Dragon Space

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  All of the dragons wheeling in the air were drawn to the sight, gazing at it with great curiosity and desire.

  Windrush bellowed out his joy. He called out to his leaders to report. He was answered instead by shouted questions: "Windrush, what happened?" "What did you do?" "The sorceries have vanished!" "How did you bring back the Dream Mountain?"

  "I? I did nothing!" Windrush rumbled, laughing. He tried to explain, but his words came out in a hopeless jumble, and made no sense even to him. "Just say this!" he cried at last. "Tar-skel has fallen! He is gone from the realm! The riggers Jael and Ar and Ed and the ifflings and FullSky and all of you helped to defeat him!"

  "Windrush!" cried a familiar voice. Farsight was climbing from below to greet him, and another dragon was limping behind him. "Don't forget WingTouch!"

  "WingTouch!" cried Windrush in amazement, spiraling down to join the two in a dance of joy. "You're alive, WingTouch, you're still with us!"

  "Indeed, thanks to FullSky," answered his youngest brother. "May he live long in the Final Dream Mountain! I had the privilege of destroying his killer."

  "FullSky!" sighed Windrush at the reminder of who was not among them, at the reminder that many brave dragons had fallen here today, and one of them was their brother who had done so much to bring them this victory. "May all our dragon brothers live long in the Final Dream Mountain," he said finally. And for a moment, he felt an urge to fly a flight of grief for those they had lost. But now was not the time; they could grieve later.

  Farsight and WingTouch greeted Ar and Ed on Windrush's back; then the dragons exchanged reports. "After you were gone, there was a great upheaval that shook both the sky and the earth," Farsight said. "When it passed, I felt that a great power had gone out of the realm. The sky and the earth became quiet. The drahls lost all spirit for battle. They began to take their own lives, or to surrender, or to flee. The prisons fell open. And the Dream Mountain—reappearing, like a ghost, out of the air! Truly rakhandroh! And there have already been reports of lumenis groves sighted out beyond the vale!"

  "Indeed," said Windrush, and on his shoulder the small, noisy parrot-rigger hooted and cawed in loud approval. "When we have restored some order here—and perhaps when we have fed—some of us must fly on to the Dream Mountain. There the spirit of Jael awaits us."

  Those words sent ripples of excitement through the dragons flying nearby. "To the Dream Mountain," they whispered and rumbled. And slowly the rumble grew to a chant that filled the air. "To the Dream Mountain! To the Dream Mountain . . . !"

  Chapter 45

  The Realm Returns

  FOR THE ifflings, it was a return to their source of being. Born of the dreamfire, they at last saw a true path out of their exile, a true path ome. The Mountain beckoned, calling them in across the gulf that had divided them.

  One iffling-child accompanied them, the one who might have been the last. And one other came with them: a strange one, a changeling sprite, who had once been their foe and now insisted upon being their friend. They accepted that one with a kind of weary puzzlement, as they made the long march home across the underrealm.

  —Draconae!—

  —We glimpse you!—

  —Open your hearth!—

  —Give us your fire!—

  Visions of strength, of new iffling-children, of freedom to wander the realm, to visit the draconi, to grow and blossom . . . the visions loomed before them like mirages on a desert, but mirages that now could grow into reality. The vision gave hope, and in that hope they found the strength to move forward across the bleak plain where at last their underrealm met that of the dragons.

  A chasm broke the plain, a black rift in the underrealm where the power of the Enemy had fallen, and had streamed away out of the realm. When the ifflings reached that place, they floated across it as though riding on a warm updraft of air. At first it seemed as though the air currents would snuff them out like so many dying candle-flames; but across the emptiness a beacon flared and then paused, its beam touching them and strengthening their fires. It was the touch of the draconae-tended dreamfire, and it drew them onward in a rippling coruscation, across the chasm and the plain, in a great cascade of light flashing in circlets over them, pulling them, drawing them in.

  And then the Mountain was around them, and the chiming voices of the draconae greeted them, and the regenerative fire of the Forge of Dreams in which they had been born blazed forth with a white heat that filled them, and consumed them in a welcoming embrace . . .

  —And in this place—

  —All things begin—

  —Anew—

  * * *

  In the gloom and the emptiness, after the reverberations had passed and the distant cries had faded to a background mutter in the underrealm, Hodakai drew himself down into a small, silent bundle in the Cavern of Spirits. He felt lonelier than he had felt in a long, long time. He missed Jarvorus. He missed Ar and Ed. He missed Windrush, and even, in a way, he missed Rent. Most of all, he missed Jael.

  He knew now that she had survived her death, and not only that, but had, astonishingly, toppled the vast empire of power that belonged to Tar-skel. Hodakai was glad of that, really he was. But just now in the silence and emptiness of this warren, he was finding it a little hard to enjoy the victory.

  Sprites! he sighed. Won't even you come out to keep me company? Where are you all? But there was no answer, no taunt, no teasing, from the hidden corners of the cavern. It seemed that even the sprites had gone away. Perhaps they too had fled to the Dream Mountain, as the ifflings had. As Jael had. As the dragons all probably wanted to do.

  For a while there, he had felt useful. It wasn't that he had done much—he'd just shouted some helpful encouragement through the underrealm to the Dark Vale—but it was a lot more than he had ever dared to do before. And maybe it really had helped in the battle.

  Kan-Kon, he thought wistfully, peering out of his silent jar into the cold silence of the cavern, I think you would have been proud of me at the end. I hope that fellow Ar makes it back to tell you about it.

  Truthfully, there didn't seem much else to do, think, or say. There was just the silence. He had thought briefly of his rigger fantasies; but whatever escape they might offer now seemed empty and meaningless against the memory of what he had just been through. He supposed he could try to reach out again through the underrealm, but it was all changed now, all stirred up like a lake after a storm, and he didn't have the skill to see through it.

  He huddled, and waited—but for what, he didn't know.

  When it came, he was so absorbed in the silence that he didn't really even notice at first. It was a voice, calling softly. But from where? Outside the cavern, that was for sure. Perhaps it was drifting up through the crack in the floor that marked where the rift had gaped, before the shaking of the realm had closed it again. It seemed to be calling his name.

  Hello? he whispered, his voice quavering. He was half afraid that he was talking to himself.

  Hodakai? Can you hear me?

  Yes, he whispered, even more softly. Was that the voice of—?

  There you are! said Jael, her voice growing stronger. Suddenly her kuutekka appeared in the underrealm beside his spirit jar. It was just her face—but how good it was to see a human face! I've been trying to find you! she said. I wanted to see if you're all right.

  Hodakai laughed convulsively, with churning emotions. See if I'M all right? YOU'RE the one we killed, don't you remember?

  Jael laughed with him, but she seemed to have noticed the melancholy tone underlying his answer. I remember, all right. Hodakai, a lot has happened since then. I don't know how much you were able to see or hear . . .

  Well, I . . . I saw some. I felt it happen, in the end. I know you won. Congratulations.

  Don't just congratulate me, Hodakai. I understand you were helping out at the end, too. And you helped me get to where I am now.

  Er—yes, Hodakai said, And you are, I assume—

  Her voice see
med full of music as she said, In the Dream Mountain, Hodakai, the Dream Mountain. And the joy in her voice sent a spike of sadness through him, sharpening his loneliness—until she added, I've been trying to think if there's some way I might be able to help you, Hodakai. Some way to bring you here.

  Hawwww! said a parrot, its tiny head visible in the pupil of her eye. Yessss!

  If you'd like to come, I mean . . .

  Hodakai seemed to go blind and deaf as her words echoed like gongs in his mind; and she had to call out to him again, before he finally was able to stammer, Yes . . . I . . . I think I might like that. Since you ask. If it's not too much trouble. But only if it's not too much trouble—!

  And when she went on to explain that he might have to wait a little while before she could work out a way to do it, he hardly heard, hardly cared. He could wait as long as she wanted him to. He could wait very nearly forever, as long as he knew that he was not forgotten, as long as his time in this lonely cavern was at last coming to an end.

  * * *

  The ship's bridge was terribly silent, as Ar rose at last from his rigger-station. Even Ed was gone, sleeping in the data-memory until he returned, or perhaps holopresent in the ship's commons. Ar had never in his life felt such physical exhaustion; he had no idea how long he had been in the net, but it was many times longer than his longest previous stint. He could scarcely focus his eyes, and every muscle and joint in his Clendornan body seemed on the verge of spasm. But he was alive, freed at last from the net by the collapse of Jael's section.

  Never in his life had he felt such grief, and such joy. He stood for a few moments beside the second rigger-station, gazing down at the still form that had been his crewmate and friend. No, he reminded himself sternly, that body was not my friend. My friend is alive still, alive . . . out there . . . But he could not complete the thought. Instead, he broke down at last, kneeling and raising his face to the ceiling, crying out his grief with open, shuddering gasps of pain. The ceiling sparkled with scintillations of grief-light from the backs of his eyes. He remained in that posture until the explosions of light in his eyes faded, and his cries gave out, and then he was silent for a time in the gloom of the bridge, mourning the sight of his friend who had given her life for the dragons.

  At last he rose and opened Jael's rigger-station. There was, he thought, an expression of peace on her face. Slipping his arms under her, he lifted her from the station and bore her at last from the bridge. She would complete her journey in a stasis box, cold and silent, until he could bring her to a final resting place. Which ought to be . . .

  He had no idea, he realized. He would have to ask her when he saw her.

  Ar went to the galley and ate, not even noticing the taste of his food. Reluctantly, he went to his quarters and lay down to rest. But he knew he could not sleep, not thinking about Jael. Besides, he needed to perform a thorough check on the ship's systems, without much more delay. And in truth, he wanted to return to the net as soon as possible. Windrush was looking after their safety on the outside, but it would not do to be away too long.

  The dragons would soon be flying to the Dream Mountain, and he didn't want to miss a moment of it.

  * * *

  The process of healing had already begun, Windrush noted as he gazed over the land from the air. Even here, in this devastated land that had been the stronghold of the Enemy, the effects of Tar-skel's sorceries were fading. Trees and lumenis had returned to view, and the dragons had wasted no time in feeding on the latter. It was the first lumenis feeding in a long time that was full of joy and not desperation. Quite a number of drahls and other altered beings had been found, struggling to adjust to the crippled bodies that were left when Tar-skel's spells of distortion had fallen away. They were being gathered together, their fate to be determined in due time.

  In one respect, the land had been sharply altered by the final battle, and as Windrush flew over it, flanked by his brothers and bearing the ghostly rigger-ship on his back, he thought that the change looked permanent. The rift in the underrealm through which Tar-skel had disappeared was mirrored in the outer world, a long dark chasm that was somehow impossible to look into with a probing eye. It deflected the gaze somehow, or drew it away to a confused nothingness.

  Windrush felt, looking down upon it and perceiving only blackness and depth, that it was not a simple physical abyss like the drop-off of the Amethyst Cliffs, staggering though that drop was. This seemed more like an opening from this realm to some other, to some lightless place that might be another universe, or might be something else altogether. He wondered if Tar-skel lived, still, somewhere beyond that empty darkness. Windrush shivered at the thought, and hoped that the answer was no.

  Maybe someone, someday, would explore the depths of that rift to assure them that Tar-skel was gone forever. But he didn't think it would be dragons. That was not a dragon place. It smelled alien, cold and distant.

  He had ordered a guard along the length of the rift, and thought that they would be wise to keep it guarded forever, or for as long as the race of dragons lived, anyway. Who knew what might come up through this opening in the weave of their realm, one day? He had an unsettling feeling that the dragons might never again be quite so isolated in their own realm as they once had been.

  He kept these thoughts to himself, for now. The others had enough to think about already. As they flew on toward the Mountain, leaving the rift behind, he felt his heart lightening. At that moment, Ar and Ed rematerialized on his shoulders. You were not gone long, he said to Ar, noting that the parrot was asleep on Ar's shoulder. Are you sure you would not like to rest a little more, while you can? Were you not very tired?

  The tall rigger's eyes glinted with purple light. Perhaps I will, after we've reached the Dream Mountain, Windrush. Perhaps I'll be able to rest then. Just now I don't think I can. I don't want to miss a thing. And I—His voice broke sharply, and he seemed unable to finish his thought.

  You long to speak with Jael again? Windrush murmured.

  The rigger nodded.

  Yes, said the dragon. Yes, he whispered again, to himself. And he found himself flying just a little faster, without meaning to, just a little higher and faster toward the vast, translucent peak that was steadily growing before them.

  * * *

  In the continuing musical presence of the draconae, Jael found a kind of silence, a solitude of peace among those who bore so much knowledge and so much passion. She wasn't sure yet what she thought of life in the Dream Mountain; it would take a long time to explore it fully. She hoped that the weavings of power that gave her life here would give her the time to do so.

  With the final fulfillment of the Words, the tone of the draconae's music had changed—had become not just joyous and uplifting, but filled with a fury of creative energy. The Forge of Dreams had been opened to the realm once more, by Lavafire and the others. But now, instead of being tightly woven into protective magic, the light and power were being spun out into the realm, restoring and healing the land. Somewhere within that forge, the ifflings were finding renewal, and were preparing to create another generation of iffling-children, ifflings who would know a freedom of the realm that had almost been forgotten by the present generation. And within the slopes of the Mountain, dragon eggs once held frozen by the Enemy's sorcery, neither living nor dead, were again pulsing and glowing with life.

  A flight of draconi was en route to the Mountain now, led by Windrush. Many of the draconae were clustered on the outer slopes, eagerly awaiting their arrival. How long had it been since they had flown freely together, fearlessly in communion, flying the skies, powerful dragons soaring and glassy draconae blazing in the sun? It seemed an age ago. Many of the draconae had not flown in so long, they were reluctant to venture far at all from the slopes of the Mountain, though Starchime had expressed her hope that that feeling would change, once the draconi had joined them.

  Jael was eager for the arrival of the dragons. But more than anything else, she awaited the
arrival of Ar.

  (Rawwk! And Ed!)

  (And Ed,) she mused, jostling the parrot affectionately in her thoughts. (Yes, indeed. It's going to be hard to say good-bye to them, in the end—when they go, and we stay.)

  (Gwarrrkk. Ed knows. They'll come back, though—awwwwk, yes?)

  Will they? Jael thought. She hoped so, certainly, but there was no way to know. There was also no point in worrying now about the future. They had not even said good-bye yet. There would be time enough for those worries later.

  A chiming voice caught her attention, from the outside of the Mountain. Dragons! Draconi! Crossing the plain!

  And soon someone else called, Welcome Windrush! Welcome Windrush and the draconi!

  The cry was echoed, until it rang over and over throughout the Mountain. But Jael had her own cry as she formed her kuutekka in the underrealm fires. Ar, are you there? Ed? Windrush—?

  Rawwwwk—!

  Come quickly!

  Epilogue

  New Beginnings

  THE ACTIVITY in the Mountain seemed unceasing, was unceasing. It was not just the draconae flying out across the realm with their new freedom, or the draconi flying with them, asking them endless questions, courting them, renewing relationships long forgotten. It was also the ifflings appearing at intervals from the dreamfires, each time looking brighter and more numerous. And it was the long talks with Ar, his spaceship parked on the outer slopes, Jael speaking through the underrealm to his shimmering presence.