James Owen - Here, There Be Dragons

Chapter Twenty-Three

“What did Mordred say to you, Jack?”
“He said, ‘Shadows cannot exist without the light. But without the shadows, the light has no meaning.’”
“A wise statement,” said Charys, “even considering the source. But why would that make you think you could look into the vessel without losing your shadow?”
“Because,” said Jack, “I’m the only one here who knows what it is to give up one’s shadow—and then to choose to take it back.”
“There remains one problem,” said Eledir. “The box is known to be a forbidden magic. Samaranth has made this clear. It was not to be used by Archibald, and we know what happened when Mordred used it. If you were to try, would that not incur the wrath of the dragons yet again?”
“Not to make it worse,” Charles put in, “but we also need to consider something else. When Tummeler and I closed the Box, the Shadow-Born disappeared. What if we open it again, and they all reappear? We could suddenly find ourselves up to our necks in Shadow-Born.”
“No, I don’t think they would, and I don’t think we will,” said Artus.
“Archibald and Mordred both used it to subvert another’s will,” he continued, “to control. Jack would not be using it to conquer, but to restore. And I don’t think even the dragons would have an argument with that. And I think bringing forth Shadow-Born is a matter of intent. Sometimes Mordred needed a dozen, and sometimes a thousand. He just withdrew the number he needed. But it was always an act of will, not just happenstance. The same rules apply.”
“The High King has spoken,” said Charys. “I will not oppose it if Jack wishes to try.”
“Agreed,” said Eledir.
“All right,” Artus said to Jack. “Do what you will.”

The rest of the group moved to the far side of the room, so as not to inadvertantly look into the cauldron. Jack sat in a wooden chair between it and the bed where they’d lain Falladay Finn, facing away from the others. He looked back at his friends and gave a little smile. Then, with no preamble, he reached up and removed the shield from the top of Pandora’s Box and looked directly inside the opening.
He sat motionless for a few seconds, and then his shoulders started to shake.
The companions exchanged worried glances, unsure if he was in trouble, or if they should risk stepping forward to help him. They could not see his face, so they were not sure if what was happening was affecting him for better or worse. Then Jack turned and looked at them, and they realized he’d been weeping.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s full of light.”
Whatever he was seeing was for his eyes alone; from their vantage point, nothing exceptional was happening.
Jack turned back and reached one hand into Pandora’s Box, and it was quickly absorbed into the darkness visible. Without hesitating, he reached out with the other hand and placed it on Falladay Finn’s chest.
As they watched, a tendril of darkness wound its way out of the cauldron and along Jack’s arm, then across his chest, and down his other arm, finally bleeding out across Falladay Finn’s limp body until it formed a complete, whole, natural shadow on the far side of the light.
Jack withdrew his arm from the cauldron and placed his hand on Finn’s forehead, bowing his head as he did so—whether in prayer or concentration, they couldn’t tell.
A minute passed, then another. Then Finn’s eyelids fluttered, and opened.
He looked around at the group clustered around him. “Drat and damnation,” he growled. “Is it over? Did I miss the entire fight? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
The king of the Dwarves had his shadow back, and with it, his spirit, and his life.
And Jack still retained his own.
“All right,” Jack said, rolling up his sleeves, the old fire shining in his eyes once more, “who’s next?”

It took the rest of the day and well into the night for Jack to restore the shadows to the warriors who had had them torn away during the battle. It was a great relief to the kings and captains to see their warriors, who had become soulless, half-living shades, restored once more to their old selves. And it was a greater relief to the companions to see how the praise for the task only he could do was restoring Jack’s own spirit.
As Jack worked with Charys and the centaurs on the restorations, John pulled Bert aside to talk.
“Those who fell on the battlefield are not really Shadow-Born, are they?” he asked. “Not like the ones who were forced into service by Mordred.”
“Not exactly,” said Bert, “although I don’t really know all the specifics myself. I know that a Shadow-Born can tear away and then absorb a shadow, and we know that Mordred was keeping the victims here alive because he planned to make Shadow-Born out of the captured shadows and increase his army.
“Shadow-Born become more substantial with age. As they steal the shadows of others, they gain in substance themselves. That’s why we could recognize the features of the kings of Parliament—they must have been among the first taken.
“Shadows just taken, but not yet pressed into service—I suppose these are like Shadow-Born-in-waiting. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been looking through the Geographica,” said John. “And while the Shadow-Born disappeared when the box was closed, the maps of the Shadowed Lands are still in shadow. Why would that be?”
“No one knows,” said Bert. “Any expeditions to the Shadowed Lands never returned. Even Nemo could only get so close before turning back. He said they were guarded by Shadow-Born.”
“That’s what I thought,” said John. “What were the Shadow-Born guarding?”
“I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“It’s simple,” said John. “If the bodies that provided the shadows for Mordred’s invincible army had to be kept alive, then it stands to reason that all of the people in the lands he conquered are still there, with no Shadow-Born to keep us out.”
Bert’s eyes widened. “Oh, my dear boy…”
“Exactly,” John said. “Jack may be able to free everyone conquered by the Winter King.
“He can free the entire Archipelago.”

When Jack had finished his labors with the restorations, and was able to rest and have some tea, John and Bert explained their theory to him. He accepted without pause. “I think you’re right,” said Jack. “I can feel all of them in there, and I know that there has to be a way to free them all.”
“You realize, Jack,” said Charles, “that those you’ve freed here numbered in the hundreds—but the Winter King had been claiming shadows for two decades. There could be thousands upon thousands of spirits in there to be restored.”
“I know,” Jack said, eyes shining. “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

The companions went to say their good-byes to all of their newfound friends as, one by one, the Dragonships began to leave Terminus. Tummeler had elected to go with Aven and Artus aboard the Yellow Dragon, and he embraced them all with tears and promises to visit.
To his surprise, Charles was reluctant to part with the small mammal.
“Chin up, Tummeler,” said Charles. “I’ll be back—and I’m sure you’ll have an occasion or two to visit Oxford, eh?”
Tummeler’s whiskers twitched. “Oxford? Really? Oh, Master Charles, that would be the greatest day, just th’ greatest day!”
He gave Charles one more hug, then scampered aboard the Yellow Dragon.
“That’s it, then,” said Bert. “I think we must be on our way— there’s no telling how long our expedition’s going to take, so we’d best get started right away.”
“Wait,” said Jack. “There’s one more thing that needs to be done, and with everyone’s permission, I’d like to do it here.”
“What’s that, my boy?”
In answer, he turned to Aven. “Where…where is he?”
She started, then answered. “In his cabin, wrapped in one of the High King’s banners. We thought to bury him on Paralon.”
Jack turned to Artus. “You declared Terminus to be an extension of your throne, so this would be as good. And besides,” he added, “no one paid a higher price for the victory won here. I think he’d like it.”
“I agree,” said Artus.
“Do you need a hand, Jack?” said John.
“No,” said Jack. “I think I’d rather do this on my own, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, old boy,” said Charles, “of course.”
“Jack,” Aven began.
“You can come too,” said Jack. “I know you were close to him. It’s only right.”
The two of them had started to walk up the hillside, when Jack stopped and walked back.
“Artus,” said Jack, extending his hand. “Will you help us?”
“Of course, my friend,” said Artus, taking Jack’s hand. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

They buried Nemo just west of the circle of stones. Samaranth had called it a sacred place, and they reasoned that there could not be a better resting place for the captain of the Nautilus than at the far reaches of the world, where his spirit could look out over the limits of existence.
“Technically speaking,” said Charles when they’d returned, “that’s the same place Samaranth left the Winter King.”
“One difference,” said Bert. “Nemo is at rest—but Mordred will never stop falling. He’s going to spend the rest of eternity dreading the inevitable impact that will never come.”

It took less than a day to reach the first of the Shadowed Lands, and according to Bert, it was the greatest loss of the Archipelago.
“It’s called Prydain,” Bert said, showing them the blank parchment in the Geographica where the map had been. “A number of the kings and queens of Parliament were from this place, and most of the great warlords who served directly under Arthur himself.
“It was also the source of much of the music and literature of the entire Archipelago,” he said, “with libraries second only to those at Paralon. Its loss was profoundly felt.”
The shadows that obscured the islands were in fact clouds, thick and black, that had settled down onto the land itself. The clouds not only cut off the land from view, but also the light of the sun. A dead gray light was all that penetrated through the clotted air, leaving a soft, chalky, shadowless light that resembled nothing so much as the mythical land of the dead.
The White Dragon approached slowly and cautiously, but no signal heralded their arrival. It was as if no one noticed they were there.
A small harbor was found, where they could moor the ship and get a closer look at the shore. And what they saw was both horrifying and heartbreaking in its enormity.
The island was thickly wooded, with trees similar to those on both Byblos and Paralon. All along the shore were willow trees that had wildly overgrown, as if they’d not been tended to in many years. Among the trees was a throng of people—hooded, gray as death, and all but motionless.
As they looked, they could see thousands upon thousands more silhouetted in the dim light. This was indeed the source of Mordred’s army, for these half-living beings looked just like the fallen warriors on Terminus.
“Oh my,” Bert said softly. “This may take a very long time.”
“No,” said Jack. “Maybe not. It’s not just the people—the spirit of the land is sick too. Can’t you feel it?”
“What do you want to do, Jack?” said John.
“Help me carry the cauldron to the shore,” said Jack. “Then I’ll do what I’ve always done, and make it up as I go along.”

On a rocky outcropping of the shoreline of Prydain, Jack once again opened Pandora’s Box—but instead of placing his hand over the heart of one of Mordred’s human victims, he placed one hand inside the box and put the other deep into the loamy soil of the land.
In moments there was a flash from the cauldron. Then a river of shadow and light twined together and ran across Jack’s shoulders and into the earth.
As they watched, the light and shadow streaked across the landscape, touching every tree, rock, house, and hovel as it raced along unopposed by anything in its path.
All of the people touched by shadow wavered and fell, then began to stir, and finally rose to their feet, shaking their heads as if waking from a bad dream.
And, in a manner, they were.
“How is this possible?” John said to Bert. “How can he be doing this, all from a talisman that caused so much evil and misery?
“He can do this,” said Bert, “because he reached into it more deeply than the Winter King wanted to, or ever would.
“Remember the legend of Pandora’s Box? When it was opened for the first time, and all the evils of man escaped out into the world, there was still one thing left inside, which was the redemption of all the rest.
“Hope.”
In minutes the entire land had been completely transformed. Every person in sight bore a shadow, now clearly visible as the clouds burned away and let the unaffected sunlight stream through.
Jack turned to his friends, panting from exertion but smiling broadly. “How’s that?”
John and Bert cheered, and Charles pumped his fist in the air. “That’s the way, Jack! That’s how an Oxford man gets things done!”

All the lands that had been shadowed were along the southern edge of the Archipelago. So the White Dragon simply traveled in a slow curve along the lands, guided to where they needed to be by the telltale smudge of darkness the shadow created on the horizon.
As Jack transformed each land, the map would reappear in the Imaginarium Geographica, as if it always been there and always would.
“We’ll have to let Tummeler know,” said Charles. “Or he’ll be stuck publishing an abridged edition.”
They visited land after land; lands they had never heard of, and others they knew well from story and myth. Hy-Breasil. Lilliput. Charos and Styx. Hel. Asmund. And on and on and on. And finally, at the end of more days than they would have liked, but far, far fewer than they had first expected, they realized that there were no more blank pages in the Geographica, and no more dark clouds below the horizon.
They could, at last, go home.
Bert turned the great wheel and pointed the White Dragon in the direction of the Frontier.

“Bert,” John began, as he, Jack, and Charles approached the little man one evening. “We’ve been looking through the Imaginarium Geographica, and we think there’s a land missing.”
“Really?” said Bert. “But I thought we’d taken care of all the shadowed lands. How could we have overlooked one?”
“Not one of the vanished maps,” said Charles. “A map that’s never been in it to begin with.”
“Ah, I see,” said Bert. “Which land were you thinking we’ve misplaced?”
“We’ve only heard about it here and there,” said Jack. “But Ordo Maas mentioned it first. He called it the Summer Country.”
“Ah,” said Bert, smiling. “The Summer Country. One of the greatest of the lands, and spoken about with reverence for many, many years. It’s interesting that you should mention it, for the Summer Country was one of the lands that Mordred—the Winter King—wished to find more than anywhere else.”
“The way Ordo Maas spoke of it,” said Jack, “made it seem as if it might be another place altogether—as if that’s where he would go when he died.”
“Heaven?” said Bert. “It’s entirely possible. It all depends on your point of view.”
“How can the existence of a place depend on one’s point of view?” asked Charles.
“Very easily,” said Bert, “or have you already forgotten the Keep of Time? There were real, physical places behind those doors—but you can argue that they didn’t exist until the door was opened. When John opened a door and found the professor, that place existed for him, based on his belief that it was there. As did the door that provided our escape. It was what Charles needed it to be. In a manner of speaking, he believed it into existence. So is it with the Summer Country.”
“So the Summer Country is whatever people want it to be?” said Jack.
“It is the way most people speak of it,” said Bert, “but you are correct—the legend is based on a place that actually exists.
“The Summer Country is a land greater than any in the Archipelago of Dreams, because it has within it everything to be found in the Archipelago, and more. But where someone like Ordo Maas could find it anywhere, the Winter King would never find it at all. Because to him, it is always just out of his reach—when, in truth, he had it in reach all along.”
“It sounds,” John said, “as if you’re talking about our world.”
“Yes,” said Bert. “Your world is the Summer Country.”
Chapter Twenty-Four