As the floor of the bright square room fell gently out from under her, Erde suffered a flash of childhood memory, of falling once when she was five into the deep end of the mill pond. It wasn’t just the sensation of sinking slowly into the unknown. There was also this strange, increasing pressure on her eardrums, in her lungs, inside her head.
Not painful, only . . . disorienting. Erde glanced around to see if anyone else seemed to notice it.
N’Doch was looking her way. She searched his round ebony face for helpful clues. Perhaps her own face showed more distress than she felt, for he winked at her and smiled encouragingly.
Part of the oddness, she knew, was being apart from the dragons, inwardly as well as outwardly. She recognized the disappointing dulling of her senses—sight, smell, and especially sound—and the loneliness of being once again remanded to the confines of her own narrow skull.
And yet . . . being entirely within herself once again made her feel peculiarly collected. Strong, and clear-minded. Grown up.
She had listened closely to the confrontation in the cavern. The dragons had planted all the necessary language in her head, but the day’s sequence of events had left her reeling with smoke and violence and revelation. The mystic reunion with Sir Hal’s dragon-hilted sword. Lord Fire denying his destiny. Her own Earth, and Lady Water, coming into the fullness of their powers. And all the human events as well.
But it wasn’t necessary, Erde decided, to understand all the complex ramifications of those events, of the relationship between the town and the Tinkers, or the Tinkers and Lord Fire’s Temple, or even the Temple and the general populace. Or of the arrival of the man Leif Cauldwell. Erde would await the dragons’ reading of him. She thought of him as a sort of beautiful giant. If she were a sculptor, she would use him to model an archangel. Not fierce Michael, with the sword. Gabriel, rather, the Messenger.
All that really mattered was knowing how any of this bore on the dragons and the furthering of their Quest.
They had found Lord Fire and confronted him. As Baron Köthen had said, the battle was joined. Erde knew she should be filled with foreboding. Instead, she was exultant with purpose. Oh, the strength of purpose that swelled within her as the white room sank into unknown depths! It had been ripening, like a secret child in her womb, all along, while she was distracted with concern for the dragon’s growth and welfare. She felt as if nothing could dismay her now, not a day of confusion and bloodshed, not the piercing eye of the hell-priest, not even the hopelessness of her love for the man standing next to her.
She wondered if N’Doch felt the same.
It was not a question to be asked out loud, not in present company. And it was complicated. She wasn’t quite sure how to put it to him. So she turned it over in her mind, forming and re-forming the question, then glanced up to find him still staring at her. Only he wasn’t smiling now. He looked both amazed and horrified.
Stop thinking so loud, his voice growled in her mind. The answer is yes!
Omigod! She knew she must not gape at him, and draw the others’ notice. What . . .?
A rueful chuckle tickled a corner of her mind. Guess it finally got quiet enough in our heads for us to hear what else is going on.
Do you . . . mind?
No. Not really. She feels his surprise. Seems sorta . . . right. Long as I know there’s places you can’t go and things you can’t know.
Erde turned away to hide her smile from the casual onlooker. N’Doch! Your thoughts are even more musical than your speech!
Won’t they be pleased!
The dragons? You mean, ’cause we finally learned something on our own?
But we didn’t! They taught us. We just weren’t aware of it at the time.
I suppose.
But it wasn’t quite like talking with the dragons. This entire communication had been instantaneous, contained in the few seconds it took Stoksie across from her to raise his hand and scratch his head. Erde had always assumed that the dragons slowed down their thoughts to suit the more sluggish pace of human minds. What if it was the other way around?
She considered how the tiny rapid heartbeat of a bird in hand made one’s own human pulse seem inexorable and slow. Was it so with tiny humans and their dragons?
Hey, girl . . . Erde . . . lemme ask you something. I got a thought here.
She looked his way. He was studying the limp bundle in the archangel’s arms. The priestess? What about her?
Fire’s dragon guide, I’m betting. Whadda you think?
Oh. Oh, my. Well . . . perhaps so.
When she wakes up, maybe we should ask her.
Like . . . this?
N’Doch laughed, and Luther glanced over curiously. N’Doch shook his head. “Nothin’, man, nothin’. Just a thought.”
But in her head, he said, Well, yeah! If she answers, we’ll know we’re right.