Fire & Chasm

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  They don’t. It’s just me, all alone down here. And in a way, that’s almost worse. It leaves me with only my thoughts and my imagination, filling in the gaps with things that aren’t there. Whispers in the distance. Overheard conversations from long ago. And I know my hold on reality is slipping.

  I think of the rats in the basement of the church when Leora and I went exploring. It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels like forever. Everything’s changed since then.

  Leora’s words echo back to me. I’m not afraid of anything. I smile a little and imagine she’s with me now. Rolling her eyes and saying, “Come on, Az. What are you, scared of the dark?”

  The thought of her is like a flame pushing back the darkness. I breathe a little easier. My footsteps feel a little lighter.

  And then I turn a corner and come to the door. The door. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. I cast the light, because it’s now or never. It gives off a pale glow against the heavy oak, flickering off the set of sliding iron locks, the kind that could only be opened from the outside. They weren’t always there. When the wizards started their experiments, there was only one lock. They thought that would be enough, that I would never be able to overpower them. Most of the time, they were right. There were only a few times when the extra locks were necessary.

  The metal sliders look rusted, as if they haven’t been used in years. They probably haven’t. I put my hand on the cold brass knob. The spell to make the door wither and decay is already at the surface of my mind, though it would be much slower, not nearly as powerful as before, when I had all those wizards to draw from. But then I turn the knob, not locked after all, and the door swings open.

  The familiar smell of old, rotting blood and damp, moldy earth nearly chokes me. The chair sits there, in the middle of the room, the straps hanging from it. Exactly how I left it three years ago, as if no time at all has passed. My vision blurs, and my heart races so fast, I think it’s going to explode.

  But the chair is empty. There’s no one here.

  Just the boy. The wizards forgot to strap him down and lock him in. Their mistake. One they’ll regret, as soon as they come back for him. Maybe this is a test. Maybe they didn’t really forget him at all, but are waiting to see what he’ll do. But they left him with the knife again, which was wrong of them. If they want to live, anyway. The boy, alone in the darkness, with this obsidian, sharp as death. His spells might not work on all of them, but the knife will. Always. Though sometimes, sometimes, they send in wizards without the mark. To see what he can do to them. How far he’ll go. Sometimes they stop him, before he kills them. Sometimes they don’t.

  It’s a punishment. For the ones who screw up. And the boy always knows which ones they’ll let him kill, because they’re the ones who don’t know anything about him or this experiment. They’re the ones who won’t live to tell about it.

  No. I shake my head, coming back to myself. Not yet. I can’t be him yet. I’m not a prisoner. I’m here to find Leora.

  My heart’s still pounding, but I try to stay calm as I survey the room again. Empty. No sign that anyone’s been here. “Leora?” I whisper, though I know she’s not here. And I have this terrible feeling that things have already gone horribly wrong. Though I would have known if Endeil had hurt her, if he’d . . . Well, I’m alive, aren’t I? So she is, too.

  Then the door slams shut behind me.

  “Hello, Azeril.”

  I spin around, my hand hovering over the hilt of the knife. “Rathe.”

  He grins at me. That creepy, hollow grin. The dark spots under his eyes have gotten darker since I last saw him. His face has thinned out, too, so that it’s almost skeletal. And the hunger in his eyes has only gotten more desperate. He’s still wearing the red robes of the Church, though he must know where his power comes from by now.

  I take a step back. He doesn’t have a knife this time—not that he’d be a match for me even if he did. And still he takes a menacing step forward.

  “How do you like being back?” he asks, laughing a little. “The High Priest told me all about it, you know. About what happened here. To you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I thought we could play a game. Since we’re such good friends.”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “And if I told you the answer, you might try to leave. Then where would all the fun go?” He takes another step toward me.

  I unsheathe my obsidian. Its familiar burn makes me feel a little safer, more like I’m in control of the situation. Though I’m not quite sure what I expect to happen.

  I hold the knife out where he can see it. A warning. “Don’t come any closer. Just tell me where she is.”

  “I thought I could sit here, in this chair. Like before. And you could—”

  “No.” By the Fire, he’s really lost it.

  The grin on his face widens. “What’s wrong, Az? Don’t you want to hurt me?” He takes another step.

  Damn it. “I said don’t move!”

  “Or you’ll what?” he whispers. “Kill me?”

  “If I have to.”

  “Well, you do. Have to.”

  I watch his hands, waiting for him to reach for a weapon I haven’t noticed. But he doesn’t. “The door locks from the outside,” I remind him. “I could leave and lock you in here.”

  “No, you couldn’t. Because if you let me live, I’m going to bring him back.”

  “Bring who back?”

  “The High Priest. When you kill him. Rathe wouldn’t have done it, but I will. I’ll have to. How many times can you fight him, Azeril? How many? Because I haven’t found a number yet where they don’t come back.”

  “Rathe, listen, you don’t—”

  “Rathe isn’t here anymore!” His face twitches, and his nostrils flare in and out. “He had to leave. You killed him that day, with the High Priest. And now I’m all that’s left.”

  I didn’t kill Rathe. I didn’t. But I study this shell of what he used to be, and I wonder if any of the old Rathe is still in there, or if he’s completely gone.

  “It was so easy for you then,” he goes on. “It should be even easier now.”

  “I’m leaving, all right? Just stand over there and—”

  “And let you walk out of here?” He crosses the last bit of distance between us and puts himself directly in front of the knife. “Not before you finish what you started. Rathe trusted you, and you killed him.”

  “No! Rathe, listen to me. I know you’re still in there.”

  He takes one more step, walking right into the knife, letting the tip press against his stomach. “Do it,” he whispers. “Get it over with already.”

  Sweat prickles down my back. It would be so easy, just one quick movement, and then the knife would be tasting his flesh. But . . . that’s the knife talking, not me.

  “I know what you think,” I tell him. “But I really was your friend, Rathe. Remember all those times we were late to candle service? You always made up the stupidest excuses. Like when you said there was a lost dog in the courtyard and you had to stop and find its owner. Or when you said the girls stole all your robes so you couldn’t get dressed.”

  “That one was true.”

  “Yeah. The first time. But the Fathers never believed a word of it.”

  “And you loaned me your dirty robes.” He smiles a little, lost in memory. Then he shakes his head, like none of that matters. But for a moment, I saw him. The old Rathe isn’t gone. Not completely.

  “Those days are over,” he says and lunges toward me.

  I can’t tell if he’s attacking me, or trying to impale himself. I sidestep, evading him. He screams and reaches for me, his fingernails biting into my arm. And I wonder if I really should do it. If he’s right and all that’s left is for me to kill him.

  “Do it,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. His voice comes out a rasp. “End this.”

  But there’s hope for him. I saw it. I force myself to sheathe the kni
fe, even though I hate not having my obsidian between us. Maybe it would be kinder to do what he wants—and maybe if I don’t finish him off, I’ll lose the fight with Endeil. But Rathe’s my friend. And he’s still in there, somewhere, and . . . hurting him was what got him into this mess.

  “If you won’t do it, I will.” He lunges for me again, this time grabbing for the knife.

  I hear the door open behind me, and dark flames suddenly erupt across Rathe’s chest. Recognition flashes in his eyes.

  I cry out, but it’s too late to stop this. The flames grow higher, burning darker. Rathe reaches for me even as his body disintegrates. My last image of him is his terror-filled eyes and his mouth forming the words, Kill him. And then he’s gone. A pile of ash that used to be my friend.

  My hand falls to the knife hilt. I don’t have to turn around to know who’s behind me, but I do anyway.

  “You made me break my favorite toy,” Endeil says. He has Leora. One arm is around her neck, his hand holding those same dark flames to her mouth, keeping her silent. “And now I’m going to break yours.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  My lips start moving before I have time to think about it. A spell to twist his bones, to make it so he can’t hold on to her. So he’ll be in too much pain to use his magic. Just one spell, not too strong. Not enough to change me. Not while he still has Leora.

  Endeil holds up his free hand, throwing a wall of dark flames between us. It pushes against my magic, trying to stop me. I push back, though it feels like the equivalent of trying to walk through a stone wall. And it’s that night in his office all over again, with him so easily overpowering me.

  “Az!” Leora screams, managing to free her mouth. She squirms and kicks at him, struggling to get away.

  Endeil grips her throat. “Stop,” he says to me. He’s still got his other hand up, controlling the flames, pressing them closer and closer toward me.

  I keep casting, though he seems completely untouched by my spell. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort of keeping up so much energy. And none of it’s even getting to him, blocked by that stupid wall of flames. Cold, dark flames that feel like they’re sucking all the life out of the room.

  “Stop,” he says again—sternly but calmly, not at all threatened—“or I kill her.”

  And I hesitate. Not because I could ever think of letting him do that, but because I know if I stop casting, this might as well be over. I’ll have lost before I even started, and there’ll be nothing to stop him from hurting her. But I’m not getting anywhere as it is. And if he kills her, I die, too, and then it really is all over.

  I stop casting then, letting the words to the spell trail off. “Let her go.”

  Endeil sighs, already bored with me, but he eases his grip on her a little. “Or you’ll what?”

  “Az, run!” Leora shouts. “Don’t—”

  Endeil grips her throat again, cutting her off. “I’m waiting. Tell me how you’re going to kill me. Go on. How are you, who couldn’t even stop someone like Rathe, going to kill me?”

  “He was my friend. I chose not to kill him.”

  “And are you going to choose not to kill me, too? I know what’s in your head, Azeril. I know every move before you’re going to make it, and, let’s face it, I’ve overpowered you twice now.”

  “With trickery. Not in a real fight. Let her go and we’ll find out whose magic is actually stronger.”

  He laughs. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? It won’t work.”

  “Let her go. I’ll do anything you want.” At least until she’s out of here, away from both of us. And then he’s as good as dead.

  “Ah. There’s the apprentice I know.” He smiles. It’s that same sick smile he wore the first day we met.

  “Az, no!” Leora says, before Endeil throws her to the ground.

  “Leora!” I move toward her, but Endeil’s already encircled her with dark fire. The flames climb higher, until I can only catch flickering glimpses of her behind them.

  “I looked inside her head, too, you know,” Endeil says. “Very enlightening. That’s how I knew how to send my message. And do you know what else? I know what she thinks about you. All the doubts she has.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” Leora says, but her voice sounds far away, fading in and out, like there’s a gust of wind stealing her words.

  I glare at Endeil, looking him right in the eye. “Leora loves me.”

  “But still she doubts. Do you know how much time she’s spent wondering if she can actually be with someone like you? Her father’s psychotic experiment?” He taps his fingers together. “It’s even worse now, after you told her all your secrets.”

  I glance at Leora. Her face is pained, though from his fire or from his words, I can’t tell. She’s saying something, but I only catch fragments of sound.

  “And no matter what she told you earlier, she’s worried it’s not safe for her to share your bed. You killed all those wizards. You nearly killed her. Obviously you can’t control yourself.”

  “That’s not true.” Except that it is, no matter how much I don’t want it to be.

  The dark flames cast an eerie greenish glow across Endeil’s face. “She would never admit how terrified she is of you. She wants to believe she still loves you, but you’re not at all who she thought you were.”

  I catch a glimpse of her, but the flames distort her face, so I can’t make out her expression. But it looks troubled. Guilty.

  “So,” Endeil says, “knowing what she really thinks about you, are you certain you want to save her? Are you sure you’d do anything? Because you told me you would once and you lied. And if you lie to me here, she is dead. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” I tell him. I don’t have to wonder if what he says about Leora is true or not. Because it doesn’t matter. I love her. What she thinks of me or what he says about either of us doesn’t figure into that. I love her, and I’d do anything to save her. “Whatever you want.”

  “Then, please,” Endeil says, “sit down. There’s only one chair, but what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer it to my guest?”

  I glance over at the chair. I don’t think I can make myself move any closer to it.

  But Endeil snaps his fingers, and the circle of flames closes in on Leora. She cries out.

  “Sit. Down.”

  I do. It feels so familiar. The cold, rough stone, stained with my blood. I thought I’d never be here again, that no one could make me. I vowed that no one would ever have that much power over me again, that I would die first. But here I am.

  “Put your arms in place,” Endeil says.

  I know I’m walking down a dark road that I won’t be able to turn back from. But I do what he says, because he has Leora. Then he snaps his fingers again, and the straps close over my wrists and ankles.

  And I try to hold still, to stay calm, but I can’t breathe. Something inside me breaks, leaving me wild and terrified. For a moment I can’t remember why I’m here, if it was the wizards who forced me here or someone else. I struggle to stay me, because if I forget . . .

  If I forget, I won’t know who Leora is anymore. I won’t have any reason to do what Endeil asks, and then he’ll kill her.

  I keep my eyes focused on her, trying to stay grounded, to not give in to the mad terror.

  “Better,” Endeil says. He lowers his hand, and the flames surrounding Leora let up a bit.

  Enough for me to see that she has tears streaming down her face. “Don’t listen to him!” she says. “For the Fire’s sake, do something! Use your magic!”

  Endeil just grins. “I don’t think she understands how this works, do you?”

  I give Leora a wobbly smile. Trying so hard to make it seem like it’s going to be okay. But it’s not, and my jaw starts shaking again, ruining my efforts. If I cast something, he’ll stop me. And then he’ll kill her. All I can hope to do is buy us more time until Hadrin arrives. If he’s still coming. If him showing up wil
l even make a difference. But maybe he can get Leora out of here. And then I can finally give in and become the weapon I was always meant to be.

  “You could have just killed me,” I tell Endeil. “But you didn’t.”

  “If you think I harbor warm feelings for my former apprentice, you’re wrong. Killing you would be too quick. This is a punishment for betraying me. You were a terrible apprentice and now you’re a traitor.”

  He lifts a finger, pointing it at me. Something sharp and burning presses against my stomach. I look down and see that it’s my own knife, unsheathed and controlled by Endeil and that dark fire of his.

  “It’s amazing how precise you can be with obsidian when you don’t need to touch it,” he says. “I couldn’t have done it on my own, that first time. But every time I bless someone with a new gift, my own power strengthens.”

  “You can still stop this,” I say. I feel blood trickling down my stomach and smell my own burnt flesh. A sob escapes Leora, and I wonder if this is how it happens. That vision I saw. Maybe I should just give in now, become the weapon, because if me and Leora are both going to die, I’m taking him down with us. “You can still be saved.”

  Endeil laughs. He laughs so hard his eyes water. “I can be what?”

  “If you give up the Chasm. If you pray to the Fire, maybe . . . maybe it will forgive you. Someday. And you’ll—”

  “Someday,” he says, making a face. “You think I would give up all this power for maybe someday finding the Fire’s forgiveness?”

  “You were its favorite once, remember? You thought we both were.”

  For a moment, there’s that familiar look in his eyes. The wistful look he got whenever he talked about being the Fire’s chosen one. Of having some great destiny. But it’s only there for an instant, and then he scowls. “And you’re so sure it has forsaken me now.”