Rasalom relaxes within his chrysalis.
Only a pin hole, nothing more. All that effort expended by Glaeken's circle and to what end? A pin hole in the night cover. Nothing. And it changes nothing.
Except Glaeken. He's been changed, returned to the way he was when he and Rasalom first squared off against each other. Little did either of them know that they would be locked in battle for ages.
But Rasalom cheers Glaeken's rejuvenation. It would have been almost embarrassing to crush the life out of that feeble old man he had become. Destroying the reborn Glaeken—young, agile, angry—will be so much more satisfying.
And best yet, he doesn't even have to seek Glaeken out. The idiot is coming to him. How convenient.
It shall end as it began—in a cavern.
Glaeken stood in the dark on the rim of the hole and looked down into deeper darkness.
Somewhere down there, Rasalom waited. Glaeken could feel him, sense him, smell his stink. He would not be hard to find.
But he had to hurry. A rude, insistent urgency crowded against his back, nudging him forward. In spite of it, he turned and stared back at the cone of brilliance that pinned his apartment house like a prop on a stage, at the worm of light that had trailed him from the cone. Because of it, the night things had avoided him on his trek to this spot. He almost wished they hadn't. He wished something had challenged him, blocked his path. He hungered to hurt something—to slash, cut, maim, crush under his heel, destroy.
I was free! he thought. Free!
And now he was caught again, trapped once more in the service of—what? The power he'd served had no name, had never presented a physical manifestation of itself. It was just there—and it wanted him here.
The rage seething and boiling within him was beyond anything he had ever experienced in all his many years. It was a living thing, like a berserk warrior, wild, deranged, psychotic, slavering for an object—anyone, anything on which to vent the steam of its pent-up fury. His whole body trembled as the beast within howled to be let loose.
Save it, he told himself. Save it for Rasalom.
He was sure he'd need it then. All of it.
He turned back to the pit and swung the weapon. Damn the power, but it felt good to feel good, to have his muscles and joints feel so strong and lithe, to be able to fling his arms freely in all directions, to twist and bend without stiffness and stabs of pain.
And the weapon—he hated to admit how right it felt in his grasp, but a deeper part of him remembered and responded to the heavy feel of the hilt clutched tight against his palms and fingers. The warrior in him smelled blood.
No more time to waste.
He slipped the weapon through the back of his belt, lowered himself over the edge, and began his descent.
WNEW-FM
JO: All right, man. We've had confirmation. A few other good people have CB'd in to tell us that yes, there is some heavy light coming out of the sky on Central Park West up near the Sheep Meadow.
FREDDY: Yeah, and if you remember, that's near where the first of those nasty holes opened up. We don't know if there's a connection so you might want to be careful, but a lot of the folks who've contacted us say they're going to try to get over to it to check it out.
JO: We'll keep you informed. As long as we've got juice for the generator, we'll be here. So keep us on.
Carol pointed into the dark blob that was Central Park. The thread of light that wove through the blackness there had not lengthened in the past few minutes.
"Glaeken must have stopped moving," she said. "Do you think something's wrong?"
"I don't think we'll see it move any further," Bill said. "It looks like it's gone as far as the hole. He's probably out of sight now, moving down."
"I hope the light's still following him."
Carol glanced down at the sidewalks below in time to see a battered car skid to a halt against the curb. It was covered—smothered—with night things, but they slipped away when the car lurched to a stop on the edge of the light. The door flew open and half a dozen people—a man, two women, and three kids—tumbled out. They began to run for the door of the building but slowed to a stop as they realized they were no longer being pursued. They looked up at the light, spread their arms, laughed, and began to embrace each other.
Another car suddenly flew out of the darkness and bounded over the curb before it came to a stop. Another group of people jumped out. They were greeted with cheers by the first and they all embraced.
"I don't know if I like this," Jack said.
"They're coming to the light," Carol said.
"Yeah," Jack said, shaking his head. "And that could be trouble. Maybe I ought to get downstairs. You coming, Ba?"
The big Oriental stood behind Sylvia and Jeffy. He shook his head.
"Okay," Jack said. "I understand. But we might need you later." He waved and trotted for the stairs.
"I don't think there's anything to worry about, do you?" Carol said to Bill. "I mean, I think we should share the light."
"I do too," Bill said. "Jack's just being Jack. He doesn't like surprises."
Carol looked down again. More people had reached the light, some apparently on foot from neighboring buildings. She noticed something.
"Bill?" she said. "Remember when we first looked down? Wasn't the light just to the edge of the sidewalk?"
Bill shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't notice."
Carol stared down at the rim of shadow the encircled the building. It was now a couple of feet beyond the curb on the asphalt of the street.
Glaeken found the mouth of the lateral passage a hundred or so feet down the western wall. A dozen feet across, it was the only break in the wall of the hole. Glaeken swung inward and landed on his feet. He pulled the weapon free of the back of his belt and started walking. He needed no signpost to tell him that Rasalom lay ahead. He knew.
The light followed, filling the tunnel behind him, stretching his shadow far ahead, sending dark things scuttling and slithering and fluttering out of the way.
He pushed on, not running, but moving swiftly with quick, long strides. The sense of urgency was still at his back, propelling him forward. He swung the blade back and forth, splashing the air ahead of him with bright arcs of light, then waded through them.
But as he progressed deeper and further along the tunnel, he noticed a dimming of the light. He turned and looked back along his path. The light seemed as thick and bright as before back there, but down here it was attenuated, diluted, tainted…
It could only mean he was nearing his goal, the heart of the darkness.
Not much further on, the light loosened its embrace and pulled free of him; it hung back, deserting him, abandoning him to penetrate the beckoning blackness of the tunnel ahead alone.
Glaeken kept moving, slower now, stepping more carefully. Only the blade was glowing now, and that faintly, struggling against the thickening blackness that devoured its light. Soon its light failed too. Glaeken stood in a featureless black limbo, cold, silent, expectant. The darkness was complete. Victorious.
And then, as he knew it would, came the voice, the hated voice, speaking into his mind.
"Welcome, Glaeken. Welcome to a place where your light cannot go. My place. A place of no light. Remind you of anyplace from the past?"
Glaeken refused to reply.
"Keep walking, Glaeken. I won't stop you. There's light of sorts ahead. A different light, a kind I choose to allow here. No tricks, I promise. I want you here. I've been waiting for you. The Change is almost complete. I want you to marvel at my new form. I want you to be the first to see me. I want to be the very last thing you see."