James Owen - Here, There Be Dragons

“I greet you also, my friend the Far Traveler.”
Chapter Seventeen

“Yes, I see them.”
“That’s Athamas and Themisto. They’re pursuing that cluster there, to the north—we call that one Salmoneus. He was a merchant who stole forty pieces of silver from Athamas, and they are chasing him across the sky, to make him give back the silver.”
“What’s that one, there?” asked Charles, pointing. “The line that looks like Orion’s Belt?”
“It’s Orion’s Belt,” said Artus.
“Ah,” said Charles.
“What is that one?” asked John, pointing to the west. “The bright grouping, shaped rather like a tree?”
“Astraeus,” Aven called out. “God of the four winds and friend to sailors. Say a little prayer when you look at him, so he will give us what we need to keep our course.”
“A little prayer?” said Jack. “To a constellation?”
“To what it represents,” said Aven.
“But I don’t believe in what it represents,” said Jack.
“Prayers aren’t for the deity,” said Aven. “They’re for you, to recommit yourself to what you believe.”
“Can’t you do that without praying to a dead Greek god?”
“Sure,” said Aven. “But how often would anyone do that, if not in prayer?”

The companions slept in shifts throughout the remainder of the night: John, Artus, and Bert first, then Aven, Jack, and Charles, with Bert assuming control of the wheel.
Aven awoke just as the sun was cresting into view, a wheel shooting great spokes of radiance across the sky. The light was brilliant, and the sky at the horizon a startling robin’s egg blue, which paled farther up into the sky along the sun’s eventual arc.
But to the west, directly in their path, was the darkness they’d earlier assumed to be a line of storms; a sister Frontier to the one that guarded the boundary at Avalon. But they weren’t storms at all—it was simply, purely, darkness. Darkness…
…or Shadow.
They heard the sound first, before the island came into view, and John was very grateful for the Cartographer’s precise navigational instructions, for if they had approached the island at an angle just a few degrees less or more, the White Dragon would not have been able to resist the pull.
The sound was a roar as big as the world; it was the sound of a waterfall as wide as an ocean, falling into an endless void as deep as Hades itself.
The Island at the Edge of the World was larger than Avalon and Byblos together. It was a flat, rocky plain, which rose to a scattering of hills in the center, then sloped up westward to a peak that extended beyond the edge, over the waterfall.
John shuddered with the realization of what must lay beyond. There were no stars, and the light from the rising sun seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness. The island truly was an Ending of Endings, and somehow he knew that the confrontation with the Winter King would end here.
One way or the other, it would end.

Aven guided the White Dragon through a wicked-looking reef to a spot on the southern shore where she could be safely anchored. They could see the entire shoreline in both directions—to the east, from which they’d just arrived, and west to the edge. There were no other vessels in sight, and most importantly, no sign of the Black Dragon.
The companions disembarked so they could begin to explore the island, and they quickly determined that it was a singularly unremarkable place.
“Well, except for that waterfall,” said Charles. “It’s sort of like that place in America, where that big canyon is—somewhere you wouldn’t really go to, except to see a great big hole that will be your death if you fall in.”
There were no structures of any kind, save for the occasional standing stones that were set pell-mell across the fields and at the top of the bluff on the western side.
“So what do we do now?” said Jack. “Do we just camp out and wait for the Winter King to arrive, or what?”
“We should finish scouting the rest of the island,” said Aven. “We have a good lead on him—we should endeavor to make the most of it.”
“Sensible,” said Bert.
With Aven leading, they crossed the first low valley and headed for the hills in the center. It was, except for the bluff and peak itself, the highest point on the island, and would be an excellent vantage point from which to organize their efforts.
The darkness beyond gave the landscape an unearthly glow, with the sunlight highlighting the muted colors of the rocks and grasses. Everything stood out in high relief—which made the sight beyond the hills more unreal than they could have imagined.
They’d been correct about the view: From the center, they could see the entire expanse of the island, including the north side that had been hidden from sight on their seaward approach.
All along the northern edge of the island were encampments; glowing fires, and the bustle and clatter of warriors preparing for combat. They could see trolls by the thousand, and more Wendigo than they could have imagined existed. And all throughout the encampment rose the black banner of the Winter King.
Even John, who had seen combat, and the most terrible battlefields of war, was struck speechless by the implied violence and destructive force spread before them.
“No wonder we could never find him,” Aven whispered. “In all these years, he always evaded his pursuers, and simply moved from land to land, conquering them, then returning to a place we could never discover. He found the best hiding place in existence—the actual ends of the Earth.”
“He didn’t need to beat us here,” Bert said. “The Winter King’s army has been here all along.”
“I think we’re in trouble,” said Charles.
“That’s the understatement of the year,” said Jack. “We’re in for a difficult battle, that’s for certain.”
Aven stared ahead at the hundreds of glowing fires. “There must be thousands of them,” she said. “This is not going to be a battle—it’s going to be a slaughter. Our slaughter.”
“I don’t think I want to be king anymore,” said Artus. “I nominate Jack.”
“Aw, don’t give up hope,” said Tummeler. “This is the part in stories where they gets real good—valiant friends in a struggle ’gainst impossible odds.”
The companions heard what the badger said, but it took a few seconds to process that he was standing on the rise next to them, since they had left Tummeler on Paralon.
“Tummeler?” Charles said, incredulous. “Is it really you?”
“Su’prise,” said Tummeler. I brung…brang…bringed…I’m with th’ cavalry. We’ve come t’ save th’ day.”

After a round of excited hugs and greetings, Tummeler explained to the companions what else was transpiring in the Archipelago, and for the first time, they felt a glimmering of hope.
“It were ol’ Ordo Maas,” said Tummeler. “He said y’ would be needin’ some help, an’ he sent out his sons to all the corners of the Archipelago. One of them watched the White Dragon, t’ see where y’ be going, and the others went t’ alert all your friends—and you have more than y’ be knowing y’ do.”
“His sons?” Jack said in surprise. “How could they go to find allies? We took the only ship on Byblos.”
In answer, Tummeler pointed to the sky. Circling above the White Dragon was a scarlet and silver crane, which dipped its wings in greeting.
“I was with Mister Samaranth when the crane come in, an’ I hitched a ride back on one o’ th’ ships. And I came ready to fight,” said Tummeler, proudly showing off his battered knapsack and an equally battered shield that was larger than he was, and that he could lift only with considerable effort. “After all,” he finished, “I don’t want to be missin’ any o’ th’ fun.”
“Is Samaranth coming?” asked Bert. “Will he be joining the battle?”
Tummeler shrugged. “Can’t say if he will. I know he left Paralon when we did, an’ said he was going to find some others t’ help, but what that means I can’t say.”
“How did you get here, then?” said Charles, “if not with Samaranth?”
“I brought him,” said a voice of command, “and while he’s skilled with maintenance of the ship, it’s his culinary skills I find most valuable. We’ve never eaten better.”
It was Nemo.
In the distance behind him, out in the shallows of the expansive inlet and to the rear of the White Dragon, lay the gleaming form of the Nautilus.
“Ho, Aven,” Nemo said in greeting, laying his fist across his chest.
“Ho, Nemo,” Aven responded, offering the gesture in return. “Well met.”
Nemo turned to say hello to Bert, but before he could voice a greeting, the little man rushed over and embraced the surprised captain in a bear hug.
“Oh, my stars and garters!” Bert exclaimed. “I’ve never been so happy to see…well, almost anyone!”
“Is that so?” Nemo said with a wink at the others. “That’s too bad,” he finished, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb, “because they’ll be disappointed if they get less of a reception, just because I beat them here.”
“What is it?” said Jack. “Who’s coming?”
“It’s the other ships,” Bert said, eyes glittering with barely contained excitement. “The Dragonships have come together once more.”

The companions, together with Nemo and Tummeler, raced back to the beach where the ships were anchored, as the first of the other Dragonships began to arrive.
“The Orange Dragon,” said Bert. “The Dwarves, I think, run that one these days.”
It was a Viking longship, broad and flat across the middle, from which extended three steeply pointed prows and a tall mast with the largest sail John, Jack, and Charles had ever seen. It was also, Bert explained, the only one of the Dragonships with three dragonheads, one on each prow.
“I suppose the Vikings thought that where one was good, three might be better. Although,” he added, “given their successful track record for looting and pillaging, I can’t say that they were incorrect.”
The captain of the Orange Dragon, who Aven explained was also the king of the Dwarves, splashed through the shallows carrying a massive ax and a stern expression. He shook hands with Nemo and gave a curt nod to Bert and the others.
“A little grim, isn’t he?” said Charles.
“Grim?” said Bert in surprise. “You don’t know dwarves. For him, that greeting was positively giddy.”
“That, I’m assuming,” said Charles, pointing seaward, “is the Blue Dragon, unless I miss my guess.”
It was. The Elves had arrived with the greatest of the Dragonships, an immense vessel that towered over the other ships as if they were toys. It was fully five stories tall, and almost three times as long and as broad as the White Dragon. The sails were barely visible, but it obviously had other means of propulsion, much like the Nautilus.
The Elders of the Elves disembarked through a hatch that appeared just above the waterline and came over to greet the companions. They were several of the same elves who’d been present at the Council on Paralon, and they greeted John, Jack, and Charles as if they were visiting dignitaries.
“Ho, Caretaker,” the Elf King, Eledir, said in greeting to Bert. “The Ancient of Days told us that you could use our assistance.”
Bert bowed his head. “And we are grateful for it,” he said with sincerity. “How many have you brought?”
Eledir pointed at the Blue Dragon in answer, as dozens of elves, armored and equipped for battle, flowed out onto the beach.
“Six hundred,” said the Elf King. “More ships will follow, but this number was the best we could arrange and still arrive in time.”
“Every one is a help,” said Bert. “We won’t complain.”
The next ship to arrive was the Green Dragon—which seemed to be under the stewardship of the mythological creatures of the Archipelago.
It was not unlike the White Dragon in appearance, except for the fact that it seemed the timbers from which it was made had never lost their ambition to be trees, and had kept on growing accordingly. There were branches and tufts of leaves everywhere. And the sails were so overgrown as to nearly collapse with the weight. The occupants were not merely on the deck, but also clambered up and around the branches and spars as easily as walking on the ground.
From their vantage point on the beach, the companions were able to make out fauns and satyrs (“Great,” Aven grumbled. “As if they’ll be a lot of help.”), more than a few animals (including several badgers, wolverines, and at least one creature Jack identified as a Tasmanian devil), and the core of their force, a herd of centaurs.
The captain of the Green Dragon was a centaur whom Nemo greeted as Charys. He was massive, standing eight feet tall at the shoulder, and kicked up a curtain of sand as he trotted over to the companions.
“Greetings, Sons of Adam,” said Charys. “Which one of you is the Caretaker Principia?”
“That would be me,” John said.
“Nemo told me of you when he came to Praxis to enlist our aid,” said Charys. “I like your style. ‘Let’s go thataway,’” he said with a deep horsey laugh. “Oh ho ho! Now that’s the way we navigated in the olden days!” He laughed again and trotted off to greet the dwarves.
“I think he was poking fun at me,” said John.
“He was,” Charles agreed, “but I don’t think it’s advisable to make an issue of it.”
Bert was pacing the shoreline, watching the water for more arrivals. By their count, there were two more Dragonships that might still come.
“One, actually,” said Aven. “The Violet Dragon—the ship of the Goblin King.”
“I don’t know,” said Bert. “I feel we may yet see the other as well.”
“Is it possible?” said Aven.
Bert scanned the horizon, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It was too much to hope for, I know, but still…”
“What are you looking for?” John asked.
“The first Dragonship,” said Aven. “The Red Dragon. It hasn’t been seen since shortly after Ordo Maas created it.
“As Ordo Maas said, all of the ships—even our own Indigo Dragon, bless her spars—were made from existing hulls. They were not new-built, but created from ships that knew surf and storm and had proven themselves able to cross into waters of a new world. And the Red Dragon was the greatest of them all.”
“What was the Red Dragon?” asked Charles. “Anything we might know?”
“Yes,” said Bert. “In fact, it was the original ship that showed Ordo Maas the secret of passage between the worlds and led him to the idea of living mastheads—for it had one of its own.
“Before it was remade as the Red Dragon, it was a ship known as the Argo.”