They heard a sound, as though some great mill ground and ground, saw mighty talons reaching out, saw jeweled eyes lit like little suns….
And before them Jory as a shadow fading, Jory and Asner both, the two shadows holding one another by the hand before the shadow of a horse, Jory’s other hand stretched out toward all that ramified glory, at first gently, palm down, as though she granted her hand to be held, or kissed, but then slowly turning on the wrist until it was at last upright, palm out, forbidding, signaling stop, go no farther, do no more.
They two were wraiths, dark against the glory of the departing sun. They were shadows dimming. They were ghosts against the soft glow of the massif. And then they were gone.
A feeling of grief like the washing of a great sea.
Nela said, “Jory? Oh, Jory….”
Then they all cried out at a pain so sudden and horrid that they could not keep silent, the loss of all living, all green, all burgeoning, all sweet and fruitful, all delight. They wept at the loss of all loveliness, all surprise and enchantment. They breathed flame as the air around them wilted and burned and turned to dust. They burned as they held in their hands a gem, glowing with light, the light striking into all their eyes, then dimming, shattering, gone.
Grief. Their own, but not only their own.
Fringe grunted and bent over, as though to compress the pain into a manageable size. “The stones,” she gasped. “Those stones under the big tree. Jory and Asner were buried there. The people we knew were only part of the device.”
“Like the horses?” cried Nela.
“Like the house and the beds we slept in. Only more … more real. Real enough to walk around out on Elsewhere. Real enough to argue with the Arbai, to try to save us …”
“Think of the strength of will!” whispered Bertran. “So much that even a simulacrum of it was moved to save a world!”
“… but not real enough to be capable of the act that might save us,” Fringe said.
Bertran wasn’t listening. “How long? How long ago did they really die?”
“Long ago. A very long time ago.” They all heard it, all felt the time stretching out, the years falling like rain, the age that had gone since they had died.
“Will they come again?” Nela cried into the gathering dark. “Oh, Great Dragon, will they come again.”
No sound. Only the vast sorrow retreating as it turned back, its intention clear to all of them. It would return to the meadow near the stones where it had lived and waited, lived and waited, for lifetimes alone. They heard it calling, the great heartbroken sound of a creature calling for its mate.
After a long moment, trembling but resolute, Fringe moved after it.
“Fringe,” cried Nela fearfully.
Danivon tried to catch at her, but Fringe put up her hand as Jory had done, palm upright, saying no, say no more.
Danivon let her go, his face open and vacant, not feeling anything. Not sorrow. Not relief. Later he would feel them both, but now he felt nothing at all.
“Wait for me,” demanded Fringe, running through the forest after a dwindling presence. There was no answer.
“She wanted this,” Fringe asserted. “If you cared for her, you owe this to her.”
“Love cannot be owed,” said the retreating shadow. “It can only be given.”
“And she gave it,” Fringe cried stubbornly. “She kept on giving it. You’re part of the reason she got into this. You’re part of the reason she came back, kept coming back. Because you were here, waiting.”
Silence.
“You were the core around which her resurrection grew,” Fringe said angrily. “You were the bell that wakened her!”
Still silence.
“So if love cannot be owed, perhaps duty can. Jory was a great one for duty.”
“True,” said a vast, echoing voice. “That is true.”
“Or perhaps love can be given still, to do something she wanted to do. As a memorial!”
“Such as …?”
“You know very well. Such as saving the people of Elsewhere.”
“They chose….”
“Do I need to quote Jory at you? None of us could get away from our history far enough to make choices!”
Vast sighing, as of winds, heaving as of a forest in storm. “Very well. Since you ask, I will do something as a memorial for her. I will save her daughter, the one she chose. That I can do.”
“You’ll save me?”
“I can do that. I can take you with me, away from here, out among the stars. We can continue the journey….”
She breathed deeply, suddenly alight, as though kindled by joy. She could go! As Jory had done! To find … to find whatever it was that lay beyond all human hopes, all human destinies….
She could fly. She could take these offered wings and fly!
She bowed her head. What would Jory have said? Never mind what Jory would have said, what did she herself say! What had she already told herself? Only the unencumbered could go chasing visions. Was she unencumbered?
“Not good enough,” she sighed at last. “Not good enough, Great Dragon. I made a vow. I have friends here. Jory had friends here. She wouldn’t have accepted that.”
A long silence, then a whisper. “I, too, can die. I, too, can be killed!”
“We are alike in that.”
“Why should I risk my life for Elsewhere?”
“Because it was important to Jory.”
And again, silence. Fringe stalked forward, her hand before her. It encountered something monstrous and wall-like, something that quivered with enormous life. She stood where she was, not daring to move. The being burned darkly, emitting grief like an aura.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But she was so tired. She was willing to stand with us upon the massif, fighting until she fell at last, but she was so tired.”
“I, too, grow weary.”
“Will you help me do what she wanted done?”
“It may not be possible to do what she wanted done.”
“We can try.”
Again the sigh. Again the whisper. “Come then. Let us try.”
She rode, unaware how it had happened
