The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The)

by Owen, James A.

  Contents

  List of Illustrations

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Part One: The Return of the Black Dragon

  Chapter One: Ancient Promises

  Chapter Two: The Prodigal Dragon

  Chapter Three: The Shipbuilder

  Chapter Four: Arête

  Part Two: The Last Flight of the Indigo Dragon

  Chapter Five: The Zanzibar Gate

  Chapter Six: The Hot Young Turks

  Chapter Seven: The City of Jade

  Chapter Eight: The Steward

  Part Three: The Summit

  Chapter Nine: Messages

  Chapter Ten: Order and Chaos

  Chapter Eleven: The Oldest History

  Chapter Twelve: The Tears of Heaven

  Part Four: The Deluge

  Chapter Thirteen: Reunion

  Chapter Fourteen: The First Dragon

  Chapter Fifteen: The Maker

  Chapter Sixteen: The Archons

  Part Five: The Fall of the House of Tamerlane

  Chapter Seventeen: At the End of All Things

  Chapter Eighteen: The Architect

  Chapter Nineteen: The Keystone

  Chapter Twenty: Restoration

  Part Six: Beyond the Wall

  Chapter Twenty-one: Tabula Rasa Geographica

  Chapter Twenty-two: The Lonely Isle

  Chapter Twenty-three: The Last Battle

  Chapter Twenty-four: The Reign of the Summer King

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About James A. Owen

  For my children

  List of Illustrations

  “. . . I miss all the Dragons.”

  . . . Houdini and John piloted the Black Dragon . . .

  “Please,” he said. . . . “Feel free to look around . . .”

  . . . not all the aspects of the Dragon had been shed

  The path was well lit with lanterns

  Shakespeare . . . looked at the small company.

  The speaker was sitting on a dais at the center

  An elderly man . . . led the procession

  . . . Kipling . . . started the long trek to the distant city.

  Enkidu was . . . staring directly at the Prime Caretaker . . .

  “The Jade Empress,” Samaranth said

  The Watcher Salathiel lifted a huge, curved golden trumpet

  The beasts were tended to by smaller creatures

  . . . his reflection was no longer that of a young man . . .

  . . . everything around them glowed with pulsing, vibrant, living lights . . .

  “There. . . . Watch, as it turns to twilight.”

  “It’s like a small Ring of Power,” Charles said . . .

  “These are my colleagues, Mr. Kirke and Mr. Bangs.”

  The shipbuilder had already completed the work . . .

  “Look,” Telemachus said. . . . “See what your efforts have wrought.”

  . . . the island where the last inn stood

  Standing atop the rocks before them . . . was a Cherubim . . .

  “Over?” Jack snorted. “It’s never over until you win . . .”

  “It seemed like the place I should be.”

  Acknowledgments

  I first suggested the idea of H. G. Wells having owned an atlas of maps to imaginary lands in the first of my Myth World novels, published in Germany over a decade ago. It was a couple of years later that I wrote up a ten-page proposal for a film called Here Be Dragons, which I subsequently turned into a book proposal, and which, a couple of years after that, was developed into the published book Here, There Be Dragons. It will have been eight years between the publication of that first book and the publication of this one, and in that time readers who started the series in grade school will be finishing it in college.

  The entire journey has been one of unusual synchronicities. If the magazine ventures I was involved in had not imploded, I would not have gone out soliciting movie studios and publishers to buy my personal creative work. My attorney, Craig Emanuel, connected me with the managers at the Gotham Group, who connected me with Marc Rosen and David Heyman at Heyday Films. If not for David’s interest and Marc’s encouragement and assistance in fleshing out the story, I may not have held on to it long enough to decide to pursue a book deal first. And if Julie at the Gotham Group had not called David Gale at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, then perhaps none of these books would have existed at all.

  But all of those connections happened, the books exist, and a great many people helped push this cart along the way.

  Craig Emanuel, Julie Jones, and David Schmerler at Loeb & Loeb have constantly and consistently looked after my interests and made sure that the contracts went smoothly.

  Julie Kane-Ritsch, Ellen Goldsmith-Vein, Lindsay Williams, and Julie Nelson played a similar role at the Gotham Group, and more than once went out of their way to make sure my bills were paid.

  David Gale began all of this by saying yes to the first book, and he and Navah Wolfe made all of the books better than I imagined they could be. The rest of the team at Simon & Schuster, including Carolyn Reidy, Justin Chanda, Jon Anderson, Lizzy Bromley, Paul Crichton, Laurent Linn, Siena Koncsol, and all of the wonderful people who worked on making and selling the books reshaped my career, and I am grateful to all of them.

  My friends are the ones who held me together in every possible way through the making of this series: Brett, Shawn, Heidi, Robb, George, Bill, Irene, Ray, Shannon, Dave, Daanon, Kristin, Homer and Effie, Russ and Bekki, John and Valerie, Kevin and Rebecca, Tracy and Lisa, and Tracy and Troy. My mother, Sharon, and brother Jason were also there when I needed them to be, and they all made it possible for me to do the work I do.

  Lon, Mary, and especially Jeremy helped me to find my arête in my art, and in the work we do together. There would be no Coppervale Studio without Jeremy. And there would be no reason to do the things I do without my family: Cindy, Sophie, and Nathaniel drive me to be a better artist, a better writer, and a better man.

  All of you made these books possible, and I can’t express my gratitude enough.

  Prologue

  Stories have existed since the beginning of the world, and human history itself consists of little more than the stories that survived. All stories are true—but some of them just never happened.

  The story of the first murder is one that is both true, and real.

  There is, however, a secret part of the story about the first murder that almost no one knows, because there were only two witnesses, and one of them was bound not to speak what he knew. The other, of course, was dead. And the world where dead men speak had not yet come into existence, not really—because it was the murder itself that created it.

  The first Maker was their mother, and the first Namer, their father. They were brothers, twins, although as in the way of all things, one was called the elder, and the other, the younger. It was their parents who called them such, and so they did not question it. It was only after they had grown to manhood that they were given their secret names and were told what their true purpose in the world was to be. With purpose came callings, the first of their kind in the world, and the most crucial.

  One was the Imago, meant to be the protector of the world; the other, the Archimago, meant to be the bringer of destruction. One was the agent of order; the other, of chaos. Locked in a perpetual struggle, the brothers were meant to create balance in the world, but that was not what came to pass.

  The elder son raised up a stone and struck the younger son a blow across
the head, killing him. Thus did Cain murder Abel, in the first story that gave meaning to the power of choice in the world.

  His family cast Cain out, and marked him, that the other peoples of the world would know him for what he was. Thus, he chose to become someone else and clothed himself in the stories of humanity so that he could walk among them unseen, unknown.

  In the centuries that followed, the elder son wandered the world, taking a thousand names and living a thousand lives before he found his purpose again. He found it in the last life he created for himself, as a storyteller, who wrote of mystery, and murder, and solving unsolvable riddles, and the mechanics of creation itself.

  In time, he tired of simply telling stories, and once more inserted himself into the affairs of two worlds. He built a house in a distant corner of the Archipelago and named it for one of his creations. There, he gathered together all those of his brotherhood who would help him to defend both the Archipelago of Dreams and the Summer Country against the darkness that was coming.

  He shared many secrets with those who gathered around him, but of himself he shared very little—especially the greatest secret of them all.

  Only a few personages still walking the earth knew that the first Imago and Archimago had been brothers, but what none of them knew was which one had been murdered.

  One was killed; the other survived. Only he knew which he was: the agent of chaos, or the agent of order; and he had been bound not to tell. Not until the last battle between Darkness and Light, when all things would stand revealed and all allegiances declared.

  On that day he would speak their secret names, and in doing so give voice to his brother from the grave, the way so many other dead men had made their voices heard there within the bounds of Tamerlane House.

  On that day he would finally discover if the choice he’d made, oh so long ago, would be responsible for saving the world, or destroying it.

  And on that day the elder son, also called Cain, also called Nimrod, also called Prospero, also called Poe, would discover if finally, he could lay down his burden, and rest.

  Part One

  The Return of the Black Dragon

  “. . . I miss all the Dragons.”

  Chapter ONE

  Ancient Promises

  “I miss Samaranth,” the young Valkyrie Laura Glue said as she descended the ladder, arms laden with ancient books and scrolls. “In fact, I miss all the Dragons. They may not have always been there when you wanted them . . .”

  “But they were always there when you needed them,” the Caretaker named Jack said, finishing the expression all of them had said at one time or another in recent weeks.

  “That’s only because,” Harry Houdini said, raising his finger to emphasize his point, “none of them ever threatened to roast and eat any of you.”

  Jack’s colleague John, the former Caveo Principia and current Prime Caretaker, chuckled and clapped the magician on the arm. “You did ask for it, Ehrich,” he said, using Houdini’s given name. “Both you and Arthur. You should have known better than to step on the Dragon’s tail, even metaphorically.”

  “I’m sure Conan Doyle did know better,” said Jack, “but he was swayed by . . . Other influences.”

  “I resent that,” said Houdini.

  “I meant Burton,” Jack said, feigning innocence. “Perhaps your conscience heard differently.”

  He took the bundle of documents from Laura Glue and handed them to John, who winked at him, not necessarily out of agreement, but just to give Houdini a tweak. The former members of the Imperial Cartological Society might have rejoined the Caretakers, but some of the old divisions were still present in every conversation. “These are pre–Iron Age,” John remarked as he peered more closely at the topmost parchments. “They’re in surprisingly good shape.”

  “Everything here is,” Jack agreed. “Unfortunately, we’re still no closer to finding anything useful.”

  “We must persevere,” John replied. “If there is anything that can give us a clue as to how to find our friends, it will be here.”

  The Repository of Tamerlane House was located in the centermost room, accessible only by the master of the house, who rarely involved himself directly in the affairs of the other Caretakers, and by the Prime Caretaker, who until very recently had been Jules Verne.

  There were several libraries within the walls of Tamerlane, including one that contained all the unwritten books of the world, but the Repository was different: It held the books that were the most rare, the most sacred, to the Caretakers and all those who came before who tried to make better worlds out of the ones they had been given. The Histories, written by the Caretakers during each of their tenures, were there, as were the Prophecies, which were future histories that had been compiled primarily by Verne and his immediate protégé Bert, also known as H. G. Wells, the Caretaker who had chosen John, Jack, and their friend Charles to become Caretakers themselves.

  There was also the Telos Biblos, the Last Book, which was both history and prophecy. It contained the names of all the Dragons, which the Caretakers’ enemies had used to capture their shadows and compel them to service—which led to the destruction of all the Dragons save for the oldest one. Unfortunately, since the incident that severed the connections between the Archipelago and the Summer Country, time itself had become more and more erratic. Might-have-beens and alternate histories were taking the place of pasts and futures that previously, Verne had relied on as being set in stone. But that stone, it seemed, was fluid, changeable; and so the Last Book was no more helpful to them than the books in the last case: the Imaginarium Geographicas of other worlds yet to be explored.

  Jack looked wistfully at the case with the other Geographicas and chuckled ruefully when John smiled and shook his head.

  “I understand, old friend,” John said, not for the first time. “I want to explore them too, but our first responsibility must be to the restoration of the lands from the Geographica we’re already Caretakers of.”

  “I’m just feeling the weight of it all, John,” his friend replied. “No one is going to suddenly appear with a magic solution to fix everything, are they?”

  “We have only ourselves to rely on, I’m afraid,” John said with a heavy sigh. “We can only hope that we will prove to be a fraction as effective at keeping the evils of the world at bay as the Dragons were.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  In the centuries since the Imaginarium Geographica was created, it had been entrusted to many Caretakers for safekeeping—all of whom had the same reaction to the legend inscribed on the maps. It read, Here, there be Dragons, and to a man, every Caretaker had at first assumed this was a warning. In time, they came to learn it was not.

  Here, there be Dragons was meant to reassure the Caretakers and all those living in the lands depicted on the maps that there would always be someone watching over them; someone older, wiser, and stronger than any forces who might seek to destroy the world of the Archipelago of Dreams. Since the creation of the Archipelago, when it was separated from the world called the Summer Country, there had always been a Dragon—at least one—standing watch.

  That was before the coming of the Winter King, who sought to rule the Archipelago, and the Caretakers of prophecy from the Last Book, three young scholars from Oxford, who defeated him and saved both worlds. But the price was high—before the Winter King was defeated, the Keep of Time, which connected the two worlds, was set on fire and gradually destroyed, severing the connection.

  Time in the Archipelago was severed from the Caretakers’ base at Tamerlane House in the Nameless Isles, as well as the rest of the world, and in the process, had begun to speed up. Thousands of years passed in the Archipelago, and it was eventually taken over completely by the Caretakers’ great enemy: the eternal Shadows known as Echthroi, and their servants, the Lloigor.

  The Nameless Isles were spared the same fate only because of a temporal and interdimensional bridge built by William Shakespeare that connected Tamerlane
House to the Kilns, Jack’s home in Oxford.

  With the destruction of the keep, the Caretakers also lost the ability to travel in time—something that their adversaries, led by the renegade Caretaker Dr. John Dee, seemed to have a greater facility for. Only the Grail Child, Rose Dyson, and the new Cartographer, Edmund McGee, working together to create chronal maps that could open into any point in time, could give the Caretakers any hope of repairing the damage that had been done and restoring what once was in the Archipelago.

  Somehow, the Keep of Time had to be rebuilt. And the only way to do that was to find the Architect—and no one in history seemed to know his identity, or when the keep had been built to begin with.

  Rose and Edmund, along with the tulpa Caretaker Charles, his mentor Bert, the clockwork owl from Alexandria named Archimedes, and the once leader of the Imperial Cartological Society, Sir Richard Burton, were dispatched into Deep Time to try to find the Architect—and the mission was a disaster.

  Burton was trapped in the far future, after narrowly defeating an Echthros-possessed alternate version of their friend Jack; Archimedes was nearly destroyed; and Rose’s sword, Caliburn, was irreparably broken. Only the intervention of a mysterious, near-omnipotent old man in a white, timeless space called Platonia saved the other companions. Bert was returned to Tamerlane, just in time to die and become a portrait in Basil Hallward’s gallery; and Rose, Charles, and Edmund were sent more deeply into the past, to a city that might have been Atlantis.

  Since Bert’s reappearance and the discovery of an engraving of the city that Edmund had left inside a Sphinx for the Caretakers to find, nearly two months had passed, with no sign of the companions, and no further word of where, or when, they were.

  Shakespeare, who had a gift for constructing chronal devices, had fashioned a pyramid he called the Zanzibar Gate out of the fallen stones of the keep, in order to use it to go after the missing companions. Unfortunately, it had to be powered by the presence of a living Dragon—and there were no Dragons left. Even the great old Dragon Samaranth had vanished when the Archipelago was lost—so the Caretakers couldn’t even seek him out for advice, much less ask him to go through the gate. That left everything at a standstill for weeks—and when Rose, Edmund, and Charles failed to reappear, John, Jack, Laura Glue, Houdini, and some of the others at Tamerlane House began searching for other options. But even the fabled Repository of Tamerlane House had given them nothing.