A current of air was rising beneath FullSky, carrying him upward, closer and closer to that great, swelling fist. He could not turn back now if he wanted to, not without battling the current, not without drawing attention to himself. How small could he make himself? he wondered desperately. As surely as if he were physically here, he felt himself holding his breath, riding the updraft as a fleck of dust or a droplet of water, riding it wherever the winds would take him, spiraling and spinning about the path-thread, but drawn inexorably toward the eruption of the Nail's presence.
The fist seemed to be closing around the thread-path, as though to clutch it. FullSky was flying headlong into its grip. He felt a rushing despair as he rose, helplessly, ever closer to the impossibly dense cloud. He became aware of tiny, churning microstorms on its surface, and imagined that those tiny disturbances were eyes, peering out into the sky. Peering . . .He was certain that that was Tar-skel's gaze shifting to and fro, taking in the sight of his underrealm. How could that gaze miss the kuutekka of a dragon rising alongside it? As he struggled to reduce himself to an invisible speck, he thought of his physical body, captive in the dungeons of the Dark Vale; and he knew that if Tar-skel recognized him, no matter what evasions he might try here in the underrealm, his body could be destroyed within a moment of the Nail's command. The only mountain he would reach then would be the Final Dream Mountain, the soulfire of death.
Lightning seared the air around him; and as the thunder rumbled, he saw not just the lightning glowing against the clouds, but the Nail's web of power, as well—a fine woven outline visible through the clouds. The lightning flashed, illuminating the fist of Tar-skel with great jumping sheets of light and shadow; and the web seemed to burn brighter. It was not finished—there were strands incomplete and missing—but it was strong, and growing stronger.
FullSky, spun by the winds, streaked ever faster upward toward a grey ceiling of sky that loomed overhead. He was level with the fist of cloud, practically surrounded by its massive bulk, still mushrooming outward. It was impossible that he would not be seen! Each flash of lightning illuminated more to the Enemy's gaze, and surely that gaze was circling around toward him. FullSky's fear and hope were knotted tightly in his heart. His fear must be blazing out like a beacon in the night!
And yet, perhaps not. As he watched, the stormy eyes seemed to slide past him. With each flash brighter than the one before, he felt the power in the Enemy's gaze drawn outward toward the vastness of the web. The Nail was admiring his own handiwork, and missing altogether the puny presence of a dragon's kuutekka rising through its center. FullSky heard a rumbling voice, a voice of anger and satisfaction, of arrogant pride; and he knew that the voice was reveling in the lightning and thunder, in the dreadful structure beyond. And though FullSky could practically have reached out and touched the surface of Tar-skel's fist, he remained absolutely still and shot upward and away from it in terror, a scrap of leaf on the wind.
A heartbeat later, he was above the storm, untouched. He felt as small as a grain of sand; he could hardly remember what it was like to fly as a dragon. He caught his breath, and tearing his gaze from the Enemy's terrible presence, gazed upward again. Directly overhead was a thinning in the cloud ceiling, and a frail thread-path twisting up through that opening. Far off to the side, almost lost in the wall of the great storm below, FullSky glimpsed the larger main thread that he had left earlier, and saw that it turned away from where he wanted to go. He had chosen correctly, in leaving that path.
From above, Tar-skel's fist looked a little less dark now, a little less ominous. He was not by any means out of range of the Enemy's sight, but he began to feel hope again. The roiling of the Enemy's presence seemed turned away from him, and he was rising faster and faster away from it. The grey ceiling overhead was dropping upon him like a blanket. It was wispy thin, right here in this one place above the Enemy's gaze, but before he could even think about it, the fog whipped closed around him and cut off the sight of Tar-skel's storm.
A few seconds later, the fog layer fell away below. Looking up, FullSky trembled in wonder. There were twists and turns in the path yet, but above him as he rose was the astonishing sight of a vast, magnificent, translucent mountain.
* * *
Dream Mountain: a sharp-featured peak of glass, glowing from within. FullSky, after the first heart-stopping moment, recovered his concentration and reached out his presence toward it.
There were no further barriers of the Enemy. Apparently Tar-skel was so confident of his grand sorcery that he did not trouble to station any of his lesser servants here. FullSky followed the thread-path without difficulty to the base of the Mountain, and there he felt familiar draconic spells of entry; and with a shudder of pleasure, he tugged at those threads and found himself inside the Mountain.
The transformation was instantaneous. He was in a place bathed with sunshine, so bright he could see nothing else, and he heard the voices before he saw their source. They were like chimes ringing in a shifting breeze, like glass singing in a fire, like a stream chortling in a carved channel. They were surely the voices of the draconae, and FullSky for a moment could not move or breathe or utter a sound to make his presence known. Nor did he have to.
You who have entered, said a voice floating toward him. You are different from those who have tried before.
Indeed, FullSky whispered. I am a friend. I cannot see you. But if you are the draconae, the dreaming, the singing ones—
We are—
Then—and he paused, barely glimpsing the presence of the others, fluttering in the Dream Mountain's underrealm—then know that I am FullSky, son of Highwing and Skytouch, and I am reaching out to you in desperate hope, from the dungeons of the Dark Vale.
There was a sound of rushing wind, and another change, not quite instantaneous, more like an eyeblink. He was wafted into a darkness, but a warm darkness—and he felt something stirring near him, the flutter of fragile wings. He felt a breath close, and he glimpsed the movement of pale luminous figures, almost too dim to be seen. Wait, he heard.
Chapter 27: The Pool of Visions
The swirling snow was finally abating, the air clearing to reveal a landscape that took Jael's breath away, even through the distortion of the fractured rigger-net. The mountain trail was winding down out of the barren heights toward a glen of some sort; she glimpsed trees rising from the shadows. In the distance an oblate red sun shone over a majestic range of mountains, peaks gleaming with ice and snow, the lower flanks jutting angles of maroon and brown rock. As she descended, ship on her back, she saw clusters of trees below, with burnished purple and gold leaves. She glimpsed a stream tumbling down from a cliff face. Ahead of her, floating down into the glen, was the hazy and ethereal iffling, in the shape of a dragon.
Jael felt her spirits lifting. This looked like the sort of place where dragons might gather, and perhaps share word with her of the struggle. But as more of the glen drew into sight, she searched in vain for any sign of dragons, or any animate life other than the iffling. Her spirits sank again.
She felt terribly lonely. Ed had not returned from his search for Ar. Once, she thought she had actually heard Ar's voice, calling out—not to her, but to Ed—but only once, and then the voice was lost again in the cottony interstices of the damaged net. Jael knew she had to forget Ar and Ed and put the most urgent tasks before her, and not give in to fear. But her heart ached for the company of her friends. She was terrified that she had damaged the net irreparably, and that this was where they would all die, uselessly. Words had come back to her from a conversation with Kan-Kon, words she'd not paid much attention to at the time, distracted as she'd been by other thoughts. "From that one's death . . . will the ending be wrought . . ."—words that he seemed not to have understood particularly, but which now made her sick with fear. She longed for Windrush. He could make sense of all this. She desperately wanted to believe that he had heard her call, or somehow sensed her presence.
The trail twisted to the l
eft, dropped steeply for a few steps, then bent back the other way and sloped more gently down into the glen. The iffling, ahead of her, was pulsing. It seemed to want her to hurry.
She wondered again if she really ought to trust it. But what choice did she have? There had been a time, long ago it seemed now, when she had decided to trust a dragon. She hadn't known him well, either. But she had decided to trust him; and in the end, that decision had led her not only to a friendship with Highwing and his sons, but also to a deeper healing in her own heart. Did wisdom call, then, for her to trust this being, as she had once trusted Highwing?
The iffling floated back toward her, a glimmering dragon of light. We will stop here, for now. You have many questions. In this place, we may find some answers.
Jael blinked, wondering if the iffling had read her thoughts. What is this place? she asked. Is it a place of dragon magic? She remembered Highwing's garden of powers, which he had shown her during her first visit to the realm, and she wondered if this would be something similar. Will we meet dragons here? Can we call to Windrush?
The iffling dimmed, flickering as though with uncertainty. Then it brightened again. It is indeed a place of powers—though not, precisely, of dragon magic. The Pool of Visions, this place is called. It is possible to see . . . much . . . and learn much, here. And perhaps . . . to call out to Windrush. Much will depend upon how much you trust . . . me. For here we must seal . . . our trust.
Jael wondered at its words. It was not that she did not trust the ifflings; indeed, she had trusted them in returning to the realm in the first place. And yet . . . she remembered that at least one among them was false. How could she know which was which? Windrush! Where are you? Or Highwing! Lord, how she missed Highwing! He would have guided her faithfully through such questions.
You remain uncertain, the iffling observed, its wings of light trembling.
Yes, she acknowledged.
The iffling's wings fluttered. Come, then, and you will see. It turned and floated down into the glen, without waiting for a response.
Jael trudged after it, until she suddenly realized that they were surrounded by trees. She paused to look around. The glen was not quite as it had seemed from a distance. The trees, which she had imagined as beautifully delicate creations arching up from the ground, were in fact arid-looking bushes that might have been standing here for centuries. Their leaves, so luminous from above, were a dull rust-color on the undersides. They rustled stiffly in the wind.
Over here! the iffling called. It was hovering at the edge of a pool where a water-carved basin caught the mountain spring she had glimpsed earlier, streaming over a cliff face. A few strides from where the water splashed into the pool, it overflowed into a twisting ravine that carried it out of the glen and down the mountain.
Jael stood by the iffling, gazing into the pool. The water was clear and dark, and curiously unrippled by the splashing inflow. Flashing down from above, the water seemed to be made of light, rather than substance. But in the pool, it became hard and almost mercurial. It appeared as though everything in this spot had to be tough rather than delicate, as though fragility had no place here. There was a beauty in this starkness, but it was nothing like the exquisite fairyland beauty of Highwing's garden of powers. But that place was gone, destroyed by the Enemy. Perhaps, in these times, this stark sort of beauty was the only kind that survived.
The Pool of Visions, murmured the iffling. As Jael looked up again it said, Here, rigger, I invite you to share a draft of water with an iffling. Here, where knowledge is revealed through the underrealm, I invite you to join your thoughts with mine, and to share in the visions.
Jael blinked in puzzlement.
The iffling pulsed, continuing. What visions? Visions of the realm, of the dragons, of the powers and principalities. Can you not see glimmerings of them in the water, even now?
Jael bent and peered into the water again. She saw her own reflection, and the reflections of the sky and the cliff. She shook her head.
The iffling dimmed slightly. None? Then, it is all the more imperative that you join with me. It is the only way.
Jael frowned.
I perceive your uncertainty, your apprehension, murmured the iffling. Perhaps I can help. It suddenly began to change shape. It settled to the ground, and quickly became more solid and less luminous—and shrank out of its dragonlike shape. Seconds later, it had transformed itself into an animal—a cross between a mountain cat and a lemur, with plush, tan fur and bright green eyes.
Jael stared, astonished—and remembered the iffling that had visited her in Windrush's cavern, two years ago. That one had taken on an animal form, too, though a more delicate one.
This is my other form, said the creature. I thought perhaps you would find it less frightening. It turned to gaze at the water, smelling it delicately. Looking up again, it cocked its head, as though a thought had just occurred to it. The sharing of water. Is this not an ancient ritual among your people?
Jael blinked. What would an iffling know about human rituals? I . . . suppose it is, she murmured.
Yes, said the cat/lemur. It is a most sacred exchange of life. Its eyes shone, gazing at her. But here, at the Pool of Visions, it is more than sacred. When we share water here, it has the power to bind us together in heart and thought. Then, together, we may study the visions of the pool, and learn the fate of your friends. But it does require that you . . . trust me. The iffling sat back on its haunches, gazing straight into her eyes.
Jael was unable to answer. She didn't know if what the creature proposed was even possible. How could she consume something that existed outside the net? Nothing in the Flux was supposed to be substance at all—though the reality of the dragon world disproved that. Nevertheless, it must be a very different kind of substance. How could she draw it from the Flux into the net, much less dare to drink it? The idea seemed crazy.
And yet . . . the iffling's green-eyed gaze was a powerful magnet, drawing her toward the pool, making her want to believe its words. She felt almost hypnotized by those eyes.
Something felt wrong to her, but she couldn't identify what. In the back of her mind, she knew there was a profound urgency. Windrush and the others were in need. Whom could she trust but this being, to help her find her friends?
Would it make a difference, the iffling murmured, slowly blinking its cat/lemur eyes, if, first, I shared with you my name?
Jael drew a breath. Exchange names—as she had with her dragon friends? When she had first met Highwing, she had blurted her name to him, without thought—and he had taken it as a profound token of trust and innocence. His sons, likewise, had accepted her name with great solemnity, as something by which they would be bound for life. She didn't fully understand the power of names here, but she knew it was a power to respect. If, she said uncertainly, it is a way for us to know each other's hearts . . .
That, said the creature, and more.
Jael let out her breath, and nodded.
The creature's eyes widened and darkened to pools. My name . . . is Jarvorus.
Jael felt a sudden lightheadedness. Javorus, she whispered back. As she gazed at the large-eyed creature, she felt a compulsion to give her name in exchange. I am . . . Jael. As she spoke her name, she felt a power going out of her—not a great power, but noticeable, a flush in her heart. She imagined it reverberating in the pool of water beside her. She blinked, and shook her head. She thought she had seen circles of light rippling through the water, in its depths. She realized that her vision through the rigger-net had suddenly grown clearer.
Does this mean—? She stopped. Had she just heard something?
Jarvorus watched her in puzzlement.
Jael's head was ringing, and she was no longer sure what was touching her from the inside or the outside. She felt a sudden thump, then parrot wings fluttering inside her head. Ed was back in her thoughts! She couldn't see him, but she felt him peering out through her eyes. (Ed!) she cried, dizzy with relief.
&n
bsp; What is it? the iffling whispered urgently, its gaze sharpening.
(Jayyyyl!) she heard. (Found Ar! Found Ar!)
(What?) Jael was almost overcome by the dizziness. And Ed was so overjoyed at having found his way back to her that it took him a few moments to calm down. Finally Jael found her voice to ask, (Is he all right? Can you lead me to him—?)
The iffling interrupted, urgently. Jael, we must not delay! What is the matter?
It couldn't see Ed, apparently. No matter; she could explain later. She felt the parrot scowling in concentration. (Caw! Found, yes! Okay—awwk! But lost him again! Couldn't get to him! Almost—awk—couldn't get back!)
Jael struggled to think clearly. (Did you talk with him? Does he know we're alive?) The iffling's intense, puzzled stare was making it even harder to focus.
(Rawwk—yes. Danger, Jael! DANGER! Must find graggons!) Jael felt Ed spreading his wings abruptly, between her temples. He looked about, with abrupt movements. (Scrawww! What's that? What's that?)
Jael's breath caught. She tried to calm herself. (That's . . . Jarvorus. His name's Jarvorus, and he's an iffling. He's trying to help me . . . find Windrush.)
Dragon Rigger Page 29
