Dragon Rider (27 page)

“Oh.” Sorrel shrugged her shoulders. “Call it what you like, as long as Lola can get us out of here.” She looked up at the sky. “We ought to set off as soon as possible, and we should keep the moon-dew for emergencies. So we’ll fly at moonrise, right?”

Firedrake nodded. “Do you know Rosa Graytail?” he asked Lola. “She’d be your aunt.”

“Of course I know her.” Lola hopped off her uncle’s map so that Ben could fold it up again. “Met her once at a family party. First time I ever heard of dragons.”

“And what about here?” asked Ben, leaning forward in suspense. “Have you seen any dragons in these mountains?”

“Here?” Lola Graytail shook her head. “Not so much as the tip of a dragon’s tail. Though I’ve flown all over these
mountains, believe you me. I know why you ask. Gilbert told me. You’re looking for the Rim of Heaven. I can only say I’ve never seen any such place. No end of white peaks, of course. But no dragons, no sign of them at all.”

“Tha-that must be wrong!” Ben stammered. “I saw the valley. And a dragon in a huge cave.”

Lola Graytail looked at him incredulously. “Saw it! Where?” she asked. “In your djinn’s eye? No, take my word for it, there are no dragons here. Monasteries, shaggy cattle, a few human beings, that’s it. Nothing else at all.”

“There was a misty valley enclosed by a rim of white peaks and a wonderful cave!” said Ben.

But Lola only shook her head again. “There are hundreds of valleys here and so many white peaks you’d go crazy trying to count them. But dragons, no. Sorry. I’ll be telling Uncle Gilbert so, too. The Rim of Heaven doesn’t exist, and there’s no hidden valley of the dragons. It’s nothing but a pretty fairy tale.”

38. The Monastery

 

 

I
t was just about midnight when Firedrake reached the river Indus again. Its waters glittered in the starlight. The river valley here was wide and fertile, and even in the dark Ben could make out fields and huts. High above them stood the monastery, clinging to the steep slope of a mountain on the other side of the river. In the light of the waning moon, its pale walls shone like white paper.

“That’s it!” whispered Ben. “That’s what it looked like. Exactly like that.”

Lola Graytail’s plane was humming along beside him. The rat opened the cockpit and leaned out.

“Hey!” she shouted over the noise of the propeller. “Is that the place?”

Ben nodded.

Satisfied, Lola closed the cockpit and flew on ahead. Her plane made much better speed than the others had expected, but for the dragon, this was the easiest flight of the whole journey. He soared silently over the wide valley,
left the river behind, and rose toward the high monastery walls.

There were several buildings, both large and small, clustered together on the cliff. Ben saw tall, windowless stone turrets rising upward, dark and narrow windows, shallow roofs, high walls, and pathways winding like ribbons of rock down the mountainside.

“Where should I land?” Firedrake called to the rat.

“In the courtyard in front of the main building,” Lola called back. “You’ll have nothing to fear from these people. Anyway, they’ll all be asleep at this time of night. I’ll go first.”

With a loud humming noise, the little plane swooped down.

“Look, look!” cried Sorrel as Firedrake circled above the courtyard in front of the largest building. “There’s the professor!”

The dragon descended through the night air. As they landed, a tall figure rose from the steps leading up to the main monastery building and strode toward Firedrake.

“My word, have I been worried!” cried Professor Greenbloom. “Where’ve you been all this time?” His voice echoed around the ancient walls, but still nothing stirred apart from a few mice scurrying over the stones.

“We were delayed — had to save our little human here from ending up inside a giant bird,” Sorrel told him as she clambered off Firedrake’s back with her backpack.

“What?” The professor looked up at Ben in alarm.

“It wasn’t so bad,” said Ben, sliding down the dragon’s tail.

“Not so bad?” cried the professor when he and Ben were face-to-face. “Good heavens, you’re scratched all over.”

“Scratched but not eaten alive,” Sorrel pointed out. “That’s something, right?”

“Well, yes, if you look at it that way.” Barnabas Greenbloom took a step backward and almost stepped on the rat’s plane.

“Hey, look out!” squeaked Lola shrilly. “Watch where you’re stepping, can’t you, you great clumsy lump.”

The startled professor turned around. Lola Graytail clambered out of her cockpit and jumped down in front of him, landing heavily. “Hello, Professor. I’ve heard a lot about you!” she said.

“You have? I hope it was all good.” Professor Greenbloom went down on one knee and shook the rat’s paw gently. “And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” he asked.

Feeling flattered, Lola giggled. “Graytail,” she replied. “Lola Graytail, pilot, cartographer, and on this occasion, foreign tour guide.”

“We flew slightly off course,” explained Sorrel, joining the two of them. “How was your own journey, Professor?”

“Oh, peaceful enough.” Barnabas Greenbloom stood up with a sigh. “But Guinevere says —” He paused, scratching his head and looking up at the dark windows of the monastery. “Although to be honest I don’t know if I ought to tell you this —”

“Guinevere says what?” asked Ben. Twigleg leaned against his cheek, yawning.

“Guinevere says,” continued the professor, clearing his throat, “well, she claims she saw Nettlebrand.”

“Where?” cried Sorrel.

The professor’s remark gave Twigleg such a shock that he stopped yawning; and Firedrake and Ben exchanged anxious glances.

“What’s up?” Lola threaded her way through all the long legs around her and looked questioningly from one to the other of the companions.

“There’s someone after us,” growled Sorrel. “We thought we were rid of him, but we could have been wrong.”

“Why don’t I make a little reconnaissance flight?” asked Lola helpfully. “Just tell me what the person who’s after you looks like and roughly where he might be, and I’ll be off in a jiffy.”

“Would you really scout around for us?” asked Firedrake.

“Yes, of course.” The rat passed a paw over her ears. “Glad to. Makes a nice change from measuring stupid mountains and boring old valleys for Uncle Gilbert. Right, what am I looking for? A brownie, human, dragon, or maybe something like the little homunculpus thingummy there?”

Firedrake shook his head. “It’s a dragon,” he said, “but a much bigger dragon than me. With golden scales.”

“And he has a mountain dwarf with him,” added Barnabas Greenbloom. “A dwarf wearing an oversized hat. My daughter thinks she saw them both in the river down near the large suspension bridge where a landslide has fallen on the road.”

“I know it,” said Lola Graytail casually. “I’ll go take a look around.”

Quick as lightning, the fat rat was back in her plane. The engine purred, and the little aircraft shot up into the starlit sky. Soon it had disappeared even from Sorrel’s keen sight.

“That rat moves fast,” said the professor admiringly. “It’s a load off my mind to have her scouting for us. How did you meet her?”

“Oh, rats get everywhere,” replied Sorrel, looking around her. “You just have to wait around and a rat is sure to cross your path.”

“She’s the niece of Gilbert Graytail, who sold us the map,” Ben explained. “Her uncle sent her to survey some of
the mountain regions that are still blank on his map.” He looked at the professor. “Lola says there’s no such place as the Rim of Heaven.”

Barnabas Greenbloom returned Ben’s gaze thoughtfully. “Does she? Well, in your place I’d put my faith in what the djinn showed you. Let’s try to decipher his directions. Come on!” Putting an arm around Ben’s shoulders, he led him toward the great flight of steps leading up to the main monastery building. “I want to introduce you to someone. I’ve told him all about your quest, and he’s been expecting you for some time.”

Firedrake and Sorrel followed the two of them up the long flight of steps.

“This is the Dhu-Khang,” explained Barnabas Greenbloom when they reached the heavy front door. It was painted with strange figures, and the handle was skillfully made of wrought iron. “It’s the monks’ prayer and assembly hall, although it’s not very much like our churches at home. There’s a lot of laughter here — it’s a cheerful place.”

Then he pushed open the heavy door.

The hall they entered was so high that even Firedrake could stand upright in it. Although it was dark, countless lamps burned in the great room, their flames flickering. Tall columns supported the ceiling. The walls were painted, and
large pictures hung among shelves full of ancient books. The pictures were so strange and brightly colored that Ben would have liked to stop and study each of them, but the professor led them on. Rows of low seats stood among the columns, and a small man with short gray hair was waiting for them in the front row. He wore a bright red robe, and he smiled as the professor and Ben approached him.

Firedrake followed, more hesitantly, for this was only the second time in his life that he had ever been inside a building made by humans. The light of all the little lamps made his scales shimmer. His claws scraped on the floor, and his tail dragged after him with a soft rustling sound. Sorrel kept close to Firedrake, her paws on his warm scales while her ears twitched nervously and her eyes flicked from column to column.

“Trees,” she whispered to Firedrake. “Look, they grow stone trees here.”

They stopped in front of the monk, who bowed to them.

“May I introduce the venerable lama of this monastery?” said Barnabas Greenbloom. “He’s the highest-ranking monk here.”

The lama spoke in a soft voice.

“Welcome to the monastery of the moonstones,” Twigleg translated for Ben. “We are very glad to see you. According to our beliefs, the arrival of a dragon announces a
great and happy event. And we are equally glad to see a dragon rider under our roof again after so long a time.”

Surprised, Ben looked from the monk to the professor.

Barnabas Greenbloom nodded. “Yes, that’s what he said. The dragon rider whose tomb Zubeida showed us visited this place. Indeed, he paid it several visits, if I understood my friend the lama correctly. They even have a picture of him hanging over there.”

Ben turned and went over to the niche in the wall indicated by the professor. A large pictorial scroll hanging between two bookshelves showed a dragon in flight with a boy riding it. There was another small figure sitting behind the boy.

“Sorrel!” said Ben, excitedly beckoning for the brownie girl to join him. “Don’t you think that looks almost like you?”

Firedrake came closer, too, and put his head over Ben’s shoulder curiously. “He’s right, Sorrel,” said the dragon in surprise. “That figure does look like you.”

“Ah, well,” said Sorrel, shrugging her shoulders, although she couldn’t suppress a proud smile, “dragons have always had a special liking for brownies. Everyone knows that.”

“I can see one difference, though,” whispered Twigleg from his perch on Ben’s shoulder. “The brownie in the picture has four arms.”

“Four arms?” Sorrel took a closer look. “So it does,” she murmured. “But I don’t think that means much. Take a look at the rest of the pictures — almost everyone in them has any number of arms.”

“You’re right, they do,” said Ben, looking around. Many of the pictures on the walls did indeed show figures with several arms each. “What do you think that means?”

“Come look at this!” cried the professor. “The dragon rider left something here long ago.”

The lama led them to a small wooden shrine standing in a niche beside the altar of the prayer hall.

“These,” Twigleg translated again, “are the sacred moonstones given to the monastery by the dragon rider. They bring health and happiness and keep evil spirits away from this valley.”

The stones were white as milk and not much bigger than Ben’s fist. They glowed as if moonlight were caught inside them. “Break the moonlight!” whispered Ben, looking at Firedrake. “Remember? Do you think the djinn meant for us to break one of these stones?”

The dragon thoughtfully nodded his head. Barnabas Greenbloom translated what Ben had said to the lama. The monk smiled and replied, looking steadily at the boy.

“He says,” Twigleg whispered in Ben’s ear, “that after the
morning meal he will give the dragon rider back his property, and he can do with it what he came here to do.”

“Does that mean he’s going to give me one of the sacred stones?” Ben looked first at Firedrake, then at the lama.

The monk nodded.

“Yes, I think you’ve got the general idea,” said Barnabas Greenbloom.

Ben made a shy bow to the monk. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you. But don’t you think the luck may be lost if I break one of these moonstones?”

The professor translated Ben’s question to the lama, who laughed out loud and took Ben’s hand.

“Dragon rider,” Twigleg translated the lama’s answer, “no stone can bring as much luck as the visit of a dragon. But you must strike hard to shatter the moonstone, for those you wish to conjure up like to sleep soundly and long. After breakfast, I will show you the stone dragon’s head.”

Ben looked at the monk in surprise. “Did you tell him all that?” he asked the professor quietly. “What the djinn said, I mean?”

“I didn’t have to,” Barnabas Greenbloom whispered. “He already knew. You seem to have the knack of fulfilling prophecies, my boy. You’re right in the middle of an ancient legend.”

“Amazing,” murmured Ben, looking around once more at the shrine containing the moonstones. Then he and the others followed the lama outside. The sun was rising in a red glow above the snow-covered peaks, and the courtyards of the monastery buildings were now swarming with monks. To his surprise, Ben saw that some of them were even younger than he was.

“Look, they have child monks here!” he whispered to Barnabas Greenbloom.

The professor nodded. “Yes, of course. These people believe that we all live many lives on this planet. So any one of these children could really be older than the oldest grown-up monk. Intriguing idea, don’t you think?”

Ben nodded, feeling confused.

Suddenly the peaceful activity in the monastery courtyard was interrupted. Firedrake had put his long neck out of the door of the Dhu-Khang. Most of the monks were transfixed by the sight. Raising his hands, the lama spoke a few words.

“He says,” Twigleg whispered to Ben, “that luck will fall like moonlit snow from Firedrake’s scales, and you and Sorrel are dragon riders who need their help.”

Ben nodded and looked down at all the faces gazing up at the dragon in amazement but without fear.

“Ben,” whispered Barnabas Greenbloom, “breakfast will be
tsampa,
roasted barley flour, and hot tea with butter. It’s very healthy and good for you at these altitudes, but you may not like it much when you first taste it. Shall I make your excuses and say you’ll keep Guinevere company instead? I’m sure she can rustle up something you’d prefer to eat.”