Jack Of Shadows

by Roger Zelazny

  Then, hurriedly, to keep a recent promise he had made to himself, he employed the Key to transport him to the Sign of the Burning Pestle, on the coach road by the ocean.

  He entered that inn, built of nightwood, repaired a thousand times, and ancient almost beyond his memory. As he descended into the central dining area, the ground shuddered and the walls creaked about him. This caused a silence, followed by a babble of voices, from a group of diners near the fire.

  Jack approached them.

  "I'm looking for an old woman named Rosalie," he said. "Does she reside here?"

  A broad-shouldered man with a blond beard and a livid scar on his forehead, looked up from his meal.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Jack of Shadow Guard."

  The man studied his clothing, his face; his eyes widened, then dropped.

  "I know of no Rosalie, sir," he said in a soft tone. "Do any of you others?"

  The other five diners said, "No," keeping their eyes averted from Jack, and hastily added, "sir," to this reply.

  "Who is the proprietor here?"

  "Haric is his name, sir."

  "Where may I find him?"

  "Through that far doorway to your right, sir."

  Jack turned and walked toward it. As he went, he heard his name whispered in shadows.

  He mounted two stairs and entered a smaller room, where a fat, red-faced man, wearing a dirty apron, sat drinking wine. A yellow candle, sputtering on the table before him, made his face seem even ruddier. His head turned slowly, and it took his eyes several moments to focus as he peered in Jack's direction.

  Then, "What do you want?" he asked.

  "My name is Jack, and I've traveled far to reach this place, Haric," he replied. "I seek an old woman who was coming here to spend her final days. Her name is Rosalie. Tell me what you know of her."

  Haric creased his brow, lowered his head and squinted.

  "Bide a moment," he said. "There was an old hag ... Yes. She died some time ago."

  "Oh," said Jack. "Tell me then where she is buried, that I might visit her grave."

  Haric snorted and quaffed his wine. I hen he began to laugh. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then raised it to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

  "Buried?" he said. "She was worthless. We only kept her here for charity's sake, and because she knew somewhat of healing."

  Tiny bulges of muscle appeared at the hinges of Jack's jaws.

  "Then what did you do with her?" he inquired.

  "Why we threw her carcass into the ocean.- Small pickings there for fishes, though."

  Jack left the Sign of the Burning Pestle burning at his back, there on the coach road by the ocean.

  Beside the flat, black ocean, he now walked. The stars within it danced whenever the ground and the waters trembled. The air was quite chill, and he felt a great fatigue. His sword belt was almost too heavy to bear. He longed to wrap his cloak about him and lie down for a moment. He wanted a cigarette.

  As he advanced like a sleepwalker, his boots sinking into the sand, he was shocked back to wakefulness at the sight of the one who appeared before him.

  It appeared to be himself.

  He shook his head, then, "Oh, it's you, soul," he said.

  His soul nodded.

  "There was no need for you to destroy that inn," it said, "for soon the seas will be unchained and mighty waves will wash the land. It would have been one of the first things destroyed."

  "You are incorrect," said Jack, yawning. "There was reason: it did my heart good.-How is it that you know of the seas' coming behavior?"

  "I am never far from you. I was with you atop Mount Panicus, when you spoke with mighty Morningstar. I descended with you into the bowels of the world. When you smashed the Great Machine, I stood at your side. I returned with you. I accompanied you to this place."

  "Why?"

  "You know what it is that I want."

  "... And you have had my answer on numerous occasions."

  "You know that this time it is different. Jack. By your actions, you are stripping yourself of most of your powers-perhaps all of them. You have possibly destroyed all your lives, save for the present one. You need me now. You know that you do."

  Jack stared at the ocean and the stars darting like luminous insects.

  "Possibly," he said. "But not yet."

  "Look to the east. Jack. Look to the east."

  Jack raised his eyes, turned his head.

  "That is the inn, burning," he said.

  "Then you will not see us united?"

  "Not now. But neither will I drive you away. Let us return now to Shadow Guard."

  "Very well."

  Then the ground shook with its most terrific tremor thus far, and Jack swayed where he stood.

  When the land grew still once again, he drew his blade and began to trace a pattern in the sand.

  He began to pronounce the spell. As he was nearing its completion, he was dashed from his feet by a great wave which covered him over completely. He felt himself flung upon higher ground, and his lungs burned for air. He tried to follow it even farther, knowing what would happen next.

  Lights darted before his eyes as he dug at the sand and pushed forward. He made some progress in this fashion before the waters began to recede.

  He fought their pull, clawing at the sand, making sculling motions with his hands, kicking out with his feet, trying to crawl ...

  ... And then he was free.

  He lay with half his face in the cold, wet grit, his fingernails broken, his boots filled with water.

  "Jack! This way! Hurry!"

  It was his soul calling.

  He lay there, gasping, unable to move.

  "You must come, Jack! Or accept me now! There will be another wave shortly!"

  Jack groaned. He tried to rise, failed.

  Then from the inn, whose flames cast a pale, ruddy glow along the beach, there came a crash as the roof and one wall collapsed.

  There was some blockage of the light now, and shadows danced about him.

  Almost weeping, he drew strength from them each time they fell upon him.

  "You must hurry, Jack! It's turned! It's coming!"

  He rose to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet. He staggered forward.

  He reached higher ground and continued inland. He saw his soul waiting up ahead and moved toward it.

  Behind him, there came the rising sound of the waters now.

  He did not look back.

  Finally, he heard the wave break and he felt the spray. Only the spray.

  He grinned weakly at his soul.

  "You see? I did not require your services, after all," he said.

  "You will soon, though," said his soul, smiling back.

  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 san
d.

  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.

  13

  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 tur
ned 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-