The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (21 page)

“These are constructs, are they not?” he asked. “Used for flight, but not a part of you.”

“Yes,” the Valkyrie answered. “They were made for me.”

“But yours are your own,” he said, turning to Madoc. “Intriguing.”

Rose was about to ask another question when something she caught out of the corner of her eye distracted her. It was a column of swirling clouds, like an inverted tornado, far off in the distance. “It looks like the Frontier that separated the Archipelago from the Summer Country,” she said, pointing at the clouds.

“There. . . . Watch, as it turns to twilight.”

Enoch looked at her in surprise. “Interesting,” he said. “Few people can actually see the Barrier, and most of those see angels carrying flaming swords, the way the Adam claimed to. How unusual that you can see it for what it really is.”

“Is that . . . ?” Charles asked, swallowing hard. “Is that the Garden of Eden?”

Enoch smiled wryly and shrugged. “It may be. The Barrier has been there since long before my time. Not many still live who remember the time of the Adam and the Eve, but one does. It may be possible for you to meet him. We shall see.”

Edmund rubbed his chin, thinking. “You keep mentioning ‘the Adam,’ ” he said to Enoch.

The Maker looked at Edmund, not understanding, then he realized what the young man was asking.

“It was his calling, not his name,” Enoch explained. “No one living knows what his true name was—and I doubt that after what occurred with his sons, he ever shared his true name with anyone else, ever again.”

“What does ‘the Adam’ mean?” asked Rose.

“As I said, it was his calling,” said Enoch. He lowered his head, struggling to find the right words. “In the language of the Host, it means . . . purpose? Yes, that’s it. To me, the Adam meant to have purpose in the world.”

“That makes sense,” Quixote said, nodding. “Given that he was the first man.”

“But he wasn’t,” Enoch said quickly. “There were men and women here for thousands of years before he came, as there are
many peoples here who have cultures and history far beyond my own. He was simply the first man with purpose. Regardless, it was his calling that mattered then, not his name. Names can be changed.”

“My father has changed his name several times in his life,” said Rose, taking Madoc by the arm.

“That would mean,” said Enoch, “that either you are a great Namer, or you have not yet been completely made, and thus cannot be Named—not completely.”

“We have come here seeking a Maker,” said Rose. “And possibly a Namer as well.”

Enoch nodded. “I know. He told us to expect you—or at least, to expect someone—who would be seeking him.”

Charles stepped forward, eyes flashing with anticipation. “Someone else told you to expect us? But aren’t you the Architect?”

Enoch blinked. “Is that a name?” He shook his head. “He never spoke that word. But he told us he had chosen to Name himself, and he was called Telemachus.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, and she turned to the others. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that Telemachus, who had been manipulating events in time to keep them moving forward, might actually be the very being they were seeking.

“What did he say, exactly?” she asked.

Enoch shrugged. “He simply said he was the one who could help you, and that you would come seeking him.”

“This guy,” Uncas said to Quixote behind his paw, “is like the Zen master of not being helpful.”

“He was here? You met him?” Edmund asked.

Enoch nodded. “He visited us here, long ago, in the days of
my youth, and learned many things from us. And in turn, we also learned many things from him, such as the art of making these.”

He held out his hand and from it dropped a silver pocket watch, with an engraving of a Dragon on the case.

“Azer,” said Rose. “Samaranth’s wife. I never realized that was who was on Bert’s watch—most of the Caretakers have one like Verne’s. . . .”

“With the red Dragon?” Enoch asked. “I liked those less. There’s something pure and geometrically pleasing about a simpler design. The original one he brought to me was broken, but it was simple to repair, and I think I improved upon the workings in the process.”

Edmund suddenly brightened. “We have something similar in one of our bags,” he said, grinning, “that was damaged beyond our ability to repair. But it may not be beyond yours. Would you mind having a look at him?”

“Him?” Enoch said in surprise.

In response Edmund simply walked back over to the
Indigo Dragon
and returned carrying the clockwork owl, Archimedes. He had been damaged on their trip into the future, where they battled the man who called himself Lord Winter. The agents of Winter had repaired the bird, but in doing so had taken away . . . something. He was now completely an automaton, with none of the fire of life he had possessed before.

Madoc sighed heavily when he saw the clockwork bird. “Ah, Archimedes,” he said. “Perhaps my oldest friend, and one of my great teachers.” He looked at Enoch. “Can you?” he asked. “Can you help him?”

The Maker gently took the bird from Edmund and examined
him closely. “It’s possible,” he said finally. “Physically, he is unharmed. But his aiua has been smothered, almost extinguished. I think you can call it back, though.”

“Call it back?” said Rose. “What do you mean?”

“Just that,” said Enoch. “His aiua is bound to yours, even after death. To restore him to life, all you need to do is call him, and he will respond.”

“It’s that simple?” asked Edmund.

“It’s that hard,” said Enoch. “The call must be with the full desire of your heart. Your aiua must draw his back. There is no other way.”

“All right,” said Edmund. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Not your aiua,” Enoch said, pointing past Edmund to Madoc. “His.”

Madoc stared at the Maker in surprise. “Why must it be me?”

“Your aiua is most intertwined with his,” said Enoch, “so it must be yours that calls him.”

Madoc took the damaged bird from the young man and cradled him in his arms. “That’s all I have to do? Just believe him well?”

“Believing is seeing, Madoc,” said Fred.

“No,” said Enoch. “Believing is
being
. So believe.”

♦  ♦  ♦

The Dragon Madoc held the clockwork bird as gently as he could and closed his eyes. Instantly the choices and decisions of a lifetime flashed through his mind, filling him with regret, sadness, and then . . .

. . . happiness. And contentment. And a feeling of rightness about his place in the world. And as he focused on these thoughts, he realized how much a part of who he was could be attributed to
the teachings of this cranky, crotchety, wise, and beloved old bird. And that was when he felt it happen—a change, like a blessing made tangible.

“What,” Archimedes said, “did you do to yourself, Madoc? You have wings!”

Madoc opened his eyes. “I wanted to be more like one of my best teachers,” he said, unable to suppress a grin.

“That’s what it would take,” Archie replied. “It certainly wasn’t going to be through your penmanship.”

The companions gathered around the newly himself bird, laughing and cheering in celebration. Enoch, however, simply stood apart from them, arms extended, with his eyes closed and head tipped back.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked him, curious.

“Communing with my father,” said Enoch.

“Uh, you mean you’re praying?”

“Hmm,” Enoch said. “Yes, I think that might be the right word. It is how we Archons communicate.”

“Archons?” asked Charles. “You mean as in rulers?”

“That word will do,” said Enoch. “Look—they are there, above.”

For the first time, the companions actually took their eyes off the entrancing scenery and looked to the sky—and they realized what it was that was creating such an ethereal glow over the landscape.

The Archons were immense personages, less giants than men and women seen through a lens of majesty. Five beings, floating high in the air, were sitting cross-legged in the center of impossible geometries of light. They were drawing in the air as Enoch had
been, but where he was simply making shapes and figures, they were weaving tapestries that moved and flowed with life. It was creation itself painted in the air above them.

“Astonishing,” Charles murmured. “And you can commune with them?”

Enoch looked surprised. “Of course,” he said. “I am one of them. I simply wore this body to make it easier to commune with
you
.”

As if on cue, the Archons turned their heads, noticing for the first time that they were being observed. The light around them brightened—and when it faded again, five men and women had joined Enoch.

“These are the other Makers,” Enoch said by way of introduction, “at least, all of us save for one. This is Abraxas and Eidolon, and Sophia and Lilith, and this—” he gestured to the last man—“is Seth. My father.”

“Seth,” said Charles. “You are—you are a son of the Adam, then?”

The Archon nodded. “One of them, at least.” He gestured at Rose. “Is that my father’s box?” Seth asked. He was pointing at the Serendipity Box in Rose’s bag.

“I believe it is,” she answered, handing it to him. “Would you like to have it back?”

“I would,” he answered, “if you have no further use for it.”

“A shame,” Laura Glue said. “I never actually got to use it.”

“You should,” said Seth, proffering the box to the Valkyrie. “The one mistake people always make with the box is waiting until the need is both mortal and immediate before deciding to open it—and ofttimes, that’s the moment when they realize it’s already too late.”

Laura Glue grinned and flipped open the lid. Inside was a
space far larger than the box could have contained—an endlessly vast void.

“Ah,” Seth said, nodding in approval. “A larger gift. Those are always interesting.”

“Is that good or bad?” asked Fred.

“Neither,” Seth replied. “It’s merely interesting.”

The young Valkyrie reached into the box to her shoulder. “I can just feel it,” she said, screwing up her face with effort. “It’s . . . just . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . Aha! Got it!”

Triumphantly she pulled out a tall, narrow hourglass. It appeared to have been made from bone, and had a valve in the center, where the glass was narrowest between the globes. The upper sphere was empty, but the lower was half-filled with a very fine alabaster-colored sand that seemed to glow in the waning light.

“Hmm,” she said, frowning. “It’s just an hourglass.”

“Not just any hourglass,” Seth said, reaching out to examine the device, “and not filled with any ordinary sand. These particles of dust were gathered on the shores of the ocean that reaches to heaven, and can forestall death itself for a full hour. If it’s carried on a vessel, all who travel aboard it will be immune from the call of death until the last of the sand runs out.”

“Holy cats!” Fred exclaimed. “That’s like the best thing ever!”

“Except for lemon curd,” said Uncas. “But yes, all things considered, it’s pretty keen.”

Laura Glue handed back the box, and Seth held it to his ear. “Hmm,” he said. “It sounds as if there is one gift left to it.” He handed it back to Rose. “You’d better keep it, just in case. Father would be happy to know it’s been so thoroughly put to use over the centuries.”

“You’ve given us great gifts,” Madoc said as the Archons and companions seated themselves in a circle around the clearing. He looked up at Archie soaring happily around the treetops, and at the Valkyrie’s hourglass and the Serendipity Box. “We have very little to offer you in return.”

“I have a broken sword,” Rose answered wryly. “It was a great weapon, once.”

At Enoch’s urging, she removed the shattered pieces of Caliburn from her bag and handed them to the Archon.

“It is great still,” Enoch said. “It is Named—and it still has great power. It needs only to be repaired. Would you like one of us to do so? It is easily arranged.”

“No need,” Madoc said, rising to his feet. “Just show me to a forge, and I can take care of it myself.”

He didn’t notice the looks of approval that were traded among the Archons’ faces, but Rose did.

One of the Archons, whom Enoch had introduced as Abraxas, led Madoc to a forge that was as fully modern as any he’d ever used. He had repaired the sword once before, at the beach of the Great Wall at the End of the World, but that time, he had the use of only one arm. This time, with both hands strong and capable, the muscle memory soon returned, and he was hammering away at the sword from underneath a cascade of sparks and steam.

The night passed, and then a full day, before Madoc rejoined the others. “It seems I am always repairing this sword,” he said with a gruffness that wasn’t entirely convincing. “Here,” he said as he handed it to Rose. “Try not to break it this time.”

Again, a gesture made by Madoc was met with approving
glances among the Archons, but this time they didn’t escape his notice. “What?” he said with a note of real irritation in his voice.

“There are only ever seven Makers in the world,” Seth answered, “and many years ago, one of our number, the first, the best, was taken from us. We have waited many centuries for another to take his place. And if you wish it, Madoc the Maker, you may join us.”