Jack Of Shadows (14 page)

Jack felt at his belt for his dagger, but the ocean had taken it from him, along with his cloak. His sword, which had been in his hand when the wave struck, had gone the same way.

"So the sea has robbed the thief." He chuckled. "It makes things more difficult."

He dropped to his knees and, wincing because of the broken nail, retraced the pattern he had drawn on the beach, using his forefinger.

Then, without rising, he spoke the spell.

He knelt in his great hall in Shadow Guard, and torches and enormous tapers flickered all about. For a long while, he did not move, and let the shadows bathe him. Then he stood and leaned against the wall.

"What now?" his soul asked him. "Will you cleanse yourself and sleep a long while?"

Jack moved his head.

"No," he replied. "I would not risk missing the time of my greatest triumph-or failure, as the case may be. I will bide here a moment, then fetch strong drugs to keep me alert, to give me strength."

He then moved to the cabinet where he kept his drugs, unlocked it by uttering the spell of the door, and prepared himself a draft. As he did so, he noticed that his hands shook. Before drinking the orange liquid, he had to spit several times to clear his mouth of sand.

Then he closed the cabinet and proceeded to the nearest bench.

"You have not slept in a long while-and you took similar drugs on your way to the Great Machine."

"I believe I am even more aware of this than you," said Jack.

"The strain on you will be considerable."

Jack did not reply. After a time, there came a tremor. Still, he said nothing.

"It's taking longer to affect you this time, isn't it?"

"Shut up!" said Jack.

Then he rose to his feet and raised his voice.

"Stab! Damn it! Where are you? I've come home!"

After a brief while, the dark one entered almost scurrying.

"Lord! You've returned! We did not know..."

"Now you do. Bring me a bath, fresh clothing, a new blade and food-lots of it! I'm starving! Shake your ass!"

"Yes, sir!"

And Stab was gone.

"Do you feel insecure, that you need a blade about you in your own redoubt, Jack?"

He turned and smiled.

"These are special times, soul. If you've stayed as near to me as you say you have, you know that I did not ordinarily go in such fashion within these walls. Why do you seek to irritate me?"

"It is a soul's privilege-you might even say, duty-to occasionally do so."

"Then find a better time to exercise your privilege."

"But now is the perfect time. Jack-the most appropriate which has occurred so far. Do you fear that if you lose your powers your subjects may rise up against you?"

"Shut up!"

"You know, of course, that they call you Jack of Evil."

Jack smiled once again.

"No," he said. "It will not work. I will not allow you to anger me, to trick me into something foolish.-Yes, I am aware of the title they have given me, although few have ever said it to my face, and none of these a second time. Do you not realize, however, that were any one of my subjects to occupy my position, he would soon come to bear a similar title?"

"Yes, I do realize this. It is because they lack souls."

"I will not argue with you," said Jack. "Though I would like to know why it is no one ever comments on your presence?"

"I am only visible to you, and then only when I wish to be."

"Excellent!" said Jack. "Why don't you become invisible to me now, too, and leave me to my bath and my meal?"

"Sorry. I am not quite ready."

Jack shrugged and turned his back.

After a time, his tub was brought in and filled with water. Some of it was spilled by a world shudder so violent that it sent a jagged crack like black lightning across one wall. Two

candles toppled and were broken. A ceiling stone fell in a nearby chamber, harming no one.

Before he had fully undressed, a fresh blade was brought to him. He paused to test it, then nodded.

Before he had entered the tub, fresh garments were laid beside him on a bench.

Before he had finished bathing, a table was set nearby.

By the time he had dried himself, dressed and picked up his blade, the food was upon the table and his place was set.

He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. He ate an enormous quantity.

Then he rose and retired to his study, where he located cigarettes. From there he moved to the foot of his favorite tower and mounted its stair.

Atop this tower, smoking, he studied the black sphere. Yes, it had moved considerably since last he had looked at it. Jack blew smoke in its direction. Perhaps it was an effect of the drugs, but he felt a sense of elation over what he had done. Come what comes, he was the mover, father of the new circumstances.

"Are you sorry now, Jack?" asked his soul.

"No," said Jack. "It had to be done."

"But are you sorry it had to be done?"

"No," said Jack.

"Why did you burn the inn at the Sign of the Burning Pestle, on the coach road by the ocean?"

"To avenge Rosalie, for the treatment she received at that place."

"What were your feelings as you walked along the beach afterward?"

"I don't know."

"Were you just angry and tired? Or was it more than that?"

"I was sad. I was sorry."

"Do you get that way very often?"

"No."

"Do you wish to know why you have felt more such things recently?"

"If you know, tell me."

"It is because I am about. You have a soul, a soul which has been freed. I am always near you. You have begun to feel my influence. Is it such a bad thing?"

"Ask me another time," said Jack. "I came to watch things, not to talk."

... And his words reached the ears of one who sought him, as a distant mountain shrugged off its peak, spewed fire into the air, belched and was still once again.

JACK LISTENED вЪ the sound of snapping rocks and watched the black spot fall; he heard the groans within the world; he saw the lines of fire cross the land.

There now came to his nostrils the acrid odors of the inner world. Ashes, like the bats of his predecessor, swarmed, rose, fell in the chilly air. The stars executed movements never before recorded in the heavens. Seven torch-topped mountains stood in the distance, and he recalled the day he had made one move. Flocks of meteors constantly strung the sky, reminding him of the appearance of the heavens on the day of his last resurrection. Clouds of vapor and trails of smoke occasionally obscured the constellations. The ground did not cease its trembling, and far below him Shadow Guard was shaken upon its foundation. He did not fear the falling of the tower, for such was his fondness of the place that he had laid mighty spells upon it and knew that it would stand so long as his power held.

His soul stood silent at his side. He lit another cigarette and watched a landslide on a nearby mountain.

Slowly the clouds gathered. They collected in the distance, where a storm began. Like many-legged, fiery-legged insects, they strode from mountain to mountain. They lit up the northern sky, were assailed by the meteorites, were spat at by the attacked land. After a time, Jack could hear the growling attendant upon the conflict. After a greater time, he noted that the battle was moving in his direction.

When it was almost upon him, Jack smiled and drew his blade.

"Now, soul," he said, "we'll see how my powers hold."

With this, he scratched a pattern on the stone and spoke.

The river of light and thunder parted, flowing about Shadow Guard, passing it on either side, leaving it untouched.

"Very good."

"Thank you."

They now stood enveloped: the ground burned and shook beneath them, the storm raged about them, the sky was barred by shooting stars above.

"Now how will you be able to tell?"

"I'll be able to tell. In fact, a lot can be told already, can it not?" Jack said.

His soul did not reply.

Hearing a footfall, he turned toward the stair.

"It will be Evene," he said. "Storms frighten her, and she always comes to me when they occur."

Evene emerged from the stairwell, saw Jack, rushed to his side. She did not speak. He wrapped his cloak and his arm about her. She stood there shivering.

"Do you not feel any remorse over what you have done to her?"

"Some," said Jack.

"Then why do you not undo it?"

"No."

"Is it that remembering, she would hate you?"

Jack did not reply.

"She cannot hear me. If I phrase questions, you could reply briefly and she would think you are but muttering.-Is it more than hate?"

"Yes."

Both were silent for a time. "Is it that you fear she will go mad if restored?"

"Yes."

"This means you possess more emotions and sentiments than once you did, more than I had even suspected."

Jack did not reply.

The noise and the flashing lights were still all about them, and Evene finally turned her head, faced him and said, "It is terrible up here. Shall we go below, my dear?"

"No. You may, if you wish. But I must remain."

"Then I will stay with you."

Slowly, very slowly, the storm began to pass, died down, was gone. Jack saw that the mountains still burned, saw too, that the ruptured land heaved forth fires of its own. Turning, he noted a whiteness in the air that he finally realized was not smoke, but snow. This was far to the west, however.

He had a sudden feeling that it was not going to work, that the devastation would be too complete. But there was nothing to do now but watch.

"Evene ... ?"

"Yes, Lord?"

"I 'have a thing to say ..."

"What is it, my love?"

"I-Nothing!"

And his soul drew nearer, standing directly behind him now, and the strange feeling rose until he could bear it no longer.

Turning back to her, he said, "I am sorry!"

"For what, my dear?"

"I cannot explain it now, but there may come a time when you recall that I said it."

Puzzled, she said, "I hope that such a time never comes, Jack. I have always been happy with you."

He turned away and his eyes went to the east. He stopped breathing for a moment and he felt his heartbeat everywhere in his body.

Through the dust, the noise, the chill, it followed the trail. The flaring lights, the trembling land, the stalking storm meant nothing to it, for it had never known fear. It glided down hills like a ghost and slithered among rocks like a reptile. It leaped chasms, dodged falling stones, was singed once by lightning. It was a blob of protoplasm on a stick; it was a scarred hulk, and there was no real reason why it should be living and moving about. But perhaps it did not truly live-at least, not as other creatures, even dark-side creatures, lived. It had no name, only an appellation. Its mentality, presumably, was not great. It was a bundle of instincts and reflexes, some of them innate. It was lacking in emotions, save for one. It was incredibly strong, and capable of enduring extreme privation, great amounts of pain and excessive bodily damage. It spoke no language, and all creatures it encountered fled from it.

While the ground shook and the rocks rattled about it, it began its descent of the mountain-

which-once-had-moved, currents of blazing cloud dropping fires along its way.

The landslide did not stop it any more than the tempest could.

It picked its way among the strewn boulders at the mountain's base and for a moment regarded the final ascent.

There led the trail; there must it follow.

High, high-set, walled and well guarded ...

But in addition to its strength it possessed a certain cunning.

...And its one emotion.

"Win or lose, it's working," Jack said; and although Evene did not reply, his soul did.

"You lose. Whether it is the world's gain or loss is another matter. But you lose, Jack."

... And as he gazed into the lightening east, Jack felt that this was true.

For the sky had grown pale of something other than volcanic fires and storms. Within him, he felt his power begin to break. Turning to the west, he saw again how far the black orb had fallen, and the dawn exploded in his mind.

As his power slipped away, the walls of Shadow Guard began to crumble.

"We'd best flee now."

"What do you care, spirit? You can't be harmed. I'll not flee. I say this tower will stand against the dawn."

Below him, stones and masonry raining into a courtyard, a wall gave way, revealing the interiors of several chambers. Jack heard the cries of his servitors and several rushed across the courtyard. There came another shaking of the ground and the tower itself swayed slightly.

Jack faced the pink-skied east once more. "The Key That Was Lost, Kolwynia, is lost again," he said. "This time forever."

For he had tried a simple spell and it had failed.

He heard a roaring, as of waters unlocked, and a far portion of the citadel burst and was scattered.

"If you will not flee, then what of the girl who stands by your side?"

Jack turned toward Evene, having almost forgotten her presence. He saw that a curious look had come onto her face.

At first, he was unable to fathom her expression; and when she spoke, he noted that the timbre of her voice had changed.

"What is happening, Jack?"

As she spoke, he felt her body stiffen and sway slightly away from him. He immediately relaxed his arm to accommodate her movement.

In an instant, it filled his mind. With the slipping away of his magical powers, the spell he had laid upon her so long ago was coming undone. As the dawn spread over the troubled world, her mind cleared proportionately.

He began to speak, hoping to occupy her full attention, to keep her from suddenly considering her changing condition.

"It is my doing," he stated. "The seven listed in the Red Book of Ells would not cooperate in maintaining the Shield against the outer cold, so I slew them. I was mistaken, however, in considering them expendable. Though I had thought I could manage it, I proved incapable of performing the feat on my own. There was but one alternative. I destroyed the Great Machine which maintained the world as it was. Now, we darksiders, drawing our legends from that near-incomprehensible thing called science, say it is a Machine that drives the world. The daysiders, equally superstitious, see the world's core as filled with fire elementals and molten minerals. Who is to say who is correct and who, incorrect? Philosophers on both sides have often speculated that the world of the senses is an illusion. It does not really matter to me. Whatever the reality from which we appear to be permanently isolated, I journeyed to the world's center and effected a catastrophe there. You see its results all about you now. Because of my actions, the world is beginning to rotate. There will no longer be a darkside and a lightside. Rather, there will be both darkness and light in succession in all portions of the world. The darkness, I feel, will always hold in some form the things we have held, and science will doubtless prevail in the light"

That is, he added mentally, if the world is not destroyed.

He wondered, at that moment, what it was like in the lands of light-back at the university- to have evening come on, then darkness, to see the stars. Would Poindexter think it an elaborate semester's end prank?

"This way," he went on, "there will be no need to shield against the cold or the heat. The warmth of the star about which we move will be distributed rather than concentrated. I-"

"Jack of Evil!" she cried, backing quickly away from him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw that a blazing orange arc had appeared above the horizon.

As its rays fell upon them, the tower trembled, quaked, began to rock violently. He heard the sound of falling stones within the tower itself, felt through his boots the vibrations of their dislodgment... . And Evene crouched, and her eyes were wide and wild behind the masses of her now freed hair, which the wind whipped past them ...

... And he saw that in her right hand she held a dagger.

He licked his lips and backed away.

"Evene," he said. "Please listen to me. I can take that toy away from you, but I don't want to hurt you. I've hurt you enough. Put it away, please. I'll try to make-"

She sprang at him then, and he reached for her wrist, missed, stepped to the side.

The blade went by; her arms and shoulder followed. He seized her shoulders.

"Jack of Evil!" she said again; and she slashed at his hand, cutting it.

As his grip weakened, she broke free and was upon him, thrusting for his throat.

He blocked her wrist with his left forearm and pushed her away with his right hand. He glimpsed her face as he did so, and there were flecks of foam at the corners of her mouth; lines of blood crossed her chin from where she had bitten her lip.

She stumbled back against the balustrade and it gave way, almost soundlessly.

He lunged toward her, but arrived only in time to see her billowing skirts as she fell toward the courtyard below. Her scream was brief.

He drew back when the tower's shifting threatened to topple him, also.

The sun was now half-risen.

"Jack! You've got to leave! The place is falling apart!"

"It doesn't matter," he said.

But he turned and headed toward the stair-well.

It searched the corridors, after having entered the citadel through a gaping hole in its northern wall. It left the bodies where they fell, whenever it had to slay. At one point, a section of roofing fell upon it. It dug its way out and continued on.

It crouched behind rubble as brigades of water-bearers rushed by to quench flames; it concealed itself in niches, and behind hangings, furniture, doors; it glided like a ghost and slithered like a reptile.

It picked its way through the debris until it located the trail once more.

High, high it led, and winding ...

There would it go.

The sky split by the light, the broken balustrade so clear in his mind, the flower of her skirts blooming behind his eyes, her spittle and blood the ink of his indictment, the thunder of the tortured land a form of silence by virtue of its monotony, the shattered stones sharpened by dawn's shadowy clarity, the winds a dirge, the movements of the decaying tower an almost soothing thing now. Jack came to the head of the stairwell and saw it ascending.

He drew his blade and waited, as there was no other way down.

Strange, he thought, how the instinct to survive prevails, no matter what.

He held the point of his blade steady as the Borshin sprang up the final steps and attacked.

It pierced the creature's left shoulder, but did not halt it. The blade was torn from his grasp, as the Borshin struck him, knocked him over backward, leaped for him.

He rolled to the side and managed to achieve a crouched position before the creature attacked him again. His blade was still in its shoulder, gleaming in the light; no blood lay upon it, but a thick, brownish fluid was oozing slightly about the edges of the wound.

He managed to dodge the second onslaught and strike it with both hands, but the blows had no apparent effect. It felt as if he were striking a pudding that would not splatter.

Twice more, he succeeded in evading its attack, kicking its leg once in the process and jabbing the back of its head with his elbow as it passed.

Next, it caught him loosely, but he jostled the blade within its shoulder and escaped with a torn tunic.

Crouching, circling, attempting to keep as much distance as possible between them, he scooped up two pieces of masonry and leaped backward. It would have had him then, save for his leap. It turned with great speed, and he hurled one of his new found weapons, missing.

Then, before he could recover from his throwing stance, it was upon him, bearing him over backward.

He struck it about the head with his remaining weapon, until it was dashed from his hand. His chest was being crushed, and the creature's face was so near his own that he wanted to scream, would have screamed, had he the breath.