The First Dragon(39)

“I see it differently,” Hermes said. “I am not a guest in their city—they are guests on my world. And what is a single city compared to an entire world?”

“I’m starting to see why you and Dee get along,” said Kipling. His left arm was starting to come loose from the bonds. “You have similar ambitions.”

“As all gods ought,” said Hermes.

“Gods?” Kipling exclaimed. “John Dee is not a god, he’s just an alchemist with delusions of grandeur.”

“That,” said Hermes, “is exactly how it starts.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Rose, Charles, Edmund, and the angel Samaranth watched solemnly as a door irised open high up in the room, and a regal, impossibly dressed woman floated through and took a seat on the Silver Throne. Her flowing gown draped the dais for almost a hundred feet, and even when she was seated, the long sleeves of her robe continued to float as if suspended in water.

“The Jade Empress,” Samaranth said under his breath, “and the last real connection between the city and the true peoples of this world.”

“How old is she?” Edmund asked.

“Unlike us of the Host,” the angel replied, “she truly is as youthful as she appears. She was a crippled beggar, living on the outskirts of the city, when it was discovered that she was the granddaughter of one of the four great kings of the East. And so she was welcomed here, and made empress, so that men would have a say in the fate of the world.”

“That sounds awfully familiar,” said Charles.

“Because we’ve heard the story before,” said Rose. “The Jade Empress is T’ai Shan.”

“Ah,” Samaranth said, surprised. “You know her?”

“We have mutual friends,” said Rose. “Look, something’s happening.”

The ambient light throughout the great room began to dim, and several glowing rings of varying color and intensity began to spread throughout the space, aligning themselves over each of the largest platforms. The rings separated into two, and each set began to oscillate, revolving in different directions. A brightening of a particular set of rings indicated that those on the pedestal below had permission to speak.

Samaranth’s expression remained placid as the first rings to brighten were high above, on the platform of the Nephilim.

“I am Salathiel,” the angel began, “of the first order of the ninth Guild of Diplomats of the second Host of the City of Jade, and I speak for all the Watchers.”

There was a murmuring throughout the assembly, as if something very unorthodox had been spoken.

Charles glanced around at the Cherubim, all of whom were commiserating and whispering to one another. Something about Salathiel had disturbed everyone at the summit.

“What did he say?” Charles whispered. “All I heard was an introduction, but everyone is acting as if he’d just spit into the soup.”

“He has Named himself and the Nephilim as Watchers,” said Samaranth. “That has not been done before.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Watchers,” Samaranth explained, “are mostly Nephilim, and some Seraphim, all of whom are of the Diplomatic Guild. They were meant to have direct contact with the peoples of the world—and there are many among the Host who believe they did their job either very poorly, or far, far too well.”

A look of astonishment spread over Charles’s face as his old studies came back to him and he finally understood what Samaranth was saying.

“They had offspring with the Daughters of Eve, didn’t they?” he asked. “The angels had children.”

“The giants,” Samaranth said, nodding. “Even now, they stand guard outside the city, to prevent the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, and all the other Children of the Earth, from entering the city, or even from reaching the seas beyond. This is the great injustice that we hope to change today. The world, both worlds, were meant to be shared, for the prosperity of all, not just the privileged few.”

“We wish to appeal to the Word,” Salathiel continued, “to make and Name the Un-Made World, so that we, our children, and those of the principalities of this world may cross over, and build it up as we have done before.”

Two more rings began to glow, farther down on one of the Seraphim’s platforms. “And when you have used up that world,” the angel said, not bothering to identify himself, “do you plan to abandon it as well, and move on to another? And another? And another after that? At what point do you actually become the stewards we are meant to be?”

“There are limits to stewardship, Sycorax,” the Nephilim answered, scowling at the challenge, “and limits to responsibility.”