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
