Fire & Chasm

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  “She’d never believe you.” A lie. She wouldn’t have, before she knew what I was.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I won’t need to test that theory, isn’t it? As I said, this is a gift.” He leans in close, whispering. “A gift I believe you’ll be more than happy to accept.”

  I think about the knife hitting flesh. About how good it would feel for it to taste blood. Even if it’s blood from my friend, not from a wizard, not from anyone who deserves it. Maybe I’ve been getting my fix every night, but I’ve been denying the knife the one thing it wants most. I’ve been missing out on the euphoria that goes along with it. The joy of causing pain.

  My hand shakes, and a painful longing twists inside me, so that for a moment I know I would do anything to give the knife what it wants. To fill a need that’s become more than just the knife’s, that’s become my own. I don’t remember the last time I denied it for this long.

  But I can’t. I shouldn’t. “Get someone else. I’m your apprentice, not your slave.” The words come out uncertain. I’m already reaching for the knife, even as I tell myself I won’t do it.

  Endeil puts a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. “I need you for this, Azeril. I think you know that. You’re the only one who can do this without killing him.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Not much of a friend if you’d let him die. I could get someone else to help me, but it has to be obsidian for this to work. It has to be your specialty and mine. And you know what would happen if someone less skilled with the knife lost control. Think of all the blood that would be spilled. The life draining out of him. You can’t deny that it’s a strong possibility.”

  “He doesn’t have to do this.”

  “He’s already made up his mind. He’s going through with it. The question is, are you?”

  Rathe sits in the chair with his back to me. I still don’t know what he thinks he’s getting as compensation for all this, what could possibly make him want to go through with it, only that there’s still time to back out. I should be leaving. I should be turning around and walking away.

  This isn’t like hunting wizards. Cutting into him means never looking him in the eyes again. He’s my friend, the same one who made me join in the festivities the other night, who wouldn’t leave me behind, but after this he won’t be. He can’t be.

  I wanted redemption, and this is the exact opposite. But I don’t walk away. Just like Endeil knew I wouldn’t. Just like I knew.

  Maybe Hadrin’s wrong about me. Maybe I’m not better than this, after all.

  Endeil stands behind the chair. He puts his hands on Rathe’s temples, mimicking the vision he showed me. “Hold out your right hand,” he tells Rathe.

  Rathe’s breathing hard, his face pale, a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead. Whatever’s going on here, it’s hardly even started, and he’s already terrified. But he nods and holds his trembling hand out, like Endeil wants. “I’m ready,” he says, even if the tremor in his voice says otherwise.

  Sparks fly along my nerves, and I’m not even touching the knife yet. I want to leave. But more than that I want to stay. “What’s going to happen?” I ask, my voice quiet, matching the eerie feeling in the room.

  “A miracle.” Endeil sounds so serious, so certain, that I can’t help but wonder if it’s true. And then fire blazes in his hands, and he presses them to the sides of Rathe’s head. Rathe screams like he’s on fire, and I expect the familiar scent of burnt flesh and hair, but it doesn’t come. Whatever’s burning is inside his head—not out. He kicks at the chair and twists his torso, trying to get away.

  “Now!” Endeil says.

  I just stand there, my chest prickling with fear.

  Don’t come to me complaining of his screaming. If he’s not screaming, you’re not doing it right!

  “Azeril, now!” Endeil shouts.

  I blink, suddenly aware of what I’m supposed to do. I unsheathe the knife and grab Rathe’s wrist with my other hand. His skin burns. So does mine, but not because the High Priest’s got his hands on me. I struggle against the obsidian’s desire to cut into him, to rip him apart. The cut has to be precise. Calculated.

  Time slows as I press the tip of the knife into his palm, right in the center. Rathe’s eyes meet mine, his look almost vacant, and I wonder if he’s even aware of what’s going on right now. I hope he won’t remember this, that he doesn’t know I’m here. But then he sees me. He sees me and the knife and the blood spilling from his hand.

  He must see the smile on my face. The pleasure of the knife tasting flesh. But I’m the only one who can do this. The only one who won’t kill him. And it’s too late to stop either way.

  Then fear flashes in his eyes, and in that moment I’m human again, a stab of guilt jarring my resolve. What would Leora think? runs through my head, unwelcome, but still there.

  I falter, losing my precision, the knife overpowering me in our struggle. The blade slices deeper and burns hotter than I ever meant it to. And through the burning of the knife, I feel its power collide with Endeil’s. My skin crawls all over, nausea suddenly twisting my stomach like a punch to the gut.

  Rathe cries out and jerks his hand away, cutting an even longer gash across his palm. He presses his other hand to the wound, blood spilling over both of them.

  The fire in Endeil’s palms blazes bright red, matching the blood. And then the fire turns dark, and I know whatever Endeil’s doing is wrong. He thinks the Fire touched him, but he said he saw darkness, and whatever power this is, it doesn’t feel like the Fire’s magic. It feels cold and empty.

  Like it came straight from the Chasm.

  The nausea hits me again, and I put a hand to my stomach, my knees bending. I think I might actually be sick, and then, in an instant, the flames disappear. Endeil lets go of Rathe. The ceremony’s over.

  “It worked,” Endeil breathes. “I know it worked.”

  “Heal him.”

  But Endeil signals for me to be quiet. “Do you feel different?” he asks Rathe.

  How can he not feel different? After all the dark magic that flowed from Endeil into him . . . I felt it, just for a moment, and it sickened me. Rathe got a real dose of it.

  Rathe bites his lip, fighting the pain in his hand. His face is red all over, his breathing strained. “No. Yes. I—” He holds out his right hand, blood dripping from his palm and pooling on the floor. He points to a dead beetle lying upside down on the stones. It looks like no more than a husk—like the slightest breeze could blow it away. But Rathe reaches his outstretched finger toward it, as if some unseen force is compelling him, moving his hand for him.

  When he touches the beetle, its shell turns from a washed-out gray to bright blue. Its little black legs wriggle and twitch. The beetle flails around until it tips itself over and scuttles across the floor, swerving to avoid the pool of blood.

  Rathe’s already pale face goes ashen. He slumps back in the chair. “What just happened?”

  “A miracle,” Endeil says. “You have two powers now. I did that. We did that,” he adds, nodding at me.

  But I don’t want credit for the disgusting thing I’ve just done, the magic we’ve just worked, even if it’s too late to take back my part in it.

  We gave Rathe another power. It’s one thing to melt and shape wax, but bringing creatures back from the dead is something else, and nothing about it seems natural to me.

  Rathe looks to Endeil, then at the beetle rubbing its feet together in the corner. “This changes everything.” He stares at his bloody hands, his face lighting up as he realizes what he’s just done. But there are shadows on his face where there didn’t used to be, and I hardly recognize him. Maybe it’s the pain and the blood loss taking their toll, but he doesn’t look right. Gone is Rathe’s smile, the one I’ve seen a million times—the one that’s always bright and sincere—replaced by something hollow and empty and not him at all.

  And I can’t help thinking, if I’d said yes to Hadrin, if I’d
listened to him, would I have been here today? Would I still have hurt my friend? And would there be those dark shadows on his face and that grim, hollow smile?

  I take a step back. I have to get out of here.

  My movement catches Rathe’s attention. His eyes meet mine, his blond eyebrows coming together in a scowl. And there’s a darkness that wasn’t there before. A raw anger burning inside him. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. His expression says it all.

  I know what you did to me. That you liked it.

  There’s no air here. I scramble for the door, fumbling with the knob like it’s covered in oil. Finally it turns and I run. I run down the long, twisting hallways, until I reach the main doors. I burst outside, into the sunlight, and sink to the ground.

  Out here, the world seems normal. Springy blades of grass press against my hand. The sun shines above me in a blue sky with white, puffy clouds. I can hear some kids playing and laughing in the field next to the school.

  What just happened in Endeil’s office seems far away. But it isn’t. Rathe has two powers now, because of me, and one of them is anything but miraculous.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I’m sitting on Leora’s bed when she comes in after dinner. She gasps and puts a hand to her chest.

  I admit, sneaking into her room might not have been the best move to win back her trust, but how else am I supposed to talk to her? It kind of stings to think that’s what I’m doing—winning back her trust. I shouldn’t have lost it in the first place. But whatever she thinks about me, it isn’t the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.

  “Az,” she says, her eyes darting toward me, then away again. “The door was locked.”

  “And the window was open. Besides, a locked door wouldn’t stop you. Why should it stop me?” I grin, just a little, remembering all the times she let herself into my room.

  She steps back, like she’s going to bolt.

  “Leora, wait.” Less than a week ago, we were lying in this bed together, taking each other’s clothes off. Now she acts like it’s a crime for me to come anywhere near her. “I need to talk to you.”

  She hesitates, thinking that over. Then she shuts the door, though she doesn’t come any closer to me. “So you break into my room and scare me half to death?”

  “What was I supposed to do? You won’t talk to me. You’ve been avoiding me, and—” I get up and take a step toward her, but her eyes go wide in fear. I sit back down and hold my hands up in surrender. I wonder if she notices I came here unarmed. I left the knife in my room. Partly to make myself seem less dangerous, but mostly so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch it. Because right now, with her looking at me like I’m a rabid dog that’s got her cornered, I can’t help wishing for the knife’s fire. Just to take the sting away.

  “Did you know?” she says. “Did you know what you were?”

  “Of course not. By the Fire, Leora—”

  “Don’t. Don’t invoke the Fire, Az. You might be dressed like one, but you’re no altar boy.”

  “Fine. I don’t know what I am. But I know who I am, and I’m still me. You know me.”

  “I thought I did. But that was before I knew you were my father’s project.” She crosses her arms over her chest, staring at the floor. “You took him from me. He loved you more than he ever loved me.”

  I laugh. It sounds so out of place right now, but I can’t help it. “He doesn’t love me. He never loved me.”

  “He was obsessed with you.”

  “If that’s what this is about—”

  “It’s not.” She edges toward me, then sits down on the bed. Not exactly next to me, but not as far away as she could be, either. “I mean, it is, but there’s more to it than that. You’re . . . I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

  “I’m real. I’m flesh and blood. And I love you.”

  “You can’t say that. You don’t know what you are.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Az, you don’t—”

  “You said whoever I was in my past didn’t matter, but that’s obviously not true. So tell me. What’s so horrible that it could turn you against me?”

  “I’m not against you.” Her voice goes quiet. Full of regret, but not apologizing.

  “I’m an . . . experiment.” An abomination.

  “I was so young. I don’t remember very much. It’s not like my father came home every night and told me what went on at the guild. But I picked up bits of information, here and there.”

  “Hadrin said I was a weapon. Is that it?”

  A short laugh escapes her lips. “It? Is that it? You say that so calmly.”

  I’m good with the knife, and I’ve killed my fair share of wizards. Finding out I’m a weapon isn’t exactly a shock. But she doesn’t know that. “It explains the obsidian,” I mutter, my fingers flexing over where the hilt should be. “And, I mean . . . So what if he wants me to be a weapon? It doesn’t mean I am.”

  Her forehead wrinkles a little. “Not just some weapon. You were created to be a super weapon.” Created. I don’t like that word, either. “Worse than all the wizards put together.”

  “Great. Is that all?”

  “It’s not funny. They put all these spells into you.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. He never told me what they did to you.”

  I laugh. “No, I’ll bet he didn’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. And it’s not like I remember these spells. So . . . I’m still me. You’re still you. Nothing’s changed.”

  “But just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean they’re not still there, somewhere inside you. You told me yourself you remembered something the other day. Your memories, they could all come back.”

  It seems like everyone wants me to get my memories back. Everyone except her. And me. “And you think if I had these spells again, that I’d be some kind of monster.” A worse one than I am now?

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I hate wizards, Leora. The same as you. You think I want to be full of their spells? And I don’t understand why that makes me a weapon. You’re telling me I’m secretly a wizard who memorized a bunch of magic?” No wonder the Fire didn’t give me an ability. I guess the Fathers and Endeil were wrong about it favoring me.

  “No, Az. You don’t have wizard spells. You have the spells they wish they had. Spells so ancient, they were lost to them. They’re worse than wizard spells. They draw more energy, so much more—that’s something I do remember him talking about. About how one day you . . . It was an experiment, to see how much energy the spells took, and . . .”

  “Just say it, Leora. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

  She lifts her chin and looks me in the eyes. “You killed someone.”

  I stare back at her, unflinching. I don’t pretend to be surprised. “So that’s why you don’t want to be with me.”

  “No! It was an accident. I mean, they made you cast that spell, and I don’t think even my father knew what would happen, so how could you have known?”

  I wouldn’t be so sure about that—about either of us not knowing—but I don’t correct her. “So I have spells more powerful than any wizard’s. Ancient spells that will drain all of a person’s energy and kill them.” I say it matter-of-factly, still letting it all sink in. “And if no wizards have these spells, then how did they supposedly put them into me?”

  “They came from somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  She puts her head in her hands. “I’m probably wrong. It was so long ago, I’m probably not remembering it right.”

  “Leora.”

  “You should ask my father.”

  Just the thought makes me sick. “I’m asking you. You’ve been my best friend for over three years. You said you loved me. Maybe whatever this is changes that, but . . . I’d rather hear it from you.”

  “For the record, Az, I do love you. And you’re still my best friend.”


  “Your best friend who you avoid. Who you wouldn’t even talk to until I broke into your room. A week ago, we were together in this bed. And we were happy. And now you won’t even sit too close to me. I know my past isn’t perfect. My present isn’t, either, but I didn’t do anything to you. I love you, Leora. And I would never hurt you. Not if I could help it.” I remember what Hadrin said, about the spell he cast on us. About both of us bleeding from each other’s wounds. He thinks it could get worse if I don’t stay away from her. Or maybe he just said that, in the hopes that I’d believe him and leave her alone.

  “If you could help it,” she whispers, and I don’t like the skepticism in her voice.

  “I deserve the truth. And I’d rather hear it from you than from the wizard who tor— I want to hear it from you.”

  She nods and grabs my hand, squeezing it in hers. The warmth of our skin combines, and again I remember being naked with her in this same bed and what almost happened between us. “It was the Chasm, Az.” Her voice is clear and strong, but hushed, as if it’s dangerous just to say the words. “All your spells came from the depths of the Chasm.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I’m almost back to my room when Rathe steps out of the shadows. I’m supposed to be the one lurking in the darkness, waiting for just the right moment. But I was distracted.

  Rathe’s face looks pale and sallow in the torchlight. There are dark circles under his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept in days. I tell myself it must be a trick of the light.

  He’s not alone. Bran and Letton step into the hall. Letton’s got a slightly bent nose, like he’s been in a few fights before. He’s also taller, and his hair’s a darker shade of brown than Bran’s. I’ve seen them practically every day for the past three years, and I’ve never had a reason to think of them as threats. But now there’s a menacing vibe in the air, and I can’t help noticing they’ve got me surrounded.