The First Dragon(42)
“Well, whatever is going on,” Fred said, shading his face to look up at the giants, “I bet Kipling has something t’ do with it.”
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The great building where the summit had been held was a madhouse of frantic activity. Of the empress, there was no sign; Rao and the stars were also gone, as were several of the principalities. Only the Nephilim and certain of the Seraphim remained where they stood, as if waiting for something.
“The giants are coming for them,” Samaranth said numbly. “They intend to go to the Un-Made World to try to Name it before the destruction comes.”
“What?” Charles said, startled. “What destruction?”
“The empress dropped the Tears of Heaven into the Creative Fire,” Samaranth replied, still in shock for reasons the companions still did not fully understand. “Everything is about to change now!”
“Because of a single rose?” asked Edmund. “I don’t understand.”
“Everything that is made is conceptual first,” Samaranth explained as he led them back up the stairs, which were crowded with other angels also trying to leave. “Then we . . . create the thing to be made. We give it form, and substance. But then, to put it out into the world, the made thing is placed in the Creative Fire, and from then it multiplies.”
“So we’ll have a lot of roses to deal with,” said Edmund.
“You don’t understand!” Samaranth said, whirling about and grabbing the young man in the first physical act the companions had seen him perform. “That flower contained three dewdrops, but not of just any water! They were the Tears of Heaven, and they will multiply a millionfold, a billionfold. More. More.”
“Oh dear,” said Charles.
“Yes,” Samaranth said. “Within the day, the entire world will be covered with a great flood, and there is nothing any of us can do to stop it.”
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A brilliant light burst upward from one of the largest buildings in the center of the city, briefly illuminating everything around Kipling as he ran. Something was afoot, and he suddenly realized that he might have very little time left to accomplish his task.
He stopped and leaned against a wall, panting. It gave him a moment to both catch his breath and consider what he was being asked to do. It made sense, in some twisted way, but he still was not certain he could trust what it said. At least one person he knew of—one of Verne’s Messengers—would die in the future because of what he was being asked to do now. But it also made sense. It was, in the grand scheme of things, logical. And, he was a bit ashamed to admit, it appealed to his sense of gamesmanship.
It meant that he might never leave the city—but it also meant that he might give the Caretakers the means to defeat not just Dr. Dee, but the Echthroi as well. And in the end, that was what mattered most.
Looking over the angelic script in the note for the umpteenth time, Kipling screwed up his courage and once more began to run. If he timed it properly, the Cherubim would be somewhere near that explosion of light, and in the confusion that was beginning to spread outward into the streets, it would never be missed until Dr. Dee found it.
♦ ♦ ♦
“The Great Deluge,” Charles sputtered as Samaranth led them back to his Library. “The flood. The destruction of the world. It’s really happening, isn’t it?” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.
“Have you got a headache?” asked Edmund.
“No,” said Charles. “Tulpas don’t get headaches, but I think one would actually make me feel better right now.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Rose. “What can anyone do?”
“There are hierarchies of the Host of Heaven,” said Samaranth, “each with its own set of responsibilities. The stars are given the task of shaping and preparing the worlds that revolve around them, but have little concern for the creatures who evolve, live, and die on those worlds. The angels are given the task of creating and Naming the higher aspects of the world, to allow the creatures on it to develop and ascend themselves. But there is an office between the two that is rarely called upon, and rarely chosen, because it carries the responsibility of directly overseeing the welfare of all the living creatures on a particular world.”
“Why is it rarely chosen?” Rose asked.
“Because,” Samaranth answered, “as you witnessed, the stars are reluctant to take so much responsibility upon themselves. They prefer the bigger-picture things, like the formation of mountains and the rise of oceans. The concerns of the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve, and the affairs of the Children of the Earth, are of little concern to them, and so they will almost always decline the choice to ascend.”