The Dragon’s Apprentice

by James A. Owen

  “I’ve tried to turn it on,” said Coal, “but it never would work. Not for me, even though I can work other things by touching them.”

  “The seal bears the Caretaker’s mark, not the king’s mark,” Jack explained to Coal. “That’s why you were never able to turn it on.”

  “Archie,” John began.

  “I’m way ahead of you,” the bird replied. “I’ll go get him.”

  With some difficulty, the Tin Man made his way down the stairs to the Whatsit, where he examined the device briefly, then shook his head. Whatever he might have been able to contribute to its construction was not possible now. It would do what it would do.

  “We’ve replaced all the parts many times to keep it in order,” Myrret said proudly, “but it is the selfsame generator that the great Hank Morgan built in the time of Arthur, lo these many centuries ago.”

  “How would you know about that?” asked Houdini. “That was in another world, wasn’t it?”

  The small animal brandished a familiar-looking if ageworn book. “The Little Whatsit,” he said proudly. “The Histories are complete, at least in regard to the important things. And there was none more important than the story of the Great King and the Silver Throne.”

  “It isn’t the same machine, you know,” Burton said as he peered at the projector. “If you’ve replaced all the components, then the original doesn’t exist anymore. It would be like taking your grandfather’s ax and replacing the handle, then replacing the blade, then replacing the handle again, and then still insisting that it was your grandfather’s ax.”

  The little animal was crestfallen. “I meant no offense, great Lord,” he said meekly.

  “Never mind him,” said Jack, frowning at Burton. “He’s only a barbarian.”

  Myrret opened a velvet-lined box and removed a large reel, which he carefully placed on the empty arm, then threaded into the projector. “Legend says the ancestor made this for her own son, who was king,” he explained, “but that was many years ago. I don’t think she expected it to be so long before you returned.”

  “Neither did we,” said John.

  “Great Caretakers,” the ferret said, “would you do us the honor of turning on the device?”

  “Be my guest,” John said to Jack.

  “How about our third?” Jack replied, smiling at Fred. “Will you?”

  Fred swallowed hard and reached his paw up to the seal, which melted away at his touch. There was an awed hush among the other animals—to see one of their own as a Caretaker would create a new legend in the Archipelago. Or whatever was left of it.

  The projector sputtered to life, and a broad rectangle of light appeared on the glassine wall of the crystal across the chamber. A logo appeared, bearing the insignia of Mr. Tummeler’s production company, followed by an ad for the twenty-eighth expanded edition of the Imaginarium Geographica.

  “Good old granddad,” Fred said, wiping a tear from his furry cheek. “Never missed a trick.”

  “Now I’m getting hungry for blueberry muffins,” said John.

  “Same here,” said Jack.

  “What in Hades does that mean?” asked Burton.

  “Never mind,” Jack said, winking at Fred. “Inside joke.”

  A moment later a fox appeared on the wall and introduced himself as Reynard. He bowed, then stepped offscreen.

  “Reynard, of course!” John said to Jack. “Just like back at Sanctuary.”

  “Yes,” said Jack warily, “but didn’t Verne set that up?”

  “For all we know, he set this up too.”

  “Hush,” Jack replied. “Someone’s coming into view.”

  The image on the crystalline wall was of a woman, mature but not yet elderly, who was dressed in simple clothes, save for the elegant silk robe draped across her shoulders. Her hair was auburn shot through with silver, and it seemed to Jack for a moment that he recognized her.

  “Hello, my young firebrand,” the image said as she appeared to look fondly at Jack. “I’m not surprised to see you, although I wish it had been far, far sooner.”

  Jack and the others gasped—he had recognized her after all. It was Aven.

  “Did she record this for me, then?” Jack whispered to Myrret. “I thought she meant this for Stephen.”

  “I did,” the image replied, to the consternation and surprise of everyone in the chamber, “but I do not believe it is a coincidence that you should be the one to open the seal, dear Jack. You saved me once,” she added with a wry smile. “Perhaps it is now written in your destiny to save us all.”

  “How is this possible?” Jack exclaimed, hardly daring to move closer. “Is it really you?”

  The image of Aven laughed. “It is, Jack. It is the Aven you knew. But I’m not here—or ‘there,’ I suppose—in the flesh. I am just an image, but still, I have been waiting for a very long time, and I’m very glad to see you again.”

  “Actually, I opened it,” Fred said, meekly raising his paw.

  “Ah,” said Aven. “So you’ve become a Caretaker too, Fred. Your family would be very proud of you.”

  John realized that just like the ghost of Hank Morgan, she couldn’t see or hear the viewers until they had engaged the projection first. “I’m here as well,” John said. “Hello, Aven.”

  “John,” she said. “You haven’t lost the Geographica again, have you?”

  “Not so far,” said John. “But I seem to have misplaced the Archipelago.”

  “Yes,” she said, head bowed. “I imagine it would seem that way.”

  “What happened, Aven?” asked Jack.

  “When it seemed that the Caretakers abandoned the Archipelago,” she began, “we had no way of knowing what had happened to you—only that you didn’t return, and there was no way to contact you.

  “The Frontier had become impassable, as if the storm clouds had been replaced by stone walls,” Aven went on, “and nothing we built could breach it. Stephen and the animals built machine after machine, but nothing worked. After almost a decade of trying, he abandoned his efforts and turned his attention to guiding the future of the Archipelago.”

  She paused, and bowed her head. “It did not go well.”

  “In the twenty-second year of the new republic, several of the races rebelled, and there was a violent split in the Senate. Several lands withdrew their support, and war was declared.”

  “War?” John sputtered. “There was a war in the Archipelago?”

  Aven nodded. “Four wars, to be exact. The severing of the bonds between the races was all it took to divide the republic, and all the lands took to looking after their own interests.

  “It was after the battle with the Shadow King that I stepped down as queen, and Stephen took over the affairs of the Archipelago,” she continued. “I had lost my husband, but he left me with one final gift. I was with child.”

  “You and Artus had a child?” John exclaimed.

  “Yes,” said Aven. “I named him Charles. It was Tummeler’s suggestion.”

  “Of course it was,” Jack said, noting that Fred was practically beaming at the mention of his grandfather. “And what of Stephen?”

  At the mention of her elder son, Aven’s countenance darkened. “He went on a quest,” she said after a pause. “The last great quest of the Archipelago. It remains to be seen whether or not his sacrifice will have been worth all we lost.

  “There was one final message from him, before he …,” she said, her voice breaking. “He said that the sacrifices he made were not just for the Archipelago, or the Summer Country, but for the love he had for one girl, which he never got to share.”

  Laura Glue’s face reddened. “I knew,” she said.

  Aven looked at her with gentle eyes. “He did love you, you know, even if you didn’t feel it as strongly as he did. He spoke of you often, and regretted not having gone with you to Tamerlane House.”

  The Valkyrie’s eyes began to well with tears, and Fred reached over to take her hand in support.


  “So Arthur’s own line did continue,” said John. “That means the child had the same lineage as Rose.”

  “It became stranger than that,” said Aven, “when Charles married Tiger Lily. It turned out to be a very successful union despite the matter of Lily’s parentage.”

  Burton cleared his throat. “I’m right here, in the room,” he said a bit brusquely, “but I forgive the slight breach of etiquette, as you have given me news of my daughter.” He bowed slightly—not deeply enough to be subservient, but just enough that the gesture was sincere.

  “Burton?” Aven asked, startled.

  “Yes,” said Jack, in a tone that was almost embarrassed. “You remember, Aven—the Caretakers Emeritis brokered a truce with the Imperial Cartological Society. We’re all operating cooperatively now. And the ICS is being developed as an official organization at Cambridge by, uh”—he swallowed hard—“me.”

  “So he’s your ally now,” Aven said, her voice subdued. “Not enough time has passed, it seems, for that not to be a surprise. And you, Jack,” she finished, looking up again and meeting his eyes, “you’ve become a true pirate at last.”

  Jack winced slightly. He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not.

  The projection laughed. “Of course I’m teasing you, Jack. I know full well that appearances are fleeting, and you did what was necessary.”

  “What happened to the Archipelago, Aven?” asked Jack. “Where did all the lands go?”

  “Samaranth took them,” Aven said simply. “He took them all, to a place that cannot be reached in space or time.”

  “Where is that?” asked Burton. “Nether Land?”

  “Farther still,” Aven replied. “He took them beyond the great wall.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?” John asked. “How is that even possible?”

  “The Shadows came to claim them,” Aven said with deep sorrow. “The true Shadows, the Darkness that cannot be broken. Our great enemy.”

  “The Echthroi,” said Theo.

  “Yes,” said Aven. “The Echthroi. That is the name of the Shadows. They have another name for those shadows they claim from the living: Lloigor. When a good creature, a servant of the Light, is turned, its shadow disappears—but not completely. It becomes a servant of the Echthroi. A Lloigor.”

  Jack exhaled hard and looked away. “Then that’s what was happening to me when I started to follow Mordred’s path,” he said somberly. “My shadow was becoming a Lloigor.”

  Aven nodded. “But you chose to take it back, Jack. You chose to return to the Light. As long as there is life, there is always a choice. No matter what else has gone before, no matter how terrible the crimes or how strong the temptation, one may still choose to turn away from the pit of darkness, away from the lure of shadow. This is how the Echthroi are defeated.”

  “And what about after life?” Burton asked abruptly. “What about those living a second go-round?”

  “Life,” Aven said evenly, “is intelligence, and the ability to choose. Death is rejecting all choices.”

  “I don’t think that quite answered the question,” he murmured under his breath.

  “I think it did,” said Theo.

  “If my shadow was becoming a Lloigor,” said Jack, “what happened to Mordred’s shadow?”

  “He was to become their greatest champion,” said Aven. “A Lloigor who goes willingly is nearly unstoppable. That’s why it was able to return so often, first as the King of Crickets, and then as the Shadow King.”

  “If such a creature is so powerful,” said Jack, “then how was it Rose was able to defeat it with Caliburn?”

  “Because Madoc chose,” said Aven. “He chose to turn his back on the Echthroi and what they represented. And in that hour the Shadow King lost much of his power, and the Echthroi lost their great champion.”

  “But it isn’t always those who choose the darkness, as I nearly did, who become servants of the shadows,” said Jack. “What about those peoples of the Archipelago who were made into Shadow-Born by Pandora’s Box?”

  “Or the Dragons themselves, who were touched by the Spear of Destiny?” added John. “None of them were willing, but they became servants of the Echthroi nonetheless.”

  “Their minds were clouded,” said Aven. “Samaranth told me that the Echthroi could compel obedience through magic, or lies, or betrayal. But that is only a last resort—they prefer to convert, not compel. And sometimes they appeal to the darkness in all men’s souls, and can confuse good men into service. Surely you can understand this?”

  “Yes,” Burton answered, as if she’d been speaking to him. “Yes, I can.”

  “A century after the Day of Sorrow,” she continued, “we discovered that lands along the western edge were vanishing—being covered in Shadow. At first we feared that the Winter King had in some way returned. But we knew his Shadow had been destroyed, as much by his own choice to aid you when he repaired the sword, as by the sword itself. There have been other agents throughout history, others who served the Echthroi, but Samaranth came to us here and said that it was far worse. The Shadow covering the lands was the Echthroi themselves.

  “That was when Samaranth opened up his own archives to us and shared all the knowledge he could. And I realized that I would never be seeing him again.”

  “What did he do?” asked Jack. “Is that when he left?”

  Aven nodded. “It was. He invoked the Old Magic, and as the first Caretaker of the Archipelago of Dreams, he took up all the lands and bore them away so they would not fall victim to the Echthroi.”

  “It seems that I’ve outlived my usefulness,” John said ruefully, looking at the atlas in Fred’s pack. “If there’s no Archipelago of Dreams, then of what importance is the Imaginarium Geographica, or a Caretaker who can translate it?”

  “Of great importance, John,” Aven answered with a tone of reproach. “The greatest. Without the Geographica, it will be impossible to put them all back.”

  “What?” asked Jack. “The islands of the Archipelago? They can still be restored?”

  “Yes,” Aven said. “But not until you repair what was broken, and connect our worlds once more. Until then, only shadows remain.”

  “If all that remains of the Archipelago is shadows,” Jack asked, “then will the images in the Geographica vanish?’

  John understood the concern behind his friend’s question. During their first conflict with the Winter King, they discovered that whenever a land was conquered, the corresponding map faded and vanished. The longer the Winter King was loosed in the world, the more likely he was to have control of all of the lands. Only restoring the shadows to the people of the lands brought the drawings back.

  “Never fear, Jack,” Aven answered. “The lands have not been taken by force, not even those of our enemies. They went willingly and unafraid, because they knew that taking them from these waters was Samaranth’s responsibility, and his stewardship, as it has always been.”

  “What if Rose called him?” asked Jack. “Samaranth would come, wouldn’t he?”

  At once her expression grew dark and stern. “That you must never do,” she cautioned. “You must never summon the Dragons again.” This last she directed at Rose. “Even if Samaranth is the only one left, should he be summoned by one of noble intent, he would come and restore the Archipelago. And until time is properly restored, that cannot happen. Must not happen.”

  Jack was taken aback by the tone and fervor with which Aven spoke. Nothing else she had said had carried this degree of firmness. “We’ll listen, Aven, and the Summoning will not be spoken. But why is it so important? Wouldn’t Samaranth be a help to us?”

  “It’s too late for Samaranth to help you, even if he chose to,” said Aven. “But there is still time to seek out his heir.”

  Rose looked sharply at John. Samaranth’s heir? Could she mean the Dragon’s apprentice?

  “The two worlds were once one,” the projection continued, “connected. And even when the connections w
ere severed, and the worlds separated by the Frontier, there remained resonances … reflections. What happens in the one is mirrored in the other. What happens in one can impact the other. And with the flow of time set loose here in the Archipelago, the effects were mirrored a thousandfold.”

  “There’s a lot you need to know about what’s happened,” John began, but Aven cut him off.

  “The film isn’t an endless loop,” she chided, “nor is it infinitely expandable. It was shot using Verne’s processes, so that a time loop could be instilled within the frames—but once it has been exposed to the projector light, the frames are set. This film can never again be replayed as it is being played now. When our time has run out, you’ll have a recorded copy of this discussion, but nothing more. I’ll be gone, forever.”

  Suddenly the images on the wall began to flicker, and chemical burns began to strobe along the edges of the frames.

  “Wait!” Jack shouted. “We aren’t done yet! Wait!”

  “We don’t know what to do!” John exclaimed. “There’s no way to repair the Archipelago!”

  “But there is,” Aven said, her voice strained and growing weaker. “I would not have charged you with such a task without giving you the means to carry it out.”

  Without any further warning, the projection went blank, then the end of the strip started flapping noisily through the reel until Jack reached over and shut it off.

  “That wasn’t really a very good story,” said Coal. “Do we have any more?”

  “She couldn’t tell us,” Jack lamented. “She said she left us the means, but we don’t know what that is!”

  “I know, Master Caretaker,” said Myrret. “It is one of the greatest stories we have after the Day of Sorrows. The great quest of King Stephen. It cost him his life, but he was successful. And it will perhaps give you the opportunity you seek.”

  He motioned to the other foxes, who guided the companions into a second chamber in the Whatsit. This one was broader, and covered in sand and stone rather than crystal. But something stunningly familiar sat in the center of the chamber.

  It was a door. One of the doors from the Keep of Time.