but then he simply vanished.
Despite hurting my enemy, I knew I was defeated as good as dead. My only chance of victory had been to pierce his heart with my blade. Now he was in his spirit form, and I had no defense against him. He would never leave the labyrinth. He would now use the press against me, exerting its power until I was crushed and smeared into the cobbles. But he spoke first. I thought he did so partly to torment me, partly to fill me with terror so that I would give my blood freely. But it wasn’t my blood he wanted. It was freedom!
“I’m got proper in this place!” his voice moaned to me out of the darkness. “Bound fast, I am. But you came through the gates and must have a key. Open it for me! Let me out and I’ll let you live!”
“Nay! I can’t do that!” I replied. “My duty is to the County. I must keep you bound within these tunnels even at the price of my own life.”
“One more time I’ll ask. Set me free or I’ll make an end to you!”
“Make an end to me now. Get it over with because my answer’s still the same.”
“Get it over with?” growled the Bane. “Not so easy as that. Take my time, I will, and press you slowly. . . .”
With those words, my staff was dashed from my hand and an invisible weight fell onto my shoulders and forced me to my knees. The pressure was steady at first and not unbearable, but the creature was toying with me, and much worse was to come. I was pushed backward, and within a few minutes lay on my back on the cobbles. The weight pressing me down became so great that I couldn’t move a muscle and was struggling to draw breath.
Some cruel quisitors test suspected witches by placing thirteen heavy stones, one by one, on the woman’s supine body. The weights are calculated carefully so as to inflict the maximum torment. Only as the eleventh stone is placed upon her chest does it become almost impossible to breathe. The placing of the thirteenth stone usually results in death as the organs are crushed and there is internal bleeding. Now I was being subjected to a similar process, except that instead of stones, the Bane himself was exerting an invisible pressure. But just when I was about to lose consciousness, thinking my end had come, the press would ease and I would awake to more torment.
“One more chance! One more chance I’ll give you! Will you set me free?”
By then I was unable to speak but just managed to give a slight shake of my head.
“So now I’ll make a end of you!” cried the Bane.
This time the pressure on my body increased rapidly, and within moments I was no longer able to breathe. My eyes grew dim, and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was beginning to resign myself to death when something happened that I had never experienced before.
I heard a scream of fear and pain, and suddenly the weight was gone from my body. The Bane had fled—I felt sure of it. But why? I was too weak to turn my head, but out of the corner of my right eye I could see what looked like a column of light. It was the form that a ghost sometimes takes—though the color was wrong. Ghosts are a pale white; this was a strong, shimmering purple. And from it waves of warmth and peace seemed to radiate. I closed my eyes and, completely unafraid, slipped down into a darkness that could have been death.
I was unconscious for days and woke up in the guest bedroom above Andrew’s shop. Concerned that I’d not returned from the catacombs, Andrew had crafted another key and, managing to overcome his terror of the Bane, had gone through the silver gate to find and retrieve me.
I was in a bad way, with five broken ribs and bruises all over my body, so I recovered only very slowly. Even now I don’t know what drove off the Bane and saved my life. Perhaps it was some sort of spirit from the light, ensuring that I survived. But why? I wonder.
Could it be that I have something of importance to do beyond the routine tasks of a County spook? I don’t believe in the God that priests preach about in their churches. Not for me,