Dragon Rigger (14 page)

Images flickered up at once in her mind—images of dragons and strange landscapes, and ifflings.
Please,
she thought.
Please give me peace.

Her plea was not answered; but eventually she did drop off to sleep, with the images dancing vividly before her.

* * *

For Jarvorus, it was all happening so beautifully that success seemed certain. The goal was close now; he could not conceive of failure. The iffling-children had been easy to sweep aside. He was aware of them flitting about on the outside now, seeking a way past his warriors, but they were so meek as to pose no threat. Jarvorus himself was already within reach of the spirit-presence of "the One"—whispering his message, the words given to him by his master, the one whose voice had sent them all on their way. Jarvorus was delivering his master's message, the one that would transform the One into the One-Who-Would-Fail.

His voice whispered like the wind.
Windrush has abandoned . . . betrayed
 . . .
all
that was good. All that you hoped to accomplish . . . was in vain.

Was she hearing his words?

You
have no friends in the realm
 . . .
all
have failed . . . will fail.

The glow of her presence flickered and trembled. His words were slipping beneath the surface of her thoughts, causing ripples of disturbance. He was confident that she would believe them. Together with his fellow warriors, he had only to persevere, spiraling ever closer, murmuring, until a perfect fabric of disbelief was woven, a skein of distrust and despair. And in that way, the warriors would gain the approval of their master.

The assault came as a swarm of fire, taking Jarvorus completely by surprise.

The iffling-children blazed into the warriors' midst, scattering them and turning their whispers to cries of alarm. Jarvorus cursed and veered away from the human, fearful of letting the delicate web of deception be ruined by a struggle with the iffling-children. He swept back around to fight, calling upon his fellows to join him in battle. But the ifflings shot past them, toward the human, crying out urgently. They seemed not to care for subtlety or web-weaving. Whatever deception they were planning, it was apparently so simpleminded that subtlety didn't matter.

Jarvorus arced across the slippery slope of space-time, pursuing the iffling-children toward their quarry. He could not allow them to succeed. His fire burned hot, as he called to the warriors to join him.

This time they would defeat the ifflings utterly. This time the battle would be to the death.

* * *

Jael woke with a cry and sat up. She felt a pain in her chest; her face was on fire; her vision swam and her ears rang. Something terrible had awakened her, something more than just the pain. Another nightmare. She remembered a terrible feeling of despair.

She glimpsed a movement near the foot of her bed, near the holographic rainforest. "
Who's there?
" she cried.

Ed flapped awake in the stondai, sputtering as he hopped to a higher branch. "Hawwwk! What is it? Hawwk!"

"I don't—" . . .
know,
she meant to say, but her breath was cut off by a sudden glimmer of light near a tree at the edge of the forest. It wasn't Ed, and it wasn't the tree holo. A malfunction in the projector? Then why was she suddenly gasping again, unable to move her head or lift a hand to shield herself?

The dream . . .There had been a struggle, a terrible struggle between two glimmering forces, between hope and despair.

Through the blur of her confusion, she glimpsed something moving in the air—like a shadow, or a light—like neither, and both. Ed was flapping his wings in alarm. But she couldn't tell what she was seeing.

"Rawk!
Jayl!
What is it?" The parrot's voice drew her to full consciousness.

She answered without taking her eyes off the moving forms. "I don't know, Ed," she whispered. "Do you see it?" It was clearer now; it was like watching two ghosts of flame and shadow twisting around one another, in a tortuous ballet. They shifted and interchanged, the movement too quick, too intense to follow.

The parrot's voice dropped to a low gargle. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of the parrot hopping back and forth on the branch, clucking and muttering, "Urrr, see it . . . but what . . . what?"

Jael couldn't answer. She was transfixed. The ghostly dancers moved closer. She heard voices, as though from a great distance. She heard hissing, as of water touching flame. She heard a groan, and a dim, distant screeching. She leaned forward, straining to hear the voices, to hear any recognizable sound.
Who are you?
she mouthed.
What do you want?
She could not force the words from her throat.

The air itself seemed to murmur, and she caught the words, "N-needs-s-s you-u-u . . ."

What?
she mouthed.
Who?

There was a moan, and out of it, the words rose: "Go-o-o to-o-o him-m-m."

"Go to whom?" she whispered, barely making the words audible.

"W-wind-d-d-d-rushhhh—"

Her breath went out as though she'd been punched.

"—n-needs-s-s youuuu . . ." And then the air stirred oddly, and she caught a sharp, familiar tang; and then the voices were lost in a cacophony of groans. She thought she heard a cry, and the words, "Windrush-h betray-y-y-s . . ." and then the voice faded, and silence and darkness swallowed her, and she was alone in the gloom of her room.

She could not move or breathe. It was as though, for an instant, the air before her had opened up, offering her a breath of another world, the
smell
of another world. If she had not heard the name Windrush, she still would have recognized that tang in the air.

Dear God! she thought. What just happened?

The darkness of her room surrounded her like a cloak, closing in upon her. An instant later it seemed to open up with a great wrench, not a suffocating darkness, but a vast and endless space. Her lungs were burning. She took a sharp breath, panting in desperate lungfuls of air. Had she really just seen . . . and heard . . . ?

Windrush
needs you . . .

She shuddered, feeling two years' grief and worry welling up in her. Was this another nightmare—or was Windrush really, somehow, calling out to her? Could this be another astonishing dragon magic, her friend crying to her across the gulfs of time and space? "Windrush!" she whispered, clutching her bed sheet around her. "Highwing! Windrush!"

But where had those voices come from? Had she really heard them, or had she dreamed the whole thing, in a terrible fever? She was sweating, her heart pounding in her ears. Could she have imagined it all?

But I heard it.
Windrush needs you . . .
She was aware suddenly of Ed's voice, rasping across the room. "Jayl—rawwk!—what was it? What was it? Rawwwwwwk . . . Jayyyl . . . what's wronnnnng?"

Letting her breath out with a sigh, she turned to Ed. The holoparrot was jumping from branch to branch in agitation, a flutter of scarlet and green. Her voice came out as a dry croak as she said, "I don't know, Ed! I don't know!"

The parrot folded his wings and settled down on a branch, listening to the air. "No more, Jayl. It's gone. Gone."

She nodded wearily. Then, with a jolt, she realized what Ed had just said. It was not her imagination. He had heard it, too. "Ed—" she whispered, "what exactly did you hear?"

"Awk?"

"What did you hear? You heard it, didn't you?"

"Urr—something—"

Jael patted the blanket beside her. "Come here, Ed." The ghostly parrot fluttered across to her, landing on her shoulder. She patted the blanket more insistently. With a mutter, Ed hopped down beside her. "Listen, Ed, I need your help. Now. I need you to tell me exactly what you saw. And what you heard."

"Urk!" The bird clacked his beak, looking around. "Saw—Jayl sit up, not happy. Saw—not sure, not sure." He shook his head violently.

"But you saw—"

"
Something—
rawwwwwk. Not sure what."

"And you heard—"

"Scrawwwww. Voices. Someone. Urrk." The parrot cocked his head, fixing Jael with a stare. "Who, Jayl?"

She drew a breath. "I'm . . . not sure. Tell me everything you can remember, Ed."

"Rawk." The bird pranced in agitation on the blanket.

"Did you hear . . . any words? Any words you recognized?" She wanted to plead with him. She wanted to grab him and shake him until he either confirmed what she had heard or told her she was crazy. "
Please,
Ed?"

The bird cocked his head one way, then the other, then sputtered for a moment. "Not sure. Thought I . . .
urk.
"
Jael's heart pounded as he paused. "Someone . . . needs you. Sounded like . . . someone needs you. Urk." Ed shook his wing feathers.

Jael stared at him. "What'd you just say?"

"Not sure," Ed croaked. "Sounded like . . .
need.
Heard
need,
maybe. Not sure.
Go
, they said.
Go
to
him.
"

Jael began to shake somewhere deep inside, and then to weep. Ed hopped frantically beside her, cawing and murmuring, asking what was wrong. She could not answer; she didn't even know if her tears came from sadness or joy, or both. A terrible loneliness and pain was welling up inside her. A friend needed her, and she was too far away to do anything except weep for his need.

Eventually, the tears subsided and she sat back, snuffling and telling Ed that it was okay, he could stop worrying. She took a deep breath and began to review what had happened. Windrush, somehow, had reached out to her. How, she could not imagine—nor could she imagine the need that might impel the dragon to do that. Even Highwing, imprisoned and facing death, had not reached into her universe to tell her. She would never have dreamed that such a thing was possible.

And yet it had happened.

But what could she do about it? What could she do?

She thought long and fruitlessly, and finally sighed. Ar would be back in a week or two. Perhaps he would have an idea.
Please, Ar!
The only way to go to Windrush was to get a ship. And how could she possibly get a ship? Hijack one to the mountain route, to the dragon realm? Surely Ar would have a better idea. Surely.

And just as surely, this was going to be the longest night of her life—the longest
week
of her life.

In the terrifying swirl of light and dark, the iffling-children tried to strike back at the false-ones, to hurl them away, to extinguish their flame; but the true-ones had no experience in killing, no knowledge of fighting. In sheer desperation they had penetrated the false-ones' gauntlet and cried out their message to Jael. One of the enemy had flickered out in the storm of their passage, a fortuitous accident that showed them how their foes might be killed. But now the others boiled toward them in a rage. They had to fight or flee.

—
Escape!
—

—
Where? Where?
—

—
The false-ones block us
—

—
Release your fire!
—

Driven by stark terror, they caught one of the false-ones and burned it to silent darkness. But an instant later another loomed blazing, and this time an iffling cried out and died. The surviving ifflings, in a panic, surrounded the foe and crushed the fire from it before the rest of the false-ones could intervene.

—
Opening
—

—
That way!
—

The three ifflings darted away, fleeing across the underrealm. The enemy gave chase. The living flames, all of them, burned bright in this strange arid underrealm. But in the darkness behind them, the ifflings sensed the human alone once more, temporarily abandoned by the false-ones.

—
Make
contact again!
—

—
She must be led!
—

The ifflings swept back in a great arc. But the two remaining enemies flew quickly to block the way. The ifflings veered. Before the false-ones could intercept them, they skated around the human and flanked it from the opposite side. Now three true-ifflings and two false-ifflings surrounded the human. The ifflings darted and jockeyed; but they could not approach closer without drawing a new attack. The false-ones were equally wary.

Hovering in an uneasy truce, they waited and watched, calling out, hoping that even from a distance, the human might hear their voices and follow.

* * *

Jarvorus watched his adversaries with gnawing apprehension. No longer was he so certain of his ability to sweep them away! Three of his fellows were gone, destroyed! He had been too confident. But no more. He would not drop his vigil even for an instant. And if the chance came, he would crush the ifflings once and for all.

At the same time, he felt drawn to the shimmering presence of the human. Her awareness in the underrealm was a flickering and uncertain thing. The ifflings had gotten through to her briefly; but now neither they nor he could get close enough to speak directly. He would call out to her in the underrealm anyway—call from a distance. That way might not be so subtle as he wished, but his message would be heard.

She would know: Windrush was a traitor who sought only to entrap her. Jarvorus' mission was clear and he would see to it that he was heard.

* * *

Jael got no more sleep that night. Voices seemed to keep calling to her in the night, voices that she could not quite make out, voices that would give her no peace.

She spent the following day in solitude, overcome by feelings of déjà vu. She remembered her feelings two years ago, between her first encounter in the dragon realm—the trip that culminated in her killing her own captain in self-defense—and her first meeting with Ar in the port of Lexis, a meeting that ultimately led her back to Highwing's mountains. Then, as now, she'd been alone on a world that was not home, waiting and hoping the impossible hope, for circumstances that would permit her to return to those harsh, alien, beautiful mountains.