What's what—? And then Ar saw it: a tiny thread of fire twisting out across the Flux, toward them. He instinctively looked for a way to evade it; then he realized that it seemed to be seeking them, and instead of evading, he braced for its arrival.
It grew, brightened, and flashed into the net. Ar trembled as he felt a connection open suddenly—and a thought touched his, and it was an alien touch. Who—? he whispered.
Graggon! croaked Ed, suddenly fluttering from side to side. What graggon here, hawww?
I don't know, Ar whispered. He shivered as he recalled the connection he had once shared with Windrush, when they'd met for the first time and the dragon had searched his thoughts. But this was different. There was something lyrical and musical and . . . female . . . about this one.
The alien touch slowly shaped itself into words. We need you . . . Jael needs you . . .
In utter astonishment, Ar felt the connection altering, expanding, telescoping outward in a way that he could sense but not comprehend. And then he felt a new presence touch him, and this one was different; it was a raging dragon crying out in battle. Windrush? Ar whispered, stunned.
Ar, help me . . . ! cried a voice that was torn by pain and need—and it took him a heartbeat, two heartbeats, to believe who was calling to him.
JAEL! he screamed.
Jayyyylllllll!
Over the parrot's cry, and the echoing cry of a second parrot, and the thunder of a dragon's rage, he realized that he was touching not just one being, but three. But it was Jael, most of all, who cried out to him, and her cry was laden with desperation and hope. Jael! Jael, what can I do? he cried out, heedless now of the starship's headlong fall toward the singularity.
In answer, he did not so much hear her voice as feel her thought, and her need. Ed shrieked in surprise—and he realized that an image had appeared in the net—far ahead of them, in the very heart of the singularity. A tiny window had opened there, and within it he saw the figure of a dragon—and he knew that it was not just Windrush, but Jael and Ed, as well. A terrible fire flashed around the dragon, and he struggled to make out what it was. The dragon was tearing at a blazing web, stretching it and trying to destroy it, and the web was flashing back with killing fire.
Help me, Ar! Help me, Ed! Jael gasped.
What . . . how?
Come through from the other side . . . come through the Dream Mountain! Break a path, Ar, break a path!
Hawww, yes! Break a path! shrieked one Ed.
Break a path! shrieked the other.
Ar stared in fear and awe at the singularity. Is THAT the Dream Mountain?
YES, Ar—come! cried Jael, her voice thinning.
With a clap of thunder, the window closed. Ar sensed that the Enemy had done that, and that he had only moments to react before the ship itself would be under attack. An explosive wave flashed out from the singularity. Frightened, Ar shrank the net. Hold tight, Ed! The shock wave hit the ship like a hammer, shaking the net with terrible power. But it held. Ed—straight in! With everything we've got! Ar bellowed in fury.
Hawwww! Straight through, straight through! screamed the parrot, rocketing to the front of the net and helping Ar stretch them out like a long, shiny needle plunging straight for the blazing singularity that was the Dream Mountain.
Another wave hit them, but Ar was no longer afraid of that, and they flashed through it with only a single hard thump, and the fire of the singularity grew and brightened and blossomed before them. And if he had taken the time to think about it, he might have been terrified; but he felt a tremendous and unreasoning hope burning in his veins now, as they approached the singularity that by all rights ought to destroy them.
Damn the torpedoes, hawwwwwwwwwwwww! shouted Ed.
And Ar changed their shape from a needle to a forcefield scalpel as the singularity exploded around them.
* * *
It was Lavafire who first understood, but even then it took a choir of draconae voices to persuade her to take the terrible risk. The Forge of Dreams was secured in a weaving of protection that even the Enemy could not break through—or if he did, all of that power would be released in a conflagration that would destroy the realm with the Dream Mountain itself.
But with all of their foresight, they had never imagined the One doing something like this. With Jael attacking the web at the Black Peak, and Ar diving headlong through the underrealm in a terrifying plunge that would take him straight through the dream forge, they had no choice if Jael was to succeed, if Ar was to survive.
Loose the bonds—!
Open the fires—!
Let him not die for our fear—!
Our last hope—!
—came the cascade of voices, and with that affirmation, Lavafire and the others bent all of their thought to undoing everything they had just done.
The weaving came loose, was stripped away . . .
And the heart of the Dream Mountain lay open to all who had the power to reach it.
* * *
The darkness coiled with outrage at the forces rising against it—far more than it had expected. But it did not for an instant consider drawing back. Though its web was under attack, it still had the dragons in a state of disarray. As long as the Mountain of Fire was kept from their sight, they could never regain their full measure of strength.
The Nail's attention was divided now. Part was focused on the Vale of Darkness, maintaining the sorcery, where the last of the dragon strength battled a foe that was half illusion. The Nail's servants were fewer now than before. He didn't mind the deaths of the drahls and Tar-skel dragons, but the loss of numbers hampered the illusion-sorcery that kept the dragons afraid. Another part of his attention was on the Black Peak, where the rigger-spirit had somehow bound itself to a dragon, and where its attack against the web was more troublesome than expected. Still, with the power from the Deep Caverns, the web could withstand the attack there.
And now the draconae had brought forth another irritation, calling the fleeing riggers in their rigger-ship toward the Mountain of Fire. It wasn't clear why they wanted the riggers, but as the Nail peered through the underrealm at the imprisoned Mountain, he laughed with sudden, pure, naked delight as he saw the foolish draconae make their fatal mistake.
* The time has come! Time for the promised ending! *
The keepers of the Mountain had opened their defenses, and the time had come to claim control of that place, as the Words had promised. No longer was there any reason to hold his power in reserve. The flame and the darkness coiled, and the Nail of Strength laughed with infinite satisfaction as he prepared his final blow.
The Nail drew together all of his power—from the Deep Caverns, from the vale, from his own inner reservoirs—and funneled it into the grand weaving. It was a torrent of power, a tidal wave, a tsunami—all of it directed toward seizing the Mountain of Fire. And once it had those fires of creation, it would flower outward without pause—leaving this realm a cinder perhaps, but flowering outward, with unstoppable force, into the universes beyond.
* * *
Jael, plunging through the web with all of the strength of a dragon-spirit, was blasted back by a stupendous arc of lightning. She felt Ed and Windrush both shuddering and gasping from the blow. (What was that?) she whispered. (What has Tar-skel done?)
The web crackled, and waves of energy flashed from somewhere behind her, across the web, toward the Dream Mountain. She saw the peril that she had created: the draconae had opened the heart of the Dream Mountain for Ar to pass through . . . and opened it to the Enemy, as well. In a terrible, sudden insight, she realized that if the Enemy succeeded, he could have his victory and move on, though the realm would lie in smoking ruins behind him.
HE MUST NOT! she screamed, her voice the voice of Windrush and Ed and Jael, and she hurled herself again at the web, and again and again, each time clawing harder at the binding force that held it together, each time knowing that she could not break through it alone.
HELP US! she
screamed into the tumult of the underrealm. HELP US—ANYONE—PLEASE—!
* * *
In the Cavern of Spirits, the underrealm rang like a tremendous bell gonging in the depths of an infinite sea. Hodakai listened, wondering, wishing he could see what was happening. All of the ordinary paths of vision were obscured. At one point, he'd felt a sharp twinge, and thought of Rent, and wondered why he'd thought of death at the same time. He was dizzy with everything that had happened; but he felt bereft now, and alone. Even the cavern sprites seemed to have left him.
Jarvorus! he cried into the gloom of the cavern where the rift yawned. Why have you left me alone here?
To his astonishment, he heard an answering whisper: I've not left you, Hodakai. The false-iffling slipped like a flame out of a fold in the underrealm and murmured, He is gone now, isn't he? I think he has died.
Hodakai danced with relief at having someone here for company. Who has died? Rent? Maybe so! But who cares? Jarvorus, isn't there something we can DO?
At that moment, the ringing in the underrealm changed suddenly. There was a strange kind of silence, and then a voice echoed distantly out of the rift. Rigger, we need you! Jael needs you!
Hodakai stared at Jarvorus, frozen in astonishment. Was that a dracona voice? Calling to him? Or to Ar?
A few moments later, from another part of the underrealm, he heard another voice. Help us—anyone—!
Hodakai cried out silently, recognizing that voice. Jael! he cried weakly.
He heard Jarvorus whisper in amazement, She lives! Maybe we can do something, maybe we can! We must try! Hodakai, I must find the ifflings! And you must find a way to help! Use every spell you know!
And then Jarvorus was gone, leaving Hodakai staring in disbelief.
* * *
The iffling-child was the first to hear the cry of the false-iffling, and there was something in its voice that made the iffling-child listen, and believe, and finally carry the cry back to the flickering, dying powers of the iffling-parents. Hearing, they seemed to burn just a little brighter, a little stronger.
—When the One breaks through—
—The change will come—
—For the Enemy—
—Or for us—
—And when the Mountain is opened—
—Comes our time—
—Our hope—
—The last—
And thus began the journey of the flames through the underrealm—a slow parade of guttering candle-flames, moving toward the place where they hoped the Dream Mountain would appear, and where at last they would die, if it did not.
* * *
Hodakai began, hesitantly at first, to probe outward with the spells of communication that he had never used to reach anyone except Rent. But he was a rigger, by God; he could do this! The underrealm was a place of frightful chaos, but he found that he could, in fact, probe open small pathways. With increasing boldness, he searched farther and farther from the Cavern of Spirits, to see if he could find a window, a way to see, to call, to hear news, to find out what Jael was doing.
He heard Jael, but could not see her. But one thing he did see, opening up to his view as if through a long telescope lens, was the vale where the dragons were battling. He listened to the cries and chaos of battle, and was appalled to realize that the dragons were being deceived by the same spells of illusion that he had used right here!
If he could shout loudly enough to make himself heard, perhaps he could help just a little, after all.
* * *
In the Dark Vale, Farsight paused in his struggle against the airborne enemies, too many of which had turned out to be ghostly apparitions, rather than living drahls. He thought he had heard a shout, through the noise of battle—a shout that had a peculiar familiarity to it, a cry for help. A . . . human voice . . . in his undersense. Jael?
He listened intently, to see if he could catch it again, thinking how very odd it was to be underhearing a voice that was not his brother Windrush's. He didn't hear Jael's voice again; but a short time later, he heard a different voice—also human!—a little louder. You are being deceived! Go below and free the others! You are wasting time! Go into the dungeons!
Farsight was dumbstruck by the voice. Go below, to the dungeons? Wasting time? Who was saying that? And he suddenly realized, with the terrifying power of a revelation, how right the voice was. They had become so entangled in their fight here in the sky that they had forgotten the purpose of their attack: to strike at the Enemy's heart.
"You three!" he cried to a trio of dragons who had just burst through an exploding illusion of enemy warriors. "Fly with me! Downward to the dungeons!"
They were not that far above the ground to begin with, but Farsight realized, as he leveled off over the chasms, that in the crevasses of the vale right below him, creatures were stirring in the shadows. Many of them were dragons!
Yes! called the voice at the edges of his thought. You can free them! The bindings are weakening! You can break them!
"Spread out! Search the dungeons for our brothers!" Farsight shouted to the three flying with him. He slowed, peering and listening over the chasms. He heard a dragon cry, off to his left—a familiar cry. He drew a breath of astonishment and turned to find its source.
He heard the voice again, bellowing: "SHE LIVES! THE ONE LIVES IN THE DREAM MOUNTAIN!" And at last he spotted a grey-green dragon laboring to fly low over the dungeons, shouting down to the captives.
Farsight was so astonished that he could not speak until he had flown to the other's side and gazed at him in disbelief. His brother looked terrible—battered and wounded, and struggling just to stay airborne. "WINGTOUCH!" Farsight roared. "YOU'RE ALIVE!"
His younger brother wheeled in the air and regarded him with equal amazement. Against the smoke and the gloom, WingTouch's sea-green eyes glowed, tired but undimmed. However badly hurt, WingTouch was more triumphant than beaten, by far. "Welcome to the dungeons of the Enemy!" WingTouch cried, wobbling as he swerved to avoid a wall.
"You're wounded! Are you able to fight?"
"Fight?" WingTouch muttered. "I AM fighting! We have lost FullSky—but he freed me before he died, and I have slain his killer! Come, help me free the others! The bindings of fear are breaking!" The battered dragon beckoned Farsight downward into the gloom of the dungeons.
Indeed, Farsight thought. The Enemy had been stalling them overhead, distracting them from their purpose! What better way to strike at the Enemy than to free his prisoners? "Wait, WingTouch!" he cried, and turned his voice skyward, booming, "ALL DRAGONS—DOWN TO THE DUNGEONS! OUR BROTHERS LIVE! WINGTOUCH LIVES! LEAVE THE SKY TO THE GHOSTS AND COME FREE THE PRISONERS!"
Following WingTouch, he plunged downward into the chasms, bellowing a cry of freedom to his imprisoned brothers.
* * *
Jael felt the change from the dungeons like a whisper of cool air reviving her in the heat of battle. Though she couldn't see what was happening in the Dark Vale, she could feel the dragons' defiance and joy, and could see its effects on the web. The Enemy's explosion of power was mutating, in a way she didn't think the Enemy had intended.
She and Ed and Windrush continued to attack the web, but not alone. Rippling waves of shadow were passing through the fiery network, each wave a burst of defiance or hope or freedom somewhere in the realm. Each wave weakened the web just a little, and the next a little more. The Enemy had channeled all of his power toward the Dream Mountain, thinking he no longer needed it elsewhere—but the web that carried it was weakening with every defeat he suffered, in the underrealm or the outer world. The web, incandescent with power, was brightening and stretching where it had once been strongest, like a filament about to burst.
Now was the time . . .
(Windrush, Ed—DRACONAE!—all of your strength—NOW!) Jael cried. Their answer came in the heady rush of adrenaline to her limbs, the strength to her wings, and she turned and hurtled with suicidal abandon toward the most blazingly bright strands of the overburde
ned web.
This time, when her claws connected, she felt not just the explosion of fire, she felt the strands stretch and then tear—in a great long rip, as the web parted from its own inner stresses, spewing incandescent fire into the deep darkness beyond.
And the dragon rigger flew headlong toward the distant, hazy form of the Dream Mountain, the filaments of power bursting against her claws like shears tearing through fabric—in a long, exploding stream of fire.
* * *
* TREACHERY! TREACHERY! *
The center of darkness was shocked into disbelief that such defiance and irrational hope could be springing forth from every corner of the realm—challenging his structure of power!—surging into the tiniest tears in his web!—ripping at its fiber!—draining its unquenchable strength—!
* This cannot be! *
Exploding with bottomless fury, the Nail erupted with every ounce of his strength toward the Mountain of Fire, focusing only on channeling his power into the web that streamed toward those fires of creation.
He barely even noticed his own rising desperation. He was too preoccupied to swat at the dragon rigger that was hurtling through his web.
* It will be mine! It will be! *
* * *
Yawwwwwwwwwww! screamed Ed as the spaceship plunged, shimmering and twisting, through the singularity. The parrot's voice quavered and turned deep and then booming-bass and then shrill as the abrupt spatial-transformation flashed through the net. It sounded as if there were two voices screaming at once, and Ar realized that one of them was his.
He had been shaking, and now he bellowed with joy as the singularity flashed away behind them, and their scalpel-prowed ship plunged into a new layer of the Flux, plunged into the underrealm, into the outstretched web-structure of Tar-skel, parting it in their wake like so many fraying strands of thread. It exploded around them with a terrifying electrical discharge, but they were moving like light itself now; and as they flew, it almost seemed that the web was tearing open before them, spilling its energy in a great cascade of fire.
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