"You have brought this to me, to ransom it—for what price?"
"Not at all," said Ven. "As I told you, it's a gift."
"NO!" the dragon screamed. "I will not have that! If it is a gift, then part of it still belongs to you, Nain. It must be free and clear—I will buy it from you. Name your price."
"There is nothing that I want," Ven said.
Slowly the dragon crept closer until its giant nostrils were pressed up against Ven's face.
"Name—your—price," he repeated.
Ven struggled to breathe amid the acid smoke and his fear.
"All right, then," he said. "I want the story of what happened to Ganrax."
The dragon stared at him.
"It is simple," he said finally. "He is dead. Give me the scale."
"A poor excuse for a story," Ven said. The words came out of his mouth, unbidden, as if disconnected from his brain. "Tell me what happened."
"I told you," said the dragon. "He is dead."
"All right, then," Ven said. "If you don't want to tell me what happened to him, then tell me what happened to you—Ganrax."
23
The Librarian
THE DRAGON'S MASSIVE JAW DROPPED SO SUDDENLY THAT HIS eyeglasses fell from his nose and shattered on the stone floor.
"How—how did you know my name?" he stammered.
Ven shrugged. "You wrote it out for me," he said. "In very tall letters—SCARNAG, burned into a hillside."
"I do like to sign my work whenever possible," the dragon admitted.
"Me too."
The great earthen beast shook its head. "For centuries, no one has made the connection between Ganrax and Scarnag," the beast said, wiping his brow with his strange, nubby tail. "How did you figure it out?"
"First, tell me your story," Ven said. "After all, I still haven't been paid for the scale." His stomach did a sudden flip as he realized how easily his life could end if he offended the dragon.
Scarnag stared at him, then looked at his shattered glasses on the floor and sighed. A blast of steam rolled out of his nostrils, making him look like he was rising out of a cloud. He rose from the floor at the center of the room and went over to a cabinet, where he rooted around in one of the drawers. His claw emerged with another pair of spectacles, which he promptly set on his nose again.
"I go through so many of these," he said. "Stone cave floors and eyeglasses don't like each other very much. Sit. It's a long tale—you may as well be comfortable. Especially if you are going to back out of the transaction, since it's nicer to die sitting than standing."
"I would never renege on a deal," said Ven, horrified. "To the Nain, a man's word sealed with a firm handshake is the most important thing he has." He sat down on the carpet in front of the dragon.
The dragon chuckled. "Well, you're hardly a man," he said. "You only have two whiskers to your name—that's not even a Bramble, is it?"
"No, it isn't," Ven said. He pulled out the journal the king had given him. "Whenever you're ready, I'm ready. I hope you don't mind me taking notes?"
"And if I do?"
"Well, I suppose you could always eat me, but I don't see any chocolate around here."
The dragon's craggy teeth formed a terrifying smile.
"This cave has quite a few rooms," he said. "One never keeps chocolate near important papers—didn't anyone ever teach you anything?"
"Nothing as important as the tale I'm about to hear," Ven said. He dipped the albatross feather he used as a quill into his small inkpot and waited patiently, the tip of the pen above a new page.
Then he told me his story, a tale of terrible betrayal, of trust broken. It took a long time. But when he was finished, the vibration of it rang in the cave like a bell that cannot be unrung. Before I left, he told me that it would be there forever, if anyone wanted badly enough to hear it.
When the dragon finished his tale, he settled into a pile of gold pieces and gemstones on the carpet that covered the floor of his enormous library, his scales damp, his muscles strained, and began running his claws through the jewels he was sitting on.
"Thank you," Ven said. "That must have been a difficult story to tell."
"It was," the beast said, wiping his brow with his strange, nubby tail. "So the least you could do is tell me how you figured out that I was born Ganrax."
"In the course of my last journey, I've seen—and made—some rather embarrassing mistakes with language," Ven admitted. "I told the Nain that we were playmates, not warts, and to hang on to their burning butts when I was trying to sound strong and impressive. They laughed at me, of course. A mysterious message that a king had been trying to decode for years turned out to be nothing more than a request to keep mule dung out of the river. A friend of mine from a very different place than I live is always misunderstanding the meaning of common phrases. So lately I'm more aware of words, I think.
"When the Nain were speaking sadly about Ganrax, I was trying to imagine how that word was spelled in their language—and then I realized with the X sound it was the backwards form of the word 'scarnag.' Of course, seeing it written in letters across a hill didn't hurt, especially after the Nain told me the story of your—er, death."
"And did you tell them of the connection?" the dragon asked, idly running the red jewels between the talons of his claws again.
Ven thought about whether it was wise to admit the truth about something that the dragon probably didn't want known. "No," he said finally. "I wasn't certain until you told me the story."
"Good," said the dragon. "I don't really want them to know. If you can keep the secret, I won't have to eat you."
Ven sighed. "You know, much as I would like not to be eaten, keeping other people's secrets has cost me a great deal lately. I suppose there are times when it is necessary, but most of the time it just puts a strain on trust. I was hoping you might tell me why you are attacking the Nain settlements—assuming that's you—"
"Yes. I do nice work, don't you think?"
"Well, as destruction goes, you are very talented," Ven said. "But considering that you are more librarian than monster, I can't believe that's really what you want to be doing. Isn't there something the Nain can do to make amends for the wrongs that have been committed against you?"
A puff of angry smoke issued forth from Scarnag's nostrils. "Are you joking?"
"Not at all. The Nain who betrayed you are long dead. The people you are attacking had nothing to do with Ganrax. They don't know the story of what happened—and they never will, because you have all the history books. The knowledge of why you are angry with them died with those who betrayed you. They don't regret the actions of their ancestors—they only blame you for your actions. If they could apologize—"
"Which would mean nothing," said the dragon. "How can they be sorry for something they had no hand in?"
"Exactly. So that gets back to what I just asked you—isn't there something they can do begin to make amends? To bring them understanding of what you suffered? To perhaps forge a friendship again between the Nain and the dragon who holds all of their history?" He pointed to the massive trove of books and maps. "It's very sad to me to see people who don't know their own story and a dragon who clearly still has a lot of 'ganrax' in him acting like a scourge."
The dragon idly ran the red stones under his massive jaw.
"I suppose there is something they could do," he said finally.
Ven leaned closer to hear.
"The egg that the Nain have secreted away within their mountains—I want it returned to the Lirin of the Enchanted Forest," the dragon said.
Ven was thunderstruck. "All right," he said when he recovered his voice. "I can tell them that—but can you tell me, just out of curiosity, why you are taking the side of the Lirin over that of the Nain? Are you so angry with the Nain that you just want to humiliate them with their enemies?"
Scarnag chuckled. It was a low sound like the rumble of thunder in his massive earthen throat.
"Not
at all. The Lirin do not want the egg for themselves—they want to return it to its mother."
Curiosity shot through Ven so strongly that the hair on his head almost stood straight up.
"Its mother? Who is its mother?"
The dragon rose and went over to a massive pile of old encyclopedias. He grabbed one with his tail and placed it nimbly on the floor before Ven. With the nubby end of his tail he easily opened the book and flipped the corners of the pages until he found the one he wanted. Then he tapped the page.
Ven peered into the ancient tome. On the page the dragon had pointed to with his tail was a color engraving of a beautiful dragon, very different from any picture he had seen before, with wings that seemed to be made of starlight and a body that was green as forest leaves. It was twined around the base of an immense oak tree that towered over all the other trees in the picture.
The dragon adjusted his glasses and looked at the text.
"At the beginning of the world, there were five places it is said that Time began," he said. "Each of those places is the birthplace of one of the five elements—fire, water, air, earth, and the substance known as ether, the element of magic, made by the light of the stars. At each of those places, an immense and beautiful tree grows, each one different. They are known as World Trees, because their roots run deeply throughout the earth and are all connected. Each of those trees is guarded by an ancient dragon, one of the Five Daughters of the first dragon ever to be born in this world. They are sometimes also called the Five Guardians.
"The oldest of all these trees is Sagia, the great oak that grows in the Enchanted Forest. Sagia's magic is what protects the forest, and keeps the magic of this part of the world alive. The tree is protected by the Guardian known as Marisynos. It is her egg that the Nain found one day. They took it back to their mountainous realm, not realizing the anguish that action would cause its mother—mostly because they are stupid and selfish."
"They think they are protecting it," Ven said. "They have it somewhere safe and warm—"
"And hidden away from the only one who can bring it to life," Scarnag said dryly. "You cannot imagine the mother's agony—having to give up searching for her child because to do so would mean abandoning her guardianship of Sagia. The Nain have no idea how much pain they have caused her, and are causing her still. It's an unforgivable offense."
"Unless the mother chooses to forgive it," said Ven. "Nothing is unforgivable, really. The Nain don't want to harm the baby dragon—they miss the one they lost more than they know how to express. That's what they are trying to do—make up for that loss the only way they know how."
Scarnag continued to play with the gemstones, but said nothing. Finally he sighed.
"You know, I really don't have time to be torching the Nain, although I have to admit it has been fun. There is a lot of work to be done in a library—cataloging of books, maintaining materials—I'm really very busy keeping up with it. I'll make you an offer: tell the Nain who I am. If they want to make amends to me, they will immediately return that unborn dragon child to the Lirin, who will give it back to its mother. You should deliver it—the Lirin may attack the Nain if they come themselves, thinking it's an invasion."
Ven sighed. "Yes, that's exactly what would happen."
"If they do this, and do it immediately, I may one day consider giving them back their history, a little at a time. It's going to take me a while before I want to meet any of them—old wounds take a long time to heal. But you have taught me something about forgiveness and making amends, boy. It feels a lot better than carrying the acid of hatred and anger around all the time."
"Yes, I believe it does," Ven said. "I'm counting on that in my own situation."
"Tell them my terms," the dragon continued, "and also tell them they have until the next turn of the moon to accomplish them. Otherwise, I'm going to continue to burn their settlements—and one day I will come after that egg myself. One thing I learned from the Nain as a child, even if I haven't believed it of them for centuries—family is everything. There are all forms of family, and dragons are a very big one. I feel responsible to Marisynos to make sure her child is returned to her. There are few enough dragons in the world as it is."
"I'll pass along your terms," said Ven. He rose from the carpet. "Thank you for hearing me out and not eating me."
"My pleasure," said the dragon. "Would you like to sign my guestbook on your way out? You'll be the first." He pointed with his tail to a large stand on which an even larger book, dusty and leatherbound, sat open, an inkwell next to it. "No one ever came by to visit who wasn't trying to vanquish me. It would be nice to finally have the signature of someone who just came by to talk."
"I'd be honored," Ven said. He walked over to the guest book and brushed the dust off the first blank page, then took the quill from the inkwell.
Black powder fell from its tip.
"I guess it's a little dry from age," said the dragon. The red streaks in his hide glowed brighter with embarrassment.
"Not a problem," Ven said. "I have a waterskin."
He mixed a few drops of water with the ancient powder to reform the ink, then carefully wrote at the top of the page:
I am honored to have been your first guest.
Thank you for your hospitality, and especially for not eating me.
Cordially, and with warm affection,
Charles Magnus Ven Polypheme
"There," he said, laying the quill beside the inkwell.
"Thank you," said the dragon, sounding pleased.
"Might I ask two more questions of you?"
"Certainly," said Scarnag. "Librarians love to answer questions."
"First—are you the one starting the fires near the Enchanted Forest, or in the Wide Meadows?"
The dragon snorted in disgust.
"No, that's the work of those human idiots who think it's a good idea to burn off brush for farmland. I wouldn't even eat one of their stupid identical cows for fear it would give me diarrhea. You might want to suggest to the Lirin and the Nain that they get together and put a stop to that—before they burn down the Enchanted Forest. What's the other question?"
"The scale I gave you—did you donate that long ago in a noble cause that saved the world?"
The dragon smiled slightly.
"No," he said. "I was not yet hatched when that occurred. But my mother was alive—and this is the scale she gave." He took the scale from its case, held it up to his hide, and tilted it to catch the light. The color was exactly the same. "When you first showed it to me, I thought you were going to bargain for everything I had, and I would have given it to you to get this back, because it's all I have of her. I never knew her, you know."
"Yes," Ven said. "I'm sorry."
"Where did you get this, by the way? I didn't even know it existed, but the moment you showed it to me I knew what it was, and from whom it had come."
Ven took a deep breath, then told the dragon the story of the Gated City, how he had met Madame Sharra, and about the reading she had done for him. He told Scarnag about how she had appeared to him again, before he left Kingston, and what she had said.
The dragon listened intently.
"So what she said to you, about not seeing your footprints—did that make you believe you are going to die soon, then?"
Ven shrugged. "I don't know if it did. But I guess it's a possibility I never thought about until she said it."
The dragon nodded. "The young don't think about death much, I suppose. It's a little like you're wrapped in Black Ivory yourself—protected from life, and from the dangers it poses. You should keep that envelope with you all the time, just to remind you what awaits you, good and bad, in the world.
"Black Ivory is an interesting thing. In some ways, it's the best example of something that is totally and completely dead. And yet that is one of the things in all the world that can mask the vibrations that something, or someone, gives off in the process of being alive. It can hide something's true na
me, making it invisible even to those beings who can see things that are hidden. So it knows more about life than almost anything. It is, in a way, the ultimate librarian."
"What are some of the others?" Ven asked. "Is there anything else that can hide a person besides Black Ivory? I have a lot of bad people looking for me, but I don't want to live in a cave forever."
The dragon thought for a moment. "The only one I can think of, the only one mentioned in the books, is the sea. But there may be others. I can research it for you, if you want to come back."
"I'd love to," Ven said. "Thank you for the invitation—and for telling me your story. I should be going now—I have an egg to bargain for and deliver, and a friend that really needs to get home."
"Before you go, take these," said Scarnag. He patted the colorful book with the engraving of the World Tree, and another box, with his tail. "The first one you may keep—I have another copy of it. But the book in the box is one of a kind, so it's on loan only." He pulled off the top.
Ven peered inside.
"You can open it, if you're careful," said the dragon.
Ven unwrapped the book from its packing of silk and picked it up. The box it was in was lined with gold, and smelled of ancient magic.
The leather cover was imprinted with the raised picture of a dragon. Inside, each page bore a picture of a dragon as well, beautifully detailed and colored, but with no words.
"Thank you," Ven said, his voice filled with awe.
"Remember, on loan only," said the dragon. "And dragon late fees are dreadful."
Then he extended his claw and held out the red gems he had been playing with. Ven took them; they were hard and shiny and deep ruby red. "Take these as well. I've been playing with them for centuries, squeezing them in anger, remembering the great wrong that was done to me. I guess I don't need them anymore. I hope you will keep them to remember what you've taught me—and what it sounds like you've learned yourself."
Ven stared at the little gems.
The Dragon's Lair Page 20
