The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [136]
“There will be time enough to explain that as we sup, young John,” said Verne, sitting down. “But in this, you may rest assured: There will be time enough for everything.”
Epilogue
Madoc stood looking at the door, considering. His daughter had kept her word—but he had fully expected that. It was not in her nature to be deceptive, although he was certain that the others advising her had argued mightily against it. After all, he was indirectly responsible for all of the trouble that had occurred back in the real world—both in the Summer Country and in the Archipelago. And to be honest, he was surprised to find himself still alive.
It had been proven that a Shadow could not persist if its owner was deceased. And he had long known that he and his Shadow could exist, even function, with great capacity, independently of each other. But he was not sure, not until the recent events had taken place, that he could survive the destruction of his Shadow.
Apparently, he could.
He felt it, the moment it happened, as if an imperceptible weight were taken from him. He had long ago cast it away by choice, so he felt strangely mournful to realize it was now gone for good. Even that had been his own doing, since he gave them the means to defeat the Shadow after naming a price he never believed they’d pay.
And now, standing before him, was the means to end his exile. The Dragons were gone. No one would know where or when he might go if he stepped through the doorway—and they fully knew the kind of consequence that might occur if he changed the past.
The thought gave him pause. They would know. He could create great chaos, no matter where or when he went. So why would they have allowed Rose to drop the door over the waterfall? What possible argument could she have made, that would have persuaded them ... ?
And then he knew.
Redemption.
She had argued that the chance for his freedom would also be a chance for redemption. And for a moment, the thought made him seethe—but that passed as he considered the door, and his choice.
Even after one has fallen into the abyss, it was once said, redemption still might be found in how one chooses to accept the consequences of one’s actions. To some, even the smallest act of nobility carries within it the seeds of redemption—but was his choice to repair the sword noble, or selfish? Or did Rose hope that the noble act might come in the future?
Whatever the motivations, Madoc reasoned, the door ensured that there would be a future for him, even if it lay somewhere in the past. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Sunlight steamed through from a distant horizon, which framed a seaport and a bustling marketplace. The styles of dress were unfamiliar to him, but he would adjust and adapt, as he always had.
As Madoc stepped through, pulling the door closed behind him, the lingering notes and cheerful lyrics of a song being sung on the other side echoed past him and into the void: “Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony, stuck a feather in his cap and called it...”
Then the door was closed, and the Deep was silent once more.
Author’s Note
Since the release of the first book in the Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, the aspect of the story that has drawn more reader interest than anything else is the idea of the atlas having had Caretakers before John, Jack, and Charles.
The previous Caretakers (or Caretakers Emeritis, as they prefer to be known) were what justified my conceit of presenting this particular trio of authors as the guardians of this most valuable book. If H. G. Wells and Jules Verne could be Caretakers, then why not Sir James Barrie? And if he could be a Caretaker, then why not Dickens, Poe, Twain? And from there it was easy to make a list of authors, scientists, thinkers, and creatives who might have been so inclined to take the offer to explore and document an imaginary world.
Some were obvious choices (Shakespeare); others, like Schubert, a bit more oblique. A few, such as William Blake, were good choices creatively, but temperamentally more