The Bane
The Bane was originally one of the Old Gods, worshipped by an ancient people called the Segantii (sometimes also called the Little People). He lived in the long barrows at Heysham but was free to roam the whole County.
The Bane’s physical form was hideous, his squat, muscular body vaguely human in shape but covered in scales, with long, sharp talons sprouting from fingers and toes. His face was ugly indeed, with a long chin that curved upward almost as far as his nose and large ears that resembled those of a wolf.
The Bane terrorized everybody, including the king of the Segantii, King Heys. The Bane demanded a yearly tribute, and King Heys was even forced to sacrifice his own sons. One son died each year, starting with the eldest, but the last and seventh son, Naze, managed to bind the Bane.
He died in doing so, but the Bane was now trapped in the catacombs under Priestown Cathedral behind a silver gate, his strength diminished so that he was no longer a god. The only way he could ever get free was for someone to open that gate.
Over time, despite his imprisonment and initially weakened state, the Bane slowly grew in power.
The Bane
Eventually, whisperings could be heard in some of the cellars of the houses facing the cathedral. These voices gradually became deeper and more disturbing, and the floors and walls would shake and vibrate under the influence of the Bane’s rumbling bass voice.
In recent times the Bane has grown even more powerful and is trying to regain the physical form he possessed so long ago. He can also shift his shape, read minds, and even look out through the eyes of others. Slowly he is starting to control the priests in the cathedral above the catacombs. A great danger now lies in wait for anyone who goes down into the catacombs: the press. The Bane can exert a tremendous pressure, crush bones, and smear the unfortunate victim into the cobbles that line the tunnels.
He has a few weaknesses, however. He needs blood, and will take that of animals if humans aren’t available. But humans must give their blood freely— though when faced with the terror of the press, most will do so eventually. If he has to make do with rats and mice, the Bane grows weaker. He can also be hurt by silver—especially a silver blade. Women make him nervous, and he will often flee from their presence.1 Hence his victims are usually male.
MY FIRST ATTEMPT TO DEAL WITH THE BANE
When I was in my prime, five years after first becoming a spook, I attempted to deal with the Bane. Although bound behind the silver gate under Priestown Cathedral, he was slowly growing in power and needed to be slain.
I entered the town under cover of darkness and went directly to the shop of my brother, Andrew, who was a master locksmith. He feared that I would not survive an encounter with the Bane, but reluctantly agreed to fashion me a key to the silver gate.
We set off for an abandoned house very close to the cathedral; one haunted by a powerful strangler ghost. It was enough to deter people from living there and I’d not tried to send it to the light, because its presence guaranteed that I would always have that access to the catacombs. I’d been planning this attempt on the Bane for over two years.
By means of a trapdoor in the cellar, we climbed down into the crooked cobbled tunnels and headed in the direction of the silver gate. Once there, Andrew drew in a deep breath to steady his shaking hands and took a wax impression of the lock.
Back in his workshop, he shaped the key while I slept: I needed to rest after my journey and gather strength for the struggle ahead. By dusk the key was in my hands, and I set off alone through the dark and deserted streets of Priestown. Using the trapdoor of the haunted house once more, I was soon down in the tunnels. When I reached the gate this time, my own hands began to tremble. Would the key work? Even if it did, there was great danger in opening the gate. The Bane might be lying in wait close by and seize his chance to escape.
One thing reassured me, though. The Bane lacked the power to know what was going on in every corner of the labyrinth, and the instincts of a seventh son of a seventh son were very useful. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Instinctively I felt that the Bane was not nearby, so I inserted the key into the lock. Andrew had done a good job: It turned easily, and the gate swung open. Wasting no time, I closed and locked it again.
So that I wouldn’t get lost in the labyrinth, I used the same method that Theseus employed to kill the minotaur and escape from a similar maze. I carried with me a large ball of twine and tied one end of it to the hinges of the silver gate. That done, I set off into the darkness, slowly unraveling the twine. In my right hand I carried my staff and candle; my silver chain was tied about my waist; salt and iron were in my pockets. Thus prepared, I began an exploration of the tunnels.
I hadn’t been walking along the tunnels for much more than half an hour when a cold feeling ran down my spine, the warning that something from the dark was very near. I halted, placed the candle on the floor, and pressed the recess on my staff so that the blade emerged with a click. Then I untied my silver chain and coiled it about my left wrist, ready to throw. I waited, my heart hammering in my chest, trying to control my breathing.
I would get but one chance. Only if the Bane materialized, taking on a definite physical shape, would I have some hope of dealing with him. A spook cannot usually hope to triumph over one of the Old Gods, but his confinement in the labyrinth meant that he was now no more powerful than a demon; that was bad enough, but he did have weaknesses. So I felt certain that my silver chain could bind him—for a while. That would give me time to drive my silver-alloy blade through his heart, and I hoped that would finish him off forever. At least I had to try.
But in his spirit form I had no defense against it. None whatsoever. I hoped that he would just see me as another victim, easy prey. When he attacked, I would be ready.
There was a deep growl from the darkness where the tunnel curved away to the left and the Bane padded into view. He had taken on the shape of a large black dog with sharp yellow teeth and powerful jaws. Saliva dripped from his mouth to splatter on the cobbles; he was hungry for my blood but, unlike a ripper boggart, could not take it unless I gave it freely. It used terror and pain to persuade his victims. First he would seize me in his jaws.
He loped forward, then sprang straight toward me. I unfurled my silver chain and cast it at my assailant. It cracked and dropped toward the head and shoulders of the Bane, but then the beast twisted in midair and the edge of the chain just caught his shoulder. I heard him scream at that contact with silver, 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 grea
t 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, a grim old man with a white beard. But that wasn’t the only time I’ve been helped in a time of need. Often I’ve felt that something was standing at my side, lending me strength. I have come to believe that when we face the dark, we are never truly alone.
The Fiend
The Fiend is the dark made flesh, the most powerful of all its denizens and the very oldest of the Old Gods. He has many other names, including the Devil, Satan, Lucifer and the Father of Lies. It is believed that he meddled in the affairs of humanity from the earliest times, gradually growing in power as the dark strengthened. At some point he walked the earth in a reign of terror lasting over a hundred years but then returned to the dark. Occasionally he passes through a portal and visits our world—usually at the instigation of a witch or mage who seeks power through satanic magic. The most famous pact between a human and the Fiend is that of Faustus, but there are many others, some barely remembered now.
The Fiend sometimes makes a special bargain with a witch.2 In exchange for bearing him a child, her power is increased. He hopes that the child will be an abhuman, witch, or mage and will grow up to serve the dark. There is one other benefit of such a liaison to a witch: once the Fiend has visited her child, he can no longer approach the mother for as long as she lives, unless she wishes it. Henceforth she is free from his influence and meddling.
The Fiend
The Fiend has many supernatural powers. He can make himself large or small, taking on any form he desires, either to trick or terrify people.3 His true shape is said to be so terrible that one glance can drive people insane or cause them to die of fright. He can appear out of thin air, look over a victim’s shoulder, and even read human minds. Often he remains invisible, but his cloven hoofprints can be seen burned into the ground. He can also manipulate time—speeding it up, slowing it down, or even halting its flow entirely.
Above all, he is crafty and treacherous. Rather than resorting to force, he often uses trickery and deceit.
SATANIC MAGIC
This magic is earned at great cost by making obeisance to the Fiend, often known as the Devil. Such worship is fraught with danger, as the worshipper, mage, or witch gradually grows less human and more subservient, eventually becoming merely a tool of the dark.
The highest and most dangerous form of satanic magic is obtained in return for selling one’s soul to the Devil. However, he is usually sly and subtle, getting the best part of the bargain—as can be seen from the following account.
THE FAUSTIAN PACT
Faustus, the foremost scholar of his age, was disappointed by the limited knowledge available to him. He had mastered the main university subjects but found that they neither provided answers to the big questions he asked nor granted him the power he sought.
He fell into bad company, and a dark mage lent him a grimoire—a book of magic containing a spell to raise the Devil or his servants. After dithering for many days, Faustus finally used the spell to summon an assistant to the Devil, a lesser devil called Mephisto. On behalf of his master, Mephisto made a pact with Faustus. In return for knowledge and power, the scholar agreed to surrender his soul at midnight twenty-four years after the bargain was made. Faustus signed the contract in his own blood. He attempted to do this three times—on the first two occasions, the blood dried too quickly for him to write his name. It is said that this was angels of the light attempting to save his soul. But finally the pact was made, and Faustus was doomed.
Using satanic magic, Faustus became the most notorious mage in the known world, visiting the courts of kings and emperors to display his magical power: levitating, making himself disappear, or conjuring wonders from thin air. But as time went on, Faustus began to realize that he’d been cheated. He could not create life or learn all the secrets of the universe. These things were denied to him because the Devil did not have the power to supply them. They belonged to the light and were beyond the reach of dark magic.
There were times when Faustus longed to repent, but each time the Devil appeared to the mage in his true shape and terrified him so much that he was forced to continue with his wicked ways. Finally the twenty-four years approached their end, and at midnight the Devil was due to come for Faustus’s soul.
He tried to pray; tried one last time to turn back to the light. It was no use. Years of bad habits were ingrained in his soul, and he failed. In the next room, three scholars from the university prayed for his soul, but their prayers went unanswered. At midnight they heard terrible noises from Faustus’s chamber: thuds, bangs, terrible tearing sounds, and then, loudest of all, the screams of Faustus. Then all became ominously silent.
They waited until daybreak to enter. The floor was wet with blood. The body of Faustus had been torn to pieces by the Devil, and his soul dragged off to the domain of darkness.
No one should ever make a pact with the Fiend. For its practitioners, satanic magic is the most dangerous category of all.
Golgoth
Golgoth is also known as the Lord of Winter and was worshipped so fervently by the first race of mankind that he was able to pass through a portal from the dark to dwell on earth for thousands of years. He has the power to create local pockets of cold so extreme that human flesh and bone become brittle and can shatter into fragments. It is believed that Golgoth caused at least one of the great ages of ice.
Golgoth now sleeps4 under a large barrow on Anglezarke Moor, known as the Round Loaf because of its shape. For the sake of the County and the world beyond, let us hope that he continues to do so.
Hephaestus
Hephaestus5 was the blacksmith of the Old Gods; he fashioned tools and weapons to serve
their interests during the first age when they all dwelt in this world. At that time humans had yet to emerge from their caves, where they cowered in fear of the terrible external forces that might extinguish all their lives. Hephaestus was the only one of the gods considered to be ugly. Some say he was also lame. He has fallen silent and now sleeps in the dark, but he has left a dangerous legacy.
Hephaestus
There are supposedly weapons still in existence that were manufactured by Hephaestus. The most famous, a sword able to cut through any armor and even stone, is said to make its bearer invincible. It is also reputed to be a potent weapon against demons and other denizens of the dark. The king who last owned it was betrayed, his sword stolen, and he was slain. People say that it was sealed in an ancient barrow6 with the king’s body, somewhere to the south of the County, but the precise location is unknown.
Another weapon forged by Hephaestus, which has also left Greece, is a war hammer that never misses its target and always returns to its owner’s hand. It is believed to be in the possession of one of the strigoi, the vampiric demons that dwell in Romania.
The Morrigan
This is the female Old God who is worshipped by the Celtic witches in that mysterious place called Ireland, which lies over the sea far to the west of the County. We cannot be sure of the extent of her powers, but she is also known as the goddess of slaughter.
When a witch summons her to our world, she may take the shape of a large black crow and alight on the left shoulder of one who is soon to die. Additionally, she sometimes scratches the heads of her enemies with her claws, marking them for death. In this shape the Morrigan frequents battlefields, pecking out and eating the eyes of the dead and wounded.7