The Last Dragon Chronicles #4: The Fire Eternal (19 page)

H
ow did you get here?” Lucy gasped.

“Never mind,” Tam said, already lifting Brother Bernard by the shoulders and dragging him manfully toward the cot. “Grab his feet. Help me get him onto the bed.”

“Is he dead?” Lucy asked, feeling just as queasy as she had before. There were several spots of blood on Brother Bernard’s habit and his normally rosy face had turned as gray as
fish skin.

“No, but
we
will be if they find us,” hissed Tam. “Now, pick him up. Quickly. We need to get out of here.”

“Why’d you hit him?”

“Why do you think? I was outside the door, listening in. That wasn’t him talking, that was the Ix.”

“But —?”

“You heard what it said. They’re so ‘superior’ they have no need to keep secrets. It was bluffing you, Lucy. Bragging, through this monk. It was
telling you exactly what they plan to do. Come on, get his feet.”

Lucy bent down and grasped the thickset ankles. “Ugh, he’s got varicose veins.”

“Just lift,” sighed Tam.

She wrinkled her nose and tugged. With a clumsy heave they slid the body onto the cot. Tam rolled Bernard to face the wall and covered him up to his neck with the blanket.

“Here, put this on.” Tam grabbed a shabby monk’s
habit off a chair.

Lucy gave him her grossed-out look.

“You kind of stand out at the moment,” he said. “We’re not trying to make a fashion statement.”

She snatched the habit from his hands and slipped
it on. He pulled up her cowl until her red hair was covered and her face was lost in shadow. “OK, listen. I managed to do a quick tour before I found you. There’s a jetty and a boathouse half
a mile away. I know this island. It’s not far to the mainland, even if I had to row —”

“Row?” she snapped, sounding like a small dog underneath her hood.

“I rowed in college. I can do it.”

“But they’ll see us.”

“They’re like zombies. If we act the part, we’re out and gone in a matter of minutes. Follow me. Keep your head down. Shuffle. Speak to no one.”

“Wait!” she hissed, and tugged him
back. “What about David?”

“David? What about him?”

“We have to warn him.”

“We’ll do that when we get off the island.”

“But I’ve been trying for years to reach him and I don’t know how. The Ix must have a way — or how would they know so much about him?”

Tam chewed his lip slightly and looked at Brother Bernard. Lucy read Tam’s face in a flash.

“You know something, don’t you?”

He shook his
head. “Come on.”

“Stop!” She held his arm again. “I thought you wanted to find him?”

“If this is right,” he said, talking low through his teeth, “all this stuff about … The Fire Eternal, I think David can take care of himself.”

A crack of thunder almost shook the glass from the window. The rain slewed against the pane as if it had been fired from a BB gun. The sheer intensity of it was beating
visibility down to mere yards.

“Hardly ideal weather,” said Lucy. “You’re not gonna row your boat safely to the shore in this.”

Tam’s mouth closed into a thin pink line.

“We’ve got to help him,” she said. “He’d do the same for us.”

Footsteps. Tam raised a finger to his lips. He pulled Lucy flat to the wall and stole a glance down the corridor outside the cell. Two brothers were approaching,
at zombie pace. “All right,” he whispered. “There’s some kind of black stone on the chapel altar. I don’t know what it is, but I saw it drain the color from a stained glass window when one of them put his hand on it. The brothers near me at the time all jerked in response. We take it and go, agreed?”

She nodded eagerly.

“OK. When I signal, drop in behind me.” Quickly, he gathered up the tray
and bowl and stepped up to the doorway as the monks were passing. Lucy saw him give a brotherly nod to them. He paused a moment and reset the tray, then his finger tapped the side and he was moving again. She bent her head and followed him out of the door.

In the distance, a bell was tolling. It grew louder as they walked, the sharpness of the clangs almost grouting the mortar from the old stone
walls. A smell of cedar wood hung in the air, making Lucy think of Arthur and his musty aftershave. That led her thoughts home and she found herself taking on the mantle of her clothing and praying that she would escape this
place and see her mother and her dragons again, and even her annoying part-sister, Zanna. She thought of David, also, and cast her mind north. In that instant, she heard the
hum inside her ear and the folded brown canvas of Tam Farrell’s habit briefly became an Arctic wasteland.

“This is it,” Tam whispered, breaking the spell. They had stopped by a pair of oak-paneled doors. He pushed one open and drew her inside a dark, empty chapel.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, rubbing her arms, frightened. “I heard the hum. I think they know we’re here.”

But he was down the
aisle already, looking around, muttering. “This is changed,” he said. “It’s all been stripped of color.” He pointed to the chalices, the cloth over the altar, the lights, the pew cushions. They were all just shades of gray.

“I don’t like this,” said Lucy, clapping a hand to her ear. The hum had suddenly faded. Or was it waiting by her shoulder?

“Sit there,” said Tam. “Look as though you’re praying.”
He guided her into the nearest pew.

She dropped to her knees and opened a hymn book. Instantly, the hum was back. The words of the hymns came together as a block and reorganized themselves into a heading that read:

The Death of Dragons is Nigh

Lucy dropped the book and gave a shuddering gasp. Monks were beginning to appear in the pews, materializing as though a cloak had been lifted. She saw
Tam Farrell kneel before the altar. On the altar lay a body, made from ice.

It was David.

Tam’s habit fell away and from within it rose one of the awful black creatures Lucy had seen at the center of the island. Paralyzed with fear, she watched it spread its wings and hop off the altar step to land on David’s body. It extended three conical claws, making the shape of the mark of Oomara. It dug
them into David’s chest.

Lucy screamed, a visceral howl that seemed to tear the lining clean out of her lungs.

The monks responded with reedy cries. Several began to shake and have fits. The glass in the east window fell apart, leaving a framework of hollow angels. In the sky beyond, Lucy witnessed a terrifying vision: the Arctic ice cap, cracking into islands.

On the altar, David’s body imploded
to water and flowed away, drenching the steps below.

Lucy was aware that she wanted to be sick. But the feeling stuttered as a wiry-bearded monk in round-lensed glasses came to stand in front of her. A hand gripped her arm and she was pulled from her seat.

The monk took off his glasses and polished them. “She is perfect,” he said. “Take her to the room of obsidian.”

A
mong the many residents of Wayward Crescent, Elizabeth Pennykettle was one of the most well-liked. Neighbors found her cheerful, if a little eccentric, mainly due to the fact that Liz had a tendency to make clay dragons for anyone in need, a course of action that commonly raised bemused (and sometimes skeptical) eyebrows, but had a wonderful way of resolving “inconveniences”
all the same (though no one could ever quite determine how). She was regarded as an excellent parent, actively supporting Lucy at school, and a reliable member of the local community, always willing to lend a hand at parties or Scrubbley town events. As a mother, she was efficient, fair, and kind. She ran a good home. True, she had no shortage of help from her dragons,
but
she
was the hub, the
perfect mom. She cooked. She scrubbed. She mended. She loved. She was artistic, cared for animals, had magnetic letters on her fridge (an essential requirement of good parenting), and read wonderful bedtime stories. She could do anything.

Even speak to birds.

Less than ten minutes after taking Alexa in from the garden she was out there herself, hanging out a line of wash. She had her back to
the fence when she heard the raven land. “Well, is it you?”

The irritated scrabble of claws confirmed it well before Gwilanna croaked, “Guinevere’s bloodline treats you well. You haven’t changed at all in five years, Elizabeth.”

“You have,” Liz said.

The raven produced the best
hrrmph!
it could. “It’s not like you to be uncivil, my dear.”

Liz snapped a clothespin shut, ending the resistance
of a pair of socks. “The last time you came to the Crescent you took my daughter hostage in the Arctic. Why should I express any kindness toward you?”

The raven arched its wings. “As usual, you put your tiresome humanity before your true lineage. The child was witness to a unique opportunity to raise Gawain. If I had asked for permission to take her, it would have been refused and the chance
long lost.”

“Lost?” Liz repeated bitterly, almost spitting the word over her shoulder. “I know what happened at that island, Gwilanna. My daughter was almost killed and my tenant gave up his life protecting her. This household has never recovered. How can you talk to me about missed opportunities? If I could swap your life for his I’d do it a thousand times over. Why are you back?”

“He sent
me,” said the bird.

Liz closed her eyes. She felt a weakness in her shoulders, a slight chasm in her heart. “That’s a lie,” she said, before her breathing could stall.

Gwilanna dipped her beak in irritation. She looked back toward the house where Gadzooks and G’reth were sitting close together on the windowsill. “His dragons are watching. How very poignant.” She snorted and turned her eyes on
Liz again. “Have you lost all
your dragon senses, girl? How could
they
have survived without him? I’ve seen him, Elizabeth. I’ve seen what he’s become. Your tenant has found a new home in the Arctic, inside a polar bear’s skin.”

Liz shuddered and gripped at a shirt for support, squeezing its waist to almost nothing. She remembered Alexa on the phone to Zanna,
I saw Daddy, being a polar bear.

“The child senses him,” Gwilanna added casually. “While I was with him, she materialized a thought gift: a woolly mammoth. A powerful talent for one so young. She is extremely promising. Unruly, naturally, but astonishingly forward. She should be given to me for training.”

Liz whipped around so fast that her heels churned holes in the water-softened lawn. “You touch one hair of her head and I’ll
put you in a pie, you evil old crone.”

“She’s in danger.”

“With you around that wouldn’t surprise me. From what?”

“Her father wasn’t specific. He’s become arrogant, like the rest of those dumplings he’s bonded with.”

“All words, Gwilanna. How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“If it is, it’s not of my making,” she said. She stretched her neck and added sharply, “The boy is alive and meddling
with forces he doesn’t understand. Do you remember my teachings on The Fire Eternal?”

Liz turned in a fluster to her washing line again. “Page one of the sibyl ‘book of wisdom.’ It’s the breath of Godith, the source of all creation and unconditional love. The fire of life. The auma of the universe. Of course I remember it. Why?”

“Right now, I would say he’s standing above it.”

“Don’t play games,
Gwilanna. We’re all above the fire. It’s at the center of the earth.”

“Ah, but according to your raised-again tenant there’s a direct conduit to it, a very deep and dangerous well, located at the point where Guinevere dropped Gawain’s tear into the ocean — and the polar ice cap formed as a result.”

Liz stopped with a pin between her teeth. “He created the ice cap? Gawain’s fire is
in the ice
?”

Gwilanna hopped sideways along the fence so that Liz could see her from the corner of her eye. “Incongruous, but true. Your little ‘secret’ in the freezer comes blessed with it, of course.”

“Then he’s in my dragons — and in David, too.”

There was silence on the fence.

Liz turned around, saying, “Zanna told me he was killed by an ice spear through the heart.”

“Outrageous providence,” Gwilanna
said bitterly.

The yellow rosebush bristled sweetly in the breeze. Liz covered her mouth. She thought back to her kitchen conversation with Arthur and his inspired “revelation” about David’s death. “So he does have Gawain within him,” she said. Tears began to well in her bright green eyes.

“When you’ve done with this sentimental twaddle,” said Gwilanna, “perhaps you’d like to get me out of these
feathers?”

Liz shook her head. Gathering herself together, she
hung up the last piece of clothing and said, “So his tear wasn’t lost. It was transformed into the ice, and Guinevere was responsible for that.”

“What do you want, a glow of pride?” Gwilanna scolded.

“You told me she’d drowned.”

“She was far out on the ocean.”

“But you didn’t see it. It was just an assumption. It was always an
assumption.”

“What does it matter? The girl is long gone.”

“Not from here,” said Liz, pointing to her heart. “She’s in every breath I take. And suddenly, she’s very alive to me, Gwilanna.” She tossed her red hair. “So are her descendants. Lucy’s disappeared. What do you know about that?”

“Nothing. How did we get onto —?”

“She went through a time-slip. She was taken by the Fain. Why would that
happen?”

“I told you there was danger.”

“Why do they want her? What’s going on? If David
is back, it must be for a purpose. Are the two things connected? Tell me.
Tell me
.”

The raven did a version of the Texas two-step. “He talked about a conflict. An unseen war. Something to do with a division of the Fain who call themselves the Ix. They want to make dark fire.”

“You always told me that was
impossible.”

“I’ve been wrong before,” the raven said, doing its best to sniff. “The Ix plan to tap into human consciousness; your ‘boy’ plans to stop them. That’s all I know. Now do the spell. Get me out of these feathers.”

Liz shook her head again. “I can’t. I’m not a sibyl. You’ll have to wait for Zanna.”

“And that may take some time,” said a voice. The clothing parted and Arthur came through
with Bonnington in his arms. Spying the bird, the cat gave a vicious hiss. “No,” said Arthur, holding him back. “I believe this might be an old acquaintance.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say ‘friend,’” said Liz.

“So, you took up with
him
after all?” hissed Gwilanna.

“I don’t need your advice on who to love,” said Liz.

She touched Arthur’s arm and he said to her quietly, “Henry just came by with a
message. Our telephones are down. Zanna’s stuck in traffic a few miles outside of Scrubbley. There are jams all around town.”

“How come?” said Liz.

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “Alexa thinks they might have come to see the fairies.”

On the face of it, this was a ridiculous statement. The kind of innocent remark Alexa made every day. But it caused Liz to shudder deep inside.

“We must talk to
her,” said Arthur.

“I agree,” caarked Gwilanna. “Set me free.”

“No. You fly away. Now,” said Liz. “Find Zanna and bring her home as quickly as you can. Use magicks if you must.”

“I have no magicks!” the raven squawked. “My powers were removed when I was locked inside this body.”

“Then teach Zanna what to do.”

“The girl is headstrong. What if she refuses to trust me?”

Liz walked up the garden
and broke a petal off the yellow rose. She kissed it and put it in the raven’s beak. “Lucy’s dragon, Gwendolen, is with her. She’ll be able to verify my auma on this. Go, sibyl. Now’s the time to make amends for thousands of years of deception. Go.”

With a muffled
caark,
Gwilanna beat an upward path, finding a thermal wind that took her soaring backward over the pepper spray of houses. As she
leveled out, she tilted her head and looked down. To her surprise she saw people in the streets all around. Dozens were getting out of their cars and wandering like ants in a radial pattern. A pattern with its center over Wayward Crescent. People, for all the world, migrating.

Heading for the house at number 42.