He was astonished and overjoyed—and dismayed, as well. How could he take dragons from the battle now, to fly all the way to the Black Peak? The air was shaking with currents that threatened to knock all of them out of the sky. He himself was weary and wounded, though he'd been fighting as though he were neither.
But he dared not fail her. Whatever else he lost today, he must not fail Jael, when she needed him.
He blew a crackling flame and called out: "WINDRUSH FLIGHT! WINDRUSH FLIGHT! TO THE BLACK PEAK! FARSIGHT, TAKE COMMAND HERE!" He circled tightly and watched as those in his wing, the alarmingly few left who could answer him, broke from the battle to join him. "TO THE BLACK PEAK, TO JOIN JAEL!" he cried.
Somewhere, he heard Farsight's call of acknowledgment, taking over leadership of the main battle group. Then he broke away and flew northward and eastward, out over the desolate plains of the Enemy's realm.
He flew as though consumed by madness—with Jael's voice echoing in his thoughts. The warriors of his wing, confused and uncertain, had nevertheless fallen in behind him. Together, battle weary and yet putting aside their need for rest, they flew. They flew as though time and distance had no meaning. They crossed back over the desolation of the Enemy's realm, and flew northward to the end of the Black Mountain range and the tallest of all the mountains, the Black Peak.
The red glare of the peak drew them on. Windrush half expected to find another battle raging, or an army of drahls waiting to assail them. Instead, he found the place deserted, as though all of the Enemy's forces had been drawn to the Dark Vale. Nonetheless, it was a brooding and frightening place, perhaps even more frightening in its emptiness—an enormous mountain shrouded in thunderclouds, with the blood-red light of another world's sun glaring out through its upper slopes. It was a vast and terrible tower riddled on the inside with old and sorcerous caverns of the Enemy. Here his father had been imprisoned through treachery and betrayal, and sentenced to exile. And here Jael had challenged the Enemy and won, and brought Highwing back; and the smoldering wound in the mountain's side remained as a testament to that victory.
Remember that victory, he whispered through the haze of fatigue. It is certain that the Enemy remembers. And that thought gave him renewed strength. And for a moment, he thought he felt his father's spirit touching and supporting him, even here, even now.
But to do what? With his flight of dragons, he soared around the grim peak, searching for signs of either Jael or Tar-skel. He smelled the Enemy's presence, and there was a strong and troubling turbulence in the air. Jael? he whispered, trying to find some sign with his undersenses. Jael, are you here? He heard no answer, and wondered, had he imagined her call? Had he been deceived by the Enemy, at last? Had he brought his brothers here for nothing?
Finally he called out to the others, "You must guard me once more, while I search the underrealm! Whatever happens, my life is yours!" Overhead, the sky flashed and shook. But Windrush ignored that and found a place to land, high on the slopes of the peak. And with only a glance back at his circling companions, he sank into the shadowy world of the underrealm.
* * *
It was no easy stretch to the Black Peak for Jael. The underrealm was a place of shifting and treacherous winds. But FullSky had given her skills and shown her the path well enough, and Ed murmured and encouraged her the whole way.
What she found was a gaping wound in the underrealm, surrounded by a frayed fabric of sorcery. She knew what the place looked like in the outer world: the image of the towering black mountain, its summit erupting with the light of a red sun, was emblazoned in her memory. In the underrealm, though, it was a net of spun sorcery torn and half patched, with the light of the distant sun leaking through like a sunbeam slanting into a dusty attic.
It looked like a good place to make a stand, she thought.
At that instant, she felt two new forces burst into the underrealm around her. One was the Enemy's power, exploding through the torn web like electricity through a splintered cable, sparks shooting off to form tendrils of new sorcery. Tar-skel knew she was here. The other was Windrush, his presence a shadow whispering through the gloom.
Windrush! she cried. Join with me and show me how to be a dragon! Join with me now!
From the dragon she heard a gasp of astonishment and joy, and then the shadow-ghost of the dragon's presence turned and swooped to approach her. Jael! he cried. Jael, is it really you? He seemed to grow stronger and more solid as he drew close, searching for her.
Yes, Windrush! Jael found the strength to make her kuutekka more visible, flying toward his, until at last she materialized, astride the dragon's neck. Her heart leaped as she felt Windrush become solid in this strange place, or at least as solid as if he were a partner in the rigger-net. Windrush—yes! she cried, hugging his neck fiercely. I'm here—and I need your help! As she spoke, the underrealm was flashing like the heart of a thunderstorm.
Jael! Windrush blew a great flame of greeting. My help is yours! But what can we do? The Enemy is strong here!
Not as strong as we can be! she shouted, realizing how foolish that sounded, her small voice defiant in the storm. She was only a human rigger, and he was only a dragon. But she felt the strength of the draconae moving within her, as they flew among the strands of the Enemy's webbing, and she cried out: I am a rigger! WE are riggers!
(Hawwww—yes! Graggon riggers!) cried Ed.
Yes! she thought. Who could better take hold of the Flux and shape it than a rigger? A dragon rigger. She must become more than a rigger, and Windrush more than a dragon. And Ed had shown her the way—Ed, who was more than parrot and more than rigger. I am Jael, friend of Highwing, friend of Windrush! she whispered, and she hiked her kuutekka-self up over Windrush's shoulder and peered into his spirit-eyes. She peered through those glowing facets and sank spinning into the depths of his eyes, of his soul.
She shuddered with the power and joy of the union, and her mind overflowed with dragon hopes and griefs and questions, and she was almost swept away on the stream of the dragon's innermost thoughts. But she forced herself to hold aloft the image she wanted, sharing it with Windrush—an image of riggers transforming the underrealm together, transforming themselves—and she felt the underrealm tremble as she merged with her friend's kuutekka and became one body with him, dragon rigger.
(Hawww, yes! Graggon!)
(Yes, Ed! Dragon!) They were dragon, three joined as one. She felt her wings beat the air with dragon strength, astonishing strength, even through the terrible fatigue. She clenched her talons, sharp and hard and strong. And she felt Windrush marveling, as she marveled, at the union—and she felt an almost overpowering desire to soar and wheel and plunge through the air for the pure joy of dragon flight. It seemed impossible that such joy could be interrupted by the darkness of a war.
But the shuddering power of the Enemy quaked around her, an angry power, and she knew there was no time for rejoicing. (See the webbing!) she murmured to her other selves, and even as she spoke, they banked and turned toward the fiery, arcing web of the Enemy. (That is the source of the storm, and the illusions.) And she reached out their claws and hurtled straight for the place where it was torn.
Hawwwwwwwwwwwww! screeched the parrot.
FOR THE REALM! thundered Windrush in amazement, flying with all of his strength.
For all the friends of Highwing! whispered Jael.
They struck the web and it exploded with lightning and fire, hurling them back with stunning force. The concussion from the blast echoed from the Black Peak like hideous laughter. But heedless of the laughter, heedless of the pain, they turned and dove again—and it was like attacking a high-voltage wire, but this time, through the billowing sparks and fire, they caught the webbing in their dragon claws. And they didn't let go, but tore at the web and dove and tore and dove, Jael and Windrush and Ed screaming with determination.
And through the madness of fire and electricity and earthquake, the web began to stretch, to give, to tear. But they needed more strength; t
hey needed more help. And Jael knew where it had to come from.
Deeplife, Waterflow, Starchime! she cried back through the underrealm. DRACONAE, HELP US!
Chapter 43: The Words Made Real
From the Dream Mountain, whiskers of strength flashed this way and that, as the draconae strove to help the One in whom all hope rested. From the heart of the mountain, Lavafire and all the others poured as much light into the One's kuutekka as it could stand. Without the strength of the dreamfire coursing into that one's being, she could not have lasted even this long. And yet it was not enough.
Starchime sent out a sunburst of thought in the opposite direction. Riggers! If you can hear us, we need you! Jael needs you!
* * *
Ed, it's no good! We can't control it! The current is too strong! Ar's cry came out as a gasp in the midst of his labors. No matter how they tried to steer or skate the ship away from the singularity, it kept turning and tumbling, pulled by forces Ar could not see clearly enough to understand or counter. The singularity blazed diamond-white before them, drawing them inward along its throbbing currents.
What, rawk, that? gasped the parrot.
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 th
e 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.
Dragon Rigger Page 45