The apparition grinned, unconvinced. Like Gavin was pathetic.
“The black didn’t take that much from you,” the dead man said. “I know you wanted it to. You fed the black every obscenity you’d committed, every crime and horror. Black luxin is forgetting and madness and oblivion so it mostly worked. But one thing it is not. It isn’t clean. It never works exactly as you hope, does it? You forget the wrong things, and it sticks like tar on the fingers of your mind.”
For years, Gavin hadn’t even remembered that drafting black was possible. He must have fed even his knowledge of how to draft black into the black. For years, he hadn’t been able to remember what he’d done. Certainly not how. Hellishly, now—too late—it was coming back to him in bits and pieces, black stones turned over in the light, cutting memories best left on the banks of the river Regret. “What are you?” he asked.
“You created these prisons, the first one in a single month, the rest over the course of the first year. It was a mammoth undertaking. A brilliant demonstration of your gifts, and of your monomania and your fear. But you knew. You knew he’d be down here for a long time, and you knew he would have nothing to do but figure out how to undo what you had done. And destruction is ever so much easier than creation, isn’t it?
“But then you realized that wasn’t true only of things, but also of men. Destruction is easier than creation. So you made me. A reflection of yourself. A distraction. A dissuasion. You knew that eventually Gavin would figure out an escape, unless you could keep him from turning his mind to the puzzle fully. So you made me, to destroy him first, so he could never destroy your prison.”
“No,” Gavin said. It was too plausible, too smart.
“You had been exploring the forbidden arts of will-casting, and so you will-cast a portion of yourself into this prison. I am indeed a reflection of you, Dazen. I am all the hatred you had for your older, stronger, more assured big brother, with his natural air of superiority, with his total ownership of father’s affection and father’s pride, with his easy mastery of all that came to hand. With his casual contempt for you. You only needed me to be a distraction, but you decided to go far beyond that. You made me to be an instrument of torture. Your brother lived alone, with only your hatred to keep him company for sixteen years.”
“I would never…”
“You are a crueler man than you know. Of course, then you used the black to obliterate the memory of what you had done, even from yourself. As if sin forgotten is sin forgiven.”
Gavin swallowed.
“But all magic fades, scoured slowly by the sands of passing years, and you’re starting to remember, aren’t you?”
It couldn’t be true. But it fit. He had recently dreamed about his first Freeing as the Prism, and that dream had ended with his using black luxin. On purpose, to blot out memory.
It had worked. He had lost his memory of that night—and how many others?—for more than seventeen years.
With how much evil he could remember that he’d done, how much worse must the memories be that the old him had decided needed to be fed to the black?
“You can get out of here, you know,” the dead man said through heavy-lidded eyes.
“How?” Gavin asked.
“You know how.”
Draft black. One last time.
“Any idea that starts with the words ‘one last time’ is a bad idea,” Gavin muttered.
“What?” the dead man asked.
“Something father used to say.”
“You’re older now. More in control of yourself and your magic. You could do it safely.”
“I have no magic.”
“You can have the black again.”
“No. It is madness and poison and murder and death. It’s what got me here.”
“Yes, here, alive,” the dead man said. “How much do you remember about Sundered Rock?”
“Everything,” Gavin said.
“Liar.”
“I remember enough.”
“Really? I doubt that. How much truth are you ready for, ‘Gavin’ Guile?”
“I have no illusions left.”
The dead man barked a laugh. “Odd indeed that I am the fragment of you, when you are the one who is so thin and hollow. Gavin, Gavin. Do you remember meeting the Mirror Janus Borig when you were a child?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what she said?”
Vaguely. “Yes. What does it matter? Mirrors don’t see everything.”
“You don’t remember.”
“No,” Gavin admitted. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, that is fortunate. Because I was not created to torment your brother, no. Sadly, you created me to torment a prisoner. Which now is you!” Gleeful, irritating little ass. Had Gavin ever been like that? Oh yes, he had. He’d honed his skills against his big brother when they were children. “And,” the dead man said, “I’ve got nothing but time, and you have nowhere to go.”
“Make your point and be done with it,” Gavin said. But his stomach turned. How long could he last with a twin self mocking himself in his hell? This apparition would know all of his weaknesses, all his secret self-loathings. The dead man would be a better tormentor for Dazen himself than he could possibly have been for the real Gavin.
“Janus Borig told you, Dazen. She told you that you could draft black.”
“Yes, so what?” Gavin had recovered the memories of that much.
“She told you that you could only draft black. You were a black monochrome, Dazen. You told your brother. You, who had been powerless, the one son in a powerful family who couldn’t draft. You could feel father’s embarrassment, his keenness that no one else know, his hope that he could fix you eventually. So when you heard that you had black, you bragged about it, and Gavin feared you. Rightly. When you began to evince your powers, your brother knew how you were doing it, because you told him. And gradually, Gavin came to understand that he had to stop you.”
“No, this isn’t true.”
“Do you remember why you went to the White Oak estate, to face Karris’s brothers?”
“I went there to see her. We were going to elope.”
“No, you knew she was already gone. You cared for her, somewhat, at least enough you didn’t want her to die. But you never planned to marry her. You yourself leaked that you were coming to take her away.”
“No.”
But the dead man went on, heedless. “So if you knew she was gone, why did you go to the White Oak estate? Why would you knowingly face seven brothers, seven drafters?”
“I wouldn’t. That’s not how it happened.” But it was so long ago now. So foggy.
“You went for the same reason that you’ve hunted down wights yourself. Why would a Prism himself hunt wights? When Orea Pullawr tried to stop you, it should have been a small fight—Gavin, you’ll get yourself killed, she said. But you fought for the right to hunt wights as if your very life depended on it. Why would a Prism do such a thing?”
“I could hunt them safely. There was no reason for other men to die. So many had died already. It wasn’t dangerous for me.”
“No, those are the lies you’ve told others to make yourself look good. The truth, Gavin, was that it was dangerous for you not to.”
“What does this have to do with the White Oaks?” Gavin demanded.
“Because between them, her brothers included drafters of every color. Because black is emptiness, but emptiness can be filled. Darkness may be filled with light. Black can hold every color. You went to the White Oak estate to murder those young men, to steal their powers. Because that’s what black drafters do.”
“No.” But it came out a whisper.