Black Jade

now is because of me.'

Despite the coolness of the night, my hand oozed a hot sweat that slicked the hilt of my sword. I could not bear the hatred in the droghul eyes, so like Morjin's — and so like my own.

'Your'e the Lord of Lies!' I said to him. 'You're the Crucifier!' 'I am your brother,' he told me. 'If I had two arms and I wasn't bound with rope, I would embrace you to me!'

The nearness of this droghul of Morjin sent the acids of revulsion to eating at my belly. I aimed my sword at his throat. It would be a simple thing to put an end to his lies, here and now. But Morjin, the immortal and real Morjin who must at this moment dwell three hundred miles away in the dark hole of Argattha, he would remain untouched — or would he?

I commanded my arms to lower my sword; I drew in a deep breath and said, 'I speak to you as if you are Morjin. But you are a ghul, aren't you, a droghul? Morjin moves your mouth and puts words into it. He moves your arms and hands. If that is so, is your hurt also his? When I cut off your arm, did Morjin feel the pain of it himself?'

The droghul shuddered as I said this. For a moment his eyes cleared, and a strange being stared back at me as through a great emptiness. Then the amber of these golden orbs seemed to grow all fiery and red as the droghul's face hardened with lines that I knew too well. His smile became as Morjin's smile: bright, prideful, anguished and cruel.

'Does a puppeteer,' he said to me, 'feel pain when a puppet's wooden arm is snapped off?'

'A better question might be,' Atara said from beside me, 'if a man feels anything at all when he puts his thumbs into another's eyes or pounds nails through her hands?'

'I do feel,' the droghul said. He looked Atara and then back at me. 'Valashu knows how his agony has become my own.'

'You feed on it, don't you?' I said to him. 'The way your priests drink their victims' blood?'

'Suffering makes us greater — I have spoken of this in the letter that I wrote to you.'

'Then you must not mind,' I said to the Morjin who dwelled so far away, 'any suffering that you have brought upon this flesh that is yours.'

'It is you,' he said to me, 'who severed my arm with that cursed sword of yours. But that begs the question: can a puppet truly suffer?'

As he spoke, the muscles along his jaw tightened and began to tremble. He ground his teeth together. The light of the fire showed a terrible hate eating up his eyes. Then he shook his head, and his lips pulled back in an anguished grimace. The being that then looked out at me might have been the real Morjin or only his droghul — I could not tell.

'I do suffer,' he said to me again. 'All that is flesh does. And I suffer most when he comes for me.'

'When who comes for you?' Master Juwain asked him, stepping closer.

'When the Dragon comes.'

'But are you not he, made from his own blood and flesh? Did he not stamp his mind into yours and shape yours as his very own?'

'I don't know,' he told Master Juwain. 'I have no memory of what I was, before I was. And now. .'

'Yes?' Master Juwain asked him.

'And now it is like this: the whole world is a cavern cut out of black rock; there I dwell with the Dragon. In the instant that I do or say or think anything that is against the Dragon's will he comes for me, with fire. It is like being dipped into a vat of burning relb. If I displease the Dragon a little, then there is only a little burning — let us say he takes only my feet and leds. But if I defy him or try to, then he burns me down to the bone untill nothing is left except darkness — and the Dragon. He always is, do you understand? There is no escape. For in the end. I am the Dragon!'

There was a fire in his words as he said this; in his terrible eyes blazed his will to devour Master Juwain, and all things.

'I should not have asked you,' Master Juwain said, looking away from him. A sick look tormented his face as if someone had forced him to eat ordure. 'We should not let him speak.'

'Master Juwain is right,' Kane said to me. 'Don't listen to this thing — he's only trying to play upon your pity so that you don't slay him, as you must.'

But I gave the droghul some more water. Then I asked him, 'But when the Dragon sleeps, as sometimes he must, is your will your own? Can you speak the truth of your heart?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'I can never be sure which words are mine or which are his. I can't be sure when I am I, or I am he.' 'But who are you, really?'

'Who is anybody?' he asked me. 'I am that I am.' His face softened as he said this, and his eyes emptied of hate. They were like deep golden waters that called to me. Tied to the fence in front me stood a young man who seemed of an age with myself. There was an innocence about him and an eagerness to live. I couldn't help feeling the joy of his heart as it beat like a great, red drum with the very sound of life itself, which was the same in all beings, whether lion or squirrel or man — or even the droghul of a man.

What was a man truly. I wondered? What was it to feel and breathe and be? If I asked myself this question, if I looked past all the moments and memories of my life for the true Valashu Elahad.

what would I find? Wasn't there always a deeper and truer self looking back at me? And at the very center, like a perfect jewel buried within the petals of a rose, was there not a brilliant light that illuminated all that I ever thought or felt or did and was always aware of me? A single light, the same light blazing forth in a butterfly or a bird or a man, even a droghul, always watching, always knowing, shining like a star and. .

'Valashu!' Master Juwain called to me as from a thousand miles away. 'Do not look at him so!'

When I looked for this splendid light inside the droghul, as the droghul himself must look, peeling back the petals of the rose, I saw only the golden eyes of Morjin looking back at me.

'No!' I gasped out. 'No!'

I forced myself to turn my head; it seemed almost as difficult as it must be to pull one's own hands off the nails of a cross. When I looked back at the droghul, there were tears in his eyes. It made me want to weep with the anguish of what Morjin had done to his own flesh.

'Your pity will yet undo you,' Kane growled out to me. 'But remember that this droghul led those filthy knights against us, and killed too many of Bajorak's warriors. And somehow followed you across Acadu in order to murder you.'

At that moment, the droghul's face seemed as tormented as that of the true Morjin. I sensed that it must cost Morjin a great deal to control the droghul from so far away — and even more to twist the Lightstone to his own evil purpose.

'That is why you followed us, isn't it?' Kane said to the droghul, stepping closer to him. 'Or did you have a deeper ruse?'

In answer, the droghul only stared at him.

'Damn you!' Kane shouted. 'You'll speak when I command it, I swear you will!'

So saying, he began tearing deadwood out of the fence near the droghul and piling it around the droghul's legs. Then he called out, 'So, do you really wish to know what it is like to burn? Do not think that anything of you will remain. When you die, you die, and that will be the end of things, eh?'

'Kane!' I said. 'Enough!'

I placed my hand on his shoulder, a little too near the place where the arrow pierced him. He winced at this, even as I winced, too. I looked at the droghul, at the dark light of terror that ran through his eyes. I smelled the fear running out of the pores in his skin.

'I will die,' the droghul said to me. 'Since I sailed with you I will surely die.'

'That is upon me to decide,' I told him, wrapping my hand more tightly around my sword.

'No, it is not. He gave me life, and he can take it away.' The droghul closed his eyes for a moment as he drew in a long and tortured breath. Then he looked at me and said, 'And he will take it. He will command me to die so that you might know there is no hope.'