Silent Hall (38 page)

“I don't know,” said Hunter, “but She wouldn't have given it to me unless it was useful.”

“Give it to me,” said Bandu. She reached out her hand.

Hunter gave it to her. Bandu sniffed it, then knelt down and ran her hand along the ground. “Not good here,” she said. “Dirt is bad here.”

She turned, squinting at the mouth of the cave. She pointed upward. “There is better.” She put the rose between her teeth and began marching up the slope.

They followed her lead, climbing up the mountainside until Bandu stopped, taking the flower from her mouth and panting heavily. They were standing on the edge of a precipice, right above the cave. Narky could see their horses cropping the scraggly mountain weeds far below.

Bandu knelt again, only inches away from the cliff's edge, and began to dig with her hands.

“Careful,” warned Criton. “If you dig too much, it could collapse.”

Bandu ignored him. She planted the flower in the rocky ground, propping it upright among the dirt and stones. Then she stepped back.

Nothing happened. “Need something else,” said Bandu. “Dirt is right here, dirt is good, but need something else.”

“Dragon magic,” suggested Phaedra. “If it took a conspiracy between the Gods and the dragons to imprison Salemis, it'll probably take something similar to get him out again.”

“So what do I do?” asked Criton. “I don't think I should burn it, should I?”

“Try bleeding on it,” Narky suggested. “It seems like the kind of weird thing Psander might have you do.”

Criton frowned and looked back to Phaedra, but she only nodded in agreement. He sighed. Wincing, he dug a clawed finger into his left arm. Blood welled up where he had pierced the skin and slowly trickled toward his hand.

“I don't think you scratched deep enough,” said Narky. “That's all going to dry up before it even reaches your fingers. Why didn't you start at the wrist?”

“Shut up,” said Criton. “You're not the one who has to cut himself.”

Narky rolled his eyes. “I'd rather do it right the first time than have to cut myself twice.”

Instead of answering, Criton crouched down over the flower and tried to brush it against his arm. It was a clumsy, awkward-looking motion, but he did at least manage to smear a red mark onto the white petals. “There,” he said. “What now?”

Phaedra shrugged a little. “I guess we might need something from the fairy side too, if they were in on the conspiracy. Bandu? Can you think of any–”

Without a moment's warning, Bandu squatted by the flower and hiked up her dress. Narky looked away as soon as he could, but he still ended up seeing more than he ever wanted to. When Bandu was done urinating she stood up, looking pleased with herself.

“
That's
what you have for the fairy side?” said Phaedra, shocked. “Bandu, a
Goddess
gave us that flower! That's the most disgusting, irreverent…”

She trailed off, and her eyes widened. The flower was steaming. Vapors billowed up from it and the rose itself seemed to dissolve into the haze. Within minutes, the cloud of steam was so dense and so wide that it hid the mountains from view.

Narky laughed. “I can't believe that worked! Bandu and her magical piss!”

“I think that's a tunnel up there,” Criton said.

“Where the cliff was?” asked Hunter.

“Yeah, Criton, you go first,” Narky suggested.

“All right,” Criton answered, without a trace of humor. “That makes sense. If I fall, I can catch myself and fly back up to join you.”

There were no objections. Criton took a couple of small steps forward, obviously trying to muster enough courage to step off the cliff's edge.

“Go ahead,” Narky heard him mutter to himself. “Just get this over with.”

The fog was so thick now that Narky could hardly even see him as he took his final steps over the edge. He didn't need to. Criton gave a sudden startled cry, immediately followed by a loud thud.

“There's no cliff here,” he groaned. “I just tripped on something, that's all. Damn. You'd better watch your step.”

Carefully, Narky followed. It was dark in the tunnel, and he found Criton more by feel than by sight. When he did find him, he crouched and helped him to his feet.

“It smells just like Illweather in here,” Narky said, sniffing the air. “I hope we don't end up staying long.”

“Let's see,” said Criton, his pinkish light springing up in his palm.

The tunnel was made entirely of gnarled tree roots. Narky couldn't even see any dirt, though the air was so moist and dank here that dark patches of mildew were visible on every surface.

“Let's go find a dragon,” said Narky.

Criton stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, inexplicably, he laughed. “For a moment there,” he said, “I thought I was dreaming.”

The tunnel stretched endlessly into the distance, fading out of view past the range of Criton's light. When the others had joined them they set off, climbing for hours – or at least it felt that way – over, under, and above the giant tree roots that sometimes appeared right in the middle of the passage. Finally, Hunter held up a hand to stop them.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

They stopped climbing and listened. At first, Narky could hear nothing. Then he finally noticed the low, rhythmic rumble just at the edge of his hearing.

“What
is
that?”

“It sounds like breathing,” said Phaedra. “Salemis must be close.”

Narky felt a chill coming over him. “You're sure he won't eat us, right?”

“He won't eat us,” said Criton. “Keep going.”

The rumbling grew louder as they continued on, like an approaching thunderstorm. With each step Criton became visibly more excited, while Narky only grew more nervous. It had actually been quite comforting to him to think that the giant fire-breathing serpents of yore were extinct.

“I wish my mother could see me,” Criton burst out.

Narky only managed a ‘huh' in response. The breaths from up ahead were growing ever louder, and for once Narky wished the Gods could see them here. They could use some divine protection right about now.

The tunnel ended abruptly, blocked by a wall of golden scales, each the size of Hunter's lost shield. Narky winced. With each booming breath from above, the scales intermittently strained against the roots, creaking horribly.

“What part of him are we even looking at?” Narky asked.

“I don't know,” said Criton. “I'm… what if we can't even wake him?”

“Talk to him,” Bandu suggested. “He only listens if you talk.”

Criton shook his head, though it seemed more in wonderment than disagreement. “Um,” he said, cautiously approaching the heaving wall of scales, “my name is Criton. It's an honor to meet you. I'm one of your… I'm one of the Dragon Touched. A descendant. My mother's name was Galanea–”

“No, no,” said Bandu. “Like this.” She walked up to the wall and pressed her palm against one of the scales. “We are here,” she said. “Wake up. We are here to help you.”

Even Narky could feel her magic this time, rippling out through her hand and pouring from her mouth, filling all the air with its current. Gods, but that was strong. Psander must have been right about pregnancies and magic. Narky made a note to himself not to cross Bandu if he could help it.

With a terrible groan from the passage walls, the dragon stirred.

H
e dreamt
that he had been buried alive, and when he awoke he found that it was true. The roots of the Gods' ancient nemesis entwined him, coaxing him even now to close his eyes once more and sleep, sleep forever. But no. Someone had called him. After all these years, someone had finally come.

The prophet shook himself free of the plant beast's spell and snapped off the roots that had wormed their way into his mouth. “Make room,” he suggested to his captor. Then he lit the roots ablaze.

The walls of his prison retreated before him, and he shook himself free. His whole body ached. He stretched his wings until they touched against the ceiling, uncurled his tail, and craned his neck until it made a satisfying cracking sound. Then he looked around to find the ones who had woken him.

They were there, five tiny human figures cowering in a nook by his side. One had scales and claws and smelled of fire. Salemis smiled to see one of his love children here. Yet it was not the dragon child that had awoken him – it was the little pregnant one. There was something about all five of them that seemed strangely familiar, as if he had dreamt of them once but could not remember the dream. As he looked down at them, straining his mind to recall the dream in question, he realized that they were afraid.

“Don't be frightened,” he told them. “Speak.”

Still they stood, petrified, until one of the males spoke up in the high pitched tongue of humankind. “Well, Criton,” he said. “You're the one who wanted to meet a dragon. Say something.”

The dragon child Criton took a deep breath, but still said nothing. Finally, he burst out, “I've been looking for you all my life.”

Salemis was amused. All his life? How old was this child?

“I have been here a long time,” Salemis told him. “How long have you been searching?”

“Since I was small,” said the child. “At least eleven or twelve years.”

Eleven or twelve years! How sweet its earnestness!

“I believe I have been here a good deal longer than that,” Salemis said gently.

“We know,” said one of the females, a maiden. “You've been here almost four hundred years, since before the war.”

The prophet felt his spirits sink. He had almost forgotten. “The war that killed my kin,” he said grimly.

“How did you know about that?” asked the one who had goaded Criton.

“For many years,” Salemis told them, “it was all I dreamed of. I felt it when Hession slew Caladoris, and I felt it when Hession fell. I felt all of them.”

His words hung heavily in the air. “That is all long gone,” he said at last. “And there is one whose death I anticipated, but never felt. How fares my love?”

“She lives,” said the other human male, the one who had so far been silent. “She spoke to me in a river, and gave me a flower that helped us reach you here. She asked me – well, commanded me, to tell you that She had not forgotten Her promise, and that you should keep yours.”

Salemis felt a flood of relief at his words. “She is well then,” he said. “That is all that matters.”

“I don't know that She's well,” said the blunt one, the one with only one eye. “There was a plague on Tarphae. We're all that's left of Her people there.”

“Tarphae?” asked Salemis.

“Karassa's island,” the maiden clarified.

An image of Karassa swam into his mind, tall and gray like an angry wave. “What were my love's people doing there?” he asked.

“We lived there,” answered the blunt one, as if this was somehow obvious. Salemis found it altogether puzzling. For one thing, he did not understand why this purebred human would include himself among his love's people. And what could have brought them – all of them – to Karassa's island?

“We were lucky to have been on a boat to Atuna that day,” said the maiden, trying to explain. “The plague struck during Karassa's festival. We were the only ones who escaped, other than the king. We don't know what happened to him.”

“Until Karassa gave me the flower,” said the quiet male, “we thought She might be gone too.”

The truth suddenly struck Salemis, so hard that he nearly bathed them in mirthful flames. “Karassa is not my love,” he told his confused visitors.

“What?” cried the maiden. “Then who was it that gave Hunter the flower?”

“Eramia, of course,” said Salemis. Her name flowed so sweetly off his tongue. “Eramia is Love Herself, and Her people are my people: the dragon children, whom we made together.”

The humans all looked at each other, their expressions revelatory. “Eramia,” breathed the one-eyed male.

The quiet male, Hunter, turned to the maiden. “But if it's this Love Goddess and not Karassa who sent us here, does that still explain the plague on Tarphae? I'm confused.”

“Me too,” the maiden admitted. She turned back to Salemis. “Were we at least right about the Dragon Touched? Did the dragons and the Gods punish you for fathering them?”

“They did.”

He did not elaborate, and the little ones had the grace not to press him. Even now that they were all gone, his kin's betrayal stung. He wondered if the war had been their punishment.

He looked down at the one called Criton, and at the human girl who, from the smell of her, carried Criton's child.
Is this what You meant,
he wondered,
when You said that my people would live on until the world's end?

God Most High did not respond. He so rarely did.
I thought You meant the dragons,
Salemis silently admonished Him.

“Um, Salemis?” asked Criton suddenly. “Is God Most High asleep? He hasn't been active since they imprisoned you.”

“The Gods do not sleep,” the prophet answered him, “least of all God Most High. But even so, one might never see His works in a lifetime. To Him, the ages of the world pass in the blink of an eye. The lives of humans could pass as if unnoticed.”

“But you're His prophet,” Criton said. “If you come back with us, that should get His attention well enough, right?”

Salemis pulled idly at a root. “The sky between the worlds is too strong for me,” he explained gently. “Eramia's help might have been enough to open a crack for you to slip through, but I am far too big for that. It took the entire Draconic Council and three powerful Gods to send me here, and that was with help from the Yarek.”

The humans looked at each other in confusion. “What is Yarek?” asked the pregnant one.

Salemis gazed down at her with tenderness. “Before this world came to be,” he told her, “the Yarek was the Gods' greatest enemy. God Most High defeated the Yarek in ancient times and tore its body and soul in two. Then He built the first world out of His adversary's body, upon these roots that form the world's skeleton. The Gods and my kin brought me here, but it is the Yarek that opened its arms to imprison me. Above the ground, its kind and cruel halves hold an unending rivalry; but down here, all the roots intertwine.”

The girl nodded. “Goodweather and Illweather,” she said.

“Yes,” Salemis agreed. “So they call themselves now. But in their dreams, they are one. They have been growing stronger since I was banished here, feeding off me as I slept. Even if I had once had the strength to tear through the mesh myself, I cannot do so now.”

The maiden shook her head in frustration. “Surely there must be
some
way to get you out of here! Eramia wants you back, I'm sure. Maybe if you threaten Illweather, it will help too.”

These humans were so sweet in their optimism! Their determination made Salemis feel sad and old. “No,” he told the maid. “I do not have the power that the council had, nor does Eramia have the power of the three Gods who imprisoned me. If we relied on the Yarek's power to make up the difference, it would gain a toehold in your world. Its power is best left contained.”

“What about Goodweather?” asked the pregnant one. “Goodweather is kind to me. If Goodweather has toes in our world, it is not bad.”

Salemis remained silent, considering. “Possibly,” he said at last. “But even with help from the Yarek's kinder half, it would take more than Eramia's working to part the sky widely enough for me to fit through. God Most High could do it single-handedly, if He would, but that is not His way. He demands much from His followers. You would need to go back and find more help.”

“Psander could help,” said the one-eyed one.

“Why would she?” asked the quiet male. “We'd have to be able to offer her something.”

“She's desperate to keep out of the Gods' sight,” the loud one replied. “If she thought she could climb in here while Salemis was climbing out, she'd be sure to help us tear the mesh.”

“Narky!” cried the maiden. “You wouldn't trick her into coming
here
? To the fairies' world? It's more dangerous than home!”

“Not for her,” said the one called Narky. “How long do you really think she can stay out of the Gods' sight? If Eramia's been watching us for any length of time, She's seen us disappear whenever we reach Silent Hall. Ravennis probably knew about Psander for months, and it was just her luck that He didn't want to do anything about it. I think she'll jump at the chance to get away from the Gods once and for all.”

They were seductive, these little ones. Salemis was starting to believe that he might once again walk the earth, and see Eramia face to face. They could resume their marriage where they had left off – no longer in secret, but standing proud before the heavenly council with God Most High as their protector.

Salemis could see his return in his mind's eye. The lower Gods would be disorganized now – They would not be able to contain him. The Gods had not known cooperation since the war. He had dreamt of their struggles with each other, and his dreams never lied.

No, with Eramia at his side and God Most High above, Salemis would never again find himself outmatched. Caladoris, Pelthas and Magor had caught him off-guard last time, it was true. But Caladoris was gone now, and it had taken the Mountain God's special genius to bring the Gods of Justice and the Wild together.

Here he stopped himself. Could this really be what God Most High wanted? For the sky's barrier to weaken and the worlds to intermingle? For the Yarek, long defeated, to rise again in the new world?

The humans had continued talking while Salemis sank into his thoughts, and when he emerged, the boy called Narky was crossing his arms and smiling.

“You have to admit it's about us, though,” he said. “If Salemis doesn't count as Criton's true sire, I don't know who would.”

True sire
. The words were so familiar, somehow. Yes! He
had
dreamt of these children before – but that must have been hundreds of years ago! He remembered it well now: a human knight had come searching for him in his dreams, dying and desperate. The words had come to Salemis then, and he had relayed them to the dying knight. A set of verses, yes. What had they been? In his dream-state it had all seemed so clear.

“We talk to Goodweather,” the pregnant girl said. “He helps us. Goodweather is kind – is not bad in our world. Better than Gods.”

“Don't say that, Bandu,” the girl Phaedra scolded her. “Goodweather might be the good half, but it's still half of a primordial beast. If it took God Most High to defeat it, then even the good half would be dangerous in our world.”

“Worse than Magor?” the girl retorted. “Worse than Mayar? Gods are not so good. Gods hate us. Goodweather saves me. Goodweather is my friend.”

“God Most High will judge the other Gods soon,” said Criton. “That's what the Oracle of Ravennis said.”

“Maybe Goodweather is part of the judgment,” one-eyed Narky suggested. “Or maybe Salemis is. Bandu is right – our lives under the Gods haven't been all that great. They certainly haven't been safe. If Goodweather is as kind as Illweather was awful, then its presence can only be an improvement. Besides, our prophecy was about changing the world, wasn't it? ‘Ending one age and beginning another,' or however it was that that scroll put it. So let's do it! If Salemis' return will wake up God Most High, with us on His good side, I say we do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

“It's not just about our benefit,” answered Phaedra, but she didn't rebut him further.

“I trust Bandu's judgment,” said Criton, giving the girl a longing look that Salemis found curious.

“All right,” said the male they called Hunter. “How would we get to Goodweather, to ask for its help?”

“The Yarek can hear us as we speak,” Salemis told him. “We need only ask.”

The prison walls twitched in anticipation. When Salemis asked them for help with the barrier of sky, they answered immediately:
If you plant my seed in the new world and help it grow, it shall tear a hole in the sky large enough for you to pass.

Salemis passed the message onto the humans, only to find that Bandu, at least, already understood. “How do we get seed?” she asked.

The roots offered to send it down to them, but Bandu shook her head. “No good,” she said. “We talk to both now, all together. We don't know maybe it sends Illweather seed. We need to go up and see Goodweather alone.”

This girl was clever, and she knew the ways of the elves. Salemis was pleased that his descendants would come through her.

“If the roots will let us through,” he suggested, “I will carry you up and we shall verify it together. Would you accept that?”

Bandu nodded and the ceiling gave way, parting to let the sun shine in upon them. It was miles to the surface, but that hardly mattered. Salemis reached out and gently lifted Bandu in his claw.

“I will be careful,” he reassured Criton. The boy looked like he needed it.

“Wait for us here,” he told the others, and then with a few beats of his wings, rose up toward the sun.