The towering thing shook its head violently and glared at Max.
“A hero? No, boy, I most assuredly am not. Heroes are remembered! Heroes are secured a place in the memories of their people. They are not left to rot, unburied, unwept, and forgotten on the field!”
Max winced as the creature’s voice again rose in pitch and intensity. Peg giggled softly in the corner.
“But I was spared that day,” returned the hollow whisper. “Spared by an Enemy blessed with a wisdom and goodness that had been hidden from me. Before I fell, the Lord Astaroth saw my quality. He commanded his servants to bear my body away. I was given a seat of honor, and I have learned the errors of my old allegiance. I have a new Lord, and it is for him that Marley has begun his great work.”
Max suddenly flushed with anger.
“What ‘great work’? You’re just a traitor seeking revenge!”
“You are young, boy,” said Augur calmly, arranging beakers on the table. “Do not be so hasty. Revenge is a powerful force, a force that has birthed many great things. Vengeance lends purpose; it is vengeance that has kept me alive these many years to create my masterworks.”
Max shrank against his chair as Augur leaned closer. Slowly, gently, the man swung Max’s chair around.
Max cried out as he saw them against the far wall: dozens of children standing pale and ghostly in the shadows of a large alcove. Each was draped in a black shroud, swaying on unsure feet. Some appeared to be mere zombies, staring ahead with sightless eyes; others betrayed a hint of awareness as they gazed at Max.
“The children shall serve our cause, and they shall be rewarded. When Astaroth is victorious, they shall hold dominion and rule as noble lords upon this earth!”
One girl with tangled brown hair caught his eye. To Max’s horror, she whispered, “Run.”
“Oh my God,” whispered Max. “Look at them! Look at what you’re doing to them!”
“I am sparing them betrayal! I am sparing them my pain!” roared Augur, spinning Max’s chair away from the children to face the stairs again. In a spasm of anger, he seized Max’s face. Max gasped—the fingers were so cold he feared his heart would stop. Augur relaxed his grip; his other arm pried the hand away.
“I have heard Bram’s apple was salvaged,” Augur muttered, walking away quickly to a chest pushed against the wall. He opened the lid and reached inside. “I have heard it is prized as a trophy! That it hangs in a place of honor…”
Something heavy landed in Max’s lap. It was a large apple, its wrinkled, moldy skin marbled with many veins of tarnished gold.
“This should hang in its stead,” intoned Augur. “It will hang in Bram’s stead, and you will help me place it there.”
The vyes then descended on Max. Peg held her knife to Max’s throat while Cyrus tied him tightly to the chair with a heavy rope.
“Wait—” said Max, straining to lift his chin away from the knife.
Augur dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
“The time for talk is past,” he said. “Astaroth shall judge what to do with you.”
“You’d better pray you’re the one,” Peg hissed in Max’s ear just as Cyrus gagged Max with a filthy rag. “If not, the elixir’s worthless and Marley will be in no mood to save you.”
The vye tapped a sharp nail against his head and left him. Sweat poured off Max. He strained against the ropes, but Cyrus’s knots were clever and only cinched tighter. All the while, he kept an eye on Peg, who had begun appraising paintings like an art critic, occasionally plucking one off the wall. Max gave a little groan as he saw Peg select the Rembrandt and Vermeer that David had identified as likely prisons.
All the while, Marley Augur chanted slow, strange words in his deep voice.
The chamber became very still—as if every living creature and even the surrounding earth and stone bore witness to the ceremony.
Max felt a sudden flash of pain as Peg’s knife reopened the wound on his palm. He had not seen her approach. She pried his fingers open, pulling the skin apart and squeezing the flesh until his hand felt cold and weak.
Peg brought a shallow bowl of Max’s blood to Augur. The blacksmith’s solemn chanting became louder; his fingers beckoned at the blood as if seeking to draw something from it. Max looked away as Augur dripped and stirred his blood into the cauldron. Staring at the apple in his lap, Max fought to control his breathing as he watched the firelight dance on the gold that marbled its surface.
The chanting faded into silence.
“The incantation is finished,” Augur croaked. “The elixir is complete.”
Peg grinned and tittered as she selected a large canvas and propped it before him. It was a terrifying painting—the image of a wild-eyed giant devouring the body of a man.
Marley Augur dipped a heavy-bristled brush into the cauldron. A thick, shimmering glaze was applied to the giant’s face.
“You are free, Astaroth, to walk once again as Lord upon this Earth. The Old Magic of your enemies recalls you to life and releases you from your bonds!”
Augur bowed his head while Peg and Cyrus edged away.
Nothing happened.
“Put more on!” hissed Peg, but Augur spun and glowered at her.
“I will spend nothing on more of your foolish guesses!” Augur snapped. “Bring the next!”
Augur repeated the ritual with several more paintings, becoming increasingly agitated.
“So help me, Peg,” muttered Augur, a rising anger in his voice as he scraped and stirred the cauldron’s remaining contents.
Max held his breath as the Vermeer was brought forward, the one with the girl reading her letter at the window. A trembling whine sounded from Cyrus’s throat; the vye loped back to the staircase, almost disappearing within its shadows.
When the elixir was wasted on several more paintings, Augur’s rage was hideous; he snapped their thick frames like matchsticks.
Augur stood bowed and panting while Peg propped up the Rembrandt, her face white with fear. Max’s eyes swept over the familiar painting’s dark and stormy surface. An angel had arrived to stop Abraham just before the old man sacrificed his son. Abraham appeared surprised; the knife fell from one hand as he covered the son’s eyes with the other.
With a disdainful glance at Peg, Augur scraped the brush around the cauldron’s rim and dabbed it on Abraham’s face.
“Peg, you are fin—” he began.
“Wait!” shrieked Peg, backing away from Augur. “Something’s happening!”
Max squinted at the painting, trying to make out Abraham’s face beneath the shiny elixir.
His breathing came to a halt; the only sound he heard was his own heartbeat.
Abraham was looking at him.
There was an ancient, knowing wisdom to the eyes—something deeply unsettling about the way they wandered over Max’s face and bindings. They might have been a million years old.
Marley Augur and Peg bowed low before the painting.
“Astaroth, you are recalled to life by your loyal servants,” said the blacksmith, his voice filled with reverence. “Walk this Earth again, my Lord, and bring order with your rule.”
Max’s fear boiled over as the eyes ignored Augur and continued to look at him. His hands trembled, and the hairs on his neck stood on end.
With a furious surge, Max shattered the chair and bindings that held him. Spitting out the gag, he clutched Augur’s apple and bolted for the stairs. Cyrus rose from his seat and blocked Max’s way.
“Solas!” Max yelled, flexing the fingers of his wounded hand and filling the chamber with a flash of blinding light.
Max leapt over the vye as it howled and doubled over. He sprinted up the steps and threw his shoulder against a stout door, but it would not budge.
“Stop him!” roared Augur from below.
Panicked, Max saw the door was barred with a heavy crossbeam. He pushed it back just as Cyrus began to scramble up the stairs on all fours. Max shrieked and forced the door open, stumbling out into a cold, dense fog.