Dragon Space

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  Just a little farther. Please. I cannot help you if you don't come the rest of the way. It was FullSky's voice, quiet, urgent.

  Windrush took a slow breath. He floated forward and rounded one last bend in the path. His breath escaped in a gasp. He had expected to be surprised, and even frightened—but he had never dreamed of the sight that faced him now. The passageway opened into a great cavern. The floor of the cavern was split by a tremendous, gaping fissure that glowed and flickered as though from a deep subterranean fire. The air seemed to rise in shimmering waves.

  Windrush, I need your help.

  Startled, the dragon lifted his gaze to peer through the shimmer of the air, to the far side of the crevasse. There he saw FullSky's kuutekka, wavering almost as dizzyingly as the air. He looked only half solid, and yet his presence was terrifyingly real. It was his familiar, almost-glass face, with dark hollows where his eyes should have been. It was a haunted-looking face, a face that seemed almost beyond pain. It seemed that FullSky's kuutekka emerged from an opening in the cavern wall. Windrush could only glimpse his brother's hindquarters and tail, but it appeared that he was being crushed under a heavy slab of stone. Did his kuutekka reflect his condition in the outer world? The dark emptiness of his eyes seemed to be focused directly upon Windrush's, but the waves of heat made them appear to dance and veer.

  FullSky, Windrush whispered, what is this place? What are you doing here?

  His brother's great, glassy head swung back and forth, as if he were struggling to get a clear line of sight—or as if he were ducking from something. Windrush caught sight of a tendril of fire whipping around FullSky, lashing him as he moved. Windrush crouched instinctively, making his kuutekka ready to spring. But which direction? He couldn't tell if the whipping fire was holding FullSky where he was, or punishing him. After a moment, it seemed to burn itself out, leaving the younger dragon gasping in pain. Please help me! FullSky whispered. I am trapped here!

  Windrush hissed into the dancing air. Though that thing of fire was gone, he felt danger jangling all around him. There was powerful sorcery at work here, without question. A sorcery of Tar-skel? How could he hope to fight that? How can I help you? he hissed, voicing the doubts that swirled in his thoughts. Where are we? What am I seeing?

  The air steadied for an instant, and he saw clearly the pain etched into FullSky's face. Dark Vale! FullSky gasped. The Enemy's dungeons. A Watcher holds me. If you could—defeat it—I might yet—!

  Before he could finish, an arm of fire erupted from an opening in the cavern wall and whipped around his head and neck, blazing bright and choking off his words. This time the fire did not fade, but instead grew, until Windrush realized that he was looking at an entire living being—a creature of fire—one moment a single, flowing serpentine shape coiling about the dragon's head, and the next a lacing of fiery strands, each one sprouting a head, and biting and lashing at FullSky's kuutekka.

  Instinctively, Windrush shrank into a defensive posture. What was this thing? The Watcher? The name fire-drahl sprang into Windrush's mind; he had a sudden vision of a natural being of the underrealm, altered and twisted by the Enemy. If it wasn't aware of Windrush yet, it would be soon. It was clearly punishing FullSky; it was enraged, driving him back toward the cavern wall, back from the crevasse, and back from Windrush.

  Help me! came FullSky's almost silent cry.

  Windrush drew a difficult breath. What could he possibly do? FullSky's skills were far greater here than his own. He felt fire building at the back of his throat, but he had never felt so helpless. What powers could he control in the underweb to defeat a thing of fire? He could project an image of fiery breath—but could a being of fire be hurt by fire?

  He groaned with uncertainty as he crouched, separated from his brother and the Enemy's servant by the gulf of subterranean fire. FullSky was struggling, no longer crying out. Was he trying to keep the Watcher from noticing Windrush, so that Windrush could strike? But how? If he made the wrong move, if he misjudged the Watcher's powers . . . Windrush imagined himself like his brother, his kuutekka imprisoned here while his body struggled in vain to bring back its spirit. And if he were imprisoned or destroyed here, how would he be helping dragonkind, or the realm?

  Windrush, please! his brother gasped suddenly, breaking free only for an instant before a new whippet of fire lashed him.

  If it was his brother, and not a trap. Windrush felt a sudden, shuddering doubt. He had been deceived by the Enemy's sorcery before . . .

  Help me! the dragon-kuutekka pleaded. Free me—to act—!

  Windrush rumbled. For his brother, he should risk anything . . .

  He strained to catch FullSky's gaze through the wavering air, but there was too much heat in the air—or perhaps a sorcery of obscurity. Bringing himself to the brink of the chasm, he drew a weaving in the underrealm with his thoughts, trying to create a transparency in the air. It worked: he felt a change in the underweb as the air turned clear. The other dragon seemed to harden into solidity, and its gaze, glowing out of the dark hollows of its eyes, glowing fiercely across the chasm, linked directly with Windrush's. Windrush felt the sudden rush of the other's thoughts into his, felt his mind spiraling madly into the maze of pain, searching for the heart of the mind, the garkkon-rakh. He found it, found his brother FullSky crying desperately, (Windrush, hurry!)

  Windrush's mind was filled with images caught from FullSky, but there was no time to look at them. The Watcher was rising, turning, expanding toward him, its fire brightening. It had felt the change in the underweb, too, and if it hadn't seen Windrush before, it did now. Its rage crackled in the air, violet-red fire lashing toward its new enemy. Windrush leaped low and hard over the chasm toward FullSky, his kuutekka floating weightless. Fire flashed over his back, and into his vision, blinding him—and more than blinding him.

  Everything seemed to change in that instant. It was as though he had passed into a new level of the underrealm—where he was blinded, and yet he saw, by a kind of ghostly spirit-illumination. The fiery chasm below had come alive with luminous, writhing figures—living spirits crying out from where they were held captive. Windrush was aware, too, of another living spirit—the Watcher, encircling him with great arcing tentacles of blazing power, around and above and another coming up from below. In another heartbeat, it would have him tightly in its grip.

  Instinctively, Windrush dove—downward into the chasm, darting past the arm sweeping upward. He made it past, but as he dodged away, peering in horror at the writhing spirits imprisoned far below, he felt the lash of flames on his back. He fled sideways, and up—and as he sought escape, he heard a wordless, crackling anger that made him shudder. He turned and saw the face of the Watcher, a hole of darkness surrounded by fire; he knew that it was a devouring spirit, and he was the one it meant to devour.

  A snake of fire flashed above him, and he dodged downward again. He was being forced back down into the abyss, toward the other prisoners. He was growing dizzy, and was having trouble controlling his movements. Where was FullSky now? He felt as if his kuutekka were being pulled from its anchor. He must resist! FullSky! he cried. What is it doing? How can I fight it?

  Above him finally he glimpsed the presence of his brother, imprisoned in arms of cold lightning, unable to move—but able to see, to call out. Windrush, change your form! Change!

  What? Change his form? His kuutekka?

  Keep that which is you, Windrush! Guard your garkkon-rakh! Don't let it distract you!

  But how—?

  You must outwit it, you must out-believe it!

  Even as FullSky spoke, Windrush could see the Watcher begin to change its form. It was becoming a great meshwork of fury and fire, coalescing into the shape of a many-headed serpent, lashing its head one way and then another, cutting off Windrush's avenues of escape. Its feet were rising from below, fiery talons glittering. Windrush felt his fear tightening. Keep that which is you . . . what did FullSky mean?

  No time to think. Windrus
h imagined himself smaller, imagined the shrinking spell that the demon Hodakai had once used on him. He dove away from the Watcher's fire-spitting head, and an image came to him, and without even thinking about it he transformed his kuutekka into a small, fast flyer called a bat. He shot past the whipping head of the Watcher, easily evading it, then swooped back up, high above the fires of the abyss, and circled, warily eyeing the specter that had attempted to trap him. He suddenly realized where the image had come from: it was from his memory of the rigger Jael's thoughts.

  He had just done an astonishing thing, turning his kuutekka into the shape of another being! He had done as a rigger did, changing his form in the underrealm! He did not even know what this animal was, except that he had once seen Jael imagining and taking on the form of one. The Watcher raged and hissed at him as he dodged its flame. Windrush veered left and right, up and down, streaking to the top of the cavern and diving back toward the abyss, evading the Watcher with a great zigzagging swoop. He felt a rush of joy in his success.

  The joy evaporated a moment later. Overhead, the Watcher had turned itself into a huge, fine-meshed net, a living web of flowing silver, with no openings large enough even for a bat to fly through. He fled to one side and along the edge of the flaming chasm, desperately searching for an opening, and finding none. He dropped lower, toward the imprisoned spirits. The net fell after him, dropping closer and closer. Furious with himself, he sped back up to meet the net of the enemy. If he couldn't escape it, he might at least hurt it. Another Jael-image surfaced in his mind: a sleek, silver, water creature with a long, sharpened beak. He became the image, and as he met the net, climbing, he lashed his beak ferociously back and forth, slashing at the mesh.

  Fire exploded around him, and he felt an intense flash of pain. The cavern and the abyss flashed dark and bright, and his vision went black for a terrifying moment, then returned to that strange, ghostly light of battle with the Watcher. He tried to ignore the pain as he fought against the net—until he realized that he was already through it—he had sliced an opening and was careening back toward the ceiling. The pain was gone.

  The danger was not. A great blanket of blackness was swarming upward to meet him. It was not just something black that was stopping light; it was a being that was devouring light, and he could almost feel the coal-red glow of the abyss being swallowed by it.

  He circled warily, watching the creature rise. How could he fight something that destroyed light itself?

  He flitted from side to side, despair rising in his heart. How great was this thing's power? If he changed his form again, the Watcher would do likewise. Didn't it ever tire? He glanced across the cavern and saw his brother FullSky, forgotten by the Watcher, etched in a cold, hollow light, struggling to rise from the place where the Watcher's fire had chained him. Another image sprang into Windrush's mind.

  As the black emptiness rose to meet him, Windrush became a fire-elemental. He felt himself burning into flame, like an iffling, sacrificing all bodily form. He struggled not to panic, not to think: The Watcher is already winning. Then the panic vanished as he felt strength rising in the heat of his flame, like the strength of a dragon who has just eaten of lumenis. This was the strength of pure fire, the strength of hope . . .

  For an instant, he even believed that this was not just his strength alone, but someone else's combined with his. A power reaching to him through the underrealm . . . FullSky's? His father's?

  The thought fled as the blackness rose and engulfed him. The cavern vanished, and his brother with it. His hope vanished, too, and as darkness swarmed around him, he felt the bone-biting cold of despair. The heat of his fire was gone. From the numbing silence of the blackness, he heard a harsh laughter, ringing in his consciousness. Then his consciousness began to fade.

  Keep that which is you!

  The memory of FullSky's words brought him back from the abyss of utter, eternal darkness. Keep that which is you. He remembered how, moments ago, he had been burning with blazing fire, the light and heat of his strength, his hope. The blackness had swallowed the fire, made him forget it . . . distracted him . . . but had not quite extinguished it. He reached within, found a flickering spark within the darkness of his soul, and determinedly blew it back to life: a flicker of light, a tiny flame against the devouring darkness.

  Laughter screeched again through his mind, deafening him and filling him with dread. The flame flickered and guttered.

  Do not let it distract you.

  NO. I burn with flame.

  His spark shot up hot and bright against the darkness. He felt it lock in mortal combat with the darkness, the living darkness of the Watcher's malice. If there was to be a victory, it must be a victory of light against dark. Flame against darkness.

  His flame blossomed.

  The cold of the darkness fought back; it was a living breathing hating darkness, a knowing and raging darkness, and it was determined to strangle the flame, to kill it. The darkness had the power to imprison countless souls; it was the darkness of death. How could he possibly overcome death?

  With a sudden intensity—as if someone had just passed the memory to him—he remembered Jael's fierce determination when she'd flown into the static realm to rescue Highwing. It was an impossible mission with no hope of success, with only death awaiting her and her friends. But she'd won nevertheless, she'd saved his father, allowed him to die bravely, allowed his spirit to pass to the Final Dream Mountain. You must outbelieve it. As Jael had outbelieved the odds.

  No, hissed the darkness.

  Yes.

  Windrush drew his strength from somewhere, and not from himself alone; he knew, unshakably, that his flame could burn brighter and hotter than the strength of any darkness. The flame of his kuutekka, of his garkkon-rakh, of the soul of his very being, welled up and burned with a fierce white heat. He felt the darkness recoil from it, felt it recognize a power that it suddenly realized it could not withstand. An image flashed in his mind, and he knew now that this was how more than one iffling had stood against the darkness. He burned hotter, brighter; he believed that his light would prevail. He knew he was no longer alone.

  The blackness screamed in anguish and shrank away. The Watcher's soul was in the blackness; it had never imagined that its power of terror could fail. Windrush pursued it, growing even brighter. He knew that he alone could not be burning so brightly; and if the help was coming from his brother, or from his father in the soulfires of the Dream Mountain, or from the ifflings, he didn't know or care. The light was blinding now, filling every corner of the cavern.

  The underweb burned with the strength of his light. The Watcher, locked into its blackness, coiled inward upon itself. It flickered madly. With a last convulsion, it shrank and vanished before the light.

  Windrush's power faded in intensity. With considerable effort, he drew himself painfully back into the ordinary form of his kuutekka. The ghostly light that the Watcher had cast over the scene of the battle was gone.

  The darkness was gone. The lines of fire that had encircled his brother were gone. But FullSky was still etched in light, glowing against the far side of the cavern. My brother, thank you, whispered the dragon of light. He no longer seemed paralyzed or crippled, not here in the underrealm at least.

  FullSky rose from the stone floor and floated toward Windrush. The far wall was visible through him. I can join you now in the battle.

  Can you escape? Windrush asked, barely able to speak.

  Not in the outer world. My body will never leave Tar-skel's dungeon. But here in the underrealm, I will fight as I can. You may not see me again, but we will be struggling together, and we will be together again in the Final Dream Mountain. The glowing being that was his brother seemed to breathe upon him then, to touch him with its light.

  Windrush shivered as a thousand images cascaded into his thoughts from FullSky's mind, then disappeared into his unconscious like a basket of stones dropped into a pool. He shivered, unable to make any sense of the images
; but he knew he would need them before this struggle was over. He felt FullSky draw away.

  You must flee now.

  Windrush struggled for breath. FullSky, wait!

  There is no time. You must flee, before you are found. The dragon of light that was his brother drew back across the abyss and gazed at him just once more, before fading away through the cavern wall. The cavern suddenly seemed very empty, except for the glowering abyss of spirits. And from that chasm, Windrush heard a rising murmur, like a rushing of wings, the sounds of spirits freed, flying away through the underrealm to whatever Final Dream Mountain awaited them. He suddenly realized that he had prevailed not just for his brother, but for all of those others, whoever they were. He had a feeling that they were about to erupt before him like flames from a forest fire.

  You must flee now.

  A deep thrumming sound was growing to fill the cavern, a rumbling from some distant place. A hot wind seemed to be rising, blowing in his face. Something or someone was coming to investigate the source of the disturbance in the underrealm.

  Windrush departed with the speed of thought, his kuutekka shrinking to a tiny spark of light, bright but fleeting in the gloom of the passageway as he fled from that place forever.

  Chapter 23

  Voices in the Wilderness

  AGAIN SHE heard someone calling her name . . .

  Jayyyl . . . Jayyylllll . . . Jayyyllll . . .

  There was something very familiar about that voice, but she couldn't quite awaken enough to make the connection. She was in an ocean, swimming, struggling toward the surface . . .

  Jayyll, awwwk—are you there? Wake up, Jayl!

  The dancing-mirror surface drew near, at last. She strained, kicked, lungs burning bursting struggling not to expire, reaching up, arms and fingers stretching . . .She touched the surface and it shattered in liquid silence. The boundary opened then, and a cacophony of sound exploded. A parrot was screaming, hurling itself back and forth in a damaged rigger-net, trying to bite and claw its way out. Ed . . . Ed . . . its name was Ed.