Paul Kemp - Shadowstorm

Magadon and Riven waited for Cale to speak. Cale framed his thoughts and spoke in a low tone.

He told them of his encounter with Mask in an alley in Selgaunt, of the god's ominous warnings regarding Sembia and the Cycle of Shadows. He told them of how he had attacked his own god and gotten tossed about like a child's doll for his pains. He told them of his promise to take from Kesson Rel the divinity that Kesson Rel had stolen from Mask long ago. They knew that he had promised the same thing to Mephistopheles as ransom for Magadon's soul. He told them of the book he had taken from the Fane of Shadows, how it had erased itself and begun rewriting itself back to front. He told them, finally, of how Mephistopheles had taken it from him. When he finished, no one spoke for a time.

"Well?" he asked them.

Riven shook his head. "Dark, Cale. Dark and empty."

Cale said, "Agreed." He looked each of them in the eye. "Now is the time to walk away. I chose this path. Kesson Rel, Mask, and Mephistopheles are my problems. The promises are mine to keep. If you're not-"

"Nobody is walking away, Cale," Riven said.

Magadon nodded. "I've got nowhere to go." He cleared his throat and eyed Cale and Riven. The rain slicked his black hair. His horns glistened. "What now, then?"

Cale answered, "The gate in Elgrin Fau."

Riven and Magadon eyed him. Magadon said, "The gate is guarded."

"And we had a go at it before," Riven said.

Cale nodded at both of them.

A darkweaver guarded the gate, together with an army of wraiths-the dead of Elgrin Fau.

"We barely kept our skins last time," Riven said.

"Matters stood differently then," Cale answered.

When they had faced the darkweaver and wraiths the first time, Cale had not known how to control the powers granted him by the shadowstuff. Neither had Riven. Both of them did now.

"True enough," Riven said. He rummaged in a belt pouch for his pipe, found it, and started to fill it.

"We do not know where the gate leads," Magadon said.

Cale acknowledged the point. "No, we don't."

Riven struck a tindertwig on his boot, shielded its small flame from the rain, and lit the pipe. Around the stem, he asked, "You think it leads to Kesson Rel?"

Cale nodded his head. "I do, but there's only one way to be sure.

Riven blew out a cloud of smoke. "What about Selgaunt? You leave the Uskevren boy to that Shadovar and he will suffer."

Cale knew. But Tamlin had made his choice. And Cale had made his. Cale's duty was to Magadon, and to his god. Not to Tamlin, not to Sembia.

"Korvikoum," he softly said, invoking his favorite concept from dwarven philosophy. Choices and consequences, the dwarves taught. Cale had learned the lesson well. Tamlin soon would, too.

He looked his friends in the face.

"Get some rest. We are as safe here as anywhere. We will take a few days to recover some strength." He looked meaningfully at Magadon, who looked as if he had not eaten a decent meal in months. "Then we go at Elgrin Fau."

The rain stops after a few hours. I sit in the darkness under the strange trees, feeling nothing for them. My bond with the world is broken. I am separate from it, alien.

I hesitate to seek my mental focus. I know I must do so-if I am to be of any use to my companions, and to myself, I must be able to call upon my mental abilities-but I fear what I will find, or not find.

I finally work up the strength, close my eyes, and sink into my consciousness. For a time I swim in thoughts, memories, and ideas. I sharpen my concentration and feel around tentatively.

Immediately I confirm that I am less than I was. A scarred hole in my center evidences what my father took, what he yet holds. What's left of me swirls around the hole like a maelstrom. I see my desire for the Source. It permeates my being. And I see more. I see that there is no separation within me any longer, no wall to separate man from fiend.

And the fiend is strong.

The fiend finds tempting the thought of murdering Cale and Riven in their sleep. The man resists. The man feels compelled to kill first Rivalen Tanthul, for giving me over to the Source, then to kill my father, for taking what he took.

The fiend finds the man's bloodlust amusing.

Part of me wishes to die but I do not know if it is the man or the fiend that urges suicide.

I am afraid-afraid to live, afraid to die. It is unbearable.

I feel eyes upon me and know that Cale is not sleeping.

I remain attached to my mindscape but open my eyes to let the outer world register.

Cale is lying on his back. His eyes are open and staring at me. He holds his silk mask in his hand and I presume he has been praying to his god. I wonder how much he sleeps. His eyes-glowing yellow on the Plane of Shadow-pronounce him inhuman, half a man.

But he is half a man because the rest of him is shadowstuff. I am half a man because the rest of me is gone.

There is a question in his eyes. I have no answer.

He rises, checks to ensure that Riven is asleep, and approaches.

I see the concern on his freshly-shaven face and know that he is my friend. I come out of my mind to see him fully.

He crouches across from me and I am reminded of another time on the Plane of Shadow when we spoke across a fire and first became friends. We had been different men, then. And there is no fire between us now, only darkness.

He speaks in a low tone. The shadows cling to him like black gauze.

"Can't sleep?"

I shake my head. "I am preparing to meditate."

He nods, looks away, looks back at me. He wants to say something. Finally, he does.

"I will fix this, Mags."

He is making promises to himself, not to me.

"I do not know if this can be fixed, Cale."

He looks at me in earnest. "Why do you say that?"

The words come out before I can stop them. "I am… not myself. I am afraid of what I am."

The words hit him hard. He has said similar things of himself.

He nods and looks away. His fist is clenched around his mask, though he tries to hide it from me.

"I fear I have only a short time, Cale. There is a darkness in me that will overwhelm the rest if I don't… stop it."

He takes my meaning and looks back at me sharply.

"Do not even think it," he hisses. "I do not care what Riven said. I will fix this."

There is no doubt in his tone, his eyes. I have never met anyone like him.

"I have a hole, Cale," I say, and put my hand on my breast, my heart. "Here. And I swear to the gods that the rest of me is slowly slipping inside it. I'm trying to keep myself, but I feel myself falling. Every moment a little more of me slips away."

He leans forward, seizes me both with his eyes and his hands.

"You're done slipping as of this moment. This far and no farther. Understand?" He shakes me, unaware of his strength, of my weakness. "This far and no farther."

I stare into his face-the face of a believer-and only one response is possible. "Very well, Cale," I say, and change the subject by nodding at his mask. "I am sorry you are in this situation with Mask."

He leans back, eyes still burning. "It was my decision and I would make it again." He looks down at the mask in his hand. "Besides, this is nothing new. Our relationship has been nothing better than fitful, anyway. He still answers when I pray. That is enough."

I nod, try to smile. He does, too, but quickly turns serious.

"You told me once that blood does not make the man. That our soul is our own, always."

I nod. I had said something like that to him, once. It seems long ago.

"Remember that," he says.

He stands, pats my shoulder, bids me get some sleep.

"Cale," I say. A confession rushes up my throat.

He looks down at me, yellow eyes concerned. I see no judgment in them. "The creatures on Sakkors…"