CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
THE TRIP TO THE OTHER SIDE
Three minutes earlier
Ariella rocketed through the layer of vog that surrounded the island. In seconds, they were sailing through a cloudless sky, above a sparkling ocean. The wind tugged on Clay’s garbage-pail shield as if it were a kite, and Clay felt like he might fly off the dragon’s back at any second. And yet he couldn’t resist letting go for a moment and raising his hands in the air, sword flashing in the sunlight. For one exhilarating moment, he forgot about everything—the people who were pinning their hopes on him, the dragons he was supposed to bring back with him, all the dangers he would soon confront—and he was lost again in the thrill of flight.
This was the feeling he remembered.
“So how long does it take to get there?” he asked, finally lowering his arms.
To what you humans call the Other Side?
“Yeah.… Wait. If you don’t call it the Other Side, what do you call it?” Clay asked.
Home.
“Oh, wow, like that’s where you grew up?”
Not that kind of home.
“What kind, then?”
Another kind.
“Well, how do we get there?”
We’re there now.
“We are?”
Look around.
Clay looked around. They were still flying over the ocean. The sun was high in the sky.
“It looks the same.”
That’s because your mind hasn’t opened yet. You are seeing only what you expect to see. Try again.
Clay closed his eyes, then opened them.
“Still the same.”
Not your eyes, your mind.
“How do I open my mind?”
Ariella was silent a moment, perhaps thinking about how to translate dragon knowledge into human terms.
“What?”
Jump. Don’t worry. I’ll catch you. You won’t need me to, but I will.*
Clay jumped.
Well, first, he stood on Ariella’s back—helmet still on his head, sword still in his hand, shield still over his shoulder—with his arms outstretched.
And then he jumped.
Or dove, really. Somewhere in his mind was an image of a skydiver diving headfirst through the air with his arms spread-eagled, and Clay unconsciously copied it.
Of course, a skydiver has a parachute. All he had was the word of a dragon. He was terrified.
He was in free fall. Or he should have been. He’d never been in free fall before, but he assumed it would feel faster, colder, windier.
Instead, he seemed to be falling in slow motion. And then he didn’t seem to be falling at all but rather floating through space. No, not space. Light. It seemed like he was traveling through light—pure and bright, but also somehow soft and gentle.
He never saw Ariella fly past, but there Ariella was, waiting to catch him, as promised. Clay drifted down, as if he were no heavier than a leaf, and settled gently onto the dragon’s back.
And then he became very, very tired.
He blinked a few times. His eyelids felt heavy.
Don’t go to sleep, Ariella warned him. Or you will not go back.
“What? Oh, right!”
Clay shook his head and sat up straight, remembering what the Occulta Draco had said: his sword, shield, and helmet were supposed to keep him “woozy but awake.” Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, he adjusted his grip on DragonSlayer, rattled his garbage-pail shield, and tightened the strap of his skateboard helmet.
“So is this it?” he asked, looking around. There still wasn’t much to see, but the light had become sparkly and iridescent, as if at any moment something spectacular might pop out of it. “Or is there, like, a particular place we’re going to?”
You tell me. This is your trip.
“What do you mean? Where are the dragons?”
Wherever you find them.
“You don’t know where they are?”
Where they are for me is not where they are for you. On the Other Side, you make your own path.
While Clay tried to digest this, a shape appeared in the air in front of them. Clay peered at it as it came closer. “Is that a… house?”
Do you see a house?
“You don’t?”
Everyone sees different things on the Other Side. Even dragons do not see everything here.
It was a little white cottage floating toward them. Clay was reminded of The Wizard of Oz, except that there was no tornado whipping them around; there wasn’t even a breeze.
As they approached, Clay saw that the door of the cottage was ajar. (He remembered learning the word ajar when he was little: “When is a door not a door?” his brother would ask—one of his many corny jokes and riddles.)
“Do you think I should look inside?” Clay asked. He felt somehow that the door had been left open—ajar—for him.
Perhaps.
“Can you stop—”
I can…
“Will you?” said Clay impatiently.
Ariella had pushed him to go on this journey to the Other Side; couldn’t the dragon be a little more helpful?
Ariella slowed almost to a stop, and Clay nervously jumped to the front stoop of the cottage. It was like jumping onto a boat, or maybe a bouncy house. Gravity was more of a “suggestion” here. Clay nearly sprang back up onto the dragon before righting himself and heading for the cottage door.
Just before entering, he looked back at Ariella. Was it his imagination, or was the dragon slipping away?
Good-bye, Ariella said.
“Aren’t you going to wait!?”
I’ll be there when you need me.
And then, to Clay’s alarm, the dragon vanished altogether.
Forcing himself to remain calm, Clay walked into the cottage and found himself in a tiny wood-paneled room the size of a coat closet. What was so familiar about this room? It was like a room from a half-remembered dream.
A little brass sign on the paneling read:
Then he realized what the room reminded him of: the entry to the old magician Pietro’s house. When Clay was little—when his brother was not much older than Clay was now—Max-Ernest would often tell Clay a bedtime story about his adventures with Cass. And the story would often begin in Pietro’s strange underground house.
In Max-Ernest’s telling, the entry to the house was an elevator, activated when the magic word was spoken, that word being please. Max-Ernest seemed to think this was hilarious, but Clay had never found it especially funny.
Funny or not, saying “please” didn’t work. Perhaps this wasn’t the same room after all. Well, of course it wasn’t; he was on the Other Side. Nothing would be the same here.
Clay thought a moment; for him and his brother, there had never been magic words, only bad words. That is, bad word had been their preferred word (or phrase, actually) for magic word.
“Bad…” he said, and waited. When nothing happened, he added, “… word.”
Sure enough, there was a jolt, and the room started to descend. Max-Ernest’s story had morphed to suit Clay.
When the elevator door opened, Clay saw an old man with a bushy gray mustache and twinkling eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a top hat, and he appeared to be floating a few feet in the air, like a man in a Magritte painting.*
“Paul-Clay, if I do not make a mistake? Welcome, my young amico—”
He beckoned to Clay, who hesitantly stepped out of the elevator and into—what? Not a cloud. More like blankness. He found he was able to walk, but the sensation was a bit like swimming.
“You look a little like your brother, but I do not remember him wearing a helmet. Or carrying a sword.”
The man’s voice was warm and crusty, like bread out of the oven, and he had an Italian accent. Clay felt immediately that he could trust him.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.
“Pietro?” Clay guessed. “My brother—he used to tell stories about you.”
“Sì,” Pietro said with a warm smile. “Tell me, why have you come to the Other Side? You are chasing after a chicken?”
“A chicken?”
“Oh, just a little joke.” Pietro waved his hand dismissively. “You know, why did the chicken cross the road?”
“To get to the other side?”
“Right. But then the next one to cross the road, he is chasing after the chicken, no?”
“Okay,” said Clay, still not exactly sure what Pietro was getting at, but already seeing why he and Max-Ernest had gotten along so well.
“But speak truly,” said Pietro. “Why are you here? You are so young. I hope you have not come to stay!”
“No, I’m here on a… chase, I guess you could say. But not chasing chickens. Chasing dragons.”
“Ah, dragons, yes.” Pietro beamed. “We must all face our dragons. Our darkest fears. Our secret hopes. Those monsters we vanquish to find our true selves…”
Clay shook his head. “Um, that’s not what I—”
“Now, your brother, he had many dragons. Do you want to know what was one of the most important?”
“The Midnight Sun?”
“Well, yes, of course. But I was thinking of one closer to home.… You.”
“Me?” Clay blinked.
Pietro nodded genially. “You are surprised? Like many older brothers, when you were born, Max-Ernest, he was a little jealous. He felt he was being replaced in his parents’ hearts. But then what happens? Your parents, they were so lost in their own world that he had to take care of you himself, did he not?”
“Yeah, maybe, for a while, but he didn’t stick with it for that long,” said Clay, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Perhaps not, but it is a big challenge for a teenage boy, to be not just a brother but a father. To put another life first before his own.”
“Right. Well, anyway,” said Clay, “that’s not the kind of dragon I’m talking about. I mean real dragons. Dragon dragons.”
Pietro frowned, disappointed. “Dragon dragons. Hmph. I do not think I can help you with dragon dragons.” He looked around as if to show that there were no dragons easily available.
“Oh, that’s okay,” said Clay, disappointed. “Do you know who can?”
“I have no idea,” said Pietro, bemused. “Are there dragon specialists? Is that a branch of zoology I’m not aware of?”
“There are Dragon Tamers,” said Clay.
“Well, there you are,” said Pietro contentedly. “Then a Dragon Tamer you shall find.”
“But I don’t know how to find a Dragon Tamer, either.” Clay sighed. At least he had Ariella’s word for it that there were dragons on the Other Side; he had no evidence that there were also Dragon Tamers here.
“Maybe you should try calling for one. In the real world, this might not work, of course. But here…” Pietro shrugged.
“You mean just, like, call out loud… or on the phone?” asked Clay, confused.
“Either. It matters not. But if it makes you happy, you can use this—” He held up a white-tipped black stick.
“Your magic wand?”
“Oh, sorry, I meant this—”
Pietro tapped the air with the wand, and the wand turned into an old-fashioned black telephone receiver with white ear- and mouthpieces. A cord dangled uselessly; the main body of the phone was missing.*
“Um, that’s okay,” said Clay. “Maybe I’ll just try shouting.”
“Have it your way,” said Pietro amiably. “Before you go, I have a message for your brother.” He removed the hat from his head and turned it over, showing Clay the inside. “Tell Max-Ernest to look under the lining. I’ve left one last surprise for him.”
With that, Pietro put the top hat back on and started to walk away.
“Hey, don’t you want to give the hat to my brother?” Clay called after him, confused.
“Oh, no,” Pietro chuckled, disappearing from sight. “He already has it.”
Clay thought of the old top hat that Max-Ernest wore during his magic shows; it did look very similar, come to think of it. Max-Ernest had had the hat for as long as Clay could remember. Along with that rabbit of his, with the silly name. Quiche. Whenever he wanted to make Clay laugh, Max-Ernest would pretend Quiche could talk. The way Max-Ernest described it, Quiche was always mad at him and always demanding more carrots.
It was funny, thinking back to that time. Maybe Quiche really could talk. Clay had seen stranger things by now—including a few talking animals.
Clay turned, thinking he would get back in the elevator, but the elevator was gone. He was all alone in the nothingness.
Trying not to panic, he took a breath. There was no reason not to take Pietro’s suggestion and call for a Dragon Tamer. Which Dragon Tamer? The author of the memoirs, presumably. Clay didn’t know his name, but maybe that didn’t matter any more than whether or not he used a telephone.
“I am looking for the last Dragon Tamer! The author of the memoirs!” Feeling extremely foolish, Clay shouted as loudly as he could, but his voice did not seem to carry very far in this nowhere land. “I am a follower of the Occulta Draco!”
He waited, not knowing what to expect or what he would do if there was no response.
The wait was not long. As soon as he started to yawn, a stone archway appeared where the elevator had been. Behind it was a narrow stairway leading upward.
Full of trepidation, Clay mounted the stairway. It was long and steep, with hundreds of steps. He climbed, huffing and puffing, until he had to stop to take a breath.
A voice cried out from above:
“Keep going! Are you afraid of a few measly steps? A Dragon Tamer must have strong legs!”
A few measly steps. Right. Clay’s legs burned from climbing all those stairs with the added weight of his shield and sword, but eventually he reached the top.
A man stood in front of a heavy wooden door that glowed around the jambs. He wore an old leather vest, had long dark hair swept back, and met Clay’s eyes with an intense gaze.
“Hmph,” the man said. “Do you know why I’m here?”
Because I called for you, Clay thought, but he didn’t say so.
“I’m here to judge whether you’re worthy to meet with the dragons. So far I’m not impressed.”
“How did you know that’s why I came?”
“The dragons told me.”
“How do they know?”
“Because the dragons have a different experience of time. In a sense, you’ve already met them. They live forward and backward at once.”
“Well, why can’t I just meet them, then? You’re making me jump through hoops for no reason.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“I need to ask them for help,” Clay said.
“Don’t. They will see no reason for a dragon to help a human.”
“Should I try to ally with them first?”
“No! That would be worse. These dragons are very proud. If you try to do favors for them, or start singing…” The Dragon Tamer’s eyes strayed to the sword in Clay’s hand. His expression darkened. “Your sword—is that the one they call DragonSlayer?”
Clay nodded.
“That is an evil thing. It is no sword for a Dragon Tamer. Be gone with it. If the dragons see that, they will burn you alive.”
“But—but your poem said to bring an enemy’s sword,” Clay stammered.
“That’s just an old saying, and I can’t imagine that whoever first said it was thinking of DragonSlayer! But perhaps…” The Dragon Tamer furrowed his brow. “Perhaps the sword may be of use after all. I shall send you to the dragons, if you like. But I warn you: It may not end well.”
“Thanks,” said Clay, wondering what not ending well meant. Could you be killed on the Other Side? Or did you just get stuck there?
“They will ask you three questions.”
“What questions?”
The Dragon Tamer shrugged. “The questions don’t matter. It is how you answer them.”
“How should I answer them?”
“The only advice I can give is to take your time about it. Years, if you like.”
“I don’t have years!”
“Dragons like to talk sideways, around a problem. To them, a quick answer is a careless answer.”
“Okay. So I answer slowly. Then what? If they like my answer, I ask if they’ll help me?”
“No. They already know why you’re here. Tell them you have a gift for them.”
“The sword. They may not like it, but they will be glad to know it can never be used against a dragon again.”
Clay nodded. “And the Midnight Sun won’t be able to use the blood on it to make any more little dragon clones.…”
“What?” The all-knowing Dragon Tamer was mystified.
“Never mind,” said Clay. “I don’t totally understand how they do it, either.”
“Here, wrap the sword in this.” The Dragon Tamer handed Clay a tattered piece of cloth.
“How do I find them?” Clay asked.
“The dragons? Well, don’t go looking for them. That’s always a mistake.”
“Call to them, then? Like I did for you?”
“Like a child or a pet? Never! They would be very insulted.”
“What, then?”
“Close your eyes. Let them find you.”
“Okay, um, thanks.” He started to close his eyes, then opened them again. “You aren’t going to leave, are you?”
“No. You are.”
When Clay opened his eyes, he understood what the Dragon Tamer had meant. Clay was on the other side of the door now, in some sort of canyon.
It was daytime. No, that wasn’t right. It was day where he was, the sky a bright blue; but in the distance it was night, the sky a dark purple, with twinkling stars. As though he were looking into a different time zone. Or as though in this place all time zones were one.
Immediately in front of him was a gray, hulking rock formation. Farther into the canyon, there were a few trees scattered about, but mostly there were more rock formations. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Jagged and craggy and menacing. A white mist swirled around them, like a stream.
“Hello?” Clay said tentatively.
He turned around. There were no signs of life. Not so much as a fly to be seen, never mind a dragon.
He turned around again. By the time he’d made a full rotation, the closest rock formation was gone and an enormous dragon was staring at him—a dragon that would have made even Ariella look small, and would have made Bluebeard look like a puppy.
Behind the dragon, other rock formations were shaking, as if in an earthquake. Gradually, Clay could make out hunched shoulders, folded wings, curled tails; the rocks were dragons.
The dragon in front of him looked old in the way a mountain looks old: like it had taken millions of years to grow and would take millions more to crumble back into the earth. The dragon breathed, and its scales rippled, sending silvery shimmers across its massive body.
Hello, human.
“Um—hello…” Clay stammered.
Hello what? Hello, dragon? Hello, Mr. Dragon? Mrs. Dragon? No, dragons were neither male nor female.
You may call me Old One, said the dragon, as if it had heard Clay’s thoughts (which it probably had).
We have three questions for you, human. If you answer properly, we will consider your request.
Answer properly, Clay thought. Is that the same thing as correctly?
“Right,” said Clay. “Fire away.” As soon as the words fire away were out of his mouth, he regretted them: Not only was the phrase slangy in a way a dragon might not appreciate, but also there was the possibility that the dragon would take the words literally and fire away at him.
Thankfully, Old One didn’t appear to notice.
Here is your first question, human, said the dragon. What is the worst mistake a dragon can make?
Clay felt an immediate sense of relief: He knew the answer to this question from reading the Occulta Draco. But he remembered the Dragon Tamer’s advice about not answering too quickly, so he bent his head and pretended to think it over.
“A dragon cannot make a mistake,” he said slowly. “Whatever a dragon does, it has already done. So it’s not right or wrong; it just is.”
Yes. It just is. The dragon nodded, though it did not seem especially pleased by Clay’s answer.
Clay waited for what seemed to him a very long time, which was probably only a blink for a dragon.
Finally, the dragon spoke again:
What is the worst mistake a human can make?
This question was trickier. To kill a dragon, perhaps? No. Too risky. A dragon would be insulted by the very idea of a person killing a dragon.
He thought for another moment. Probably a dragon would think anything a human did was a mistake.
“To think he is like a dragon—that he cannot make mistakes. That is the worst mistake a human can make.”
The dragon looked at Clay without indicating approval or disapproval. Clay’s hands were sweating. Had he answered too quickly? He had meant to take his time, but nerves had gotten the better of him.
What is the greatest mistake you have made?
Clay thought of all the mistakes he’d made in his lifetime. Which was the worst? And did he really want to share it with Old One? If the mistake was truly terrible, would the dragon think him unworthy of help?
Then again, maybe his worst mistake was one he didn’t yet know he’d made. For instance, coming to the Other Side might have been his worst mistake. Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake at all. There was no way of knowing.
He wished his brother were there to help him with the riddle. But it isn’t a riddle, his brother would say. It’s just a question!
Yeah, yeah, I know, answered Clay in his head. Do you always have to be so logical?
“The worst mistake I’ve made is not forgiving the mistakes of others,” he said finally. Maybe it was time to forgive Max-Ernest. That was what Pietro had been trying to tell him, wasn’t it?
You are uncertain.
“Well, how can you be certain of something like that? I mean…”
Yes.
There was a long silence. Clay wasn’t sure whether or when he was supposed to speak.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, unable to bear the silence any longer. He unwrapped the sword and laid it down in front of the dragon.
The dragon glared at him.
“Its name is DragonSlayer,” said Clay nervously.
I know what its name is, human, the dragon roared. You dare call this a gift? This thing that has murdered so many of our kind.
“I was going to get rid of it, but I thought you’d want to do that,” said Clay, trying not to cower. “You know, to make sure it was done right.”
Have you used this sword yourself? Have you drawn blood from a dragon?
“No, never!” declared Clay truthfully. Silently, he thanked Ariella for forbidding him to use the sword.
There was another long and uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for Clay, that is, not for the dragon.
Very well, said the dragon at last. You have done right to bring us the sword. We will help you, and we will save our young if they can be saved—but when we are done, we will come back here and we will shut the door behind us. We dragons are finished with your world, and you are finished with ours.
Clay wanted to say what a terrible idea this was, how much he loved and admired dragons, more even than skateboarding and graffiti art and animals and magic and all the other things he loved (well, dragons pretty much were magic, but still…), and how he wished there would always be dragons in the world, and what a sad and boring world it would be without them, but all he said was,
“Thank you.”