Last Dragon 7: The Fire Ascending

by Chris d'Lacey

  “Oh, and you’d rather be dead?” She threw out her hands. A huge net materialized in the air and fell with a clatter over Thoran’s body. The bear punched and struggled and fell down and rolled, but every move only wrapped the net tighter around him, until he was imprisoned and out of fight. “Hah,” went the sibyl, pleased with her effort. “You never told me Zanna had magicks.”

  At that point, I broke cover.

  “Enough!” I called, running out of the trees. The sibyl whipped her unicorn around. I braced myself, expecting some form of attack. But a strange kind of motionless moment passed between us. My eyes were in hers, hers were in mine. Then the world clicked back and I was running again. But I was not alone. I felt a sudden breeze at the side of my head and saw Gawain go fluttering past.

  With one of his now familiar graaarks the wearling crashed feetfirst into the man, flapping his wings like a pair of loose robes drying out in the wind. The man staggered and fell onto his back. He had the last known dragon in the world on his chest and the means to kill it still resting in his hand. I cried out, “Throw the knife aside or I’ll command him to flame you!”

  The unicorn reared.

  “Rosa, do nothing!” the man called out. And when she was calm, he lowered his knife and dropped it on the ground.

  I ran and snatched it up.

  “Save your threats,” the man said, without caring to look at me. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried. And I doubt that a dragon as young as this will have found his fire, let alone a wish to kill.” His hands came up to the spindly neck.

  “No!” I yelled, fearing Gawain was about to be throttled.

  But all the man did was run his fingers down the wearling’s spine.

  Gawain gave out a gravelly trill and dragged one foot across the visitor’s heart.

  “I know,” the man said tenderly. “I never thought I’d get to see you either.”

  I hovered like an idiot, unsure of what to do. Who are these people? I said to the Fain.

  Before they could answer, Guinevere stepped out of hiding.

  The woman on the unicorn gasped, “Look at this.”

  Guinevere cast her a puzzled look but addressed her words to the man on the ground. “Please, traveler, let the dragon be. We are simple hill folk, we mean you no harm.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “We have no plans to hurt you — or the dragon. We’re here to help you save his life.”

  “I heard you talking,” I snapped. “Who are you? Where have you come from?”

  The man put a finger into Gawain’s mouth and let the dragon nibble it gently. “We are Travelers from what you might call the future, Agawin. It is Agawin, isn’t it?”

  “You know me?”

  “We feel we do.”

  Guinevere gathered up her robe and knelt beside the man. “Your face … it’s familiar to me,” she whispered. She traced his cheek with her fingertips. I saw him blink, as if from that contact he had learned a truth about her that even she did not know herself.

  The unicorn whinnied. “Tell them,” said the sibyl.

  The man reached out and held a few strands of Guinevere’s hair. He looked into her face and his eyes shone violet, filled with all the love it was possible to imagine. “You’re the image of someone dear to me. You don’t know me in the future and you never will. But if our mission here is successful, you will bring about the birth of a woman called Elizabeth, who will carry your auma — and your legend — forward.”

  “Legend?” I said.

  Guinevere wasn’t listening. “What is your name, Traveler?”

  “David,” he replied. “And this is —”

  “Rosa,” she cut in quickly.

  The moon emerged from behind a thin cloud and the hills grew measurably brighter. For the first time I saw the visitors properly. To my astonishment, I immediately recognized David. I had to look closely at Rosa to be sure, but there was no mistaking the sibyl either. These people, these so-called Travelers from our future, had already been in our present. They were the “strange characters” Guinevere had talked about on our way here.

  They were both on the tapestry of Isenfier.

  He was as tall as Yolen, perhaps a thumb’s length more, and walked with a similar willowy gait. His face, though handsome, was nothing extraordinary. It radiated kindness and a slight air of worry. Dark hair flowed almost straight to his shoulders. He had long and noticeably delicate hands. Once again I asked the Fain what they knew about him. Kin, they had said. But kin to whom? The violet in his eyes had now receded. Did he suffer, I wondered, from the same odd malady afflicting Guinevere? Could he even be related to the red-haired girl? The Fain could not give a definite answer, but were hopeful that David would reveal himself in time. Is he a bear in human form? I pressed.

  He is illumined, they said. He could be many things, Agawin. Like you, he is commingled to the spirit of a dragon. But not just any dragon …

  Tell me, I insisted. Tell me what you know. Hesitation in the Fain was very unusual.

  I felt them reading David again. The auma we detect in him matches Gawain’s….

  “Jeans,” David said.

  “Huh?” I grunted. He was attending to his horse and not looking at me.

  “You were staring, Agawin.” He tapped his left leg.

  In truth, I’d been staring at nothing in particular. I was just dazed by the Fain’s revelation. How could a visitor who had journeyed from the future be commingled to a dragon barely hatched from its egg?

  “Pretty standard clothing where I come from.”

  I nodded, though his words meant little to me. His garments did intrigue me, though, especially the way his “jeans” were woven to the shape of his legs. I picked at the metal studs around the pockets and the clever little loops his belt passed through. I noticed Rosa was wearing “jeans,” too. And other adornments. A thin scarf of flax. Charms at her wrists. A half robe showing a glimpse of her waist. She wore strange red boots, laced to the ankle. A bag with a metal clasp hung at her hip. I had never seen a woman quite like her before, not even in Taan. “How far have you traveled?”

  “That’s difficult to say.” He touched the neck of my robe, testing the fabric between his fingers. He seemed as fascinated with me as I was with him. Before he spoke again he glanced beyond my shoulder, as if there might be something crawling up my back. Puzzled, I let my eyes drift sideways, but there was nothing lurking in the corner of my vision. “It wasn’t our intention to meet you and Guinevere. Your lives, your destinies, are complex enough. You are not the one we came in search of.”

  “Who, then?”

  His eyes adjusted to the dark, moving in spirals the way a dragon’s eyes changed, though from where we stood it was easy to see the others. Guinevere, with the wearling settled on her shoulder, was conversing with the sibyl about her boots. Thoran, calm and freed from his net, was sitting alone, grooming, nursing his pride. Crakus, the raven, was still on his branch.

  Tightening a saddle strap David said, “Can you set a fire?”

  I shrugged. “Of course.”

  “Of course,” he repeated, smiling at his thoughtlessness. “Do it. We’ll camp in the wood. I’ll tell you everything you need to know in there.” He called to the sibyl, “Zan — Rosa, we’re going in.”

  She nodded and gave an instruction to the unicorn. Bending one of its delicate knees, it knelt, allowing Guinevere to climb onto its back. David gripped the horse’s bridle and turned toward the trees.

  “Why are you so uncertain of her name?”

  “That’s also hard to explain,” he said. “On the world we came from I know her as Rosa. On Earth, her auma is slightly different. Here she would be Zanna — a reflection of herself with an altered life. I think I’ll just stick to calling her Rosa.”

  “A reflection?”

  “The universe is a strange place, Agawin. There’s a great deal to learn. But you will learn. One day.”

  He walked on a little and was two steps ahead
before I managed to ask, “And you? Are you a reflection — of another David?”

  He paused and patted the horse’s neck. “I just … Travel a lot,” he said, without really saying anything at all.

  Like an eager sparrow, I pressed him again. “How did you come here — from your other world?”

  This time he turned to face me. A cold breeze wavered across our path. I shivered and pushed my hands into my robe. My fingers touched the ends of the tornaq. Did David carry such a charm? I wondered.

  “If my memories are correct you’re a seer’s boy, Agawin. You must have been taught that certain species, three in total, know the enchantments of time?”

  I shook my head, feeling slightly inadequate. Brunne had been about to instruct me before he was cruelly murdered, and Yolen, no doubt, would have taught me soon. All I could do for now was guess. Three species? One of them had to be dragons. I blurted their name. All the world knew they had extraordinary gifts. Was this, after all, not one of the reasons rogues like Voss sought to steal their fire?

  David smiled as if all I had done was to tell him that dead leaves fall from trees. “Unicorns are similarly blessed,” he said, “though their willingness to travel depends on their rider. We’re fortunate that Rosa has Terrafonne’s trust.”

  I glanced at the sibyl and her unicorn, Terrafonne. For such a fragile animal he was bearing two riders on his back with ease. When she asked him to move, he flowed like dust motes falling through sunlight. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him slipping through time. “You said a third creature knows the enchantments?”

  “Yes.” He spoke sweetly to the horse, telling him we would be resting soon. “There is a type of bird, like a small dragon, that monitors ripples or changes in time.”

  The tornaq, said the Fain, becoming excited.

  Instinctively, my fingers closed around it. An unwise move, perhaps. David’s gaze had dropped straight to my fidgeting hands. “They’re called firebirds. They rarely visit this world. But you’d know one if you saw one, trust me.” He clicked his tongue and pulled the horse into a walk.

  “Wait!”

  “Agawin, my horse is tired. And the others are waiting.” He pointed to the unicorn, treading his hooves by the tree line. Guinevere was petting his glistening mane, clearly wondering what was delaying us. “We’ll talk when we’re settled.”

  “There may be wolves lurking.”

  “Wolves?”

  I told him what I’d heard from Crakus.

  I felt his auma wave scanning the trees. “There are no wolves here. The raven lied to you.”

  Much as I’d expected. Maybe it wanted to be dragon food, this bird. “What shall I do with it?” It had not kept to its word and it could not be trusted. I told him of the terms I’d offered.

  He thought a moment, then handed me the horse. He approached the tree slowly and pulled his knife. Crakus squawked and huddled back into the shadows. David reached up and severed the tie.

  But as quickly as Crakus tried to fly off, David caught the loose end of twine and wound it swiftly around his fist, reeling the raven in again.

  “Murder!” he croaked, flapping like fury. Somewhere in the trees, I thought I heard another bird returning its call.

  David tightened his fist, trapping the wrinkled toes against his knuckles. “You know,” he began with a sigh, “every time I meet a bird like you, there’s always a sibyl nearby controlling it.” He tugged the twine. “Who’s working you, Crakus?”

  “Ix was here” was all the raven would say. A look of spite glinted in his berry-shaped eyes.

  David nodded slowly. I got the impression he could have squeezed more from the bird if he’d wanted to, but all he said was this: “You struck a deal with my friend. I expect you to keep to it. If you meet the Ix again, you let us know.”

  With that, he released his grip. The ungrateful raven pecked at his hand, missing it by the width of a leaf. “Traveler! Traveler!” he squawked as he flew. All the world from here to Kasgerden could have heard him. Rosa did not look pleased. But David merely grunted and gestured for me to lead the way. We said nothing more as we stepped into the thick strong shadows of the wood.

  In a clearing, I set out a circle of stones and kindled a fire from dry moss and twigs. As it began to burn, I noticed the visitors were in hushed conversation. I glanced at Guinevere. She was busy keeping Gawain amused. Like any young creature, he liked to play. My gaze drifted back toward David and Rosa. It was wrong, I knew, to listen to their talk, but Galen was constantly reaching out to David and almost by accident I heard Rosa say, “Why, though? Why do I feel like this?”

  “It might be a side effect — of the transition.”

  “A side effect?” She didn’t sound satisfied with that. “David, every time I look at him I want to cry. Even I, naïve librarium orphan, know that isn’t a normal response. What’s he even doing in Guinevere’s time? Zanna has perfect memories of the legend and he’s not there, in any of it.”

  Not there? I wiggled my outstretched fingers.

  “Agawin? Are you all right?”

  I looked up. Guinevere had noticed me wiggling. “Just a little cold,” I said. I bowed my head and tended the fire, pitching my hearing back toward David. “I’ve tried to read him,” I heard him say. “It’s clearly him, but his pathway is hidden.”

  “Hidden? How?”

  “I don’t know. It’s very strange.”

  “But you read The Book of Agawin before we left the ark. He must have recorded something about this.”

  Write? The Book of Agawin? Now I was confused.

  “I only browsed a few sections. Stuff about Co:pern:ica. And it’s a living book, remember. It could keep things to itself if it didn’t want me to read them.”

  Rosa sighed heavily. “This can’t be right. What’s he doing in a place where he has no history?”

  “The history could be wrong. Much of what we know has been verbally passed down from generation to generation. Stories alter. That’s why bears have a Teller of Ways, so that their legends are faithfully recorded. Maybe the jolt in the timeline brought him here.”

  “Time,” she tutted, as if she’d like to wrap it up and throw it away. “It still doesn’t explain why he’s making me weepy or why I keep sensing Alexa’s presence.”

  “Yes, that is very odd,” he admitted.

  “Is she involved somehow? In this, our quest?”

  He took a moment to think about that. “Alexa is always involved,” he said.

  Leaving the horse only loosely tethered, he strolled toward the fire. At the same moment, Gawain fluttered out of Guinevere’s hands and dug himself a shallow pit close to the flames. He settled there, content to fall asleep again. Thoran, still a little grumpy from the fight, had already stalked off into the wood to look for the trail that would lead us to the bay. The unicorn folded his knees and set himself down at the side of the horse. And that, I thought, was all of us. Until something began to kick and punch inside the bag at Rosa’s hip.

  “Looks like the spell’s worn off,” she said. “Had to happen eventually, I suppose.”

  David said, “It’s all right, let her out.”

  Rosa turned a clasp and lifted the flap.

  Out of it popped another dragon.

  It was small, no bigger than a handful of pine-cones — and every bit as spiky as them. Such a peculiar arrangement of scales. Such a strangely shaped snout and nostrils (wide, a little too big for the face). Such oval-shaped eyes. Such flat back feet (she sat upright on them, balanced by her tail). And such a furious scowl. I would have said I had never seen anything like her. But I had seen something like her. She was almost the image of the dragon on the tapestry. She had no writing tools or parchment, but carried a cluster of flowers in her paws and a quiver on her back containing more. She was the oddest “dragon” I had ever set eyes on, but definitely one of their kind. As Galen turned his attention to the thing, I detected a spark of their auma at her heart.

  “This i
s Gretel,” said David, breaking my thoughts. “A female dragon with the power to do magicks. She was made by the woman I described to you.”

  “Made?”

  “From clay.” He spoke to the creature, inviting her to show me what she could do. She huffed for a moment, then took a slight bow. Guinevere laughed out loud as she blew rings within rings of smoke. Then she performed her best trick of all: In the blink of an eye, she made herself solid.

  With David’s permission, I picked her up and turned her in my hands. The body was firm, even the soft places like the eyes — they made a quiet clink when I tapped them with a fingernail — and the scales reflected the light of the fire. Suddenly, the dragon became “real” again and flew from my hands to land on the row of stones nearest Guinevere. Like David, she reached up and touched the red hair. Guinevere was enthralled by the thing.

  A remarkable species, the Fain said, buzzing. A unique combination of dragon auma, clay, and physical imagineering.

  Which posed one obvious question: “How did this … Elizabeth … give it life?”

  David looked at me thoughtfully. “I can’t tell you, Agawin; it could compromise your future.”

  “Like Thoran — and the ice bear?”

  He smiled at my attentiveness. “Something like that.”

  I was desperate to know what an “ice bear” was, but he was clearly not going to say. “Why did you bring this … flower dragon here?”

  “You try keeping her away,” Rosa muttered, a slight edge creeping into her voice.

  David said, “Gretel was drawn to this place, like we were. We don’t know exactly how she got here or why. But she may be able to help with our quest.”

  I watched the dragon rearranging her crop of flowers. She flipped them neatly into the quiver. A skillful trick, but what possible use could she have for flowers? “Will you tell me, now, the nature of your quest? You said when we met you were searching for someone.”

  “It’s Gwilanna, isn’t it?” Guinevere said.

  Fssst, went Gretel at the sound of the name. She splayed a row of claws and started weaving the ends of Guinevere’s hair into a series of short red twists.