Gallowgate, p.24
Gallowgate, page 24
It did. It had been only a few months since Bastian had run under this gate, running from the very creature that he was now running toward. He took one last look up at the manor. The high arched roofs, the twisted turrets and towers, the glimmering stained-glass windows … it all looked more familiar, more like home, than Aunt Dahlia’s house ever had.
He wondered if he would ever see it again.
Before he could change his mind, he stepped under the archway.
Cold rippled over him as they passed through the wards.
When he looked back up to the manor, it was nothing but derelict ruins.
Mist curled in as they ran across the walkway, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise-silent air. Halfway across, Bastian froze.
“Do you hear that?” he asked.
There were other footsteps in the mist. Footsteps running toward them.
“It’s coming from the manor,” Robyn whispered.
Given the number of terrible ghosts they’d had to fight within Gallowgate’s walls, the thought wasn’t assuring. Bastian summoned a small ball of blue that he could cast as a binding, while Robyn conjured twin flames.
The fog swirled. Bastian’s heart pounded in his ears.
And right when he was about to cast the bindings, the murky shape in the gloom solidified.
Bastian didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or stay on guard.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
Finlay looked down to his feet.
“I, um … I saw you two running down here. I figured you were trying to go face that thing. That shadowman. And I wanted to try and help.”
“After you’ve given him the cold shoulder the last few weeks?” Robyn asked.
Finlay looked to Bastian, then away again. In that one look, Bastian saw the clear plea in his eyes: Forgive me.
“I was scared,” Finlay admitted. “I … I didn’t know what—”
“It’s okay,” Bastian interjected. “Really. I would have done the same if it had happened to me.” The first time I fell into the underworld, I ran out of my school screaming. “If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I didn’t mean to take you into the underworld. I didn’t even know that I could.”
Finlay met his eyes again. Bastian’s heart fluttered. Finlay opened his mouth to say something, but Robyn cut him off.
“This is cute and all, but we really don’t have time for this,” she said. “We also don’t need anyone else getting hurt. You should go back inside.”
Finlay shook his head. “No. I’m not going to let you do this on your own.”
“If the shadowman comes after us, you’ll be killed,” Bastian said. He was torn—part of him really didn’t want Finlay to put himself in danger. The rest of him really wanted him around.
“I’m one of the best Summoners in our class,” Finlay said, drawing his shoulders back. “You need me. I might be able to help.”
Bastian and Robyn looked at each other. She shrugged. When Bastian looked to Finlay, he knew the boy wouldn’t be dissuaded. He also knew they were wasting precious time.
“Okay,” Bastian said. “But if I tell you to run, you run. Both of you. Got it?”
They nodded.
And even though they were heading toward their inevitable doom, Bastian felt a strange warmth in his chest knowing that they were both behind him.
They stopped on the other side of the lake, managing to find a small hillock covered in tombstones and fog that was just out of sight of the manor. Finlay cast a protection circle around them, and Bastian cast another, smaller circle within it, this one glowing purple with dancing glyphs and runes shimmering in the sky.
Finlay gave him an appraising look.
“It’s for descending,” Bastian quickly explained. “It protects even in the underworld.”
But will it protect me from the shadowman? No, that isn’t important—the only important thing is getting Harold out of there.
“If I die—” Bastian began.
“You’re not going to die,” Robyn interjected. She stood just outside the circle, twin flames now dancing above her head as she scanned the horizon for trouble.
“But if I do,” Bastian pushed. “Tell my aunt I love her.”
Finlay stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed, trying to turn it into a cough.
“What?” Bastian demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Finlay said. “It’s just …”
“It’s just so cliché, dude,” Robyn said. “But yes, if you die we’ll tell her you loved her. But again—you aren’t dying. Not on my watch.”
“Or on mine,” Finlay said. “You’ll be fine. Doubt is the seed of death.”
He stood within the circle, with Bastian. And maybe it was the circle’s magic, or Bastian’s imagination, but he swore it was thirty degrees warmer in there because of it.
Bastian nodded and lay back on the grass. The ground was soft and wet beneath him, instantly soaking through his clothes. But where he was going, the cold and the damp wouldn’t bother him. There, the cold and the damp of the mortal world would feel like a California beach.
He looked once more at his friends. Robyn, watching the hills. Finlay, watching him.
Finlay took Bastian’s hand, just briefly. His touch was warm, and the look in his eyes made Bastian’s breath catch. “Good luck,” Finlay whispered.
Bastian nodded and closed his eyes.
Steadied his breathing.
Forced away the fear and the doubt.
Focused on Harold.
Just Harold.
I’ll save you, Bastian thought.
And he descended.
Fog billowed around him as the mortal world bled into the terra sine forma. His friends faded from view, as did the comforting blue ring of Finlay’s protection circle. All that remained in this rolling, gray-washed landscape was the glimmering purple of Bastian’s own circle.
He looked around him. There, on the horizon, was Gallowgate. It was impossible to miss, even in the underworld. The hulking Gothic manor pierced through the gloom like a black beast, and threads of blue Ætheric energy crisscrossed and spiraled in a dome around it. The wards burned bright blue, like a sapphire sun. All that power … even to him, it felt like a beacon.
“I’m here!” Bastian called out. His voice echoed in the otherwise-empty landscape. Where was the shadowman? Where was Harold?
For a moment, Bastian’s heart dropped. What if it was already too late? What if Harold was already lost?
Doubt is the seed of death, Finlay had said.
“Where are you?” Bastian yelled. “Don’t tell me you’re scared!”
“Oh, I’m not scared, young Sebastian,” came a voice through the mists. It wasn’t the shadowman. “Not in the slightest.”
Bastian turned.
There, translucent and fading, floated Harold.
And behind him, a serene smile on his face, was Virgil.
Bastian nearly jerked back to his body from shock.
“No,” he gasped. “No—what are you doing here? I thought …”
“That I was confined to the academy?” Virgil asked. “You thought what I told you to think.”
“But what … why?”
Harold’s eyes fluttered open. When he saw Bastian standing there, he cried out, “Run!”
Virgil snapped his fingers. A pulse of purple light washed over Harold, and his eyes fluttered back shut.
Bastian’s thoughts raced.
“The shadowman …”
“The maleficarum,” Virgil corrected. “It will come. When it is called. But for now, Sebastian, I wanted us to talk. Just the two of us.”
He floated forward, leaving Harold suspended and comatose behind him
Bastian flinched back. But Virgil didn’t pass through his circle. No, he reached out a transparent hand and caressed the glimmer of purple approvingly. Maybe it was Bastian’s imagination, but Virgil appeared more opaque, more solid, down here. Sparks rained down under his fingertips.
“Your father would be proud of you,” Virgil stated. “You were a quick student, Sebastian. Not as quick as him, of course. But none were. Your father, he was one of a kind.”
“What’s going on?” Bastian asked. “Why are you here?”
Virgil smirked. “As I said, you aren’t quite as quick as him. I’m admittedly shocked that you’ve outlasted the maleficarum so long. Very few can. Perhaps it is mere luck. Or perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye.”
“It was you,” Bastian gasped, realization dawning. “You were the one who summoned the sha—the maleficarum?”
“Not quite,” Virgil said. “But I must say, learning of its existence turned out to be quite fortuitous.”
“But you said you could call it.”
“No, Sebastian. I said it would come if it was called. You are the beacon it is drawn to. You are the one it was created to kill. No other—not even the one who created it—can control it now. That circle you stand in, well—it shields you from its view. For now. I suppose you could continue hiding from it, should you wish. Go back to your body, come up with a better plan. You have all the time in the world, but your friend here … You know what happens to those who are in the underworld too long, Sebastian. Unless you do as you’re told, and quickly, you won’t have much of your friend to bring back.”
Bastian could have sworn that Harold had grown even fainter during Virgil’s speech.
“Just let him go,” Bastian said. “He has nothing to do with this.”
He balled his fists, and tiny purple lights flared around his knuckles. Virgil just smiled.
“I’m afraid not. It took a great deal of coercing to get the maleficarum to give him to me. No, your friend will not return to the living until you have done what I need you to do.”
“You want me dead?” Bastian asked. “Why? All those nights I was alone with you … if you wanted to kill me, why didn’t you do it then?”
“Kill you?” Virgil asked. “Is that what you really think this is all about?”
Bastian stared. “It came after me at my aunt’s … it’s been hunting me ever since.”
Virgil shook his head. Bastian kept looking at Harold. He had to get his friend out of here. There had to be a way. If only …
An idea sparked. He didn’t know if it would work, but he had to try.
“I do not want you dead,” Virgil said. “When you told me it was hunting you, I knew I had an opportunity. An opportunity not only to train you quickly without raising your suspicion, but to get you to fulfill your destiny.”
“I don’t understand …”
“Think about what you are. What only you can do.”
“I can descend …” Bastian whispered.
“Precisely. The maleficarum wants you to pass through the Final Veil. As do I. But where the beast wants you to fade away, I, my dear boy, want you to return.”
Bastian could only stare. None of this made any sense. The maleficarum wanted him dead, and so did Virgil, but Virgil wanted him to come back? What for?
Once more, Virgil seemed to read his mind.
“I knew you would never pass the Final Veil unless coerced or dragged,” Virgil said. “You are far from my ideal subject. But when you appeared in my study, I knew your father had died, and our plan had failed. So I had to prime you to be his replacement.”
“My father,” Bastian gasped. “What does he have to do with this?”
Virgil smiled wide and spread his arms. “Everything, young Sebastian. He and I had grand ideas. Ideas that would have changed the world. Sadly, your father was too weak to bring them to fruition. But you can continue his work, can follow in his grand footsteps. I just need you to go past the Final Veil. I have a … friend … waiting for me. I would go myself, but I’m afraid that without a body, I am of no use to him.” Bastian could have sworn that Virgil’s eyes turned to shadows at the mention of his friend. Even in the underworld, Bastian shivered.
“Why would I help you?” Bastian said. He looked to Harold, knowing full well his words were weak.
“Because I know how to retrieve what you want the most,” Virgil replied. “If they are truly dead, I can help you bring back your family.”
The circle wavered, just barely, just for a moment, as shock rippled through Bastian.
After his studies, after Harold’s grave warning, he’d given up on the hope that he could see his parents ever again.
“Yes, young Sebastian,” Virgil continued, his voice cajoling despite the darkness in his eyes. “There is more to your power than treading the lands of the dead. Under my guidance, your father came to understand this. You can do so much, Sebastian. With me guiding you, we can perform miracles.”
Bastian’s head swum.
Did Virgil truly mean that he could bring back his parents? Was that what Virgil and Bastian’s dad had been working on?
Under my guidance …
Virgil’s words sparked a note of fear in Bastian. He knew that there were spirits in the underworld that could possess you, but he had a feeling Virgil was speaking about more than a wraith, dangerous though they might be.
He had a feeling that whatever miracles Virgil was talking about, they weren’t the kind he’d want to enact. He also knew that his dad would never have done something like that. Not unless he’d been coerced or possessed.
“Who is this friend of yours?” Bastian asked.
For the first time in their meeting, Virgil’s confidence faltered. Just for a moment, he actually looked afraid.
“His name is forbidden,” Virgil said. “To know his name is to know madness.”
All this time, Bastian had thought that the maleficarum and all those ghosts were wanting to take him to someone. They kept mentioning their master. But what if it was a something?
Realization dawned.
If Bastian passed through the Final Veil and came back, he had no doubt that he would be bringing this friend with him. Is that what Virgil had wanted his dad to do?
Harold flickered.
Bastian pushed the hundred questions aside. He had to save his friend. And he would have only one chance to do so.
“I know you have questions,” Virgil said softly. “Of course you do. All you need to do is lower the circle, and you will find all the answers you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Bastian swallowed.
He knew what he had to do.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Virgil’s smile widened.
Bastian reached out to the Æther and dropped the circle.
The purple shield fell in a curtain of sparks, a soft hiss. A second later, he heard the unmistakable, victorious wail of the shadowman. The familiar black-ink smudge appeared in the darkness, a few feet away. Tendrils coalesced and congealed into the spindly shape of the shadowman … the maleficarum.
“You can take me,” Bastian said. He looked over to Harold. “But you aren’t hurting anyone else.”
With a snap of the Æther, he summoned a protection circle around Harold’s floating form, ensconcing him in purple light.
“No!” Virgil yelled. But it was too late. Virgil himself said the circle was the only thing keeping Bastian safe from the maleficarum—it would hide Harold just as well.
“Stupid boy,” Virgil said as the shadowman stalked forward. “You only delay the inevitable.”
“Maybe,” Bastian said. “But I’m done delaying this.”
He reached out and called forth the River.
Black water surged up from the lake, seething around his legs as he forced the River toward the maleficarum. But now that he was no longer warded by his protection circle, the maleficarum wasn’t waiting around.
While Virgil growled about Bastian ruining everything, the maleficarum attacked. It scuttled forward on six legs, no longer pretending to be human. Its masked face was split wide, its tongue lashing, hissing like an angry serpent.
Bastian conjured his own fireball, a purple billow of Ætheric flame that, he knew, only existed in the underworld. He thrust it at the maleficarum. The creature darted to the side, and the flame hissed into the surging waters, but Bastian had another conjured before the first dissipated. This time, when he threw it, it hit one of the maleficarum’s arms. And unlike the flames Robyn had wielded in the mortal world, when this fireball hit the maleficarum, it left a mark.
The maleficarum screamed in pain as the flames burned through its arm, searing it off entirely.
“You will pay!” the maleficarum screamed as it lunged toward Bastian. “I will rip you apart!”
“No!” Virgil yelled out. He floated above the River. “We need him in one piece! If you destroy him, you ruin everything!”
But the maleficarum wasn’t listening. The monster was out for blood. Its tongue lashed forward, smacking Bastian in the chest and sending him into the River.
Water thrashed around him, tumbling him in hissing static darkness. He tried to swim to the surface, but he couldn’t find which way was up, and distantly, he was aware of the maleficarum stalking toward him. He gave a great kick, and managed to surface just for a moment, just long enough to see Virgil screaming at the maleficarum, while the monster thrashed its tongue this way and that through the water, trying to find Bastian.
Downstream, only a few yards away, was the gray-black wall of mist that signaled the Second Veil. The maleficarum lunged toward him, and Bastian reached out with the Æther. But he didn’t send his bindings around the maleficarum.
Right before Bastian sank back under the roiling waves, he snared on to Virgil.
If he was going under, he was taking the construct with him.
Virgil yelled out, and the maleficarum followed like a mindless dog, screaming as it chased Bastian through the waves, toward the Veil.
Then Bastian felt the cold chill of the Second Veil wash over him, and everything went silent as the grave.
Black trees of gnarled flesh pierced from the churning waves, tumbling past him in the blur. The water was quicker here, hungrier. He felt the Third Veil nearing, and knew that if he didn’t act fast, he would fall past it and begin to forget who he was, and why he was here.
With a great wrench of willpower he forced the River to subside, just a little, just enough for him to stand. The waters still tugged at his feet, still dragged him onward, but he tried to hold strong. Virgil silently struggled against Bastian’s bindings a few feet away, but the magic snared him tight. He would go where Bastian led.
