Here, There Be Dragons

by James A. Owen

  Aven grabbed them both and propelled them toward the stairs, where Bert and Artus were already following closely behind Charles. “No time to argue,” she said. “It’s the only option we have.”

  Strangely, the Winter King’s henchmen didn’t seem to be pursuing them, instead remaining at the bottom.

  They were several flights up when Jack stopped, sniffing at the air, then peering down the stairwell.

  “Smoke,” he cried. “They’ve set fire to the keep! We have to go back!”

  Charles stopped and looked at Jack. The younger man was breathing hard, more from fear than exertion.

  “Jack,” Charles said, “throughout this entire adventure, you have jumped willingly into every fray. You have accepted every fantastic marvel and irregularity we have encountered as if nothing were amiss. And all the while, I’ve done very little but question the reality of what we have seen.”

  “That’s why I don’t understand what you’re doing now,” said Jack. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not logical to climb higher into a tower that’s just been set on fire.”

  “Precisely my point,” Charles said as he continued to climb. “It isn’t logical. But then, nothing about this tower is. But I just saw my friend John go into a room and talk to someone we know to be dead, and emerge a changed man for having done it. And I believe that it happened. So if I’m going to take one thing on faith, I think I can take another—so shut up and follow me!”

  “Are you going back to the Cartographer?” Jack said, panting. “He’s more trapped here than we are, remember?”

  “Not that high,” Charles said over his shoulder. “Not quite.”

  Bert grinned. “I think I know what he has in mind. Quickly now—do as he says.”

  The companions continued their flight up the stairway as the minions of the Winter King began to fill the openings at the base of the tower, while the smoke rose up behind them, as if it were a predator in pursuit of its prey.

  Charles’s assessment that the tower did not play fairly with the laws of space and time appeared to be correct: In a fraction of the time taken for their original ascent, they had reached the upper levels of the keep. The smoke from the fire below, while still evident, was no longer the air-constricting cloud it had been earlier, and the sounds of their pursuit had faded.

  “Why wouldn’t they follow us?” Jack said.

  “I think they are,” said Bert. “The Shadow-Born wouldn’t fear the fire—but perhaps the tower is growing for them while it’s been shrinking for us.”

  “It’s the same kettle,” said Charles. “To them, it’s not yet begun to boil—while to us, it’s boiling already, even though it’s been the same amount of time.”

  “We’re nearly at the top,” John said. “We’ve passed the door that led into London, so we won’t be going to last week. And the Cartographer can’t help us. So where are we going, Charles?”

  “There was one more door before the Cartographer’s, remember?” said Charles. “If the one below was the recent past, and the one above is the present, then the one in-between might be just what we need.”

  “And what if it opens onto Outer Mongolia?” said Jack.

  “It won’t,” said Charles.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t,” Charles said, grinning. “But I believe.”

  “That’s not very logical,” said Bert, trying to suppress a grin.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Charles as they reached the next-to-last landing, “but it wasn’t logical for John’s door to open into a study in London, either. It was just what he needed it to be.”

  “And what do you need it to be?” Bert asked as Charles extended his hand to touch the door.

  “The base of the keep, right after we entered,” said Charles.

  The door swung open onto the grassy knoll that sloped down to where the White Dragon was anchored. The moon was still directly overhead; not morning, but midnight. And there was no sign of the Black Dragon or the Winter King.

  “Hang on,” said Jack. “If we just came out of the keep right after we entered it, then aren’t we still inside somewhere? And won’t we—they—still be trapped when the Winter King does arrive?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Charles. “I think they’ll do as we’ve just done, and escape unscathed as we’re about to do.”

  “What if they choose a different course?” asked Jack. “What if the ‘us’ in the keep now don’t listen to you?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Bert assured them. “Trust me—I’ve done research.

  “That’s the thing about time travel—you’re always moving forward, even when you go back.”

  Safely aboard the White Dragon, they cast off from the shore and circled around to the other side of the island before they unrolled the Cartographer’s map.

  “It’s a simpler course than it would seem,” said John. “We have to go a bit farther north, but then, it’s all due west. West, to the very edge of the world.”

  “Best watch we don’t sail right off, eh, Aven?” Charles joked.

  “Agreed,” she said, folding her arms. “Good thinking, Charles.”

  “Oh, ah, thanks,” Charles stammered. “I wasn’t serious, you know.”

  “You should be,” said Aven. “I’ve heard of this place—Nemo said the other sailors all talk of it in hushed whispers when they’ve had too much ale. It really is the end of the world, and if we’re not careful, it’s entirely possible that we’ll sail right over the edge. But don’t worry,” she added with mock sweetness. “I understand that there’s no ending to the void beyond, so we’d never hit bottom.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” said Artus.

  “No,” said Bert. “It means we’d just keep falling, and falling, and falling, for all eternity.”

  “Oh,” said Artus.

  “If we set out right away,” said John, “we’ll have the entire night to gain an advantage over the Winter King. Remember—he’s going to be coming here, looking for us.”

  “I still don’t understand why he won’t find ‘us,’” said Jack. “This time stuff makes my head hurt.”

  “Trust me,” Bert said again. “We’re ahead of him, in more ways than one.”

  “What happens when we do reach the island?” said Aven.

  “We have the advantage of surprise,” said John. “Whatever is to take place there, we’ll be able to prepare for, long before he reaches us. We have the White Dragon—it should get us there with exceptional speed.”

  “She, not it,” said Aven. “Let’s do it.”

  Jack and Charles set about preparing the sails for travel northward—although the ship was already prodding itself in that direction. Not all of the motive power would come from the winds.

  Aven took the wheel, and Artus, trying to make himself useful, climbed up to the crow’s nest.

  Bert and John stood at the prow, enjoying the respite they’d found, however limited it might be.

  “Tell me, lad,” said Bert. “What did the professor say to you in the tower?”

  John smiled. “He said to listen to you, and that he had all the confidence in the world that we would defeat the Winter King.”

  Bert gave John an odd look. “Did he really say that?”

  “Close enough,” said John. “But then, the Cartographer said as much, didn’t he? We went in with nothing, and came out with little more. What did he tell us that we didn’t already know, except that our victory or defeat may come down to a matter of will?”

  The old man nodded. “I’m glad you got that chance,” he said, “to see him—Stellan—one more time. I would have liked to myself. Ah, well—plenty of time to do that in the future, eh, my boy?”

  Bert walked away to speak to Aven before John had a chance to ask him what he meant.

  The White Dragon left the islands of Chamenos Liber in relative silence, and calm seas. Only one pair of eyes watched it pass. High above them in the clear night sky, the grea
t silver and crimson crane watched a few minutes longer, then wheeled about and began to fly south with increasing speed.

  Part Five

  The Island at the Edge

  of the World

  “I greet you also, my friend the Far Traveler.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hope and Despair

  The journey from the Cartographer’s island to the Island at the Edge of the World was the most peaceful and least eventful passage they had experienced since the original voyage from London into the Archipelago. The night air was clear, and the stars above stunning in their brilliance.

  Artus was pointing out constellations to his companions; constellations, not all of which existed in the world beyond.

  “Do you see that pattern of stars in the east?” he was saying to John. “The jagged grouping, there?”

  “Yes, I see them.”

  “That’s Athamas and Themisto. They’re pursuing that cluster there, to the north—we call that one Salmoneus. He was a merchant who stole forty pieces of silver from Athamas, and they are chasing him across the sky, to make him give back the silver.”

  “What’s that one, there?” asked Charles, pointing. “The line that looks like Orion’s Belt?”

  “It’s Orion’s Belt,” said Artus.

  “Ah,” said Charles.

  “What is that one?” asked John, pointing to the west. “The bright grouping, shaped rather like a tree?”

  “Astraeus,” Aven called out. “God of the four winds and friend to sailors. Say a little prayer when you look at him, so he will give us what we need to keep our course.”

  “A little prayer?” said Jack. “To a constellation?”

  “To what it represents,” said Aven.

  “But I don’t believe in what it represents,” said Jack.

  “Prayers aren’t for the deity,” said Aven. “They’re for you, to recommit yourself to what you believe.”

  “Can’t you do that without praying to a dead Greek god?”

  “Sure,” said Aven. “But how often would anyone do that, if not in prayer?”

  The companions slept in shifts throughout the remainder of the night: John, Artus, and Bert first, then Aven, Jack, and Charles, with Bert assuming control of the wheel.

  Aven awoke just as the sun was cresting into view, a wheel shooting great spokes of radiance across the sky. The light was brilliant, and the sky at the horizon a startling robin’s egg blue, which paled farther up into the sky along the sun’s eventual arc.

  But to the west, directly in their path, was the darkness they’d earlier assumed to be a line of storms; a sister Frontier to the one that guarded the boundary at Avalon. But they weren’t storms at all—it was simply, purely, darkness. Darkness…

  …or Shadow.

  They heard the sound first, before the island came into view, and John was very grateful for the Cartographer’s precise navigational instructions, for if they had approached the island at an angle just a few degrees less or more, the White Dragon would not have been able to resist the pull.

  The sound was a roar as big as the world; it was the sound of a waterfall as wide as an ocean, falling into an endless void as deep as Hades itself.

  The Island at the Edge of the World was larger than Avalon and Byblos together. It was a flat, rocky plain, which rose to a scattering of hills in the center, then sloped up westward to a peak that extended beyond the edge, over the waterfall.

  John shuddered with the realization of what must lay beyond. There were no stars, and the light from the rising sun seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness. The island truly was an Ending of Endings, and somehow he knew that the confrontation with the Winter King would end here.

  One way or the other, it would end.

  Aven guided the White Dragon through a wicked-looking reef to a spot on the southern shore where she could be safely anchored. They could see the entire shoreline in both directions—to the east, from which they’d just arrived, and west to the edge. There were no other vessels in sight, and most importantly, no sign of the Black Dragon.

  The companions disembarked so they could begin to explore the island, and they quickly determined that it was a singularly unremarkable place.

  “Well, except for that waterfall,” said Charles. “It’s sort of like that place in America, where that big canyon is—somewhere you wouldn’t really go to, except to see a great big hole that will be your death if you fall in.”

  There were no structures of any kind, save for the occasional standing stones that were set pell-mell across the fields and at the top of the bluff on the western side.

  “So what do we do now?” said Jack. “Do we just camp out and wait for the Winter King to arrive, or what?”

  “We should finish scouting the rest of the island,” said Aven. “We have a good lead on him—we should endeavor to make the most of it.”

  “Sensible,” said Bert.

  With Aven leading, they crossed the first low valley and headed for the hills in the center. It was, except for the bluff and peak itself, the highest point on the island, and would be an excellent vantage point from which to organize their efforts.

  The darkness beyond gave the landscape an unearthly glow, with the sunlight highlighting the muted colors of the rocks and grasses. Everything stood out in high relief—which made the sight beyond the hills more unreal than they could have imagined.

  They’d been correct about the view: From the center, they could see the entire expanse of the island, including the north side that had been hidden from sight on their seaward approach.

  All along the northern edge of the island were encampments; glowing fires, and the bustle and clatter of warriors preparing for combat. They could see trolls by the thousand, and more Wendigo than they could have imagined existed. And all throughout the encampment rose the black banner of the Winter King.

  Even John, who had seen combat, and the most terrible battlefields of war, was struck speechless by the implied violence and destructive force spread before them.

  “No wonder we could never find him,” Aven whispered. “In all these years, he always evaded his pursuers, and simply moved from land to land, conquering them, then returning to a place we could never discover. He found the best hiding place in existence—the actual ends of the Earth.”

  “He didn’t need to beat us here,” Bert said. “The Winter King’s army has been here all along.”

  “I think we’re in trouble,” said Charles.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” said Jack. “We’re in for a difficult battle, that’s for certain.”

  Aven stared ahead at the hundreds of glowing fires. “There must be thousands of them,” she said. “This is not going to be a battle—it’s going to be a slaughter. Our slaughter.”

  “I don’t think I want to be king anymore,” said Artus. “I nominate Jack.”

  “Aw, don’t give up hope,” said Tummeler. “This is the part in stories where they gets real good—valiant friends in a struggle ’gainst impossible odds.”

  The companions heard what the badger said, but it took a few seconds to process that he was standing on the rise next to them, since they had left Tummeler on Paralon.

  “Tummeler?” Charles said, incredulous. “Is it really you?”

  “Su’prise,” said Tummeler. I brung…brang…bringed…I’m with th’ cavalry. We’ve come t’ save th’ day.”

  After a round of excited hugs and greetings, Tummeler explained to the companions what else was transpiring in the Archipelago, and for the first time, they felt a glimmering of hope.

  “It were ol’ Ordo Maas,” said Tummeler. “He said y’ would be needin’ some help, an’ he sent out his sons to all the corners of the Archipelago. One of them watched the White Dragon, t’ see where y’ be going, and the others went t’ alert all your friends—and you have more than y’ be knowing y’ do.”

  “His sons?” Jack said in surprise. “How could they go to find allies? We
took the only ship on Byblos.”

  In answer, Tummeler pointed to the sky. Circling above the White Dragon was a scarlet and silver crane, which dipped its wings in greeting.

  “I was with Mister Samaranth when the crane come in, an’ I hitched a ride back on one o’ th’ ships. And I came ready to fight,” said Tummeler, proudly showing off his battered knapsack and an equally battered shield that was larger than he was, and that he could lift only with considerable effort. “After all,” he finished, “I don’t want to be missin’ any o’ th’ fun.”

  “Is Samaranth coming?” asked Bert. “Will he be joining the battle?”

  Tummeler shrugged. “Can’t say if he will. I know he left Paralon when we did, an’ said he was going to find some others t’ help, but what that means I can’t say.”

  “How did you get here, then?” said Charles, “if not with Samaranth?”

  “I brought him,” said a voice of command, “and while he’s skilled with maintenance of the ship, it’s his culinary skills I find most valuable. We’ve never eaten better.”

  It was Nemo.

  In the distance behind him, out in the shallows of the expansive inlet and to the rear of the White Dragon, lay the gleaming form of the Nautilus.

  “Ho, Aven,” Nemo said in greeting, laying his fist across his chest.

  “Ho, Nemo,” Aven responded, offering the gesture in return. “Well met.”

  Nemo turned to say hello to Bert, but before he could voice a greeting, the little man rushed over and embraced the surprised captain in a bear hug.

  “Oh, my stars and garters!” Bert exclaimed. “I’ve never been so happy to see…well, almost anyone!”

  “Is that so?” Nemo said with a wink at the others. “That’s too bad,” he finished, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb, “because they’ll be disappointed if they get less of a reception, just because I beat them here.”

  “What is it?” said Jack. “Who’s coming?”