Magic's End

The bonfire crackled and burned.  Gregory stood and watched, tears pouring down his face, as the servants brought in more of his precious book collection and added it to the pile.  Two strong servants, sweating with the exertion and the heat, their charcoal-streaked faces glowing firelight-yellow, shoveled them mercilessly into the fire.1

'Master?' Byglar said quietly.  'Are you sure about this?  We could keep one or two of the more valuable.  Surely we needn't burn them all, Master.'  He was almost pleading, blue eyes open and almost in tears himself.2

'We must burn them all, every last one of them.'  Gregory's voice was steady, his face hard as steel.  If the streaks of pale skin amongst the dark coal-stains had not marked the tracks of his tears, if the firelight did not catch his eyes and reflect from the unshed tears, it might be thought that he felt nothing at the destruction of centuries of work and wisdom, of Magic and power.  Byglar would not be fooled.  But what must be done, would be done.3

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A year beforehand, the city of Racktul had been invaded, on the Day of the Dead.5

The Day of the Dead is the antithesis of Magic.  Magic manipulates the material, the Day of the Dead is owned by spirit-kind.  And thus it was spirits -- of a sort -- who took advantage of that day to take control of Racktul.6

Shadow-beings, they were, not human or even part human, they swarmed in from the North, hungry for blood and for control and power long denied them.  The Wizards never knew how the Shadow-folk penetrated the city's defences, for they were not unprepared for such an invasion.  But penetrate them they did, in their hundreds, and on the one day when the Wizards could not repel their forces.7

Hordes of shadow-beings, bright and quick and merciless, descended on the city.  They fed on blood and flesh and humanity, leaving a quivering hulk of their victim.  Each human shell thus formed has only enough power left to obey their commands, and becomes a slave of the Shadows.  Within a day of the invasion, thousands of citizens had been transformed into wraiths, and the Shadow-folk were in control.  The government was in ruins, and there was no family that hadn't lost at least one member.8

The University, where the Wizards lived and worked, was guarded by certain means which meant that, for all the ease with which they penetrated the city's defences, the Shadow-folk could not enter.  That became the centre of the Resistance.  Ordinary people, hitherto afraid of Magic, turned to the Wizards for help after seeing their loved ones reduced to lifeless wraiths before their eyes.  But even long after the Day of the Dead was history, the Shadow-folk remained immune to the Magic.  They could not be defeated by it.9

It was a blacksmith who discovered that cold iron was the only weapon which worked against them.  Malcolm Smith had taken his family into the forge where he worked, where the doors were solid and they might be overlooked.  The Shadow-folk searched his house and destroyed his property, leaving their stench on his clothes and his furniture.  But by a miracle -- or so it seemed -- they did not enter the forge.  In fact, they seemed unaware of it.  Bravely, or perhaps foolishly, Malcolm investigated this, leaving his family in the forge.  He stepped out amongst them, horse-shoe in hand, and the saw him immediately and moved towards him.  In desperation he snatched up a cold, unforged, iron bar and swung it at the Shadow-folk which crowded him.  They screamed, a horrible, high-pitched sound, and dissolved in front of him.  He killed all those who had invaded his house.10

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Gregory sat down in his chair.  He felt old and soul-sick.  Outside, through the window, the crackle of the fire remained, but he could no longer watch.  Ages of knowledge, generations of work, destroyed.  But it was the only way.12

He moved over to the basin at the corner and washed his face, cleansing himself of sweat and tears and charcoal and guilt.  As he towelled his face and beard dry, he became aware of a commotion at the door.  Immediately, the exhaustion dropped from his face as though it had never been.  He strode to the door.13

'What is going on?'  He spoke quietly enough, but immediately the shouting silenced.14

'I'm sorry, Master,' blustered Byglar, 'she claimed she had to see you, and wouldn't be turned away.'15

Gregory's gaze dropped a little to the face of a young woman, in her mid-twenties or so.  She had a medallion of no little power around her neck, and her face was flushed, whether through exertion or emotion Gregory couldn't tell.16

'May I speak to you, sir?'  she asked, with just enough humility to balance the arrogant stance.  There was something about her that spoke to hs subconscious.  Gregory was intrigued.  He stood back and with a wave of his arm invited her into his office.17

There was only one chair in the office, which didn't phase the girl.  She stood in the centre of the room, oddly bare of books but still imposing.  Gregory closed the door and then walked to his chair.18

'Thank you for seeing me, Sir,' began the girl.  She had an odd accent, hard to place but pleasing to hear.  'My name is Rhianna.  I am new here, but I did some training in Magic in my home city of Tontaru.'  Gregory nodded.  He was aware of the city, a fair distance away from Racktul but famous for its fae-blooded aristocracts.  Perhaps that was it.  He noticed the tips of her ears, slightly pointed, and felt the undercurrent of glamour-magic, subtle but unmistakeable.  'They told me that you were burning the books of Magic.  I had to find out if that were true.'19

'It is... necessary,' said Gregory slowly.  'But an unpleasant task nonetheless.  Tell me, young Rhianna, what business is that of yours?'20

There was a quiver in the field of glamour, conveying, to those sensitive to such things, a feeling of powerful emotion.  'You can't burn them, sir, please.  I need them.  I came all this way to use your library.  There is no library anywhere to rival this one.  If I fail, I am lost.'21

'Tell me your tale, child.'  Gregory had dropped his imposing stance and was moved by the girl's pride and courage.  He also needed a respite from his own troubles, and perhaps, something that he could help with without having to burn the heritage of a hundred generations of wizardry.22

'It's simple enough, sir.  I am the daughter of Baron Hastur of Tontaru.  My mother was half-fae, from across the mountains.  But there is a disease which is spreading.  It only attacks those who are part-fae, but those it devastates.  It is apparently a magical plague.  My mother has already succumbed to the initial stages.  It moves slowly, sir, but it is crippling.  Eventually, it kills all of its victims.  If we don't find a way to treat it, we will all die.  All of the fae.'23

'I see.'  Gregory watched the girl, calmly stroking his beard, still slightly damp.  'Do you have any idea where the plague came from?'24

'No, sir.  We only know that it arrived six months ago, and that it kills people with fae-blood only.  Please, Sir, can you not spare a few books on Magic and Healing?'25

'I'm afraid they must all go, Rhianna.  For the survival of the human race, they must all go.'  For a moment, Gregory's control dropped, as it always did when he summoned the Magic.  Rhianna saw his intention as he mouthed the words and her eyes registered pure terror.  The spell took only a few breaths, and Rhianna didn't even have time to scream.  She condensed into smoke in an instant.26

Her amulet survived and dropped to the floor.  Wearily, Gregory walked over and picked it up.  Waving his hand over the amulet, he whispered a further string of syllables, and felt the Magic leave the object.  From his desk, he took a large brown envelope and addressed it to Baron Hastur of Tontaru.  Into this, he dropped the amulet, sealing it with an anonymous blob of wax.  The resultant package was dropped into the appropriate slot in the wall.  27

Gregory returned to his desk once more, and placed his head on his hands.28

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Four months had been wasted in futile battles against the Shadow-folk.  As soon as they knew their vulnerability was discovered, they pulled a protective crowds of slaves around them.  The citizens lost heart quickly when they saw the remains, still upright and recognisable, of their neighbours, friends and family members.  Many of the Resistance were lost to the enemy after trying to take care of the husk of a relative.  Wizards themselves were not immune to the Shadow-folk, and many of them died or were consumed in the months following the invasion.30

In the university, the Wizards coordinated the resistance.  Gregory's predecessor as Principal of the university, Shanlyn, worked tirelessly to discover as much information about the Shadow-folk as possible.  They weren't susceptible to Magic directly, but Magic could be used to discover where they came from and how they could be stopped.  Shanlyn worked day and night, coordinating spells and collating information.  It took its toll on her body, already old, but she resisted all efforts to make her rest.  'All the information is in here,' she would tell them, tapping the side of her head knowingly.  'Here is where it all comes together.'31

In the fifth month after the invasion, Shanlyn died.  She left little behind her to guide those who continued her efforts.  Little but the cryptic message "At Magic's end...", scrawled on a piece of parchment she was leaning on when she was found.32

It had long been suspected that necromancy -- the Magic of the spirit world -- fed the Shadow-folk, but Gregory felt that he had no choice.  He requested the most powerful Wizards in the university to perform the Ritual of Summoning.  Shanlyn's ghost appeared to them, there in the hall.33

'Gregory?  Why have you summoned me?'34

'For your knowledge, Shanlyn of blessed memory.'  The ghost raised one eyebrow at this mode of address, for Gregory and Shanlyn had been lovers, once.  Before the invasion.  Gregory saw her expression and shrugged slightly.  It was part of the ritual.35

'You do not want to know this.  Believe me, and let me rest.'36

'Tell me, Shanlyn of blessed memory.  We must defeat the Shadow-folk.  We must win back our freedom.'37

'I warn you once again, Gregory.  The Shadow-folk can be defeated, but there is a high price.  I did not wish to make that choice, and I would prefer that you were also spared it.'38

'I take that burden, of my own free will.  We must know!'  His eyes met the faded and colourless eyes of her ghost, bright and lined with strain.  She relented.39

'I will tell you.'  She paused and looked around the circle at the assembled wizards.  She raised her voice.  'The Shadow-folk are creatures of Magic.  They cannot be harmed by Magic because they...'  She caught Gregory's eye.  Did he really want to know?  He nodded, slightly.  '...are formed by our Magic.  Everything has its opposite.  Whenever Magic is used for good, a Shade is created.  Whenever Magic is used for evil, a Light-being is formed.  There must be balance.  The Shade feeds on all that is good and true in a human.  The Light-being removes evil from its food.  However, both of them remove an essential part of humanity from their victims, leaving them docile and without strength or will.40

'You have two options.  By performing works of great evil with magic, you may create a balancing force of good to fight the shadows.  However, they will not obey you, for you summoned them through evil.  Your second, and, to my mind, only, option is to destroy the Magic.  Burn the books of magic, kill the people who know Magic.  Remove the power from crystal balls and Magic items.  Bereft of food, the Shadow-folk will lose power and die, or be killed.  Their victims will not be recovered, but those who have survived will remain.41

'If you do not do this... they will spread.  Every spell, for good or for evil, will create another of the creatures.  Each creature will feed on the humanity of its victims.  Racktul was the home of the largest Magical university in the world, and naturally it succumbed first.  The rest of the world will follow.42

'That is your dilemma.  It is your task to choose your next actions.' 43

With that, the ghost of Shanlyn looked at Gregory one last time, and vanished.44

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Outside, dawn was breaking and the bonfires, at last, were burning down.  There were no more books of Magic remaining, and few left who could comprehend the great loss to the world.46

Gregory thought back on the last six months.  He remembered developing the disease that would remove the fae.  He had sent messengers to the two other cities that had universities of Magic, and they had been destroyed.  The students of Magic had been killed first, as mercifully as possible.  The magic items, such as Rhianna's remarkable amulet, had been reduced to ornaments.  And now, all that was left were a few last details.47

He walked away from the window.  'Byglar!' he summoned.  His assistant entered, looking flushed as though wakened from sleep.  Gregory let it be.  48

'Yes, Master?'49

'We are almost done, Byglar.'  Hands behind his back, Gregory moved towards the young and gifted wizard.  'Just a few more things to remove.'  He brought his hand in front of him, dagger in hand, and with a sound that was an 'oh' of surprise, Byglar fell to the floor.  As though in pain, Gregory covered his eyes with his fingers.  One last task, before he could rest.50

On his desk was a single sheet of paper.  On it was written the spell to end all spells.  It had taken him months to find it.  Performing the magic would be even harder.  Closing his eyes, Gregory summoned the Magic.  All the excess Magic in the world he called to him, leaving only that which made the world work.  He felt it well up inside him, all the power of the world at his fingertips, and no Wizard left to challenge his control.  Elation fought with conscience for a split second, and conscience won.51

Keeping the Magic there, Gregory read the spell.  He felt the Magic let go, could feel it seep away from the world.  He wondered briefly where it would go, before exhaustion took him.  Like a clockwork man, he went through the motions.  He destroyed the sheet of paper on which the last spell was written, watching as the candle-flame wrapped itself around the paper.  Then he took out a fresh sheet, and, hands shaking, he wrote instructions to the Resistance.  They were to kill the servants of the Shadow-folk, and then the shadow-folk themselves.  No more would come to trouble them.52

"Finally," he wrote, "forget about Magic.  It can no longer solve your problems."  He did not sign the sheet.53

He took his knife from where it lay, still stained with Byglar's blood.  Like one already dead, or a wraith himself, he walked out of his office, and down the corridor.  The windows were high and arched, and the dawn sky was a brilliant yellow, clear with only a few glowing clouds on the horizon, but Gregory did not look up.  He walked into the Hall, where the ritual of summoning had been performed.  He sat down on the spot where he'd last seen Shanlyn, and there he pressed the knife into his belly.54

Thus the last vestige of magic was removed from the world.55