Dragon, you are my heart! Tell me what to do!
I CANNOT.
But why?
IT IS AGAINST THE RULES.
The rules! How can you talk of rules? This is a mortal decision!
THE DECISION MUST BE YOURS, NOT MINE.
Erde knows that if she was going to do this thing, she would have done it already. As quickly as it came on her, the bloodlust departs, leaving her nauseous and trembling. She lowers the sword, letting the tip sink into the mud and ash and melting snow.
Fire clicks his tongue once, irritably. “I thought you of all of them might have it in you.”
Erde looks up at him, spent and lost. “If a dragon cannot kill, then neither shall I.”
Brother Guillemo laughs under Fire’s claw. The dragon steps back, releasing him. “I give up. I’ve lost again.”
“And righteousness has won!” Guillemo shouts, leaping for Erde and the sword. Fire is there before him, snatching the sword from her shaking hands and leveling it with a smooth backhanded stroke that catches the priest full in the throat and passes through without a sound.
“This dragon can kill,” Fire mutters, as Guillemo topples to the ground. Paia regards her dragon with somber eyes as he casually thrusts the sword back at Erde, hilt-first. Its blade is almost clean. Cries of triumph and release erupt from the soldiers remaining in the Grove. Fire says, “Well, at least someone thought it was the right thing to do.”
Hal steps in and gently takes the sword away. The king rides up to join them as they stare down at the new freshet of red flowing between the footprints pressed into the mud and snow. Then Hal calls over two pikemen to cover the corpse and haul it away. “And treat it with due respect,” he growls, just as one of them is about to grasp Guillemo’s head by the ear and exhibit it on its own in gory triumph.
Fire braces his fists against his back as if in pain, and starts to pace.
The king watches him, a hint of awe and distaste hiding behind his glad air of relief. He turns back to Hal. “Is our business here complete?”
Hal nods. “The business of the kingdom, yes. You may declare the victory, Sire.”
“You deserve that honor, my knight.”
“No, better you.” Hal glances quickly at Erde. Then, having answered his lord too abruptly, he looks up into the young king’s eyes, begging patience. “Your pardon, my liege. There are, ah . . . yet a few details to be settled here. If you’ll permit me . . .”
Rainer frowns, thinks better of it, and gathers up his reins. “Of course. Report to me when you’re finished.” As he turns to go, Hal signals Wender to follow. Erde watches them canter off along the dark road through the trees, the other knights and infantry cheering as they pass, then falling gladly in behind.
Oh, yes, she tells herself again. He’ll make them a good king.
Meanwhile, Fire continues to pace.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Grove is liberated! The Librarian can hear the trees sighing in relief. Or perhaps it’s his dragon, breathing into their bare, battered limbs and brittle twigs, whispering through the roughness of their bark.
HURRY, HURRY!
Ah, yes, it’s Air. The trees are in no hurry. When everything Changes, the sacred, eternal Grove will remain. But it’s no rest for the weary. The Eight are assembled. The Work must begin. It will start with the trees. The trees are Air’s work, and Earth’s. The breath of life, the healing force. The Grove will be restored.
Water has chosen to return to man-form for the debate they all know is coming. While her brother pouts and paces, Water-as-Sedou moves among the stay-behinds, those who sensed that the battle was not yet over and still wish to lend their support: the women of Deep Moor, Djawara, Stoksie and Luther, Hal. She will gather them, help them find a comfortable place around the fire. Already, she’s sent Margit and Lily off to raid the enemy tents for food, wine, extra clothing or blankets, stools or kegs to rest on.
Rose sets her women to making a meal. Erde searches out deadfall to bring to the fire, refusing to burn the fresh hewn wood while Earth moves slowly among the great trees, mending broken limbs, cracked trunks, the raw scars of cutting and dragging. Paia sits quietly, letting N’Doch and the Tinkers fuss over her. But she’s watching Fire pace.
Finally the purposeful busyness settles into quiet, and Sedou says, “If you wish to open the discussion, brother . . . we haven’t much time.”
Fire turns. “It’s too late. She’s already on about her usual business. She’s as bad as the humans. She won’t listen. It doesn’t matter what any of us says.” He starts to pace again, then stops in front of Erde. The Librarian sees he’s not much taller now than N’Doch, as if his pacing has worn out the rage that earlier swelled his stature. But the fire lord’s gaze, as he fixes it on the weary girl, is as scornful as ever. “How do you ever expect to fix things if you can’t even take the basic steps?”
“Wha . . . what?”
“Ridding the gene pool of the bad ones.” When she stares at him openmouthed, he bends over her, articulating each syllable as if she had trouble hearing. “Kill-ing them off.”
“Which is what you’d like to do with all of us.”
“Yes. The species is hopelessly flawed.”
“You made Guillemo what he was!” N’Doch leaps to Erde’s defense, shaking his finger in Fire’s face. “You can’t blame us! You made Baraga, too!”
“And unmade him as well, which is more than you can claim. But, allow me an addendum: I made them worse than they already were, merely by the power of suggestion . . . to prove a point.”
“What point?” Erde asks.
“That the defective material was already there. And that humanity is incapable of policing its own ranks. It’s futile to run these cycles over and over again. We ought to either quit it completely or start over from scratch. New genes, new species.”
The Librarian feels another memory stirring. He’s been remembering things, but this is a very long and complicated one. The other dragon guides stare at Fire for a moment, then as a trio, turn questioning eyes to him. “Not yet.” He waves away their gaze. “Soon.”
Water-as-Sedou calls from beside Rose’s soup pot, “He means he hasn’t remembered enough yet. But he will. You all will, soon enough.”
“Cycles?” Paia asks.
Fire throws up his hands, exasperation on a theatrical scale. “Endless! Pointless! I keep trying to make them see it! We should just play this one out and let that be the end of it. No more cycles!” To Paia, he says more gently, “Your father used to breed dogs, do you remember?”
“Of course.”
The Librarian can see she’s surprised Fire even knows what a dog is.
“If he bred a dog as mean as Guillemo, what would he do?”
Paia’s brow creases prettily. “He’d . . . put it down.”
“Exactly! If that whole line turned up mean, what would he do?”
Now she looks away, uneasy. “He’d discontinue that breeding program.”
“And if the entire species of dogs turned up mean, what then?”
Sedou brings a tray of steaming soup bowls. “But it’s not the entire species. Look at these good people! That’s the whole point.”
“That’s your whole point.” Fire peers into Paia’s bowl, clearly wondering if his newly material man-form might be capable of eating. “If we can’t get them even as far as the printing press each time without tripping the alarm, I’d say the experiment is a failure, and I’m tired of it. I say no more restarts, no more futures. Let’s all go find a comfy den somewhere and enjoy ourselves while the damn planet self-destructs. Let’s stop these endless, useless efforts to help mankind get it right, because they never will!”
“I don’t much like the sound of this,” N’Doch admits.
“The Intemperate One.” Sedou jerks his head in Fire’s direction. “Actually, we get a little further along each time.”
Fire dips a gilded nail into Paia’s soup. “Not every time. It�
��s two steps forward, three steps backward, if you ask me. Which nobody does.”
IT’S NOT OUR PLACE TO MAKE THIS JUDGMENT. OUR DUTY IS LAID OUT FOR US AND WE MUST FOLLOW IT.
“Another county heard from,” Fire growls.
“He’s hard at work making things better,” Erde returns hotly. “All you know how to do is destroy!”
“Burn, consume, renew, little girl. It’s mankind who does the destroying.”
“Wait, wait,” begs N’Doch. “Lemme get this straight. This has all happened before?”
“A billion times!” declares Fire. “Humanity fucks up, we pull the plug and restart the cycle before they can destroy the planet completely.”
A BILLION IS UNTRUE. THE ACTUAL COUNT IS . . .
“What does it matter? It’s still a waste of our time!”
N’Doch lets out a breath. “Whew. Where do you restart it?”
“That depends.” Sedou’s voice is steady and quiet. “It’s often a matter of debate, but usually, somewhere around the end of the last great ice age.”
“Too late,” says Fire. “They’re already men by then.”
“As I said . . . a matter of debate.”
Along with his returning memories, the Librarian reclaims an idea. Did I mention this after the last cycle, he wonders? Perhaps he didn’t have the details quite worked out. If he cannot express it articulately enough, will they listen? “An idea . . . er . . . a proposal.”
They all turn to him. He worries that Earth and Air are nearly done among the wounded trees, and it will be time to move on to the next phase of the Work. He worries that the words will not come, or won’t come in time. But miraculously, it’s all there in his mind, recalled in full, as if he’s been handed a prepared speech, or a recording to just flip on and run. “I have an idea,” he begins. “What about a compromise?”
“You were our compromise,” says Fire. “Don’t you remember?”
“Let him speak,” Sedou insists.
“How was I?” The Librarian is disturbed beyond measure by Fire’s implication that he’s failed at a task he’s not even been aware of.
YOU ARE CRUEL, BROTHER.
“I am . . . truthful. Uncompromising.”
“Mean,” Erde mumbles.
“Tell me,” the Librarian begs, though he thinks he recalls it now, all of it.
Sedou regards him kindly. “You were to keep the knowledge alive, from generation to generation, evolving with the world. The knowledge of what the planet needs to stay healthy, to survive. Our living library.”
A DUTY WHICH YOU PERFORMED ADMIRABLY.
“But it didn’t do any good,” Fire points out. “Nobody listened.”
“Some did,” murmurs the Librarian. He’d always found allies in the ecological movement. “But not enough.”
N’Doch nods. “No way. Not near enough. I’d still be one of those nonlisteners if I hadn’t met the dragons.”
“But that’s my idea. More people. Our ideas should evolve, too. Don’t restart so far back. There’s too much room for error if, each time, men must reinvent the wheel.”
“Literally,” N’Doch puts in.
“It was thought,” says Sedou reasonably, “that memories of the former, wrong ways would hamper the evolution of the right ways.”
“But why not let memory work to advantage? Let’s restart where some already carry the necessary knowledge and understanding. Let the knowledge persist through the Change. Make sure that men remember. See what they can become if there are some of us around to explain, to remind, to tell the truth, to spread the warnings.”
Fire laughs nastily. “Ha. Prophets. You know what happens to them.”
“But the memory of the Change will persist for a while, perhaps long enough. Even as it fades into legend, then myth, it will have its effect on men’s behavior, and progress will be made.”
Sedou rubs his jaw. “A good idea. But there’s a catch. We won’t be around.”
The Librarian has remembered that, too. “No matter. Some will be.” He nods toward the fire, at Hal and Rose and Djawara, listening soberly. At the Tinkers, cleaning up from the meal. At the other women, spreading canvas and blankets to curl into close to the embers. “More than just me.”
Rose clears her throat. “Won’t be around?”
“Sleeping,” Sedou offers gently, “until the next crisis.”
“Of course. But the . . . your guides?”
Sedou looks at Fire, and then away. “Why does this always fall to me?”
“Because you do it so well, sister.”
Erde lays a hand on Sedou’s arm. “I recall it now. I will tell them.”
“Heroics,” Fire mutters, walking off to the edge of the darkness.
“The guides are . . .” Erde begins. “We are . . . extensions of our dragons, born into human form. There are always four such in the world, though they live unaware of it until the Summons comes. To gather the energies necessary to create the Change, the dragons require all their energies. The guides must be . . . reabsorbed.”
She sees the shock and protest paling their faces. “No! Don’t be sad for us! It’s a wonderful . . . a joyous reunion! We will be . . . be our dragons again! And we’ll rest until it’s time to go to work again. So, it is you who have the harder task. You must carry the knowledge into the world. You must struggle to remake the habits of mankind. That is . . .” She looks to Sedou. “If it is agreed to try Gerrasch’s idea this time. And I do think it’s a very good idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” calls Fire from the shadows. “A poor excuse for one more pointless cycle.”
“Doan know if yu doan try.” Stoksie comes to stand beside Hal and Rose. “Shur gonna be sum supprize out deah, when da wurld getz all green agin . . .” He snaps his fingers. “Jess li’ dat. Dat’s what’ll happin, ri’?”
Sedou nods, a smile softening his solemn gaze. “I guess it will. We’ve never done it that way before.”
“What a lovely vision,” murmurs Rose.
“That’s why it’s a good idea,” Erde urges. “People will see a great miracle happen, and they’ll be thankful and remember. And with the likes of Rose and Hal around to explain the why and how, surely no one will ever let it happen again!”
Fire’s laugh is dry and weary. “There’s a sucker born every minute.”
Erde scowls at him. “I think I’m a lot happier with hope than you are without any.”
“But why sacrifice your lives? You’re all young and healthy. Do it my way, and you get to live your lives to the full, and in the end, know that you’ll never have to repeat this pointless exercise!”
“You wanted us to take steps,” N’Doch reminds him. “So, we’re taking one.”
Fire shakes his head. “I just wanted it to end.”
Earth lumbers out of the darkness and hunkers down beside the fire. A dozen or so stray warhorses wander up behind him, their tack askew.
THE GROVE IS HEALED. I HAVE BROUGHT SOME FRIENDS.
“Time,” intones the Librarian. Already, he feels the pull, the dragon’s substance calling back its own.
“Already?” breathes Hal.
“Oh, dear,” Rose echoes him. “Not so soon!”
Sedou says, “The urgency is at the far end, uptime. There, the world is . . .”
“I saw it,” Rose agrees. “Dry, barren, already lifeless. Do what you must. I understand.”
HURRY! HURRY!
“Details. Still.” The Librarian’s internal recording has run out, leaving him terse again. He looks to Sedou to speak for him.
“Yes.” Sedou beckons to Stoksie and Luther. “Guess you fellas need a ride home.”
Stoksie chuckles, relieved. “Me ’n Luta wuz shur we’d be lookin’ fer digs aroun’ heah.”
“No way. We need you uptime, to spread the word.”
“Yu gottit.”
“Now?” The Librarian prepares himself for the effort of slowing Air’s momentum long enough to get a portal open. “When?�
�
“Will you go to the Citadel?” Paia asks. “Will you tell Leif all that’s happened? He’ll make an excellent messenger of the word.”
“Sounds like some crackpot religion,” says Fire sourly.
“You oughta know,” says N’Doch.
“Shur, gal, we’ll go deah. Leif’s gonna be wunderin’ anyhow.”
When the portal opens, it’s a discontinuous rectangle of otherness, suspended in thin air, an opening without borders. The Librarian understands that the more formal structure of previous portals—a picture frame, a computer screen, a wooden doorway, a stone gate—has been a concession to human concepts of time and space. But Air has no patience left for the niceties. The view through the opening brings Hal and Erde simultaneously to their feet. They’re looking into a richly paneled room, a high dark room lit by a single glowing lamp hanging above a long, polished wooden table. Leif Caldwell sits surrounded by papers and maps. Constanze leans over his shoulder, pointing out something on the paper currently held in his hand. A few of the Blind Rachel Crew are with them, hard at work passing papers back and forth, discussing various issues among themselves. At Cauldwell’s right is Adolphus of Köthen, his head cocked with interest as he listens to what Constanze is saying.
“Now,” directs the Librarian.
The occupants of the dark room glance up in astonishment as the Tinkers step through the opening. Within half a breath, the portal has closed behind them.
“Oh!” Erde’s cry is a single birdlike call of heartbreak. It brings tears to the Librarian’s eyes.
Hal frowns, pensive but faintly amused. “He looks more at home there than he ever did here.”
Paia takes Erde’s hand, squeezes it briefly. “He’ll do well. He’ll be happy, I think, at last.”
HURRY! HURRY!
“Master Djawara!” Sedou calls, then says more fondly, “Grandfather. For I feel that you are, have been. Will you go home to the bush, Papa?”
“Nothing there to go home to,” the old man says. “The Change will be welcome, but it will not restore my family.” He looks at Rose from under penitent brows. “I thought I might beg shelter of the ladies, to help rebuild Deep Moor. Out of gratitude, you understand, for their hospitality to my grandson. And to live out my life in peace and quiet among people who believe in dragons.”
The Book of Air: Volume Four of the Dragon Quartet Page 40
