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

by Owen, James A.

  “The giants are coming for them,” Samaranth said numbly. “They intend to go to the Un-Made World to try to Name it before the destruction comes.”

  “What?” Charles said, startled. “What destruction?”

  “The empress dropped the Tears of Heaven into the Creative Fire,” Samaranth replied, still in shock for reasons the companions still did not fully understand. “Everything is about to change now!”

  “Because of a single rose?” asked Edmund. “I don’t understand.”

  “Everything that is made is conceptual first,” Samaranth explained as he led them back up the stairs, which were crowded with other angels also trying to leave. “Then we . . . create the thing to be made. We give it form, and substance. But then, to put it out into the world, the made thing is placed in the Creative Fire, and from then it multiplies.”

  “So we’ll have a lot of roses to deal with,” said Edmund.

  “You don’t understand!” Samaranth said, whirling about and grabbing the young man in the first physical act the companions had seen him perform. “That flower contained three dewdrops, but not of just any water! They were the Tears of Heaven, and they will multiply a millionfold, a billionfold. More. More.”

  “Oh dear,” said Charles.

  “Yes,” Samaranth said. “Within the day, the entire world will be covered with a great flood, and there is nothing any of us can do to stop it.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  A brilliant light burst upward from one of the largest buildings in the center of the city, briefly illuminating everything around Kipling as he ran. Something was afoot, and he suddenly realized that he might have very little time left to accomplish his task.

  He stopped and leaned against a wall, panting. It gave him a moment to both catch his breath and consider what he was being asked to do. It made sense, in some twisted way, but he still was not certain he could trust what it said. At least one person he knew of—one of Verne’s Messengers—would die in the future because of what he was being asked to do now. But it also made sense. It was, in the grand scheme of things, logical. And, he was a bit ashamed to admit, it appealed to his sense of gamesmanship.

  It meant that he might never leave the city—but it also meant that he might give the Caretakers the means to defeat not just Dr. Dee, but the Echthroi as well. And in the end, that was what mattered most.

  Looking over the angelic script in the note for the umpteenth time, Kipling screwed up his courage and once more began to run. If he timed it properly, the Cherubim would be somewhere near that explosion of light, and in the confusion that was beginning to spread outward into the streets, it would never be missed until Dr. Dee found it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “The Great Deluge,” Charles sputtered as Samaranth led them back to his Library. “The flood. The destruction of the world. It’s really happening, isn’t it?” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.

  “Have you got a headache?” asked Edmund.

  “No,” said Charles. “Tulpas don’t get headaches, but I think one would actually make me feel better right now.”

  “What are we going to do?” asked Rose. “What can anyone do?”

  “There are hierarchies of the Host of Heaven,” said Samaranth, “each with its own set of responsibilities. The stars are given the task of shaping and preparing the worlds that revolve around them, but have little concern for the creatures who evolve, live, and die on those worlds. The angels are given the task of creating and Naming the higher aspects of the world, to allow the creatures on it to develop and ascend themselves. But there is an office between the two that is rarely called upon, and rarely chosen, because it carries the responsibility of directly overseeing the welfare of all the living creatures on a particular world.”

  “Why is it rarely chosen?” Rose asked.

  “Because,” Samaranth answered, “as you witnessed, the stars are reluctant to take so much responsibility upon themselves. They prefer the bigger-picture things, like the formation of mountains and the rise of oceans. The concerns of the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve, and the affairs of the Children of the Earth, are of little concern to them, and so they will almost always decline the choice to ascend.”

  “But our star, Sol, wanted to ascend,” said Edmund. “Why couldn’t he?”

  “Because other stars would have also needed to do so,” said Samaranth, “and Rao is oldest among them, so his decision binds them all. It takes the complete commitment of one’s heart, and aiua, to ascend,” he continued, looking now at Rose. “You know this. I can see it in your countenance.”

  “Then this world may truly be lost,” Rose said despairingly. “If the stars will not ascend, what is left? What can be done?”

  “Just because Rao has abandoned the care of this world does not mean the world is without its . . . Caretakers,” Samaranth said. For the first time, his voice seemed to be breaking with an emotion that none of the angels in the city had displayed. “There are none here in the city willing to ascend—but the elder angels can still descend to the office necessary to look after this world. We can still choose,” he finished, his words more of a struggle now, “to become Dragons.”

  Part Four

  The Deluge

  The beasts were tended to by smaller creatures . . .

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Reunion

  It was a caravan of worlds, and it stretched across the dunes from one horizon to the other. The great creatures that carried the lands of the Archipelago and all the peoples who lived in them were perhaps distant cousins to the Feast Beasts that served meals at Tamerlane House, reimagined for a more massive duty. They resembled the offspring of camels that had been successfully courted by horned toads the size of elephants, and in place of humps were immense glass spheres, each of which contained the past, present, and future of a land from the Archipelago of Dreams.

  The beasts were tended to by smaller creatures of the earth, who had been given the task by the leader of the caravan: the last true Caretaker of the Archipelago itself. When the Archipelago fell to Shadow, it was he who gathered up all the lands and peoples and transported them here, where they could make their way to safe haven until the world could be made right again. “Have they been given water?” he asked. “The heat is terrible today.”

  “Henry is takin’ care o’ that,” said his First Assistant Dragon, a badger called Tummeler. “I’ve made him, ah, my assistant, if’n that’s keen by you.”

  Samaranth looked at the badger in surprise. “The guinea pig? Hrrrmm,” he rumbled. “Is it really wise to entrust such a large task to such a small creature?”

  “You of all, uh, people ought t’ know,” Tummeler said, admonishing, “that size is irrelevant. ’Ceptin’ when it comes to stuff like actually hauling stuff, like entire islands from th’ Archipelago. Then it pays t’ be big—but we got creatures t’ do that, so Henry is just perfect t’ leave in charge as a supervisor. My point being—”

  “I understand, little friend,” said the great Dragon. “Better than you realize.”

  He looked back at the caravan and thought about the thousands and thousands of lives, and the history, and the culture, and most importantly, the stories that had been preserved by his actions. He looked at the badger, who had been a hero in the old Archipelago, and one of those a Dragon might actually call friend. And he remembered those who had been left behind.

  “I wish . . .” Tummeler began, sensing the old Dragon’s thoughts. He stopped, whiskers quivering, and looked up at Samaranth. “I wish we had been able t’ bring Miss Aven with us,” he said sadly. “I wish she didn’t have t’ stay behind, all alone.”

  “She wasn’t alone,” Samaranth replied, “but more importantly, she knew it was necessary. Someone needed to tell the Caretakers what had happened, so that events could proceed the way that they must.”

  “And have they?” Tummeler asked, looking back along the caravan of beasts. “We have been out here, wandering around wit
h th’ whole of the Archipelago on our backs, for . . .” He paused and did some figures in his head. “I really don’t know. How long have we been out here, anyway? It feels like we been wandering for forty years.”

  Samaranth chuckled, but it sounded like the rasping of a rusty engine. “That was an entirely different exile story, little Child of the Earth,” he said. “We are no longer in any place that follows Chronos time, so it is all relative. But if I were to hazard a guess, I would say . . .

  “. . . that we have been gone from the waters of the Archipelago of Dreams for less than a month. Maybe two.”

  “Really?” Tummeler said, eyes wide. “If’n you’d asked me, I’da said we been taking care of th’ Archipelago forever.”

  Samaranth made a rumbling noise in his chest and rose to his feet. “So would I, little Tummeler,” he said, suddenly feeling the weight of his own history. “So would I.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Madoc being mistaken for a Nephilim didn’t create more difficulty moving through the city; in fact, it seemed to be clearing a path for the companions as the flying goats drew the airship between the towers and deep into the heart of the city.

  Angels with the ability to fly headed in the opposite direction as soon as the airship drew close and Madoc’s wings became visible; and those below on the streets took shelter in whatever structure was closest and seemed to be avoiding even being touched by the Indigo Dragon’s shadow as it passed.

  “They seem to be clearing a path for us,” Quixote said as he peered over the side. “That is good, no?”

  “No,” said Laura Glue, pointing back in the direction from which they’d come. “It isn’t us they’re clearing a path for.”

  The giants had begun stepping over the river estuary, having crossed the miles of desert between themselves and the city in a matter of minutes. They seemed to be converging on a single huge building in the center of the city—and were leaving destruction in their wake as they passed.

  “We never should have let Kipling go on his own,” Madoc fumed. “Now we have four missing people to find!”

  “You forget,” Fred said, removing his Caretaker’s watch, “the Anabasis Machines may not be as useful for time travel these days, but I can still use mine to contact another Caretaker.”

  Swiftly the badger spun the dials in the necessary order, then waited. A few moments later it chimed. He read the message and frowned.

  “He says that everything is fine, but he has t’ run an errand before we can come get him,” Fred told the others, “and he said we should go find Rose, Charles, and Edmund.”

  Uncas and Quixote exchanged puzzled glances. “What does that mean?” Uncas exclaimed. “ ‘Run an errand.’ ”

  Madoc raised an eyebrow, less concerned about the errand than his missing daughter. “He found them? He knows where they are?”

  Fred shrugged. “He said we just need t’ go where the biggest explosions are.”

  “Bangarang!” said Laura Glue.

  “It figures,” said Uncas, pulling on the reins to turn the airship. “Head for the smoke, girls.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Driven by no other compulsion save for the Summoning that drew them, the Corinthian Giants were destroying the City of Jade simply by walking through it. Towers were falling; entire boulevards were crushed. Everywhere angels were fleeing, not realizing that soon there would be nowhere to flee to. No shelter would be adequate to protect them from the coming flood. The elder angels realized this, as did one other.

  Deucalion stood at the prow of his massive ship, watching the chaos from afar. The departure of the giants had created a frenzy among the refugees who had lived for generations in the encampments below. Thousands saw the removal of the wall of giants as an invitation to invade the city themselves. Others realized it for what it was: a shift in the world. A change of global proportions. And so they simply waited, and went about their business. Some were weeping; others sought solace in prayer. And all of them were doomed to die.

  “Not this day,” the old shipbuilder murmured to no one in particular as his youngest son came running up the deck.

  “We’ve nearly secured them all, Father,” Hap said, breathless. “All the animals are accounted for and in their places.”

  “Good,” Deucalion said, still looking out toward the city. “Tell me, we still have a great deal of room herein, do we not?”

  Hap nodded. “Lots. It’s a very big boat, Father.”

  Deucalion turned and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Do you know that boy we have broken bread with? The quiet one?”

  Hap nodded again. “Enkidu. I know him.”

  “Find him,” Deucalion said. “Find him, and tell him to run among the peoples of the encampment. Tell them something terrible is about to happen—but all those who wish it may take shelter on our ship. If they do not wish to come, or they have their own means to survive a great flood, so be it. But make sure the offer is known.”

  “To all the humans?” asked Hap.

  “Not just the humans,” his father replied. “There are other races as well—and I would not deny them if they chose to come.

  “All who wish it will find shelter here,” Deucalion said, turning back to the railing, “for as long as we can give it.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The elders of the angels, mostly Cherubim but also including a few Seraphim, were gathering together far from the center of the city, on the westernmost edge, where the terraces and towers looked out over the sea.

  Rose, Charles, and Edmund followed Samaranth back to his Library, where he remained only long enough to retrieve a few items. It appeared to Rose that the objects he chose were more out of sentimental value than practicality—but then again, it was hard to imagine an angel being sentimental, so she assumed the things he gathered together had some sort of meaningful purpose.

  “There is no stopping it now,” Samaranth said, addressing those who had assembled at one of the towers. “The waters will come, and they will all but destroy this world. But they will also cleanse it and restore it to the state it was in before it was severed from the Un-Made World. But now,” he continued, his face a mask of incredible sadness, “we must do what the Nephilim and the principalities had wanted all along, and separate the worlds as definitively as we can. If we can preserve as much from this world there as possible, then both may be rebuilt. And perhaps,” he added, briefly glancing back at Rose, “someday both may be reconnected, and restored, as the Word intended from the beginning.”

  He turned to the angels. “Seven are needed for this. Seven, and the world will be divided—and protected.”

  There was no hesitation. Seven Seraphim—four female and three male—stepped forward and bowed their heads to Samaranth. He moved to each of them in turn, whispering words meant only for them, then embracing them. All the Seraphim appeared older than Samaranth, so it was an unusual sight to see grown men and women being comforted by a youth—but then again, Rose especially understood how appearances were not necessarily reality.

  Samaranth stood back from the Seraphim and raised his hands. “I release you from your covenants,” he said, voice cracking, “but not from this life. Go forth, and guard the Un-Made World, as your brethren guarded the Garden, and guard it still.”

  The Seraphim drew swords of flame and raised them to their lips. Then they began to expand. Swiftly the angels became giants, and as they grew they changed: They became less corporeal and more intangible, and they took on the appearance of massive thunderheads. The flaming swords became lightning; and the cries of the Seraphim as they left the life they knew became the thunder.

  In moments the seven angels had become a dark wall of storms, which moved past the city and out over the water.

  “The Frontier,” Charles breathed.

  “As good a name as any,” Samaranth said. His face was red from the angst and great strain he was feeling, but his expression was once again resolute. “None will pass, save they are
given the Mandate of Heaven. A vessel touched by divinity may cross, but none other. And no Fallen may cross over, unless given passage by one of us here. And that,” he said with finality, “is never going to occur.”

  In the distance, more crashing and explosions could be heard, and the Corinthian Giants loomed over the eastern horizon like a counterpoint to the Frontier the angels had created. “They may survive,” Samaranth said, “but their parents will not. Nor will any of the principalities who sided with the Nephilim. Fortunately, some have proven wiser than others.”

  He gestured at the assembly, and the companions realized he was correct—a number of the younger gods were present, and appeared to have sided with Samaranth. Odin was there, and young Zeus, and the god Prometheus, who still carried the staff of fire.

  “The Nephilim have gone,” said Odin, “along with the star Rao, to do battle with the Jade Empress.”

  “I know where her power comes from,” said Samaranth. “It will be a terrible battle, which she may lose. But it will give us the time we need. . . . Just enough, I think.”

  “There is one Nephilim still in the city,” Prometheus said, “although he seems to be allied with at least one Seraphim and some members of an unknown principality. He is not flying himself, but is traveling in a flying vessel being drawn by goats.”

  A huge smile spread over Rose’s face. “Does that sound like a Caretaker operation to you?” she asked, beaming.

  “It certainly does,” said Charles. “Look!”

  The Indigo Dragon had just rounded one of the towers, avoiding flying directly through the smoke now billowing up from the giants’ path. A shrill cheer sounded from Laura Glue as she spotted her long-missing friends.

  Rose had expected some sort of rescue party and was not surprised to see Uncas, Fred, Laura Glue, and Quixote—but she was completely taken aback when the airship landed and her father stepped to the ground.