Nightworld

Rasalom stands on the plot of grass in the heart of the city and looks up at the surrounding buildings. Their lights blot out the ever-changing stars overhead, nearly blot out the rising moon. He stares at the top-floor windows of a particular building in the nearest row to the west. Glaeken's building. Glaeken's windows.

"Do you see me, old man?" he whispers to the night. "Or if your feeble failing eyes can't penetrate the shadows, do you at least sense my presence? I hope so. I began in the sky where all could see. Now I move to the earth. Here. Under your nose. I don't want you to miss a thing, Glaeken. I want you front-row center until the final curtain.

"Watch."

Rasalom spreads his arms straight out on each side, palms down, forming a human cross. With a basso rumble, the ground begins to fall away beneath his feet, plummeting as if dropped from a cliff. But he does not fall. The opening widens beneath him yet he remains suspended in air as more earth, tons of earth crumble and tumble down,

down,

down out of sight.

Yet there is no sound of any of it striking bottom.

And when the hole has reached half of its eventual width, Rasalom allows himself to sink into the abyss. Slowly. Gently. "Do you see me, Glaeken? Do you SEE?"