater power forced a miasma over the eve to force nightfall. Ben felt his eyes start to drift closed and his mind wandered. His father, Josiah, appeared in his mind’s eye, looking stern. “Wake up, boy! Clear the fog!” The cart hit a bump, and Ben woke. He realized with a start that the carts were slowing and everyone else had drifted off also. Even the horses had slowed to a stop.

  He shook his head. “Purgare corde meo.” He touched his own forehead. Immediately the haze of sleep lifted. He repeated the process for each of his compatriots and the two horses.

  Everyone shared uncomfortable looks. Whatever was bespelling the world, it was a potent silence, and it was a true silence, one so deep that even animal sounds didn’t pierce it. On the rare occasion they passed someone, the people just stood there, staring at nothing.

  “Benjamin,” Jane cried in horror, pointing to a group of three desiccated corpses just where Market Street met Third Street.

  Ben and Benjamin went up and examined the trio. One was an adult: a woman, by her garb. The other two were children. “It would appear the proprietor has returned with his master and is intent on foreclosing on all his holdings. Somehow these people were different than the others we saw who are just in a trance.”

  Is this the effect of the great spell? he wondered.

  “Why are they here, doing this now?” asked Benjamin as they got back in the cart and followed the carriage.

  “The bell Norris has been so concerned about having in place is here and contains the last of the metal they need to cast their spell. They plan to bring the comet down from the sky and gain immortality.”

  “They believe it will grant them immortality? The greedy fools.” Benjamin Loxley shook his head.

  “Indeed,” Ben said. “And I fear it will cost the lives of half the world to grant it to them.”

  Benjamin blinked. “You couldn’t have led with that? Dear God. We must stop them, no matter the cost!”

  “Exactly,” replied Ben.

  The grim group continued their way toward the Assembly Hall.

  The Assembly Hall

  Philadelphia,

  Pennsylvania Colony

  41

  Bell, Book, and Candle

  Sally, Mouser, Polly, and Peter quickly made their way toward the Assembly Hall. With Sally’s knowledge of the area, they made it in fifteen minutes.

  “Here’s where the Bell hangs, and no sign of anyone,” Sally said.

  “I’ll be right back.” Peter walked up the causeway, peering through the darkened windows.

  “Is it?” Polly looked up to the steeple.

  “Yes,” Sally pointed up, “up there at the top.”

  Despite the gusting winds, the fog had settled, restricting visibility to the hall lawn. On the way, they had passed several people, all of whom were in trances. The Assembly Hall and the nearby fields were unoccupied. Polly stared up the tower. “So, we break in?”

  Peter walked back over. “I don’t think we need to break in. I think all we have to do is to stop them from getting to the Bell. We think the journals specified that the caster must be in contact with the metal to use it. So long as we keep the King out of there,” Peter pointed at the Assembly Hall, “we will be able to stop him.”

  “A moment, please.” Polly held up a finger. “Did you say we think? We don’t know?”

  Mouser purred and nudged Sally for pets, knocking her slightly off balance as she listened thoughtfully.

  She scratched under his chin and the hound-sized cat purred. Peter and Polly both stopped, glancing at the cat. It began to sink in just how large this animal enamored of the young woman was as the rumble of the purr echoed softly on the lawn.

  Mouser’s ears twitched as he went silent, and he snuggled down to pounce, pointed away from the three. His haunch lifted and his tail twitched. They heard the sound of a wagon on the roadway, with horse hooves clopping along loudly through the silenced night as the fog parted.

  “Do we hide? Do we fight?” Sally asked quietly.

  “No need. The King did not have a wagon.” Peter pointed.

  He recognized Ben’s man driving the wagon, with a woman sitting next to him. Ben followed in a smaller cart, with a man sitting next to him, engrossed in conversation.

  Peter Collinson broke into a grin. “I see we aren’t the only ones who made it across the ocean tonight. This is a most excellent turn of events indeed!”

  The two girls ran toward Ben, but Sally was far faster, Mouser at her side. “Sally!” Ben looked a little startled at a house cat that came up to his waist, but his clear delight at seeing his daughter again, and her delight in seeing him, made everyone smile.

  As Mobo led the horses with the wagon a little out of sight, then unhitched them and removed their harnesses, Ben explained that he had freed Mobo and Jemima, and in turn was delighted to learn that Mouser’s transformation was Sally’s doing.

  “Ben,” Polly asked, “do you have a plan?”

  Ben shook his head. “No. Yes. Mostly? Benjamin, this is Peter Collinson. Peter, meet Benjamin Loxley. Can you two get the Bell down here with Polly’s help? You must hurry.”

  Peter furrowed his brows. “I thought we had to stop the King from touching it. Doesn’t it make more sense to leave it up there?”

  “It does and it doesn’t. I want it down here, where we can touch it.”

  Benjamin grabbed his key ring and ran to the Assembly Hall door, followed by Peter and Polly.

  “Shango, give me your strength that I may make it rain and thunder on my enemies. I will look for Anansi, finding all the places you cannot see.” Mobo knelt by the wagon. He stood and turned around, hefting an axe. Ben stared in shock. A silent change had come over the man. It was almost as though a thousand people had been folded into the space occupied by one by some clever artificer, and so long as you didn’t stare too hard, your eyes wouldn’t start watering.

  Mobo’s irises were pure white, as though they had been burned away. “I’m ready.” He swung the axe in an arc, the head crackling with electricity. His voice sounded completely different. “His iya agba told him about old Shango, the god of fire and lightning, the bringer of storm and cloud. You’ve been a master, binding his spirit, teaching him about being a Christian, Mr. Franklin, but these are the stories that are in his blood. This one is mine, not yours. I have hidden in the secret places in his mind for a lifetime, wai
ting, and I promised him we would be able to make a difference and bring good into the world. Do you understand me, ọmọ eniyan?”

  Ben nodded. “I do. He is his own master now. Earlier tonight I found the courage to face him.”

  Jane walked quietly between them, avoiding both their gazes, grabbing more of Ben’s array, and carrying it back to the area they would make their stand.

  Shango nodded to Ben, ignoring Jane. “That you did that, and the coming threat, is why you are alive now.”

  Placing the lightning rods was a precise task with a lot of guesswork, and Ben paused to straighten up and look Shango in the eye. Staring the god directly in Mobo’s blinded eyes was disconcerting. He nodded and went back to work.

  Mouser purred with a deep rumble and head-butted Shango for pets. The outsized cat was rewarded with scritches between his shoulder blades, then, when Shango went back to unloading the wagon, Mouser darted over to where the people were working and sharpened his claws on the side of the wagon.

  Sally giggled and snapped her fingers, “Mouser, no.” The cat rolled back and stuck a leg up in the air, unconcernedly bathing, without a care in the world.

  Polly, Peter, and Benjamin came back onto the lawn with the 2,000-pound Bell floating between them, held aloft by Polly’s magic, with the two men clearing the way for her.

  Ben stopped, staring. Of everything that had happened over the last seven years since his accidental discovery of magic, this was the one that just broke his brain—just for a moment—and drove home the reality of what was happening.

  Magic was real. A megalomaniacal madman was trying to bring a comet crashing down and kill half the world’s population so that he could gain immortality. A vast array of magic and intelligence, strategy and tactics, and even brute strength had banded together to stop the greatest atrocity committed in history before it started. An African deity walked in their ranks. Several of them had been magically whisked halfway across the globe in an instant—and yet it was the damned floating Bell that made it all real.

  Ben turned to Peter, a little concerned, “What will you do? I’m afraid there will be violence tonight.”

  Peter smiled. “I will stand before the Bell in silence and listen until the Lord tells me what to do. It is my way.”

  Polly led the way to a position that placed Ben, Mobo/Shango, Peter and his quiet, and herself between the Bell and the streets. Fog surrounded them and lightning crackled through the sky overhead, brightening the clouds, though no rain fell. The skies had been overcast and troubled but were rapidly becoming roiling. There was a distinct actinic feeling to the air. Though they could no longer see it through the clouds, they all knew the comet was overhead.

  They heard the King’s voice before they saw anything. “They die so that their King may live. I didn’t understand the reference before, that the veil would be made whole on the Earth, but I think it’s this. Everyone is trapped, one foot in the world beyond death, one foot in this.” George the Second appeared to be having a casual conversation. He rounded the corner, still a dim shape in the fog, though his armor glowed brightly.

  Ben held up a hand and everyone froze. “Get ready!” he mouthed the words. They silently rushed about, and Mouser yawned, curious what the humans were doing.

  Thomas Penn’s voice came from immediately behind King George, “so when the comet comes down, those with potential for magic all get pulled to one side and those without to the other?”

  The defenders at the Bell had seconds left before they would be visible and rushed to finish preparations.

  “You idiot,” Countess Amalie Sophie said. “Why does it matter? It is holding the spell in place that matters now.”

  “Unlike you,” Thomas rejoined, “I like to understand the things I do to ensure mistakes are not made.”

  “Stop it, you two.” The King’s voice sliced through the night, “For years I’ve listened to your bickering. Attend your King. Igno—Hello. What have we here?”

  All three came into view, stopping to stare at the group arrayed against them. The years had melted off them. All three appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties.

  “Well, Your Majesty, we are here.” Thomas gestured toward the Assembly Hall.

  “Idiot,” the Countess shook her head. “Like we cannot see the giant bell?”

  Thomas looked over at the crowd, pride stung. “Benjamin Franklin!” Thomas Penn smiled widely. “I don’t know how you are avoiding the effects of the veil, but last chance! Step aside now. I’ve outmaneuvered you at every turn. Leave the board.”

  “Yes, yes. Whatever you say.” Ben watched the King, waving his hand dismissively at the proprietor.

  The Countess noticed Polly among their opponents. “Schatz, darf ich das dumme Mädchen haben? She trespassed on my rooms at Kensington, and Meiko doesn’t like her, do you?” Amalie Sophie gave her terrier kisses on the top of his head.

  The little dog stared at the giant cat and growled. The terrier had no scale in its brain for size, it simply saw a cat, and thought . . .  that is a cat, I am a dog. Chase! So Meiko growled while trying to wriggle out of Amalie’s grasp.

  The King smiled indulgently, “Whatever you wish, mein Kuschelhase. Now, Thomas,” said the King switching to a bored tone, “see to the rest. We have a world to recreate in our image, and this will take some focus on our part.”

  “As you command, Your Majesty.”

  Halfway through the word “Majesty,” Jane held up a candle she had pulled from her cloak, lit it using her magic, and sent a beam of condensed light slicing through the night toward the trio. Thomas held up his hands and as the light struck, his fists erupted into flame. “Thank you,” he nodded. He and the Countess began their walk toward the group protecting the Bell.

  Amalie Sophie set Meiko down, while Thomas threw bolts of fire. The dog ran around her legs barking happily, then hunched low, growling at the distant Mouser—who continued bathing, ignoring the battle.

  Ben raised his hand to the sky calling down lightning just as Thomas raised his right hand. Fire and electricity met each other, but it was not like anything previously experienced by any party present on the lawn. The electricity, guided by will, probed at the fire, electrostatic tendrils exploring every gap in the flame, while the fire simply tried to consume the bolts like they were so much kindling. Midway between the two, a concussive explosion erupted.

  Mouser darted under the cart. He hunched down under the cover, feline eyes darting side to side as he watched the combatants.

  The Countess began snapping her fingers, but Jane revealed a secret of her own. With the comet overhead and this close—being yanked toward the Earth by the spell—her minor glamours carried real power. She countered with a wall of light that absorbed the attempt as Polly, positioned behind Ben and to the side of the Countess’s view, threw up defensive barriers.

  The difference between chess and, oh, say, a battlefield, is that on a chessboard everything is controlled, taken in turn, and carefully planned. On a battlefield, everything happens at once. Further, the difference between a battlefield and a barroom brawl is that at one point, the soldiers on a field were organized and fought in tandem.

  This field, like a barroom brawl, quickly devolved into chaos.

  Ben stepped forward, squaring off with Thomas. Jane tracked the Countess. Peter and Polly stayed close to the Bell while Mobo/Shango walked to each of the rods in the array and sparked lightning by running the edge of his axe against them. Peter was keeping his hand on the Bell, but Meiko had left the Countess behind to charge at him. The little dog had decided that there was no game with the giant cat. As he nipped at Peter’s ankles, Peter reached down and managed to pat the terrier on the head. Meiko calmed immediately, turned, and showed his belly. Peter chuckled and happily gave Meiko a good belly rub.

  Ben engaged Thomas with a lightning strike that Thomas was able to dodge as he waved his left hand and said, “βελοσφενδόνη,” sending a flaming dart a
t Ben.

  Ben countered with “Combustio!” He was already breaking into a sweat.

  Thomas did not seem to be feeling the effects of his casting yet.

  And no one kept the King in check.

  Thomas stood up straight and mockingly bowed toward Ben. “I owe you a sincere apology, Franklin. I kept you out of the King’s inner circle out of sheer hatred. The thought of spending eternity with such a pompous, low-born blowhard who dared think himself an equal with his betters was intolerable. I will apologize by killing you as quickly as possible.” With that, he brought both wrists together in front of him and shot a bolt of fire from them that Ben dodged, so it hit a brick wall on the opposite side of the commons. The wall crumbled and, at first as if in slow motion and then so quickly the eye could not follow, the small side-building collapsed into the street. If anyone had survived, Ben could not hear their cries. The whole world was silenced by this fog.

  Despite the silence ringing them, despite the taunts and barbs, the fight was messy, and spared no one, except, curiously, Peter, who was making friends with the terrier.

  Jane threw continuous balls of light at the Countess. One finally hit her square in the chest, throwing her into the building fifty feet behind her. The brick building withstood most of the impact, but one side of the façades and an awning collapsed on top of her. The side wall was completely destroyed, and where the Countess had been was a pile of detritus. Jane also fell to her knees, gasping.

  “Are you aright?” Benjamin Loxley asked her as he helped her regain her feet. He was of no use magically, but he could help steady people, and tend to the damage to the rods.

  “I am,” she replied. “The spell costs me almost nothing unless it connects. I am neither as strong, nor as practiced, as the rest here. And I can ill afford that cost.”

  Jane kept her eyes on her opponent and Loxley steadied her as she rethought her tactics. She was not surprised to see the rubble of the building tremored slightly.

  The detritus began to shake and then it exploded outwards in all directions, breaking walls and windows without care. In the middle of the cleared ruin stood the Countess of Yarmouth. Her yellow dress was dingy and tattered. Her face and arms were bleeding from tiny cuts. But her eyes blazed with fury that suffused her body with the red light of flames that Jane found difficult to look at directly.