Fire Star (26 page)

A
rthur? Which of you is Arthur?”

The young man, David Rain, skidded to a halt, squinting through the smoke at the bodies and the wreckage.

“Help me!” croaked a voice nearby. Brother Cedric, blood pouring from a wound to his ear, gripped David’s knee with the strength of a monkey.

David knelt and tore the sleeve of Cedric’s habit, using the cloth as a makeshift pad. “What happened here?” he asked, laying Cedric down with his palm holding the bandage in place.

But Cedric, delirious with pain and dread, could only gaze at the sky and burble, “God bless you….”

David left him and ran toward Brother Ferdinand,
who was limping to the aid of Abbot Hugo and others. “Please, help me. I must find Brother Arthur.”

Ferdinand, his long chin blackened by smoke, shook his head and almost fell. “No one here goes by that name.”

David blew a raindrop off his nose. “One of you must know —?” Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a smaller, tubbier monk.

“Are you …? Are you
David?”

“Yes.”

Brother Bernard closed his eyes and almost wept. He interlaced his fingers and bit a knuckle. “Then everything Arthur told me is true.”

David put a hand out to stop the man shaking. “Where
is
he?”

“Come, I will take you to him.”

“You will not,” said a voice.

Standing in the smoke was a bald-headed man, his hands resting in the sleeves of his habit.

“Who are you?” said David, aware that Brother
Bernard was melting away as though to clear the ground for some kind of duel.

“You command the clay figures,” Darius said. “You are a friend of dragons.”

David looked the man up and down. “You’re Fain,” he whispered. But nothing like the one G’reth had brought back. An overwhelming aura of deep malevolence surrounded this man, this shell of a man, perhaps. Then came another shock. From out of his cowl, a small figure fluttered into the air. David gave a start of recognition: Gretel. “What’s she —?” He stopped himself. “You’ve been to the house.”

Gretel, annoyed that he’d spoken out, flicked her tail and waved a paw across her mouth.

Darius took a step forward.

David instinctively took a step back, a long cold horror seeping through him. “If you’ve hurt Liz or the dragons, I’ll kill you.”

“You are not capable,” Darius snarled. “Nothing on this torpid planet could move at the same vibration as the Fain.”

“Why are you here?” David asked it, suddenly aware that he had not been deserted after all. Bernard had circled around behind the gray monk and was picking up a heavy piece of wood from the pyre.

“To cleanse this world of dragons.”

“Why, when they’re dying out on your homeworld?”

The human lips puckered into a smile. “You have been making connections, human.”

David stroked the wet hair off his forehead. “I’ve got powerful connections, trust me.”

Darius advanced again. “The shaman bear and the sibyl I have dealt with. All that remains are you, the clay creatures, and the hybrid dragon.”

David glanced into the sky. There was no sign of Grockle. “Why didn’t you kill him while you had the chance?”

“The hybrid will go to the island,” said Darius. “When the portal opens, he will call all dragonkind to his side. There is a pure fire hidden somewhere in the north. Its reading is diffuse, but the hybrid will find it.”

David leveled his gaze. “I wouldn’t bank on it.”

For a small man, Bernard had remarkable strength. Though the skin of his palms was blistering with the heat, he brought a burned rafter down with such crushing force on the gray monk’s head that the man appeared to be driven slightly into the ground. As he buckled, Bernard roared and swung at him again. Darius went over and fell, mouth open, hard to the cobbles.

Gretel immediately flew to David and pushed her flowers right under his nose.

Hrrr!
she went.
Don’t argue, just sniff!

David took in the scent and staggered back, blinking.

“Evil,” Bernard panted, shedding tears of despair, crying out as if confession was all that was left to him. He threw the murderous rafter aside. “I felt it in his touch. He damaged Arthur. Come, I will take you to his cell.”

But then it was David who was crying out suddenly. He dropped to his knees, pitching forward.

“What ails you?” said Bernard, reaching out, and was immediately thrown aside by a force which left him sprawling on his back.

David scraped at the weeds between the cobbles.
The world pulsed and came back tainted blue. The Fain was inside him, seeking knowledge.

The clay figures. Why were you chosen as their master?

A trail of vomit left David’s mouth.

What do you know about the dragon-made stone?

His eardrums buzzed. His brain would not respond.

You are unclear,
the Fain said irritably.

Blankness. Tumbleweed blowing through his head.

A bear,
it said.
I read an image of a bear with a sacred tooth. This is your primary connection? A fable?

David’s mind was empty of answers.

Where is the tear of the dragon Gawain?

Lurching forward, he vomited again.

You are trivial,
said the Fain.
Unimportant.

And it left him and returned to its previous host.

As if he had not had to witness enough, Brother Bernard was now about to face the horror of what he’d thought was a dead man, rising.

“I am leaving,” said Darius, slurring the words. Within the deeply cracked skull, the brain was
hemorrhaging and barely functional. But there was still enough auma present in the body for the Fain to regenerate its energies for travel.

The man who had once been Brother Darius shimmered, turned gray, then dropped again, this time never to recover.

Bernard let out an anguished cry.

“Don’t worry, it’s gone,” David said. Dizzily he got to his feet, wet stains marking both knees of his jeans. “The man you think you killed was already effectively dead, possessed and stripped by an alien life-form called the Fain.”

Bernard put his fingertips against his temples, as though his head might fall apart at any moment. He was about to say, “Aliens?” when he jumped back again, startled at the sight of a dragon appearing in David’s hands.

“This is Gretel,” David said. “She was made by a woman called Elizabeth Pennykettle, who Arthur was in love with once.”

“He still is,” said Bernard, looking pained.

David nodded and stroked Gretel’s wing. “She just saved my life. She gave me a potion that stopped my mind being read by the Fain.”

“But —?”

“She can move. You won’t see her in her animated form. Only when she’s solid like this. We talk, too.” And he asked Gretel what had happened at the house.

She told him quickly, explaining how she had led the Fain away before it could hurt Liz any more.

David gently kissed her head. “Go. Find more flowers,” he whispered, and threw her upward into the rain. He turned to an openmouthed Brother Bernard. “I need to follow the Fain to the Arctic.”

“The Arctic? From here? David, it’s impossible.”

“Take me to Arthur. He’ll know what to do.”

Bernard gave an anxious gulp. “Brother Vincent — Arthur — was laid low by Darius.”

“Low?”

“Insensible. As if in a coma.”

David closed his eyes and gave a sigh of defeat.

It was short-lived, broken by a
hrrr
from Gretel. She buzzed past his ear, drawing his attention to a shimmering in the air.

David put out his hand again. And this time it was the dragon, Groyne, who materialized into it.

P
ART
F
OUR

L
ucy had always been a late sleeper, but even she knew that her current “nap” was far more extended than a Sunday morning rest. She opened her eyes in complete darkness, immediately aware of something warm and extremely large lying beside her. Her underfed stomach at once tried to retch as the stench of the animal’s sweat and feces entered her cold but sensitive nostrils. The movement made it shuffle a paw. Lucy yelped and paddled her feet. In turn the bear growled and lifted its head.

“Are you him?” Lucy chattered. “The bear who came before?” She crossed her fingers and shut her eyes tight. It made no difference at all to her vision, but she felt a little safer for it.

The bear slid away from her and rocked to its feet.
Another winter through. More ice in her joints. Alive, but groggy. She yawned at death.

“Help,” said Lucy, whimpering a little. She coiled up, fearing she might be trampled.

But the mother bear, used to dealing with young, lowered her snout and nudged her aside, then turned her face to the bitter draft of air flowing down the tunnel.

Snow, laid thick on the mountainside. Ice, beginning to think about melting. Air, looking for a warming sun. She could scent the end of winter approaching.

But above all this, she could scent male bears.

They were commonplace, of course, but never in this quantity. Every male from the western runs must have descended on the island. Either that, or her old snout was playing tricks on her. Or death had yawned at
her
instead.

No, the child was real. She remembered her, sleeping on the floor of the cave. A trace of Sunasala on her furless skin. Were the bears here for the
child,
perhaps? Was she a wonder? A spirit among men? She shook herself down and snorted at the tunnel. Whatever the
answer, she had made a pledge, and she would do exactly what she always did. Go outside. Make herself known to the ice. Check conditions. Protect her young. Even this girl. To the point of death.

“Lord, there are two humans approaching.”

Ingavar tipped his snout to the wind. “From which direction?”

“South and west of the island, where the ice is clear of ridges.”

Ingavar let his steady gaze roll, then squinted back at the Tooth of Ragnar. It was magnificent, he thought: black against the moody reflections of the ice, its hollows tinted yellow by the light of the star, layers of purple-gray sky above it. Ragnar’s island. Sunasala’s denning place.

His heritage.

“Is one of them the girl we spared?”

“We cannot tell.”

Ingavar focused on the end of his snout. “Find them. Surround them. Stop their progress.”

The bear dipped his head in salute.

“Wait — is the pack in place?”

“They are situated evenly around the island. If the creature appears, we are ready to attack. There is still no scent of the Lord Thoran. Do you wish me to send a party in search of him?”

Ingavar ground his lower jaw, feeling for the tooth of his ancestor, Ragnar. This was a mystery he could not fathom. Where was the creaky, starseeking Teller? He looked back high above his shoulder, where the star he’d been following for so long now was shaping a strange void out of the darkness. “Thoran will find his own way,” he said, hoping that his words showed no imbalance between optimism and fear. “Be prepared.”

The bear bowed and was ready to sweep away when he turned again and said, “Oh, there is a female denning on the island. She was just seen at the lip of a cave.”

A muscle twitched above Ingavar’s eye. “Were there young?”

“We have no scent of any.”

Ingavar puffed his chest. “She will be greatly troubled
by our presence. If she brings out cubs, they are not to be harmed. Chase her and her young away, if you can.”

“Calm the dogs!” snapped Zanna. “Calm the dogs. You won’t get hurt if you just stand still.”

Tootega said, “Nanuk is all around us. I pray they eat you first.”

“Y’know, for a hunter, you’re such a bore.”

Despite his terror, the Inuk said, “What does this mean, ‘bore’?”

“I rest my case,” Zanna said. “Shoot nothing. Let me do the talking.”

She took off her mittens and flipped back her hood. With one shake of her head, her black hair, still festooned with charms, fell out across the shoulders of her furs.

Ordering the dogs to stop their yapping, she set off toward the nearest bear.

“Ai-yah,” wailed Tootega.

“Shut up,” she said, “or you and that sled go down an icy hole.”

Thirty paces from the bear, she stopped and pointed to the space between them.

The bear looked down, and saw the mark of Oomara burned into the ice.

Instantly, he lay down in front of her. Around the circle every bear did the same.

“I am Zanna,” she said. “Daughter of Gwendolen. Sibyl of the North. Defender of the ice. Like you, I am here to protect the island. OK, that’s the speech. Now, one of you stand up and take me to Ingavar….”

“Excuse me. Please, don’t growl, but —”

The bear swung around and snorted in surprise.

“Hhh!” went Lucy, jumping to attention with her arms squeezed tightly by her sides. “I’m just hungry and I needed to stretch my legs. And, y’know, use the
bathroom?”

The mother bear squinted.

“Ohh,” Lucy wailed, “you’re not him, are you? You don’t understand anything I
say?”

The female snorted again and peered back at the open cavemouth. What was this manchild thinking of? There were more males roaming than claws on her feet. If this girl was scented, they might attack.

“Can I look?” said Lucy, cupping her eyes, even though the light outside was little brighter than it was in the cave. She could make out the color yellow, she thought, and remembered the star she’d seen before she slept. She edged forward.

Ruuffe,
went the bear, forcing her back.

“Hhh! All right, I’ll stay in the cave. Where’s Gwilanna? You haven’t eaten her, have you? You didn’t have a raven for breakfast once?”

Ruuffe.

Lucy dropped her shoulders. No Gwilanna. That was a worry.

Around and about them, the body of the island rumbled gently. Lucy touched the wall and said hello to Gawain, then drew the isoscele out of her pocket, where she’d placed it for safekeeping while she’d
climbed the tunnel. “This is part of him,” she said, and held the piece up for the bear to see. One loose ray of starlight made it glint.

And somewhere in the distance a creature called.

Lucy Pennykettle’s jaw dropped open. “That … that was a
dragon,
” she said.

The shoulder wound no longer ached, but sitting occasionally made Ingavar stiff. He was standing up, stretching, turning a circle, when he heard the same call that Lucy had picked up from the cave. Far away, he saw a terrible shape in the sky.

A great bird — that was how Thoran had said it would look — was approaching across the expanse of sea ice. He could see its long wings beating in the halflight, whipping it on toward the island. To his left, he heard a bear give an open-throated growl, carrying the warning out to the pack. But why was the bird in open sky and not rising from stone as Thoran had suggested? What was happening here?

With a whoosh that drove an ice cloud into his face, the dragon swept over Ingavar’s head, circled the island, and landed on the very tip of the Tooth.

Grraaaarrkkk!
it cried, mantling its wings and jerking its head, up and down, up and down. The ice around Ingavar seemed to respond with a mighty lament, as if it was making a humble petition to be known to the creature or remembered by it. He looked back quickly at the star. Its beam, though short of its highest point, was weaving something out of the darkness.

A tunnel of light was beginning to form.

“Grockle. It’s Grockle,” Zanna gasped.

Tootega sank to his knees. Bears all around. Now demons in the sky. Only death could be at the end of this.

The bears quickly reviewed their orders. Five turned left toward the island, one remained as escort for the travelers.

“Where are they going?” Zanna demanded.

“Take stand,” said the bear in his stilted tongue. “If creature come to the ice, we kill it.”

“By whose orders?”

“Lord Ingavar.”

“What?”
Zanna turned on her heels, looking north for any sight of him. “Ingavar wants to kill the dragon?”

The ice bear flexed its claws.

“Something’s wrong here,” Zanna breathed. “Something’s way out of place. Where’s Gwilanna? Have you seen another sibyl, like me?”

The bear shook his head.

“Any men? Inuk with hair like a bear?”

The bear blinked and blew a cloud of vapor. “Walk. I take you to Ingavar.”

Zanna stared into his almond eyes. “No, Nanuk. You obey me now.” She kicked Tootega. “Pass me the binoculars.” Tootega put them into her hands. Turning the sights, she focused on Grockle, watching his talons raking the snow. She dropped the elevation and focused again. “Oh my God,” she gasped.

“What you see?” said Tootega.

A cavemouth, a bear, and a redhaired child.

“Lucy,” said Zanna. “Lucy’s here.”

Ingavar sensed a movement behind him. “Thoran?” he grunted, for the shift in pressure felt like the way a Teller or a spirit bear might approach.

But that which closed on him was not a bear.

The Fain invaded his wounded leg and flowed on up through his shoulder and neck. Roaring, he leaped back the moment he felt it, taking all four paws clean off the ice.

You cannot resist,
the Fain said, in thought.

Ingavar backed up, pounding the ice, thrashing his head from side to side until the muscles of his neck were loose and raw.

We are allies,
said the Fain.
You plan to kill the dragon.

Ingavar roared again and pawed his ear.

You are strong, but you cannot break free of me, bear.

“What are you?” growled Ingavar, looking for water, hoping to see some sign of this being.

I am Fain,
it said.
And I am tired of this heavy, ponderous world.

And it concentrated half its energy flow into Ingavar’s lower gum. With a grinding twist, it forced out the tooth which Ragnar had lost so long ago. It bounced once between Ingavar’s paws, staining the sea ice red where it fell.

This island was raised by force,
said the Fain.
You, by force, will lower it again.

And it lifted Ingavar to stand on his hind legs, then brought his full weight down to crush the tooth.

The ice zinged and a running fissure appeared, snaking fast toward the island. At the interface of ice and rock there was a boom. The island shook, torpedoed low down. Snow fell in slabs from its western face. A plangent shock wave traveled out in all directions, causing splits and disruptions in the landfast ice. When Ingavar looked up to see what he had done, the base of
the island was spreading apart and the first splinters were showing higher up the cliff face.

The dragon, Gawain, is broken,
said the voice.
Now we remove the hybrid as well.

Lucy screamed and screamed. “What’s happening? What’s happening?” Another shower of rocks hit the floor of the cave and this time the ground beneath them fractured. For the second time, she was thrown off her feet. There was wetness on her elbow and she knew she was bleeding. Clutching it, she tried to squirm toward the cavemouth, barely visible because of the dust. The island rumbled and she heard a great crack, and the whole world seemed to lurch to one side. Lucy, along with the rest of the debris, found herself piled up against a wall that itself was in danger of tearing apart. “Gawain! Help me!” she cried in dragontongue, but it was the female polar bear who came to her aid.

Frightened by the sudden noise of the explosion, she had lost her footing just outside the cave and tumbled
several yards with a torrent of snow. When her slide had stopped, she looked up to see the island breaking apart, losing rocks like a bird shedding feathers.

The girl. She scrabbled back to the cave. Loping inside, she scented Lucy and dragged her out by the folds of her clothing. In the open, she almost lost her to another slide of snow when the clothing ripped and they were separated briefly. But Lucy, clever and aware of the danger, rolled herself into the mother’s flank, then pulled herself onto the ice bear’s back.

“Gawain is waking up,” she panted.

But the truth of it was, Gawain, like the island his body was a part of, was slowly crumbling into the sea.

“Change of plan,” said Zanna, pulling the binoculars away from her eyes and thrusting them into Tootega’s hands. “See that big bear dead ahead?” She pointed in the direction of Ingavar. “Quickly!”

He looked. “Male bear. I see.”

Zanna took the binoculars back. “That’s the one we saved in Chamberlain. He’s attacking my dragon and
destroying the island. Something’s gone horribly wrong here, Inuk, and you and I might be the only ones to right it.”

“Where is David? You said David come.”

Zanna tightened her lip. “David’s probably dead,” she said quietly. She pulled the rifle out of the sled. “This time, don’t miss, OK?”

With an anguished cry, Grockle spread his wings. The perch beneath him rumbled and sheared away, then fell clear of his grasping feet. As he hovered, he saw the entire island collapse. First, the basal layers disappearing, spilling waves of water across the ice. Then, as the middle strata came down, the whole substance of the apex crumbled inward, disintegrating into a well of rubble. And there among the falling chunks of stone were legs and wings and lastly an eye. A petrified eye was the last Grockle saw of his father, Gawain, before the surging water took him.

Immediately, he let forth a belt of fire that lit a candle all over the north. A personal aurora to his father’s
memory, and a sign to his aggressor that revenge would be sought.