Aster Wood and the Blackburn Son by J B Cantwell

turned and walked over to me. He drew out the link necklace from beneath his shirt again, pointing it towards the city. Then he gripped my hand, and I held it tight.
    “Keep your eyes on mine,” he said. “Don’t let me fall.”
    I shivered.  
    What about me?
    Then he opened his mouth and shouted the command, and the blast sent the remaining coals in the fire flying into the trees.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    We landed not far from where we had last been, just on the outer perimeter of the square.  
    “Chapman’s first,” Kiron shouted. His blue eyes were fixed on mine as if his life depended on it. “Do not break eye contact!”
    We walked sideways across the square, our arms entwined and heads close, as if we were performing some strange dance.  
    “You alright?” I asked. Kiron’s looked terrified.  
    “It’s hard,” he said through gritted teeth. “Hard to resist.”
    Perhaps he, having been under the spell for so much longer than me, was more susceptible to it.  
    “Just hang onto me,” I said. So far, I felt fine. “Tell me about Almara.”
    He seemed confused for a moment, but then was able to catch a wisp of clear thought and began speaking.
    “Almara was a great sorcerer,” he said stiffly. “One of the most talented anyone in the Triaden had ever seen. He gathered the Eight, and together they set off to fight—to fight the darkness.”
    “That’s right,” I encouraged. “They went on a quest to fight the darkness. The sickness, remember? Tell me about the drought.”
    “The drought,” he said with noticeable effort, his brain working hard to move back in the past. “No water. Plants died.”
    In my peripheral vision I could see the front door to Chapman’s shop. I noticed that it was painted a pleasing, salmon pink.  
    That’s nice, I thought.
    Then I wrenched myself back.
    A salmon pink door was not “nice,” I reminded myself forcefully. Not here.
    Focus.
    I stared back at Kiron.
    “Then Almara disappeared, didn’t he?” I asked, having a little trouble speaking now, myself.
    Kiron nodded with a look of physical pain on his face.  
    “And we came…” I started.
    “Here,” he finished. “And that evil bastard, Cadoc was here.” His eyes became focused as he said this, remembering the acts of the Corentin clearly. “And he killed so many. And the rest of us he threw into the dungeons.”
    “Yes,” I said, also clearer now at the thought of Cadoc. We were at the door. I didn’t bother to knock. I turned the handle with one hand and kicked the door open with my boot.
    “Chapman!” I yelled.  
    Kiron and I stared at each other, waiting. No response came.
    My heart sank. If Chapman wasn’t here, I didn’t know how we would be able to continue. I took the link from around my neck and gripped it in my fist, ready to jump if I felt myself losing control.  
    “Chapman!” Kiron yelled, understanding that we would have to flee again.
    A rustling sound came from deep in the room, and from within it, the round little man who had hidden Kiron and I during our first trip to Stonemore emerged. Relief flooded through me at the sight of him as he bumbled through his shop, stacked to the top with books and trinkets. In the window, the golden sculpture rotated soothingly on its axis, forever a beacon to any follower of Almara who might happen upon it.
    I reached out with one hand and grabbed Chapman. Then I turned to him, almost laughing as I took in his costume, a pink three-piece suit.
    At first, he smiled the same vacant smile as everyone else in the town. Then, as he slowly recognized us, the truth descended on him, noticeably drawing down the features of his face until his mouth hung open in disbelief.  
    “You!” he said, staring at me.  
    We three stood, holding hands like children playing a game. But the power that came from recognizing one another was greater than with just two.  
    “Who’s next?” I asked Kiron, not bothering to answer Chapman’s unasked