Dragon Rigger

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  The parrot shifted his head nervously back and forth inside Jael's eyes, staring out at the waiting iffling-animal. (Danger,) whispered Ed. (Find graggons. Quickly!)

  (Yes. That's what we're hoping to do.) Jael blinked, realizing that Jarvorus was growing quite impatient.

  What are you doing? it whispered. To whom are you speaking?

  My shipmate, Jael murmured. We have been separated. Our ship is damaged.

  Yes, yes. That is why you do not see clearly. But have you not noticed, your vision is clearer now?

  The iffling's words were true; especially since their exchange of names, her ability to see out of the net had improved. It was as though the boundary layer between her and the Flux had stretched thinner, and grown more transparent. She wished that the same could be said of her thinking; she could barely focus at all now.

  Jarvorus spoke again. Jael, the urgency grows. We must let the pool snow us your friends, if it will! Surely the . . . dragons . . . are waiting!

  Jael nodded foggily. In her head, she sensed Ed rumbling with unease, but felt his urgency, as well. He was desperately eager to find Windrush, to put an end to all this uncertainty. Yes, she whispered.

  The cat/lemur sighed in satisfaction. Yes, it said, and stepped to the edge of the pool. Bowing, it delicately touched its tongue to the water. Raising its head, it commanded, You, now. You need only touch it to your lips.

  Jael drew a breath, not moving. Her head was swimming, but she could not make herself step to the pool's edge.

  You must—if you would find your friends! Jarvorus hissed.

  Jael let her breath out in a rush. She could almost feel a force propelling her forward, toward the water. She couldn't tell if it was her own volition or something else, but neither could she resist it, or even want to. She would not actually drink the water; how could it harm her? She wanted to overcome her fear, to join with the iffling and share in its visions of the realm! She stepped forward and knelt at the water's edge, taking care not to overbalance the spaceship on her back.

  Yes, yes! hissed the iffling, close beside her.

  Jael drew a final, nervous breath, and dipped her hand down. The water quivered oddly, and her cupped hand filled with clear, glittering silver. She raised it to her mouth, and hesitated one last time. Then she touched it to her lips . . .

  (Jayl, no—stop—hawwwwwk!—he's not—!)

  She felt a flash of ice as the water touched her, and the ground seemed to shift beneath her. For an instant, she thought she would topple into the water; then she felt a great rushing sensation, as though she would float away. Ed was flapping wildly in her mind, screaming in anguish. But she didn't quite understand why—until her eyes focused on the pool's surface, where the burning water was spilling from her hand. She saw Jarvorus' reflection grinning at her. Iffling? No! she realized at once. He was no iffling—he was the false-one, and his razorlike teeth were showing in his grin, and his eyes were ablaze with triumph.

  In that instant her gaze and Jarvorus', reflected in the water, came together. Something changed deep in the net, or in the realm around her, and she felt Jarvorus' thoughts plunge into hers like a burning knife into butter. She saw his spirit now, revealed in all of its falsehood. But it was too late to stop the process; the sorcery was unfolding exactly as Jarvorus had intended . . .Windrush! Help me please—! she struggled to shout.

  Deep in her mind, Ed was screaming in her defense, lashing and biting at the invading presence of the false-iffling's thoughts. But his efforts were futile. She felt Jarvorus' thoughts turning to strike in anger at Ed. She panicked as she saw it poised to kill, to stab and strangle. (No!) she cried, and enveloped Ed's presence in her own thoughts, shielding him from the attack. Ed was saved for the moment, but it was all the opening Jarvorus needed to whirl his threads of sorcery around Jael's innermost being. She fought to repel him, but uselessly; she could feel the spell tightening around her like a noose. (You're no iffling!) she hissed in futile rage.

  (No. Not an iffling.)

  (Then what are you!) she gasped.

  She felt a rumble of triumph. (I am a warrior in service to Rent, and to the Nail of Strength—the one against whom the dragons war in vain.)

  Tar-skel.

  Jael felt ice water flowing in her veins as she realized the magnitude of her blunder. She wanted to scream in rage, to physically hurl this being from her thoughts. She could not even muster a whimper of protest.

  (Your power is our power now,) whispered the being.

  Jael's gaze fell helplessly on the Pool of Visions, and she no longer saw only her reflection and the false-iffling's; something new was shimmering into focus, deep in the waters. It was an image of dragons on wing . . . dragons tumbling through the air . . . dragons dying in battle, in great numbers. She glimpsed a coiling darkness, and felt a terrifying surge of malice toward her, and an incontestable power; and surrounding everything, enveloping all the mountains of the realm, she saw a fine, glowing spiderweb of sorcery . . . and she saw herself, dying in battle, and the web of sorcery blossoming in power.

  (The prophecy fulfilled,) crooned the false-iffling, in a voice that sounded almost drunk with triumph.

  Jael felt a crushing despair. She didn't wholly understand the vision, but she didn't have to. The vision revealed death and defeat, not just for her, but for all the realm. She became aware that her hand was immersed in the icy waters of the pool, and she drew it out. Her arm moved as though trapped in molasses. As her hand slowly came up and out of the water, the vision disappeared. She held her hand before her face, watching the silvery drops fall away, in slow motion. (What have you done to me?) she cried silently.

  Javorus' thoughts rose within her own. For a disbelieving moment, she imagined that she glimpsed sympathy in the warrior's thoughts, and a heartbeat of hesitation. Then a new resolve swept all that away, and the Enemy's creature said, (I wish you no harm. But I have sealed you into our power, and now I must bear you away to a place where you will be safe.)

  (Jayllll!) Ed wailed, his voice distant and ineffectual.

  (Safe?) Jael repeated dully, her hope utterly broken.

  (Yes—safe—so that at the proper time, the prophecies will be fulfilled,) answered the creature named Jarvorus.

  Jael felt herself rising to her feet. Jarvorus had turned back into a being of fire, but no longer did he assume a dragonlike shape. (Come,) he said, his voice frighteningly melodious in her thoughts. (It is not too much farther.) She might have tried to resist, but she was unable. She could not turn away or refuse to move. Jarvorus controlled her will now.

  They left the Pool of Visions, and the glen, and set their feet upon a new path back into the mountains.

  In a distant corner of her mind, she felt the net crinkling, and she heard a voice calling, as if across a vast distance. It was Ar's voice, reaching her at last. He was calling out a desperate warning: Do not trust . . . the false-one . . . false-iffling . . . beware of treachery . . . !

  But the warning was far too late.

  Chapter 28: The Draconae

  The draconae entered FullSky's mind so swiftly he had no warning at all. He instinctively reacted to close his thoughts—then realized what he was doing and ceased resisting. This was what he had come here for. But his mind was bubbling with questions, and he couldn't get them out.

  It was a strange and astonishing contact. The draconae revealed nothing of themselves, even as they laid open with remarkable clarity his memories and thoughts. His battles in the underrealm and his contacts with Windrush rose like great gleaming bubbles in water, expanding and turning for the draconae's inspection.

  (Is he true—?)

  (Is he alive and true—?)

  (The Words speak of hope from beyond death—)

  (But he has not died—)

  (He has come from a place more inescapable—)

  (Does he bring news of the One—?)

  (Only the hope—the promise—)

  (But his brother—)

&nb
sp; (Windrush tries to reach us, but the barriers of the Enemy are too strong—)

  The questions and observations swirled around him in a tempest. But the draconae knew and understood far more than he did. He had to get his questions out, while there was still time!

  (Patience—)

  (Our son, we know of your needs and your questions—)

  (We all share these needs—)

  He was beginning to feel disoriented, as in a lumenis feeding, full of fevered passions and sensations bubbling up out of the deep places of the mind. Was it because of the draconae's probing, or was this the way of the Dream Mountain, to be a place of confusion, of beautiful sounds and dizzy wonderment? Or was it, he thought fearfully, the beginning of his kuutekka's losing contact with his physical body, the beginning of death? He couldn't tell.

  (Enough.—)

  (He is true—-garkkondoh—)

  (Let us show ourselves—)

  There was another change, another eyeblink. He was bathed again with sunlight, and surrounded by movement. His kuutekka blossomed back around him as he had not felt it in a long time. He felt like a dragon again, instead of a dying spirit; his thoughts were once more his own. He heard the sounds of water tumbling and splashing in a pool. He turned his head one way and another; all around him was the fluttering of gossamer wings, and the flashing of glassy dragon faces—but confusingly, as though everything were broken into a myriad of facets.

  He had not seen the Dream Mountain since his departure from the outer slopes as a youngling, a time he remembered only in fleeting images. He had never seen the inside of the Mountain at all, much less from the underrealm. This was the province of the females—not just now, but throughout most of dragon history. The inside was for singing, and remembering, and dreaming; it was for the draconae. It was for the tending of the Forge of Dreams, the fire at the heart of the Mountain, which brought life to the realm. It was not for the male dragons to tend those fires; their hearts were in the skies, and in the deeps of the external mountains. FullSky realized that even he, whose heart was the closest to a dracona's heart of any male dragon, knew precious little of the real powers of the dreamfires.

  But now he was inside the Mountain, peering out through the shimmering lens of the underrealm. He saw the sun drenching the outer slopes, pouring into the Mountain through refracting surfaces of clear and translucent stone. He was in a hollow, rocky glade, surrounded by noisily splashing streams and by trees and by the musing ones, the females, the draconae.

  The draconae! There were dozens of them surrounding him: creatures of glowing jewel and glass, with wings that seemed made of crystallized air, their eyes flashing like shards of erupting lumenis. Some of the draconae were shimmeringly reflective, others glowing and transparent, some round and smooth, and others all angles and probing facets. Each dracona presented him with a different face of mystery as he peered into one gaze, then another. Their kuutekkas were faces of spirit and song: they seemed to dance and waver, as though he were seeing them through rising thermals, or a pool of water.

  Am I seeing your outer-world appearances? he whispered in wonderment.

  You see us as we are, as nearly as your underrealm vision will allow, murmured a faceted emerald dracona, her voice like wind piping through hollowed stone. We had to see you clearly, though perhaps too abruptly for your comfort. But our needs were great.

  I understand.

  But now we wish to answer your questions. And to help, if we can.

  Yes. He hesitated. All of his deeper questions had fled from his mind, driven out by astonishment. But . . . who are you? What are your names?

  There was a sound of laughter, a chuckling stream. There was a sadness that reverberated in the sound like distant waves.

  I am Deeplife, said the first, the emerald-glass dracona.

  Gentlesong, said a creature of smoothly polished curves.

  Lavafire, rang a resonant voice, from a dracona who glowed within like fiery embers.

  Cooltouch, said another, with mirrored scales.

  Starchime, sang one who made him see blazing, impossibly concentric circles of fire.

  Seatouch, whispered a voice like water hissing on sand . . .

  And the names continued, one after another, dizzyingly, until he could scarcely keep the names and the draconae straight. But he rejoiced to meet them all, knowing that these draconae held the prophecies in their hearts, and held the knowledge of how the realm might be saved. So many questions rose in his mind that he could not even begin to sort them out.

  You want to know, chimed the emerald Deeplife, whose eyes were unfathomable gems, whether the One has returned.

  Jael, he said, and heard a murmur of agreement. And—?

  Several draconae fluttered their wings. We had hoped you would know, answered . . . Starchime, was it? The ifflings sent their last children to her. But whether they can bring her safely here, we do not know. Nor do we know exactly what she is to do here—or whether sufficient time remains. The Enemy's power grows steadily stronger.

  But, murmured Cooltouch, the Words seem to promise that no victory can be won without her—

  We cannot be certain, said another, and there was a quick, rippling discussion before Deeplife called for silence.

  FullSky reached for words. How can you know . . . so much of what is happening in the realm? Are you not trapped here by the Enemy?

  Indeed, but the Enemy—

  In his confidence—

  His arrogance!

  —permits us to see many things, finished Deeplife, hushing the others. He wishes to persuade us of his invincibility. He wishes us to despair, to surrender our Mountain to him.

  But . . . he already controls the Mountain, FullSky thought.

  His words, though not spoken, were heard. Deeplife replied firmly. He has imprisoned the Mountain. But he does not control it—or us, though he may hold the power of life and death over us.

  He can destroy you. He can destroy all of us.

  Deeplife nodded, glittering. But he cannot command us. He needs us yet, to control the Forge of Dreams. He needs the despair of the dragons to strengthen his sorcery. But in time, if his web grows strong enough, he may find his own way to control the powers that emanate from this Mountain.

  FullSky listened carefully, gazing at the fragile beings who surrounded him. He remembered Highwing's story of how Skytouch, his own mother, had died at the hands of fledgling dragons whose hearts had been ruined by Tar-skel. And he thought: How easily these draconae could be destroyed, in the same way!

  You think truly, FullSky. If the Enemy no longer believes he needs us, he will destroy us.

  And when—FullSky hesitated—when might he no longer need you? How strong must he become?

  The draconae stirred. There was a long pause before Deeplife said, Who knows what Tar-skel, in his pride, will believe—or when? But the Words say that an ending will come, and a new beginning, when the One falls in battle.

  Hearing those words, FullSky brooded silently.

  Another dracona—the glowing Lavafire—spoke up, in a resonant voice. On that last matter, there is disagreement, even among us.

  You mean . . . as to whether it's true?

  No, we are certain it is true. The Words came, after all, from the dream forge itself, through an opening in time, we believe. An opening into the future—a future that in our age has become the present. But whether the ending that is foretold will favor the Enemy, or the realm, no one truly—

  Before she could finish her thought, she was interrupted by a sudden disturbance. Several of the draconae turned away, rustling and murmuring in agitation. Lavafire queried in rumbling tones, then announced, We have seen something in the Dark Vale. Please wait.

  FullSky waited—terrified that the Enemy had discovered his connection with the draconae. He felt a movement, not in the outer reality of the Mountain, but in the underrealm. The light around him faded, and he realized that the draconae were flanking him in an underrealm windo
w, a place of near-darkness.

  A vision was coming into focus: a vision of dark, winged creatures taking flight against a deepening evening sky. The sight made him shiver; it was a legion of the Enemy, both drahls and Tar-skel dragons, gathering in the air. Gathering for battle.

  The strength of Tar-skel rises, murmured a dracona who evidently had been among the first to see the vision. I heard their leaders speaking. They are bound for the Deep Caverns.

  That set off a great commotion. The Deep Caverns are scarcely protected, one of them said. Windrush strengthens the defense elsewhere, said another.

  FullSky listened with alarm. Why the Deep Caverns? Were they more important than the dragons had realized?