Dragon Space

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  And so was Jael. He had seen her spirit gather and vanish like smoke, and whether her role was done now, he couldn't guess, but one thing he knew, and that was that Rent was going to be angry. Oh yes, he would be angry. And for once, Hodakai felt no ambivalence about it. He was thrilled—and terrified, yes, but ecstatic that they had subverted the Enemy's plan. Yes, the Enemy. His enemy. There was no going back on that now.

  He wished that Windrush would come, so that he could tell the dragon what he had done. But of course that was impossible. The dragons were battling for their lives at this very moment, and the fact that he and Jael and the others had just double-crossed Tar-skel here didn't mean that the dragons were going to prevail. They were all still very much in danger.

  Jarvorus! he called across the shaking cavern, across the abyss, looking for the false-iffling. Jarvorus, what do you see? Have we struck a good blow? Is she—?

  And there his voice failed him, because he could not bring himself to say the words, to ask, is she dead?

  The false-iffling didn't answer, anyway.

  Turning restlessly, Hodakai probed a short way into the underrealm, looking for any sign of Jael. The only thing he could really do was to reach out to Rent, and to crow about what they'd done here. But though he was exultant, he was not that exultant. He would keep his triumph to himself just a little longer.

  And anyway, things were shaking terribly down in the underrealm: the familiar channels and pathways were buried or swept away by earthquake, wind and storm, and fire. He pulled out, gasping, and clung to his existence in the spirit jar, in the cavern. It was like clinging to the surface of an avalanche; the spell that kept him alive here was holding, but for how much longer?

  Jarvorus, talk to me! he cried, searching the cavern with his gaze.

  But Jarvorus seemed to have vanished.

  * * *

  The warrior-spirit huddled in a pocket of the underrealm, stunned by the cataclysm that they seemed to have unleashed. Were the Words so powerful? He knew, of course, that they were something that caused his former masters both tremendous hope and tremendous fear. But were they so deeply woven into the sorcery that they could cause all this to happen?

  Jarvorus knew that he had tampered with powers greater than he could ever understand. Rent would be here soon, was almost certainly on his way here at this instant; and if Jarvorus was lucky, if he was very lucky, his death would be quick. He was not sorry, he did not think that he was sorry, but he was very, very frightened. The sprite-warriors that he commanded had all fled in terror. He wasn't sure why he stayed himself, except that he had nowhere to go. This cavern was the closest thing he had to a home—here, where he had shared in Jael's momentous death. And here he would live or die in consequence of that act.

  These forces shaking the cavern were, he perceived, only echoes of far greater powers that were cascading through the distant reaches of the underrealm. He hoped he would be able to detect Rent coming, in the confusion.

  Not that it mattered in the end. He had done what he had been born to do, and that was what mattered.

  * * *

  As Seneca tumbled through the violently shifting currents in the Flux, Ar fought to regain control. Was he alone now? Was Ed gone, too? He couldn't see where he was going, and had no outside references; but it felt as though something was pulling the ship onward, something that was disturbing the whole fabric of the Flux here. More of Tar-skel's sorcery?

  Even as he fought back spatial disorientation, his mind was wheeling through useless lines of thought. Hodakai had urged him to go warn the home universe. What was he supposed to do? Return to Cargeeling and announce that the universe was in peril from a terrible, invisible evil somewhere in the Flux?

  Please, he whispered to the darkness, this cannot be real, cannot be happening. Jael, speak to me! Ed! But he had sensed Ed diving into Jael's consciousness, just before she had died. Could he have survived?

  He felt the answer before he heard it, a nudge at the front of the net, a snapping of wings. Ed! he gasped. He tried to bring light into the net, just a faint instrument-glow of light, so as not to dazzle himself against the darkness outside.

  The parrot was flying to and fro, almost drunkenly. He was trying to orient himself, trying to find up and down. His green feathers gleamed in the light Ar had created. Ed, Ar whispered. I thought I flet you go over to Jael! I thought you went with her!

  The rasp of the parrot's voice was a balm to his spirit. Rrrrawk. Did go. Did. Ed wheeled and flew straight into Ar's gaze. He could feel the parrot's thoughts collide with his, then spin away, trying to help him wrestle the ship back under control. Ed split. Hawwwwk—went both ways! Ed dizzy. What happening, Arrr? What-t-t-t?

  Ar took a sharp breath. Ed had split? But of course, he was a cyberparrot, all pattern and artificial intelligence. Of course he could duplicate himself.

  Fly, Ar—awwwk! What happening?

  I don't know, Ar murmured. Jael's gone, Ed—gone! We killed her, Jarvorus killed her. He tried to find purchase in the currents with a set of short, stubby wings. There was something ahead . . . something drawing them closer . . . something that made him fearful.

  Hawwwwk-k! Gone yes! Ed squawked, joining him in the effort. Maybe not killed! Maybe not! Scrawwww!

  Ed, it won't help to deny it. Ar saw something ahead now, a dull reddish glow in the far distance. He was regaining control over the ship, at least enough to ride through the shuddering changes in the flow; and that glowing thing, whatever it was, gave him a reference to fix upon. Jael, where are you? he cried, deep in his heart, amazed that a Clendornan could so hurt for a human. Where have you gone? Did you find Windrush before you died? Did we kill you for anything good?

  Don't know she died, Ed insisted, chopping his beak in Ar's direction.

  Ed, there's just no way—look at the monitors in the rigger-stations. His voice caught as he looked himself. Life-signs in her station have ceased, he whispered. And he realized that he had just pronounced the evidence against any remaining hope he might have had.

  Aawwrrrrr, Ed growled, gargling. Does Ed live? DOES HE? Ed taken from his body! And Ed WENT with Jayyyl! Flapping his wings angrily, Ed shot back to the front of the net and stretched it as far as it would go, scanning ahead toward the red thing that was drawing them on.

  Ar stared dumbly at the parrot. Ed lived in the net with him, through cyberchip technology, though his body was long since gone. Could Jael have somehow survived? And Ed had sent his memories and personality with Jael. Ar wondered if Ed was so angry right now because he wasn't with her—this half of him wasn't with her. Ed, do you really think she . . . could have survived, somehow?

  Hawwwww, don't . . . KNOWWWW! Ed wailed, flapping from side to side ahead of him.

  Then hope, Ed! Ar thought silently. And help me hope.

  The thing ahead of them was beginning to loom like an object of substantial mass and size. It appeared that this was the object that was drawing them forward. It was a sullen red thing, surrounded by a spiraling veil of gas and dust.

  Sacred word, Ed—is that a black hole ahead of us? Ar whispered in shock, realizing that he should have recognized the danger long ago.

  Rawk-k-k? Hawww? Ed asked, casting a frightened glance back at him.

  Ed clearly did not know what a black hole was, and Ar didn't have time to explain. If that's what it was, he needed to act at once, or they would be following Jael in death a lot sooner than he'd thought. There was a very strong current carrying them, and up to now, he had not tried to steer out of it. He was completely lost, navigationally, and wasn't even sure that they were in a charted layer of the Flux. But a quick check of the instruments revealed that, indeed, the object out there was distorting space on a cosmic scale. It was a singularity of some sort, and though he couldn't be sure that it was a normal-space black hole, the readings indicated that they were fast approaching the epicenter of a cataclysmic disturbance.

  Ed, shear off! If we fall into that thing ahead, we'l
l be crushed! Ar made a fast judgment as to which direction offered them the best hope of veering free—and kicking the ship over sharply on its stubby wings, he began a slow crawl across the main current.

  The parrot saw what he was doing, and bent his wings to help him. It was like crossing a turbulent sea on a raft, fighting their way across a water roiling with cross-chop. Ar tried, for the sake of clarity, to remake the image that way; but either the net was too badly damaged or Ar was too exhausted from his uninterrupted time in the net, because his efforts were futile. The current was dark and invisible, and they had to fight ceaselessly to keep the ship from tumbling out of control.

  Ar realized, as he stared at the glowing thing, just how weary he was. But he could not let up, he could not even pause to mourn his lost friend and shipmate, he could only fight to cross the increasingly powerful currents, fight to save his ship. And not just that, he realized with a flash of horror. Once they escaped this—if they escaped it—they needed to discover if this terrible thing was the beginning of Tar-skel's breakthrough into the static realm, into Ar's own universe.

  With a glance at Ed, laboring in his small way to help steer the ship, Ar realized that he had to keep hoping, had to do whatever he could to ensure that Jael had not given her life in vain.

  The singularity before them glowed ever brighter as they drew closer to it. Gradually its light, scattering through the gas and dust around them, began to illuminate the actual currents—and Ar began to hope, for the first time, that he might indeed be able to fly his way out.

  Chapter 39

  To the Dream Mountain

  IT WAS the most difficult challenge of his life. As FullSky stretched farther and farther into the underrealm, following the speeding iffling, he felt that at any moment he would stretch past the limit, and his kuutekka would part from his body forever, and this was where he would die. The underrealm here seemed a hollow void; but he felt the chaos of battle in the Dark Vale booming like a distant drum. He knew that time was growing short.

  Somehow he did not reach the limit of his strength. As the small, fiery iffling vanished into a nest of underrealm spells deep within a mountain, FullSky felt a sudden renewal of his energy, and he knew that somehow the draconae were lending him strength through the underrealm connection. He plunged into the mountain, and found himself peering with astonishment at a place he recognized—Hodakai's cavern.

  Floating in the cavern near the spirit jar was a strange gathering of beings: the iffling, a false-iffling, and several unfamiliar creatures existing within a gleaming vessel that he imagined to be a rigger-ship. He realized at once that one of them, caught in a web of sorcery, was Jael. The iffling streaked back to him, whispering, Hurry, dragon—if you can do anything to help!

  It took FullSky a long heartbeat to understand what was happening. And by then, Jael was dying. Suddenly FullSky knew that a staggering betrayal had just occurred—not against the riggers, but against the Enemy. The cavern had begun to shake, and many of the spells woven around it were unraveling.

  But Jael was dying. Had he come only to watch her pass to the Final Dream Mountain?

  HELP HER! screamed the iffling, its voice a torn whistle of wind.

  It took FullSky a fraction of an instant, which was almost longer than he had, to come to his senses and begin crafting a weaving through the threads of the underrealm. It was his fastest and most perilous weaving yet; he cast it breathlessly around the dying spirit of the rigger. Her kuutekka was already expanding, stretching, thinning, searching in desperation for that which she could not see or find . . .

  Not yet, Jael! FullSky whispered, pouring his remaining strength into the spell. I will not let you go to the Final Dream Mountain. Not yet. We need you too much here . . . !

  * * *

  The tides of space and time seemed to sway her this way and that in the fuzzy strangeness that was death. She knew she was no longer a part of the world, that she was caught up and carried by forces beyond her reckoning; but the strangest thing, as she came to be aware of it, was that she was aware of anything at all.

  I have died.

  I am not dead.

  Nor am I alive.

  Is this the life that lies beyond life?

  There was a murmuring presence around her, and she thought she heard a voice answer, No, you are not going to the Final Dream Mountain, not yet. But before she could even wonder what that meant, she felt threads of power coming out of nowhere to gather around her—and she felt a surge, then a whistling, dizzying movement, spinning her like a whirlwind in the net. But she was not in the net; she was not anywhere; she felt no awareness of body, or sight or sound, or smell or taste or touch.

  And yet . . .

  She felt herself riding a fantastic, invisible thread of power through a sky that had no height or depth or substance. There was a booming presence of life around her, but distant; and closer to her was another presence, and something about it spoke the word dragon in her heart.

  We are almost there, whispered the voice she had heard before. And there we shall be gathered in, and perhaps you can find again the life you have lost . . .

  And then the voice, once more, was lost on the wind.

  But she knew now that it had been a dragon voice—not Windrush, but perhaps someone close to him. It all felt exceedingly odd to her, and again she said, I have died, haven't I? Is this where dragons go when they die?

  There was no answer, but only that rushing sensation that was neither sound-sense nor touch-sense, but something deeper within her. And then she felt everything slowing, and regathering . . . and she suddenly felt an astounding sense of safety and enclosure. And then the voice said, You have died, and yet not died. There is little time to explain. We need you more urgently now than ever.

  And another, more melodious, voice said, Welcome, Jael, to the Dream Mountain.

  * * *

  Her sense of sight came slowly back to her, though she had no idea how. She found she could only gaze in amazement and wonder. This was the Dream Mountain, of which Windrush had spoken so long ago? It was like a great cathedral of translucent glass . . . and in its center, a darkness, within which burned a fire like a hot forge. The fire was enclosed by powerfully woven threads of underrealm magic, which she could see but not comprehend. The fire, the magic, and the darkness were all contained within the Mountain, the outlines of which were sketched by a vast shadow-presence of stone.

  It took her a little while to realize that she was inhabiting several layers of the Flux at once. She was inside a mountain, but in the underrealm; and in this place there was a sharp boundary point in the continuum, and that boundary was something extraordinary to behold.

  There is much to make clear, sang a low voice which she at once knew was a female dragon.

  But we cannot take the time, or the Forge of Dreams may fall to the Enemy, cried another.

  The voices were a distraction. She was fascinated by that ghostly fire in the center; it created in her a strange and irrational mix of fear and wonderment. The fire, she perceived, did not exist just in one particular layer of the Flux; it penetrated through the layers, and within its woven enclosure, it seemed to warp and twist the space that immediately surrounded it. It gave off tremendous energy, which was somehow being channeled by the draconae's weaving of magic here in the Dream Mountain.

  It was, she realized, a space-time singularity. At the heart of the Dream Mountain. The Forge of Dreams.

  Even as she considered the name of the singularity-fire, she realized that she was connected to it now; it was the powers of the dreamfire that gave her life.

  Her thoughts and memories were expanding into the darkness like little puffs of air into a vacuum. She saw memories gleaming around her like raindrops in the sun: memories of her father, helping her and cursing her; of her mother, trying and failing to shield her from the darkly mercurial person her father had become; of friends in rigger-school who could never quite gain her trust; of Mogurn, who enslaved her; o
f Highwing, who freed her; of Ar, who befriended her; of Ed . . .

  In this strange realm of energy and darkness, surrounded by voices that were trying to gain her attention, she wept silently for all those people who had been a part of her life. Especially, she wept for Ar, and for Ed.

  It was Ed's voice that brought her back, away from those glittering memories: (Hawwww, Jayyyl . . . very, scrawww, interes-s-s-s-ting place here, awwwwk? How do you lik-k-ke being f-f-f-freee like a bird-d-d, hawwww?)

  (Ed?) she whispered in astonishment. And then she remembered, Ed had joined himself to her in her passage to . . . death, or whatever this was, if not death. How did she like being free? She remembered a memory of Ed's she had witnessed once, when she had "rescued" him from a recreational cyberbank: the parrot's own recollection of being captured, his memories and personality being siphoned out of his physical body. Now she understood what a terrible shock it must have been to him.

  (Hawwww, yes . . .)

  But Ed was not the only one speaking. The draconae were becoming more insistent.

  You have come, and the realm is trembling.

  But it may yet fall.

  Help us, Jael, friend, of Highwing . . .With a great rush, the urgency of the struggle closed back in upon her, and she was aware now not just of voices, but of the quick, shimmering movements of glassy beings within this mountain. What she saw were the ghostly presences of the draconae in the underrealm. They were singing desperately, Will you trust us, friend of Highwing?

  And at last she managed to answer, I trust any friend of Highwing. Is he . . . here among you?

  She felt a surge of energy, as though by speaking she had somehow loosed a reservoir of powers. His spirit lives in the Final Dream Mountain, sighed one of the voices. But not precisely among us, though we have often felt his presence.

  Jael tried not to show her disappointment. Are you his friends? I am . . . Jael, friend of Highwing.