Read The Dragon Charmer Online
Authors: Jan Siegel
The Dragon Charmer (47 page)
“She is no charmer!” raged Dr. Laye. “Don’t you see? She is using that grotesque puppet to turn you against me—”
He stretched out his arm, impossibly far, snatching at the head with distended fingers—but the dragon wheeled, snake swift for all its size, and a hissing javelin of flame barred his way.
“Azmordis reveals himself!” said Ruvindra. “Has any normal man such a reach?”
Tenegrys swung back toward him: gaze met gaze.
The charmer said softly: “Trust me, Angharial—if you can. I returned only for that.”
At the periphery of her vision Fern saw Dr. Laye move—not a natural movement but a sudden spasm, jerking at his body. His eyes widened—and widened—the lids peeled back from bulging eyeballs; his teeth rattled; foam bubbled from the corner of his mouth. He seemed to be trying to speak, to
plead, but the only sounds that escaped from his contorted throat were shapeless and unintelligible. His joints twisted until the ligaments snapped; at one point his head appeared to be wrenched around until it was all but back to front… And behind him, his shadow rose upward, expanding and thickening, a separate entity, darker than the darkness against which it stood. The flamelight could not touch it; it extended a monstrous hand
But the dragon bellowed, and a tongue of fire seared its very core, blasting it into tiny darknesses that fled away over hill and hollow to re-form on some other horizon, in some other place, and only the man remained, crawling on crippled limbs, whimpering. For an instant, a heartbeat, Fern saw into the dregs of his soul, deprived of dreams, of certainty, of power, a shrunken, cowering thing. He whispered: “Mercy! I beg you… All I wanted was the dragon—to rule it, to be one with it, like my ancestors long ago…”
“Be merciful,” said Ruvindra.
The flame that hit Jerrold Laye must have been hotter than the surface of the sun. In a millisecond he was gone, reduced to a puff of ash, a smear on the road…
Gaynor murmured: “Dear God.”
“It is well,” said Ruvindra.
Fern’s arm was beginning to tremble from the strain of holding him aloft, but she dared not relax. The dragon’s maw was very near: she could see the wisps of smoke threading between its teeth, the blackened chasm of its nostril. Its breath smelled like an infernal ventilator and the heat of it was beginning to shrivel her cheek.
“And now,” said the head, “I, too, have need of your mercy. I am trapped in this—vessel—this unholy apple—until it perishes. Only then may I pass Death’s portal. Set me free.”
The dragon made a strange noise somewhere between a snarl and a yammer.
“I do not command you,” Ruvindra said. “Neither I nor any man has that right. Give me a quick road to eternity, or let me rot.” Tenegrys dropped its head in submission: its grief and anguish invaded the mind of every watcher, eclipsing lesser emotion. The dragon could not weep, but Gaynor, forgetful of danger, felt the tears start in her eyes. “It is well,” repeated
the dragon charmer. “Afterward, if you will, give your allegiance to the witch, in gratitude for us both. And when I am indeed no more, remember that I loved thee, and I did not fail thee in the end.”
The great head descended still lower, the double-pronged tongue flickered out as in a kiss. The last words were spoken so quietly that only Fern could hear them. “Farewell, Fernanda Morcadis. If I had a heart, it would go with thee.” And then came a single shaft of concentrated flame—Fern felt her arm scorched, though somehow the skin was unmarked and the black fruit was consumed, and all that remained was a lock of hair, clasped in her hand.
She stood silent, so full of loss that she was oblivious to exhaustion and peril, to the proximity of the dragon, to the others waiting beside the car. It seemed to her that the night grew still in that moment, and the wind held its breath, the clouds halted in their pathways through the upper air, the stars froze. But it was only her fancy. Her right hand fell to her side. She looked up, and saw the dragon’s jaws barely a yard away, still slightly parted, and a red glimmer of flame receding down the tunnel of its throat. She knew she should be afraid, but she had no emotion left. The dragon watched her with eyes like globes of blood.
And then she realized that the last move was for her. She held out the lock of hair. “I will keep this,” she said, “as a—as a token, a pledge between us. Now go …” She bit her lip at the phrase: it was as if she were driving it away. “Go where you will, Angharial Tenegrys. Fly free. Find the mountains at the edge of being the deserted kingdoms of the otherworld. There is no place for you here. They say you are the last of the dragons, but… who knows? I wish you well. Fly free!”
There was a pause that seemed to Will and Gaynor to stretch out indefinitely. Then the dragon rose, and the tempest of its wings warped hedge and tree, and sent the flames streaming through the burning house so they flew like banners in the night. Higher it soared and higher, and the clouds whirled into a vortex around it, and its fires were drawn up into a spinning funnel of cumulus, and the dragon followed. For one instant more they saw it, far above the cloud cover, a
star among stars; then it twinkled, faded, and was lost to view. The bonfire of Drakemyre Hall burned on merrily; below, the hillside was dark and empty.
Morgus
The morning was far advanced when they finally returned to Dale House. Will drove; Fern curled up on the backseat with Lougarry, barely able to sit up unaided, let alone stand. They stopped at a vet’s surgery that Will knew of on the way and the she-wolf’s leg was set and splinted, though they had some trouble persuading the vet that an overnight stay was undesirable.
“What breed of dog is she?” he asked with burgeoning suspicion.
“Mongrel,” suggested Gaynor.
“Cousin to White Fang,” said Will.
Fern had stayed in the car, sleeping.
As they drove, there was little conversation: they were all tired and overburdened with their own thoughts. Tomorrow would be time enough to talk things through.
Dawn had come and gone behind a bank of cloud, but when they crossed the high moor the sun broke cover, illuminating the green of spring on plateau and in hollow As they drew up in front of the house, its dour façade looked mellowed and welcoming to their eyes; Bradachin vanished, and Robin and Abby rushed out to meet them, and Mrs. Wicklow stood in the doorway, and on the slope beyond Ragginbone watched and waited, patient as a stone. It’s over, thought Gaynor, and thought became a murmur, uttered under her breath, as she walked beside Will carrying his sister into the hall.
“No,” muttered Fern, and her eyes half-opened, gleaming blearily through her lashes. “It has begun.”
Two days later, when they had talked themselves out when Will had claimed his stolen knife as a personal bequest
from the dragon charmer, and Robin and Abby were puzzling over the explanations they had been offered—when Lougarry was hobbling from room to room snarling soundlessly at Yoda—when the faint and far-off moan of the bagpipes enlivened the slumbering house—Gaynor rose before the others and tapped on Fern’s bedroom door.
She went in without waiting for an answer. Fern rolled over, brushing aside the clinging strands of sleep. “Gaynor,” she said. And then: “You’re going.”
It was not a question.
“What about you and Will?”
Gaynor did not ask her how she knew “That’s why I’m going. I’ve ordered a taxi. Would you say good-bye to him for me?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It has to be.” She sat down on the bed, twisting and untwisting the long tendrils of her hair. “He’s too young.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I mean, too young for commitment. He likes me, but he doesn’t love me—not yet, not enough, maybe not ever. He’s got—oh, so many fields to play, so many wild oats to sow. And he’s your brother. I couldn’t bear for it to happen, and then to go wrong. Not when we’ve all been through so much, grown so close…”
“Coward,” said Fern.
“Yes,” said Gaynor.
Presently the taxi came. She kissed her friend, and went downstairs and out of the door, closing it softly behind her, and got in the car and was driven away, up over the moors into the April morning.
I burn, I burn
.
The fire is within me and without
…
it eats into a thousand years of flesh, seeking my very core. The pain is beyond bearing. Hearing, sight, smell are all destroyed—I crawl toward the water, guided by some faculty beyond the senses. Every inch is an increase of agony. And then I reach the river the River of Death, of healing, of renewal, the river where the gods plunged the Cauldron of Rebirth to be cooled after its forging, in an age before recorded history, before it
was stolen and broken and abused. They say something of its power still flows in the ancient stream. The cold swallows me, quenching flame, freezing me to the heart. My blackened skin hardens to a chrysalis in which all that remains of my swollen body coils like a blind white larva in a red pulp of blood. The chrysalis fastens itself to the rock beneath the surface: inside, I am nourished by the old spell, the maggot spell, the spell of all naked, wormlike creatures who must turn to stone ere they can be transformed and hatch anew. Here in the dark I can feel my substance changing, growing, unfolding into pale soft limbs and wisps of swimming hair The shell that protects me is sealed and set hard, stronger than obsidian. I am warm and moist in my strange new womb, a thing half-embryo, half-adult, carrying memory, knowledge, power in the nucleus of my being. I can feel my toes sprouting, the uncurling of my fingers… Above me the Styx flows on untroubled
.
When I am full-made, the chrysalis will float to the surface, and crack, and I shall rise like a new Aphrodite from the leaden waves
…
Names
Angharial
(Ang-har-ee-al) A pet name for the young Tenegrys, its origins are obscure, but there may be some connection with
gharial
, a type of small, very slender crocodile.
Azmordis
(Az-moor-diss) The name generally used in these accounts for the Oldest Spirit. As stated in
Prospero’s Children
, it is probably a corruption of Asmodeus, a malignant spirit or senior demon in the hierarchy of Hell. The Spirit uses many such names, of both gods and devils (Shaitan, mentioned in the manuscript Gaynor studies, is a well-known variant of Satan, but may also refer to the same being).
Agamo (Ag-ar-moh), the toad god of the swamp, is an identity lost in obscurity.
Bethesne
(Beth-ez-nee) The name sounds biblical, but the character relates more to the Greek mythos, in which Perseus consults three witches who pass a single eye from hand to hand. There may also be some connection with the Nordic Volas: Skætha (Skay-tha), the seeress who saw the future, probably derives from Skuld, who rose from the grave to foretell the battle of Ragnarok for Odin.
Bradachin
(Bra-da-chin, with the “ch” pronounced as in loch) From the old Scottish Gaelic, meaning “little thief.”
Caracandal
(Ca-ra-can-dal) For sources see
Prospero’s Children
. Other names mentioned in this book for Ragginbone include Elvincape, a reference to his customary coatlike garment with its pointed hood, and Gabbandoflo, an Italian version with the same meaning (literally,
gabbano d’elfo)
.
Elivayzar
(El-ee-vay-zar) A variant of the biblical Eleazar.
Moonspittle, as explained in the text, is a mistranslation of Mondspitzl, German for Moonpoint, with the suffix “1” signifying small. This might be an ancient term for the pointed crescent of the new moon.
Infernest
A courtesy title habitually given by dragon charmers to the greatest of dragons. It derives from Taebor Infernes (Tay-boor In-fur-nees), largest and most intelligent of the early dragons, the obvious origin being the Latin
inferno
. When Ruvindra Laiï calls the dragon “inferneling” (in-fur-nel-ing), this is clearly a diminutive of the same.
Kaliban
As stated in the text, this comes from Caliburn, also known as Excalibur, King Arthur’s famous sword. Morgus’s choice of this as a name for her son could be an early manifestation of the same trend that leads rock and film stars to christen their children Moon, Heaven, and so on. Shakespeare may well have borrowed the name for use in
The Tempest
after hearing some legend about the monstrous son of an ancient witch.
Laiï
(Ly-ee) The family name of the dragon charmers was formerly Ylai: they were an offshoot of the Atlantean House of Ghond, one of the twelve Ruling Families. Fleeing the fall of Atlantis, they spent some time in the vicinity of India and Tibet, which would account for the orientalization of their surname. Ruvindra has an Indian sound, and it was, of course, in this area that he chose to conceal the dragon’s egg.
It is worth noting that in all worlds great mountains have a special power, and many in this world are linked to their otherworldly counterparts. In the Himalayas there are secret ways leading to the dimension of myth and magic, to hidden valleys beyond reality, eternal gardens among the snows. Some say the route to Azmodel is there, a tunnel plunging down and down to the poisoned anti-Paradise of the Oldest of Evils.
Lougarry
From the French
loup garou
(werewolf). See
Prospero’s Children
.
Mabb
Sometimes romanticized as the Faery Queen, Mabb’s true nature is the essence of all that made goblinkind both inimical to us and a caricature of so many of our less
attractive traits. She is vain, mischievous, capricious, egotistical, given to petty cruelty, incapable of profound thought. The concept of kings and queens is a mortal idea that goblins have assimilated for reasons of their own, perhaps because of their long association with Man. In general, werefolk live in an otherworld without social order, where the weak avoid the strong, and do not serve them. However, there are a few exceptions among the Old Spirits, most notably Azmordis, who has the human need to dominate, and who enlarges his own power spectrum by controlling many lesser beings.
Morgus
Legend tells of Morgause or Morgawze, sister of Morgana Le Fay and half sister of Arthur, though little is known of her in comparison to her more famous siblings. Here we learn the sisters are twins, Morgus and Morgun, born of a line long celebrated for their Gifting. Mordraid is mentioned as an older son of Morgus, although stories differ as to which of them was the mother of Arthur’s incestuous child.
The prefix Mor- was a feature of naming in this family, designating someone who was exceptionally Gifted. Since the Gift rarely shows till adolescence, it is likely that the name was acquired then, and with an arrogance that seems to be a characteristic of the line, the birth name was dropped altogether. The meaning may derive from various words for “dark,” notably the Swedish
mark
or the Spanish
morcillo
. In giving Fernanda the Gift name of Morcadis, Morgus was evidently attempting to establish a kinship with her by means more subtle than mixing blood. What significance there may be in Fern’s acceptance of the name is not yet clear.
morloch
(moor-loch, with the “ch” pronounced as in Scots) The story of the wizard Morloch appears in the text and there is little to add. Once again, the prefix Mor- indicates a relationship to the same family. As with certain of the Old Spirits, we see in his tale a desire to create life by magical means, the normal human methods evidently proving unsatisfactory. The morlochs, however, like the creatures made by the spirits (reputedly including mermaids, goblins, and other werefolk) are merely things of flesh and
clay animated by elementáis, who already existed on a low plane in the cosmos. In theory, magical beings can have no souls—hence Kaliban’s obsession with the subject. Morgus experimented with her own body to conceive her second son; otherwise the child of an Old Spirit would be stillborn. Immortals do not need to reproduce. Whether any living creature, mortal or otherwise, has a soul is, of course, a matter for debate and currently beyond scientific proof.
Pharaïzon
(Fah-ry-ee-zon) The greatest of the dragons. Dragon names are usually given by humans: this one may come from the same stem as the Egyptian
pharaoh
.
pugwidgie
This term was originally applied to a particularly mischievous goblin, but was transposed as a common name for the morlochs, since the lesser werefolk are superstitious about using their mastername. The source is probably Puck-wight.
Senecxys
(Seh-nek-siss) The mate of Pharaïzon. Origin unknown.
Sysselore
(Siss-se-loor) This could be a complex play on words, from sister-in-lore (i.e., coven sister), but is more likely to be a variant of the medieval name Sisley, or a derivative of the witch’s former name Syrcé, from Seersay, meaning sibyl or pythoness. This, in its turn, is clearly related to the Greek Circe.
tannasgeal
Direct from Scots Gaelic, this combines the elements
tannasg
, ghost, and
geal
, white.
Tenegrys
(Teh-ne-griss) This could be a derivative of the Latin
tenebra, tenebrae
(pi.), shadow(s). Alternatively it might come from the Gaelic
tannasg
, as above, and
greis
, time. The name was given by Dr. Laye, but almost certainly suggested by Azmordis.