The time passed, and before they knew it, they had already made their call at Vela Delta Prime, where Ar looked up a Clendornan friend from his pre-rigging days and Jael spent a day sunning herself on the sandy shore of a warm, hissing ocean. Soon after, they were in space again, bound south and clockwise-inward on the galactic spiral for Seraph's Heaven, a collection of worlds where they were scheduled to make three stops. That was a journey of thirteen days, to be followed by a flight northward again, back toward the Aeregian worlds.
The flight to Seraph's Heaven went flawlessly, and it was a lively collection of worlds that they visited. But on the return northward they ran into trouble again—and this time it wasn't something that Ed could help them with.
PART THREE
DRAGON
Chapter 23
Accident in the Flux
JAEL HAD just joined Ar in the net. It was a strange new image that he was rigging through: a vast network of what looked like the needles and branches of a fantastic evergreen tree, illumined by various colored, eerily reflected light sources. None of the landscape was quite in focus, so that the needles formed crisscrossing patterns that evoked a sense of form and shape without actually defining it. The ship was a silent, dark raft gliding among the needles. Ar was perched astride its nose, and Ed was on his shoulder, muttering softly. How do you like it? Ar asked, without turning to look at her. His voice was a murmur; he seemed not quite in a trance, but close.
It's very pretty. What is it?
Ah, I'd hoped you would recognize it. Ar looked back. He seemed disappointed. Don't you know the tradition of Kristostime, the festival they celebrate on, I don't know how many worlds—
Kristostime? Yes, of course I know it. Jael created a perch for herself beside him. But what made you think of that? And what does it have to do with this? She waved her hand at the scenery.
Ar hummed to himself. When I was young, I once visited a human family during that festival. They had a tree of needles that was decorated with lights and shiny colored ornaments. It was very beautiful. He glanced at Jael. One of the human children and I spent hours lying under that tree in a darkened room, peering up through the branches and needles at the colored lights, and imagining entire universes in what we saw. And those images have lingered in my memory ever since.
Jael stroked the neck of the parrot, marveling. She had no such memories from any festivals, but this landscape made her wish that she had.
It's an image from an ancient human tradition, you know, Ar continued. It was our stop at Seraph's Heaven that made me think of it. That name comes from the same tradition, I believe. Though I don't understand the tradition itself very well, I find it a source of many vivid images. Do you like this one?
Jael nodded. She relaxed and followed his instructions. She gazed without trying to focus her eyes on any one thing. The lights became blurry reflections of ruby and emerald and gold, lending quiet energy to the landscape, while the angled branches, with their dark needles, suggested form and boundary. She smelled balsam and spruce, and imagined exotic scents from other worlds. And as she let herself merge with the image, she knew that Ar had chosen well.
Floating dreamily, like thought itself, they wended their way through the intricate spaces evoked by the tree. The actual way was clear to her by intuition, if not by eye. It was as though they were being led by one light among all of those here, and though its identity seemed to flicker and change, they always recognized it: sometimes as a glow of ruby, or of deepest cerulean, or of amethyst purple. Always there was a gentle incandescence leading them in the direction they needed to go. She grew to feel content with that, as both Ar and Ed seemed content with it, as they wound silently around and through, like spirits moving in a world where no mortal being could live or breathe.
And so they traveled for a long and satisfying time . . .
Until a blinding light burst off to their left, as one of the colored globes exploded. For an instant, it seemed to be only a flash of light. But Jael had scarcely turned to look before the concussion hit. The first shock was mild, hardly more than a rumbling in the net. But something felt wrong, frighteningly wrong. An instant later, a second concussion hit, with a tremendous BOOOOM-M-M-M . . .
Ar—
A blast of ice-laden air slammed through the tree like a tidal wave, exploding needles and knocking aside branches like feathers; and in the wrenching blur, she felt the ship veering to one side, as a mighty force tilted and turned them. There was nothing to do but hold on.
Swinging branches swept into Jael's face, and lights flashed in her eyes, and she smelled something burning. At first she thought it was the net on fire, and she had to suppress her own panic, quenching an image of a sheet of flame flashing through the net. Then she realized that it was coming from the outside. She heard Ar shouting, and he sounded miles away, but she heard . . . check the net configuration . . . tell if we're . . . then his voice was momentarily lost in the hiss. But she knew that he was contending with the ship's movements so that she could deal with the net itself. She scanned backward and discovered that it was indeed unraveling. The power balances in the flux-field were flickering like candles in a stiff breeze. She would have to correct it fast . . .
Jael, can we move out of this—Ed, calm down!—can you tell if it's safe to leave the Flux?
Ar's call stopped her in mid-effort, because she was getting nowhere stabilizing the net. Perhaps he was right, they should surface and reestablish themselves in normal-space. Take us up SLOWLY! she answered. We don't know what we're going to find!
Ar was already doing just that, and she extended all of her senses to detect what they might be emerging into. They should be escaping from the worst of the storm as they surfaced . . . except that the storm was growing steadily more furious as they rose through the layers. Soon the entire Flux was glowing brightly with energy. The remaining tree branches were burning around them.
Jael, can you tell what we're getting into?
The sky was not darkening as they spiraled toward normal-space—it was brightening. There was a terrible glare in the sensors, and little detail; but the energy flux was incredible. Ar, take us back down! GET US THE HELL OUT OF HERE! They were surfacing in a tornado of cosmic activity—a nova, or a black hole, or who the hell knew what. They had to get out of there, and fast.
Jael, I need help! Ar shouted. We've got to ride it through!
Without answering, she worked furiously to strengthen the flux-field, to give Ar the power and leverage he needed. When she shifted her attention back to the outer net and the Flux, she found a winter avalanche carrying them thundering down a mountainside, great blasts of snow erupting on all sides. Ar had produced an image that he understood, but he could not change the forces that were there. Wherever and however they were being taken, they had no choice now but to ride it out, to try to keep from being buried or destroyed. It took the full power of the flux-field, and all of their strength to keep any control at all over their fall. And not only theirs: she also glimpsed Ed bent in flight, head down, all of his effort focused on flying straight and true in the midst of a terrible tempest.
She saw blurring snow, flashing white, and felt the ship rumbling and skidding and threatening to tumble end over end, and all she could do was brace herself behind Ar and join in his efforts. Time itself seemed stretched and distorted, affecting her perceptions. But as they clung and shouted encouragement to one another, the intensity of the avalanche gradually began to diminish. Eventually they were able to steady the ship in its downward plunge, and to keep it on the surface of the sliding snow, skiing it down the slope that was ever so slowly flattening out before them.
And finally, with her own heart pounding and all three of them gasping, they shuddered and bucked and came to a creeping halt. The sudden stillness was eerie, almost frightening in itself. Ed came to huddle, shivering, under her arm. Only the slow sifting of snow beneath the ship reminded her of the fury they had just been through. They looked at each
other in silence, and they looked around them at a landscape full of mountains, a tremendous range of mountains—all still, and white with snow. It all looked a little dark, and that was because some of the power from the flux-pile was leaking away, instead of going into the net. Jael wondered, and knew Ar was wondering, what had gone wrong.
And she wondered as well: Where are we now?
* * *
It took a good deal of time on the bridge, studying the net-memory analysis, to piece together what had most likely happened. Apparently they had passed close to a Flux-abscess of some sort, a knot or distortion in the continuum that could easily have destroyed them. In this case, it seemed to have been a linkage to some sort of cosmic-scale disturbance in normal-space—perhaps a powerful jet erupting from some sort of highly energetic stellar object, or even a black hole system. They had not gathered enough information to be certain. But one thing she did know was that they were lucky to be alive. Whatever the object had been, there must have been an unusual degree of penetration into the Flux continuum. And to have struck with so little warning—was it simple misfortune? Or had they made a fundamental error in their navigation? It was a sobering reminder of the need for constant vigilance.
Unfortunately, the analysis of the ship's systems revealed something even more sobering. The flux-pile had been damaged, either by the storm itself, or by the stresses put on it in riding out the storm. They were going to be hard put to reach their destination, or any starport at all.
Jael and Ar faced each other across the instrument panels of the bridge, where the data showed all too clearly on the screens. "Well—" Ar said, and gestured silently.
"We can't repair it, can we?"
"I don't think so. But we're not crippled altogether; we do have the power to continue. The question is how much leverage we'll have in the net—how responsive she'll be."
"And how long it will last." Jael tapped the display. "The power drain was pretty severe."
"So we have to choose a heading according to how difficult the rigging will be, and how quickly we can make the passage. Those two factors are not necessarily compatible."
Jael thought about that. They didn't know yet where they were, or how far off course they had been knocked. It was hard to guess what their choices would be. They would have to spend some time in the navigation library.
Ar rose unsteadily. "Jael, we both need to rest before we do much else. But I think it would be wise to go in shifts, and not leave the ship untended. You can sleep first, if you like, while I go through the library."
Jael snorted. "You think I'm going to be able to sleep after this? You were in the net longer than I was. Why don't you sleep? I'll see what the library has on this." She was a nervous wreck; she might as well try to unwind by doing something useful.
Ar agreed, and with a comforting touch on her shoulder, left her to monitor the bridge—left her to look for clues, if there were any to be found.
* * *
By the time Ar reappeared, she had spent hours in the rigger library computer and twice dipped into the net to make observations, and she'd made an astonishing discovery. She could scarcely believe it herself, and wasn't quite sure how to tell Ar. "It's no coincidence," she said, feeling more than a little giddy.
"What isn't? Who said anything about a coincidence? Are you feeling all right?"
She nodded, in profound weariness. "I'm fine. But the mountains. It's not a coincidence about the mountains."
Ar had brought her a mug of cocoa. He set it down beside her, then sat and studied her face. He looked more alien than ever at this moment, no doubt a trick of the lighting. His head seemed so top-heavy, she thought it would tip off his neck. His mouth opened and moved. "Jael. What mountains?"
She blinked. Words came with difficulty. "The image we finished with . . . the avalanche. When we hit bottom, we were at the base of a mountain. A range of mountains. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, of course I do." Ar's eyes seemed to glow at her. "What about them?"
"I know those mountains. I've been here before, but farther up the range." She paused, wondering if she sounded crazy. "I felt sure we were too far away, even though we're en route to Aeregian space. But Ar, we went way off course—carried by the shockwaves, I guess. Anyway, I'm almost certain that we're near the same mountains . . . where I met . . . where I met . . ." Her mouth resisted forming the words. "Where Highwing . . . lives." Her voice sounded like a sigh, or an appeal.
Ar was silent for a long time, not looking at her. She took a series of slow, deep breaths, waiting for him to answer. He murmured something to himself and studied the instrument readings for a while. Finally he said, "If that's true, then we'll have to be extra careful, won't we?"
"Careful? Yes, but—" Highwing!
"Dragons, Jael. Remember? If it's true, what you say, then they're dangerous. Dueling, and so on. Correct? You can vouch for that."
"Yes, but Highwing won't do anything to us—"
Ar's cautioning hand stopped her. "Perhaps not. Perhaps not. But Highwing is just one dragon. What about the others? If your memories and the legends are literally true, as you say, then we could be facing any number of unknown dragons, besides the one you know." Ar's voice was steady, sober. He sounded worried; she'd hoped he'd be reassured.
"I suppose that's true," she whispered, remembering suddenly that Highwing himself had said that not all dragons would be as welcoming to her as he had been. "But if we are anywhere near Highwing, if he can help us . . ." And her voice failed, but she remembered clearly Highwing's parting words to her: I will hear you, though all the mountains lie between us. And she knew that even if Ar did not take those words seriously, she did. She must.
"Jael," Ar said gently. "What else have you learned about our course? What's the shortest route to a starport where we can put in?"
She sighed, and her head seemed to hurt as she spoke, though it was really not so much a pain as a blurring of her thoughts. "I don't know yet. I just . . . don't know . . ." And her voice failed again, because the truth was that she had her suspicions that they would have to cross the dragon realm in any case, but she didn't want to say that, didn't think Ar would believe her . . .
She started, as Ar caught her. She'd been falling over, falling asleep.
"Time for you to get some rest," Ar murmured as he guided her toward her cabin. "Time enough for all of this later . . ."
* * *
When next she spoke with Ar, it was in the net, after she'd awakened from a long, deep sleep filled with dreams. She could not remember the content of the dreams, but the intense fear and longing in them lingered for hours after awakening. She found Ar assessing the region they had left the ship in; he had not changed the image significantly, nor released the stabilizers. He seemed in a pensive mood.
Have you determined the nearest port? Jael asked softly. She looked around for Ed, but didn't see him.
Ar nodded. Raising his eyes, he noted the way she was looking around and said, Ed went to sleep. I think I was making him depressed.
Jael's mouth opened. She didn't know what to say. Until now, Ar had been her best defense against depression. Finally she murmured. What did you find?
The Clendornan chuckled somberly, his great, wide-topped head tipping from side to side. That apparently you were right.
She shook her head, confused. What do you mean?
These indeed seem to be the same mountains as those of the "dreaded mountain route" to Lexis. I found the three closest starports, but every possible course to them entails traveling through, over, or around these mountains. Ar's voice was flat, and that, more than anything else, revealed how disturbed he was.
Jael stared at him, trying to draw a breath. Conflicting emotions were rising in her; and she knew that she had better sort them out quickly, because one thing she had not counted on was that Ar might be afraid. Afraid of what could lie within those mountains. Afraid of what she had told him, what she knew to be true; afraid he would learn that
she had been right all along. His fear was not visible, but she sensed it—she knew.
Ar surveyed the mountains that rose from the horizon, above the dunes of snow cradling their ship. It's going to be a hard way to go, he murmured finally, making an obvious effort to be optimistic.
Yes. It probably will be. She too was aware of the limitations of their ship, with its impaired flux-pile. But she could not keep away other thoughts, nor could she keep the beginning of a smile from her lips. But there might be a way that's not visible to us yet. A way that we won't find until we've really looked.
With Highwing's help, she added in the silence of her thoughts. But meeting Ar's sad, frightened eyes, she found she could think of nothing more to say.
Chapter 24
A Realm Changed
FRIEND OF HIGHWING . . . !
Her voice reverberated from the mountain cliffs as they glided closer, ever closer to the foreboding-looking peaks. It seemed a harsh land, grimmer and somehow less alive than she'd remembered. They were in a different part of the range now, and perhaps this region has always had a different character. But her intuition, her rigger instinct, told her that something had changed, and she had an uneasy feeling that it was more than just the outward appearance.
For hours now they had been rigging closer to the mountains; for hours she had been calling out to Highwing—hoping that he would remember his promise to her, hoping that he would hear her voice. Hoping that her memory was true, and that everything she had been claiming to Ar would be proved now, when it mattered. There had been no response of any kind to her calls. But of course, Highwing could be far away; he could be at the other end of the range. And while he had shown her powers that seemed magical, he was not omnipotent. She could only keep calling, hoping, and trusting.
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