The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (17 page)

♦  ♦  ♦

A brilliant light burst upward from one of the largest buildings in the center of the city, briefly illuminating everything around Kipling as he ran. Something was afoot, and he suddenly realized that he might have very little time left to accomplish his task.

He stopped and leaned against a wall, panting. It gave him a moment to both catch his breath and consider what he was being asked to do. It made sense, in some twisted way, but he still was not certain he could trust what it said. At least one person he knew of—one of Verne’s Messengers—would die in the future because of what he was being asked to do now. But it also made sense.
It was, in the grand scheme of things, logical. And, he was a bit ashamed to admit, it appealed to his sense of gamesmanship.

It meant that he might never leave the city—but it also meant that he might give the Caretakers the means to defeat not just Dr. Dee, but the Echthroi as well. And in the end, that was what mattered most.

Looking over the angelic script in the note for the umpteenth time, Kipling screwed up his courage and once more began to run. If he timed it properly, the Cherubim would be somewhere near that explosion of light, and in the confusion that was beginning to spread outward into the streets, it would never be missed until Dr. Dee found it.

♦  ♦  ♦

“The Great Deluge,” Charles sputtered as Samaranth led them back to his Library. “The flood. The destruction of the world. It’s really happening, isn’t it?” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.

“Have you got a headache?” asked Edmund.

“No,” said Charles. “Tulpas don’t
get
headaches, but I think one would actually make me feel
better
right now.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Rose. “What can anyone do?”

“There are hierarchies of the Host of Heaven,” said Samaranth, “each with its own set of responsibilities. The stars are given the task of shaping and preparing the worlds that revolve around them, but have little concern for the creatures who evolve, live, and die on those worlds. The angels are given the task of creating and Naming the higher aspects of the world, to allow the creatures on it to develop and ascend themselves. But there is an office between the two that is rarely called upon, and rarely chosen, because it
carries the responsibility of directly overseeing the welfare of all the living creatures on a particular world.”

“Why is it rarely chosen?” Rose asked.

“Because,” Samaranth answered, “as you witnessed, the stars are reluctant to take so much responsibility upon themselves. They prefer the bigger-picture things, like the formation of mountains and the rise of oceans. The concerns of the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve, and the affairs of the Children of the Earth, are of little concern to them, and so they will almost always decline the choice to ascend.”

“But our star, Sol, wanted to ascend,” said Edmund. “Why couldn’t he?”

“Because other stars would have also needed to do so,” said Samaranth, “and Rao is oldest among them, so his decision binds them all. It takes the complete commitment of one’s heart, and aiua, to ascend,” he continued, looking now at Rose. “You know this. I can see it in your countenance.”

“Then this world may truly be lost,” Rose said despairingly. “If the stars will not ascend, what is left? What can be done?”

“Just because Rao has abandoned the care of this world does not mean the world is without its . . . Caretakers,” Samaranth said. For the first time, his voice seemed to be breaking with an emotion that none of the angels in the city had displayed. “There are none here in the city willing to ascend—but the elder angels can still descend to the office necessary to look after this world. We can still choose,” he finished, his words more of a struggle now, “to become
Dragons
.”

The beasts were tended to by smaller creatures . . .

It was a caravan of
worlds,
and it stretched across the dunes from one horizon to the other. The great creatures that carried the lands of the Archipelago and all the peoples who lived in them were perhaps distant cousins to the Feast Beasts that served meals at Tamerlane House, reimagined for a more massive duty. They resembled the offspring of camels that had been successfully courted by horned toads the size of elephants, and in place of humps were immense glass spheres, each of which contained the past, present, and future of a land from the Archipelago of Dreams.

The beasts were tended to by smaller creatures of the earth, who had been given the task by the leader of the caravan: the last true Caretaker of the Archipelago itself. When the Archipelago fell to Shadow, it was he who gathered up all the lands and peoples and transported them here, where they could make their way to safe haven until the world could be made right again. “Have they been given water?” he asked. “The heat is terrible today.”

“Henry is takin’ care o’ that,” said his First Assistant Dragon, a badger called Tummeler. “I’ve made him, ah, my assistant, if’n that’s keen by you.”

Samaranth looked at the badger in surprise. “The guinea pig?
Hrrrmm,” he rumbled. “Is it really wise to entrust such a large task to such a small creature?”

“You of all, uh, people ought t’ know,” Tummeler said, admonishing, “that size is irrelevant. ’Ceptin’ when it comes to stuff like actually hauling stuff, like entire islands from th’ Archipelago. Then it pays t’ be big—but we got creatures t’ do that, so Henry is just perfect t’ leave in charge as a supervisor. My point being—”

“I understand, little friend,” said the great Dragon. “Better than you realize.”

He looked back at the caravan and thought about the thousands and thousands of lives, and the history, and the culture, and most importantly, the stories that had been preserved by his actions. He looked at the badger, who had been a hero in the old Archipelago, and one of those a Dragon might actually call friend. And he remembered those who had been left behind.

“I wish . . .” Tummeler began, sensing the old Dragon’s thoughts. He stopped, whiskers quivering, and looked up at Samaranth. “I wish we had been able t’ bring Miss Aven with us,” he said sadly. “I wish she didn’t have t’ stay behind, all alone.”

“She wasn’t alone,” Samaranth replied, “but more importantly, she knew it was necessary. Someone needed to tell the Caretakers what had happened, so that events could proceed the way that they must.”

“And have they?” Tummeler asked, looking back along the caravan of beasts. “We have been out here, wandering around with th’ whole of the Archipelago on our backs, for . . .” He paused and did some figures in his head. “I really don’t know. How long have we been out here, anyway? It feels like we been wandering for forty years.”

Samaranth chuckled, but it sounded like the rasping of a rusty engine. “That was an entirely different exile story, little Child of the
Earth,” he said. “We are no longer in any place that follows Chronos time, so it is all relative. But if I were to hazard a guess, I would say . . .

“. . . that we have been gone from the waters of the Archipelago of Dreams for less than a month. Maybe two.”

“Really?” Tummeler said, eyes wide. “If’n you’d asked me, I’da said we been taking care of th’ Archipelago forever.”

Samaranth made a rumbling noise in his chest and rose to his feet. “So would I, little Tummeler,” he said, suddenly feeling the weight of his own history. “So would I.”

♦  ♦  ♦

Madoc being mistaken for a Nephilim didn’t create more difficulty moving through the city; in fact, it seemed to be clearing a path for the companions as the flying goats drew the airship between the towers and deep into the heart of the city.

Angels with the ability to fly headed in the opposite direction as soon as the airship drew close and Madoc’s wings became visible; and those below on the streets took shelter in whatever structure was closest and seemed to be avoiding even being touched by the
Indigo Dragon’s
shadow as it passed.

“They seem to be clearing a path for us,” Quixote said as he peered over the side. “That is good, no?”

“No,” said Laura Glue, pointing back in the direction from which they’d come. “It isn’t us they’re clearing a path for.”

The giants had begun stepping over the river estuary, having crossed the miles of desert between themselves and the city in a matter of minutes. They seemed to be converging on a single huge building in the center of the city—and were leaving destruction in their wake as they passed.

“We never should have let Kipling go on his own,” Madoc
fumed. “Now we have four missing people to find!”

“You forget,” Fred said, removing his Caretaker’s watch, “the Anabasis Machines may not be as useful for time travel these days, but I can still use mine to contact another Caretaker.”

Swiftly the badger spun the dials in the necessary order, then waited. A few moments later it chimed. He read the message and frowned.

“He says that everything is fine, but he has t’ run an errand before we can come get him,” Fred told the others, “and he said we should go find Rose, Charles, and Edmund.”

Uncas and Quixote exchanged puzzled glances. “What does
that
mean?” Uncas exclaimed. “ ‘Run an errand.’ ”

Madoc raised an eyebrow, less concerned about the errand than his missing daughter. “He found them? He knows where they are?”

Fred shrugged. “He said we just need t’ go where the biggest explosions are.”

“Bangarang!” said Laura Glue.

“It figures,” said Uncas, pulling on the reins to turn the airship. “Head for the smoke, girls.”

♦  ♦  ♦

Driven by no other compulsion save for the Summoning that drew them, the Corinthian Giants were destroying the City of Jade simply by walking through it. Towers were falling; entire boulevards were crushed. Everywhere angels were fleeing, not realizing that soon there would be nowhere to flee to. No shelter would be adequate to protect them from the coming flood. The elder angels realized this, as did one other.

Deucalion stood at the prow of his massive ship, watching the chaos from afar. The departure of the giants had created a frenzy
among the refugees who had lived for generations in the encampments below. Thousands saw the removal of the wall of giants as an invitation to invade the city themselves. Others realized it for what it was: a shift in the world. A change of global proportions. And so they simply waited, and went about their business. Some were weeping; others sought solace in prayer. And all of them were doomed to die.

“Not this day,” the old shipbuilder murmured to no one in particular as his youngest son came running up the deck.

“We’ve nearly secured them all, Father,” Hap said, breathless. “All the animals are accounted for and in their places.”

“Good,” Deucalion said, still looking out toward the city. “Tell me, we still have a great deal of room herein, do we not?”

Hap nodded. “Lots. It’s a very big boat, Father.”

Deucalion turned and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Do you know that boy we have broken bread with? The quiet one?”

Hap nodded again. “Enkidu. I know him.”

“Find him,” Deucalion said. “Find him, and tell him to run among the peoples of the encampment. Tell them something terrible is about to happen—but all those who wish it may take shelter on our ship. If they do not wish to come, or they have their own means to survive a great flood, so be it. But make sure the offer is known.”

“To all the humans?” asked Hap.

“Not just the humans,” his father replied. “There are other races as well—and I would not deny them if they chose to come.

“All who wish it will find shelter here,” Deucalion said, turning back to the railing, “for as long as we can give it.”

♦  ♦  ♦

The elders of the angels, mostly Cherubim but also including a few Seraphim, were gathering together far from the center of the city, on the westernmost edge, where the terraces and towers looked out over the sea.