Jack Of Shadows Page 3

  The Hellflame was the bride-price her father had set, and he vowed to go after it again. First, of course, came the vengeance... But Evene would understand. She knew of his honor, his pride. She would wait. She had said that she would wait forever, that day he had departed for Igles and the Hellgames there. Being her father's daughter, time would mean little to her. She would outlive mortal women in youth, beauty and grace. She would wait.

  "Yes, shadow of a shadow," he said to his other self within the pool. "She's worth it."

  Hurrying through the darkness, wishing his feet were wheels, Jack heard the sound of hooves once more. Again he hid himself, and again they passed. Only this time they passed much nearer.

  He did not hear his name spoken again, but he wondered whether there was any connection between the words he had heard and the riders who had come near.

  The temperature did not decrease, not did it rise again. A constant chill was with him always, and whenever he opened his being he could feel the slow, steady leakage in the Shield above him. It would be most noticeable in this land, he reasoned, since the Dung Pits of Glyve lay directly beneath the Shield's apex, the sphere. Perhaps the effects had not yet been felt farther east.

  He travelled on and he slept, and there were no further sounds which could be taken as pursuit. Heartened, he rested more frequently and occasionally deviated from the route he had set by the stars to investigate formations which might hold rainpools or animal life. On two such occasions he located water, but he found nothing that would provide nourishment.

  On one such excursion he was attracted by a pale red glow coming through a cleft in the rock to his right. Had he been moving more quickly, he would have passed it unnoticed, so feeble was the light that emerged. As it was, he was picking his way up a slope, over gravel and loose stones.

  When he saw it, he paused and wondered. Fire? If something was burning, there would be shadows. And if there were shadows...

  He drew his blade and turned sidewise. Sword arm first, he entered the cleft. He eased himself along the narrow passage, resting his back against the stone between steps.

  Looking upward, he estimated the top of the rocky mass at four times his own height. A river of stars flowed through the greater blackness of the stone.

  The passage gradually turned to the left: then terminated abruptly, opening onto a wide ledge that stood perhaps three feet above the valley's floor. He stood there and considered the place.

  It was closed on all sides by high and seemingly natural walls of stone. Black shrubbery grew along the bases of these walls, and dark weeds and grasses grew at a greater distance from them. All vegetation ceased, however, at the perimeter of a circle.

  It lay at the far end of the valley, and its diameter was perhaps eighty feet. It was perfectly circumscribed and there were no signs of life within it. A huge mossy boulder stood at its center, glowing faintly.

  Jack felt uneasy, though he could not say why. He surveyed the pinnacles and escarpments that hedged the valley. He glanced at the stars.

  Was it his imagination, or did the light flicker once while his eyes were elsewhere?

  He stepped down from the ledge. Then, cautiously, keeping close to the lefthand wall, he advanced.

  The moss covered the boulder entirely. It was pinkish in color, and it seemed to be the source of the glow. As he neared it, Jack noted that it was not nearly as cold in the valley as it was outside it. Perhaps the walls provided some insulation.

  Blade in hand, Jack entered the circle and advanced. Whatever the cause of the strangeness of this place, he reasoned that it might be a thing he could turn to his advantage.

  But he had taken scarcely half a dozen steps within the circle, when he felt a psychic stirring like something bumping, nuzzling against his mind.

  Fresh marrow! I cannot be contained! came the thought.

  Jack halted.

  "Who are you? Where are you?" he asked.

  I lie before you, little one. Come to me

  . "I see just a moldy rock."

  Soon you will see more. Come to me!

  "No thank you," said Jack, feeling a growing sinister intent behind the aroused consciousness which had addressed him.

  It is not an invitation. It is a command that I place upon you.

  He felt a strong force come into him, and with it a compulsion to move forward. He resisted mightily and asked, "What are you?"

  I am that which you see before you. Come now!

  "The rock or the fungus?" he inquired; struggling to remain where he stood and feeling that he was losing the contest. Once he took one step, he knew the second would come more easily. His will would be broken and the rock thing would have its way with him.

  Say that I am both, although we are really one.- You are stubborn, creature. This is good. Now, however, you can no longer resist me.

  It was true, His right leg was attempting to move of its own accord, and he realized that in a moment it would. So he compromised.

  Turning his body, he yielded to the pressure, but the step that he took was more to the right than straight ahead.

  Then his left foot began inching its way in the direction of the rock. Struggling while submitting, he moved to the side as well as ahead.

  Very well. Though you will not come to me in a straight line, yet will you come to me.

  The perspiration appeared on Jack's brow as step by step he fought; and step by step he advanced in a counterclockwise spiral toward that which summoned him. He was uncertain as to how long it was that he struggled. He forgot everything: his hatred, his hunger, his thirst, his love. There were only two things in the universe, himself and the pink boulder. The tension between them filled the air like a steady note which goes unheard after a time because of its constancy, which makes it a normal part of things. It was as if the struggle between Jack and the other had been going on forever.

  Then something else entered the tight little universe of their conflict.

  Forty or fifty painful steps-he had lost count-brought Jack into a position where he could see the far side of the boulder. It was then that his concentration almost gave way to a quick blazing of emotion and nearly allowed him to succumb to the tugging of that other will.

  He staggered as he beheld the heap of skeletons that were lying behind the glowing stone.

  Yes. I must position them there so that newcomers to this place will not grow fearful and avoid the circle of my influence. It is there that you, too, will lie, bloody one.

  Recovering his self-control. Jack continued the duel, the piles of bones adding tangible incentive to the effort. He passed behind the boulder in his slow, circling motion, passed the bones and continued on. Soon he stood before it as he had done earlier, only now he was about ten feet nearer. The spiral continued and he found himself approaching the back side once again.

  I must say that you are taking longer than any of the others. But then you are the first who thought to circle as you resigned yourself to me.

  Jack did not reply, but as he rounded to the rear he studied the grisly remains. During his passage, he noted that swords and daggers, metal buckles and harness straps lay there intact; garments and other items of fabric appeared, for the most part, half-rotted. The spillage from several knapsacks lay upon the ground, but he could not positively identify all the small items by starlight. Still, if indeed he had seen what he thought he saw lying there among the bones, then a meager measure of hope, he decided, was allowable.

  Once more around and you will come to me, little thing. You will touch me then.

  As he moved. Jack drew nearer and nearer 'to the mottled, pink surface of the thing. It seemed to grow larger with each step, and the pale light it shed became more and more diffuse. No single point that he regarded seemed to possess luminescence of its own; the glow seemed an effect of the total surface.

  Back to the front and within spitting distance ...

  Moving around to the side now, so close that he could almost reach out and tou
ch it ...

  He transferred his blade to his left hand and struck out with it, gashing the mossy surface. A liquid appeared in the mark he had made.

  You cannot hurt me that way. You cannot hurt me at all.

  The skeletons came into view again, and he was very close to that surface which looked like cancerous flesh. He could feel it hungering for him, and he was kicking bones aside and hearing them crunch beneath his boots as he moved to the rear. He saw what he wanted and forced himself to go another three steps to reach it, though it was like walking against a hurricane He was just inches from that deadly surface now.

  He threw himself toward the knapsacks. He raked them toward him-using both his blade and his hand-and he snatched also at the rotted cloaks and jackets that lay about him.

  Then came an irresistible pull, and he fell himself moving backward until his shoulder touched the lichen-covered stone.

  He tried to drag himself away, knowing in advance that he would fail.

  For a moment he felt nothing. Then an icy sensation began at the point of contact. This quickly faded and was gone. There was no pain. He realized then that the shoulder had grown completely numb.

  It is not as terrible as you feared, is it?

  Then, like a man who has been sitting for hours and rises too quickly, a wave of dark dizziness rushed through his head. This passed, but when it did he became aware of a new sensation. It was as though a plug had been pulled in his shoulder. He felt his strength draining away. With each heartbeat it became more difficult to think clearly. The numbness began to spread across his back and down his arm. It was difficult to raise his right hand and grope for the bag at his belt. He fumbled with it for what seemed to be ages.

  Resisting a strong impulse to close his eyes and lower his head to his chest, he heaped the rags he had gathered into a mound before him. With his left hand aching upon its hilt, he moved his blade beside the pile and struck it with the flint. The sparks danced upon the dry cloth, and he continued to strike them even after the smoldering had begun.

  When the first flame arose, he used it to light the candle stub some dead man had carried.

  He held it before him and there were shadows.

  He set it upon the ground, and he knew that his shadow lay upon the boulder now.

  What are you doing, dinner?

  Jack rested in his gray realm, his head clear once more, the old, familiar tingle beginning in his fingertips and toes.

  I am the stone who gets blood from men! Answer me! What are you doing?

  The candle flickered, the shadows caressed him. He placed his right hand upon his left shoulder and the tingling entered there and the numbness departed. Then, wrapping himself in shadows, he rose to his feet.

  "Doing?" he said. "No. Done. You have been my guest. Now I feel it only fair that you reciprocate."

  He moved away from the boulder and turned to face it. It reached out for him as it had before, but this time he moved his arms and the shadows played upon its surface. He extended his being into the twisting kaleidoscopic pattern he had created.

  Where are you?

  "Everywhere," he said. "Nowhere."

  Then he sheathed his blade and returned to the boulder. As the candle was but a stub, he knew that he must act quickly. He placed the palms of his hands upon the spongy surface.

  "Here I am," he said.

  Unlike the other darkside Lords, whose places of power were fixed geographical localities where they reigned supreme, Jack's was more a tenuous one, and liable to speedy cancellation, but it existed wherever light and objects met to make a lesser darkness.

  With the lesser darkness about him, Jack placed his will upon the boulder.

  There was, of course, resistance as he reversed their previous roles. The power that had compelled him fought back, became the victim itself. Within himself, Jack stimulated the hunger, the open space, the vacuum. The current, the drain, the pull was reversed.

  ...And he fed.

  You may not do this to me. You are a thing.

  But Jack laughed and grew stronger as its resistance ebbed. Soon it was unable even to protest.

  Before the candle bloomed brightly and died, the mosses had turned brown and the glow had departed. Whatever had once lived there lived no longer.

  Jack wiped his hands on his cloak, many times, before he departed the valley.

  3

  THE STRENGTH HE had gathered sustained him for a long while, and Jack hoped that soon he might quit the stinking realm. The temperature did not diminish further, and there came one light rainfall as he was preparing to sleep. He huddled beside a rock and drew his cloak over his head. It did not protect him completely, but he laughed even as the waters reached his skin. It was the first rainfall he had felt since Glyve.

  Later, there were sufficient pools and puddles for him to clean himself as well as to drink and to refill his flask. He continued on rather than sleep, so his garments might dry more quickly.

  It brushed past his face so rapidly that he barely had time to react. It happened as he

  neared a shattered tower that a piece of the darkness broke away and dropped toward him, moving in a rapid, winding way.

  He did not have sufficient time to draw his blade. It passed his face and darted away. He managed to hurl all three stones which he carried before it was out of sight, coming close to hitting it with the second one. Then he bowed his head and cursed for a full half-minute. It had been a bat.

  Wishing for shadows, he began to run.

  There were many broken towers upon the plain, and one at the mouth of a pass led between high hills and into the range of mountains they faced. Because Jack did not like passing near structures-ruined or otherwise-which might house enemies, he attempted to skirt it at as great a distance as possible.

  He had passed it and was drawing near the cleft when he heard his name called out.

  "Jack! My Shadowjack!" came the cry. "It's you! It really is!"

  He spun to face the direction from which the words had come, his hand on the hilt of his blade.

  "Nay! Nay, my Jackie! You need no swords with old Rosie!"

  He almost missed her, so motionless did she stand: a crone, dressed in black, leaning upon a staff, a broken wall at her back.

  "How is it that you know my name?" he finally asked.

  "Have you forgotten me, darlin' Jack? Forgotten me? Say you haven't..."

  He studied the bent form with its nest of white and gray hair.

  A broken mop, he thought. She reminds me of a broken mop.

  Yet...

  There was something familiar about her He could not say what.

  He let his hand drop from the weapon. He moved toward her.

  "Rosie?"

  No. I could not be...

  He drew very near. Finally, he was staring down, looking into her eyes.

  "Say you remember, Jack."

  "I remember," he said.

  And he did.

  "...Rosalie, at the Sign of the Burning Pestle, on the coach road near the ocean. But that was so long ago, and in Twilight..."

  "Yes," she said. "It was so long ago and so far away. But I never forgot you, Jack. Of all the men that tavern girl met, she remembered you the best. -What has become of you, Jack?"

  "Ah, my Rosalie! I was beheaded-wrong fully, I hasten to add-and I am just now re turning from Glyve.-But what of you? You're not a darksider. You're mortal. What are you doing in the horrid realm of Drekkheim?"

  "I am the Wise Woman of the Eastern Marches, Jack. I'll admit I was not very wise in my youth-to be taken in by your ready smile and your promises-but I learned better as I grew older. I nursed an old bawd in her failing years and she taught me something of the Art. When I learned the Baron had need of a Wise Woman to guard this passage to his kingdom, I came and swore allegiance to him. 'Tis said he is a wicked man, but he has always been good to old Rosie. Better than most she's known.-It is good that you remembered me."

  Then she produced a cloth pa
rcel from beneath her cloak, unfastened it and spread it open upon the ground.

  "Sit and break bread with me, Jack," she said. "It will be like old times."

  He removed his sword belt and seated himself across the cloth from her.

  "It's been a long while since you ate the living stone," she said; and she passed him bread and a piece of dried meat. "So I know that you are hungry."

  "How is it that you know of my encounter with the stone?"

  "I am, as I said, a Wise Woman-in the technical sense of the term. I did not know it was your doing, but I knew that the stone had been destroyed. This is the reason I patrol this place for the Baron. I keep aware of all that occurs and of all who pass this way. I report these things to him."

  "Oh," said Jack.

  "There must have been something to all your boasting-that you were not a mere darksider, but a Lord, a Power, albeit a poor one," she said. "For all my figuring has told me that only one such could have eaten the red rock. You were not just jesting then when you boasted to that poor girl about that thing. Other things, perhaps, but not that thing..."

  "What other things?" he asked.

  "Things such as saying you would come back for her one day and take her to dwell with you in Shadow Guard, that castle no man has ever set eyes upon. You told her that, and she waited many years. Then one night an old bawd took ill at the inn. The young girl-who was no longer a young girl-had her future to think about. She made a bargain to team a better trade."

  Jack was silent for a time, staring at the ground. He swallowed the bread he had been chewing, then, "I went back," he said. "I went back, and no one even remembered my Rosalie. Everything was changed. All the people were different. I went away again."

  She cackled.

  "Jack! Jack! Jack!" she said. "There's no need for your pretty lies now. It makes no difference to an old woman the things a young girl believed."

  "You say you are a Wise Woman," he said. "Have you no better way than guessing to tell the truth from a lie?"

  "I'd not use the Art against a Power-" she began.