Among the Powers by Lawrence Watt-Evans Page B

probably. Ask a machine, I don’t know. He hasn’t wanted
anything to do with me since I left Alpha Imperium. Anything I
could say would probably just annoy him.”
    Shadowdark’s image started to fade, then
returned to solidity long enough to say something the floater
translated as, “By the way, don’t bother me again. I won’t
answer.”
    The face vanished.
    “Damn,” Geste said. “It’s impossible.” He
reached out and grabbed an invisible support, then leaned forward
and rested his head on his arm.
    Bredon was baffled. “Who is this
Shadowdark?” he asked, directing his question somewhere between
Geste and the floater. “Is he a Power?”
    Geste waved wearily at the floater without
raising his head. “You tell him,” he said. “I need to think.” He
paused, then lifted his eyes to the “window” for a moment and
added, “And while you’re telling him and I’m thinking, take us
home.”
     
     

Chapter Nine
    “ ...He looked up from where he lay, and saw a man
dressed in black, with a strange black hat upon his head and a
raven on his shoulder, standing at the edge of the
clearing.
    “ Of course, he knew immediately that this was
Rawl the Adjuster. He struggled to sit up, but he could not. It
took all his strength to call, ‘Hello! Can you help me?’
    “ Rawl heard him and paused. He looked the
situation over for a moment, then came and sat beside the
storyteller. ‘What do you need?’ he asked.
    “ And the storyteller explained how he had counted
the Powers, and that although he had always been told that there
are twenty–eight Powers in the world, yet when he thought through
every tale he knew, every legend, every little incident, and noted
down each and every mention, however trivial or obscure, he came up
with a list of only twenty-seven names. He told the Adjuster how
this had troubled him, and how he had gone seeking through the
world, to see if anyone could tell him who the twenty-eighth Power
is. He told how he wandered on, ever more despairing as first
wakes, then seasons, and finally whole years went by without an
answer, until at last he had found himself in his present sorry
state.
    “‘ Is that all?’ Rawl asked. ‘All you want is to
know the names of all twenty-eight immortals?’
    “‘ Yes,’ the storyteller replied. ‘That’s all.
Tell me the twenty–eighth name, and I shall die content.’
    “‘ There’s no need for you to die at all,’ Rawl
told him, ‘for I can easily heal your wounds and send you back to
your village sound and well.’
    “‘ I would rather know the name,’ the storyteller
said.
    “‘ I’ll tell you that, too,’ Rawl answered. ‘I
suppose that it would be Shadowdark.’
    “‘ Shadowdark?’ the storyteller asked.
    “‘ Yes, Shadowdark. He is the oldest of us all,
and the most reclusive. He speaks to no one, either mortal or
immortal. He lives simply, in the forest not too far from here, and
if you did not know who he was you would have no reason to think
him anything but a very tall and ugly mortal man—very tall and very
ugly.’
    ‘“ You say he is near here?’ the storyteller
asked.
    ‘“ Yes,’ Rawl replied, ‘but you dare not seek him
out. If you saw him and thought him mortal, it would be of no
matter, but if you saw him and knew him for what he is, you would
die instantly...”
    — from the tales of Kithen the
Storyteller
    “Sir, I’m afraid that you must rephrase your
question if you want a coherent answer. Shadowdark is a Power, as
you use the term, but I cannot tell you who he is without further
specification.”
    After a moment’s consideration Bredon
accepted that. Not all Powers had neat, clearly-defined roles like
the Lady of the Seasons. He tried to choose his next question
carefully, making it specific enough for the familiar spirit, or
whatever it was, to answer, but general enough to give him as much
information as possible in its implications. “Why does he speak a
strange language?” he asked.