Dragon Rigger (46 page)

You KNOW him? You know Kan-Kon? You mean, he made it out
ALIVE?
Hodakai made a series of little squeaking sounds.
But Rent said he was dead! Rent said the dragons killed him! How can this—oh my God—!

The dragons let
Kan-Kon
go!
Jael cried.
But HE thought they killed
you!

But then—why did Rent say—?
Hodakai seemed utterly beside himself, bewildered and overjoyed.
How do YOU know him? Is he coming to get me—?

He thinks you're
dead!
Don't you understand? He told us the whole story! He had no idea you'd survived!
Jael hesitated, unsure what to make of Hodakai's weeping sounds.
I'm sorry. I'm sure he would have come, if he'd known. He . . . he doesn't rig anymore. But he got us a ship to come here.

But where—?
Hodakai gasped.
How—?

Jael caught her breath.
He . . . runs a shipping company. On Cargeeling.

Cargeeling!
Hodakai wept.
That's my home! That's where I came from! Oh gods—that's where I wanted to be buried!

Jael reeled, remembering what Kan-Kon had said, that Hoddy's ashes were, in fact, buried on Cargeeling. But she couldn't bring herself to say that.

Hodakai seemed lost in his own thoughts now, overcome by bitter tears. His words were muffled, but he was crying,
Rent! You lied to me! You lied, you miserable son-of-a-bitch . . . !

As she listened to Hodakai weeping, she found herself wondering if any of this really mattered now, anyway. And where had Jarvorus gone?

Hodakai suddenly began laughing to himself.
And I believed him! Oh, you fool, Hoddy—you damn fool!

Jael broke in. She needed this man's help. She had no one else to turn to.
Hodakai! Hoddy—please!

The spirit slowly quieted to a mournful silence.

Hodakai—I came to help a friend,
she said urgently. A
friend who needs me—who helped me—whose father helped me!

The dragon? You mean Windrush?

Yes
,
Windrush.

I've never heard of a dragon helping anyone . . .

They let Kan-Kon go, when the iffling asked them to. I'm sorry they didn't let you go, too. Please
—
will you help me? As a friend of Kan-Kon's?

Kan-Kon,
Hodakai whispered.

Jael pressed desperately.
As a fellow . . . human? You remember, don't you, what it was like to be—?

I remember, damn you! Ask the
DRAGONS
about it!
Hodakai hissed.

Jael was stunned by Hodakai's outburst. But of course, he had good reason.
Look, I don't know exactly what—some dragons have done to you, or why,
she stammered.
But I'll bet they were under the . . . Enemy. Tar-skel.

Hodakai shook.
That's what Windrush said . . .Believe him! Believe ME!
she begged.
There are dragons here you can trust, and Windrush is one of them!

Hodakai snorted, but with a certain hesitancy.

Jael realized that there was probably no way to convince him, except by telling him her whole story, as she had told it to Kan-Kon. It would take precious time. But what else could she do? What could she accomplish as a prisoner here? If she had any hope at all, it was to persuade Hodakai to be on her side.
Shall I tell you why?
she whispered.
Will you give me a chance to make you believe?

Yes!
she heard, a distant whisper. Was that Ar?

The shadow-flame gave a quivering shrug.

Jael stared at him.
I'll take that as a yes. I'll tell, and you decide.

Tell,
sighed Hodakai.

All right. Here it is, then. Jael drew a breath. I don't know about you, but when I wandered into the
mountain realm, I didn't actually expect to find dragons.

Neither did I!
Hodakai whimpered.

Jael nodded.
Well, I was lucky. The dragon I met was one named Highwing.
She closed her eyes, feeling a rush of sorrow, and adrenaline, as she remembered.
And that,
she murmured,
was when I learned, not just that dragons are real, but that there are dragons who are to be trusted . . . who are friends . . . whom it's worth risking your life for
. . . .

* * *

It took a long time to tell the whole story: Highwing's offer of friendship, over her own objections, and his help in casting out her own inner demons; her horror in returning to the realm and finding him condemned to death for befriending her; and Windrush's and the ifflings' cooperation in helping her to save him. By the time she reached the end of her story—her terrifying rescue of Highwing from a fiery death in normal-space, and his subsequent death here in this realm, she was completely drained by the storm of longing and joy and grief that the memories brought back to her.

She was barely aware of her listener, his shadowy head cocked toward her. When he spoke, his voice was slow and troubled.
Is
all this true?
he asked plaintively, but somehow with a clearer voice than she had heard before.

She nodded. Her own voice was scarcely audible, even to her.
Will you help me?

I don't really know if I can,
he said slowly. He hesitated, as though drawing a breath.
But if I can . . . I guess I will.

For Kan-Kon?
she whispered.

He sounded as if he were going to cry.
For . . . Kan-Kon, yes. And for . . . you . . . and your friends.

Ar could find no way to break through the barrier to Jael. Even before that demonic imposter of an iffling had enveloped her in a cocoon of energy, he'd been able to manage only glimpses of her presence in the net. And then he'd been dragged along, helpless to intervene, as she and the false-iffling had carried them to this cavern, apparently a prison for captured rigger-spirits. No one had paid much attention to him, or to Ed—and probably for good reason. They seemed unable to take any action whatever to help Jael. He had no idea what had become of the true-iffling.

Now he could only gaze in horror at his shipmate, encased in a block of ice. Ironically, he could see her more clearly now, though the barrier between them was stronger than ever. If only he could at least take some action to move the
ship.
But in the fragmented net, it seemed that Jael effectively had ship-control; and she was now completely immobilized, apparently unable even to see him. Could she
hear
him, though? Ar had tried to get a shout through—to alert her to what this being, Hodakai, was saying—that he was the former shipmate of Kan-Kon. What a terrible irony: that they had found a potential friend here, and he was a prisoner too!

Never in his life had Ar felt so frustrated. He kept pushing and tugging at his end of the net, trying to jostle the ship loose, trying to alter the image. But the Flux resisted his every effort; the trap was too strong.

The only hope he could find—and he was determined to find hope, no matter what—was in the chance that this Hodakai could help them, perhaps by calling Windrush or other dragons. It would require winning Hodakai to their side, and Hodakai clearly disliked the dragons a great deal. Ar could well empathize—he remembered the terror of the Tar-skel dragons—but Hodakai needed to be shown that not all dragons were like that.

Shall I tell you?
Jael was asking.

Yes!
Ar cried frantically. Whether Jael heard or not, he couldn't tell, but in any event, she began to tell her story.

As he listened, it seemed to Ar that Hodakai was coming around. But that still left the question: What could be done from here? Was there anything that he hadn't yet thought of, Ar wondered, anything that he and Ed could do? It seemed hopeless; and yet he remembered a time, years ago, en route to Vela Oasis, when he and Jael had been off course, kept from their proper heading by a barrier of ice; and it was Ed who had found the solution, Ed who had broken through.
Ed!
he whispered, trying to reach the parrot without interrupting the rapport that was growing between Jael and Hodakai.
Ed!

Urrrrrawk!
muttered the parrot, from another fragment of the net. He looked crumpled and discouraged.

Ed—do you have any ideas? Any at all?

The parrot rustled listlessly, with a flutter of scarlet and green. Ar imagined he could hear the bird's thoughts grinding like a spinning wheel, trying to generate hope. But in this case, Ed seemed to have no answer, and no hope.

* * *

Jarvorus listened, entranced by Jael's story.

. . . I didn't think we could hold Highwing in the air, he was so weak from almost falling into that sun—but Windrush took the weight and slowed him—and gave him a chance to fly one last time, and speak to us before he died. And when he died, he seemed to be rejoicing, Hodakai! He was back in his own realm, among his own people! He turned to blazing glass in the sun, and vanished, and his voice was like a chime, laughter on the air. . . .

Jarvorus wept at the end, moved by the unexpected beauty of her tale, and stunned by the emotion it stirred in him. He'd not intended to listen; in fact, he'd been on the verge of leaving to report to his master. But he'd been drawn back by her words, by the power of her memory. He'd found himself touching her thoughts again, not to control them but to marvel at her daring, risking her life to save her friend. Jarvorus
felt
her joy in the rescue, and the grief that followed as her friend passed from the realm.

Jarvorus was astonished and overwhelmed by this notion of friendship, by the willingness to raise friendship over self. He knew, even as he reacted to it, that he should not be moved by this, that it had nothing to do with his mission; and yet, he found its power irresistible. He felt drawn to her story and her feelings as a cavern sprite to an upwelling of warm, nourishing heat from the underrealm. It was irrational; it was foolish; it contradicted the training of his master. And Jael, he reminded himself, was his prisoner. But what, in his training by Rent, had prepared him for emotions of such power?

He had told himself that by listening to her story, he could more clearly identify and excise that troubling knot of
sympathy
that had grown in him for her. But instead, he found himself saddened and moved, and
liking
Jael, and even her friends. There were qualities about them that he was discovering he admired: compassion; mercy. Had he known those qualities before, in another time? He saw a few sprites floating about this Cavern of Spirits, and he felt a trembling knowledge that he had once been one of them . . .

A hazy memory was surfacing from the dimly recollected past . . . of a fellow cavern sprite dying, when it put itself in the path of an underrealm snare, one of Master Rent's weavings, which was about to engulf several young sprites. At the time, Jarvorus hadn't thought much about it; if anything, he'd thought it a foolish thing to do. Now, though, he wondered.

He started back from the memory, shaken a little. He thought perhaps he liked those sprites more than he liked the creatures made from them, the aggressive warrior-spirits hovering around under his own command. He even felt a grudging respect for the iffling, which in spite of everything, still remained hunkered in the shards of the rigger-net, trying to encourage Jael. It was a pity that they had to be adversaries. Rightly or wrongly, he felt a little ashamed for having caught Jael in this trap . . . even if his cause had been the right one.

It didn't matter, of course. Nothing could change what he had done—or had yet to do. He'd bound and sealed the One, using the powers that Rent had bestowed upon him. His presence and attention were no longer needed to hold her; in fact, he couldn't free her now even if he wanted to. In a while, her purpose would be fulfilled. That was a destiny that couldn't be changed.

But perhaps her understanding of it could be. Perhaps he could give her that much—as a gift—an understanding of what was to come. An understanding of the necessity, and the beauty.

He moved closer, to speak with her again. He noted the two riggers that shared her net, and satisfied himself that they were well secured by the spell-weaving and could cause no difficulties. Then he slipped back into the rigger's thoughts.

(Jael,)
he whispered,
(I perceive that you are troubled. But do you not understand your part in the struggle? If you could escape and join with the dragons, you could do no good! You could only endanger the greatest work of power in all the universe!)

(What . . . ?)
She sounded fatigued, and confused.

Jarvorus spoke softly, aware of the Hodakai spirit watching Jael, and not wanting him to hear. He perceived that the grip of his persuasion spell on Hodakai had loosened, and he didn't want to involve Hodakai in this. He whispered to Jael,
(Don't you know what is being made here? You are a part of it!)

She seemed to be returning to alertness.
(What . . . thing . . . being made?)

The warrior-spirit hesitated. He wanted to share with her the vision he had been given by his master, but he wasn't sure how to do it.
(Look,)
he said, at last.
(I will try to show you.)
And he did something he had never tried before: he touched the net that surrounded her and wove an image there for her to see.

Jael gasped in surprise.

He slowly drew it into focus: a great web stretching across the sky, enveloping mountain and sky and space.
(You saw this at the Pool of Visions, but there was no time then to explain it. This is the work of my masters. It is the greatest work of power since the beginning of creation! It will bring the realms together, all of the realms. And this is how it will grow.)
He drew the web reaching deep into the darkness of the sky, penetrating the very stuff that formed the foundations of the sky, of other realms, of other universes. He showed it flashing with deep, violent power, reaching out to embrace Jael's own universe with its strength and its beauty.