He thought of the ifflings, and wondered if they had succeeded in reaching Jael. Whether they had or not, he knew he had to continue his search as best he could. Today Tar-skel had defeated them, badly. He had done so by knowing in advance what the dragons were doing, while the dragons struggled in ignorance. There had to be a way for Windrush to learn sooner of his adversary's intended actions. There just had to be.
Windrush turned, somewhat doubtfully, to the window that led to Hodakai.
* * *
The imprisoned spirit seemed even more agitated than usual when Windrush made contact. The dragon allowed his kuutekka to take form within sight of the rigger-spirit—which seemed only to alarm it.
One called Hodakai, why are you so nervous? Windrush asked, attempting to sound solicitous.
Ah, dragon—it is you, Hodakai said, twitching uneasily.
It is I. Windrush waited, hoping the spirit would settle down. Have you given any more thought to our last discussion?
The figure of light danced, becoming even more agitated. What are you talking about?
Windrush shook his head at the creature's excitability. About the wisdom of choosing the right friends. Don't you remember? I believe I pointed out to you that your present friends were unlikely to be trustworthy in the long run.
The spirit-flame became almost still. I do recall something of the sort, I suppose.
Windrush waited for the invective that would surely follow. When none did, he said, I perceive that you have a certain sense of honor, Hodakai. It's a worthy quality.
If you think to flatter—
Not at all. Why would you need it?
Then what—?
I was simply wondering if you'd become disillusioned yet with the other side. You see, they have no sense of honor.
Hodakai hmmphed for a moment. His spirit-presence seemed to bend in thought. Tell me something, dragon.
Yes?
What is it you want from me? I'll tell you right now that I can't help you find your precious Dream Mountain.
Windrush considered that assertion. It might be truth, or might not. But there was no good in trying to argue the point. That is not the only thing we need, he said finally.
What else, then?
The dragon took his time in answering. It would certainly help us . . . to know more about the Enemy and his plans for battle.
Hodakai laughed. You don't want much, do you?
Well . . . perhaps it is a lot. Windrush let a small plume of steam spiral up from the nostrils of his underrealm image. But anything we can learn increases our chances of ridding the realm of him and his terror.
The spirit-flame shivered. I see. And, of course, you have in mind some benefit that I will see from helping you?
Windrush rumbled with impatience. You will benefit the same as the rest of us. I cannot promise you any reward, Hodakai. I cannot even promise you freedom from your spirit jar—except, possibly, for your flight to the Final Dream Mountain.
The other says that he can let me walk again as a man, Hodakai sniffed.
So you have told me. And as you have pointed out, I cannot do that. Windrush paused. But—
What?
Think of the price you might pay for choosing the other side.
The spirit snorted, but did not seem altogether certain of itself. What price, pray tell?
Your garkkon-rakh, Hodakai. Your soul.
Hah. So you say!
Windrush hissed at the spirit, silencing him. I note, he said, that you have not chosen the other's side, in all this time. I think you know that I am right. As I said, you do have a sense of honor. I will be truthful: on our side, it is possible you will lose your life. But at least if you fly to the Final Dream Mountain, you will do so with honor.
Hodakai twitched, bending and straightening. He did not speak for a long time. Windrush, sensing that the spirit was deep in thought, did not interfere. Suddenly Hodakai made a stabbing movement toward him. I can tell you this, he hissed. The danger is greater than you think. Far greater.
Windrush exhaled silently. What do you mean?
Hodakai's voice grew stronger and harsher. You are concerned about your petty realm here. But to Tar-skel, your realm is just one little stepping-stone to a much greater sorcery. Each victory here takes him a step closer to ruling space itself. You think of weavings in the underweb; I speak of great edifices of power being shaped—all so that he can reach out of this realm, out of the Flux, even into what you call the static realm. His ambitions are terrifying, dragon! You and your people are only pebbles to be ground underfoot. I don't think you can stop him. But if you're going to try, you'd better do it soon. Once his web is complete, you will never break it.
The rigger-spirit fell silent, but his words seemed to ring on in the emptiness of the underrealm. Windrush's thoughts reverberated with memories of the lumenis vision, and warnings made by FullSky and by the ifflings. He did not doubt Hodakai's words.
And you are right about one other thing, Hodakai continued, in a softer voice. Without the Dream Mountain, you have no hope. That is why he has hidden it from you. You must find it—before he becomes its master.
Before? Windrush asked in surprise. Does he not control it now?
Hodakai hesitated, then shook his fiery head. I don't think so, no. He holds it. But he is not its master. Not yet. At least, that is my impression. He seems to want something from it that he can't have.
Windrush studied the rigger-spirit with no small astonishment. Will you not help us find it? he asked softly.
I told you. I do not know the way. I do not have the answers you want. Hodakai was starting to sound wary again, as though for a few moments he had mustered his courage, and now was losing it again.
Perhaps not. But you could watch. You could listen. You could tell us what you hear of the Enemy's plans. In that way, you could help us defeat him.
The spirit flickered. I . . . perhaps, yes. But how would I . . . that is, you have not even told me your—
My name is Windrush, son of Highwing, the dragon said abruptly—and in afterthought, added, That you may call me, and to that I will answer. He wondered if the spirit understood by his qualifying statement that he was not granting him full exchange of trust, but just the first step toward trusting one another. I give you the sound of my name, Hodakai, though not yet the fullness of my being. We are now equal, in that respect.
Windrush, the spirit repeated suspiciously. Windrush. And how might I reach you?
It is not safe for you to try. I will reach you. The dragon was suddenly aware of something shifting in the underweb around him—and of Hodakai becoming nervous.
Begone, dragon, the spirit hissed. At once! As Windrush cautiously began to withdraw his kuutekka, Hodakai screamed, BEGONE, DRAGON! I WILL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! BEGONE, YOU DEVIL, YOU FOUL WORM!
Windrush retreated hastily, breaking the contact. The underrealm seemed to swirl around him even as he pulled back from the connection. Something was approaching Hodakai from another direction, but he could no longer sense it. Was it the Enemy, or one of his servants?
Windrush drew himself back into his own lair, pausing at the underrealm window. Nothing seemed to be pursuing. Had he escaped without revealing his presence? Could he trust Hodakai to keep the visit to himself?
There were no guarantees, none at all.
Windrush secured the opening to the best of his ability. He sighed, trying to make sense of what he had learned. The Enemy did not yet control Dream Mountain. He knew he should rejoice—but his mind was too full of cares, and too tired. Perhaps he ought to get some sleep.
Unless an iffling showed up in the next few moments to distract him, that was what he was going to do. The moments passed, and no one, iffling or otherwise, came visiting. Very well, then. He closed his eyes—and he listened, as time stretched around him, to his own heartbeat. It seemed only to grow louder with each passing moment, and the cares dancing in his thoughts more urgent.
C
hapter 21
Awakening
HER AWARENESS wavered about her like a holo going out of focus, its dimensional integrity flickering and holding for a fraction of a second, then disintegrating again. Jael was struggling to return to consciousness. But her efforts seemed disconnected from reality, somehow, divorced from her own mind. She felt herself gently rocked by aftershocks, distant gongs and pings, echoing through whatever . . . awareness . . . or reality . . . surrounded her. They were, she knew in some dim recess of her mind, aftershocks of the force that had hurled them to . . . wherever she was now. She felt the shock waves, but was separated from them . . . and from her companions. There was a boundary layer . . .
She felt that she was clawing her way upward through an endless sea, holding her breath, praying that she could reach the surface before her lungs burst. The surface shimmered out of reach, but she kept swimming toward it, trying to cry out, but unable to make a sound. She wanted to weep, not knowing where in this ocean she was, or if she was alone, or if she was even really alive. She was aware of pain, but it too was separated from her.
She heard someone calling her name, calling . . .
And then it all began to slip away. The voice faded. She felt herself sinking back into unawareness, into the quiet tidepool of the unconscious from which she had risen.
* * *
Jarvorus's recovery from the shock of passage came slowly. The stunned feeling of bewilderment was gradually fading. Whatever that enormous thing was that had hurled the human vessel across several layers of space and time, it had done so with an astounding force. Despite Jarvorus's abilities to skate across space-time boundaries, he was nonetheless amazed to find himself unharmed, and still securely ensconced near the vessel's power source.
As he regained his faculties, the warrior looked around for the others. The iffling was still there. It looked as though it too had been stunned, but was now awakening. He thought briefly of attacking, but he himself was hardly prepared for a fight just now. In any case, he felt a curious reluctance. He recalled his earlier feeling that there was something about this creature that he liked . . . that he wanted to understand. As long as the iffling did not interfere with his mission to lead the One where she was supposed to go, its continued life would not be a problem.
The human and her shipmate were glowing with life, as well, but not moving. They appeared not to be conscious. There was also that strange, cold light that flickered and rasped, the thing that seemed in a way almost alive, but not quite like any of the others. It was making odd hacking concussions now, which conveyed no meaning to Jarvorus.
Jarvorus turned his attention to the real question, which was, where were they?
He peered past the shimmering layers of energy that protected the vessel from the surrounding medium, and was startled to see a landscape full of sharp craggy rises and deep dips, and a multicolored sky. The ship was lodged against the side of one of those crags. Strong winds outside were making the ship shudder. There was something about the sight . . . something in the air that made him ache strangely, that made him shudder as well, that had nothing to do with the force of the wind. There was a sharp, challenging smell in the air that seemed to urge him to leave this vessel, to fly free. He felt, for a moment, almost as if he remembered this place. An image rose unbidden in his thoughts of an enclosed place of rock, a cavern—life winking in the crevices, most unwarriorlike beings chattering and singing. The image puzzled him.
Was this home? He scarcely remembered his life prior to his time as a warrior. Had they arrived back in the realm of his origin, the realm he had been remade and reborn to protect? Jarvorus studied the landscape with wonderment, pausing only for an instant to glance in the direction of the iffling. It was glimmering with energy, apparently taking stock of its own situation. Was it reacting in the same way he was? Did it have memories of a past life here? He couldn't tell.
He knew that his mission was the opposite of the iffling's, and that troubled him. They had been together for so long, even as adversaries, that he could not help thinking of the iffling—and even Jael herself—almost as comrades of a sort. They had all just been through a great trauma together. He knew he should not be thinking such thoughts, but it was difficult not to.
In any case, his concern now was not with the iffling. He had other needs, and he was bursting with desire to explore this strangely wondrous and familiar world. And yet . . . he must consider his mission. If the riggers awakened, he had to be ready. Except that he was a little unclear about what he was supposed to do next. Even if they were in the home realm, he had no idea where in the realm he was, or for that matter, where exactly he was supposed to lead the riggers. Had he somehow forgotten—or was it a missing part of his instructions? He needed to discover his next course of action.
He was suddenly aware of an almost overwhelming urge to explore beneath the surface of the observable world. Perhaps this was no coincidence; perhaps that was where he would find his answers. If he could keep just a corner of his attention upon the iffling and the human, he could let the rest of his senses sink down into the body of this land, to search out the land beneath the land.
Even as he thought it, he felt it happening, as though it were something he was born to do. A whole new world opened up to him. It was not a world of open space like the wind and the rocks, but rather a vast, gloomy network of threads and passageways that seemed to lead in all directions. As he peered down one, then another, he glimpsed distant lights of life, winking in caverns. He trembled with a sudden desire to reach out, to discover who those lights belonged to. One of them was different from the others, more distant but far stronger, and now it seemed to pulse and beckon almost irresistibly.
Perhaps, without losing his present position, he could just reach out to it . . . make contact . . .
* * *
Jarvorus was startled to find himself suddenly, wholly, in the presence of that light. He had not meant to jump, only to reach—but it was as if the light had opened the pathway completely, and swept him in an instant into its presence. He felt a stab of panic. Would he be able to find his way back?
Welcome, my helper-warrior! cried the light, driving away his alarm. I thought I felt your return to the realm!
Jarvorus quivered with amazement and uncertainty. He felt that he ought to know this being, but he could not quite grasp the memory.
The light coalesced into an almost solid shape that, strangely, reminded Jarvorus somehow of the human rigger. In no way would he have mistaken it for Jael, but he could not help wondering if there was some sort of similarity between them. The light spoke again. Do you remember who I am?
Jarvorus struggled. I think I . . . Are you the one who . . . ?
Made you? Yes. Indeed, I am pleased that you remember, said the being. I am the one who created you, made you over. With, it added quickly, the wisdom and power of the Nail of Strength.
You sent me on my mission, Jarvorus ventured.
I oversaw your creation from the simple being that I found floating uselessly in a cavern, and I gave you your mission, and prepared you for your journey. You called me Master Rent, before you were born into that other world.
Fragments of memory drifted up into Jarvorus's awed mind. He recalled awakening in the other realm. And before that . . . he found vague memories of life in a cavern, with others of his kind, a gentler and less perilous life. Sometime in between, he'd experienced a time of terrifying transformation, when he'd been changed somehow, and imbued with specific knowledge and instruction and abilities, which had awakened in him upon his rebirth as a warrior. And that must have been when he'd learned of the Nail, and the treachery of the dragons. And now he was again in the presence of his creator and master!
What report do you have for me, brave warrior? asked Master Rent, studying him closely. How have you and the other warriors fared? Do the others guard the human rigger now, while you report?
Jarvorus was suddenly overwhelmed by shame and fear. Master Re
nt, he confessed, I am the only survivor of the warriors. The others . . . fell to the ifflings.
To the ifflings!
Only one iffling now remains, Jarvorus whispered. The human rigger is . . . in the realm, but not conscious.
The figure of light and shadow approached him, its voice deepening and becoming hypnotic. Show me what has happened, Jarvorus.
The warrior felt an electric touch between them. His memories from the other realm stirred in him, rising and flowing out to the one who made him. He did not speak, nor did he need to.
I see, Rent said, after a few moments.
The warrior-elemental could not tell if his master was pleased or displeased. Should I have done something differently? he asked timidly.
Rent seemed to consider. I might wish that you had not let the iffling live. But even that could have its uses. I perceive that you struggled bravely, and you kept the mission paramount in your thoughts. No, it seems you did well, warrior. But—your work is not yet over. The voice became harder. Much remains for you to do.
I am ready to serve, Jarvorus murmured, though a part of him wanted to cry out that he was tired, and surely he'd done enough already.
He sensed a great pulsing activity within the figure of Master Rent. He sensed that the master was thinking, and perhaps speaking to others, even as he was present here with Jarvorus. Was he planning the next assignment? Jarvorus felt a nervous anticipation—and a growing urgency to return to the vessel carrying the rigger Jael. The iffling was still there, and she should not be left unwatched for long.
You are going to lead the rigger Jael to a place where she may not wish to go, Rent said suddenly. I will give you everything you need to do that. But I have something else for you to do first.
Dare I leave the rigger alone any longer? Jarvorus asked weakly.
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