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Jack of Shadows
By Roger Zelazny Chicago Review Press Incorporated
Copyright © 1971 Roger Zelazny
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61373-527-5
CHAPTER 1
It happened when Jack whose name is spoken in shadow went to Iglés, in the Twilight Lands, to visit the Hellgames. It was there that he was observed while considering the situation of the Hellflame.
The Hellflame was a slim urn of silvery fires, gracefully wrought and containing a fist-sized ruby at the uppermost tips of its blazing fingers. These held it in an unbreakable grip, and the gemstone glimmered coolly despite them.
Now, the Hellflame was on display for all to regard, but the fact that Jack was seen looking at it was cause for much consternation. Newly arrived in Iglés, he was first noticed while passing amid lanterns, in line with the other onlookers, who were moving through the open-sided display pavilion. He was recognized by Smage and Quazer, who had left their places of power to come to compete for the trophy. They immediately moved to report him to the Games Master.
Smage shifted his weight from foot to foot and tugged at his mustache until the tears rose in his squarish eyes and he began to blink. He stared up at his giant companion Quazer — hair, eyes, flesh all of a uniform gray — rather than regard the colorful bulk of Benoni, the Games Master, whose will was law in this place.
"What do you two want?" he inquired.
Smage continued to stare and blink until Quazer finally spoke in his flutelike fashion.
"We have information for you," he said.
"I hear you. Tell it," replied Benoni.
"We have recognized one whose presence here should be cause for some concern."
"Who?"
"We must move near to a light before I may tell you."
The Games Master twisted his head on his bulging neck, and his amber eyes flashed as he glared first at the one, then at the other.
"If this is some sort of prank —" he began.
"It is not," said Quazer unflinchingly.
"Very well, then. Follow me." He sighed; and with a swirl of his orange and green cloak, he turned and headed toward a brightly illuminated tent.
Inside, he faced them once again. "Is this bright enough for you?"
Quazer looked about. "Yes," he said. "He will not overhear us."
"Who are you talking about?" asked the Games Master.
"Do you know of one called Jack, who always hears his name if it is spoken in shadows?"
"Jack of Shadows? The thief? — Yes, I've heard stories."
"That is why we wished to speak with you in a brightly lit place. He is here. Smage and I saw him only a few minutes ago. He was studying the Hellflame."
"Oh my!" The Games Master's eyes were wide and his mouth remained open after the exclamation. "He'll steal it!" he said.
Smage stopped touching his mustache long enough to nod several times. "... And we're here to try to win it," he blurted. "We can't if it is stolen."
"He must be stopped," said the Games Master. "What do you think I should do?"
"Your will is the law here," said Quazer.
"True ... Perhaps I should confine him to some lockup for the duration of the Games."
"In that case," said Quazer, "make certain that there are no shadows in the place where he is captured or in the place where he is to be confined. He is said to be exceedingly difficult to contain — especially in the presence of shadows."
"But there are shadows all over the place!"
"Yes. That is the main difficulty in keeping him prisoner."
"Then either brilliant lights or total darkness would seem to be the answer."
"But unless all the lights are set at perfect angles," said Quazer, "and inaccessible, he will be able to create shadows with which to work. And in darkness, if he can strike but just the smallest light, there will be shadows."
"What strength does he derive from shadows?"
"I know of no one who knows for certain."
"He is a darksider, then? Not human?"
"Some say twilight, but close to the dark — where there are always shadows."
"In that case, a trip to the Dung Pits of Glyve might be in order."
"Cruel," said Smage, and he chuckled.
"Come point him out to me," said the Games Master.
They departed from the tent. The sky was gray overhead, changing to silver in the east and black in the west. Stars dotted the darkness above a row of stalagmitical mountains. There were no clouds.
They moved along the torchlit way that crossed the compound, heading toward the pavilion of the Hellflame. There was a flicker of lightning in the west, near, it seemed, to that place on the boundary where the shrines of the helpless gods stood.
As they neared the open side of the pavilion, Quazer touched Benoni's arm and nodded. The Games Master followed the direction of his gesture with his eyes to where a tall, thin man stood leaning against a tent pole. His hair was black, his complexion swarthy, his features somewhat aquiline. He wore gray garments, and a black cloak was draped over his right shoulder. He smoked some darkside weed rolled into a tube, and its smoke was blue in the torchlight.
For a moment Benoni studied him, sensing that feeling men know when confronting a creature born, not of woman but of an unknown darkstroke, in that place men shunned.
He swallowed once, then said, "All right. You may go now."
"We would like to help —" Quazer began.
"You may go now!"
He watched them depart and then muttered, "Trust one of them to betray another."
He went to collect his guard force and several dozen bright lanterns.
Jack accompanied the arresting party without offering resistance or argument. Surrounded by a party of armed men and caught at the center of a circle of light, he nodded slowly and followed their instructions, not saying a word all the while.
They conducted him to the Games Master's brightly lighted tent. He was pushed before the table at which Benoni sat. The guards moved to surround him once more with their lanterns and shadow-destroying mirrors.
"Your name is Jack," said the Games Master.
"I don't deny it."
Benoni stared into the man's dark eyes. They did not waver. The man did not blink them at all.
"... And you are sometimes called Jack of Shadows." There was silence. "Well?"
"A man may be called many things," Jack replied.
Benoni looked away. "Bring them in," he said to one of the guards.
The guard departed, and moments later he returned with Smage and Quazer. Jack flicked a glance in their direction but remained expressionless.
"Do you know this man?" Benoni inquired.
"Yes," they said in unison.
"But you are wrong in calling him a man," Quazer continued, "for he is a darksider."
"Name him."
"He is called Jack of Shadows."
The Games Master smiled.
"It is true that a man may be called many things," he said, "but in your case there seems to be considerable agreement. — I am Benoni, Master of the Hellgames, and you are Jack of Shadows, the thief. I'd wager you are here to steal the Hellflame." There was silence again. "... You need not deny it or affirm it," he continued. "Your presence is ample indication of your intentions."
"I might have come to compete in the games," Jack ventured.
Benoni laughed.
"Of course! Of course!" he said, swabbing away a tear with his sleeve. "Only there is no larceny event, so we lack a category in which you may compete."
"You prejudge me — and that is unfair," said Jack. "Even if I am he who you have named, I have done nothing to give offense."
"— Yet," said Benoni. "The Hellflame is indeed a lovely object, is it not?"
Jack's eyes seemed to brighten for an instant, as his mouth twitched toward an unwilling smile.
"Most would agree on that point," he said quickly.
"And you came here to win it — in your own fashion. You are known as a most monstrous thief, darksider."
"Does that rule out my being an honest spectator at a public event?"
"When the Hellflame is involved — yes. It is priceless, and both lightsiders and darksiders lust after it. As Games Master, I cannot countenance your presence anywhere near it."
"That is the trouble with bad reputations," said Jack. "No matter what you do, you are always suspect."
"Enough! Did you come to steal it?"
"Only a fool would say yes ."
"Then it is impossible to get an honest answer from you."
"If by 'honest answer' you mean for me to say what you want me to say, whether or not it is true, then I would say that you are correct."
"Bind his hands behind his back," said Benoni.
This was done. "How many lives do you have, darksider?" the Games Master asked.
Jack did not reply.
"Come, come now! Everyone knows that darksiders have more than one life. How many have you?"
"I don't like the sound of this," said Jack.
"It is not as if you would be dead forever."
"It is a long way back from the Dung Pits of Glyve at the Western Pole of the world, and one must walk. It sometimes takes years to constitute a new body."
"Then you've been there before?"
"Yes," said Jack, testing his bonds, "and I'd rather not have to do it again."
"Then you admit that you have at least one more life. Good! In that case, I feel no compunction in ordering your immediate execution —"
"Wait!" said Jack, tossing his head and showing his teeth. "This is ridiculous, since I have done nothing. But forget that. Whether or not I came here to steal the Hellflame, I am obviously in no position to do it now. Release me, and I will voluntarily exile myself for the duration of the Hellgames. I will not enter Twilight at all, but will remain in Darkness."
"What assurance have I of this?"
"My word."
Benoni laughed again.
"The word of a darksider who is a piece of criminal folklore?" he finally said. "No, Jack. I see no way to assure the safety of the trophy but by your death. As it is within my power to order it, I do so. — Scribe! Let it be written that at this hour I have judged and ordered this thing."
A ring-bearded hunchback, whose squint made lines on a face as brittle as the parchment he took up, flourished a quill and began to write.
Jack drew himself to his full height and fixed the Games Master with his half-lidded eyes.
"Mortal man," he began, "you fear me because you do not understand me. You are a daysider with but one life in you, and when that is gone, you will have no more. We of darkness are said not to have souls, such as you are alleged to possess. We do, however, live many times, by means of a process which you cannot share. I say that you are jealous of this, that you mean to deprive me of a life. Know that dying is just as hard for one of us as it is for one of you."
The Games Master dropped his eyes.
"It is not —" he began.
"Accept my offer," Jack interrupted, "to absent myself from your games. Allow your order to be fulfilled, and it will be you who will be the ultimate loser."
The hunchback stopped writing and turned toward Benoni.
"Jack," said the Games Master, "you did come to steal it, didn't you?"
"Of course I did."
"Why? It would be hard to dispose of. It is so distinctive —"
"It was for a friend to whom I owe a favor. He desired the bauble. Release me and I will tell him that I failed, which will be no less than the truth."
"I do not seek your wrath upon your return —"
"What you seek will mean little compared to what you will receive, if you make that trip necessary."
"... Yet a man in my position cannot readily bring himself to trust one who is also known as Jack of Liars."
"Then my word means nothing to you?"
"I am afraid not." And to the scribe he said, "Continue your writing."
"... And my threats mean nothing?"
"They cause me some concern. But I must weigh your vengeance — several years removed — against the immediate penalties I will suffer if the Hellflame is stolen. Try to understand my position, Jack."
"I do indeed," he said, turning toward Smage and Quazer. "You of the jackass ears and you — gynandromorph! — neither will you be forgotten!"
Smage looked at Quazer, and Quazer batted his eyelashes and smiled. "You may tell it to our patron, the Lord of Bats," he said.
Jack's face changed as his ancient enemy's name was spoken.
Because magic is slowed in Twilight, where science begins, it was perhaps half a minute before a bat entered the tent and passed between them. During this time, Quazer had said, "We compete beneath the banner of the Bat."
Jack's laughter was broken by the creature's passage. When he saw it, he lowered his head and the muscles at the hinges of his jaws tightened.
The silence that followed was interrupted only by the scratching of the quill.
Then, "So be it," said Jack.
They took Jack to the center of the compound, where the man named Blite stood with his huge axe. Jack looked away quickly, and licked his lips. Then his eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the blade's bright edge.
Before he was asked to kneel at the chopping block, the air about him came alive with leathery missiles that he knew to be a horde of dancing bats. More of them poured in from the west, but they moved too quickly to cast him shadows that mattered.
He cursed then, knowing that his enemy had sent his minions to mock him in his passing.
When it came to a theft, he generally succeeded. He was irritated at having to lose one of his lives on a sloppy job. After all, he was who he was ...
He knelt and lowered his head.
As he waited, he wondered whether it was true that the head retained consciousness for a second or two after being severed from the body. He attempted to dismiss it, but the thought kept returning.
But could it be, he wondered, more than simply a botched job? If the Lord of Bats had laid a trap, it could only mean that one thing.
CHAPTER 2
Fine lines of light traced in the blackness — white, silver, blue, yellow, red — mainly straight, but sometimes wavering. They cross the entire field of darkness, and some were brighter than others ...
Slowing, slowing ...
Finally, the lines were no longer infinite roadways or strands of a web.
They were long thin rods — then sticks — hyphens of light ...
Ultimately, they were winking points.
For a long while he regarded the stars uncomprehendingly. It was only after a great time that the word "stars" seeped into his consciousness from somewhere, and a tiny glimmer began behind his staring eyes.
Silence, and no sensations but seeing ...
And again after a long while, he felt himself falling — falling as from a great height, gaining in substance, until he realized that he was lying on his back staring upward with the full weight of his being once again on him.
"I am Shadowjack," he said within himself, still unable to move.
He did not know where he was lying or how he had come to that place of darkness and stars. The sensation seemed familiar; however, the return felt like something previously experienced, though long ago.
A warmth about his heart spread outward, and he felt a tingling that quickened all his senses. With this he knew.
"Damn!" was the first word he spoke, for with the return of his sense of smell came a full awareness of his situation.
He was lying in the Dung Pits of Glyve at the West Pole of the World in the realm of the sinister Baron of Drekkheim, through whose kingdom all who seek resurrection must pass.
He realized therefore that he was on a mound of offal in the middle of a lake of filth. An evil smile crossed his face as he considered for the hundredth time that while men begin and end in such fashion, darksiders could claim nothing better.
When he could move his right hand, he began to rub his throat and massage his neck. There was no pain, but that last dreadful memory came vividly to mind. How long ago had it been? Several years, most likely, he decided. That was average for him. He shuddered and forced away the momentary thought of the time when his last life would be expended. This shudder was followed by a shivering which did not cease. He cursed the loss of the garments which by now had either moldered with his former body or, more likely, had been worn to tatters on the back of another man.
He rose slowly, requiring air but wishing that he could forego breathing for a time. He tossed aside the egg-shaped stone he had found in his hand. It would not do to remain long in one place now that he was almost himself again.
The East was in all directions. Gritting his teeth, he chose what he hoped to be the easiest way.
He did not know how long it took him to achieve the shore. Though his shadow eyes quickly accustomed him to the starlight, there were no true shadows for him to consult.
And what is time? A year is one complete passage of a planet about its sun. Any subdivisions of that year may be determined in accordance with other motions of the planet ... or the motions of its inhabitants.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Jack of Shadows by Roger Zelazny. Copyright © 1971 Roger Zelazny. Excerpted by permission of Chicago Review Press Incorporated.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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