The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [113]
“It was among my greatest joys of living,” Professor Sigurdsson said weakly. “That may sound odd for someone who lived in London, but in my youth, I often traveled to sunnier climes. I had just hoped, when my time finally came, that I would be able to expire in some golden field somewhere.”
“There is such a place,” Quixote said quietly. “I have seen it, and it is the most wonderful place. There is indeed a golden meadow, the most glorious you can imagine, filled with grasses and flowers that cover every inch of earth. And just beyond is a castle made of crystal, where the great heroes of history may go when they have earned their final rest.
“I am certain,” he went on, laying a hand on the professor’s forehead, “that there is a place there for you, my noble friend. And there are three beautiful women who watch over the heroes, so that if any have lost their way, they can help them find the road to Paradise.”
Tears filled Rose’s eyes, and they ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the professor’s face. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said, consoling her. “Things have happened the way they were meant to. I got to see my dear friends one last time. I was able to make peace with the man who murdered me. And I got to be a hero one final time. There is nothing more I could have asked or expected in this world or any other, and truly, I am content.”
“A light!” Archimedes shrieked. “I see a light!”
The companions looked past the prow of the ship to see what had gotten the owl so excited—and then they became excited themselves. There was indeed a light.
The edge of the waterfall was in sight.
Rising swiftly out of the darkness, the light that spilled over from the Archipelago created an artificial horizon—but it was still distressingly far away.
“We’re going to make it, Professor,” Rose said, gripping his hand. “I know it.”
But he shook his head, and touched her cheek. “My dear, we might—just might—make it to the surface again, but it will be too long a journey back to the Nameless Isles for me to survive. You must accept this.”
She bit her lip and nodded, then hugged the old man tightly, for she knew it would be her last opportunity to do so.
“Is there anything I might do?” Quixote asked.
“Just one thing,” the professor answered. His voice was little more than a whisper now. “I don’t want to go while I’m lying here on my back. Will you help me to stand?”
“Of course, my friend.”
Together, Quixote and Rose lifted Professor Sigurdsson up until he was on his feet, but he was already too weak.
“It’s all right,” he said, slumping in their arms. “I can meet my fate sitting.”
“You shall not!” said Quixote. “Not while I am with you. By God, you will stand!”
The knight stood next to the professor and pulled his arm around his own shoulders. “I will be your legs,” Quixote said. “I shall be your strength.”
“The light!” Archimedes called. “We’re almost high enough!”
Rose threw aside the parachute to lighten the ship and wring out every ounce of speed. “We’re nearly there, professor!” she exclaimed. “You’re almost home!”
“So nice,” the professor murmured as the first rays of light struck his face. “I can almost see that meadow, Quixote.”
“As I knew you would, my friend,” the knight said through his own tears. “You will never be in darkness again, only in the light of a glorious, endless day, where every sleep is brief, and at every waking you shall rise up to meet the sun.”
The light swept over the little craft as the professor’s eyes closed, and his body began to shimmer and fade. In moments he had burst into an explosion of light and joy, and tears, and then he was gone.
There was no time to mourn the loss of the professor. The Scarlet Dragon had reached the limits of its endurance, but a respite was within reach, if they could only reach the water past the falls.
The wind-battered Dragonship rose to the crest of the immense waterfall and edged its way over, just barely skimming above the surface. They made it several yards in before the ship started to flounder—but the current was still an immediate danger.
Off to the left,