We arrived by accident, as a matter of fact, Ar answered.
Accident! the dragon exclaimed, snorting sparks. It must have been some accident to bring you here at such a time as this. Some accident, indeed!
Why? Jael asked softly. What danger is your father in? Everything seems different to me here. What is happening?
The dragon's wings beat the air, making a sound like a sail flapping in a changing breeze. These are dark times, riggers, he said, after a pause. You come here at great peril to yourselves.
I can see that. But I had thought, as Highwing's friend, that I would receive a better welcome.
The dragon snorted. Did you now? I trust that you have come to understand otherwise. Jael swallowed and nodded. Still, the dragon sighed, I must recognize your friendship with my father.
We, too, recognize her commitment to Highwing, Ar said. His voice trembled only a little as he addressed the dragon.
I see. Admirable of you. I know of Jael's vow—but not of yours, however. I think for now I must blind you to our course. Perhaps all will be made clear later.
Before any of them could reply, an airborne darkness curled in like streaming ink and surrounded Ar and Ed. And Jael, discomfited, was left alone with the dragon—alone, except for the faint rustling of the parrot's wings in the region of darkness.
* * *
The aerie was high in the mountains, well hidden within a labyrinth of ridges and outcroppings. Jael had stayed in the net with Windrush, rather than withdrawing into the ship where she might speak to her rigger companions. She had thought it best to watch the route that Windrush was flying, in the event that she had to retrace it without the dragon's help. However, she'd long since lost track of the twists and turns.
They did not speak again until the dragon came to a landing. Wings flapping vigorously, he first released Jael and the inky cloud containing her friends onto a narrow outcropping. Then he himself alighted, gripping the rock with his talons. The dragon was enormous, perched beside Jael. Can you continue on foot? he asked, peering down at her. Will your ship—is that what you call it?—allow that? His gaze shifted to the ghostly shadow of the ship that trailed behind her, only dimly perceptible in the night.
Jael nodded and made the ship disappear. What about Ar and Ed?
The dragon made a tsking sound as he peered at the cliff face above them. Smoke issued from his nostrils, and a rumble from his throat. Jael started. There was now a large opening in the rock wall, where before there had been none. The night air shimmered, and Ar stood beside her while Ed fluttered in the air. The parrot made a grab for her shoulder. Glizzard! he scolded. Graggon tricks! Yaww!
Dragon, Jael corrected gently. Hush, now, Ed. We're entering the dragon's lair, and you must be respectful of his ways. And of his magic. She turned to Windrush, who issued a thin stream of smoke into the cave, as though to usher them in. Jael drew an uneasy breath and walked into the side of the mountain.
The stone passageway that she had somehow been expecting wasn't there. Instead, they stepped directly into a mammoth cavern, which was dimly illumined by the glow of burning embers. Drawn instinctively toward the fire, they approached a stone hearth at the end of the cavern, followed by the hissing dragon. Their footsteps echoed hollowly. Jael stood before the hearth, marveling at the firelight that seemed to issue from a silently burning bush. She tipped her head back, peering upward. The shifting fireglow was so dim, and the cavern vault so high, that the ceiling was impossible to see clearly. Ar, beside her, gazed around with eyes that sparkled purplish red. She touched his arm, wanting to say something encouraging, but not sure just what. She let her hand drop and turned to Windrush.
The dragon, more in the manner of an enormous dog than of a serpent, had curled up to make himself comfortable on the floor of the cavern. He gazed at them with eyes that, like Ar's, caught the glow of the hearth; but the dragon's eyes were far larger and more luminous, a deep emerald green like Highwing's. Jael approached the dragon to speak, but found herself captivated by something that seemed to dance within those eyes. There was an entrancing play of light within them, a cool, faceted fire that was more than just light. It occurred to her how much like Highwing's eyes they were—powerful and spellbinding. She had intended to ask again what had happened to Highwing, but it was too late to speak now, too late to stop whatever Windrush was doing to her with his eyes. You fool, she thought. You should have expected it.
The dragon's gaze was a bottomless well. She was already submerged in it, sinking deeper into the faceted fire, losing her awareness of self, drawn into the abyss of light by a consciousness that was reaching out to touch hers. And now it was drawing her into itself, as irresistibly as another dragon had, once before. And now it was studying her, observing what it was she wanted so deeply, why she was here, and showing her why that could not be, could never be. . . .
* * *
When Jael jerked herself back to a confused awareness, she stepped back involuntarily on the cold stone floor and stared at the dragon in disbelief. Her mind was full of images she did not understand: visions of a dark enchantment across the land; of a great mountain that could not be found, and of the shimmering crystalline beings who lived in it; visions of warfare and strife among dragons; and of one particular dragon persecuted above all, one dragon held prisoner by an angry army of his own kind. She had not been shown that dragon's face, but a tight knot in her chest suggested who it was.
She shuddered, twisting away from the luminous eyes, from the smoldering nostrils. You did not know of these things, Windrush hissed, sounding surprised.
Oh, Highwing! Jael whispered to herself. And to Windrush, How could I have known? She turned to Ar, who was watching their exchange in bewilderment. She wanted to explain, but her thoughts were churning, so confused that she didn't know what to say. Finally she turned back to the dragon. Is all this—all that you've shown me—and her voice stumbled, because there was so much that she didn't understand—is all this true? Has it really happened?
The dragon's voice rumbled, not just with sorrow, but with anger. Do you think I create such images in my imagination? I am no rigger to create demon visions! His nostrils steamed as he turned his gaze away. Forgive me. I should not have used that word, "demon." I have known of you, rigger Jael! His gaze turned back, and it was full of fire. I have known, of you! My father made known to me his friendship with you. And I have wondered ever since whether to hate you for my father's suffering!
But why? she cried. Why has he suffered because of me? She could still see the image that Windrush had put into her mind moments ago: an image of a lone dragon imprisoned by sorcery in a chamber of stone, imprisoned with no appeal, no mercy, no hope of escape. The image tore at her heart.
Ahh! Windrush sighed despairingly. Did he tell you nothing of what he was doing? Nothing of the price he was paying? Nothing of the prophecy?
What? Jael whispered. And she remembered that, yes, Highwing had seemed troubled once or twice. He'd spoken of a prophecy; he'd told her that he was doing something . . . not done, whatever that meant. His words had been disturbing to her, but she had been preoccupied and had not understood, and then had forgotten . . . as she had forgotten his warning, too late remembered, to beware of other dragons. She remembered Highwing's brief quarrel with another dragon in his garden; and she remembered a creature called "iffling," whose words concerning Jael had seemed to trouble Highwing, as well.
Windrush's gaze had flashed to Ar, who was gesturing for someone to explain. Would you know, too? Would you see?
Ar's breath whistled out. I would.
Then, the dragon cautioned, if you would see, you must be prepared to show me the nature of your own soul, in return. You must allow me to judge your heart. Windrush paused. I, too, am now doing what is forbidden. His eyes flashed deep sparks of fire. But my father discovered a truth in this matter that I cannot ignore. If you say that you recognize Jael's commitment—
Look, and judge, Ar said impatiently.
Windrush fell silent. Ar stepped forward to meet the dragon's eyes, and at once stiffened into a trance. Jael, bursting with questions, could only watch. After a hundred agonizingly long heartbeats, she saw Ar break his gaze from Windrush's. He seemed deeply troubled as he turned away. He didn't speak, but sat near the hearth, pondering.
Tell me, please, Jael begged the dragon. What has happened to your father? Is he alive?
He is imprisoned, as I showed you.
But why? she whispered. What did he do that was so terrible?
The dragon vented steam. How can I explain, if you have not already seen it? How can I explain the terrible darkness that has fallen over these mountains? The dragon groaned deep in his throat, a rumble that could be felt through the stone floor. How can I describe a curse that has so poisoned the minds of my own kind—and his voice rose in pain—that I myself have become an outcast, even among my brothers? How can I explain my father's kindness to a human rigger, which I must now honor, because he asked it? I scarcely understand it myself! He sighed deeply, a great mournful breath of wind. Do the ancient words hold so much power?
Jael shook her head. The dragon's voice seemed to have spun cobwebs between her ears. Ancient words? Although Highwing had spoken of such things, he had never explained them. And a curse, you say?
A cloud of sparks flew up into her face, and for an instant she thought that the dragon meant to attack her. Curse—yes! What else could we call it? It is not just a great power, it is a blight that has overwhelmed our land since your departure!
But it didn't come from me! Jael cried, her head buzzing with anger and confusion. She felt grief-stricken, and guilty, though she didn't know what she'd done wrong.
The dragon rasped his talons noisily on the stone floor. True enough. It didn't come from you. I know that . . . now. But most in the realm blame you, even though they should not. He turned his head to stare into the hearth. His scales rippled and glimmered with the movement. Rigger Jael, it would seem that your passage through this realm somehow awakened this . . . power. Or perhaps it was there all along, but your actions caused it to reveal itself.
She gestured helplessly. But how?
Windrush gazed at her with eyes that were deep and sad beneath his massive brow. There is no simple answer to that question. But your appearance, young rigger, was long ago foretold. Or so I have heard, and so my father believed. The dragon's left eye opened wider, peering at her. I know little of such things, myself. It is the draconae, the dreaming ones, who hold such matters in memory for my race. But still, by such Words were we warned. I remember a few of them, correctly I hope. He spoke softly, reciting:
From beyond life will come one
From beyond hope will come one
Without friend will come one
And the realm shall tremble.
Challenging darkness will come one
Speaking her name will come one
Innocent of our ways will come one
And the realm shall tremble.
His voice rose, grumbling. The Words are thought to say that the appearance of one from the outside will cause a confrontation between, well . . . dragon, true dragon . . . and darkness . . . such as the realm has never seen. His eyes glowed at her. Others have come from the outside, and sometimes dueled, and sometimes died, and sometimes escaped without consequence. What they really wanted, we never knew. But you were different. My father believed you to be the One of the prophecy, the One who would lead us out of a darkness that we didn't even know we were in.
Jael was dumbfounded. She gestured futilely. But I don't know anything about any of this, she managed to say at last.
Isn't that what I just said? "Innocent of our ways . . ."
Jael closed her mouth, speechless.
When you first came, and then left without incident, my father thought that he must have been mistaken, that he had somehow misread the signs. But he was not, and had not. Windrush paused, staring angrily into the fire. No, rigger Jael, this curse has not come from you. But you have helped to reveal its presence, and its power. It has, I believe, lived in this realm all along, quietly biding its time while clouding our thoughts, influencing us without our being aware of it. It has lived among us, but we have not seen it, nor wished to see it.
The dragon snorted, chuckling bitterly. Oh, even the draconi have always known that there are powers in the world that do not love light, or mercy, or acts of sacrifice and kindness and compassion. But we have hidden from such truths and called them legend. And yet . . . even legend tells us that such powers may lie in hiding, quietly working their mischief, until the times permit their reappearance.
He grumbled and smoke billowed from his nostrils. But they must reveal themselves, sooner or later. It was our good fortune to live in quiet times, free of care—for a while. But no longer! We did not listen to the draconae's teachings, or seek them out, until it was too late. Perhaps it was the Enemy's work, muddling our spirit and our thoughts. We did not even realize that we had forgotten our way to the Dream Mountain until it was already too late, and it was gone, and the draconae gone with it!
And our world—if you could see it now! Friendships and clans lie in ruins. War and madness abound. Dragon honor, true garkkondoh, is condemned as unworthy. And our magic! He rumbled, deep in his throat, a rumble of dismay. Ahh . . . even our powers to create and cherish places and spells of beauty have betrayed us. Our weavings have become fickle and difficult. Many of those who have the skills of the underrealm have been ensnared by the Enemy's promises of power, and turned their skills to his service. Windrush's voice grew despairing. My father's garden—his lovely place of sanctuary—has been destroyed. Even this place of safety—it is all I can do to keep it concealed.
Jael struggled to absorb what Windrush was saying. Highwing's beautiful garden, destroyed? What a terrible crime! She wanted to ask more and to learn about this thing, the Dream Mountain. But even more urgently, she needed to know—and she asked in a whisper—What exactly has happened to Highwing?
Windrush's voice rumbled louder. My father has stood trial before a dragon assembly, on charges of treason to the realm. And a bitter and vindictive assembly it was. Windrush's voice hardened. Highwing stands condemned to die.
Jael's breath exploded from her. She reached out, her hands clenched helplessly in rage. Why? she whispered. Why?
The dragon considered her with his gaze of shimmering emerald. For an act of foolish kindness to a stranger, perhaps. An act of friendship to a demon-spirit. They hold you, and my father, responsible for the madness that has overcome them all.
Jael was silent.
But they are wrong. I see that, as my father saw it. Nevertheless, your visit and my father's unveiling of our world to you—that perhaps above all!—his revealing of secrets of our realm to one who is not of us—has opened the door to much grief, and the promise of untold grief to come.
Jael turned away, numb with disbelief. How could such a thing be possible? How could she, merely by entering this land, have sentenced the dragons to a world of madness, and her friend Highwing to death? She turned back to the younger dragon. This . . . darkness, she said slowly. This influence. What is its source? Does it have a name? Something was jangling at the back of her mind, a name she thought she had heard from Highwing, a name that at the time had provoked a feeling of dread.
Windrush fumed, clenching his talons. He didn't seem to want to answer.
Caww! Ed fluttered back to Jael's shoulder from the hearthside, where he had been sitting quietly. Not fair! Not her fault! Not Jayl's fault!
The dragon's eyelids blinked ponderously, as Jael hushed the bird. You may speak rightly, parrot, Windrush answered. But the truth is that evil cannot abide the presence of good—and when it is brought to light, it lashes out. My father realized that his actions had fulfilled a dangerous prophecy. He had been told, and he believed, at least in part, and he feared the consequences as much as any. But he knew that there was no turning bac
k. And he exacted a promise from me—a rush of smoke went toward the ceiling—that I would honor his pledge of friendship to you as though I had made it myself.
Despite her heartache, Jael could not help but be moved by Highwing's determination. And was it just you? What of your brothers?
They refused. The dragon's voice sharpened with anger. Turned against him. Called him a betrayer of the realm, and a sower of trouble. It was two of my brothers who were attacking you when I arrived to bear you away.
Jael blanched.
My own clan, Windrush muttered, as though he himself could not believe it.
A loud crackle came from the fire behind Jael, and she started, as a flame sputtered up from the embers. She glanced at Ar, his eyes wide and sober. A lump grew in her throat as she turned back to Windrush. Then . . . he must hate me, she whispered. For what he did for me, all of this has happened? His own sons turning against him?
Never! Windrush thundered. My father never regretted what he did for you. He would do it all again—and I half wonder myself if he isn't mad. I believed in him. But how long can I believe? Windrush raised his head and loosed a tongue of flame that blasted the ceiling, and a wail that shook the cavern.
Jael trembled. An image rose in her memory, from the mindlink with Windrush, an image she only now understood: three of the four sons betraying their father—two flying away in open rebellion, while a third was already lost, seduced by the enchantments of a power that would not even reveal itself to the realm. Only Windrush had stood firm, and Windrush was devoured by grief and by fear.
And following that image, another rose: a carbon black peak thrust tall against the sky, the tallest peak in the realm. Gathered near its summit were hundreds of dragons. She hadn't understood that image, either, when she had glimpsed it in Windrush's mind. But now she did. A lone dragon awaited a sentence of death on that peak. And nothing could stop it from happening. Nothing human, and nothing dragon.
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