The Last Guardian of Everness (War of the Dreaming 1) Read Free

hanging in the darkness, in a cage. He betrayed his oath.” Lemuel pointed with his pipestem at the motto inscribed in stone above the mantel. “Maybe he was unfaithful. But maybe he was only impatient.”
    Galen understood the hint; reluctantly he turned to go.
    But then at the door he turned again, a young and rebellious spirit in hiseyes:
    “Where is the Horn, Grandfather Lemuel? Don’t you think it is time I knew?”
    “Patience. It’s not time for you to know.”
    “What if you don’t come back? Who will be left to blow the Horn?”
    “You are not the Guardian yet. Now, you go back to sleep. But do not answer the summons of the black sea-bird. Do not dream about Tirion. Recite the lesser key and go through the gate of lesser dreaming to some nice visions. Cockaygne, perhaps? Luilekkerland? Schlarraffenland?”
    Galen straightened. Wounded pride was clear on his face. “Schlarraffenland? That place is for kids! Grandfather Lemuel, I’ve have been places no other Guardian has ever dreamed. I have seen the trees of Arcadia and the groves that grow in the shadow of the Darkest Tower, I have tread the peaks of Zimiamvia and tasted from the ever-falling waters of Utterbol whose fountains are by the sea! I am the greatest dreamer this family has ever produced, and you know it! I am not afraid of the shadows of the dead. I can go to Tirion and return safely. The summons came to me!”
    Not without kindness, Grandfather Lemuel said, “You are talented. But, all boasting aside, you are still very young, Galen. And you know that fairy tales depict the rules in the dreaming the same way science describes our rules here. And no hero in any fairy tale ever ignored his Grandfather’s warning and escaped unpunished. Do not go to Tirion. Do not go to speak to the Founder. Is that clear?”
    And he lit his pipe with candle he held.
    Galen retreated to the door, defiantly snapped on the flashlight, and clomped away upstairs, muttering.
    Grandfather Lemuel’s smile faded as soon as Galen was out of the room. “A long flight tomorrow night. . .,” he whispered. He stared up at the carved image of the winged horse. “And a dangerous one. Will the dream-colt come for me, this time, now that the bell has tolled? Vindyamar tonight. But where tomorrow . . . ?”
    His gaze crossed the room to look at the painting of the stern-eyed man who held the skull. “Will you talk to me this time, old friend? And let me go again? It’s so cold beyond the world’s edge, and I am so old. . .”
    He tamped out his pipe against the mantelpiece. He was not in themood for a smoke after all. His thoughts were somber. “Suppose you do not let me back through the mist to the sunlight this time? If I don’t wake up, who is left? One frightened boy?”
     
    V
     
    Galen, who had made a deal of noise clattering up the stairs, knew his Grandfather Lemuel’s habit of talking to himself and had crept quickly and quietly downstairs again, flashlight extinguished. He was crouched in the hall beside the parlor door and was in time to hear his Grandfather Lemuel’s last comment.
    Later, lying awake in bed and watching the play of the shadows of branches in the moonlight above his bed, Galen came to a stern resolution.
    “The first of the watchers is still being punished for his dereliction of duty,” Galen thought to himself. “But Gramps still goes to talk to him. He risks it. It put him in a coma when I was in sixth grade. I remember that’s what the doctors called it. A ‘coma.’ “ He grunted to himself. Contempt was all he felt for modern doctors.
    “The First Watcher’s summons came to me. Me. The dream-colts come every time I call, but they have only come three times for Grampa. He might not even be able to get to Tirion.
    “And if I go tonight and brave the danger myself, he won’t need to go tomorrow.”
    In his mind’s eye, he drew the circle to build the Tower of Time his Grandfather Lemuel had taught him how to keep in his mind.