Dragon Rigger (32 page)

Her gaze went back to the mountain wilderness outside the net. There was something in the air that she could almost smell, that told her that this was dragon country. But whether it was
friendly
dragon country was another question altogether.

There was one way to find out, of course. "Cry, 'Friend of Highwing!' and I will hear you, though all the mountains lie between us," Highwing had once told her. Highwing was gone now, but his son Windrush had renewed the vow.

Did she dare? She was helpless, if hostile dragons came along. But she was helpless anyway.

She took a shallow breath, and barely whispered the words:
Friend
of Highwing . . . friend of Windrush . . .
Her voice caught. She swallowed hard and forced her voice to rise to a croaking cry.
I am . . . Jael . . . friend of Highwing . . . and Windrush!

The landscape sighed with emptiness. If there was anyone out there to hear her, she couldn't tell. Even if there had been, she could hardly expect her pathetic cry to carry far. She drew a ragged breath, determined to shout this time.

Before she could make a sound, a voice hissed:
Do
not
cry out again! It is not safe!

She choked in astonishment. It was not Ar's voice, but it was familiar. She thought it was the voice of . . .The creature materialized in front of her before she could complete the thought. It was a creature made of fire, gathered into a vaguely dragonlike shape. It floated in the air just above the boulder against which the ship rested. It had an ethereal and magical appearance, and yet it pulsed with an urgency that seemed personal and immediate. When it spoke again, its voice seemed to float like a whisper of wind in the night.
You
must not reveal yourself yet. We will show you the way.

Jael hesitated.
Who are you?
she asked, though she thought she knew already. She thought it was an iffling, though it did not look quite like any she had seen before. Did ifflings take on dragonlike form?

You
know
who I am,
said the being.

Jael frowned.
Are
you the . . . iffling . . . who told me to come here? Are you the one who visited me in the other . . .
in
the static realm?

Of course. And I have been with you ever since. But now we must see that you continue your journey,
without
being
led astray.

Am I in time? she wanted to cry. If it was not safe to call out openly, did that mean that her friends were in hiding against danger? Her voice trembled as she asked,
Can
you tell me, iffling, what is happening here? How are the dragons faring against . . . Tar-skel? How are Windrush and his brothers?

The iffling seemed to flicker for an instant.
Your
questions will be answered soon. But right now you must follow me! We are in great danger!

Jael didn't know if it was even possible for her to move. She couldn't tell much about the state of the rigger-net, except that it was damaged. And she wasn't even sure that she herself was in any condition to fly.
I
don't
know if I can move.

You must!
hissed the iffling.
Without delay!

Jael shivered. She supposed she hadn't come this far just to give up because they'd gotten banged around a little.
Ed,
she called softly,
if you can hear me, keep trying to get through to Ar. I'm going to see if I can get us
moving
again.
She felt a flutter of acknowledgment.

Drawing upon some inner strength she barely knew she had, she reached out through the net to touch the rocks beneath her. They felt solid and icy cold. The ship, behind her, was a massive extension of her own body. She nudged it hesitantly, to see how difficult it would be to move. To her surprise, it
did
move—it felt like a great, empty balloonlike container behind her, nearly weightless, but with great bulk and inertia. She thought a moment, then began to change the image of the ship, shrinking it down behind her. At least she still had that much control.

Hurry!
urged the iffling.

Jael frowned and gave another experimental push. The ship felt heavier—probably an illusion caused by its greater compactness. She refined the image: the ship became a backpack, strapped to her shoulders and waist. She would try to walk . . . and carry it. Taking a deep breath, mindful of the iffling's impatience, she took a tottering step forward. She felt traction on the rocks under her feet, felt the movement of the ship's mass behind her. She stepped carefully, descending to a more level stretch of rock—not quite a path, perhaps, but passable.

Ahead of her the iffling floated, bobbing and glimmering, beckoning.

* * *

The iffling-child struggled to revive itself. Whatever had hurled the ship into this place had nearly destroyed the iffling in the process. But now all seemed quiet. This
was
the realm of the dragons, the iffling felt, though it could not have said how it knew. It had, after all, been born into life in the realm of the humans. And yet . . . there was something here that touched its mind and said:
Home
is
nearby.

But where, exactly? The iffling was having trouble perceiving space clearly, as though there were splintered layers of underrealm obscuring its vision. It sensed the human rigger, still alive, but the iffling was separated from her by one of the layers of brokenness. The other, nonhuman rigger was present and alive, too, and somewhat closer to the iffling; but that one had not yet returned to full consciousness. The ship, nevertheless, was moving—under Jael's shaky control. And Jael appeared to be following someone . . . someone whom she took to be an iffling.

She was following the enemy, the false-iffling.

You
must
not
,
you are being
misled!
the iffling cried out, but it knew that its words had not carried far enough to be heard. It was certain that the false-iffling was leading Jael astray, taking her in a direction that was intended to thwart her true purpose. What exactly the enemy was up to, the iffling couldn't tell. But it was not taking her to Windrush, that was clear.

The iffling called out again, but there was no indication that it was heard, much less understood.

If it couldn't reach Jael, could it do something about the enemy, the falsifier of truth? Probably not. The iffling was too weak to fight—and now it glimpsed more distant pulses of light outside the ship. More false-ifflings, joining the other? If so, the true-iffling would have to be even more careful. But the false-one seemed unconcerned about fighting, or about the true-iffling at all. It seemed concerned only that Jael follow it.

Follow it in its lies.

There seemed little the iffling could do. It wondered if there were others of its own kind here, others who could help. Perhaps so—but it dared not leave Jael to look for them. That left the other rigger, the one called Ar. Perhaps it could make contact with that one.
Rigger
,
awaken!
it called softly, reaching out.
Rigger
Ar
,
you are needed!

There was a stirring in the rigger's mind. The iffling felt a spark of hope.
Rigger
Ar
,
you
must
awaken!
You
must
speak with Jael!

There was a fluttering of wakening thoughts.
What? Who's there? Jael?

The iffling's hope brightened a little.
Jael
cannot
hear you. You must
listen
,
rigger!
Listen
carefully . . . !

* * *

Ar had awakened to a nightmare. He was alone—where? He felt no physical sensations. His mind was awash with images of serpents and fire-beings and moving mountains—and the distant, frantic squawking of a bird—and now a voice calling in a whisper out of the darkness of the void. He was enclosed by darkness, and by a web . . .

You must listen, rigger!

He was abruptly conscious, the image of the web and the darkness gone. A voice was calling to him. Where was he? He was encased in a kind of layered translucency, the remnants of the rigger-net, separated by prismatic fracture zones, which seemed to enclose him like a cocoon. He could not see very far, or move at all. Off to his right, through the translucent barrier, he saw a shadow moving. He thought it might be Jael—but it looked like a figure walking. That made no sense. He called out to Jael, but there was no answer.

There was that squawking again. Ed? Ar looked in all directions, but couldn't see the parrot.

Rigger
,
there is danger! You must help me speak with Jael!

The voice again.
I
cannot speak to her,
Ar whispered back, his words full of a deep sadness that he had not even been conscious of until now.
I
cannot reach her. I do not know why.

The voice answered,
It
seems
there has been a . . . splintering . . . around you.

Splintering? Like cracking ice? Once, years ago, they had intentionally caused such an effect
outside
the net, breaking through an icelike boundary layer in the Flux. But now the net itself seemed to be splintered. This was an alarming realization. Their once-gleaming, newly tuned rigger-net was in ruins.

Worse, he discovered, he could not leave the net to analyze and correct the problem. His presence and Jael's, and perhaps even Ed's, were blocking the way out from each other, like shards of broken glass choking a drain. And yet . . . the ship was in motion. He could see a snowy landscape outside, moving past with painful slowness. He could tell that someone, no doubt Jael, was guiding the movement. But where was she going? Were they in the dragon realm?

She is being led astray,
whispered the voice.

Ar blinked. He was still in something of a state of shock, and it had only just hit him that he seemed to be speaking to a ghost.
Who are you?
he demanded.

Iffling,
he heard, and in the same instant he caught sight of a tiny flame through one of the spidery fracture patterns that enclosed him. The bit of fire flickered, as though in weariness. He wondered if it was trapped, too.

Jael?
he asked.

Alive
 . . .
but I cannot reach her.

Ar nodded.
Are
you trying
 . . .
to
get
us
to
Windrush?
He remembered that Jael had spoken of other voices, confusing and conflicting voices.

Windrush, yes.

Then who is leading her now?

A false-one. False-iffling.
The creature flared for a moment.
You must reach her! Warn her!

False-iffling? Ar let out a weary breath and set about to see if there was some way he could reach Jael. The damage to the net was profound, and it would take a great deal of work, and probably luck, to repair. He hoped it was possible; he hoped he could do it before it was too late.

Past another fracture-layer in the shattered prism, he glimpsed a shadow of a bird fluttering its wings. He heard again a distant crying and screeing. Perhaps he could make a connection that way, and work onward to Jael.
Ed!
he called.
Ed
,
if you can hear me—fly this way!

He couldn't tell whether the parrot heard him or not. But the damage in that direction seemed less intractable. He began tugging at nearby folds of the net, attempting the impossible task of fusing the shreds back together again.

* * *

The wind swept a haze of snow across the landscape, like blinding sand. Jael had been picking her way along a winding, descending trail. She paused on a level patch to heft the ship on her shoulders. It felt extremely odd to be carrying the ship like this. She still had no idea where in the realm they were, or where they were going. She tried to scan the landscape; but the obscuration of the snow shifted, moment to moment, giving her only fleeting glimpses of the wider land. She really had no choice but to follow her guide and hope that, sooner or later, the view would clear.

She felt Ed moving about, trying to contact Ar. She felt sure that the Clendornan was here, that it was just a technical problem keeping them apart. What was
that
? An echo of Ar's voice? Perhaps . . . but now it was gone again.

The iffling reappeared through the snow, glowing and pulsing urgently.
Follow,
it whispered.
Follow quickly. We must hurry.

She sighed and followed. The snow parted to reveal the ground at her feet, then closed again, leaving her to walk in blindness.

* * *

Stay
back!
Jarvorus commanded.
Do not interfere with the ship!

The sprite-warrior flickered and moved away from the shimmering form of the human ship's manifestation. The rigger herself was visible at its prow as a complex interplay of light and shadow. Deeper within the ship, half concealed by veils of light, were the large nonhuman rigger and the small one, and the iffling. Something had happened to the weave of space, causing it to entrap them in its tangled shreds. A fold of space seemed to have emerged from the underrealm, intruding itself into the curious structure of their net, keeping them apart. Jarvorus had not planned such a thing—it was an unexpected result of their violent entry into this realm—but he found it useful.

Jarvorus had decidedly strange feelings as he led this procession. Several times now, he had had to warn his helpers away from the ship. He did not want the human, or any of the others, injured. The sprite-warriors were hastily altered cave sprites who had little of Jarvorus' knowledge and wits. It was good that they followed his command; he could imagine the havoc that they might wreak otherwise. But he was determined to conduct his charges safely.

He ducked close to the ship.
Follow!
he urged the human. He sensed her hesitation as she tried to renew contact with her fellows.
Hurry!