Dragon Rigger

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  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.

  She suddenly remembered . . .

  The web . . . ship out of control . . . had to regain . . . impossible . . . ! She remembered now the slamming force of the thing that had launched them, ejected them across space and time, and she'd thought she was dying.

  Even now she wasn't certain that she had not died.

  She could not seem to move or talk.

  Is this what death feels like?

  Ar—was Ar alive? Or was he with her . . . in death?

  Nothing seemed quite right here. Ed was flying around violently, trying to reach her. She could almost touch him. They were so close now . . . and yet she could not. The rigger-net seemed to be torn somehow, keeping them apart. She could not see Ar, or hear him, or tell if he was alive.

  JAYL . . . ?

  Jayl . . . ?

  Jayl . . . ?

  The parrot's cries echoed down through several layers of separation in the net. As she probed, she finally heard the parrot's voice directly. Jayyyl!

  Ed! she croaked.

  The parrot screamed and flew straight toward her, growing larger and larger and finally imploding into her vision. (Jayl!) he cried, within her mind. (Ed!) she whispered joyfully. She felt his thoughts swarming around hers, felt him looking out through her eyes.

  She blinked, suddenly aware that there was an outside reality. Where were they?

  She focused her eyes on a mountain landscape. The ship had come to rest on a steep slope, nestled against a crag of some sort. They were motionless, except for vibrations from the wind. She could not be sure, but it certainly looked like the mountains of the dragon realm. As she craned her neck to look around, she half expected dragons to appear out of the clouds. But she saw nothing moving except snow, swirling in the wind.

  She remembered Ar's reaction the first time they had arrived in the realm together and been dumped on a snowy slope not too unlike this one. He wasn't going to be much happier now. But where was he? Had he left the net?

  She couldn't tell with any certainty, but there was a weightiness to the net that made her think he was still here with them. The net felt fragmented, in a way she had never experienced before. It occurred to her that perhaps she should withdraw and regroup with her shipmates outside the net. But first she wanted to learn all she could.

  She took a deep breath and called: AR?

  There was no answer.

  She felt Ed, still trapped inside her mind, frantic with joy that she was alive—and in terror over what was happening. Having gotten into her head, he seemed unable to get back out. Perhaps if she withdrew from the net, he would be freed—and she could begin to make sense of things.

  Her first effort to withdraw told her at once that somethi
ng was wrong. The net quivered, but did not yield. The way out was blocked somehow. She tried again, and the net trembled but did not yield. She couldn't see what the problem was, but it frightened her. This shouldn't be happening. Ar? she whispered. AR? Rarberticandornan?

  The only sound was a low rumble in the background, a neural interference that suggested something wrong in the physical projection of the net itself. She couldn't identify its source, but she sensed that she might not be able to exit the net until it was corrected. She fought back a fresh surge of fear. What if they were all trapped here? Stop it! she thought sternly. There were many possibilities—and one was that Ar was already on the outside, trying to help her.

  (Ed, can you hear me?) she whispered.

  She felt the parrot fluttering in her thoughts. (Awwk,) he croaked, in a voice taut with fright. She glimpsed images of his fear—memories rushing up of a time when he had been trapped in the wild, imprisoned in a cage, drained into a data nodule. His fear resounded like the tapping of a snare drum. (Awwwk-k-k. What hap-p-pened? Jayl?)

  (I don't know,) she murmured. She found the situation nearly incomprehensible. But she remembered that Ed had bridged some sort of barrier in coming to her. Maybe he could do that again. (Ed? I need your help.)

  (Aw-w-w-wk. Y-yes-s-s.)

  (Look for Ar for me. I can't see him—but he may be in the net somewhere, trying to reach us. Can you move around at all? Can you reach outside of where I can see—and tell me if you hear him, or see him?)

  (C-c-can't, Jayl.)

  She shuddered at his feeling of helplessness. (Try, Ed—please? We're hurt. I don't know how badly, yet. But I can't see Ar, and maybe you can reach into areas where I can't. Please!)

  (Urk-k.)

  She sensed the parrot cocking his gaze about uneasily, trying to spot openings that his human riggermate could not. It all looked rather foreboding. But now there was a shadow, way off to one side. Could that be Ar, in another part of the net? She felt Ed moving his thoughts that way; then she felt a sudden, fluttering release. Ed had found a way to stretch beyond the limits of her thoughts. Good! She decided to let him do what she'd asked, while she looked elsewhere.

  Her gaze went back to the mountain wilderness outside the net. There was something in the air that she could almost smell, that told her that this was dragon country. But whether it was friendly dragon country was another question altogether.

  There was one way to find out, of course. "Cry, 'Friend of Highwing!' and I will hear you, though all the mountains lie between us," Highwing had once told her. Highwing was gone now, but his son Windrush had renewed the vow.

  Did she dare? She was helpless, if hostile dragons came along. But she was helpless anyway.

  She took a shallow breath, and barely whispered the words: Friend of Highwing . . . friend of Windrush . . . Her voice caught. She swallowed hard and forced her voice to rise to a croaking cry. I am . . . Jael . . . friend of Highwing . . . and Windrush!

  The landscape sighed with emptiness. If there was anyone out there to hear her, she couldn't tell. Even if there had been, she could hardly expect her pathetic cry to carry far. She drew a ragged breath, determined to shout this time.

  Before she could make a sound, a voice hissed: Do not cry out again! It is not safe!

  She choked in astonishment. It was not Ar's voice, but it was familiar. She thought it was the voice of . . .The creature materialized in front of her before she could complete the thought. It was a creature made of fire, gathered into a vaguely dragonlike shape. It floated in the air just above the boulder against which the ship rested. It had an ethereal and magical appearance, and yet it pulsed with an urgency that seemed personal and immediate. When it spoke again, its voice seemed to float like a whisper of wind in the night. You must not reveal yourself yet. We will show you the way.

  Jael hesitated. Who are you? she asked, though she thought she knew already. She thought it was an iffling, though it did not look quite like any she had seen before. Did ifflings take on dragonlike form?

  You know who I am, said the being.

  Jael frowned. Are you the . . . iffling . . . who told me to come here? Are you the one who visited me in the other . . . in the static realm?

  Of course. And I have been with you ever since. But now we must see that you continue your journey, without being led astray.

  Am I in time? she wanted to cry. If it was not safe to call out openly, did that mean that her friends were in hiding against danger? Her voice trembled as she asked, Can you tell me, iffling, what is happening here? How are the dragons faring against . . . Tar-skel? How are Windrush and his brothers?

  The iffling seemed to flicker for an instant. Your questions will be answered soon. But right now you must follow me! We are in great danger!

  Jael didn't know if it was even possible for her to move. She couldn't tell much about the state of the rigger-net, except that it was damaged. And she wasn't even sure that she herself was in any condition to fly. I don't know if I can move.

  You must! hissed the iffling. Without delay!

  Jael shivered. She supposed she hadn't come this far just to give up because they'd gotten banged around a little. Ed, she called softly, if you can hear me, keep trying to get through to Ar. I'm going to see if I can get us moving again. She felt a flutter of acknowledgment.

  Drawing upon some inner strength she barely knew she had, she reached out through the net to touch the rocks beneath her. They felt solid and icy cold. The ship, behind her, was a massive extension of her own body. She nudged it hesitantly, to see how difficult it would be to move. To her surprise, it did move—it felt like a great, empty balloonlike container behind her, nearly weightless, but with great bulk and inertia. She thought a moment, then began to change the image of the ship, shrinking it down behind her. At least she still had that much control.

  Hurry! urged the iffling.

  Jael frowned and gave another experimental push. The ship felt heavier—probably an illusion caused by its greater compactness. She refined the image: the ship became a backpack, strapped to her shoulders and waist. She would try to walk . . . and carry it. Taking a deep breath, mindful of the iffling's impatience, she took a tottering step forward. She felt traction on the rocks under her feet, felt the movement of the ship's mass behind her. She stepped carefully, descending to a more level stretch of rock—not quite a path, perhaps, but passable.

  Ahead of her the iffling floated, bobbing and glimmering, beckoning.

  * * *

  The iffling-child struggled to revive itself. Whatever had hurled the ship into this place had nearly destroyed the iffling in the process. But now all seemed quiet. This was the realm of the dragons, the iffling felt, though it could not have said how it knew. It had, after all, been born into life in the realm of the humans. And yet . . . there was something here that touched its mind and said: Home is nearby.

  But where, exactly? The iffling was having trouble perceiving space clearly, as though there were splintered layers of underrealm obscuring its vision. It sensed the human rigger, still alive, but the iffling was separated from her by one of the layers of brokenness. The other, nonhuman rigger was present and alive, too, and somewhat closer to the iffling; but that one had not yet returned to full consciousness. The ship, nevertheless, was moving—under Jael's shaky control. And Jael appeared to be following someone . . . someone whom she took to be an iffling.

  She was following the enemy, the false-iffling.

  You must not, you are being misled! the iffling cried out, but it knew that its words had not carried far enough to be heard. It was certain that the false-iffling was leading Jael astray, taking her in a direction that was intended to thwart her true purpose. What exactly the enemy was up to, the iffling couldn't tell. But it was not taking her to Windrush, that was clear.

  The iffling called out again, but there was no indication that it was heard, much less understood.

  If it couldn't reach Jael, could it do something about the e
nemy, the falsifier of truth? Probably not. The iffling was too weak to fight—and now it glimpsed more distant pulses of light outside the ship. More false-ifflings, joining the other? If so, the true-iffling would have to be even more careful. But the false-one seemed unconcerned about fighting, or about the true-iffling at all. It seemed concerned only that Jael follow it.

  Follow it in its lies.

  There seemed little the iffling could do. It wondered if there were others of its own kind here, others who could help. Perhaps so—but it dared not leave Jael to look for them. That left the other rigger, the one called Ar. Perhaps it could make contact with that one. Rigger, awaken! it called softly, reaching out. Rigger Ar, you are needed!

  There was a stirring in the rigger's mind. The iffling felt a spark of hope. Rigger Ar, you must awaken! You must speak with Jael!