Previous Chapter

“Are you certain?” Brandon demanded as he rushed forward, his sister a half step behind him.

“I’ve only seen it the one time,” Harper replied. “But it’s got the same look and magic around it acts funny, although in a different way from the last time I saw it. That could be something to do with the mirror itself or the shape of this thing, though.”

Sheriff Warwick joined them by the reflector, a hard look on his face. “If it is steel we could have a problem on our hands. When I looked into Stu’s memories von Nighburg had a staff made of this stuff with him when Stu was abducted. Which means our blackguard has a steel weapon.”

“If I may ask,” Proud Elk said, interrupting their careful examination of the reflector’s frame. “What is steel?”

“It’s a mythical metal,” Brandon said, carefully touching the cool metal with his bare fingers. “Supposedly the strongest metal ever forged. When the Armies of Eternity marched over the horizon, eight hundred years ago, and began the Forever War they carried weapons made of it. There are a few left, in the great armories of the Continent. No one ever discovered how they were made.”

Harper patted the hilt of his sword in a strange, almost ritual fashion. “That one told me his sword was made of steel and that it was a kind of refined iron, if you can believe it.”

“Iron scorns all magic,” Proud Elk said. “Thus you cannot refine or forge it with fire, so I find that difficult to believe. Yet if he said it, it may be possible.”

“He did,” Johan replied. “I was there when Roy asked about it.”

Brandon laughed. “The three of you talk like he’s standing around the corner, waiting to burst in when you say his name. Why are you so nervous about it?”

“Because we’ve seen him work,” Harper replied. “Enough about this. We can take this thing apart if you two want to keep it, I suppose, or we can sell it to cover our expenses later. Right now I think we leave it where it is. Johan, am I right in guessing this is the way into wherever von Nighburg is?”

“Almost certainly.” He was already setting up his own mirror opposite the reflector. “I’ll need a few minutes to assess how its defended and what exact mechanism its built on before we can go through. However, the fact that it is a mirror rather than a ring or something even more exotic helps.”

Harper nodded and looked around. “Riker, Tanner, grab one of those barrels and help me burn that foul shelled thing in case von Nighburg can use it again.”

The two locals dumped the barrel of oil over the biggest lobster Brandon had ever seen then Harper lit it with a spark from his lantern. Under normal circumstances it would take twenty minutes or so for something that size to burn. However, at some point Harper had learned to make things burn faster than they ought and he was able to reduce the creature to ashes in a matter of twenty or thirty seconds. Brandon had only seen this trick a few times before, and only from one firemind. That didn’t mean it was unique to Harper, Stonehenge druids were very secretive about the particulars of their abilities, but the fact that it worked on human bodies suggested it could also work on yew wood.

That was something Brandon felt it best to be prepared for. While Roy Harper seemed an honorable man there were many other fireminds out there, from within the druidic orders and from without, who were not. Sadly, he hadn’t been able to figure out how one might counter that trick yet.

Disposing of the lobster took Harper less time than it took Johan to analyze the reflector and Brandon found himself examining the lighthouse as he waited. The structure was some seventy feet tall but the third floor was slightly less than half that height. A rickety metal stair wound up the inside of the remaining tower up to the top floor, where the reflectors and oil burner were housed. There were no windows. Several iron hooks stuck out of the walls along the stairway, so presumably the lighthouse keepers used lanterns to make their way up or down.

A light touch at his elbow drew his attention downward. Cassie leaned in and softly asked, “Do you think this von Nighburg knows the secrets of steel?”

“I’d doubt it,” Brandon said. “Far more likely he’s found some old relics he’s labored long to understand. Isn’t that typically the way things go in the records? Someone finds a long forgotten piece of magic from the Forever Wars and, in trying to understand it, begins to tamper with forces we were not meant to deal with?”

Cassie nodded. “At the same time, he may have discovered writings the Armies of Eternity left behind. He could have learned the technique for forging steel from them.”

“Yes, I wondered about that as well. Whether von Nighburg created that steel himself or discovered it in an ancient armory is something we’ll have to determine at some point. Given how dangerous the man acts, I’m afraid it will have to wait until he’s dealt with.”

He could tell that notion didn’t thrill his sister but she nodded her agreement with it. “I was just thinking we should mention it to Mr. Harper. We’ll be staying by the entrance of von Nighburg’s manse and there’s no saying we’ll be able to go to and from it freely after he’s out of the picture. If Mr. Harper finds something and has the chance…”

There was merit to that point as well. “I’ll mention it to him.”

Whether he’d been listening while he watched the lobster burn or he’d just anticipated the issue, it turned out Harper didn’t need it mentioned. When Brandon approached him the firespinner preempted the issue. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything related to steel or the Forever Wars,” he said when he spotted the other coming. “Don’t know how much importance we can put on it, though. The other guy gets a say in how things play out.”

“I understand,” Brandon replied. “I appreciate your consideration.”

It took a few more minutes for Johan to finish his work with the reflector and set up one of his own mirrors opposite it. “There,” he said, “the doorway is open. Unfortunately von Nighburg has made visibility through the door one way so I can’t tell you what’s waiting on the other side. We’ll have to send someone well defended through first.”

“That’s pretty much what we cultivate the yew for,” Brandon said, his shift already underway. The layers of bark quickly grew over his body, already primed from his earlier use, and the roots of the plant stretched out through his muscles give him strength far beyond the human norm. Thus defended and empowered Brandon stepped up to the reflector. “Is there anything that needs done on the other side?”

“I would just look through and then report what you see,” Proud Elk replied, digging through his own bag of magical tricks. “Is that possible?”

“No, you have to go all the way through this kind of portal before you can come back. The literature stresses that’s a key part of making them function, as is making sure only one person uses it at a time.” Johan shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s true or the old wizards just thought it was a good way to slow down invaders trying to breach a sanctum.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, studying the reflector, then Brandon. “Go through, check it out and report back. We’ll check on you if you don’t come back in sixty seconds. You got another of those barrier breaker things, Johan?”

“Give me a second.”

It was more like a minute but eventually he handed Brandon a duplicate of the mirror he’d given the sheriff a while before. For Brandon it was starting to feel like they were taking too long. They’d entered the tower in late afternoon, as the sun was setting, giving them about five hours before the eclipse started. They’d already lost about an hour, fumbling through von Nighburg’s defenses. Under normal circumstances he probably would have insisted on a better plan for what would happen next but given the proximity of Low Noon Brandon knew they had to move as fast as possible.

He took a moment to test his right knee. With the yew fully awakened he didn’t expect any issues with it and, for the moment, he didn’t find any. Still, he didn’t want it to fold during what was likely to be his only contribution to the expedition.

“Stay safe,” Cassie said as he stepped forward.

That wasn’t likely but he kept that to himself. Instead he touched his brow in salute and stepped up to the reflector and touched his hand to it. He was drawn in as soon as he made contact with it and for a moment all he could see was rippling, prismatic colors, then he found himself in a much different room. He caught a glimpse of a small, enclosed space before the floor under him flew up and smashed him into the ceiling.

That was a clever place to put a barrier.

Fortunately yew wood was both tough and flexible and it absorbed most of the impact. He already had the counter charm in his hands and it didn’t break when he hit the ceiling. Brandon wound up crunched into a ball, pressed against the ceiling, a little pained but intact. The mirror Johan gave him wound up clutched to his chest and it took quite a bit of work in order to get it down, past his knees, and into direct contact with the barrier. At that point the spell shattered, just like the previous one, and he dropped to the ground again.

The room was little more than a square box with a polished oval mirror secured to the wall behind him. A quick glance told Brandon the mirror’s frame was identical to the one he’d come through. Opposite it was another door which Brandon quickly tested and confirmed was locked. He wasn’t an expert but it looked like that lock was made of steel. The rest of the room was featureless stone without windows, furniture or decoration, a quintessential antechamber and deathtrap hybrid. No other traps hit him so Brandon quelled the yew and stepped back through the mirror.

The others were gearing up to follow him when he returned, or so Brandon guessed from the slew of weapons they pointed at him when he emerged through the reflector in the lighthouse. He quickly gave them a rundown of what he saw then crossed back with Proud Elk in tow. To Brandon’s surprise, it took the Sanna man all of five seconds to pick the door lock using the narrow, almost prehensile end of his whip club.

Johan set a mirror on the floor by the door and they slowly opened it a sliver so the next room appeared in the reflective surface. To Brandon’s glee, it looked like a typical sanctum. There were bookshelves on the far wall and a large table in the center with some kind of magical contraption on top of it. A series of bronze or brass struts held up a gleaming silver mesh orb. Within it was a smaller, solid gold orb with strange, glowing pinpricks of light scattered around it in an indiscernible pattern. In the reflection it was hard to determine how big it was.

“Dust and ashes.”

Brandon glanced over his shoulder to find Sheriff Warwick staring at the mirror in horror. “What’s the matter?”

“That’s an Immelmann Array.”

Previous Chapter

The mayor of Riker’s Cove was a compact, beady eyed man in his late fifties. By name, Eustace Hughes. Some disaster, likely of a nautical variety, had taken his left arm but there was still a fierce vitality and charisma to him that made it clear how he’d come to lead the village after Jonathan Riker’s death. Like many villages of its size, the Cove didn’t have a dedicated office for the Mayor. So after they surrendered the body of Hank Birch to the Hearth Keepers the Mayor, who had arrived on the scene some time during Avery and Roy’s stint in the mindscape, asked them all to accompany him back to his dock.

According to the stories Avery heard when he arrived in town, Hughes was once a pirate of some sort. Whether that was true or not, he’d given up the sea when he lost his arm. He’d come to the Cove in an effort to start a serious shipbuilding enterprise there but the difficulty of getting good lumber and woodworkers when most of the timber on the western coast of the continent was in Sanna hands had thwarted him so far. He still employed a handful of shipwrights and managed a small drydock at the south end of town.

Like Riker before him, Hughes discharged most of his mayoral duties from his place of business. In his time living there, Avery had never heard anyone complain about this. Indeed, such things were common out West and of the people who made the five minute trek down to the Hughes dry dock the only ones who seemed surprised by it were the Fairchilds. Perhaps in Avalon they were used to more formal political arrangements. What did surprise Avery was the people who were waiting for them at the docks already.

There was a small, sheltered area atop the dock itself, little more than a pavilion with three walls and open toward the dock’s work area, where Hughes and his workers kept their tools and blueprints at a collection of work benches. However none of the mayor’s employees were there at the moment. Instead, Aaron Strathmore greeted them as soon as they arrived at the pavilion while further inside the hulking figure of Samson Riker stared down at papers scattered on a bench with a brooding expression.

Jonathan Riker’s only surviving son was a big man, about ten years older than Avery was and a similar amount younger than the mayor. His size wasn’t rooted in hard earned muscle nor did it hang from him in rolls of fat. His frame was simply tall and wide, covered with a typical amount of flesh of all kinds, although perhaps a trifle plump around the middle. A dull, red beard streaked with gray tickled the middle of his chest. When he glanced over, noting their arrival, sharp black eyes glinted under his thick, bushy eyebrows. In contrast with his otherwise hirsute face, not a single strand of hair grew from the top of his head although the sides and back of his skull were wreathed in a fringe that fell to his shoulders. Samson set down his papers and walked over to shake the mayor’s hand. “Mayor Hughes.” His polite manner turned hostile as he pivoted to glare at Avery. “Sheriff.”

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Riker, Mr. Strathmore,” Hughes said, ushering the group of them back into the shelter with gentle shooing motions. “Unfortunately Mr. Tanner will not be joining us this morning.”

“Is it true his sister’s boy turned up in a crystal coffin down by the docks?” Aaron asked.

“Not a coffin,” Avery said, “but close enough.”

Samson tugged at the end of his beard, which everyone in town knew meant he was loosing out when haggling. Or, in these circumstances, he was nervous about something else. Since his daughter Jennifer was now the only one of von Nighburg’s hostages still missing it wasn’t hard to guess what. “How bad?”

“Not good, Mr. Riker,” Harper said, pushing up past the group to look over the papers Samson had been studying before they arrived. “I’ve seen a lot of strange and frightful things since I came out West. Whatever von Nighburg did to that boy falls into a very special category of wickedness.”

Samson’s eyes tracked the firespinner around the room although he moved the bulk of his body as little as possible as he tracked Harper’s progress. “Do you know what it was?”

Harper picked up a piece of paper – Avery stepped close enough to see it was a blueprint of the lighthouse – and studied it as he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it although I’ve heard of a couple of curses that could do something similar. Johan? Was that some kind of Teutonic curse? Or related to that moon magic you mentioned?”

“All Teutonic magic is based on repeating patterns.” Van der Klein clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes looking upward as if reading facts of the back of his eyelids. “Crystals, especially cut crystals, are one such pattern. The cycle of the moon is another, both widely referenced in the existing traditions and literature. However I can categorically say that warping the child into… that… was not done via any Teutonic methodology.”

“Categorically? How so?”

“There was no pattern to his laughter.” Van der Klein snapped back to the present. “And before you ask, yes I did take a moment to listen and count out the beats of the noise he was making. It was entirely chaotic.”

“Laughter?” Aaron looked confused. “Who was laughing?”

“What. The appropriate question is, ‘what was laughing?’” Harper set the blueprint back down. “Miss Fairchild, could there have been a musical pattern to the noise he was making?”

“No.” The stone singer shook her head. “I know it sounded like wild laughter but it was actually very repetitive, Mr. Harper. The rise and fall of the tone in his laugh was the exact same every time.”

The mayor swung his hand up, chopping it between Harper and Cassandra and catching both their attention. “I’m sorry. This is a matter of the peace in my town and the safety of its citizens. I don’t know who you two are but would you mind waiting just a few moments while I sort out the rest of this matter with the sheriff and my constituents?”

Out of the corner of his eye Avery saw Brandon bristle at the slight. He held himself back when his sister put a hand on his arm but Avery could tell he wasn’t sure why the mayor was brushing them off. The Stone Circle was probably used to much more cooperation in Avalon. He was about to try smoothing things over when Samson turned to Hughes and said, “Mr. Mayor, I asked Mr. Harper here to help. I wanna hear his opinion and if he has to talk to his friends to sort it out I reckon we should let him do it.”

The mayor shot the big man a deadly look through narrowed eyes. “You did, did you? I suppose you’re going to explain to Chester why you were willing to let his sister’s boy die like that? Dust and ashes, man, you didn’t even have to look at the corpse.”

A lesser man might have lost his temper at Hughes’ accusatory tone. Samson didn’t even twitch. “You and the sheriff have ignored every thing I’ve suggested for the past two weeks, Hughes. My daughter is no closer to coming home than she was when she vanished and I’m not willing to wait any longer. The most famous monster hunter in the west owed my pappy a favor so I called it in. Frankly, this whole stormwracked town wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the old man so I’d reckon you owe him a little bit, too. If you won’t help me the least you can do is get out of my way.”

Hughes squared up against Samson, a challenge that Riker’s son completely ignored. “Listen, I understand your concerns. The sheriff and I have been contacting everyone we know who’s skills-”

“Giant!” Samson pointed a finger at Harper, his voice razor sharp. “Killer!”

“I’ve heard the stories, Samson! But Hank Birch is dead because Nighburg got wind of your stunt and we might have been able to save him if we’d coordinated this better!”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Harper had focused on the blueprints for the last few minutes, ignoring the bickering around him. Only now did he bother to look at Hughes. “I’m sorry, Mayor Hughes, but in my professional opinion there was no way to save all three children. Frankly, I’m amazed you got any of them back.”

Hughes spun on him so fast the empty sleeve of his jacked whipped out and slapped Aaron, standing next to him. “Listen here, Harper. You’re a hireling here, not a citizen or even an Army man. I got no problem with firespinners but you better remember your place and stick to it. You’re not responsible for the lives of the people in this town.”

“Mighty rich coming from a privateer who nearly started a war with Iberia,” Harper said, a trace of amusement running under the words.

“My coalstoking point, Harper.” If the Mayor was put off by the firespinner’s reputation he didn’t show it, stepping right up into his face and jabbing a finger in the man’s chest. “I’ve been on your side of things and I know the blind spots from that point of view. I’m not saying you’re responsible for what happened out there. Nighburg is. But so help me, if you won’t respect the rule of law in this town I will have the sheriff put both you and Samson in jail until the circuit rider comes to drag you to Hancock!”

“Slow down, mayor,” Avery said, sensing it was time for him to say something. “He hasn’t broken any laws yet.”

“Who’s side are you on here?” Hughes said, glaring at him over one shoulder. “You’re supposed to work for me.”

Technically the sheriff of Riker’s Cove was elected, just like the mayor, so they both answered to the townspeople. The problem there was that Avery wasn’t elected. He was the only deputy to survive the first clash with von Nighburg so he’d succeeded to the office. According to the town charter he’d serve until the next election or until the town mayor and treasurer called for a vote to remove him. Which, in Avery’s opinion, wouldn’t be a great tragedy. Sheriff of a port town in the West turned out to be a difficult and unrewarding job even when there wasn’t a murderous magus threatening it.

However, now that he’d started a fight against von Nighburg Avery was reluctant to give up part way through and Hughes definitely had the political sway and vengeful attitude to strip him of office if he wanted to. Also, there was the fact that Low Noon was that night. If von Nighburg’s ambitions came to fruition then, as Harper and his allies suspected, they didn’t have time for any political shenanigans. “I work for everyone in the town, yourself included.” Avery gestured to Harper. “I originally didn’t think Mr. Harper had much to offer us in solving this problem but, to my surprise, he’s not only brought someone who can break whatever control von Nighburg has over the children; he even found someone who understands the magic he used to hide in the lighthouse. I don’t think we can afford to pass on their expertise if they’re willing to share it.”

Hughes chewed on his lower lip for a long moment. Then he looked back to Harper. “Word is you never work for free but I should make it perfectly clear that the town isn’t paying you. Whatever commission you get from Samson is all that’s in it for you. There’s a price on Nighburg’s head you can split however you like but I don’t want you coming to me with your hand out when this is all over, understand?”

A wistful smile touched Roy’s lips for just a moment then he said, “Don’t worry, Mayor Hughes. Jonathan Riker settled your bill long before we came here. The only ones in a position to ask anything more of you are the Fairchilds and something tells me they wont.”

“That’s so,” Brandon put in.

“Very well.” From the way Hughes scowled when he said it Avery guessed the mayor had brought up payment in an attempt to provoke Harper into giving up the job. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting the firespinner’s response. “Sheriff Warwick will work with you on this and any townspeople you want to go with you will have to prove they can meet his standards to be deputized. If you can wait three more days-”

“We can’t,” Avery said. “I’m sorry, mayor, I know you were trying to call in favors from the Navy just like I was looking for some of the old druids to help me out but there just isn’t time. There’s a good chance von Nighburg’s magic will become much more powerful during Low Noon tonight and he’ll be able to do… whatever it is that brought him here in the first place.”

“Dust and ashes.” Hughes ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Tonight?”

“Almost certainly,” van der Klein put in. “Eclipses of both types are of benefit to Teutonic magic and there’s good reason to believe a lunar eclipse will give his chosen field of magic unique opportunities. The sooner we get into the lighthouse the better.”

“Then I’ll leave you to make your plans. Sheriff, let me know if there’s anything in particular I can do that will be helpful or if there are precautions that will keep people out of danger.” He pointed at Aaron Strathmore. “Mr. Harper, I know the sheriff and your friends already talked to him once but Aaron wanted you to know he’s willing to tell you anything else he knows that might help you save the other children held hostage. I closed the docks today so you’d have a place hidden from view to make any preparations you need. No chance Nighburg will see you here.”

Samson turned to Avery. “Sheriff, I’d like to-”

“Samson.” Hughes took a firm grip on his arm. “Before that, I’d like to talk to you alone.”

The big man glanced between Hughes and Harper, then nodded and followed the Mayor wordlessly. Harper turned back to the blueprints on the table. “Okay, I suppose we’re offically hired now so gather around, everyone, we have a fortress to breach. Van der Klein, tell us how we magic our way into this place.”

Samson stopped for a moment to contemplate his father’s statue. The monument to his father continued to look out over his town, ignoring his son, in a perfect encapsulation of Jonathan’s own behavior. The statue, at least, had an excuse. The younger Riker dismissed the edifice after a moment, turning to the mayor and saying, “Alright, what’s this all about? I hope you’re not going to try and talk me out of rescuing my daughter again.”

“You have three other children to think about,” Hughes said. “You could think of them. I know you Rikers are incredibly big picture people, set on preserving the great and the good without any care for the cost-”

“Stop that,” Samson snarled. “Don’t pretend you know me or my father, Hughes, you and your crew may have won over the town but I don’t trust you. Pa told me about you.”

“Your father hated me for good reasons, Samson. We were professionally and personally incompatible, no doubt, but you hold the grudge just cause your papa did. I ain’t waylaid your ships or taken your cargo, have I?” Hughes shoved his hand in his pocket. “I’m not the heavy hand of Hancock on the high seas anymore. I’m the mayor of this town. I watched your mother slowly pass on from grief after Jonathan died and I don’t want to do it again, see?”

“Don’t bring Ma into this, either.”

Hughes glanced from the man to the statue, his bafflement clear on his face. It was like he couldn’t tell which was the statue and which was the man, which one was completely unyielding and which one was just stubborn. “Then if you really have to go up that coalstoking tower, take Tanner with you.”

Samson’s face turned cloudy. “Your lackey? Why.”

“He went home because I sent him but he wants a piece of old Nighburg, same as you. His sister sent the boy here to learn a trade because she trusted her brother. Hank was a gem, Samson. He didn’t deserve that.”

The big man thumped one heavy hand down on the mayor’s shoulder. “What’s in this for you?”

A weary look crossed Hughes’ face. “If it’s not clear yet, I don’t trust these outsiders. Ironic, I know, since I settled less than a decade ago over your papa’s objections, but there it is. I was the same kind of man as them. Someone needs to keep an eye on them and you two are the ones they’re most likely to bring with you.”

Samson thought it over for a moment. Then he looked up at the statue, nodded to himself and looked back at the mayor. “Fine. If the sheriff is okay with it. Did you talk to him?”

“No. Let Tanner work on him. Don’t mention this conversation to any of them, okay? I brought you out here because I don’t want them hearing we doubt them, not even the sheriff.”

“If you say so.” With that Samson turned his back on the statue and walked back towards town.”

Previous Chapter

“The sheriff told me von Nighburg cursed the waters of the cove at one point,” Roy said, taking them out over the waves. “You know a lot of the Sanna’s dousing magic, right? Can you check ocean waters for magic? Or is it something you can only do with rivers and underwater reservoirs?”

“Not from up here,” Proud Elk said. “And I have never tried a dousing on such a large body of water. Back before your people pushed mine out of the place you call the Lakeshires the elders say we could douse the Lakes. But I’ve never done such a thing and I don’t know if the ways are different than what I’ve learned.”

Roy nodded, shifting his attention to the lighthouse itself. He’d never actually been in one but from the outside, without one of Warwick’s candles to reveal anything, it looked much like any other lighthouse he’d seen before. “In that case let’s take a closer look at this thing. You watch the signal lamp and reflector and-”

A flare of light from the docks caught his attention. In front of him Proud Elk also shifted to look that way, his normally stoic expression suddenly apprehensive. “Is that Silver Glass?”

“Looks like his kind of magic,” Roy said. “But you’ve seen it before and I think you’re feeling something off about it too, am I right?”

“I’m afraid you are, Bright Coals. I think we must leave the tower for now and ensure that all is well with him.” As he spoke he readied his club and a collection of herbs, woven bead talismans and other magic tools of his people. “And hurry. I fear not all is well in that man’s village.”

Roy adjusted the skiff’s helm, putting the skiff in a tight turn and pouring on the speed so that the small, aluminum craft swung about like a paper in a breeze. They shot over the water as fast as Roy dared to go. In truth the docks were so close to the lighthouse that they couldn’t run up to anything like the skiff’s top speed but given the unknowns of the situation it wasn’t wise to approach that quickly anyways. Instead he ran up to the speed of a fast horse and covered the distance to the docks in just over a minute. They found a scene from nightmares.

Johan’s magic had gone haywire, two of the mirrors askew and sending beams of solid light into the air at odd angles and the remaining two beams crossing on the twisted, barely recognizable body of a ten year old boy. Hank’s body looked like giant hands had grabbed it by the top and bottom and twisted it around twice. His arms and legs pumped and churned around the torso at unnatural angles. From the kind of damage he had sustained the child should have been dead but Roy could see his eyes rolling and fingers twitching.

Something was laughing with a wild, shrieking voice that felt like dead iron filings burning their killing paths up and down his back. In the strange beams of light from Johan’s mirrors strips of flesh full of grinning, gaping mouths hung in the air. It was like looking through windows to a world of malicious glee. Roy dropped the skiff to the ground and left it there with the hull quietly sizzling on the ground. He yanked his falcata free of its sheath as he vaulted out of the skiff, his bag of supplies slung over one shoulder.

There was something terrible in the laughter. Some kind of empty, devouring will that sapped every feeling that welled up to him in response to what he saw. For years Roy Harper had traveled the West, disposing of the worst humanity had to offer. In that time his ambition and search for justice had cooled in the face of the daunting task and a certain cynicism and anger had taken root. The sight of Tanner’s nephew writhing, suspended in the air like that brought all those emotions to the fore. But as he took the first few steps towards the boy that changed.

He looked so silly, spinning like that, with nothing to hold him up but a few beams of light and the laughing voices that leaked out of them. How was he supposed to take that seriously? Roy found himself coming to a stop, a strange feeling working up through his chest. His shoulders shook once. Then his throat spasmed as his face contorted a bit. Then a deep, stomach clenching laugh erupted from his lips like a fish, caught on a brazen hook, being dragged from the depths of the ocean.

In his blood and in his bones small reserves of fire, trapped in nearly invisible flecks of sulfurite that had lodged in his body a decade ago flared to life. The traces of magic rushed to his mind and burned away the laughter there. Just like that his equilibrium returned and his rage, his bitterness, his purpose and his hope rushed back in and filled him to overflowing.

Roy snarled and ignited his falcata, the roaring flame drowning out the insidious laughter. He’d never been happier to hear the whispers of fire in the back of his mind even though he still didn’t trust them. With his mind clearer he could take in more than the horrific thing at the center of the square. Johan was wrestling with his lightbox, trying to wrench it out of the teeth of one of the strange mouths that peeked through the beams of light. Whatever they were they were real enough to be dangerous. The yew in Brandon’s body had asserted itself and now covered him from head to toe, with the toes turned to roots that let it dig deep into the ground. His face was still visible but from the grimace on his face he was struggling not to burst into laughter. He’d wrapped an arm around his sister’s waist and she leaned heavily against him, her mouth open in a wordless song that either didn’t carry over the cackling rift in space or resonated at a pitch humans couldn’t hear. Only Warwick was on the ground. He huddled over a single candle that spluttered and flared wildly, threatening to sear the hands he cupped around it.

Outside of the thing fighting Johan, Roy couldn’t see anything like an active threat to deal with. As he traced the beams of light a beaded loop dropped around his neck, dampening the sound of the strange cackling. Beside him, Proud Elk pointed at the mirrors. “You must destroy the glass, Bright Coals,” he yelled, straining to be heard over the laughter. “It’s become a window into something else!”

Roy wasn’t sure how he knew that but for the moment he was willing to trust the Sanna man’s intuition. Instead he dropped the tip of his weapon downward, letting the fat, heavy tip of the blade fill with flame before he drew it back and catapulted the fireball towards one of the mirrors. His aim was a little off so Roy reached out with his mind and tweaked the projectile towards its target. He followed it in just to be sure.

Whenthe fireball hit the small pane of silver and glass dead center it shattered from the heat, spitting slivers all over the ground. As he withdrew his attention from the flame it brushed up against something. At first Roy thought he’d found the connection between light and fire that Johan used though his sunstone. But the thing was far too vast. For a brief moment Roy felt like he’d brushed against an Avatar of the Primeval Fire, a creature so foundational to the universe that it permeated the entire cosmos. He’d seen such things before.

However this wasn’t one of them, although it felt similar in terms of size and scope. From his own, human position Roy couldn’t tell much about whatever it was other than it moved lazily, less like a flame’s insistent whisper and more like an amusing dream. What’s more, Roy somehow sensed it was pure power. Like flame, it was all force with no vessel at all and, by its very nature, it found all attempts to pour it into a vessel as amusing as they were futile. How do you contain a dream? The very notions are antithetical.

It was very tempting to linger on the connection but Roy new he couldn’t. It wasn’t until he tried to come back to the moment that he realized he was lost. He was lost, unsure of where he was or if what was around him was even real. Sight didn’t really apply to what he was experiencing, only his instinctive connection to the Fire gave him an sense of the distorted reality he’d wandered into.

That, and his ears. They picked up a low, steady, wordless tune sung by a dusky, feminine voice that reminded him of a cool, shady forest in the northern Lakeshires. As soon as the thought crossed his mind Roy found himself standing under a mighty stone dolmen. The wild, overgrown roots of a huge yew tree covered the ground around him and its branches loomed low overhead, the leaves turning brown as it slowly died. Roy’s breath caught in his throat as he realized where he was.

Two stone megaliths stood upright to his right and left, holding a third slab ten feet above the ground. It was one of a dozen such structures that formed the Morainehenge. It looked exactly like it had when the 43^rd Infantry marched under it at the end of the Siege of Martin Southwick. Roy picked his way forward, carefully stepping over the roots. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen strange things in the middle of a theoretically pitched battle against the supernatural. Tetzlani creatures, in particular, seemed to love this kind of thing.

He was aware, in the back of his mind, of the sound of shattering glass and yelling voices but focusing on them right now was likely to prove counter productive. He did notice that the ground shook underfoot when he heard the smashing sound, though. Lingering too long was probably a bad idea.

“Now where did this come from?”

The question drifted out of the center of the henge. Roy recognized the voice, too, and picked up his pace as much as he could without getting tangled in the roots. “Warwick? Is that you?”

“Harper?” Actually, the voice didn’t sound distant at all. As soon as it reached him Roy found himself standing next to the sheriff by the trunk of the mammoth yew tree that had once been the Master of the Morainhenge. “What’s going on here?”

“I think we’ve come across an aspect of the First Elements,” Roy said. “I brushed up against it while manipulating a fire and found myself here. It’s not a part of the Primeval Fire, that I’m certain of, but it sure feels like some kind of magical power rather than a vessel. So my money is on-”

“It’s not the First Elements,” Avery said, his hand resting on the trunk of the tree and his face pensive. “Whatever it is thinks and only those things that are truly alive think. The First Elements are powerful but they’re not really aware like living things are, they just exist and push towards their own ends.”

“What do you mean they’re not alive? Haven’t you heard of the Mated Pair?”

“They’re no longer truly elementals,” Warwick said, resting his head against the treebark like he was praying. “When the Lord in Raging Skies married the Lady in Burning Stone they created a balance of all four elements that transformed them into a single, living unit. That’s why Arthur gave them a name as a united deity. But the aspects of the First Elements don’t truly think they just seek their aspects and express them.”

Roy walked up to the tree and examined it, wondering if it fascinated the sheriff for the past it represented or as part of their present predicament. “Okay, I don’t fully understand that gobbledygook. Even assuming you’re right about it all, how do you know for sure this thing out here is a real, living thinker and not just an elemental good at faking it?”

“Would you understand the nuance if I explained it?” Warwick asked.

“Probably not,” Roy admitted grudgingly, studying the yew tree. He wondered if it was native to the place they stood or if it was some kind of illusion or figment created by the presence they’d brushed against. “But it might be a hint for how to get out of here and I’m willing to take any chance I can get.”

Warwick jerked away from the tree as the sound of another mirror smashing echoed through the henge. “I take your point. How did you get in here?”

“I threw a fireball at one of Johan’s mirrors since Proud Elk thought they were serving as windows for your living thing to look in at us.” Roy jerked a thumb in the direction he came from. “I’m not sure how it got me here but the mirror’s gone so I don’t think we can get out that way. How’d you get in?”

“I lite a candle of telepathy and got drawn in to the thing’s mind through that magic.” Warwick studied the treeline of the forest outside the dolmen. “Interesting. When we first met I tried to pick up on your thoughts using one but you’re a firemind. I’m not certain but I think the concentration of magic in your ego allowed your mind to burn off the attempt.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as an egoist.”

“It’s a philosophical term, Harper,” the sheriff said, turning in a slow circle as he spoke. “My point is your sense of who you are combined with your gifts allows you to piggyback on the candle’s magic and walk the mindscape. Perhaps the mirror had something to do with it but I don’t think so.”

“Well regardless, if I got in by mirror we can get out that way, so long as they haven’t shattered them yet.” The ground shook and another crashing sound filled the air.

“Dust and ashes,” Warwick muttered. “You’d the mirrors breaking would cause the world to get dimmer since van der Klein wouldn’t have ways to send light in from outside. This place must have its own light source.”

“Or maybe we’re just thinking about seeing too much,” Roy replied. As the last tinkling sounds of glass faded he caught a snatch of the tune he’d first heard when he found the henge. “Did you hear that, sheriff?”

“No, what?”

“Cassandra is calling us. Or perhaps just you, doubt she realizes I’m here.”

Warwick gave him an incredulous look. “Harper, assuming this isn’t an illusion created via an unwise use of telepathy and we are actually somewhere else then what makes you think a stone singer can even reach us?”

Roy’s memories flashed back to his first meeting with the Fairchilds, when he’d watched Cassandra guide a whole army of ghosts into the afterlife. “She can call to the dead and send them on to their final resting place, sheriff. Whether this is an illusion or we were pulled somewhere via your candle magic we can’t be further from her than eternity is. If she can send people to eternity then she should be able to call us back.”

The ground underfoot bucked and suddenly he and the sheriff were born aloft on the back of a skytrain car that erupted out of the ground. The change was dizzying to watch but Roy found he kept his feet quite easily. “What’s this?” Warwick seemed less surprised by the sudden change in venue. “Is it interested in your memories now?”

“Like I said, Miss Fairchild is calling us.” Roy struggled but failed to keep a testy note out of his voice. “C’mon, last time she was at the back of the train.”

He started picking his way along the roof of the train car, occasionally looking over the side for signs of the ghost army. Sure enough they turned up, too, as Roy passed the train’s halfway point. At first Roy thought they were passive figments like the tree and train were, scenery that didn’t feel like it had any effect on what was happening. But as he crossed the gap between train cars he heard a familiar voice calling to him.

The face of Samuel Jenkins when whipping by in the crowd of ghosts, moving so fast Roy wouldn’t have spotted it if he hadn’t heard the specter calling his name. So far he’d been taking the usual amount of care in navigating the train’s roof. When he spotted the ghost moving past he put on a burst of speed, crossing the vehicle’s roof at a dead sprint as he tried to catch up. Behind him, Warwick sputtered in surprise and poured on the speed.

“Harper!” Jenkins’ voice rose over the sounds of the train and the strains of Cassandra’s song. “Sorry I’m not there! Turns out death isn’t at all what I expected it was.”

“What in the name of hearthfire are you doing here, Jenkins?” Roy gasped, leaping between the train cars.

“There’s power in any oath, Harper,” the ghost replied, almost laughing. “Doesn’t matter what you swear it on. So long has the man has honor he gives the words a power we can’t begin to understand. Didn’t think I was a man of honor but I guess I was. At least enough of one to keep my word, at least indirectly, dead or not.”

“I don’t need a ghost to help out again, Jenkins!”

“You have to understand the Voices, Harper!”

“What voices?”

“You wouldn’t know their name and if I use it they’ll hear!” For the first time since he’d seen the specter Roy heard real fear in the ghost’s voice. “You’ll understand soon enough. Be careful not to listen too much, like that blackguard did, but understand them! At least then you can avoid their grasp. Hold them off and he’ll uphold the deal!”

His mad sprint brought Roy to the end of the train and he’d been paying so much attention to Jenkin’s ghost he didn’t see it coming. One moment he was running on the train. The next moment he was tumbling through a strange world full of smoke, the solemn strains of Cassandra’s song the only thing he could see or hear clearly. Then there was a final crash.

Roy dropped to the ground, the shards of the last mirror scattered across the cobbles of the square in front of him. He was back in Riker’s Cove. The strange bars of light full of laughing mouths were gone and Johan was fumbling with his light box as he locked it closed. Proud Elk poked at the remains of the mirrors in suspicious fashion. Brandon was slowly pulling the yew back inside himself while Tanner helped Sheriff Warwick to his feet.

The body of the boy in the prism lay on the ground, twisted and broken but still gasping out wheezing chuckles every other breath. Roy struggled back to his feet and staggered over to the body, carefully turning it over with the toe of his boot. Glazed eyes stared up at him, full of madness, its jaw flopping open in a grotesque, open mouthed laugh. Tanner helped the sheriff over to look at it. “Clara,” Tanner muttered, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Roy wordlessly offered the man the hilt of his weapon. Tanner stared at it for a moment, disgust and pity warring across his face. Finally he shook his head and turned away. It was a decision Roy could respect but it didn’t change what needed doing so he cut the boy’s head off and covered the corpse with his jacket.

---

When the light in the square faded peace returned to the town again. As if the passing of danger sent out a call, what seemed like every person in town came running to the scene of the disaster. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of people poured out of buildings towards the center of the commotion. None of them looked up towards the lighthouse.

There was no one to see the shadow of a man, watching them with a scowl from the top. He pounded the wall with his fist once then grabbed up a gleaming staff and stalked down into the tower, muttering to himself. Perhaps the men of the Cove would have relished the victory if they knew they’d won it. Perhaps not.

However, the statue of Jonathan Riker saw it.