The Dragons of Winter (26 page)

“Exactly,” said Pym.

“All I care about,” Charles interrupted, “is if this ‘safe haven’ is away from the city.”

Pym nodded and started walking across the pavement. “Yes,” he answered over his shoulder with a loopy, triumphant grin. “Very far.” He motioned for the others to follow and picked up his pace.

“That,” Charles said as they all fell into line behind Pym, “sounds pretty darn good to me—at least, better than our alternative. Lead on, Arthur.”

The companions, led by the Anachronic Man, Arthur Pym, followed a paved path that led due east away from Dys. They walked in relative peace—the denizens of the city apparently didn’t venture beyond its gates, or so Pym told them.

The Messenger kept up a rambling travelogue about their surroundings, none of which made an impression until they came to the canyon.

“This,” Pym said, his voice echoing even though he spoke barely above a whisper, “this I wanted to show you especially, Bert.”

Ringed about the high canyon walls were the great, skeletal remains of several ships, which had nonetheless survived enough of the passing centuries to be easily recognizable.

“It’s all the ships,” Bert said breathlessly. “All the Dragonships, come together again.”

“Come together in a graveyard, you mean,” Charles said scornfully, giving Burton a withering glance. “They’re all dead, Bert. All of them. They would have been dead, as living ships, anyway, long before he ever brought them here.”

“I . . . didn’t know,” Burton said, looking away, unwilling to face any of the others. “I swear to Christ—I didn’t know the
Dragons would be lost, when we took all their shadows.”

None of them responded to Burton’s apology, but Rose stepped forward, simply taking Burton’s hand and squeezing it in empathy.

“I don’t see the
Blue Dragon
anywhere,” said Bert. “The Elves’ ship.”

“Nor would I expect you to,” said Charles as he climbed over a protrusion of rock for a better view. “It was left behind, there on Paralon, and perished with the island when the Echthroi took over.”

“But the rest of them are here,” Bert said, pointing, “including the old
Black Dragon
. Which means that at some time in the past, the Archipelago was restored.”

Before any of them could comment further, Pym moved farther down the path on the canyon floor, toward an old, ramshackle gate. “There’s more to see,” he said, beckoning for the others to follow. “Much more.”

They followed him through the gate, where they saw a massive, gleaming pyramid that rose up from the ground and dominated the horizon. It was surrounded by an immense wall that was nearly twice Burton’s height. “The Last Redoubt,” said Pym, trying to hurry them on. His eyes kept darting from side to side on the path, as if he were waiting for some beast to leap out and attack them.

At the pyramid’s base, they saw something else familiar. “These are the rune stones!” Bert exclaimed as he examined the wall around it. “The ones we set up as wards around Tamerlane House. They’ve been repurposed to protect the pyramid and whatever else is behind this wall.”

“The entrance is here,” Pym said, showing them a looming, ornate door a little farther down the slope.

“It’s of Caretaker manufacture,” Bert said, excitement rising in his voice. “What’s inside, Arthur?”

“Don’t know.” Pym shrugged. “Never been inside. Can’t. Have to have a watch or a silver ring to get in at all—but you need two Caretaker’s watches, just to open the entrance—and Lord Winter took my watch ages ago.”

That piece of information elicited a quick glance of concern between Charles and Rose, but Bert was too excited to notice.

“Tried without using a ring,” Pym said plaintively. “Tried and tried and tried. Don’t like it out here a’tall. But no use. I couldn’t get through.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Charles said, “but I’m betting that
we
can.”

There was a protective ornamental lock that was affixed to both sides of the door, where Pym said that the watches must be inserted to allow passage. “Otherwise,” he said, “can’t get through, even with a ring.”

“Nice,” said Burton. “Good forethought. Whoever built this place wanted to make sure that at least two Caretakers or their emissaries were present for it to work. Just one wouldn’t do the trick.”

“No,” Pym echoed. “Wouldn’t.”

“Arthur was lost in time before Jules conceived of the rings,” said Bert, “and so of course he wouldn’t have one. But,” he added, “I have mine, so he can use my watch to pass through.”

He handed the device to Pym and nodded at Rose. She inserted her own watch in the indentation on the left of the door,
as Edmund inserted his on the right. Then she reached out her hand and pushed the door . . .

. . . which swung soundlessly open.

“There,” said Bert. “We’re in.”

From inside the wall, they realized the pyramid was in fact still a good distance away. There were crumbling temples and fallen archways, all overgrown with foliage, lining the gentle slopes of land that led to the pyramid’s base. It was an architectural and arboreal disaster area—but somehow, it all managed to look deliberate. And the atmosphere was far less oppressive than that just on the other side of the gate.

“Well enough and good,” said Bert, looking around. “There are people here.” He pointed to the right of the pyramid. Against the dark sky, they could see the wispy trails of smoke rising.

“Why I brought you here,” said Pym. “To meet the Unforgotten.”

“Who are?” asked Charles.

Before Pym could answer, a tall creature with the beaked skull of a bird and the skin and claws of a reptile stepped out of the trees just ahead of them. He was carrying a spear and was adorned with ringlets of beads and feathers.

He stood watching the companions a moment, then tipped his head back and spoke—and it was then they realized it was a man, dressed as some kind of creature.

His words were unintelligible, but he was immediately joined by several others, all dressed as similar creatures.

The tallest of them cocked his head, as if he, too, were appraising these strange visitors; then he strode forward—to
Charles
.

“It’s the glasses,” Bert whispered. “They give him presence.”

The strange man looked Charles over, then began to recite in a surprisingly delicate and refined voice:

He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

“Dear Lord,” said Bert, “That’s—”

“Shakespeare!” Rose exclaimed. “He’s reciting Shakespeare!”

Another of the strange people, a female this time, approached Charles and examined the silver ring he wore. As one, all the companions held up their rings, and Pym held up Charles’s soiled handkerchief, grinning.

The response was unexpected, to say the least.

“You are of our tribe,” the tall man said in perfect, unaccented English, his face breaking into a bright, gapped smile. He turned and raised his arms in triumph. “
They are of our tribe!
” he shouted, and the others broke out into loud cheering.

They clustered around the companions and started herding them toward the smoke. “They have a village there,” Pym explained. “In this good a humor, just go along.”

“How did these people survive?” Burton asked as they were jostled along by the exceedingly happy bird-skull-lizard-dressed people that Pym called the Unforgotten.

“Big world,” Pym said, shrugging. “Even Echthroi couldn’t take it over all at once. Some parts, didn’t want to take over.”

“So they just ignored those parts?”

“No,” said Pym. “Usually, simply obliterated whatever they couldn’t possess. This place, though, think they couldn’t take over.”

“Because of the wards,” said Bert. “The protective rune stones.”

“This isn’t all that far from the city, or Dys, or Camazotz, or whatever it is that he’s calling that dark tower,” said Charles. “I wonder where we are.”

“Thought you’d know where we are,” said Pym. “From what I’ve learned, when the world fell to the Echthroi and Lord Winter began his rise to power, was the only place of free, truth-seeking, higher learning left on Earth.”

“The Last Redoubt,” Bert said, echoing the Messenger’s words from earlier. “The last haven.”

Pym nodded, as interested in what was inside as the others. “Didn’t find this place until after I’d lost my watch,” he said, “or else I’d have been in here, being Unforgotten myself.

“An ironic shame,” he added with a tone of sincere regret, “that it happened to be the very place your friend Jack taught . . . you know. Before.”

Charles slapped his forehead and Rose suppressed a grin, while Bert rolled his eyes at both of them.

“What?” asked Edmund. “I don’t get it.”

“Inside joke,” Bert replied, “that’s either gotten funnier or lamer depending on which side you’re on.”

“Cambridge,” Charles muttered. “My old friend Tummeler would be absolutely appalled.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN
The Sphinx

The companions were led
to an outdoor amphitheater that bore traces of Greek design, as well as designs of China, India, the Navajo, and other cultures that perhaps hadn’t even existed yet in their own time.

When these “Unforgotten” removed the bird skulls and lizard cloaks they wore, the companions could see that they were simply men and women—and, Bert was thrilled to note, children—like those they had known in the past. And these people were far from being Lloigor. They were simple but happy, and, once they had established tribal affiliation, more than happy to receive guests.

There were homes fashioned from the fallen buildings that stood in the clear spaces between the wall and the pyramid, and more in the overgrowth of shrubbery and trees that pockmarked the area. There were cooking fires, and foods of the same sort that Lord Winter had offered—but this time the offer was combined with genuine hospitality, and the companions happily accepted.

“Have you noticed,” Rose said, keeping her voice deliberately low, “that they almost all wear silver rings?”

. . . these people were far from being Lloigor.
They were simple but happy . . .

“The adults do,” Pym said as he bit into what appeared to be a roast hen—with six legs. “Rings are passed to the tribal elders from generation to generation. Allows the Unforgotten who wear them to pass freely into the outside. Although,” he added with a shiver, “they seldom do, unless they must.”

“Why are they called the Unforgotten?” Rose asked.

“Last remnants of our civilization,” Pym replied, “the most important parts, some would say. Preserved that which was most important, which would otherwise not have survived so many centuries.”