The Book of Air: Volume Four of the Dragon Quartet

by Marjorie B. Kellogg

  The soldiers laugh uproariously. Her defiance only whets their appetite. Four of them form a ring around her and smack their lips over all the “favors” they’ll extract from her, which they describe in lingering detail. She should be terrified, but she knows she can call a dragon down on them in seconds flat. She stands still, waiting with exaggerated patience while the men argue, with increasing heat and distraction, over which of them will “have” her first. Finally, she sees her opportunity. She shoves hard at the shoulders of the two loudest and shocks them into momentary recoil. In a breath, she’s past them and drawing her dagger, rounding on them threateningly. As soon as she’s done it, she’s amazed at herself. Little Erde, throwing her weight around. For the second time that day, she tells herself: Won’t Hal be pleased!

  “The king shall hear of this,” she rebukes them haughtily, though she has never met her infirm and elderly liege, who might have little sympathy for the daughter of his enemy, Josef von Alte. “Or Baron Weisstrasse,” she adds. “If you will direct me in his way now, nothing more shall be said of this.”

  A couple of the soldiers snicker.

  “Yeah?” says one beefy guard, “And what’s that crazy old coot gonna do to me?”

  But his smaller neighbor elbows him warningly. “Wender,” he mutters. “He’ll do it to you, and you won’t forget it.”

  Some of the others nod their agreement. Erde is delighted to hear Captain Wender mentioned. It must be the same man, she’s sure of it. She can see their enthusiasm for her has dimmed. She’s looking like too much trouble to be further bothered with, and so, she presses the advantage. “Well, then, if you haven’t the decency to direct me to Baron Weisstrasse, will you tell me at least where I can find Captain Wender?”

  The smaller man steps forward, but only to send her farther along the road. “You’ll want to go on down that way, milady, and take the first right.”

  Erde thanks him graciously, as if no unseemly incident has passed between them. She leaves him smiling, quizzically and much against his better judgment, and continues onward, trying not to rush. There are tents and wagons rising to either side by now, and soon she is passing the taller canopies of the minor nobles, more spacious and artfully decorated, with clusters of warhorses tethered alongside. But these finer tents are as stained and many-times mended as the lesser ones, and the poor horses are hunched together against the cold and look as starved as all the men.

  She takes the turn as directed, narrowly avoiding being run down by a young man on horseback whose armor looks much too big for him. Finally, in the distance, above a row of shorter canvas shelters, Erde sees Hal’s silken banner stretching boldly in the hard north wind. Now she can’t help but quicken her step, with her gaze downcast as much for seeming modesty as to keep her balance among the icy wagon ruts, which are wide and treacherously full of half-frozen mud. Surely there must be a few women of virtue among this spread of apparently lawless men! Who else, she wonders, will care for the sick and wounded? Who will say prayers for the dying?

  With this mournful thought, Erde glances up to be sure of her path. Ahead of her, a tall man is flinging orders at a scurrying group of unwilling boys, squires, perhaps, or scullery lads. She is reminding herself that there is no scullery to be had for leagues about, when she realizes with a shock that the faded tunic that the big man wears over his battered mail was once the sky blue and gold of Castle Köthen. Quickly, her memory sorts out the man’s broad back and burly frame.

  “Captain Wender!” she calls, though she knows it’s hardly ladylike. “Captain Wender!”

  The man has been shouting at the boys. His scowl lingers as he turns, then evaporates abruptly as he recognizes her. To Erde’s surprise, an even fiercer expression replaces it, a sudden and desperate bloom of hope.

  Erde quails before its brilliance. Oh, dear. He thinks I’ve brought his baron back.

  “Milady!” Wender banishes the boys to their errands, then hurries toward her. His frown has returned. “Milady! Alone, and on foot?”

  She gazes up at him for a long and helpless moment. “Alone. Yes.”

  Wender’s mouth sets in something like despair. “Then how came you . . .?”

  “I came. . . .” Then it comes to her. It’s the dragon he’s hoping for. “I left Lord Earth a ways away, so as not to frighten the soldiers.”

  Wender sags as if every breath has gone out of him. “Then he is with you? The . . . the dragon?” When she nods, puzzled by his vehemence, he rushes on with little of his usual deference. “Then you must bring him, milady! Quickly! The knight has need of him!”

  “Sir Hal? What? Why?”

  “Cut near to death a day ago, milady, and won’t lie still! If there’s even hope of his mending, he won’t give it a chance! I beg you, milady, call in your creature!”

  “I doubt even Lord Earth could convince Hal to lie still if he doesn’t wish to,” Erde says.

  “I mean to heal him! Please! Quickly! He’s dying!”

  “Dying?” Finally, she takes in Wender’s haggard look. She’s been so wrapped up in anticipation of a fond reunion with her elder knight that she hasn’t properly listened. “Dying? Oh, sweet Mother, help us! Take me to him, and we’ll summon the dragon immediately!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The limo’s ride is the smoothest he’s ever known . . . not that he’s actually been inside one before, so okay, it’s smoother than he’s ever imagined. N’Doch tunes the interior lights up and down on their dimmer just for the hell of it, then lounges back on the soft, dark blue leather, so real you can smell it. Room enough for his whole body, plus the guitar. Room enough between the seats for the full stretch of his legs. He grins at his grandfather, perched opposite him.

  “Okay, now, Papa, why don’t you just pop open that cooler beside you and see what’s inside?”

  Djawara is still regarding his tall grandson as if he’s not sure they’re related. He glances at Sedou next to him, for support. But the man/dragon is gazing out the window, frowning in thought.

  “C’mon, Papa! Maybe there’s nothing. You oughta look, at least!”

  “There’ll be water,” Sedou murmurs from the depths of his brown study, as Djawara bends disapprovingly to search the compartment between their seats. And there is, but only water. Three chill blue bottles bright with tiny bubbles. Djawara passes them around. N’Doch takes his and inspects the label.

  “You were expecting something stronger?”

  “Nah, Papa, you know me. Not much of a drinker.” He doesn’t jump to the bait like usual. Feels like he’s done arguing over small stuff. Can’t see the point anymore.

  The car purrs forward though identical streets, and the men sip their water in silence. The driver’s head never moves. N’Doch knows this ’cause he has the forward facing seat, and he’s been watching. The dude’s as still as glass. Like he’s a robot or something. N’Doch strums the guitar absently, picking out a mournful little tune. Finally he says, “So, I’m waiting, bro.”

  Sedou stirs. “Waiting?”

  “For that explanation I figure you owe me.” N’Doch shifts his gaze, which he hopes looks accusing enough to win him an answer. “Or maybe you can tell me, Papa, since you seem so tuned in on the dragon hot line.”

  “Hardly, my boy. I just pay attention.”

  This time the bait is hard to ignore. N’Doch shoots a look back at Sedou. “Is he in on this ‘mutual annihilation’ gig, too? ’Cause if he’s not, I think he oughta just . . .”

  “Look!” Sedou leans forward, his attention caught by something outside the window.

  It might be a diversionary tactic, but N’Doch checks it out anyway. Between two faceless building facades, he sees a flash of rock and darkness. Then the limo has rolled on past, and it’s just the usual bit of boredom out there.

  “What was that?”

  Sedou is frowning again.

  “You notice how it’s never night here?” The uncanny blackness between the buildings lingers in N�
�Doch’s mind. “I mean, we got to have been here long enough for it to get dark out, doncha think?”

  “I suspect,” says Djawara, “that if you asked for night in the right way, you would get it. If you actually needed night, for instance.”

  Sedou nods silently.

  “Like you needed your espresso?” N’Doch laughs, though none of this seems particularly funny right now. “It’s like a big hologram, isn’t it? Like, y’know, the holodeck.” He’s remembering the old vids.

  “More material than that.” Sedou turns the blue bottle in his hand. “More actual. But my real concern is, why is it breaking apart?”

  “Is it?” Djawara asks.

  Sedou gestures at the buildings gliding past. “That . . . space we saw. An anomaly. Like a hole in the fabric of this particular reality.”

  “A hole?” N’Doch looking hard, now, to find another one. “Where does the hole go to?”

  Sedou shrugs. “To another layer of the illusion? Or, I suppose, it could be to . . . actual reality.”

  “I challenge you to define that satisfactorily,” Djawara chuckles.

  “You mean the world outside?” N’Doch goes for a more literal interpretation. “It looked awful . . . y’know, empty.”

  “Barren. Airless, you might almost say.”

  “What’s airless?”

  “Lacking an atmosphere,” Sedou supplies patiently.

  “I know that! I mean, why?”

  “Look!”

  They all stare as another ‘hole’ slides by. This one is taller and wider, exposing a brief but definitive glimpse of a raw, red landscape, dust and rock, illuminated by a hard white light. Not a single speck of relieving green.

  “Sky’s a weird color,” N’Doch observes. “Not black, exactly, but . . .” He thinks of the old photos of lunar landings, ancient history in his day. “That’s what you mean by airless, huh?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  The weirdest thing, N’Doch decides, is that right after the facade bordering the hole, there’s a crossing street, which extends away from the intersection as if the city had turned a corner around this “anomaly,” as the dragon called it. The contrast blows his whole perception of three-dimensional space.

  No, wait, that’s not the weirdest thing . . .

  N’Doch’s head slews around, trying to stay level with the view down the next intersection, where he’s just seen, or thinks he’s seen . . .

  Nah. Can’t be. A Tyrannosaurus Rex? Now I’m really losing it!

  It was remembering those vids, that’s what did it. Like when he first laid eyes on Water and was so sure she was a special effect. He decides not to mention this, to her or his grandfather.

  The glass panel between the driver’s seat and the rear compartment whispers aside. The driver leans sideways to speak through the opening. “I beg your pardon, sirs, but I thought you’d like to know: there’s been a destination change.”

  “Really?” asks Sedou. “Who says?”

  “My principal, sir. Straight from headquarters.”

  N’Doch rolls his eyes at his grandfather.

  “And our new destination?” Sedou pursues.

  “Says here, ‘Deep Moor,’ sir.”

  “That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, sir. You’re welcome.”

  “Robot!” mutters N’Doch, as the glass panel slides shut.

  “Quite possibly,” Sedou agrees.

  N’Doch stretches back against his seat and regards the man/dragon owlishly. “Well, going back to Deep Moor’s all right with me. Might get some answers there. Those witchy ladies know a thing or two. ’Course, we gotta worry about them being okay. Wasn’t only my people the Fire dude was after.” He says it lightly to ward off his shiver. He’d really rather not find any more good women with holes in their foreheads.

  “I’d give you answers if I had any,” Sedou growls.

  “And you don’t.”

  “Don’t sound so dubious.”

  “Something passed between you and Fire back at the Rive. And don’t be telling me you were just catching up on old times.”

  “It was my sister . . . when we both sensed she was free. It blew his mind, and he couldn’t quite keep it from me. Beyond that, I have innuendo, half-truth, implication, and guesswork. But answers? No.”

  “Never mind.” N’Doch slumps back and draws the guitar across his chest like a shield. He’s thinking how like Sedou the dragon’s become, how . . . human. Like the taking on of a human biology has changed her more than just physically. She didn’t used to hold back on him for the sake of his feelings. “Hey, bro,” he calls softly across the chasm between the seat banks. “You gonna need a song any time soon, you think?”

  Sedou gives him a long, deep look, the dragon gazing at him through the man’s dark eyes. “Might be, bro. Might be.”

  “Now here is an interesting neighborhood,” remarks Djawara suddenly.

  N’Doch feels the car slowing. They’re into another district of narrow streets. Narrow and twisty, with twin ruts worn into the paving stones, and dirty water flowing in the gutters. And animal signs: the occasional manure pile, though none of it looks very recent. N’Doch tries to lower the window beside him, and runs into the first thing about his dream car that doesn’t work. Broken? He somehow doubts it. Probably if he tried the door, he’d get the same result. Is it a trap, or just a safety precaution? He’s just about to air this latest anxiety when the car rounds a particularly tight corner and turns into a circular courtyard, dark and dank, and bounded by high stone walls. At least most of it’s stone. Here and there, N’Doch sees odd patches of what looks like electronic microcircuitry, enlarged a billion times. He squints as the car sweeps past a nearby one. It’s big, taller than he is. Maybe it’s some kind of art, set into the walls.

  He’s distracted as the driver pulls around and stops beside the only other vehicle N’Doch has seen since setting foot in the city. He lets out a snort of recognition. The thing is twice the size he remembers, and a whole lot brighter, but he knows what he’s looking at, sure enough.

  “This sure ain’t Deep Moor, but hey, check it out! There’s Luther’s old caravan. Looks like he got himself a new paint job!”

  When he tries the car door, it works just fine. The driver’s already popped out of his seat to open the door on Sedou’s side. N’Doch wonders idly if the robot will expect a tip. But as soon as they’re all out and standing expectantly on the broad, wet stones paving the yard, the driver tips his cap neatly, climbs back into the limo, and drives off. N’Doch stares after it. He misses the blue leather seats and the soft ride already.

  “This way,” Sedou calls. “She’s this way.”

  Making a quick inspection tour around the big yellow caravan, N’Doch sees the man/dragon vanishing through a tall stone arch. Its nasty-looking iron grille is partially ajar. Djawara waits at the opening, his calm eyes not entirely able to contain their amazement. Is it what’s inside, or what’s outside, or the contrast between? N’Doch cups the old man’s elbow and escorts him through the gate. He’s getting more than used to walking through strange doorways into unexpected places. This time, he finds a rich green lawn and a cluster of old trees, half-concealing a low-slung dwelling. The house he recognizes, with its big stone chimney, and some of the outbuildings and barns. But others seem to be missing, and it had been deep winter at Deep Moor when he was there: bleak, leafless, and monochromatic. This symphony of green and bloom and fragrance stops him in his tracks by the gate. He liked the place enough before, but now . . .! All his senses go on overdrive—eyes, ears, nose, bathed in lusciousness. The air is sweet in his lungs, and the touch of the sun on his cheeks is gentle, like a caress. It’s all he can do to keep himself from racing off and rolling in the grass. No wonder the girl always talked like this place was paradise!

  Djawara gently jogs him out of his daze. “We’re waited on, I believe.”

  There’s a big crowd up by the house, full of people
N’Doch recalls, and some he doesn’t. He’s relieved to see Raven and Rose, and most of the women he’d known there, alive and well. He sees Luther and Stoksie and heads their way, not even bothering to ask himself how the hell they got here. He looks for Erde and the Big Guy, but they don’t seem to be around. The real surprise is Gerrasch, who N’Doch thought would never willingly leave his technohaven in the Refuge. He’s got mirrorshades on, and he and Sedou seem to be having some sort of reunion, which is interesting, since N’Doch can’t recall Gerrasch ever having met Water in his brother’s shape before. What’s more interesting, everybody else is watching, with near-breathless anticipation.

  “Whazzup?” He eases in between Stoksie and Luther, short and tall, as if he’s left them only yesterday. Fact is, it could have been yesterday, for all he can tell.

  “Itz her! Itz da One!” Luther is beaming.

  “The one? You mean, Air? Where?”

  Stoksie nods at Sedou and Gerrasch. “Itz G. He’s gotter in ’im. Or so he sez.”

  “In him?” N’Doch knows he can test the truth of this. He can ask Water on the old dragon internet. He can ask Gerrasch, for that matter, guide to guide. But they both look pretty busy, plus he’s even more reluctant than usual. If it’s true, Air will be there, too. A whole new dragon voice to contend with, a whole new variety of invasion. And this one’s the one they’ve gone through all this to find, the one who has, everyone keeps assuring him, all the answers. He tells himself he oughta let the dragons do their catching up in private anyway.

  “How’d she get loose?”

  “G diddit. Sumhow.”

  Luther’s sigh is soft with admiration and awe. “He tuk her spirit wit’in ’im.”

  N’Doch can’t think of anything worse, but he respects Luther enough to keep that irreverence to himself. Besides, Gerrasch is different from the other guides. He’s already half dragon, so maybe it doesn’t bother him as much. “But he’s still . . . he’s still, y’know . . . still Gerrasch?”