“I assume you’ll see she gets fed later,” I said to Relic, who had a fistful of maggots.
Of course, he answered, as he shoved one of the plump larvae into the shadows beneath his hood. We have all the details planned out. You need not worry for her comfort.
Meanwhile, Grandfather had responded to Lord Tower. “Poverty? What poverty? None among us are hungry. We all have a safe place to sleep in the company of our family. There is not a single physical need we go without.”
“You dwell in spiritual poverty, separated from the Church,” said Father Ver.
Zetetic said, with a mouthful of spiders, “Why do you have to be such a jerk, Ver? Show a little graciousness for a fellow who’s giving us a roof to sleep under.” He glanced up at the leaves. “So to speak.”
“I’m not bothered by his attitude,” said Grandfather, as Father Ver eyed the Deceiver with a murderous gaze. “It’s nice to be reminded of all I left behind. Which I suppose leads to the question, why are you here? You didn’t come looking for me. You’re too heavily armed for tomb raiding. Are you going after Greatshadow?”
“Yes,” said Lord Tower. “King Brightmoon has decided to rid the world of his tyranny.”
“I don’t think tyranny is the word you’re looking for,” said Grandfather.
“I chose the word with precision,” said Tower. “The dragon has crushed every attempt to colonize this island. He’s shown nothing but hatred toward humanity. We must destroy him now, before he one day destroys the world.”
Grandfather smiled softly. He said, “If he hates humanity so much, why does our tribe live in peace in his very shadow? Presumably, he could kill us at any time. He could daily scour the slopes of this island with lava. Nothing at all could grow here. It would be as dead as the Silver Isle.”
“You know nothing of the Silver Isle, sir,” said Tower. “I’ve flown from shore to shore; there is no inch of it I have not witnessed. It’s a lovely, green land, an emerald jewel amid the vast dark sea.”
“Green, yes,” said Grandfather. “Green with crops and orchards, grape arbors and olive groves. The hills are lush with grass, planted so that cattle may graze. Well-tended oak trees still decorate the gardens of wealthy men. But, at no point when you flew over the island did you find a forest, or any wild thing. Men murdered the Silver Isle, then decorated the corpse with flowers. It doesn’t compare to the untamed beauty of the Isle of Fire.”
“We are of a different opinion,” said Tower.
“Again, I must disagree. I have an opinion. You have narrow-minded dogma.” Grandfather paused for a second to squeeze jawa juice into a second snail. “Greatshadow is no tyrant. Is the sun a tyrant when drought kills crops in the field? Is the stream a tyrant when it overruns its banks and floods a village? Greatshadow is merely an aspect of nature, the embodiment of fire. You civilized men need fire to cook your meals and forge your swords. You bring it into your homes to survive the winter, and your fields would be unmanageable if you didn’t burn them at the start of each planting season. To wage war against the natural world is madness.”
“Nonsense,” said Lord Tower, speaking calmly. Unlike Father Ver, he didn’t seem angered by Grandfather’s bluntness. “It isn’t waging war against a stream to build a dam to control flooding. We do not wound the earth by digging into it with plows. As you must know, there was once a primal dragon of the forest. The church defeated him after a long struggle, banishing his spirit. Yet, all around you is evidence that trees have endured. We didn’t wage war against the forest; we waged war against an unholy spirit that had laid an unjust claim to an elemental force. The same is true of Greatshadow. When he is gone, we will still have flames in our foundries and candles in our homes. They will simply be free of his all-watching eye.”
“You’re not the first to come this way, you know,” said Grandfather. “Every generation sends a team of men against the beast. Every generation fails.”
“You’ve met previous parties?” Zetetic asked. “Do you know the fate of the Castlebridge expedition?”
Grandfather nodded. “I believe you are referring to the two hundred soldiers who hacked their way up the mountain almost twenty years ago.”
Zetetic nodded. “My father was with the expedition. We know the Wanderers delivered them safely to landfall. After this, they simply vanished from the face of the earth.”
“Into the face of the earth is more accurate,” said Grandfather. “Their ashes are no doubt well-mingled with the soil by now. Lava-pygmies witnessed it all. Greatshadow sent out his avatars as they were halfway up the slope. All flesh was burned away. The armor they wore turned to slag amid a field of blackened glass. It was a horrible scar upon the earth for all of a month; the jungle has long since swallowed all evidence of their passing.”
“He attacked Commonground with two of these avatars,” said Menagerie. “They were enough to get the job done, but I still wonder, does he have limits? Could he have created a dozen if he wished? If he animates these forms with his spirit, does his spirit weaken as he divides himself? No magic comes without a price. Blood magic costs a man his humanity, dream magic withers men’s souls, the Deceivers pay for their powers with their sanity.” Zetetic opened his mouth to dispute this, but Menagerie finished by saying, “Elemental magic can’t be an exception. The dragon must have some weakness.”
“True,” said Grandfather. “For the primal dragons, the price they pay for their elemental magic seems to be their sense of identity. A dragon’s mind is no more infinite than a man’s mind. Rott, the primal dragon of decay, spread his essence so thinly that he hasn’t been seen to manifest himself in a body for centuries. No one knows if he even remembers that he was once a dragon. However, Greatshadow has avoided this fate. He maintains his original body, feasting, sleeping, and fornicating; his sense of identity is in no real danger.”
“Fornicating?” Zetetic asked, with a raised eyebrow. “Wouldn’t this require another dragon?”
“You’ve already witnessed his ability to create avatars.”
“But they’re part of him. Wouldn’t they…?”
Grandfather shrugged. “According to pygmy lore, he can create avatars with female aspects. I assume he enjoys the act of mating from both his original body and his second form.”
Zetetic’s face brightened. “That seems to be a fantastically practical-”
“Perversion!” snapped Father Ver. “All the more reason to kill the depraved beast.”
“Just because you don’t let yourself have any fun is no reason to be angry with the dragon,” said Zetetic.
“Let him be angry if he wishes,” said Grandfather. “It won’t matter to Greatshadow. You’ve witnessed his power. I’m sure you wouldn’t have come to this island if you didn’t have some tricks up your sleeve. A flying knight, a shapeshifter, an ice-ogress; I admire Brightmoon’s imagination in assembling this team. But, in the end, if you continue toward the dragon’s lair, you will die. Even if ice-magic and enchanted armor can protect you from the heat of Greatshadow’s breath, he still is in possession of teeth harder than diamond and claws that can rip through steel like tissue paper.”
“My armor is made of something more enduring than steel,” said Lord Tower.
“So what if it is?” said Grandfather. “Odds are, you won’t even face the dragon. Greatshadow has had centuries to perfect his magic. It’s said he’s populated his lair with guardians summoned from ethereal realms. The most powerful magical artifacts that survive from the Vanished Kingdom are his to command; you cannot even imagine the forces he may throw against you. And while you may enter his lair in possession of some secret plan to beat the beast, it will all be for naught. The pygmies say that Greatshadow’s mind spreads so completely through his lair that a visitor’s thoughts will become the dragon’s thoughts. First, he will strip your mind of all its secrets. Then, he will pour his mind into your bodies, and you will dance for him like puppets on strings.”