A point of blue flame pierced the night. Beyond the treeline it shimmered, though it did not sway in the face of the wind's violence. Nor did it seem to smoke or shrink, despite the rain.
It might have taken Godric Durst most of an hour to recognize it as fire had events been different. Instead, he awoke in his wind-rocked car at midnight—there it was—an odd blue glow beyond the field.
But it did not draw his attention—instead riveting bolts of pain bored into his leg, and he slapped at this with a gasp. The frantic patting drove the pain deeper—Durst groaned and writhed in the car seat try to grab at the source. Had wasp crawled up his pants leg? Teeth clenched he shoved a desperate hand into a pocket near the pain, hoping to crush the culprit through the fabric and gasped once more as his fingertips seared. His hand shot back out, elbow slamming the passenger seat.
Godric ripped the door open and tumbled out onto a dirt track—rolled over into a puddle—but the pain remained. In a furious second his hands were at his fly. The pants came off.
Hauled them up by the ankles and shook until everything tumbled out of his pocket along with his wallet. Three small objects sat consumed with flames of a lambent blue, yet the wallet he snatched from the mud wasn't scorched despite proximity to this bizarre phenomenon. His bare leg was unburned too, as were the pants. Cold, wet and confused, he hauled the pants back on, and got back into his car, staring at the odd points of flame through the window.
Like little discarded matches away they continued to flame without any interruption from the wind, or even the puddle for a long moment before shrinking and vanishing without so much as a puff of smoke.
Godric fished a flashlight from his glove box and opened the door. The wind grabbed it and threw it wide when he stepped out. He cursed and hauled the thing shut. It took some effort against the wind.
Switched the light on and stooped down over what had been burning him. It was the pinky bone, the piece of cloth, and the iron of the gibbet that Alan had pressed upon him so enthusiastically.
Godric blinked, suppressed a curse, and then picked the items back up in wonderment. Held them in the harsh white-blue beam—they began to glow and burn as soon as they made contact with has palm. But this time there was no shooting pain or burning. In fact, they were freezing cold to the point of discomfort. It only felt like burning at all because it took him by surprise.
The tiny blue flames sent something creeping down his spine on little legs. Was it even fire at all? In shape and behaviour, it resembled flames, only temperature and color deviated from the known mold.
Yet it entranced him—he pulled open a never-used ashtray in his car and plinked them down in there—shut it with a slap. If they had not harmed him or his pants, they wouldn't harm the car either.
Godric stared out into the smashing wind that exploded from a week of inexplicable silence before glancing up at the cloud-covered sky beyond his windshield. Scanned the entire firmament around him—nothing but bilious, writhing clouds that blocked the stars entire.
"Of bloody course," he muttered. If the constellation of Pan appeared, after all, he'd never see the damned old lecherous goat. Shook his head.
There was a glow on the horizon across the wheat-field he was parked along. The rising moon—and Godric nodded. If the moon were becoming visible, then perhaps the rain might soon end. Godric resolved to wait at least another hour. Astronomy demanded such dedication if he was every going to make one of his projects works. The conflagrant pieces could wait a while, burn themselves out, and then a tentative inquiry as to their nature.
"Yes."
He began to think itthrough, and then shit to where he might be able to publish a report on thephenomenon. Yet he had missed crucial aspects because he had no way of knowingthat even the pieces burning might function like a beacon into another world. Thatsomething received the signal and was already approaching the car.
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