The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [2]
None, save for one.
She had been cautioned that one day the King of Crickets would come, and that unless she was prepared, she would not be able to resist his song. No children could, unless they were crippled, and could not follow, or were unable to hear the tune and fall under its spell.
The beeswax she put into her ears, as the dream had told her to do, kept out enough of the music for her to resist its lure—but not so completely that she couldn’t feel the desire, nor hold back the tears that streamed onto her pillow as she finally slept, still dreaming of Paradise.
For some children, the path ended at a great mountain face that split open to embrace them, and closed as they passed through. For others, it ended at a great precipice, which they stepped over, willingly, because the song told them they could fly. But for most, it led them to the Men of Iron, and the great ships that departed with the dawn.
In the light of morning, the path would again vanish, but it would have a new name: the Sorrow Road.
As they awoke to find the beds of their sons and daughters empty, the mothers and fathers in the towns and villages would feel bewilderment, then fear, and then terror. And they would name the path with their cries.
But it was too late. Much, much too late.
The children were already gone.
PART ONE
Nine Years in the Summer Country
Sitting in a disarray…was a small girl.
CHAPTER ONE
The Angel in the Garden
John rarely dreamed, and it was even more seldom that he could recall what he dreamed about. But as of late, he had had dreams every night, and he remembered them all—because when he dreamed, he dreamed of Giants.
Massive continents of bone and sinew, creating their own topographies as they strode across the landscapes, giving little notice to the awed creatures watching from below. The Giants were so great it seemed they had both gravity and weightlessness; as if the next thundering step would suddenly launch them into space, to join with the gods and Titans among the constellations.
Standing with the populace of his dream world (all of whom, strangely, seemed to be children), John watched in mute wonder as the Giants strode past with geological slowness. Then, as in each of the dreams, one of the Giants turned and looked down, directly at John. Shifting its weight, it bent and reached for him with a hand the size of a barn as the children around him began shrieking….
The train whistle was shrill in the afternoon air, startling John out of his troubled reverie. He stood and quickly scanned the crowd departing the train that had just come in from London. The station at Oxford was not large, but the afternoon schedules were always full of both comings and goings, and he didn’t want to miss the person for whom he was waiting.
He realized with a rising thrill that he was far more excited to see his old friend than he’d expected to be. They had, in point of fact, spent only a few weeks together a number of years before—but the events of those days were enough to make them closer than mere colleagues. And so when the thin, nervous-looking man with the high forehead and round spectacles finally emerged from the train onto the platform, John rushed forward and greeted him like a brother.
“Charles!” he exclaimed joyfully. “I say, it’s terribly good to see you!”
“I’m very pleased to see you, too, John,” said Charles, clapping his friend on the back. “It’s odd—as I got closer and closer to Oxford, I kept feeling as if I was coming home. But it wasn’t because of the place—rather because I knew I was going to be seeing you and Jack. Does that sound strange to you?”
“Yes,” replied John, chuckling, “but in all the right ways. Come on—let me help you with your bags.”
As they loaded Charles’s belongings into John’s vehicle, Charles looked around nervously and leaned closer to his friend. “I wanted to ask,” he said in