He sat motionless for a few seconds, and then his shoulders started to shake. The companions exchanged worried glances, unsure if he was in trouble, or if they should risk stepping forward to help him. They could not see his face, so they were not sure if what was happening was affecting him for better or worse. Then Jack turned and looked at them, and they realized he’d been weeping. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s full of light.” Whatever he was seeing was for his eyes alone; from their vantage point, nothing exceptional was happening. Jack turned back and reached one hand into Pandora’s Box, and it was quickly absorbed into the darkness visible. Without hesitating, he reached out with the other hand and placed it on Falladay Finn’s chest. As they watched, a tendril of darkness wound its way out of the cauldron and along Jack’s arm, then across his chest, and down his other arm, finally bleeding out across Falladay Finn’s limp body until it formed a complete, whole, natural shadow on the far side of the light. Jack withdrew his arm from the cauldron and placed his hand on Finn’s forehead, bowing his head as he did so—whether in prayer or concentration, they couldn’t tell. A minute passed, then another. Then Finn’s eyelids fluttered, and opened. He looked around at the group clustered around him. “Drat and damnation,” he growled. “Is it over? Did I miss the entire fight? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” The king of the Dwarves had his shadow back, and with it, his spirit, and his life. And Jack still retained his own. “All right,” Jack said, rolling up his sleeves, the old fire shining in his eyes once more, “who’s next?” It took the rest of the day and well into the night for Jack to restore the shadows to the warriors who had had them torn away during the battle. It was a great relief to the kings and captains to see their warriors, who had become soulless, half-living shades, restored once more to their old selves. And it was a greater relief to the companions to see how the praise for the task only he could do was restoring Jack’s own spirit. As Jack worked with Charys and the centaurs on the restorations, John pulled Bert aside to talk. “Those who fell on the battlefield are not really Shadow-Born, are they?” he asked. “Not like the ones who were forced into service by Mordred.” “Not exactly,” said Bert, “although I don’t really know all the specifics myself. I know that a Shadow-Born can tear away and then absorb a shadow, and we know that Mordred was keeping the victims here alive because he planned to make Shadow-Born out of the captured shadows and increase his army. “Shadow-Born become more substantial with age. As they steal the shadows of others, they gain in substance themselves. That’s why we could recognize the features of the kings of Parliament—they must have been among the first taken. “Shadows just taken, but not yet pressed into service—I suppose these are like Shadow-Born-in-waiting. Why do you ask?” “I’ve been looking through the Geographica,” said John. “And while the Shadow-Born disappeared when the box was closed, the maps of the Shadowed Lands are still in shadow. Why would that be?” “No one knows,” said Bert. “Any expeditions to the Shadowed Lands never returned. Even Nemo could only get so close before turning back. He said they were guarded by Shadow-Born.” “That’s what I thought,” said John. “What were the Shadow-Born guarding?” “I don’t see what you’re getting at.” “It’s simple,” said John. “If the bodies that provided the shadows for Mordred’s invincible army had to be kept alive, then it stands to reason that all of the people in the lands he conquered are still there, with no Shadow- Born to keep us out.” Bert’s eyes widened. “Oh, my dear boy…” “Exactly,” John said. “Jack may be able to free everyone conquered by the Winter King. “He can free the entire Archipelago.” When Jack had finished his labors with the restorations, and was able to rest and have some tea, John and Bert explained their theory to him. He accepted without pause. “I think you’re right,” said Jack. “I can feel all of them in there, and I know that there has to be a way to free them all.” “You realize, Jack,” said Charles, “that those you’ve freed here numbered in the hundreds—but the Winter King had been claiming shadows for two decades. There could be thousands upon thousands of spirits in there to be restored.” “I know,” Jack said, eyes shining. “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.” The companions went to say their good-byes to all of their newfound friends as, one by one, the Dragonships began to leave Terminus. Tummeler had elected to go with Aven and Artus aboard the Yellow Dragon, and he embraced them all with tears and promises to visit. To his surprise, Charles was reluctant to part with the small mammal. “Chin up, Tummeler,” said Charles. “I’ll be back—and I’m sure you’ll have an occasion or two to visit Oxford, eh?” Tummeler’s whiskers twitched. “Oxford? Really? Oh, Master Charles, that would be the greatest day, just th’ greatest day!” He gave Charles one more hug, then scampered aboard the Yellow Dragon. “That’s it, then,” said Bert. “I think we must be on our way— there’s no telling how long our expedition’s going to take, so we’d best get started right away.” “Wait,” said Jack. “There’s one more thing that needs to be done, and with everyone’s permission, I’d like to do it here.” “What’s that, my boy?” In answer, he turned to Aven. “Where…where is he?” She started, then answered. “In his cabin, wrapped in one of the High King’s banners. We thought to bury him on Paralon.” Jack turned to Artus. “You declared Terminus to be an extension of your throne, so this would be as good. And besides,” he added, “no one paid a higher price for the victory won here. I think he’d like it.” “I agree,” said Artus. “Do you need a hand, Jack?” said John. “No,” said Jack. “I think I’d rather do this on my own, if you don’t mind.” “Of course, old boy,” said Charles, “of course.” “Jack,” Aven began. “You can come too,” said Jack. “I know you were close to him. It’s only right.” The two of them had started to walk up the hillside, when Jack stopped and walked back. “Artus,” said Jack, extending his hand. “Will you help us?” “Of course, my friend,” said Artus, taking Jack’s hand. “You didn’t even have to ask.” They buried Nemo just west of the circle of stones. Samaranth had called it a sacred place, and they reasoned that there could not be a better resting place for the captain of the Nautilus than at the far reaches of the world, where his spirit could look out over the limits of existence. “Technically speaking,” said Charles when they’d returned, “that’s the same place Samaranth left the Winter King.” “One difference,” said Bert. “Nemo is at rest—but Mordred will never stop falling. He’s going to spend the rest of eternity dreading the inevitable impact that will never come.” It took less than a day to reach the first of the Shadowed Lands, and according to Bert, it was the greatest loss of the Archipelago. “It’s called Prydain,” Bert said, showing them the blank parchment in the Geographica where the map had been. “A number of the kings and queens of Parliament were from this place, and most of the great warlords who served directly under Arthur himself.
