The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (26 page)

“Jules!”
Rose exclaimed, throwing herself at him with a giant hug. “How did you find us?”

“You made this a zero point when you came here, Rose,” Verne said, smiling broadly. “All I had to do was set the dials and throw a switch. It seems as if everything that needed fixing has been fixed . . .

“. . . almost.”

Charles shook his head sorrowfully. “You came here for nothing, Jules,” he said. “People like you and I don’t fit the billing.”

Verne’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Charles walked Verne around the nearly completed keep. “It needs a keystone—a living heart, to make the keep a living tower,” he explained. “Tulpas exist in what this old fellow calls ‘Spare Time,’ and as such we aren’t suitable candidates to—”

He stopped when he recognized the carefully neutral expression on Verne’s face—and grew visibly angry when he realized what it meant. “You sorry son of a—”

“What?” Rose exclaimed, glancing anxiously from one Caretaker to the other. “Uncle Charles, what is it?”

“He’s not a tulpa,” Charles said, still glaring at Verne. “He never
was
.”

“It’s too high a price, Telemachus,” Madoc said. “I won’t allow another to sacrifice himself just for the sake of this keep.”

“Telemachus?” Verne said, eyes widening in surprise. “Well, lad, you’ve, ah, aged a bit, since I saw you last.”

“The sacrifice has already been made,” Telemachus said softly, answering Madoc but looking at Verne. “All that remains is for you to make use of the gift that has been offered to you.”

The companions turned as one to look at Verne, and gasped at what they saw. His hands were already the distinctive silver-gray of cavorite; tendrils of stone were already forming on his neck and were slowly moving upward.

“It’s the price that must be paid for reusing a time-travel device,” said Verne. “The universe can be fooled only so many times before she claims you, and pulls you to her bosom, and makes you one with eternity.”

“You must decide quickly,” said Telemachus, “before the process is completed. His heart will be cavorite soon, but it must be taken while it is still beating.”

“Take his heart?” Fred gasped. “Out of his chest?”

“You must do it, Madoc,” Telemachus said, with a trace of both sternness and finality in his voice. “You are the Architect, and so the placement of the keystone is for you to do.”

Madoc nodded and turned to his daughter. “It’s a fortunate thing that I repaired your blade,” he said, reaching for her bag, “because it seems I’m going to need to use it.”

Holding Caliburn in front of him with his right hand, Madoc strode to Verne and placed his left hand on the Caretaker’s
shoulder. “I cannot say whether I consider you an adversary or an ally,” Madoc said, “but I do understand the value of this sacrifice. And I honor you.”

“Believe it or not,” Verne said with tears in his eyes, “that is all I needed to hear.”

Madoc put his hand over the Caretaker’s eyes and with a few swift strokes of the sword removed Verne’s still-beating heart.

“Put it there,” Telemachus instructed, “where the two stairways meet.”

Madoc did as he was told, then covered the heart with one of the standing stones they had found when they arrived. “Blood for blood,” he said to the keep. “May it be worth the price we have paid this day.”

Madoc stepped out of the keep to where Quixote, Fred, and Uncas were covering Verne’s body. “We’ll bury him here,” he said. “If something goes wrong, we shouldn’t be carrying around his body.”

Reluctantly, and with great sorrow, the companions agreed. Verne had been such a presence in all of their lives that it was almost too much to bear that his own had ended so abruptly.

“Look,” Telemachus said as they were finishing the burial. “See what your efforts have wrought.”

Laura Glue was the first to see it and could barely contain her expression of delight, even though the sadness she felt at Verne’s death was still visible on her face.

The tower had grown by several feet as they worked. And now, as they watched, it grew taller still.

“It’s done, Father,” Rose said, her voice barely audible. “You have come full circle at last, and restored what was broken.”

♦  ♦  ♦

“The keep has been restored,” said Madoc, “but the question still remains—how do we get back?”

“It’s the Keep of Time, and there’s only one door,” Telemachus said simply. “That means when you go through it, you’ll be going into the future.”

“In the old keep, only the uppermost door went into the future,” said Charles, “and this one has a doorway, not an actual door. How do we know it will go to the future?”

“That’s just it,” said Edmund. “From here, there isn’t anything
but
future. It’s
all
future. So we simply have to focus on the point in the future we want to arrive at, and we should go directly then.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I hope.”

“You’re entirely right, young Cartographer,” said the old man. “It’s just as if you were standing at the South Pole—the only direction you could go would be north.

“When you walk through the doorway,” Telemachus explained, “it will give significance to the moment, but also duration. You will have begun the process that links the beginning of all things to the future. Here, in this place, it will begin to grow, and it will anchor Chronos time and Kairos time once more—and by connecting this moment to your own future, you will ensure that the connection between the Archipelago and the Summer Country will be restored.”

“So theoretically speaking,” said Rose, “after accounting for the actual days we’ve been gone, we should end up right about the time we left, right?”

Telemachus consulted his watch and his face paled. “Oh dear,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“What is it?” Madoc demanded. “What kind of game are you trying to play now?”

Telemachus held up a hand in supplication and shook his head. “You misunderstand. It’s the avoidance of game playing that has become my purpose, and many years ago . . .” He paused, looking at Edmund. “Many years ago, in my own timeline, I made a promise not to manipulate events if it was in my power to do so. I have helped, encouraged, and prodded at times, but I have never deliberately tried to shape a particular outcome, nor will I do so now.”

“Are you saying that going through the doorway won’t take us home?” asked Rose.

“Not at all,” Telemachus answered mysteriously. “I’m absolutely certain that it will. But it will not be the end of your challenges. There is still one trial to come, and you may have to pay your way through it with dearest blood.”

She looked at him curiously. “You say that
we
have to pay, but you are coming with us . . . aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “I cannot come with you, I’m afraid,” he said. “This is the only place in time where the two of us can exist together, at least in the Summer Country—and that’s where you’re going. There can only ever be one Imago and one Archimago on earth at the same time—and until now, I have been the Imago. But when you step through the doorway, that burden will shift over to you, and someday you will be the Imago, Rose.”

“Not to argue,” said Edmund, “but isn’t she the Imago already? Or at least, since she’s the best candidate, won’t that simply just make her the Imago by default?”

Telemachus’s response was unexpected. His eyes welled up with tears, and silently, he began to weep.

“Here, Mr. Telemachus,” Fred said, offering him a handkerchief. “Take a minute, why don’tcha.”

When he had regained his composure, he took Rose by the hands. “No,” he said, answering Edmund’s question. “It is not as simple as being Named. It is not even as simple as taking the responsibility by choice. It is something that must be hard fought for, and hard earned. And there will be times when you want to cast it off, but you won’t. Because you know it is your purpose to one day be the Imago, and purpose is invincible.

“One day you will have done enough, and learned enough. It grieves me that there is still so much living that you must do before that day. But it will be worth it, my dear Rose. . . .” This last he said as he transformed once more from the ancient sage into the young man wearing the Ruby Armor. “It will be worth it. Because the Imago protects life. And as long as there is life . . .

“. . . it is such a wonderful world we live in, after all.

“And Rose,” he added as they waved farewell, “if things go well for all of you, you may see me again, after.”

Madoc had deliberately made certain the entrance of the keep was wide enough to accommodate the
Indigo Dragon
, but he had neglected to do the same for the door inside. They were debating whether to leave the airship behind when Fred suddenly noticed that the inside of the tower had expanded. Suddenly there was more than enough room to maneuver the ship inside and through the doorway.

The little badger stroked the stones on the outside of the keep. “Thanks, Scowler Jules,” he said with earnest humility. “We appreciate it a lot.”

“All right,” Rose said to the others. “Let’s see if we can go home one more time.”

Together, the companions climbed into the airship, and Fred guided it through the doorway.

♦  ♦  ♦

The
Indigo Dragon
entered the doorway of the keep, which disappeared as they passed through. On the other side, it was night, and the airship slid quietly onto the East Lawn of Tamerlane House.

“We did it,” Laura Glue said, squeezing Edmund’s hand, then reaching out to hug Quixote and the badgers. “We found them, and brought them home.”

Growing happier by the moment, the companions leaped out of the airship and raced for the front door of the house. Throwing it open and dashing inside, they were greeted by the very familiar face of a dear friend who was taking his tea by the hearth.

“Rose! Edmund! Charles!” Jack exclaimed as he leaped from his chair, scattering tea and cakes all across the room. “Uncas! Laura Glue! Fred!” He stopped, eyes wide. “And Madoc! You are all returned, finally! At last! At last!”

The Caretaker rushed to embrace the companions, and could not hold back his tears. He wept freely, in both joy and relief, as did all the newly returned companions, including Madoc.

“I can’t believe it!” Jack exclaimed. “Somehow, I knew deep down you’d return, but it’s been so long. So long!” He embraced Rose again, then shook Edmund’s hand. Fred and Uncas, however, both held back. Something was wrong.

Laura Glue caught the same whiff of uncertainty. “You look . . . younger than I remember,” she said, not bothering to conceal her suspicion. “How do we know you aren’t an Echthros?”

Jack chuckled, but Charles knew him well enough to note the fleeting expression of pain that danced across his features, as well
as to realize what Laura Glue and the badgers only suspected, and the others had no clue of at all.

“I’m not the enemy,” Jack said blithely, “but yes, things have changed. After all, you have been gone a very long time.”

“How long?” asked Charles. “And what, specifically, has changed about you, Jack?”

“Nothing about him is different than you remember,” another Caretaker said as he stepped into the room. “He’s just been youthened.”

It was James Barrie—one of the portrait-bound Caretakers who resided in the gallery at Tamerlane House. He spoke directly to the young Valkyrie and grasped her shoulders with an affectionate firmness. “I don’t yet know how long it has been for you, Laura-my-Glue, but for us, here, it has been almost twenty years since you went on your little rescue mission into the Zanzibar Gate. And it has been almost three years now since Jack came to join us in the gallery.”

As one, all the companions gasped and looked in astonishment at Jack. “You’re a
portrait?
” Rose said breathlessly. “That means you’re . . .”

“Dead,” Jack said matter-of-factly as he stepped to her and kissed her on the forehead. “I waited for you to return for the rest of my life, and then some. And it was worth the wait—because at long last, you have come back, dear, dear Rose.”

♦  ♦  ♦

As Barrie went to alert the other Caretakers, Jack and the companions settled in around the table in the dining hall so that he could begin to tell them about what had happened in the years since they’d left.

“I married, and adopted a son,” Jack told them, “as unlikely as either seemed to be in the years when you knew me. I lost her soon after, but it was still a thrilling, heartbreaking, wonderful part of my life.”

“That reminds me,” he added, turning to Charles. “I’ve also had to continue taking care of the Magwich plant, which has progressed in size from shrub to tree. Karmically speaking,” he continued, “you now owe me several lifetimes’ worth of favors.”

“I thought Warnie was helping take care of him, at the Kilns?”

“He did, for a time,” said Jack. “The problem was that Magwich would never shut up, and he was starting to attract attention, so we had to relocate him here.”

“Here?” Charles said, unable to keep himself from cringing. “You brought that Maggot to Tamerlane House?”