James Owen: Here, There Be Dragons

All the allies wanted to know what had happened in the enemy camp, and Charles and Tummeler told the story in a rush, there on the beach, pausing now and then to compliment one another on their stealth and prowess.
The elves removed Pandora’s Box from the sled and, after some debate, secured it in the hold of the White Dragon. It wasn’t until Charles and Tummeler had changed into fresh clothes and had something to eat, that their companions recounted all the events of the night—with one exception.
“Mordred, you say?” said Charles. “Astonishing. Absolutely astonishing. But tell me, where’s Jack? I expected he’d have dispatched them all single-handedly, and you’d all have been carrying him around on a platform by now, giving him medals and whatnot.”
No one answered, but the expressions on their faces said that something was terribly wrong.
“John?” Charles began. “He’s not…Jack isn’t dead, is he?”
“No,” said John. “Not him—someone else.”
“John wasn’t there,” said Bert. “Let me tell you what else has happened.”
They talked for a long while, and wept, and mourned—not just for the loss of one friend, but for the burden the other would carry, which none of them knew how to lift.

Late in the morning, the landscape of the island had changed yet again. When they first arrived, it had been an unblemished plain, motionless in the serene anticipation of what was to come. Then, an overrun battlefield of warriors and churning movement, and later, a charnel field of suffering and loss. Now it was much as it had begun. The enemies had either become uneasy friends or been dispatched entirely. And those who’d come to their aid had been taken onto the ships to mend or were surveying the land, watchful, not quite certain that it was indeed over.
The dragons, having done what they were summoned to do, had largely left the island, appearing only in brief glimpses in the clouds above.
Only Samaranth remained, and he and the companions gathered together near the circle of stones to say their farewells.
“We have but a few moments to talk, here, in this sacred place,” Samaranth said to them. “So speak. Ask of me what you will, and I shall do my best to answer.”
Artus, John, Aven, Bert, and Charles were sitting on a flat patch of grass a short distance away from the standing stones, where Samaranth landed and sat, folding his wings deferentially.
“What do I do now?” said Artus.
Samaranth laughed, with a great huffing noise. “Do? Whatever you choose to. You are the High King now.”
“That’s what makes me nervous,” said Artus. “I don’t know anything about being a king.”
“Your friends did not know anything about being Caretakers, and yet somehow they managed,” said Samaranth. “Although they seem to be missing one of their number.”
“Jack,” said Aven. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone all morning. He’s locked himself in the cabin of the White Dragon and refuses to come out.”
“Yes,” said Samaranth, nodding. “Tummeler has explained to me what happened. Regrettable.”
“Regrettable?” said John. “Captain Nemo is dead! And it was Jack’s fault!”
“Perhaps,” said Samaranth, “but Nemo was not a child. He was not coerced. And he knew the stakes and the risks. Jack should learn from this and become stronger for the experience.”
“Become stronger?” said John. “How?”
“An interesting question coming from you, little Caretaker,” said the dragon, “for as I recall, much of this journey was set in motion because of another death.”
John hesitated. “You mean the professor.”
“Indeed.”
“But that wasn’t my fault,” said John. “Not directly. There was no way I could have prevented it.”
“Perhaps,” said Samaranth. “But when he was offered the chance, did he not say that he was willing to die, because his work was done?”
“How could you know that?” said John.
Samaranth shrugged. “Ask yourself this, young Caretaker—do you feel you have achieved your purpose?”
John thought a moment. “Yes.”
“Would the professor?”
“Yes.”
“Then your redemption did not come through his resurrection, but through your belief in a greater purpose. Something Jack would benefit to remember.”
“You know,” said Charles. “I think you knew all along that you had the means to close Pandora’s Box, and you could have given it to us on Paralon.”
“Yes,” said Samaranth. “I had Perseus’s shield. When Archibald opened the box, Mordred stole it, but left behind the shield, never having foreseen needing it. I kept it, and Archibald’s ring, for a time when both would be needed.”
“But why didn’t you just tell us that was how we could overcome the Shadow-Born?” said Charles.
“You didn’t ask me that,” said Samaranth. “You asked me how to deal with the pursuit of the Geographica.”
“Couldn’t you have just told us?” asked John. “It might have saved us a lot of time and trouble.”
“The dragons do not exist to solve your problems for you,” said Samaranth, “but to help you learn to help yourselves, and you have.
“You and your friends,” he said to John, “needed to solve the riddles of the Imaginarium Geographica and the mysteries of the Archipelago, and you did. There was a price to pay, and each of you has paid it in your own way.
“You have managed to establish a new rule in the Archipelago, and that can only reflect well in your own world. And those who have paid a dearer price know this, and would not see you suffer for doing what you had to. Tell that to Jack, when you see him. And that should he ever need them, he has many, many friends in the Archipelago to call upon.”
“I have one question,” said Charles. “In all the hullabaloo, I lost track of that snake Magwich. What will we do with him?”
“Already dispatched,” said the dragon. “He was taken up by one of my kin, who asked the same question, and after conferring with the king”—he finished, winking at Artus—“we realized that the Archipelago already had a means in place for dealing with his kind. We can only hope he redeems himself as well as did the last Guardian of Avalon.”
Charles looked at his friends and shrugged. “Fair enough. I just wished I’d gotten to smack him across the head one more time.”
Samaranth stood and stretched his wings to take flight.
“Wait!” said Artus. “Have the dragons really returned? They’re back for good?”
Samaranth looked at the young king and smiled. “Yes,” he said at last. “The dragons have returned, true—but whether or not we stay is up to you. Rule wisely. Rule well. And should the need arise, call on us.”
He leaned over, covering the young man in shadow, and offered his claw. Artus held out his hand, and into it dropped the ring of the High King of Paralon.
“I took it from one king who was not worthy to wear it,” the dragon said, “and did so again last night. I hope that you will never give me cause to do the same.
“Fare thee well, King Artus of the Silver Throne.”

The companions gathered for one final council with the kings of the races and captains of the Dragonships to confer before going on to Paralon, and then their own homes. Command of the Yellow Dragon was given to Aven, until such time as the Indigo Dragon could be salvaged and repaired. Then she could choose which of the ships to command. In consultation with the cranes, which had remained at the island throughout the night, Bert had agreed to continue using the White Dragon, so that he could return Pandora’s Box to Avalon, and John, Jack, and Charles to London.
Artus had decided that for the time being, the island would serve as an auxiliary to the Silver Throne on Paralon, reasoning that the seat of power was wherever the king wished it to be. “I’ve given the island a name,” said Artus. “Not that what it was called before wasn’t a name, but it’s rather unwieldy to keep calling it ‘The Island at the Edge of the World,’ don’t you think?”
“Probably,” said John. Tell me what you call it, and I’ll make the appropriate changes in the Geographica.”
“Terminus,” said Artus. “The name of the island is Terminus.”

Aside from continuing to care for those affected by the Shadow-Born, the effort of which was being guided by Charys and the centaurs, preparing the ships for departure from Terminus was the last item on the allies’ agenda.
“I think the High King may be angling for a queen,” John murmured to Bert, tipping his head in the direction of Artus and Aven, who were examining the repairs to the hull of the White Dragon.
Aven was as sharp-tongued as ever, but when Artus spoke, she now looked at him differently, considering his words with gravity and respect—and something more. Not quite affection, but the whisper of it. And there was no mistaking the way that he looked at her, nor the familiar way he placed—and she allowed him to place—his hand around her waist as he guided her around the ship.
“Yes,” Bert sighed. “I could see it coming several days ago. Still,” he said, “there are worse fellows she could have chosen, you know?”
A bag dropped behind them, and they turned to see Jack striding away.
“Oh, dear,” said Bert. “Do you think he overheard me? I certainly didn’t mean…”
“I know you didn’t,” said John. “But I think of all of us, he’s had the worst of it.”
Aven also noticed Jack’s abrupt departure. She gave Artus an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder and walked across the sand to find Jack.

Among the supplies being loaded onto each of the ships were multiple copies of Tummeler’s cookbook, which he had managed to convince Nemo to bring from Paralon “just in case.”
“Tummeler!” said Charles. “I’m quite impressed with your fortitude. I have no doubt your book will eventually become very successful.”
“I’ve got a plan,” said Tummeler, proudly showing some designs he’d been scribbling on a sheet of parchment. “Th’ next one will be even better. Take a look.”
“I don’t understand,” said Charles, peering closely at the parchment. “You’re going to publish the Imaginarium Geographica?”
“Yup,” Tummeler nodded. “I discussed it with th’ High King. We decided that part o’ the problems caused by th’ Winter King were because of all th’ secrets. Secret lands, secret places, secret secrets. But if all the captains have their own Geographica, then no more secrets. And maybe, we can all just start getting’ along.”
“Sensible thinking,” said Charles. “It certainly would have helped us out every time we lost ours if we could have popped around to the local shop for a replacement.”
“It’ll look good next to the cookbook, too,” said Tummeler.
“I still don’t understand the significance of the blueberries,” said Charles.
“Simple,” Tummeler replied. “Blueberries is one of the great forces o’ good in the world.”
“How do you figure that?” said Charles.
“Well,” said Tummeler, “have you ever seen a troll, or a Wendigo, or,” he shuddered, “a Shadow-Borned ever eating a blueberry pie?”
“No,” Charles admitted.
“There y’ go,” said Tummeler. “It’s cause they can’t stand the goodness in it.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” said Charles.
“Foods is good and evil, just like people, or badgers, or even scowlers.”
“Evil food?” said Charles.
“Parsnips,” said Tummeler. “Them’s as evil as they come.”
“Hang on a minute,” Charles said, thumbing through Tummeler’s recipe book, “you’ve got a recipe for Parsnip Pudding right here on page forty-three. If parsnips are evil, how do you explain that?”
Tummeler looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Two reasons. One, because th’ Harpy sisters invented it, and they always come t’ market days in Paralon, and they found out about my book, and one thing led t’ another, and before I knew it, they wuz insistin’ that I put their recipe in my book. And believe you me, y’ don’t ever want t’ upset th’ Harpy sisters.
“And second, just because parsnips is evil doesn’t mean that they won’t someday become good—or at th’ least, be part of a good recipe.
“Mind you, I don’t think ol’ Tummeler will be th’ one t’ do it, but somehow it didn’t seem fair to pretend there’s nothin’ but good foods in th’ world. There has to be balance, y’ know? Do y’ understand, scowler Charles?”
“Yes,” said Charles, “I do.”

Aven found Jack at a window high in the cabin of the White Dragon, where he could watch the loading of the other ships. He didn’t acknowledge her as she entered, but the pattern of his breathing changed, and she knew he was aware of her presence.
“Jack,” said Aven. “Will you be all right?”
“I don’t know,” he replied at length. “Truthfully, I feel like I may never be all right, not truly, ever again.”
“There was much at risk,” Aven said. “No one who fought in that battle was there without knowing the risks involved, or the stakes.”
“Not true,” said Jack. “I didn’t know the stakes—or at least, chose not to believe them. And Nemo died because of me. Because he trusted that I knew what I was doing, and I didn’t, and I failed him, and he died.”
“Jack,” Aven began again, “you hadn’t been in a situation like that before. Everyone knows you were doing you best.”
“Don’t treat me like a child,” Jack shot back. “Don’t you think I knew what was happening? Don’t you think a man notices when he begins to lose his own shadow? And it didn’t happen last night—it wasn’t even because of the Winter King. I started giving it up on my own.”
Aven was taken aback. “You mean on the Indigo Dragon?”
“Of course,” said Jack. “And he saw it there, too. Th-the Winter King. Mor-Mordred. He knew.”
“He knew you had the potential, Jack. That’s all he saw in you. And when it came time to make a choice, you chose to be with us, and that was what mattered.”
“My choices killed Nemo,” said Jack. “You say what was in my heart was different than what I chose to do, but I think you’re wrong. I think what is within affects what we do. Sooner or later, we have to face that.”
“And you did,” said Aven, looking at his shadow on the floor.
“Yes,” he replied, looking at the shadow. “I just did it too late.”
Aven’s face showed the conflict she felt in deciding what to say next. Finally, one side of the struggle bested the other.
“Jack,” she said. “You…you could stay here, in the Archipelago.”
He shot her a glance, and briefly, there was a light in his eyes and countenance that said he’d considered doing just that. But the light sparked and died, and he slowly shook his head.
“I can’t. I—I don’t think it would help. I let my emotions, my passions, get the better of me,” he said, again looking fleetingly at her, “and that’s exactly what he knew would happen. And someone suffered and died.”
He shook his head again and chuckled, a bitter, mirthless sound. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
Jack turned back to the window and watched as Bert continued to guide the loading of supplies onto the White Dragon. Aven remained standing behind him, silent.
After a time, she extended her hand to touch him, to say something to change his mind, to reassure him that what he was going through, while bitter, and a harsh lesson to learn, was nevertheless just a part of growing up. But somehow, none of the words seemed adequate to express what she felt, and they died in her throat.
Aven held her hand near his shoulder a moment more, then dropped her hand and walked out of the room.

Aboard the Blue Dragon, which had been converted into a makeshift hospital, Charys shook his head in defeat. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”
The centaur was tending to the pallid forms of those who had fallen to the Shadow-Born, including Falladay Finn. The centaurs had long been valued for their knowledge of medicine and the healing arts, but what had been done to his friends and comrades was beyond his ken.
“I don’t know,” he said again, with uncharacteristic reserve. “They live, but have no will, no fire. Their spirits are gone, and I have no idea how to restore them.”
“It stands to reason,” Charles suggested, “that they are trapped inside Pandora’s Box, doesn’t it? If the Shadow-Born are created by forcing someone to look inside, and they are capable of ripping away and…and…absorbing the shadows of others, then where else could they have gone?”
“That’s true,” said Aven. “They all disappeared at the moment you and Tummeler closed the box.”
“I think the best thing we can do is to take it back to the Morgaine on Avalon,” said Bert. “They’ve had it longer than anyone. They might be able to help us.”
“Or Ordo Maas,” said Charles. “He has experience with it as well, although considering that it involved his wife, and her expulsion from the Archipelago, I can imagine that he won’t be too happy to see it again.”
“There must be some way to do it,” said John. “I can’t believe that the process is irreversible. The problem is, the only way to let anything out is to open it,” he continued, “and then you’re back to the problem of not being able to look inside without being trapped yourself.”
“There’s obviously some trick to it,” said Charles, “or else Mordred wouldn’t have been able to use it either.”
“I know how the Winter King did it,” said a voice from the doorway.
It was Jack.
“I know how the Winter King did it,” Jack said again. “And I can do it too.
“I can free the Shadow-Born.”