Artus had decided that for the time being, the island would serve as an auxiliary to the Silver Throne on Paralon, reasoning that the seat of power was wherever the king wished it to be. “I’ve given the island a name,” said Artus. “Not that what it was called before wasn’t a name, but it’s rather unwieldy to keep calling it ‘The Island at the Edge of the World,’ don’t you think?”
“Probably,” said John. Tell me what you call it, and I’ll make the appropriate changes in the Geographica.”
“Terminus,” said Artus. “The name of the island is Terminus.”
Aside from continuing to care for those affected by the Shadow-Born, the effort of which was being guided by Charys and the centaurs, preparing the ships for departure from Terminus was the last item on the allies’ agenda.
“I think the High King may be angling for a queen,” John murmured to Bert, tipping his head in the direction of Artus and Aven, who were examining the repairs to the hull of the White Dragon.
Aven was as sharp-tongued as ever, but when Artus spoke, she now looked at him differently, considering his words with gravity and respect—and something more. Not quite affection, but the whisper of it. And there was no mistaking the way that he looked at her, nor the familiar way he placed—and she allowed him to place—his hand around her waist as he guided her around the ship.
“Yes,” Bert sighed. “I could see it coming several days ago. Still,” he said, “there are worse fellows she could have chosen, you know?”
A bag dropped behind them, and they turned to see Jack striding away.
“Oh, dear,” said Bert. “Do you think he overheard me? I certainly didn’t mean…”
“I know you didn’t,” said John. “But I think of all of us, he’s had the worst of it.”
Aven also noticed Jack’s abrupt departure. She gave Artus an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder and walked across the sand to find Jack.
Among the supplies being loaded onto each of the ships were multiple copies of Tummeler’s cookbook, which he had managed to convince Nemo to bring from Paralon “just in case.”
“Tummeler!” said Charles. “I’m quite impressed with your fortitude. I have no doubt your book will eventually become very successful.”
“I’ve got a plan,” said Tummeler, proudly showing some designs he’d been scribbling on a sheet of parchment. “Th’ next one will be even better. Take a look.”
“I don’t understand,” said Charles, peering closely at the parchment. “You’re going to publish the Imaginarium Geographica?”
“Yup,” Tummeler nodded. “I discussed it with th’ High King. We decided that part o’ the problems caused by th’ Winter King were because of all th’ secrets. Secret lands, secret places, secret secrets. But if all the captains have their own Geographica, then no more secrets. And maybe, we can all just start getting’ along.”
“Sensible thinking,” said Charles. “It certainly would have helped us out every time we lost ours if we could have popped around to the local shop for a replacement.”
“It’ll look good next to the cookbook, too,” said Tummeler.
“I still don’t understand the significance of the blueberries,” said Charles.
“Simple,” Tummeler replied. “Blueberries is one of the great forces o’ good in the world.”
“How do you figure that?” said Charles.
“Well,” said Tummeler, “have you ever seen a troll, or a Wendigo, or,” he shuddered, “a Shadow-Borned ever eating a blueberry pie?”
“No,” Charles admitted.
“There y’ go,” said Tummeler. “It’s cause they can’t stand the goodness in it.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” said Charles.
“Foods is good and evil, just like people, or badgers, or even scowlers.”
“Evil food?” said Charles.
“Parsnips,” said Tummeler. “Them’s as evil as they come.”
“Hang on a minute,” Charles said, thumbing through Tummeler’s recipe book, “you’ve got a recipe for Parsnip Pudding right here on page forty-three. If parsnips are evil, how do you explain that?”
Tummeler looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Two reasons. One, because th’ Harpy sisters invented it, and they always come t’ market days in Paralon, and they found out about my book, and one thing led t’ another, and before I knew it, they wuz insistin’ that I put their recipe in my book. And believe you me, y’ don’t ever want t’ upset th’ Harpy sisters.
“And second, just because parsnips is evil doesn’t mean that they won’t someday become good—or at th’ least, be part of a good recipe.
“Mind you, I don’t think ol’ Tummeler will be th’ one t’ do it, but somehow it didn’t seem fair to pretend there’s nothin’ but good foods in th’ world. There has to be balance, y’ know? Do y’ understand, scowler Charles?”
“Yes,” said Charles, “I do.”
Aven found Jack at a window high in the cabin of the White Dragon, where he could watch the loading of the other ships. He didn’t acknowledge her as she entered, but the pattern of his breathing changed, and she knew he was aware of her presence.
“Jack,” said Aven. “Will you be all right?”
“I don’t know,” he replied at length. “Truthfully, I feel like I may never be all right, not truly, ever again.”
“There was much at risk,” Aven said. “No one who fought in that battle was there without knowing the risks involved, or the stakes.”
“Not true,” said Jack. “I didn’t know the stakes—or at least, chose not to believe them. And Nemo died because of me. Because he trusted that I knew what I was doing, and I didn’t, and I failed him, and he died.”
“Jack,” Aven began again, “you hadn’t been in a situation like that before. Everyone knows you were doing you best.”
“Don’t treat me like a child,” Jack shot back. “Don’t you think I knew what was happening? Don’t you think a man notices when he begins to lose his own shadow? And it didn’t happen last night—it wasn’t even because of the Winter King. I started giving it up on my own.”
Aven was taken aback. “You mean on the Indigo Dragon?”
“Of course,” said Jack. “And he saw it there, too. Th-the Winter King. Mor-Mordred. He knew.”
“He knew you had the potential, Jack. That’s all he saw in you. And when it came time to make a choice, you chose to be with us, and that was what mattered.”
“My choices killed Nemo,” said Jack. “You say what was in my heart was different than what I chose to do, but I think you’re wrong. I think what is within affects what we do. Sooner or later, we have to face that.”
“And you did,” said Aven, looking at his shadow on the floor.
“Yes,” he replied, looking at the shadow. “I just did it too late.”
Aven’s face showed the conflict she felt in deciding what to say next. Finally, one side of the struggle bested the other.
“Jack,” she said. “You…you could stay here, in the Archipelago.”
He shot her a glance, and briefly, there was a light in his eyes and countenance that said he’d considered doing just that. But the light sparked and died, and he slowly shook his head.
“I can’t. I—I don’t think it would help. I let my emotions, my passions, get the better of me,” he said, again looking fleetingly at her, “and that’s exactly what he knew would happen. And someone suffered and died.”
He shook his head again and chuckled, a bitter, mirthless sound. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
Jack turned back to the window and watched as Bert continued to guide the loading of supplies onto the White Dragon. Aven remained standing behind him, silent.
After a time, she extended her hand to touch him, to say something to change his mind, to reassure him that what he was going through, while bitter, and a harsh lesson to learn, was nevertheless just a part of growing up. But somehow, none of the words seemed adequate to express what she felt, an
d they died in her throat.
Aven held her hand near his shoulder a moment more, then dropped her hand and walked out of the room.
Aboard the Blue Dragon, which had been converted into a makeshift hospital, Charys shook his head in defeat. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”
The centaur was tending to the pallid forms of those who had fallen to the Shadow-Born, including Falladay Finn. The centaurs had long been valued for their knowledge of medicine and the healing arts, but what had been done to his friends and comrades was beyond his ken.
“I don’t know,” he said again, with uncharacteristic reserve. “They live, but have no will, no fire. Their spirits are gone, and I have no idea how to restore them.”
“It stands to reason,” Charles suggested, “that they are trapped inside Pandora’s Box, doesn’t it? If the Shadow-Born are created by forcing someone to look inside, and they are capable of ripping away and…and…absorbing the shadows of others, then where else could they have gone?”
“That’s true,” said Aven. “They all disappeared at the moment you and Tummeler closed the box.”
“I think the best thing we can do is to take it back to the Morgaine on Avalon,” said Bert. “They’ve had it longer than anyone. They might be able to help us.”
“Or Ordo Maas,” said Charles. “He has experience with it as well, although considering that it involved his wife, and her expulsion from the Archipelago, I can imagine that he won’t be too happy to see it again.”
“There must be some way to do it,” said John. “I can’t believe that the process is irreversible. The problem is, the only way to let anything out is to open it,” he continued, “and then you’re back to the problem of not being able to look inside without being trapped yourself.”
“There’s obviously some trick to it,” said Charles, “or else Mordred wouldn’t have been able to use it either.”
“I know how the Winter King did it,” said a voice from the doorway.
It was Jack.
“I know how the Winter King did it,” Jack said again. “And I can do it too.
“I can free the Shadow-Born.”
…a throng of people—hooded, gray as death…
Chapter Twenty-Three
Into the Shadowed Lands
Jack came into the room and stood facing his friends, arms folded in a gesture that, John thought, seemed very much like one the old Jack would have made: defiant, confident, sure.
“Now, Jack,” Bert began, “I know you want to help, but…”
Jack ignored him. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said, pacing across the room, “and there is only one reason that the Winter King could use the box without being trapped in it himself—he had no shadow.”
John and Charles looked at each other, startled. That was one point they hadn’t considered.
“So,” Jack continued, “it stands to reason that only someone with a similar condition could reopen, and use, Pandora’s Box to free the shadows trapped within.”
“That’s a huge leap of logic,” said Bert. “None of us knows enough about it, or even the process he used to steal shadows, to risk using the box.”
“I can,” Jack said for the third time. “Do you remember, on the Indigo Dragon, when the Winter King asked me to join him, and I refused?”
“Yes,” said John. “He whispered something to you—something you claimed you couldn’t even understand.”
“I didn’t understood it until now,” said Jack. “It didn’t make any sense to me then, but after Aven and I talked a little while ago, I remembered something similar the Cartographer said. And that’s when I realized what I could do.”
“What did Mordred say to you, Jack?”
“He said, ‘Shadows cannot exist without the light. But without the shadows, the light has no meaning.’”
“A wise statement,” said Charys, “even considering the source. But why would that make you think you could look into the vessel without losing your shadow?”
“Because,” said Jack, “I’m the only one here who knows what it is to give up one’s shadow—and then to choose to take it back.”
“There remains one problem,” said Eledir. “The box is known to be a forbidden magic. Samaranth has made this clear. It was not to be used by Archibald, and we know what happened when Mordred used it. If you were to try, would that not incur the wrath of the dragons yet again?”
“Not to make it worse,” Charles put in, “but we also need to consider something else. When Tummeler and I closed the Box, the Shadow-Born disappeared. What if we open it again, and they all reappear? We could suddenly find ourselves up to our necks in Shadow-Born.”
“No, I don’t think they would, and I don’t think we will,” said Artus.
“Archibald and Mordred both used it to subvert another’s will,” he continued, “to control. Jack would not be using it to conquer, but to restore. And I don’t think even the dragons would have an argument with that. And I think bringing forth Shadow-Born is a matter of intent. Sometimes Mordred needed a dozen, and sometimes a thousand. He just withdrew the number he needed. But it was always an act of will, not just happenstance. The same rules apply.”
“The High King has spoken,” said Charys. “I will not oppose it if Jack wishes to try.”
“Agreed,” said Eledir.
“All right,” Artus said to Jack. “Do what you will.”
The rest of the group moved to the far side of the room, so as not to inadvertantly look into the cauldron. Jack sat in a wooden chair between it and the bed where they’d lain Falladay Finn, facing away from the others. He looked back at his friends and gave a little smile. Then, with no preamble, he reached up and removed the shield from the top of Pandora’s Box and looked directly inside the opening.
He sat motionless for a few seconds, and then his shoulders started to shake.
The companions exchanged worried glances, unsure if he was in trouble, or if they should risk stepping forward to help him. They could not see his face, so they were not sure if what was happening was affecting him for better or worse. Then Jack turned and looked at them, and they realized he’d been weeping.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s full of light.”
Whatever he was seeing was for his eyes alone; from their vantage point, nothing exceptional was happening.
Jack turned back and reached one hand into Pandora’s Box, and it was quickly absorbed into the darkness visible. Without hesitating, he reached out with the other hand and placed it on Falladay Finn’s chest.
As they watched, a tendril of darkness wound its way out of the cauldron and along Jack’s arm, then across his chest, and down his other arm, finally bleeding out across Falladay Finn’s limp body until it formed a complete, whole, natural shadow on the far side of the light.
Jack withdrew his arm from the cauldron and placed his hand on Finn’s forehead, bowing his head as he did so—whether in prayer or concentration, they couldn’t tell.
A minute passed, then another. Then Finn’s eyelids fluttered, and opened.
He looked around at the group clustered around him. “Drat and damnation,” he growled. “Is it over? Did I miss the entire fight? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
The king of the Dwarves had his shadow back, and with it, his spirit, and his life.
And Jack still retained his own.
“All right,” Jack said, rolling up his sleeves, the old fire shining in his eyes once more, “who’s next?”
It took the rest of the day and well into the night for Jack to restore the shadows to the warriors who had had them torn away during the battle. It was a great relief to the kings and captains to see their warriors, who had become soulless, half-living shades, restored once more to their old selves. And it was a greater relief to the companions to see how the praise for the task only he could do was restoring Jack’s own spirit.
As Jack worked with Charys and the centaurs on the res
torations, John pulled Bert aside to talk.
“Those who fell on the battlefield are not really Shadow-Born, are they?” he asked. “Not like the ones who were forced into service by Mordred.”
“Not exactly,” said Bert, “although I don’t really know all the specifics myself. I know that a Shadow-Born can tear away and then absorb a shadow, and we know that Mordred was keeping the victims here alive because he planned to make Shadow-Born out of the captured shadows and increase his army.
“Shadow-Born become more substantial with age. As they steal the shadows of others, they gain in substance themselves. That’s why we could recognize the features of the kings of Parliament—they must have been among the first taken.
“Shadows just taken, but not yet pressed into service—I suppose these are like Shadow-Born-in-waiting. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been looking through the Geographica,” said John. “And while the Shadow-Born disappeared when the box was closed, the maps of the Shadowed Lands are still in shadow. Why would that be?”
“No one knows,” said Bert. “Any expeditions to the Shadowed Lands never returned. Even Nemo could only get so close before turning back. He said they were guarded by Shadow-Born.”
“That’s what I thought,” said John. “What were the Shadow-Born guarding?”
“I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“It’s simple,” said John. “If the bodies that provided the shadows for Mordred’s invincible army had to be kept alive, then it stands to reason that all of the people in the lands he conquered are still there, with no Shadow-Born to keep us out.”
Bert’s eyes widened. “Oh, my dear boy…”
“Exactly,” John said. “Jack may be able to free everyone conquered by the Winter King.
Here, There Be Dragons tcotig-1 Page 23
