“He can free the entire Archipelago.”
When Jack had finished his labors with the restorations, and was able to rest and have some tea, John and Bert explained their theory to him. He accepted without pause. “I think you’re right,” said Jack. “I can feel all of them in there, and I know that there has to be a way to free them all.”
“You realize, Jack,” said Charles, “that those you’ve freed here numbered in the hundreds—but the Winter King had been claiming shadows for two decades. There could be thousands upon thousands of spirits in there to be restored.”
“I know,” Jack said, eyes shining. “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
The companions went to say their good-byes to all of their newfound friends as, one by one, the Dragonships began to leave Terminus. Tummeler had elected to go with Aven and Artus aboard the Yellow Dragon, and he embraced them all with tears and promises to visit.
To his surprise, Charles was reluctant to part with the small mammal.
“Chin up, Tummeler,” said Charles. “I’ll be back—and I’m sure you’ll have an occasion or two to visit Oxford, eh?”
Tummeler’s whiskers twitched. “Oxford? Really? Oh, Master Charles, that would be the greatest day, just th’ greatest day!”
He gave Charles one more hug, then scampered aboard the Yellow Dragon.
“That’s it, then,” said Bert. “I think we must be on our way— there’s no telling how long our expedition’s going to take, so we’d best get started right away.”
“Wait,” said Jack. “There’s one more thing that needs to be done, and with everyone’s permission, I’d like to do it here.”
“What’s that, my boy?”
In answer, he turned to Aven. “Where…where is he?”
She started, then answered. “In his cabin, wrapped in one of the High King’s banners. We thought to bury him on Paralon.”
Jack turned to Artus. “You declared Terminus to be an extension of your throne, so this would be as good. And besides,” he added, “no one paid a higher price for the victory won here. I think he’d like it.”
“I agree,” said Artus.
“Do you need a hand, Jack?” said John.
“No,” said Jack. “I think I’d rather do this on my own, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, old boy,” said Charles, “of course.”
“Jack,” Aven began.
“You can come too,” said Jack. “I know you were close to him. It’s only right.”
The two of them had started to walk up the hillside, when Jack stopped and walked back.
“Artus,” said Jack, extending his hand. “Will you help us?”
“Of course, my friend,” said Artus, taking Jack’s hand. “You didn’t even have to ask.”
They buried Nemo just west of the circle of stones. Samaranth had called it a sacred place, and they reasoned that there could not be a better resting place for the captain of the Nautilus than at the far reaches of the world, where his spirit could look out over the limits of existence.
“Technically speaking,” said Charles when they’d returned, “that’s the same place Samaranth left the Winter King.”
“One difference,” said Bert. “Nemo is at rest—but Mordred will never stop falling. He’s going to spend the rest of eternity dreading the inevitable impact that will never come.”
It took less than a day to reach the first of the Shadowed Lands, and according to Bert, it was the greatest loss of the Archipelago.
“It’s called Prydain,” Bert said, showing them the blank parchment in the Geographica where the map had been. “A number of the kings and queens of Parliament were from this place, and most of the great warlords who served directly under Arthur himself.
“It was also the source of much of the music and literature of the entire Archipelago,” he said, “with libraries second only to those at Paralon. Its loss was profoundly felt.”
The shadows that obscured the islands were in fact clouds, thick and black, that had settled down onto the land itself. The clouds not only cut off the land from view, but also the light of the sun. A dead gray light was all that penetrated through the clotted air, leaving a soft, chalky, shadowless light that resembled nothing so much as the mythical land of the dead.
The White Dragon approached slowly and cautiously, but no signal heralded their arrival. It was as if no one noticed they were there.
A small harbor was found, where they could moor the ship and get a closer look at the shore. And what they saw was both horrifying and heartbreaking in its enormity.
The island was thickly wooded, with trees similar to those on both Byblos and Paralon. All along the shore were willow trees that had wildly overgrown, as if they’d not been tended to in many years. Among the trees was a throng of people—hooded, gray as death, and all but motionless.
As they looked, they could see thousands upon thousands more silhouetted in the dim light. This was indeed the source of Mordred’s army, for these half-living beings looked just like the fallen warriors on Terminus.
“Oh my,” Bert said softly. “This may take a very long time.”
“No,” said Jack. “Maybe not. It’s not just the people—the spirit of the land is sick too. Can’t you feel it?”
“What do you want to do, Jack?” said John.
“Help me carry the cauldron to the shore,” said Jack. “Then I’ll do what I’ve always done, and make it up as I go along.”
On a rocky outcropping of the shoreline of Prydain, Jack once again opened Pandora’s Box—but instead of placing his hand over the heart of one of Mordred’s human victims, he placed one hand inside the box and put the other deep into the loamy soil of the land.
In moments there was a flash from the cauldron. Then a river of shadow and light twined together and ran across Jack’s shoulders and into the earth.
As they watched, the light and shadow streaked across the landscape, touching every tree, rock, house, and hovel as it raced along unopposed by anything in its path.
All of the people touched by shadow wavered and fell, then began to stir, and finally rose to their feet, shaking their heads as if waking from a bad dream.
And, in a manner, they were.
“How is this possible?” John said to Bert. “How can he be doing this, all from a talisman that caused so much evil and misery?
“He can do this,” said Bert, “because he reached into it more deeply than the Winter King wanted to, or ever would.
“Remember the legend of Pandora’s Box? When it was opened for the first time, and all the evils of man escaped out into the world, there was still one thing left inside, which was the redemption of all the rest.
“Hope.”
In minutes the entire land had been completely transformed. Every person in sight bore a shadow, now clearly visible as the clouds burned away and let the unaffected sunlight stream through.
Jack turned to his friends, panting from exertion but smiling broadly. “How’s that?”
John and Bert cheered, and Charles pumped his fist in the air. “That’s the way, Jack! That’s how an Oxford man gets things done!”
All the lands that had been shadowed were along the southern edge of the Archipelago. So the White Dragon simply traveled in a slow curve along the lands, guided to where they needed to be by the telltale smudge of darkness the shadow created on the horizon.
As Jack transformed each land, the map would reappear in the Imaginarium Geographica, as if it always been there and always would.
“We’ll have to let Tummeler know,” said Charles. “Or he’ll be stuck publishing an abridged edition.”
They visited land after land; lands they had never heard of, and others they knew well from story and myth. Hy-Breasil. Lilliput. Charos and Styx. Hel. Asmund. And on and on and on. And finally, at the end of more days than they would have liked, but far, far fewer than they had first expected, they realized that there were no more blank pages in the Geographi
ca, and no more dark clouds below the horizon.
They could, at last, go home.
Bert turned the great wheel and pointed the White Dragon in the direction of the Frontier.
“Bert,” John began, as he, Jack, and Charles approached the little man one evening. “We’ve been looking through the Imaginarium Geographica, and we think there’s a land missing.”
“Really?” said Bert. “But I thought we’d taken care of all the shadowed lands. How could we have overlooked one?”
“Not one of the vanished maps,” said Charles. “A map that’s never been in it to begin with.”
“Ah, I see,” said Bert. “Which land were you thinking we’ve misplaced?”
“We’ve only heard about it here and there,” said Jack. “But Ordo Maas mentioned it first. He called it the Summer Country.”
“Ah,” said Bert, smiling. “The Summer Country. One of the greatest of the lands, and spoken about with reverence for many, many years. It’s interesting that you should mention it, for the Summer Country was one of the lands that Mordred—the Winter King—wished to find more than anywhere else.”
“The way Ordo Maas spoke of it,” said Jack, “made it seem as if it might be another place altogether—as if that’s where he would go when he died.”
“Heaven?” said Bert. “It’s entirely possible. It all depends on your point of view.”
“How can the existence of a place depend on one’s point of view?” asked Charles.
“Very easily,” said Bert, “or have you already forgotten the Keep of Time? There were real, physical places behind those doors—but you can argue that they didn’t exist until the door was opened. When John opened a door and found the professor, that place existed for him, based on his belief that it was there. As did the door that provided our escape. It was what Charles needed it to be. In a manner of speaking, he believed it into existence. So is it with the Summer Country.”
“So the Summer Country is whatever people want it to be?” said Jack.
“It is the way most people speak of it,” said Bert, “but you are correct—the legend is based on a place that actually exists.
“The Summer Country is a land greater than any in the Archipelago of Dreams, because it has within it everything to be found in the Archipelago, and more. But where someone like Ordo Maas could find it anywhere, the Winter King would never find it at all. Because to him, it is always just out of his reach—when, in truth, he had it in reach all along.”
“It sounds,” John said, “as if you’re talking about our world.”
“Yes,” said Bert. “Your world is the Summer Country.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Return to London
Much of the remaining voyage back was spent reexamining the Geographica and making notations on the maps that had reappeared since the defeat of the Winter King and the reawakening of the Shadowed Lands. Until just a few days before, the companions would have given—would have done—anything, for immediate passage home. Now it seemed as if England were in the dream world to which they might travel, if only they believed in it enough. And while they still believed in England, and London, and Oxford, and all the rest in the world of men, they had come to know that there was another world that was just as real. And they were no longer certain they wanted to leave.
“We’ve got a limited crew this time through,” said Charles. “Namely, us. Will the White Dragon have any trouble navigating the storm line?”
“It’s meant to keep people out, not in,” said Bert. “You’ll find it’s a much easier passage going east than west.”
John didn’t say what he was thinking—that he was already anticipating having to push through the storms again, going in the opposite direction. That he wanted to return to the Archipelago, and soon.
…twinkling in friendly greeting, the lights of London began to appear.
“Here’s something I never expected I’d be saying out loud,” said Jack, “but does anyone else find it comforting that there are at least three dragons shadowing us from above?”
High in the atmosphere, a greenish dragon and two smaller amber ones were diving and soaring in and among the clouds of the storm line, dipping their wings in greeting as they noticed that the companions were watching.
“The mariners had it wrong,” said Charles. “‘Here, There Be Dragons’ wasn’t a caution. It was a reassurance.”
“I think that would depend on your relationship with the dragons,” said John. “Remember—when we met, Samaranth’s other option was to eat us.”
As the White Dragon passed through the storm line and into more traditional waters, the dragons wheeled away and vanished into the ether.
In the distance, they could just make out the silhouette of Avalon, soft and verdant in the light of dusk.
“What do you say, lads?” asked Bert. “Want to stop off and pay your respects to the Morgaine?”
“Depends on the day, doesn’t it?” said Jack. “Tuesday we can manage, but I’d rather not catch Cul in a fouler mood.”
“Good call, Jack,” said Bert. “Next time, then.”
The sunlight faded quickly with the sudden smothering of clouds that marked the crossing of the last boundary. Soon, the familiar English fog had begun to coalesce around the ship, and then, twinkling in friendly greeting, the lights of London began to appear.
“Now I know we’re home!” exclaimed Charles. “Look at that water! It’s absolutely filthy! God bless the Thames!”
The companions’ happy laughter was cut short when the shrillness of an air-raid siren split the night air, shattering the stillness into pieces that fell with John’s smile. He looked to each of his friends, and then to Bert.
“We’re still at war,” John said, crestfallen. “We defeated the Winter King, but our world is still at war.”
“Well, of course it is,” Bert said, chiding. “The conflict in the Archipelago is not over either, for that matter.”
John furrowed his brow. “But we won. Artus is the new High King. We restored order in the Archipelago, and Jack freed the Shadow-Born.”
“Did we now?” said Bert. “Yes, we found the heir and reestablished the continuity of rule in the Archipelago. But just because a man sits on a throne doesn’t mean automatic fealty.”
“He has a point,” Charles put in. “There’s still the Troll Prince, Arawn, to deal with—and the Four Kingdoms have to come to grips with having a new king on the Silver Throne. Artus has quite a row to hoe.”
“Does that mean we’re going to remain at war until Artus has things in hand in the Archipelago?” said John.
“You misunderstand,” said Bert. “It isn’t like pulling a lever—as the conflict in one world is mirrored in the other, so is the peace and harmony we helped to set in motion in the Archipelago going to be reflected in this world. But the events that have occurred here must still take their course. There is the matter of free will to consider. We have removed the catalyst, true—but the world of men must still work to repair the damage that has been done, and then, ultimately, must choose peace.”
“I think I understand,” said John. “I suppose that somehow I was hoping for a more magical instant solution. Like ‘drink me’ and ‘eat me’ in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”
“Now, John,” Bert chided. “That’s just a story. We should stay focused on the real world, don’t you think?”
The journey ended exactly where it began, at the dock in London where they had fled from the pursuing Wendigo. It had only been days, but it already seemed a lifetime ago—and in a sense, it had been.
“I have to let my wife know I’m all right, then I’m back to Staffordshire, I expect,” said John. “And then probably back to France, as I’m still enlisted for the duration. I just hope my absence hasn’t been long enough for them to notice and declare me missing—I’ll never be able to explain where I’ve been!”
“I’m overdue myself,” said Charles, “although I expect that the O
xford dons might be more forgiving than the military.”
“I still think I’ll be joining up before I start my term at Oxford,” said Jack. “After all, the war should be over soon anyway, right?”
“We can hope, young Jack,” said Bert. He turned to John. “I’ll check in now and again, to see how you’re coming along. I must admit, it’s a nice thought to realize that I can actually retire, knowing that the Geographica will be in good hands. Now I must go—I have to return the White Dragon to Ordo Maas, and then attend to the repair of the Indigo Dragon, bless her timbers.”
He bowed his head, chewing his lower lip, before continuing to speak. “There is one last detail to which we must attend,” Bert said, his voice trembling with emotion. “It has been tradition, these many centuries, for the Caretakers to add their names to those who came before. I would be honored if the three of you would do so now.”
“The three of us?” said Jack. “But John is the Caretaker.”
“The Caretaker Principia,” Bert corrected, “but there have always been three. The purpose of the other two Caretakers is to help the Caretaker Principia fulfill his responsibilities—and I daresay that’s what the both of you have been doing these long days.”
“Not to seem ungrateful,” said Charles, “but with Tummeler about to start a publishing empire based on the twin pillars of cookbooks and atlases—namely, the Geographica—what is the point of having Caretakers? Why take care of a book that everyone in the Archipelago will now have access to?”
“Remember what John told the Cartographer?” said Bert. “It’s about more than safeguarding a mere book—it’s a far greater responsibility than that. You are the Caretakers of the lands within it. The Caretakers of the Imagination of the World. And you’ve proven yourselves more than worthy, and more than able.”
Jack and Charles looked at each other, then at John, who tilted his head and smiled. “Why not? Who else can we tell about all these adventures we’ve had, if not each other?”
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