Windrush's thoughts were silent for a time, before whispering, Our draconi memory is long, in clans and contests and spells; in mountains conquered. But in this, our memory fails us. It is as though my ancestors did not want to remember—as though the memory itself were the evil, to be avoided. And so we believed, or chose to believe, that Tar-skel was nothing more than a tale told to frighten the young ones in their lairs.
Listening in dismay, Jael heard herself asking, as she floated in the dragon's thoughts, how it was that they had come to believe in Tar-skel now. Had some dragons spoken to the draconae?
Windrush answered mournfully. We have only their teachings to guide us now, such as we remember them. The Dream Mountain eludes us, in a manner we cannot understand, perhaps kept from us by the power of the Enemy. And without the draconae, without the Dream Mountain, our race cannot continue. There will be no memories or wisdom, no powers of creation . . . and no more young dragons.
He sighed deeply. We should have listened better to the draconae when we could. They understood so much. better than we. But even without them, in whispers I hear the name Tar-skel. Not openly, but in whispers of thought through the underweb of the world. Even among the draconi—yes, among my own, I have glimpsed thoughts, and a spirit blacker than night, darker than the very roots of the mountains. And corrupt. Yes. And in whispers and rumors among them I have heard the name Tar-skel spoken—not with dread—but with awe and with respect.
And now the dragon's deepest fears came rising to the surface of its soul. Behind my father's capture can be found Tar-skel. Behind his trial. And his sentence. And his death that will come. And behind the rage—and the madness—lies the name Tar-skel. The madness that I fear will destroy everything I have ever known . . .
The dragon's mind-voice was quiet, as an ocean lies quiet between changes of the tides, quiet but with surges and ripples of expectancy beneath the stillness.
After a time, Jael asked what Windrush could tell her about Highwing since she had last seen him.
Little enough, murmured the dragon. I saw him rarely, though I knew that his once mighty reputation lay in ruins. He came to me toward the end, pursued by scorn. I feared for him, but there was little I could do or say. I was kept from his trial. I only learned the details of that through rumor . . . and through the ifflings.
The ifflings, Jael thought. She had seen one once, with Highwing. She didn't know what they were, but she sensed that at least they were not on the side of the darkness. She sensed that they bore knowledge. Can the ifflings help you . . . us? Help us to learn more about . . . Tar-skel? And Highwing?
There was a long, resonating silence. She sensed a great frustration in the dragon's thoughts, ranging outward through the realm. Finally returning close to her, he whispered, Perhaps they could. Perhaps. But where are they? Where are the ifflings?
And then a new silence closed in, a sad and final silence, shutting her thoughts away from the dragon's altogether.
* * *
Jael blinked and stepped back. The connection with the sleeping dragon had been broken. There was so much more she wanted to ask him. Why hadn't Highwing told her, warned her of the danger? Or had he tried? Her thoughts and memories seemed cold and unfamiliar now, as though she were staring at them through a grimy lens. She gazed at the slumbering Windrush, whose eyelids were now closed entirely, and wished that she could somehow open his mind again and ask all of her unanswered questions.
Jael, no. She felt Ar's hand on her shoulder and turned unwillingly. You must stop this. If you hope to do anything at all, even to find us a safe way out of here, you must rest. Ar's eyes were filled with sympathy and worry. She wondered if he had felt, or heard, any of what she had just learned from Windrush.
He will wake when he wakes, Ar said. In the meantime, you, too, must rest.
I cannot, she insisted. She appreciated his concern. But what good could Ar's sympathy do in the face of the imminent death of a friend and perhaps the destruction of an entire realm?
You must. For the sake of what hope you have left.
Jael stared at him, then walked back to where they had been sitting earlier, beside the hearth and the embers. Resting her head against the stone, she tried to clear her mind, to rest her thoughts. But she kept thinking of Ar's words. Hope. When had she last known true hope? She'd felt it reawakened for a time, with Highwing. But really, when had she lost it? Years ago, in childhood, when her father had succumbed to his dark and brooding depression, when the dreams of the LeBrae business had turned to ashes? Or later, when her mother had died, forcing her to return to live with her father, whose depression had turned to bitterness and cynicism?
She felt a rush of anger at the memory, at the taste of dust that it left in her mouth. Why were these thoughts coming to her now, of all times? She had other worries, far more urgent than some lost memories of her family. She blinked, suddenly aware of her desperate weariness. Will you stand watch? she whispered to Ar. Wake me if anything happens . . . if there is any sign of . . . if Windrush awakens?
I will, Ar promised. Why don't you withdraw just halfway? You can rest without fully leaving the net. I've already rested so, while you've been waiting for the dragon to wake. I found it restoring.
Undoubtedly he was right. Beside her, the parrot was asleep on a stone perch, apparently doing exactly what Ar had suggested. She would rest, then. And with waking, surely, would come new hope. She prayed that it would. Because right now she had no hope at all.
Chapter 26: Friend of Highwing
SHE THOUGHT, in her dream, that she glimpsed a strange, delicate creature that whispered to her of Highwing in his dungeon—of Highwing hearing her call and dying many times over because he had no way to answer her, no way to let her know that he believed in her still, that he remained faithful in his friendship. She thought, in her dream, that the creature entered the dragon's cavern like a spirit-being, emerging from the burning embers of the fire, and disappearing again the way it had come. She thought that the creature was a fire elemental, and then she thought it was not that, after all, but instead a slim lemurlike thing covered with silken fur, and that it slipped across the stone hearth with the stealth of a cat. Its appearance made her afraid at first, and then her fears were stilled.
Jael!
She felt a hand touch her, and heard a rumbling snort. She opened her eyes, and saw the rigger-station controls as a ghostly presence over her. She had nearly dropped all the way out of the net. But the sounds she had heard were from the other side, from the world of the Flux. Dazed, she sank back into the net and found herself in the gloom of the dragon's cavern, by the hearth. It seemed unreal, impossible; but she knew that it wasn't. It was as real as her spaceship, as real as her own hands pressed to the cold stone. Ar was shaking her gently. Ed was fluttering his wings, making a gargling sound.
And the dragon, Windrush, had raised his head and was looking around the cavern. Who is here?
We are, Jael mumbled. We never left.
Not you. Something else. The dragon cocked his head, snorting sparks. An iffling. While I slept, an iffling was here. His eyes rotated to gaze at his guests. Did you see it?
Ar looked puzzled. An iffling? There was a moment . . . when I thought I felt, or saw . . . something. But I don't know what it was, and it passed quickly.
Jael remembered the images in her dream. I may have seen it, she murmured. She described the creature that she had seen, or imagined, in her sleep. Was it like the being she had glimpsed once talking to Highwing? She wasn't sure; she hadn't seen either one very clearly.
But Windrush was nodding gravely, his eyes glowing with a smoky inner fire. He seemed perturbed by her report, particularly the mention of Highwing's awareness of her presence. He lifted his head and sniffed the air and shot a frustrated flame toward the ceiling.
Then it was true, Jael thought. The dream-visit had been real. And Highwing was alive, and knew she was in the realm. How could she not do everything in her power to reach
him?
The dragon was watching her now, his eyes darkening. I sense your thoughts, he observed. You do not know what you ask of yourself. There is nothing that you can do. Nothing that any of us can do.
Jael rose and strode to face the dragon at close range. Though his head rested on his forefeet, she had to look up into his eye. He seemed more massive than ever before. The scales that covered his head shone dimly in the cold light of the dying hearth fire. I must try. And if that means trying alone, I will do that, she said flatly.
Smoke billowed from the reptile's nostrils. Are you so certain of what you wish to do?
I know what I must do.
May I point out, at least, that your strength is limited here? You would not last. It would be best if you let me fly you to the edge of our world, so that you could leave all of this safely behind you. His gaze narrowed. In truth, you know, our troubles are not your concern.
Ar made a clearing-of-the-throat sound. He has a point, Jael. Our ship is damaged. We limped into these mountains. I don't know how we can expect to—
But Windrush could help us, Jael interrupted. Couldn't you?
The dragon gave her a measured look. I confess that I do not understand your powers, or your role in our world—if you still have a role to play. He hesitated. The Words of prophecy, I admit, seem to suggest that you might. But I perceive that your strength has been weakened by the . . . mishap . . . that brought you here.
Jael could not dispute the point. She scuffed at the stone floor of the cavern with her booted foot. The floor was solid, cold, hard. A part of her wanted to believe that this was all a rigger-illusion, but she knew that it wasn't. Her debts, and her honor, were as real here as they were back in that world of space and stars and planets. Turning to Ar, she said, I know you don't think we should do this. I wish there were some way that we could split up, so that you could take the ship to safety, and I could go on with this alone.
Ar reached out with both hands. Jael, please!
But there isn't, is there? she continued, not responding to his gesture. Ar, I have to do this—to try, anyway. At least, that's the way I feel. She swallowed, knowing that she couldn't make the decision alone. Not only would that be unfair, it would be impossible, if Ar opposed her.
Awk! The parrot flapped his wings violently. Try! We Try! Yes, Jayl?
Ar looked askance at the bird before addressing Jael again. What do you think you . . . or we . . . can do?
Jael had no plan, and she feared that there was little time left before Highwing's execution. She wished she could remember more clearly what the iffling had tried to tell her in the dream. What would Highwing say to her if he could speak? Windrush, she said suddenly, can you reach out to your father with your thoughts?
The dragon's breath hissed out unhappily. I have tried. But there is a barrier preventing me—a sorcery. I cannot break through.
Was that what he was doing when he was ranging outward with his thoughts in his sleep? Jael wondered. She nodded in disappointment. What about the ifflings, then?
A raised eye ridge conveyed the dragon's puzzlement.
Couldn't you contact the ifflings and ask them to help us? If they have touched Highwing's thoughts in prison, then they must know how to reach him!
The dragon shifted position suddenly. He raised a talon, dangerously close to Jael, and scratched at the knobby bumps on the back of his head. A good idea, perhaps. But I do not know how to reach the ifflings, either. They come to me when they will, not when I will. I wish I could call them to me.
Jael squinted at him, then paced. There had to be a way. Do you know how to get to where he is being held? she asked.
The dragon's eyes glowed dully. To the Black Peak? Of course. But that won't necessarily help us find him.
Why not? Don't you know where he is imprisoned?
That, I fear, is a closely guarded secret, Windrush murmured. He is somewhere deep within the mountain, in a dungeon protected by tightly woven spells that alter the very shape and substance of the world. That is all know. I do not know the way, nor can I penetrate those spells.
Jael remembered the magical entrance that had brought them into this cavern. She believed Windrush when he said that such knowledge of Highwing's prison would be kept from him. But there had to be a way!
There was a sudden rasping sound behind her, and then a fluttering of wings, as Ed flew to her shoulder. Rawk. Coming. Something coming, the bird muttered in her ear.
Windrush must have sensed the approach at the same time. The dragon's eyes brightened, and he raised his head, sniffing. It comes! he hissed in astonishment.
Jael turned to look and her heart nearly stopped. The creature from her dreams was crossing the cavern floor, walking toward them. It moved with four-footed grace, and its head was raised, eyeing them each in turn as it approached. It looked, as she'd remembered, like a sleek, huge-eyed lemur. Hello, Jael whispered, scarcely knowing how to begin, knowing only that she had a thousand urgent questions.
You must go to Highwing now, if you would go at all, the creature said, its voice a willowy sigh in her head. Its eyes shone dark and glistening; but the real contact, Jael sensed, was not through the eyes but directly through the mind.
You know how to reach him? Jael whispered. Can you take a message to him?
There is no time. Highwing rises to the peak now, and if you would speak to him in this lifetime . . .
Jael felt an electric shock go through her. You mean . . . he is being taken to his—? Her voice caught; she could not speak the words.
You must not delay, urged the iffling. For the draconae, if you will not do it for Highwing. For the memory of Skytouch!
Jael did not fully understand the iffling's words. Nevertheless, she pleaded with it. Will you come with us?
I cannot, it whispered. But you know the way.
I don't. But one of us does! Jael spun, crying to Windrush. Do you hear that? You are the only one who knows the way! Will you take us or not? I must know now! Her breath ran out with a great cry. She gazed at the dragon, then turned back to the iffling.
But it was gone.
Where—? she choked, her breath a cry of pain. But she knew that the creature had delivered its message and departed.
The dragon's breath rumbled indecisively in the back of his throat. Suddenly his eyes glowed with anger and determination. Climb onto my back, he said. The time has come.
Yawwwwk! Now! shrieked the parrot.
Jael looked at Ar, a growing lump in her throat—and through her own welling tears she saw him nod. Together, they scrambled up onto the dragon's shoulders and clung to his scales.
She never even saw the mountain open up around them as the dragon leaped with full fury into the air.
* * *
A predawn wind blew damp and chilly around them as Windrush beat his way uprange, northward and westward. Jael was astonished at the dragon's speed. She glanced back at the barely perceptible ghost of their spaceship riding on the dragon's back, and thought that this was probably the fastest she had ever moved through the Flux—under control, anyway. She and Ar huddled close behind the dragon's head, but even so, the powerful movement of Windrush's wings threatened to hurl them off. Ed was hunkered down in the shelter of her body.
Do you have any idea what we'll do when we get there? Ar asked, his voice barely audible over the wind, as the landscape spun by.
She shook her head, blinked tears from her eyes. Even as they flew, memories of her father were rising to the surface. She remembered accompanying him into space as a young child, standing with him at the portals as he showed her the hypnotic beauty of the stars of deep space, and shared with her the joy and the desire to cross the gulfs between the stars. This was a long time before the failure, the bitterness, the hatred. She shivered. Why was she remembering this now? Was it because she was getting closer to Highwing? She remembered the dragon's magic, and thought that it was almost as though it were at work again now, finishing a task that ha
d been left undone, stirring up memories that had been buried for good reason, memories she wanted left hidden. As if to torment her, one more image rose into her thoughts, an early memory of sitting and watching him frown in concentration over his work, of admiring him as she watched the smoke curl up from his pipe, of loving him. Loving him?
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