The Kenkari indicated chairs with a polite and graceful gesture. “Is there anything we can bring you? Food? Drink?”
“Yeah. A dragonship,” muttered Haplo.
Iridal slumped into a chair, closed her eyes, shook her head.
“We must leave you now. We have preparations to make,” said the Kenkari. “We will return. If you need anything, ring the tongueless bell.” How can I save Jarre? There has to be a way. Stealing a ship will take too long. She’ll be dead by the time I reach her. Haplo began to pace the small room. Absorbed in his thoughts, he forgot Iridal’s presence, was startled when she spoke. He was even more startled when he realized she was answering his thoughts.
“You have remarkable magical powers, as I recall,” she said. “You carried my son by magic from the ruined castle. You could do the same here, I suppose. Why don’t you just leave on your own, let your magic take you where you want?”
“I could,” said Haplo, turning to face her. “If I had a fixed location in my mind—somewhere I knew, somewhere I’d been before. It’s hard to explain, but I could conjure up the possibility that I’m there—not here. I could travel to Drevlin, because I’ve been to Drevlin. I could take us both back to the Imperanon. But I can’t take myself to a strange dragonship flying somewhere between here and Drevlin. And I can’t take you to your son, if that’s what you’re hoping for, Lady.”
Iridal regarded him coldly. “Then it appears we must rely on these elves. Your head wound has reopened. It has started to bleed again. If you can truly heal yourself, Patryn, I suggest it might be wise to do so.” Haplo had to admit she was right. He was wearing himself out, accomplishing nothing. Sitting down in a chair, he laid his hand upon the injured part of his skull, established the circle of his being, let the warmth of his magic close the crack in the bone, banish the memory of the ripping talons, the tearing beaks...
He had drifted into a healing sleep when he was jolted awake by a voice. Iridal had risen to her feet, was staring at him in awe and fear. Haplo, confused, couldn’t think what he’d done to upset her. Then he looked at his skin, saw the blue glow of the runes just starting to fade. He’d forgotten. The mensch on this world weren’t used to such sights.
“You are a god!” Iridal whispered, awed.
“I used to think so,” Haplo said dryly, experimentally rubbing his skull, feeling it whole and undamaged beneath his fingers. “But not anymore. Forces stronger than mine and those of my people exist in this universe.”
“I don’t understand...” Iridal murmured.
Haplo shrugged. “That’s the point.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “You’ve changed from what you were. When you first came, you were confident, in control.”
“I thought I was in control. I’ve learned a lot, since then.”
“Now, you are more like us—‘mensch,’ I believe Alfred said is the term you use. You seem ...” She hesitated.
“Frightened?” Haplo offered grimly.
“Yes,” she said. “Frightened.”
A small door opened. One of the Kenkari entered, bowed. “All is ready. You may enter the Aviary.”
His hand indicated the garden. Haplo was about to protest irritably that this was no time for tea and cookies on the lawn when he caught a glimpse of Iridal. She was staring at the lush green foliage with a kind of horror, shrinking away from it.
“We must go in there?” she asked.
“All is well,” said the Kenkari. “They understand. They want to help. You are welcome.”
“Who?” Haplo asked the Kenkari. “Who understands? Who’s going to help?”
“The dead,” answered the Keeper.
Haplo was reminded of the second world he’d visited—Pryan. Its lush jungles might have been uprooted and dropped into this crystal dome. Then he saw that this foliage was arranged to look wild. In reality, it was carefully tended, lovingly nurtured.
He was amazed at the vastness of the dome. The Aviary had not looked this big seen through the chapel window. A dragonship—two dragonships—could have flown side by side in the widest part. But what amazed him more, when he stopped to think about it, was the greenery. Trees and ferns and plants such as these did not grow in the arid Mid Realm.
“Why,” said Iridal, staring around her, “these trees are like those in the High Realms. Or rather, those that used to be in the High Realms.” She reached out to touch a soft and feathery fern. “Nothing like this grows there now. All died, long ago.”
“Not all. These are from the High Realms,” said the Keeper of the Soul. “Our people brought them to this Realm when they left, long ago. Some of these trees are so old, I feel young around them. And the ferns—”
“Forget the damn ferns! Let’s get on with this, whatever it is,” said Haplo impatiently. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. When they had first entered, the Aviary had seemed a haven of peace and tranquillity. Now he sensed anger and turmoil and fear. Hot winds touched his cheek, stirred his clothing. His skin crawled and itched, as if soft wings were brushing against him.
Souls of the dead, kept in here like caged birds.
Well, I’ve seen stranger things, Haplo reminded himself. I’ve seen the dead walk. He’d give these mensch one chance to prove their usefulness, then he’d take matters into his own hands.
The Kenkari lifted their eyes to the heavens, began to pray.
“Krenka-Anris, we call to you,” said the Keeper of the Soul. “Holy Priestess, who first knew the wonder of this magic, hear our prayer and give us counsel. Thus we pray:
The hot winds began to blow harder, fiercer, strengthening to an angry gale. The trees swayed and moaned, as if lamenting, branches snapped, leaves rustled in agitation. Haplo imagined he could hear voices, thousands of silent voices, adding their prayers to those spoken aloud by the Kenkari. The voices rose to the top of the Aviary, rose above the trees and greenery.
Iridal gasped and clutched at his arm. Her head was raised, her gaze fixed on the top of the Aviary dome.
“Look!” she breathed.
Strange clouds began to form, to coalesce, clouds woven from the whispering cacophony.
They began to take the form and shape of a dragon.
A nice bit of magic. Haplo was moderately impressed, though he wondered irritably just how the mensch thought a cloud shaped like a dragon was going to help anybody. He was again about to ask, about to interrupt, when the sigla on his skin burned in warning.
“The dragon Krishach,” said Soul.
“Come to save us,” said Book.
“Blessed Krenka-Anris,” said Door.
“But it’s not real!” Haplo protested, admonishing his own instincts as much as anything else. The sigla on his skin glowed blue, prepared to defend him. And then he saw that it was real.
The dragon was a creature of cloud and of shadow; insubstantial, yet granted a terrible substance. Its flesh was a pale, translucent white, the white of a long-dead corpse. The dragon’s skeleton was visible through the flaccid skin, which hung loosely over the bones. The eye sockets were empty, dark, except for a smoldering flame that gleamed bright one instant, then faded, then shone again, like dying embers being blown to life.