As the blackness rose from his middle and the tears of pain mingled with the perspiration on his face, his head was turned in such a fashion that he saw a thing which gave him an instant's wonder.
The magic was fled, but this dawn was still like twilight. He had been able to function in Twilight, not as a magician, but as a thief.
Because of his power within shadow...
... No blade could touch him there, no power harm him.
The rising sun, striking a section of balustrade, cast a long dark shadow that fell but a foot away.
He struggled to reach it, but could not. So he flung his right arm as far in that direction as
it would go.
His hand and half his forearm fell within the shadow.
The pain was still there, and the creaking of vertebrae; he still felt the crushing weight upon his chest.
Only now, the old, dark feeling entered him and flowed through his body.
He resisted unconsciousness; he stiffened his neck muscles. With the strength he had drawn, he twisted and pushed until he had dragged his entire arm and shoulder into the shadow. Then, using his elbows and heels, he managed to force his head within the potent shade.
He pulled his other arm free and his hands found the Borshin's throat. He dragged him into the shadow with him.
"Jack, what is happening?" he heard his soul say. "I cannot see you when you are in shadow."
After a long while. Jack emerged from the shadow.
He leaned heavily upon the nearest balustrade and stood there panting. He was smeared with blood and a gummy, brownish substance.
"Jack?"
His hand shook as he reached within what remained of his tunic.
"Damn ..." he half-whispered, hoarsely. "My last cigarettes are crushed."
He seemed as if he were about to cry over the fact.
"Jack, I did not think you would survive-"
"Neither did 1.-All right, soul. You've bothered me long enough. I've been through much. There is nothing left for me. I may as well make you happy, anyhow. I give you my consent. Do what you would."
Then he closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his soul had vanished.
"Soul?" he inquired.
There was no reply.
He felt no different. Were they truly united?
"Soul? I gave you what you wanted. The least you can do is talk to me."
No answer.
"All right! Who needs you?"
Then he turned and looked out over the devastated land. He saw how the slanting rays of the sun brought color to the wilderness he had wrought. The winds had subsided somewhat, and it was as if there were a singing in the air. For all the wreckage and smoldering, there was a blasted beauty to the place. It would not have been necessary that it be racked so, had it not been for that within him which had brought pain, death and dishonor where it had not been before. Yet, out of the carnage, or rather, overlaying it now, was something he had never seen previously. It was as if everything he looked at contained the possibility of perfection. There were smashed villages in the distance, truncated mountains, charred forests. All the evil was upon his head, for he had indeed earned the title he had borne. Yet, out of it, he felt, some other thing would grow. For this, he could take no credit. He could only bear blame. But he felt
that he was no longer precluded from seeing what might come now that the order of the world had been altered, from feeling it, delighting in it, perhaps even-No, not that. Not yet, anyhow. But the succession of light and darkness would be a new order of things, and he felt that this would be good. He turned then and faced the sunrise, wiped his eyes and stared some more, for he felt it the most lovely thing he had ever seen. Yes, he must have a soul, he decided, for he had never felt this way before.
The tower ceased its swaying and began to come apart about him.
I meant it, Evene, he thought. I even said it back before I had a soul. I said I was sorry and I meant it. Not just for you. For the whole world. I apologize. I love you.
...And stone by stone, it collapsed; and he was pitched forward toward the balustrade.
It is only fitting, he thought, as he felt himself strike the rail. It is only fitting. There is no escape. When the world is purged by winds and fires and waters, and the evil things are destroyed or washed away, it is only fitting that the last and greatest of them all be not omitted.
He heard a mighty rushing, as of the wind, as the balustrade snapped and its rail slipped forward. For a moment, it was an intermittent thing, similar to the flapping sound of a garment hung out to dry.
As he was cast over the edge, he was able to turn and look upward.
Falling, he saw a dark figure in the sky that grew even as his eyes passed over it.
Of course, he thought, he has finally looked upon the sunrise and been freed ...
Wings folded, his great, horned countenance impassive, Morningstar dropped like a black meteor. As he drew near, he extended his arms full length and opened his massive hands.
Jack wondered whether he would arrive in time.