Dragon Space

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  Jael wondered at its words. It was not that she did not trust the ifflings; indeed, she had trusted them in returning to the realm in the first place. And yet . . . she remembered that at least one among them was false. How could she know which was which? Windrush! Where are you? Or Highwing! Lord, how she missed Highwing! He would have guided her faithfully through such questions.

  You remain uncertain, the iffling observed, its wings of light trembling.

  Yes, she acknowledged.

  The iffling's wings fluttered. Come, then, and you will see. It turned and floated down into the glen, without waiting for a response.

  Jael trudged after it, until she suddenly realized that they were surrounded by trees. She paused to look around. The glen was not quite as it had seemed from a distance. The trees, which she had imagined as beautifully delicate creations arching up from the ground, were in fact arid-looking bushes that might have been standing here for centuries. Their leaves, so luminous from above, were a dull rust-color on the undersides. They rustled stiffly in the wind.

  Over here! the iffling called. It was hovering at the edge of a pool where a water-carved basin caught the mountain spring she had glimpsed earlier, streaming over a cliff face. A few strides from where the water splashed into the pool, it overflowed into a twisting ravine that carried it out of the glen and down the mountain.

  Jael stood by the iffling, gazing into the pool. The water was clear and dark, and curiously unrippled by the splashing inflow. Flashing down from above, the water seemed to be made of light, rather than substance. But in the pool, it became hard and almost mercurial. It appeared as though everything in this spot had to be tough rather than delicate, as though fragility had no place here. There was a beauty in this starkness, but it was nothing like the exquisite fairyland beauty of Highwing's garden of powers. But that place was gone, destroyed by the Enemy. Perhaps, in these times, this stark sort of beauty was the only kind that survived.

  The Pool of Visions, murmured the iffling. As Jael looked up again it said, Here, rigger, I invite you to share a draft of water with an iffling. Here, where knowledge is revealed through the underrealm, I invite you to join your thoughts with mine, and to share in the visions.

  Jael blinked in puzzlement.

  The iffling pulsed, continuing. What visions? Visions of the realm, of the dragons, of the powers and principalities. Can you not see glimmerings of them in the water, even now?

  Jael bent and peered into the water again. She saw her own reflection, and the reflections of the sky and the cliff. She shook her head.

  The iffling dimmed slightly. None? Then, it is all the more imperative that you join with me. It is the only way.

  Jael frowned.

  I perceive your uncertainty, your apprehension, murmured the iffling. Perhaps I can help. It suddenly began to change shape. It settled to the ground, and quickly became more solid and less luminous—and shrank out of its dragonlike shape. Seconds later, it had transformed itself into an animal—a cross between a mountain cat and a lemur, with plush, tan fur and bright green eyes.

  Jael stared, astonished—and remembered the iffling that had visited her in Windrush's cavern, two years ago. That one had taken on an animal form, too, though a more delicate one.

  This is my other form, said the creature. I thought perhaps you would find it less frightening. It turned to gaze at the water, smelling it delicately. Looking up again, it cocked its head, as though a thought had just occurred to it. The sharing of water. Is this not an ancient ritual among your people?

  Jael blinked. What would an iffling know about human rituals? I . . . suppose it is, she murmured.

  Yes, said the cat/lemur. It is a most sacred exchange of life. Its eyes shone, gazing at her. But here, at the Pool of Visions, it is more than sacred. When we share water here, it has the power to bind us together in heart and thought. Then, together, we may study the visions of the pool, and learn the fate of your friends. But it does require that you . . . trust me. The iffling sat back on its haunches, gazing straight into her eyes.

  Jael was unable to answer. She didn't know if what the creature proposed was even possible. How could she consume something that existed outside the net? Nothing in the Flux was supposed to be substance at all—though the reality of the dragon world disproved that. Nevertheless, it must be a very different kind of substance. How could she draw it from the Flux into the net, much less dare to drink it? The idea seemed crazy.

  And yet . . . the iffling's green-eyed gaze was a powerful magnet, drawing her toward the pool, making her want to believe its words. She felt almost hypnotized by those eyes.

  Something felt wrong to her, but she couldn't identify what. In the back of her mind, she knew there was a profound urgency. Windrush and the others were in need. Whom could she trust but this being, to help her find her friends?

  Would it make a difference, the iffling murmured, slowly blinking its cat/lemur eyes, if, first, I shared with you my name?

  Jael drew a breath. Exchange names—as she had with her dragon friends? When she had first met Highwing, she had blurted her name to him, without thought—and he had taken it as a profound token of trust and innocence. His sons, likewise, had accepted her name with great solemnity, as something by which they would be bound for life. She didn't fully understand the power of names here, but she knew it was a power to respect. If, she said uncertainly, it is a way for us to know each other's hearts . . .

  That, said the creature, and more.

  Jael let out her breath, and nodded.

  The creature's eyes widened and darkened to pools. My name . . . is Jarvorus.

  Jael felt a sudden lightheadedness. Javorus, she whispered back. As she gazed at the large-eyed creature, she felt a compulsion to give her name in exchange. I am . . . Jael. As she spoke her name, she felt a power going out of her—not a great power, but noticeable, a flush in her heart. She imagined it reverberating in the pool of water beside her. She blinked, and shook her head. She thought she had seen circles of light rippling through the water, in its depths. She realized that her vision through the rigger-net had suddenly grown clearer.

  Does this mean—? She stopped. Had she just heard something?

  Jarvorus watched her in puzzlement.

  Jael's head was ringing, and she was no longer sure what was touching her from the inside or the outside. She felt a sudden thump, then parrot wings fluttering inside her head. Ed was back in her thoughts! She couldn't see him, but she felt him peering out through her eyes. (Ed!) she cried, dizzy with relief.

  What is it? the iffling whispered urgently, its gaze sharpening.

  (Jayyyyl!) she heard. (Found Ar! Found Ar!)

  (What?) Jael was almost overcome by the dizziness. And Ed was so overjoyed at having found his way back to her that it took him a few moments to calm down. Finally Jael found her voice to ask, (Is he all right? Can you lead me to him—?)

  The iffling interrupted, urgently. Jael, we must not delay! What is the matter?

  It couldn't see Ed, apparently. No matter; she could explain later. She felt the parrot scowling in concentration. (Caw! Found, yes! Okay—awwk! But lost him again! Couldn't get to him! Almost—awk—couldn't get back!)

  Jael struggled to think clearly. (Did you talk with him? Does he know we're alive?) The iffling's intense, puzzled stare was making it even harder to focus.

  (Rawwk—yes. Danger, Jael! DANGER! Must find graggons!) Jael felt Ed spreading his wings abruptly, between her temples. He looked about, with abrupt movements. (Scrawww! What's that? What's that?)

  Jael's breath caught. She tried to calm herself. (That's . . . Jarvorus. His name's Jarvorus, and he's an iffling. He's trying to help me . . . find Windrush.)

  The parrot shifted his head nervously back and forth inside Jael's eyes, staring out at the waiting iffling-animal. (Danger,) whispered Ed. (Find graggons. Quickly!)

  (Yes. That's what we're hoping to do.) Jael blinked, realizing that Jarvorus was growing quite impatient.


  What are you doing? it whispered. To whom are you speaking?

  My shipmate, Jael murmured. We have been separated. Our ship is damaged.

  Yes, yes. That is why you do not see clearly. But have you not noticed, your vision is clearer now?

  The iffling's words were true; especially since their exchange of names, her ability to see out of the net had improved. It was as though the boundary layer between her and the Flux had stretched thinner, and grown more transparent. She wished that the same could be said of her thinking; she could barely focus at all now.

  Jarvorus spoke again. Jael, the urgency grows. We must let the pool snow us your friends, if it will! Surely the . . . dragons . . . are waiting!

  Jael nodded foggily. In her head, she sensed Ed rumbling with unease, but felt his urgency, as well. He was desperately eager to find Windrush, to put an end to all this uncertainty. Yes, she whispered.

  The cat/lemur sighed in satisfaction. Yes, it said, and stepped to the edge of the pool. Bowing, it delicately touched its tongue to the water. Raising its head, it commanded, You, now. You need only touch it to your lips.

  Jael drew a breath, not moving. Her head was swimming, but she could not make herself step to the pool's edge.

  You must—if you would find your friends! Jarvorus hissed.

  Jael let her breath out in a rush. She could almost feel a force propelling her forward, toward the water. She couldn't tell if it was her own volition or something else, but neither could she resist it, or even want to. She would not actually drink the water; how could it harm her? She wanted to overcome her fear, to join with the iffling and share in its visions of the realm! She stepped forward and knelt at the water's edge, taking care not to overbalance the spaceship on her back.

  Yes, yes! hissed the iffling, close beside her.

  Jael drew a final, nervous breath, and dipped her hand down. The water quivered oddly, and her cupped hand filled with clear, glittering silver. She raised it to her mouth, and hesitated one last time. Then she touched it to her lips . . .

  (Jayl, no—stop—hawwwwwk!—he's not—!)

  She felt a flash of ice as the water touched her, and the ground seemed to shift beneath her. For an instant, she thought she would topple into the water; then she felt a great rushing sensation, as though she would float away. Ed was flapping wildly in her mind, screaming in anguish. But she didn't quite understand why—until her eyes focused on the pool's surface, where the burning water was spilling from her hand. She saw Jarvorus's reflection grinning at her. Iffling? No! she realized at once. He was no iffling—he was the false-one, and his razorlike teeth were showing in his grin, and his eyes were ablaze with triumph.

  In that instant her gaze and Jarvorus's, reflected in the water, came together. Something changed deep in the net, or in the realm around her, and she felt Jarvorus's thoughts plunge into hers like a burning knife into butter. She saw his spirit now, revealed in all of its falsehood. But it was too late to stop the process; the sorcery was unfolding exactly as Jarvorus had intended . . .

  Windrush! Help me please—! she struggled to shout.

  Deep in her mind, Ed was screaming in her defense, lashing and biting at the invading presence of the false-iffling's thoughts. But his efforts were futile. She felt Jarvorus's thoughts turning to strike in anger at Ed. She panicked as she saw it poised to kill, to stab and strangle. (No!) she cried, and enveloped Ed's presence in her own thoughts, shielding him from the attack. Ed was saved for the moment, but it was all the opening Jarvorus needed to whirl his threads of sorcery around Jael's innermost being. She fought to repel him, but uselessly; she could feel the spell tightening around her like a noose. (You're no iffling!) she hissed in futile rage.

  (No. Not an iffling.)

  (Then what are you!) she gasped.

  She felt a rumble of triumph. (I am a warrior in service to Rent, and to the Nail of Strength—the one against whom the dragons war in vain.)

  Tar-skel.

  Jael felt ice water flowing in her veins as she realized the magnitude of her blunder. She wanted to scream in rage, to physically hurl this being from her thoughts. She could not even muster a whimper of protest.

  (Your power is our power now,) whispered the being.

  Jael's gaze fell helplessly on the Pool of Visions, and she no longer saw only her reflection and the false-iffling's; something new was shimmering into focus, deep in the waters. It was an image of dragons on wing . . . dragons tumbling through the air . . . dragons dying in battle, in great numbers. She glimpsed a coiling darkness, and felt a terrifying surge of malice toward her, and an incontestable power; and surrounding everything, enveloping all the mountains of the realm, she saw a fine, glowing spiderweb of sorcery . . . and she saw herself, dying in battle, and the web of sorcery blossoming in power.

  (The prophecy fulfilled,) crooned the false-iffling, in a voice that sounded almost drunk with triumph.

  Jael felt a crushing despair. She didn't wholly understand the vision, but she didn't have to. The vision revealed death and defeat, not just for her, but for all the realm. She became aware that her hand was immersed in the icy waters of the pool, and she drew it out. Her arm moved as though trapped in molasses. As her hand slowly came up and out of the water, the vision disappeared. She held her hand before her face, watching the silvery drops fall away, in slow motion. (What have you done to me?) she cried silently.

  Javorus' thoughts rose within her own. For a disbelieving moment, she imagined that she glimpsed sympathy in the warrior's thoughts, and a heartbeat of hesitation. Then a new resolve swept all that away, and the Enemy's creature said, (I wish you no harm. But I have sealed you into our power, and now I must bear you away to a place where you will be safe.)

  (Jayllll!) Ed wailed, his voice distant and ineffectual.

  (Safe?) Jael repeated dully, her hope utterly broken.

  (Yes—safe—so that at the proper time, the prophecies will be fulfilled,) answered the creature named Jarvorus.

  Jael felt herself rising to her feet. Jarvorus had turned back into a being of fire, but no longer did he assume a dragonlike shape. (Come,) he said, his voice frighteningly melodious in her thoughts. (It is not too much farther.) She might have tried to resist, but she was unable. She could not turn away or refuse to move. Jarvorus controlled her will now.

  They left the Pool of Visions, and the glen, and set their feet upon a new path back into the mountains.

  In a distant corner of her mind, she felt the net crinkling, and she heard a voice calling, as if across a vast distance. It was Ar's voice, reaching her at last. He was calling out a desperate warning: Do not trust . . . the false-one . . . false-iffling . . . beware of treachery . . . !

  But the warning was far too late.

  Chapter 28

  The Draconae

  THE DRACONAE entered FullSky's mind so swiftly he had no warning at all. He instinctively reacted to close his thoughts—then realized what he was doing and ceased resisting. This was what he had come here for. But his mind was bubbling with questions, and he couldn't get them out.

  It was a strange and astonishing contact. The draconae revealed nothing of themselves, even as they laid open with remarkable clarity his memories and thoughts. His battles in the underrealm and his contacts with Windrush rose like great gleaming bubbles in water, expanding and turning for the draconae's inspection.

  (Is he true—?)

  (Is he alive and true—?)

  (The Words speak of hope from beyond death—)

  (But he has not died—)

  (He has come from a place more inescapable—)

  (Does he bring news of the One—?)

  (Only the hope—the promise—)

  (But his brother—)

  (Windrush tries to reach us, but the barriers of the Enemy are too strong—)

  The questions and observations swirled around him in a tempest. But the draconae knew and understood far more than he did. He had to get his questions out, while there
was still time!

  (Patience—)

  (Our son, we know of your needs and your questions—)

  (We all share these needs—)

  He was beginning to feel disoriented, as in a lumenis feeding, full of fevered passions and sensations bubbling up out of the deep places of the mind. Was it because of the draconae's probing, or was this the way of the Dream Mountain, to be a place of confusion, of beautiful sounds and dizzy wonderment? Or was it, he thought fearfully, the beginning of his kuutekka's losing contact with his physical body, the beginning of death? He couldn't tell.

  (Enough.—)

  (He is true—-garkkondoh—)

  (Let us show ourselves—)

  There was another change, another eyeblink. He was bathed again with sunlight, and surrounded by movement. His kuutekka blossomed back around him as he had not felt it in a long time. He felt like a dragon again, instead of a dying spirit; his thoughts were once more his own. He heard the sounds of water tumbling and splashing in a pool. He turned his head one way and another; all around him was the fluttering of gossamer wings, and the flashing of glassy dragon faces—but confusingly, as though everything were broken into a myriad of facets.

  He had not seen the Dream Mountain since his departure from the outer slopes as a youngling, a time he remembered only in fleeting images. He had never seen the inside of the Mountain at all, much less from the underrealm. This was the province of the females—not just now, but throughout most of dragon history. The inside was for singing, and remembering, and dreaming; it was for the draconae. It was for the tending of the Forge of Dreams, the fire at the heart of the Mountain, which brought life to the realm. It was not for the male dragons to tend those fires; their hearts were in the skies, and in the deeps of the external mountains. FullSky realized that even he, whose heart was the closest to a dracona's heart of any male dragon, knew precious little of the real powers of the dreamfires.

  But now he was inside the Mountain, peering out through the shimmering lens of the underrealm. He saw the sun drenching the outer slopes, pouring into the Mountain through refracting surfaces of clear and translucent stone. He was in a hollow, rocky glade, surrounded by noisily splashing streams and by trees and by the musing ones, the females, the draconae.