Dragon Rigger (50 page)

"Windrush! Where are we going?" shouted SearSky, from his left.

He didn't answer. Slowing his descent, he began a sweeping turn, looking for anything solid. The others followed, but the formation was now stretching out above him in a ragged spiral shape. It was impossible to maintain tight grouping in the crowded space between the clouds. Battle cries were giving way to rumbles of alarm, and the beating of wings, as fear and uncertainty gripped the dragons.

Windrush glanced around for Farsight and the other leaders. SearSky was veering away from the formation and flying perilously close to the walls of the shaft, blowing long tongues of flame into the cloud. His flames seemed at first to pass through without effect. Then there was a flicker of light coming back—and a high, keening cry.

The sweep of his turn had taken Windrush away from the spot, and he had to crane his neck to look back at what SearSky had discovered. But he needn't have turned. That first piercing cry was echoed—once, a dozen, a hundred times—until the very walls of cloud shrieked inward upon the dragons. Windrush felt a sudden, wrenching change in the air, a shudder of sorcery passing through the sky, and an instant later, it seemed that the whole world had turned into a maze of broken lenses, making it impossible to see clearly.

But above and below and all around, Windrush heard the screams of drahls and enemy dragons closing for battle.

* * *

The iffling felt the presence of the others before it saw them. It had nearly abandoned hope, but had continued streaking on through the silence in desperate determination to find someone who could help. The underrealm here was a great rarefied hollowness of distant mists and light, and strange tricks of perception that made the iffling wonder if it had left the realm of iffling and dragon altogether. Could it even find its way back to Jael now, if it tried? It didn't dare look to see.

And then there came that feeling again across the emptiness, drawing it on with a sudden new hope. There
was
someone, yes—and now the iffling began to sense a flickering light—no, a
series
of lights, and beyond the flickers, nearly obscured by mists, the dim glow of a much greater, but distant fire. The iffling sped recklessly, heedlessly, joyfully toward the lights and toward the source of the feeling. What it felt was the unmistakable pull of familiarity, of
family.
It shouted and pleaded to the emptiness, and it heard faintly the answering cry:

—
Our child
—

—
returned at last!
—

—
but the need grows!
—

—
do not stop
—

—
we long to see you, to speak
—

—
but do not stop!
—

—
fly onward
—

—
to one reaching out from the mountain
—

—
one reaching toward you
—

The iffling was bewildered by the cries, but propelled by their urgency. The voices sounded so tired . . . and yet they were the voices of its own kind, perhaps the very ones who had given it life. As it drew closer to the flames, it perceived that they were weak indeed, like tiny candles flickering in a wind. The iffling called out to them:—
I have come home! I need help, and quickly!
—

The iffling wanted desperately to fly to them, but a force like a wind seemed to deflect it away, and it heard a single voice commanding:—
Fly onward!
—

So great was its desire to unite with its parents that instinctively it fought the change in direction; but the memory of Jael, waiting to die, was enough to send it onward in obedience. As it passed the flickering ones, the iffling sensed a great longing carried on the wind; and it realized that those tiny flames were joined to the distant fire ahead, or should have been.

They wanted to be joined to it again. Instead of being able to give their child the help it needed, they were saying to it: Your work is not yet done.

The iffling sped onward.

It seemed to take forever . . . but in time the iffling felt something new reaching out to it, something that was unlike any presence it had ever felt before. And yet, it seemed to resonate within the iffling, as though it were a kind of presence that it had long been prepared to meet. For an instant, it feared: Was it the Enemy?

The presence coiled around the iffling like a tiny whirlwind, and touched the iffling's thoughts with a remarkable gentleness and what seemed fear and astonishment. And the iffling heard a voice in its thoughts that it somehow recognized as dragon.

My name is FullSky,
the dragon whispered urgently.
Can you help me?

* * *

For the dragon, reaching with dwindling strength toward the region where he
hoped
Jael might be, the appearance of the iffling-child was a breathtaking surprise. He had felt some force drawing him that way, but it wasn't until he touched the tiny, frightened being that he recognized it for what it was.

The iffling was even more surprised than he was, but the need in its thoughts was so clear that there was no time to lose. FullSky opened his thoughts to it, crying out for news of Jael. The iffling shared its knowledge in a bewildering cascade, and then he knew with terrifying certainty what the task was for which he had been guarding his last strength.

He already felt unutterably weary. His kuutekka was stretched out through the underrealm, from his tortured body to the Dream Mountain, and then out to this strange plane where the iffling-child wandered. It seemed impossible for him to accomplish what had been given to him to do. But he already felt the realm groaning with battle in the Dark Vale, and he heard, as though across a vast sea, the cries of the outnumbered and terrified dragons; and he knew that he had no choice at all.

Help me, draconae, if you have any strength to lend! he cried silently back along the thread, not imagining that anyone might hear. And he cried aloud to the iffling:
Take me to her! Show me the way to Jael!

Facing Jarvorus the animal, Jael was almost afraid to look into his thoughts. Afraid that he might be telling the truth. His words were terrifying, so terrifying she could hardly think straight. And yet . . . she had been willing to die once before, for Highwing. Why not now—for Windrush, for the realm?

In truth, death no longer seemed as horrifying a prospect as it once might have. She felt no other hope. She was imprisoned, paralyzed, and unable to help herself or her friends. Could death be any worse?

She felt the creature's thoughts touching hers, and she shrank from it—but she could no more avoid the touch now than before. There was a difference this time, though. Jarvorus was allowing her to see beneath the rippling surface, to the hidden labyrinth of thoughts deeper within. Jarvorus was allowing her to see him as he really was.

It was an astounding revelation. She was peering into the heart of a warrior-spirit, an iffling-imitator who had embarked upon a mission of blind obedience. It owed its allegiance to the one who had created it, or claimed to have—who had transformed it from a sprite and instilled in it intelligence and a warrior's instinct, through the sorcery of Tar-skel. But the sorcery had been administered by the one called Rent. Jael was horrified to realize how completely Rent, a former rigger, had succumbed to the seductive power of the Nail.

Jael saw Jarvorus' flickering memories of his past life as a simple sprite, and his capture and transformation in Rent's forge of sorcery. She saw him awakening in the static realm, where he had been sent to subvert the ifflings' plan to bring the One back to the realm. She saw battle with the iffling-children, and shuddered as she saw them extinguished, all but one. She saw Jarvorus taking control in the dragon realm—and she felt a fresh wave of hopelessness, and anger, as she relived the springing of the trap.

And then . . . she saw Jarvorus changing, against his own will. He began both to understand and to empathize with his adversaries. She felt his confusion as he listened—first casually, then more closely—to
her
story, told in quiet desperation to Hodakai. Jarvorus found himself unexpectedly moved by her words and her memories—moved by her friendship with a dragon, a friendship that would lead her to risk her life for him. And Jael glimpsed, with astonishment, Jarvorus' impulsive lie to his master, and his decision to set her free.

She felt his tension, his urgency. Jarvorus feared that he would not have the courage to take Jael's life, even if she offered it; he feared that Rent would come to take her before he could set her free. Jael's heart tightened, as she glimpsed Rent's plan to take her and destroy her in the presence of the dragons.

With a shiver, she felt the link with Jarvorus dissolve. She stared once more through the wall of her icy cell into the eyes of the strange animal form that Jarvorus had taken on—an awkward imitation of the ifflings' animal form, a creature with large eyes and sleek grey fur, and powerful jaws. The form was more frightening than reassuring; this was the creature who had betrayed her, tricked her into a spell that could not be broken except by the Enemy, or by death.

She was stunned to realize that she believed him—believed that he was trying to offer her a way out that was better. But was it, really? It was clear that it had to be done quickly, if at all.

Through the fragmented net, she heard Ar muttering darkly—and nearby, she heard Ed rustling his wings and whispering incomprehensibly to himself. Outside the net, Hodakai was flickering, apparently trying to decide what he thought about it all. No one seemed certain, except Jarvorus. And . . . perhaps . . . her.

I
believe you,
she whispered to Jarvorus.
But what you ask is hard.

Yes. But it is the only way.

But the way to do what? You spoke of the Dream
Mountain—of meeting the dragons—but you do not say how.
She imagined herself leaving her body, dead but not dead, and floating out over the mountains, lost forever. She remembered Mogurn's death, when she had forced him out the airlock into the Flux, and she shuddered.

The creature bowed its head.
I
cannot
tell you, or show you. You are human, I am not. I do not know what is possible. You must be ready for the final death. But be certain—there is no life for you here. Not any longer.

She nodded, frowning. She wanted to turn again to Ar and Ed for help—but forced herself not to. If she thought too hard about her friends, she would never be able to say yes, even if it was the right thing to say.

Rigger
Jael,
whispered Jarvorus.
Time grows short. Rent is coming. And I believe that the battle with the dragons may be commencing, even now. If you wish to choose your own time and place, and not the
Nail's . . .

Jael did not listen to the rest of his words. She closed her eyes, remembering something Kan-Kon had said to her: "You're a rigger! You can
change
things
!" She realized that she was weeping—for Kan-Kon, for her friends, for herself. She forced herself to stop trembling.
Can you guarantee,
she whispered,
that it will be a blow against the enemies of Windrush—even if I die the final death?

Jarvorus bobbed his head. He seemed to grin joylessly.
I guarantee that it will make them very, very angry.

Jael stared at him and laughed out loud, through her tears.
All right,
she murmured, her voice trembling.
Then tell me what you want me to do. How are you going to get me out of this ice?

No—!

Ar's shout echoed and faded into the labyrinth of the twisted remnants of the net. If Jael heard him, she didn't answer. He wasn't sure it would have mattered. When she made up her mind to do something, he didn't know any way of stopping her. But he couldn't just let her agree to die.

Jael!
His voice sharpened to a tight, metallic shriek.
Don't let him do it! Please!

I have to,
she whispered.
There's no other way.

Her voice filled him with dread.
You don't know that!
he pleaded, but already she had turned her attention elsewhere.
Jael!

Several heartbeats passed, and he heard another voice floating to him, trying urgently to get his attention. It was Hodakai.
You—what's your name?—Ar! Can you hear me?

Yes!
he answered.

The spirit was dancing urgently.
You must listen. Listen carefully. She is right—it may be the only way.

Not you too! I don't believe it!

You do not know these weavings of power as I do. Jarvorus is right—I see no way out of the spell except to interrupt it at its source. And that source is her life. It is woven into the very fabric of the spell.

But SOMEONE could stop it! What about this Rent?

Hodakai's voice was low and bitter.
Don't be a fool! They're keeping her alive for one reason, and that is to wilt the hearts of the dragons in the final battle. She is—forgive me, Jael, friend of Kan-Kon!—she is as dead to your world now as I am.

Ar struggled for words.

And if you want her death to mean anything, to give any hope—

No, no, he wanted to cry. He didn't care about hope or meaning. He just wanted his friend to be free! And alive!

He became aware of the voice of the only one who had not spoken.
Scrawwwww—Arrr—must do it—must give her the chance!

Ed, please don't—not you, too!

Melt the ice, rawwww! It's the only way, scrawwk-k-k, it can work!

His confusion was turning to anger.
How do you know it can?

The parrot fluttered his wings violently.
We're riggers! Rig-g-g-gers! Melt the ice! Hawwwwk-k-k! Must give her the chance—melt the ice!

Yes, that's it!
Hodakai cried.
Maybe we can do that for her! Jarvorus!

The false-iffling's head flashed one way, then another. Suddenly it rose up on its hind legs.
Yes!
it hissed.
I must have your help! We must remove the ice barrier! You must soften it, to let me in! Use your powers! Are you willing, Jael?