He was killing the Sojourner, and he was killing himself. He did not care. He thought of Jak and squeezed. The Sojourner's frail body broke to pieces in his grasp; his own body shattered. Soon the pain became unbearable; he could not see, he could not breathe. His ruined arms could not hold the creature. The Sojourner slipped from his grasp to the beach. Cale too collapsed. He could not tell if he was screaming alone or if the Sojourner's mental screams continued.
The last thing he saw before he passed out from the agony was the sun emerging fully from behind Selune's tear.
* * * * *
Cale awoke. He lay on his back on the beach, broken, twisted, in agony. His chest felt heavy; blood was filling his lungs. His arms and shoulders were shattered, immovable. The pain nearly caused him to lose consciousness but he held on doggedly. The sun was directly overhead. No shadows lay anywhere near him. His shade flesh could not regenerate in the direct light of the sun. He would be dead soon, long before the sun set.
He listened to the surf, watched in amazed horror as the Sojourner's cracked moon grew larger in the sky. Without the spell to hold it in place, it was plummeting toward Toril. He could not imagine the destruction it would wreak. He thought of Tazi, of Varra. He hung on to the memory of their faces. He wondered if Tazi was watching the sky fall.
Beside him, the Sojourner's broken body smoked and burned until it was nothing more than ash. The surf washed the ashes into the sand, pulled at scraps of robes, trying to draw them out to sea.
The moon caught fire as it fell, grew a long tail of flame. Its size quickly doubled as it approached. Cale could hear it pelting through the sky, sizzling.
It would destroy kingdoms.
He thought of Jak, of Sephris, and closed his eyes.
He snapped them open when an explosion thundered across the sky.
Selune's tear had separated into five large chunks, each cutting a flaming path through the sky. Even as he watched, those chunks broke apart into smaller pieces, and those into smaller. Soon, thousands of tiny pieces of the tear blazed their way through the heavens.
He smiled, laughed, choked on his own blood.
It was beautiful.
Consciousness started to slip from him again. He sank into an oblivion of pain, watching a swarm of fireflies dart across the sky.
He awoke an indeterminate time later to the sound of boots crunching against the sand. Someone stood over him, a dark form-Riven.
"We split up to find you," Riven said. The assassin stared down at him but did not move to help. Riven shaded his eyes and looked up at the sun. "Light's bothering you, eh?"
The assassin looked down at Cale, his expression hard. Cale saw Riven's internal debate writ clear in the hard set of his jaw, the hole of his eye. Riven could kill Cale; the Second could kill the First.
The surf beat against the sand. Cale and Riven stared at each other, saying nothing. The silence stretched.
Cale tried to speak but his dry throat could not form words. He managed only a defiant snarl before pain assailed him and his vision went black. He fought his way back to consciousness. He would look Riven in the eye when he died.
When he regained focus, he saw that Riven had drawn his blade. The assassin gave a hard smile and jabbed downward.
Not at Cale, at the remains of the Sojourner's robes.
"He didn't like the sun much either, I see."
Riven laughed harshly, kneeled, and retrieved a handful of items from the pile of ash and bones that had been the Sojourner. He pocketed them as he stood. Cale assumed they were the magical stones that had circled the Sojourner's head.
Riven stood over him again, blade bare. He cocked his head to the side, considering. Finally, he sighed and said, "Look where we are, Cale. Look what we've become." He stepped around Cale until his body shielded Cale from the sun.
The darkness energized Cale. Covered in Riven's shadow, Cale's flesh began to regenerate. Bones and organs slowly reknit. Agonizing jabs of pain coursed through his body. He could not contain a hiss of pain. Riven stood by and watched it all in silence, like a Sembian wallman-a bodyguard-of old. Riven was Cale's wallman, his right hand.
When Cale's wounds had healed enough to allow him to stand, he climbed to his feet. He and Riven stared at each other for a moment.
Cale nodded his thanks. Riven nodded in acknowledgement. They did not need to say anything more.
"Let's find Mags," Cale said, squinting uncomfortably in the sun. "There's one more thing left to do."
"Fleet," Riven said, nodding. Cale was surprised to see Riven's expression soften as he spoke Jak's name.
"Yes," Cale said.
"He won't do it," Riven said.
The assassin did not need to say whom he meant by "he," or what he meant by "it."
"He will," Cale said. "I'll make him."
* * * * *
Together, Cale, Riven, and Magadon entered the Sojourner's tower. As they walked the halls, Cale noticed for the first time the images on the defaced murals. He noticed too the jawless skull motif that appeared on some of the door handles.
"This was a temple to Cyric," he said. "Or at least part of a temple."
Riven nodded and rubbed the black disc he wore on a chain around his neck. "That was why he did it, Cale. He arranged all of this to spite Cyric. To steal one of the Dark Sun's temples for his own."
Cale did not credit Mask as being that skillful a schemer. He said, "Or maybe he just got lucky. Either way, he did not do it-we did. He owes us."
To that, Riven said nothing.
They made a pilgrimage to Jak through the curving corridor. Riven and Magadon had placed Jak's body on the floor in a small, unused chamber off the central corridor on the second floor. The room bore no sign of having been used in Cyric's rites.
A wool blanket covered Jak up to his chin. He looked as if he were sleeping. Seeing his friend's body reopened the scab of Cale's grief. He donned his mask to cover his tears.
He sat on the floor next to his friend but did not touch him. After a moment, he reached under the blanket and took Jak's hand in his. The little man's hand was cold, rigid. Emotion flooded Cale.
"You owe me this," he said to the vaulted ceiling, to Mask. He raised his voice. "You owe me this!"
The Shadowlord had asked him again and again to sacrifice, and again and again he had-his family, his blood, his humanity, and his best friend. It was too much. He wanted repayment.
"Do you hear me?" His voice rang off the ceiling. "You owe me. And now you are going to pay."
It was not midnight but Cale nevertheless bowed his head, closed his eyes, and began to pray. Not for multiple spells, as was typical, but for a single spell. A spell that would bring Jak back from the dead. He knew it was possible. He had heard tales.
He sent his thoughts, his need to save his friend, flying through the planes to Mask. He knew the god heard him. He had to have heard him.
No response.
Cale's anger grew. He demanded that Mask listen, demanded that he answer.
Nothing came. Jak lay beside him, limp and cold.
A hand on his shoulder-Magadon's.
"Erevis ..." the guide began.
Cale shook the guide's hand free. "No. No, dammit, Mags. He's going to answer me." He looked up and shouted, "You will give me this or I walk away from you forever. And if I do that, I swear on the soul of my best friend that I will hunt down and kill every one of your priests that I can find. Every godsdamned one! And I'll be able to find a lot. You've given me too much. Trained me too well. No one will be able to stop me. No one." He looked back over his shoulder to Riven.