Questors

by Joan Lennon

  ‘I know, in school,’ mimicked Bryn. ‘I never heard of half the stuff you did in school.’

  ‘Well, that’s obvious,’ sniffed Madlen.

  Cam ignored their squabbling. ‘So,’ it said, ‘you use one set for breathing, one set for making the vapour stuff and one set for – what – breathing fire?’

  Its words provoked another unexpected reaction from the dragon. Dagrod looked shocked and shamefaced at the same time, as if she had been caught doing something rude.

  ‘I bet you’re a totally amazing sight,’ Cam continued nervously. ‘When you’re flaming, I mean. I could just see you –’

  Dagrod backed away. ‘When?!’ she exclaimed. ‘When did you see me?! I was so sure nobody could see me…’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ The Questors were bewildered. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! Females don’t flare. I mean, we’re not supposed to flare. I mean, it’s not allowed…’ Then something seemed to snap inside her. She stopped looking embarrassed and started looking fed up. ‘Females don’t flare,’ she mimicked. ‘Females don’t have adventures. Females don’t speak in the Assembly. Females don’t go to the Forbidden Places.’ She sighed. ‘About the only thing that’s left is laying eggs, and we can’t even do that properly any more… Oh, come on. There’s no point in talking about it.’

  Greatly daring, Cam gave her a sympathetic pat on the leg.

  ‘Life sucks sometimes,’ it said.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ the dragon replied with another sigh.

  As the tunnel curved deeper into the heart of the glacier, the Questors learned more. Dagrod told them about unimaginably huge under-ice seas, where dragons swam in the darkness like glowing submarines and hunted for days on a single breath. She told them about the 328 Rules of Behaviour, and the boredom of Female School, and the rivalry between Lord Na and Lord Aggano over her third cousin Ro… Dagrod loved to talk, and even Madlen found herself enthralled.

  Still, it was a long journey for the merely two-legged, and the humans at last began to flag. Bryn handed out emergency rations from the remaining backpack, after explaining to the dragon that their species needed to eat more often than once a year. Dagrod seemed to find this very strange, and when Cam began to shiver visibly with cold, that was even stranger. Madlen did her best to explain other Worlds, hot climates and the concept of clothes.

  ‘If rest and warmth are what you need, would it be of assistance to sit up against me?’ Dagrod offered, frowning anxiously. ‘You would be most welcome. Dragons are self-regulating, of course. One of the advantages of internal fires! If… you’d like to?’

  Gratefully Bryn dug out the sleeping bag to put between them and the ice, and the Questors cuddled up to what amounted to an improbably enormous hotwater bottle.

  Madlen nodded off almost at once, her brain overloaded with impossibilities. Cam tried to stay awake to savour this living dream – the feel of Dagrod’s warm, dry skin; the muffled thump of her huge heart; the gentle wheeze of her sides going in and out, in and out… Bryn, half turned away from the others, drew frantically and surreptitiously, until yawns overcame him too.

  In a pocket of light, under a ceiling of ice, in the eerie emptiness, three humans slept against a dragon’s side.

  35

  The City

  They awoke to Dagrod squealing.

  ‘What is it?! Make it stop! I’m sorry! Make it stop!’

  They tumbled on to the ice, looking blearily about for the source of her distress, and then Bryn spotted the pack, lying on its side and vibrating wildly. He grabbed it, fished about inside and then pulled out the dragon detector. It was registering right off the scale. He thumbed the switch quickly.

  Dagrod collapsed beside them. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she panted. ‘I got stiff, but when I moved my leg your bag fell over and then it started making that awful noise, and… what is it?!’

  Bryn looked at Dagrod and then down at the thing in his hands. ‘It’s, um, sort of… it’s a dragon detector. For detecting dragons.’

  Dagrod snorted. ‘That’s just stupid – why don’t you use your eyes? It’s not as if we’re invisible.’ Her fright had made her cross.

  ‘No, well, apparently you give off a sort of radiation and if I wanted to know if you were around, or coming closer, or something, this would tell me…’ Bryn’s voice trailed off, worried by the sudden shift of expression on her long face.

  ‘Say that again?!’ she whispered.

  Oh, help, he thought to himself, now I’ve done it.

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ he started to babble. ‘It’s just a thing…’

  ‘You said radiation – you said we give off radiation – you said it detects –?’

  Bryn spread his hands. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘It just sort of happened – it was something else altogether they were trying to detect… Look, I’m putting it away now. I’m really sorry –’

  But Dagrod had stopped listening. She had a strange, wondering look and was murmuring to herself, ‘And I thought they were fish…!’

  ‘Dagrod?’ said Cam tentatively.

  ‘Look, there’s someone who’d really like to see your device.’ The dragon sounded all at once full to the brim with suppressed excitement. ‘Would that be all right, do you think?’

  ‘Er… sure… no problem…’

  ‘Why exactly…’ Dagrod began, but then, ‘No, don’t tell me! Time to go – the City’s not far now – time to go!’

  It was a weird awakening, and then the strangeness deepened, for the tunnel they were following suddenly ended.

  They’d reached the outskirts of the City.

  The space under the glacier had been carved out in a way that was more sculpture than construction. They stared in amazement at chambers, streets, halls that could have held a hundred dragons; marketplaces and amphitheatres, playgrounds and parks; galleries and ramps that curved up towards the distant ice above; pillars, fluted and carved – it was an astonishing sight. Astonishing, and completely empty There was no sign of life anywhere. There were no dragons.

  ‘Where are they?’ Bryn whispered. ‘Where’ve they all gone?’

  ‘Nobody lives down here any more,’ Dagrod replied. She sounded matter of fact, but didn’t raise her voice either. ‘We don’t need the Lower City now. We’re, well, dying out. Like I said, we can’t seem to produce young, hardly at all, and the ones that make it to hatching are often… not right.’ She paused for a moment, looking down at the ice floor. Then she seemed to come to a decision. ‘Many believe we are being poisoned,’ she said. ‘An invisible poison… Some say it’s the End of the Path. Some say it’s the end of everything.’ She shivered. ‘Of course, they don’t say that out loud. It’s all whispers.’

  Whispers. Whispers. The empty spaces echoed her words.

  Madlen leaned over to Bryn and said in a low, urgent voice, ‘Did you hear that, Bryn – it’s affecting them too. They need us!’

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  He tried not to notice the strange looks Dagrod kept giving him as they set off again.

  As they walked on, spiralling up through the glacier, it gradually came to him that something was different. Then Madlen, pointing at the walls, asked, ‘Is that the Northern Lights? I read about them someplace, but I was never sure what they were’ – and he realized what had changed.

  ‘No, the Northern Lights are in the sky’ he whispered back. ‘This is different.’

  Ripples, sheets, curtains of light flickered in the walls as they passed. Shades of white within the glacial blue-green of the ice juddered and moved, almost as if alive. Cam came up beside them and pointed.

  ‘It’s in the floor and the roof as well,’ it exclaimed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’

  The others nodded and continued to stare as they walked along.

  After a while, Cam thumped Dagrod on the leg.

  ‘What’s making the lights like that?’ it asked her.


  Dagrod looked down.

  ‘We’re near dragons now,’ she said. ‘And dragons light the ice. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night it is – the part of the City we’re coming to never sleeps. There’s always somebody awake, and as long as a dragon’s eyes are open, there will be light.’

  ‘That’s so cool,’ said Cam. ‘But what I meant was, what’s making the flickering lights?’

  ‘What flickering lights?’ Dagrod’s attention was elsewhere. She kept stopping to rub at the sides of her head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Bryn asked. ‘Got earache?’

  Dagrod wrinkled her big forehead and grunted.

  ‘It’s the noise,’ she said. ‘Awful, isn’t it.’

  The humans looked at each other. Except for the sounds they were making as they walked over the ice, the silence seemed complete.

  ‘What noise?’ asked Cam.

  ‘The buzzing!’ replied the dragon irritably. Then she turned to them in surprise. ‘You mean, you can’t hear it?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘Lucky you,’ she sighed. ‘I really, really hate it. Tsss, tsss, tsss. It goes on all the time in the City. One of the reasons I get away as much as I can – that blasted hiss, hiss – if you let it, it can drive you crazy.’

  ‘Sounds like tinnitus,’ said Cam. ‘Beethoven had that.’

  ‘Was he a dragon?’ asked Dagrod, but when Cam shook its head, she lost interest and walked on.

  ‘Dragon ears are different from ours,’ said Madlen to Bryn.

  He shrugged. ‘You think,’ he grunted.

  The next moment, he and the others found themselves being roughly shouldered into a cross-tunnel and crushed against the wall.

  ‘Hey!’ began Cam indignantly, but Dagrod hissed, ‘Shut up!’

  Around the edges of Dagrod’s body they could just glimpse what had caused her violent reaction. A small male dragon was passing by. Dagrod had explained to them how the sexes were distinguished, and this one’s tiny crest suggested he was still very young. Nevertheless, Dagrod’s hurry to get out of his path, and the way she lowered her head and eyes to the floor to show subservience, indicated he must be someone of importance.

  The humans waited impatiently – and uncomfortably – for him to pass by. Only when she was sure it was safe did Dagrod release them from their hiding place.

  ‘Who was that – the prince?!’ exclaimed Cam irritably

  Dagrod grunted. ‘Him?! A prince?! He’s just my cousin Raon.’

  ‘So what were you squishing us for? And what was all that grovelling in aid of?!’

  ‘I wasn’t grovelling – I’m a female, or had you forgotten? How do you expect me to behave towards a male?! There are rules, you know. Oh… forget it. Come on – this way.’ Dagrod hustled them across the main tunnel and along a series of side ones. ‘I want to get Bry– all of you to the Keeper before anybody spots him. You.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Madlen as she scurried to keep up. ‘Who’s the Keeper? Why are we hiding? You said before it was all right us coming here…’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I’m sure it is. Probably. It’s just… Let’s see, what time is it? Right, the Keeper should be at the Teaching Hall.’

  The Questors exchanged bemused glances.

  ‘So she’s a teacher?’ asked Cam, hoping to get some idea what was happening.

  But Dagrod shook her head.

  ‘No, no, of course not. Only males can teach. By rights the Keeper should be male too, of course, but, like I said, we live for a long time, and this one’s been around forever. But as Keeper, she has to monitor all the lessons. She has to make sure what is being taught is according to Memory. It’s History today. Turn here. And remember, when we go into the Females’ Gallery, you’re to keep quiet and STAY OUT OF SIGHT!’

  36

  History Lessons

  … And Adagon looked about him and saw… nothing No Worlds left to conquer; no battles left to be fought. His honour burned inside him, desperate to find its place in the memories that would be. He was a dragon in need of a deed.

  They were in the Females’ Gallery of the large Teaching Hall. A screen of woven ice, so fine it moved at the slightest breath of air, hid them from view. In the Hall below, a huge male dragon addressed a group of attentive young bucks. Dagrod had said it was a History class, but it certainly didn’t sound like it.

  ‘Where’s the Keeper?’ he whispered to Dagrod.

  ‘Over there,’ she answered. ‘But shh now – we mustn’t interrupt the lesson!’

  Bryn looked along to where she’d pointed. There was… something there, in the shadows at the far end of the Gallery. He’d probably have taken it for a peculiar formation in the ice but, if you looked at it just right, it was possible to see that a long, knobbly dragon was indeed coiled up there.

  Coiled up, and apparently fast asleep.

  So, unable to bear the thought of a life that was only ordinary, and a death at the end that was only benign, Adagon the Hero turned his back on the City and headed into the caverns and tunnels of the Under-Ice.

  He became aware of the deep voice of the Teacher again.

  Adagon wandered there for many days, turning and circling through the mazing below the City, deeper and deeper in search of… something

  When he found it, he almost didn’t recognize it. It seemed a cave like any other, floored with rock and walled in by ice, and he was about to turn his back and go, when the light of his eyes caught something glinting in the dimness.

  Adagon moved closer and saw a great cone rising from the floor of the cave, and on top of the cone he saw a wondrous, glittering, faceted Crystal, which drew him with an irresistible power. His desire for it could not be denied. He reached out a claw…

  ‘No!’ came a voice, and even the fearless Adagon felt the touch of fear.

  Something made Bryn glance over at his siblings. Cam was leaning forward, its face rapt. He smiled to himself. For a Dalrodian, this must be like walking about in a dream. Except that here the symbols chatted to you and took you home to meet the folks, and mythology was taught as history. Right up Cam’s street, he thought…

  … and right up Madlen’s nose!

  Legends and heroes and derring-do – none of it would have featured in a Trentorian classroom. She was fidgeting about as if her ice seat were hot. It was funny to see, but it was also going to draw attention to them, which had to be a bad idea. He reached past Cam and gave her a shove and a warning look. She scowled back at him, but took the hint and subsided, arms folded, into a sulky, disapproving heap.

  ‘Who are you?’ the Hero called.

  And out of the shadows came a creature whose steps grated and scraped. Its scales were of basalt and its claws obsidian; its eyes gleaming mica and its teeth, black diamond, so sharp they could slice one thought from the next.

  It was a Lava Dragon and, from his size, Adagon judged him older than any other living thing.

  Watching the two of them, thinking about what they were most likely thinking – seeing things through their eyes, in a way – something jolted inside Bryn’s head. He couldn’t just listen to the story, relax into it. He had to pay attention in a new way.

  ‘What is your name?’ breathed Adagon in awe.

  The Lava Dragon’s voice echoed from the hidden roof and the cold walls.

  ‘I am the Guardian of the Crystal and this place,’ he said. And I tell you, it is not for those who can die. It is not for those who can be born.’

  Adagon frowned. ‘You lie – it is for me!’

  ‘Leave,’ the Guardian breathed. ‘Leave!’

  And Adagon slammed his tail to the floor in a sudden rage.

  ‘I will not leave!’ he roared. ‘Tell me – what is this place?!’

  As the echoes of his words died away, the light in the Guardian’s eyes flickered also, and he answered, ‘This… is the Place of the Last Great Deed.’

  Adagon’s heart swelled.

  ‘Tell me the Deed,’ he cried.
‘And whatever the price, I will do it.’

  The black dragon’s voice was almost gentle, but his claws grated against the stones. ‘You must take the Crystal I guard with my life.’

  Adagon paused, for he respected the other’s great age. ‘The cost for you is high, then, Old One, if I win.’

  But the Guardian’s answer made no sense.

  ‘The cost is greater for you, if I lose.’

  ‘So be it!’ roared Adagon, patience at an end.

  At once the Lava Dragon was upon him. Slashing and biting, the two fought, day and night and into the following day. They circled and met, each clash powerful enough to shake the ground. The walls echoed to their roars. The floor was slick with their blood. The battle-fire in their eyes lit up the cavern to the distant roof

  The description of the battle, which normally he would have quite enjoyed, suddenly seemed distasteful to Bryn – and it seemed to be taking as long as the fight itself must have done – but the young males below were rapt.

  At last it was over. The Guardian lay on the stony floor. Adagon, barely alive, cut and gouged a hundred times, dragged himself over his opponent. He reached out for the Crystal and, murmuring softly, ‘The Last Great Deed,’ he plucked it from its place.

  The moment the Crystal came away in his grasp, a deafening force exploded from the cone. Adagon was thrown against the ice, battered by a wall of noise, but he never let go of his prize. He felt himself weakening, as if his lifeblood were draining away. With a huge effort, he dragged himself out into the tunnel, clutching the Crystal to his chest.

  How he made the tortuous journey back is not known, but finally he regained the City. He was brought lovingly into the Great Hall.

  ‘Adagon!’ cried the King, aghast at the hero’s pitiful state. ‘What have you done?’

  Adagon could not hear his King’s words, or any other, but he guessed what he had been asked.

  ‘The Last Great Deed,’ he whispered.

  At these words, the Crystal fell from his claws and rolled across the floor to the foot of the throne. The dragons felt its power drawing them, urging them to battle, calling them to glory.