The Gryphon Stone

By Thomas Watson

Of all the worlds in the multiverse, Adrathea is the last David Render would willingly revisit. What happened there broke his heart and drove him to retire from the UN Multiverse Survey. To hang up his sword forever.

Then Treyvar of the Alvehn brings disturbing news. Adrathea is in peril, and David's old comrade needs his help to stop a rogue Alvehn from usurping the throne and ruling the planet forever as an immortal tyrant. To set things right, David must return to the one place he never wants to see again.

But Adrathea is a world to which David's fate is bound by the most intimate of ties. He has no choice. Adrathea calls, and he must answer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Watson
• Release date: Nov 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386182139

Thomas Watson

I am a writer, amateur astronomer, and long-time fan of science fiction living in Tucson, AZ. I'm a transplanted desert rat, having come to the Sonoran Desert of the American Southwest many years ago from my childhood home in Illinois. I have a B.S. in plant biology from the University of Arizona, and have in the past worked as a laboratory technician for that institution. Among many other things, I am also a student of history, natural history, and backyard horticulture.  I also cook a pretty good green chili pork stew. But most of all, I'm a writer. The art of writing is one of those matters that I find difficult to trace to a single source of inspiration in my life. Instead of an "Aha! This is it!" moment, I would say my desire to write is the cumulative effect of my life-long print addiction. My parents once teased me by claiming I learned to read before I could tie my own shoelaces. Whether or not that's true, I learned to read very early in life, and have as a reader always cast a very wide net. My bookshelves are crowded and eclectic, with fiction by C.J. Cherryh, Isaac Asimov, and Tony Hillerman, and nonfiction by Annie Dillard, Stephen Jay Gould, and Ron Chernow, among many others. It's no doubt due to my eclectic reading habits that I have an equal interest in writing both fiction and nonfiction. The experience of reading, of feeling what a writer could do to my head and my heart with their words, eventually moved me to see if I could do the same thing for others. I'm still trying to answer that question.

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CHAPTER ONE

I WAS ELEVEN YEARS old when the last hope the authorities had for plausible deniability died.

There’d been a lot of weird crap going on at the time; rumors were flying and stories that you would expect in a tabloid were being reported in more-or-less respectable news channels. Pictures, videos, and anecdotes that looked and sounded like stuff straight out of Hollywood were going viral on the internet, more each day. The powers that be and skeptical elements of the general public had always come up with ways to explain the weird events, encounters, and sightings in mundane terms — as hoaxes, pranks, and hallucinations. Then came the morning the dragons showed up on the Golden Gate Bridge.

The brane crash was undeniable, the Reality Rips were real. That’s what was happening, though it was quite a while before anyone knew what it all meant.

My father and I were in San Francisco that day to visit my aunt and uncle — his sister and brother-in-law — and we’d been driven out by Uncle Jonas to give me the photo op I desired of the iconic bridge. I was a budding photographer, with a brand new high-definition digital camera. I had my gear ready, Uncle Jonas had binoculars hanging around his neck, and Dad complained that it was too cold and damp for his liking. Also a bit too breezy. Clouds and fog were making photography a moot point for the moment, but I wasn’t worried. I remember thinking that the right combination of fog and the bridge, as the mists began to break up, would be excellent. So we headed to one of several spots used by nearly everyone to shoot the Bridge — back when it was still there.

There were plenty of people at the overlook already, mostly tourists I suppose, and it was immediately obvious that something had them worked up. People were pointing and some were shouting, words of disbelief and denial. Cameras, mine among them, were being pointed and phones held up. As the fog was torn by the breeze, the nearest tower emerged from misty concealment. The outcry increased in volume. My Dad stopped dead in his tracks, stabbed a finger toward the tower, and asked, Jonas, what the hell is that?

Looks like a really big lizard, Uncle Jonas said. He raised the binoculars and peered for a moment. With wings. He pulled the binocular strap over his head and passed the glasses to Dad. What the hell? Don, look at that!

And my father did. Wonder what movie they’re promoting? Damned thing almost looks real.

I think it is real, said a woman standing nearby. A birdwatcher like my uncle, except wearing a vest with the pockets stuffed with field guides. Uncle Jonas was more casual about it.

Jonas made a rude noise. Oh, please, a real dragon? he scoffed. Hollywood prank. They’ve probably...

Good Christ, my father gasped. There’s another, coming in to land!

By then I was looking through the viewfinder and loading the camera’s memory with images that, at that time, were simply beyond amazing. I’ve seen stranger things since then, but even now the sheer wonder of that day comes back to me with something like a shiver up my spine. I agreed with the birdwatcher: those things were real, and damn the impossibility of it all. I lowered the camera when Dad said there was another, and looked up to see it land, wings outstretched and forelegs tucked against a golden-brown, heavily scaled breast. It touched down lightly, as if it didn’t weigh more than a feather. The first dragon shifted position and the two sat facing each other. They bobbed their heads up and down; if they made any sounds, we couldn’t hear them.

Look! another spectator shouted. Look there!

We all followed the pointing finger and saw what looked like a patch of heat shimmer in the sky. The clouds near it swirled around that shimmery air, then vanished into it. From within that shimmer another great winged beast appeared, followed by a fourth. The two newcomers circled lazily overhead.

Too big, Jonas muttered. Just can’t be. How can things that big actually flap and glide like that? He shook himself, like a man waking from a dream. Gotta be some sort of trick. Got to be.

The dragons on the wing called out to each other with voices like pipe organs.

Car horns blared from down on the bridge as drivers stopped to peer up at the unbelievable sight. The dragons in the air ignored the commotion and drifted on the sea breeze in a wide circle out over the glittering bay. The chatter of a helicopter reached us from somewhere inland, then a news chopper, its station ID easily visible, roared over our heads and out over the water. That brought the seated dragons to attention, and they watched the chopper circle around them. The two in the air shied away, but didn’t actually flee.

There was an ultralight in the air, the soft buzz of its motor nearly lost in car horns, sirens, pipe organs, and helicopters. It appeared from a bank of lingering fog and headed toward us. Through my telephoto lens I could see the pilot glancing back and around repeatedly at the traffic in the air around him. Several news choppers were in the air by then, rushing in to broadcast this impossible thing.

I switched to watching the airborne dragons soar over the Bay, and so missed seeing what happened. Some say a chopper collided with the ultralight, others that the small aircraft ran afoul of the rotor draft. Whatever happened, it prompted a woman to scream, and everyone else to shout. I lowered the camera, heart suddenly in my throat, though for a moment I didn’t know what was going on. People pointed and shouted, and it took me a moment to see what they were on about. It was the ultralight, broken and plunging toward the bay.

Where’s the ‘chute? a man shouted. There ought to be a parachute.

But there wasn’t one.

There was a dragon.

One of the two beasts circling the bridge let out a trumpeting bellow and plunged, wings folded back, straight at the falling ultralight. It crossed the considerable distance to the broken aircraft before the ultralight was halfway down to the water, dropped below it, and turned in the air like an acrobat. It caught the ultralight and its pilot, clutching the broken aircraft between massive, taloned forefeet. I somehow managed to keep the camera on it the entire time. The dragon rolled in the air and its wings snapped open with a loud crack. Swooping low over the water, the beast flapped its wings a few times and rose into the air, then soared, its broad triangular head casting about as if seeking something.

It looked our way and banked, flapping twice and sailing toward us. Pandemonium ensued as most of the crowd turned and fled screaming for whatever shelter presented itself. My father and my uncle stood frozen, though whether by wonder, disbelief, or fear, I couldn’t say. I held my ground, too, though I stood a few steps behind them. At first it seemed the dragon would flash past us, but it dropped its long tail and cupped the air with its wings, stopping with a low boom as the leathery membrane of the wings caught the air and killed its forward momentum. For a moment it just hung there, in the air, neck arched up and cat-slit eyes examining the handful of people who hadn’t fled. Then, as light as a feather, the massive rear feet came down to earth, and the dragon sat before us on its haunches. Slowly, taking great care, it leaned forward and gently set the broken ultralight on the ground before us. I could see the pilot, his goggles askew, staring up at the great beast; the man appeared bruised and terrified, but unharmed.

The dragon peered down at him, then at us, and a deep rumbling that shook my chest came out of the creature. The sound felt good, if that makes any sense. I looked up into the eyes of the dragon and it held my gaze for a moment, then cocked its huge, triangular head to one side as if considering something. An urge came that I could not resist. Heart hammering, camera clutched in one hand but otherwise forgotten, I walked past my father and uncle. My father made a wordless sound of distress somewhere behind me, but I couldn’t look away from the huge beast. Adrenaline made my legs feel like rubber, but something else, a formless feeling that I was in no danger, kept me from bolting. This just felt right — I was supposed to be here, with a dragon.

Slowly, carefully, the dragon reached out and down to me with a huge, scaly forefoot. Talons curved back and safely away from me as the dragon’s foot paused just within arm’s reach. As if in a dream, I saw my own right hand reach out and touch the dragon’s foot on a single scale larger than the palm of my hand. I held it there, and felt the living warmth of the creature. It rumbled again, another pleasing sound, and as a grin suddenly spread across my face it gave what looked like a nod of acknowledgment. Then it floated — literally floated — into the air, as if it weighed no more than a dandelion seed on the breeze, and my skin was suddenly tingling. Well above our heads the dragon turned so abruptly that the tail snapped like a whip, then with a flap of its wings that raised a swirl of dust and litter, it was away, out over the Bay and angling toward the three others that were now also airborne.

The remaining onlookers rushed forward to help the pilot, who kept saying, No way... No way... while shaking his head. "No way, man, no fucking way!"

It was a long time before anyone could get anything else out of him.

Yes, I was that kid, the boy who touched the dragon. I was something of a celebrity for a while, a matter of months I believe. It didn’t last because the earlier, hushed-up chimera incidents were dragged out into the light when all the world saw dragons cavorting over San Francisco Bay. Stranger creatures than dragons had been seen, photographed, and filmed, and not all the encounters were as pleasant as mine. Right from the beginning, there were tragic consequences to the brane crash and the uncontrolled connections it triggered in our corner of the multiverse. There were the black drakes in the Hawaiian Islands, kaiju in the sea, and then the Moj crossed over. Fortunately, the Alvehn were not far behind.

That’s how it all started for me. The dragon put my feet on the path I’ve followed, not always willingly, all the years since. The years following the crash were filled with wonder and horror, to be sure. But the dragon was where it started for me. Between that time and the story I want to share with you now, a lot happened. First my uncle and then my father died fighting off the Moj hordes. I fought them, too, young as I was. I killed my first when I was just fourteen years old. Civilization was nearly wrecked for good and all, and would have been had it not been for the timely intervention of the Alvehn.

Later when things were settled and our Earth was as safe as possible, the United Nations Multiverse Survey was established. Its purpose was, and still is, to work with the Alvehn to expand the common knowledge of worlds beyond our own, and to help the Alvehn assist the many arrested worlds out there. Having no roots, no place of my own, I enlisted, and the Survey was my life for a long time. That time is behind me now, and I’ve lately become aware that stories of my work are being greatly exaggerated on my home world. At the suggestion of friends, I’m going to set down my own accounts of the life I’ve lived. I’ve agreed to do so because it feels important that people know what really happened out there. Like Mark Twain dictating his autobiography, I’m going to write things up as memories occur, and not worry about chronological order. The story that follows comes to mind first of all because nothing else that has happened to me has meant as much in the long run.

That’s saying something, now that I think about it.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN I LEFT THE UNITED Nations Multiverse Survey at the ripe old age of thirty years, I’d seen a lot, been through a lot, and had had enough. Seeing my friend Jorge lose a leg on that last mission — and he was one of the luckier ones — did it for me, and that was merely the last straw, not the heaviest. No one argued when I turned in my papers. Oh, they were sorry to see me step down, but no one was really surprised. Most of the first wave of UNMS recruits had bowed out by then, the few who were still alive, I mean. Come to think of it, I was the last of the first class to retire, and the only one to do so without invoking the disability clause. I took the payout and bought a place — a small ranch — near a town in Arizona called Williams, and hired Jorge to manage it. It was the least I could do, since I’d cost him a leg a few years before. He brought his wife and their four kids with him, of course. At first I had my doubts about the young ones, having not been much for dealing with children. Within a year, though, it was like being at home with my own family, except bilingual. I settled into it very quickly.

One fine early summer morning I went into town on an errand, damned if I recall what it was just now, and came home to find an Alvehn wearing a pale grey suit waiting for me, having a cup of coffee with Jorge and his wife Celeste. They were all laughing quietly about something as I came into the living room, and the Alvehn looked at me over his shoulder and smiled.

Trey! I didn’t need to feign enthusiasm at seeing my old friend and partner. The Alvehn look so much alike that many people can’t tell one of the slim, white-haired people from another. But I knew this Alvehn. We embraced warmly. Never thought I’d run into you out here.

I came with news for our friend, Trey replied, indicating Jorge with his mug.

"Hey, mi amigo, Jorge said to me, beaming, eyes bright. Gettin’ my leg back soon."

What? Really? I thought the regeneration tech was still incompatible?

Not anymore, Trey said with a grin. We’ve bridged the gap. It can now be applied to any human within the known multiverse.

Finally. The Alvehn are so much like us in appearance that it’s easy to forget that they are in fact anything but human. That’s great, Jorge. I’m so pleased for you! I sat on the arm of the chair Jorge was using and put a hand on his shoulder. I could see Celeste smiling through tears.

Maybe now you’ll stop beating yourself up over it, eh? There was a bright grin in that lean, brown face that I hadn’t seen in far too long.

"Not a chance, mi amigo. It was my fault." A moment of inattention and Jorge was down, missing a leg, while some nameless pseudo-crocodile in an alien swamp swam away with its mouth full. I still have nightmares.

Ai! He shook his head. "No way we saw that fuckin’ thing comin’, amigo. None of us did, no way. But that’s done. You got me out alive, and I’ve managed pretty well. And now I’ll get the leg back."

Yeah, that’ll make it easier to live with. And that was truth.

Even as we spoke, I watched Treyvar Olvanak, and he watched me. I use the pronoun loosely — he is a convenience. Truth is, at any given time Trey could be either male or female as the Alvehn go, which doesn’t mean the same thing as ‘man’ or ‘woman’ as we think of it. Look it up if you need to know more — it still won’t make a lot of sense in human terms. Whatever the commonalities and differences, I knew this Alvehn, knew him very well.

He hadn’t come here just to tell Jorge about the leg.

Staying a while? I asked.

If that’s acceptable.

"Mi casa es su casa. Though I’d already begun to feel uneasy, I smiled at Celeste. Did I say that right?"

She laughed — the woman had one of the most infectious laughs I’ve ever heard — and her dark eyes sparkled. Perfectly. And we’ll see to it Señor Olvanak is very comfortable. She stood up, and so did Trey. Celeste held her hand out to him and said, We’ll start with as fine a dinner tonight as I know how to make.

Trey took her hand, bowed over it, and kissed it. Thank you, m’lady.

Celeste had the damnedest look on her face as she left the room, and it was all I could do to keep a straight face. A moment later I heard her shouting the names of her two oldest kids, Mira and Cristo, to help her in the kitchen.

Jorge laughed and said, To think she was terrified when you first showed up.

She was very quick to overcome her anxiety, Trey replied. I’m glad to have the chance, at last, to meet her, my friend. She does suit you.

You’ve got that right, Jorge agreed. He stretched out his prosthic leg; the knee joint made a faint electric whine. Now, why don’t you tell us why you’re really here, eh?

Am I so obvious?

Yes, I said, taking the seat Celeste had just left. News of the new medical procedure could have come by email. No need for a courier. Certainly not an Alvehn courier.

Fair enough. Trey sat back down, but looked less at ease. I need your help, David.

I’m retired, I pointed out as Jorge gave me a quick look.

Yes, I know that, Trey replied. The voice of an Alvehn has a softness that belies their power, much as his slim physique might fool you into thinking he was something other than a fighter. Violet-colored eyes met mine and he sighed, a frown marring his fine, handsome face. I am not here in an official capacity.

What’s happened and where? I asked with great reluctance.

I know where Edren is.

What? I almost came out of the chair. "He’s still alive? God damn it!"

Yes, my cousin yet lives, and Trey shook his head. And he is trying once again to subvert an arrested world. This time — David, he is on Adrathea.

My blood went cold. Oh, hell no... I just stared, and didn’t say it out loud.

What’s happening there is, in part, my fault, so the Council has charged me with seeking the solution. It must be handled as quietly as possible. You know how we are about other races seeing internal conflicts. He paused, studying me for some clue as to how I might react. I need your help to set things right.

My younger self would have responded to his plea without hesitation. The man I was that night didn’t respond at once. I simply couldn’t. Adrathea. It just had to be that world, in all the multiplicities of space and time.

No? Trey asked, tilting his head to one side.

I didn’t say no. It came out more testy than I intended. I stood up and walked over to the picture window that dominated the living room. Beyond lay the land that rolled on north and green as far as I could see. Small clouds dotted the sky; the shadows below them marked the land. I should, though. Damn it, Trey, I’m done. And I really do want to be done with it all, rather than take on one mission too many and end up dead. I turned back to them and saw that Trey was standing as well, watching me with the beautiful, expressionless face characteristic of his people when they didn’t want their feelings to show. He said nothing for a moment.

Jorge held a coffee cup and stared rather self-consciously into it. He knew what we were talking about, and although he hadn’t been part of that mission, he knew why no one was speaking directly to the problem. It wasn’t fear that caused me to balk; that wasn’t even remotely the problem. He was saved from the awkward moment when Celeste summoned him to the kitchen with a few words shouted in Spanish. For a man who disliked cooking, he was remarkably eager to answer that call.

I understand, Trey said. And you know I do. It isn’t a thing merely said for the saying.

I know that.

Then you also know I do not ask this of you lightly, or easily. Trey’s expression changed, became a grimace, and he looked down, clearly uncomfortable.

I don’t want to go back there, Trey. I don’t want to see that world again. I set my jaw for a moment, and when my self-control was a little more stable, added, I really don’t need another reminder of how I let her down.

Trey looked up, eyes flashing, the elegance of his former expression replaced by a look of outrage. How can you believe that? he demanded. "How can you possibly hold yourself responsible for what happened? You could not have known there was a time slip! Your instruments would not have detected it. My people should have noted it long before we went there. David, if there is fault, if there is blame, it is upon the Alvehn. Not on you."

Did she know that? I asked, anger making it easier to match that violet stare. The words were bitter. Would she have known who to blame? The answer was self-evident, and knowing this, Trey looked away and didn’t respond. That’s what haunts me, Trey. It isn’t guilt, it’s grief. She thought I abandoned her, and I can’t — there’s no way now to fix that. God, but it hurt to think of it. And I did, every goddamned day.

No, Trey replied, and he sighed, shoulders slumping in sorrowful acknowledgment of that truth. He seemed to look past me, out the picture window, as if remembering something. No, there is no remedy. The past is immutable. The Alvehn can travel between stars and universes, but for all our power, changing the past is a thing we cannot do. His uncanny, but familiar, gaze locked onto mine again and I saw something like despair. I have my own regrets, David, so many regrets. I have lived for more than a thousand years. You have no idea how deeply I regret, and how often. Trey stepped forward and gripped my shoulders with slender, powerful hands. It felt as if his hands were made of steel, but for all that strength the grip was gentle, if insistent. "That is why I do what I do, you see. I cannot fix those things, but there are other hurts, here and now, that are within my power to heal. And so heal them I must. He let go of me and let his arms drop to his sides. At least I must try."

You’re telling me it’s time to let go of the past and move on, I said. I’ve always hated that particular bit of psychobabble.

No one can do that, my friend, Trey replied. "We are the cumulative result of all our experiences. You cannot release what happened from your soul, for now it is your soul. All you can do is find the strength to carry it, as I have."

I hear what you’re saying, Trey. I turned and looked out the window. The land had darkened a bit; the clouds were growing thicker. You’ve been at this a long time. I don’t have that perspective.

You will not find it here, he replied, coming to stand beside me. It is a beautiful land, but it does not hold your answer.

I couldn’t think of a way to argue that, which amounted to admitting I knew he was right. Eventually I couldn’t resist asking. "So... What’s the bastard done this time?"

That, dear friend, is a long story. And it may take some time. Trey nodded back toward the chairs and we sat down facing each other. Before he could begin, Mira appeared with fresh coffee. She was so in awe of the alien in the living room that I could see the white all the way around her eyes. This didn’t change the fact that Mira was about as pretty a teenage girl as you can imagine. And yes, I’m biased in that opinion.

Mama said you would want this. She set the pot and two clean stoneware mugs on the coffee table.

Your mother is most perceptive, Trey said. Thank her for us. And thank you.

She gave him a smile that, directed at a male human being, would have scared the hell out of Jorge. Mira was certainly no longer a child, but Jorge would surely be the last to see that.

Mira left, I poured coffee, and Trey took a sip as he gathered his thoughts.

When we parted company, he began, no one knew where Edren was, though we had good reason to believe he was alive. Because I’d developed a liking for Adrathea and its people, I went back there a few times to help guide them.

I didn’t need a detailed explanation of what he meant. The human civilization on Adrathean altearth existed in a state of arrested development, forever poised at the edge of an industrial revolution, when Trey’s people got there. Their reality was infested by flying monkeys, you see, and having space-time distortions tear things up every time someone fires a cannon, or gets carried away building a steam engine worth using, really messes with the evolution of a culture. The Alvehn were introducing technologies that could help the Adratheans advance without causing such problems. Solar power, small and efficient electric motors, that sort of thing. They were cautious going about it to avoid culture shock, adding elements slowly and only after careful study. The Alvehn were good at this, having had a lot of practice.

After our last visit, old King Parick had a stroke and died.

Sorry to hear that, I said, and I truly was. He was a good man. And had been a young man, when I last saw him.

He was rather fond of you, as well, Trey said. His son Staven ascended and then married a Duchess from a southern province. They were absurdly in love with each other, and very quickly produced an heir, Parick the Second. The boy was healthy, and his mother recovered from the birth in short order, the Morvan people having a respectably advanced knowledge of medicine. All was well until the child turned two. The Queen began to suffer violent headaches and vertigo. An Alvehn healer was called in, but he only arrived in time to examine her after her unexpected death. The King did not handle that well, at all.

What the hell happened to her?

She was poisoned, David. It was a subtle toxin, a protein from a species of mollusk native to the Adrathean tropics. By the time she displayed symptoms, she was as good as dead. He sipped the coffee and shook his head sadly. We had no way to determine how the poison was administered, but given the prevalence of seafood in the diet of that region, it was easy enough to call it a tragic accident. However it happened, the King was distraught and, for a time, lost all sense and reason. As he began to regain his self-control, he decided to travel to the west, to the Tylian Abbey, there to spend time in worshipful seclusion and contemplation. He appointed the First Minister of the Senate to rule the land in his absence, granting him temporarily the powers of Regent with the blessing of the Senate, and promised to return in a year.

So far, things made sense. Morva had been governed for a very long time by a form of constitutional monarchy, a balancing act between the elected Senate and the Palace. The King has a veto power over laws by the Senate, and the Senate can vote down a decree by the King. It isn’t really that simple, of course, but somehow it works, and has worked for a very long time.

The First Minister was a man I didn’t know much about, Trey went on. I was not involved with Morvan politics, being there for another purpose entirely. We were working on a sort of rail transport system, powered by the sun, and were mapping both Morva and Sobra for suitable routes. He paused and shook his head. "So I was in Sobra when word of the accident came to me. The King had chosen to travel by air, using a dreyft for transport. Halfway to the Abbey, out over the Daylin Plains, the harness on the dreyft malfunctioned. The passenger pod containing the crew, the King, and a few companions, fell several thousand feet."

That sort of accident is pretty rare, isn’t it? I asked after taking a sip of coffee. I couldn’t remember ever hearing of such a thing happening to one of the living dirigibles of Adrathea. The rigging used to harness one of the big, green blimps was time-tested and reliable.

Extremely, Trey replied, and by his tone made it clear he didn’t believe it was an accident. "The dreyft went on its own to Daylis, with a few crew clinging to the dorsal surface. Somehow, they managed to attract attention and were rescued. By the time anyone got to the crash site to investigate, scavengers and weather had made it impossible to determine what went wrong. He finished the coffee and set the mug down. The Regency was confirmed until Prince Parick was of age to take the crown, and I went home to attend to a family matter."

"Do I remember correctly that there’s a time