The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [113]
“It is the best of both worlds, Jack. Being a child is to believe in magic everywhere….
“…but even Peter Pan had to grow up one day.”
It may have taken minutes or hours for the massive apparitions to come clearly into view in the diffused light of the Underneath, and the clouds of the Time Storm were still floating thickly in the air. But when the clouds finally began to dissipate, and the companions could see clearly once more, they saw giants.
The great creatures were almost incomprehensible: They were chessmen that aspired to be continents, and they moved with the tectonic grace that their smaller mechanical counterparts lacked.
There was no booming tremor with the footsteps of the giants, which towered over the Clockworks as if the automatons were toys; just motion and coiled energy.
“Is that what we summoned?” asked John. “Stephen called giants to us instead of dragons?”
Bert spoke in a hush, awed by the sight. “The giants were the architects of the Rings of Power. I didn’t know they still existed, much less that they could be summoned.”
The giants were almost shapeless, having only a vaguely human form. They had no faces, but only a single circular eye, which glowed in the center of their foreheads.
Daedalus shouted in dismay and gestured for Talos and the automatons to attack, but the machines were more than outmatched.
The giants turned their gaze to the bronze Clockworks, and a great booming horn sounded: the language of Titans.
As the companions watched, the automatons stopped in mid-stride and slowly turned to stone.
The giants turned their gaze to the sea, and John counted seven of them as they moved past the island, stepping over it in a single stride. A few more steps to the east, and they were already over the horizon. In moments they had disappeared completely.
“Decide, Jack,” said Peter. “You cannot return my shadow unless you enter the cave. But you cannot enter the cave without deciding who you really are. And if you cannot, I will die.”
Jack was struggling. He had been a child again for too long, and he was uncertain what to do.
“It’s no use, Peter,” said the woman in the mirror. “He’ll never be able to do it. After all,” she added scornfully, “he is only a child.”
“But that’s just it,” said Jack. “I—I’m not a child.”
The beast-children stood back in mixed wonder and fear. Something was happening to the strange boy who’d flown there in the living ship.
Having not just thought the thoughts but actually spoken the words, Jack grew taller, and his features lengthened, thickened. He was becoming older before their very eyes, adding days, weeks, then faster, months…
And then months became a year—a terrible thing for a Lost Boy to contemplate…
“I do know who I am,” Jack said. “I’m an Oxford scholar.”
One year, two years, five years, ten…
“I’m a Caretaker of the Imaginarium Geographica.”
Ten years, and five more…
“I know,” said Jack, with the surety and confidence of a fully grown man. “I know what needs to be done.”
Peter nodded. “And that, boy, is the difference.”
Jack stepped into the cave. Instantly the second shadow detached itself and flew across the floor, attaching itself to Peter.
As Jack watched, the color rose in the old man’s cheeks, and his eyes, dull a moment ago, glittered with life. He took a deep breath, then another, and another, and then lifted his head and looked at Jack. He was smiling.
Jack motioned to the beast-children. “Come on,” he said to them. “This isn’t a monster. Let’s get him freed, neh?”
And the Lost Boys nodded their heads and did as he asked—not because he was an adult, who must be obeyed, but because they knew the boy called Jack was still somewhere inside the Longbeard, and Jack could be trusted.
“Let’s get you into the light,” said Jack. “And then let’s go rescue your granddaughter.”
The Piper’s shadow screamed in fury. And Daedalus was at a loss. In a single move, all their plans