The School between Winter and Fairyland

by Heather Fawcett

  Humming dragons weren’t like other dragons. It wasn’t just their size, or their lack of fire.

  Humming dragons, well, hummed.

  Their song was close enough to a human voice to send a shiver down your back, but it was quiet and sweet as strawberries. It traveled through woods and marsh, over fields and hills, to reach children’s ears and beckon them into the Gentlewood. Humming dragons ate children—or, rather, ate their hearts. It made sense, then, that everything about them was made to tempt children closer. Their necks bore a lace-like frill, and they were covered in soft, downy feathers that shone in the sunlight. Framed against the forest dark, they looked like nothing more than tiny green jewels. To look at them was to want to trap them in your hands like fireflies, to carry them around in your pocket and nestle them against your pillow at night. They didn’t look scary—which was why Autumn had chosen them for Cai—but their looks were a lie.

  Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, hummed the dragons.

  Shut it, Autumn commanded. One of the dragons fell silent. The other, the elder sister of the rest, kept humming. Autumn didn’t have Gran’s touch with monsters yet.

  Autumn snapped her fingers in front of Cai’s face—he was beginning to look dreamy. “Are you okay?”

  He swallowed. “Did you—did you say something to them?”

  Autumn nodded. She undid the locks on the cage door, blowing sharply on the dragons when they nipped at her fingers. They were so light that a good breath sent them soaring backward.

  Cai was staring at her. “Then you’re a Speaker?”

  Autumn huffed. “No, I just mind my pleases and thank-yous, and the monsters do what I want.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize. I knew your gran was one.”

  “We’re all Speakers. My brothers aren’t much good at it. Kyffin’s all right,” Autumn amended grudgingly. “And doesn’t he know it. Winter and I are better, though.”

  She felt a tug of longing at Winter’s name, as if there was a hook in it pulling her back to Inglenook. She wanted to look for him now, to tear the castle apart stone by stone and window by window. But as she’d just told the boggart, she’d made a pact with Cai, and she needed him—she only wished she hadn’t found out how much he needed her.

  Cai’s gaze drifted back to the cage, and he went white.

  “Do you need a bucket?” Autumn said suspiciously.

  “No.”

  “You better warn me if you do. I just washed my boots.”

  She undid the last lock and swung the cage door open. Cai took a step back. Autumn reached into the cage and, with a snap of her wrist, seized the smallest dragon by the scruff of its neck. The others hummed and growled—a deep, unsettling sound. The eldest clicked her jaws.

  Don’t even think about it, Autumn warned. Humming dragons had a poisonous bite. One nip, and you’d be paralyzed. That’s when they’d eat you. And of course, given their size, the process took a while. At least regular-size dragons had the decency to bite your head off.

  Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, hummed the eldest dragon, watching Autumn with her tiny black eyes.

  Autumn shut the cage door firmly. “All right. Now, as you can see, if you hold him like this, he—”

  She looked up and found that Cai was yards away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Panicking?” Cai held up his shaking hands.

  “Come on,” Autumn said. “You won’t get over your fear like that.”

  She marched over and grabbed Cai’s hand. She pinched his fingers around the dragon’s neck so that it couldn’t bite, then stepped back.

  Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, the caged dragon sang.

  “There!” she said. “How do you feel?”

  Cai looked stunned. He stared at the dragon writhing ineffectively in his palm. “It’s—it’s not that bad.”

  “What did I tell you?” Autumn grinned triumphantly. “You just have to face your fear. Now give him back to me—carefully. Keep your fingers on his neck, right?”

  Cai didn’t move.

  “Cai?” Autumn didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Stop listening to the song.”

  “It’s not that,” he said in a faint voice. “It’s—I—”

  He slumped to the grass.

  “Cai!” Autumn shouted. The second Cai’s grip loosened, the humming dragon sank its fangs into his thumb.

  Autumn knelt at his side. As the dragon fluttered free, she spat, Don’t move an inch, you rotter.

  But at that moment, the dragons hummed a lovely quick melody that rolled over her like a wave. And though she was used to their song, Autumn’s head spun briefly. The dragon that had bitten Cai nudged its maw against the door, and out it swung.

  The dragons soared free. The eldest came first, her wings snapping with delight.

  Stop, Autumn shouted. Get back in there!

  But their song was so loud that Autumn could barely hear herself. And then the dragons had her surrounded.

  Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, they sang. The sound was like a violin played on the shore of a gentle brook, like birdsong in the treetops. It was a song meant for lazy days, for napping in summer shade. They churned around Autumn, wind woven with emeralds.

  Back! she cried as a dragon swooped down, teeth bared. Back! You’re not getting his heart.

  “My heart?” Cai murmured.

  Autumn froze. She hadn’t said that out loud. She hadn’t. So how had Cai heard her?

  Cai? she said in the Speech.

  “Here,” Cai said fuzzily.

  Autumn didn’t have time to puzzle over mysteries. She drew a breath and hollered, “Gran!”

  Her voice echoed down the mountain. Where was Gran? She could be in the cottage, or up in the castle helping one of the masters. She could be deep in the Gentlewood, where the trees were like stone walls. Autumn felt dizzy—and, for the first time, afraid.

  “Gran!”

  A light glowed at the corner of her eye. Cai had propped himself up on one elbow, despite the poison spreading through his body. Sweat trickled down his brow, and the whole left side of him was stiff as a plank. His skin shone like a curious mixture of silver and pearls—starlight. It was as if there was a lamp in his stomach, cool and flickering.

  Autumn froze. Was this how magicians died, by turning into stars and drifting away? Had she killed Cai Morrigan? “What’s happening?” she demanded.

  “It’s all right.” Cai’s voice was barely there. “I drank from the river this morning, before the stars went away. I thought I might need it.”

  He began to murmur an incantation. The light grew brighter and brighter. Even the humming dragons seemed transfixed—they hovered silently, malevolent eyes fixed on Cai.

  Cai lifted his hand, and the light exploded.

  It was like a globe of lightning, silent and swift. And yet it wasn’t blinding—it was starlight, after all, and had no heat.

  The dragons fell to the ground. Autumn couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead and didn’t bother to check. She scooped them up and thrust them into the cage in a pile. Then she grabbed Cai and wrenched him half-upright.

  “Cai.” She shook him. “Cai.”

  He didn’t move. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. The stiffness had spread to the right side of his body. Would it stop his heart? Autumn didn’t know. She’d never seen anyone bitten by a humming dragon. What should she do?

  “What’s all this yelling, child?” It was Gran, limping out of the forest with a net slung over her shoulder. Autumn let out a cry of desperate relief.

  “He got bit,” she sobbed. “He got bit, and then he zapped them, then he just collapsed—”

  Gran’s face shuttered as she felt Cai’s pulse, and Autumn knew it was bad. “The river,” Gran said. “Cold’s the only thing that can push the poison out, if it hasn’t spread too far.”

  She hoisted Cai onto her shoulder as if he weighed no more than a lamb, and then she was running.

  Autumn ran after her. The Afon Morrel loomed ahead. Gran raced across t
he bank, paying no heed to the slimy dead-fall. Two gwarthegs were drinking on the opposite shore, their bells tinkling.

  Gran waded through the uneven shallows until she reached the first deep channel, then thrust Cai in.

  Autumn followed. The river washed over the tops of her boots, but she barely noticed its bite. Some of the stiffness left Cai, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  “Fool child,” Gran was muttering. “What have you done to yourself? This should fix an ordinary boy, but you? Who’s to know?”

  “He cast a spell,” Autumn choked out. “He had starlight inside him, from the river.”

  “He did, did he?” Gran peered at Cai’s face. “Well, that’s what’s done for him, then. Not just the poison. You can’t swallow all that magic and then spit it out all at once without spitting out part of yourself. He should know that, being a magician and all.”

  “He did it to save us,” Autumn said. “They would have gotten me, too, if he hadn’t.”

  “I never heard of such nonsense,” Gran said. “What were you thinking, playing games with those ill-tempered gnats?”

  Tears slid down Autumn’s face. This was all her fault. She had known Cai was terrified of dragons, and what had she done? Handed him one of the most dangerous dragons in the world! Humming dragons might look harmless, but Autumn knew better. She knew better, and still she’d made a mess of things, as she so often did.

  The gwarthegs, tasting her fear on the wind, took a thoughtful step toward her. No, Autumn shouted, and there was such force behind it that they twitched and shrank back. Autumn had only seen them do that with Gran.

  The sun peeked out from the clouds. The river brightened, while the shadows under the willows grew thick and foreboding. Among the darkness, something gleamed.

  “Gran, look!” Autumn cried.

  “What?”

  Autumn didn’t bother to reply. Ignoring Gran’s shouts, she dragged Cai over to the willows. She slipped on a particularly slimy stone and banged her knee, almost losing her hold. She swallowed the pain and pushed on.

  The willow boughs caught at her hair. She squinted in the darkness. She was certain she had seen it—a flash of light that had been less a flash than a cold and distant glow.

  There it was! She drew Cai deeper into the shadows, where there was a pool gleaming with starlight. The current must have pulled it there before the sun could burn it away.

  Autumn scooped up handfuls of the starry water and dashed it in Cai’s face. He mumbled something, an encouraging sign, but didn’t open his eyes.

  “That won’t do it, child,” said Gran, who’d come up silently behind her.

  Autumn took a breath. She didn’t want Cai to choke, but he’d freeze to death if they kept him in the river much longer. His limbs moved more easily now, undulating in the current, but his skin felt like hardening wax.

  Autumn scooped up another handful of water. The starlight floated on top like a film of oil. She opened Cai’s mouth and poured it down his throat.

  He jerked up in a fit of coughing. Autumn let out a sob of relief. She rolled him onto his side, keeping a tight grip on his shoulder, for the current was strong.

  “Give him over.” Gran lifted Cai and waded out of the river. She deposited him on the bank and wrapped her cloak around him.

  “Cai!” Autumn knelt at his side. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he said, but he was shivering so badly that Autumn didn’t believe him for a second.

  Nor did Gran. “The cottage,” she said shortly. She lifted Cai again, and they took off at a run.

   9

  IN WHICH CAI IS SOMETHING

  Cai’s politeness made a full recovery before he did. After five minutes in front of the roaring fire, he was apologizing for the trouble he’d caused, for the escaped dragons, for interrupting Gran’s duties. Autumn thought he would have started apologizing for the weather next, but Gran managed to shut him up with a plate of flatcakes (made by Jack, the only Malog who could bake) and tea topped with a layer of thick cream.

  Next Gran dosed him with a big spoonful of her cure-all. Autumn watched in sympathy. The Malog children were subjected to Gran’s cure-all whenever they fell ill, ensuring that when they did feel poorly, they hid it as long as possible. Gran refused to divulge the ingredients, but it smelled like a combination of cod-liver oil, raw garlic, and the moonshine whiskey she made in the cellar. It was difficult to imagine anything worse than that smell—until you tasted it.

  “I’m sorry, Autumn,” Cai said when they were alone, Gran having tramped outside to check on the humming dragons.

  “Shut up,” Autumn said. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. And if you argue, I’ll dunk your head in the river again,” she promised as Cai opened his mouth.

  He sighed. The starlight was fading from his cheeks. “I’m still sorry.”

  “Fine. Be sorry quietly.” She handed him another mug of tea. “I’m so stupid. I should have started you out with Amfidzel or one of the other babies. I just didn’t think you’d actually faint. Next time will be different, promise.”

  Cai didn’t say anything. He stared into the fire, his eyes pinched at the corners. “I guess you’re wondering what happened.”

  “You got scared. I was there.”

  Cai set the mug aside. “Yes. But that’s not all.” He stared down at his hands. “Something happens to me when I’m around dragons. It’s like—like there’s a darkness all around me, full of shapes.”

  “Shapes,” Autumn repeated. “What kind of shapes?”

  “I don’t know.” Cai swiped his hand over his eyes. “I hear this sound, like something breathing. Something big. And then I hear fighting. I know it’s fighting, even though I can’t see in the dark. Someone’s yelling, and there’s this flash of light. And after it comes an awful roar.”

  Autumn felt cold. “What kind of roar?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t describe it.”

  “And that happens every time you’re around a dragon?”

  “Every time.” His voice was very quiet. “I think it’s a vision.”

  Autumn swallowed. “Of the Hollow Dragon?”

  He gave her the faintest of smiles. “What else? That’s who I am, isn’t it? The boy who defeats the dragon and saves Eryree. That’s what I’m meant for.”

  “You’re not meant for anything,” Autumn said, surprised by the heat in her voice. “You’re just a boy. And you know what? You don’t have to fight the Hollow Dragon if you don’t want to. Who cares what some stupid prophecy says?”

  Cai didn’t reply. Troubled by the look in his eyes, Autumn went to let Choo in. The shiftless dog had been scratching at the door for the last half hour, though Autumn knew it would be all of ten minutes before he started scratching to go out again. As soon as the door opened, he bounded in, sneezing alarmingly. Oblivious to the tension, a phenomenon as incomprehensible to Choo as the rotation of the earth, he ran delighted circles around Cai’s chair until he exhausted himself, whereupon he collapsed in a puddle of fur. The darkness in Cai’s face faded, and he reached down to rub Choo’s belly.

  Autumn watched him thoughtfully. Cai had saved her life out there on the mountain. He’d done it even though he’d had to risk his own. She wondered if risking your life for someone else was what being a hero meant. By that measure, Choo was a great hero, given how he was always chasing after monsters. Of course, Choo didn’t understand things like death or danger; to Choo, life was a game without stakes. No—a hero was someone who looked death in the face and took its measure. Autumn wondered if she could have done what Cai had.

  “So, in this vision of yours, with the fighting and all,” she said slowly. “Are you winning?”

  Cai gazed into the dancing flames. He was quiet for so long that Autumn thought he wouldn’t answer.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  Cai felt better within the hour, but he was still a bit wobbly in the knees when he stood up, so Autumn made them a hearty
lunch—a better cure-all, in her opinion, than Gran’s tonic. As far as cooking went, Autumn was all right in the sandwich department, and managed to toast a few pieces of Seren’s seabread and fill them with tuna, cheese, and a handful of herbs from Gran’s garden.

  Cai was surprisingly good company when he wasn’t falling all over himself to be polite. Autumn even discovered, to her astonishment, that he had a sense of humor. She was less successful with dessert—baked apple, something even Kyffin could usually manage. The apples were all golden and gooey with melted sugar up top, but the bottoms stuck to the pan like barnacles and burned.

  “At least you didn’t get seaweed on them,” Cai said in such a mild tone that it was unclear whether he was joking, until Autumn punched him in the arm and he grinned. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed her mucking up his fancy old book in the skybrary. But apparently, polite, bashful Cai noticed more than he let on.

  They ate the unburned halves of the apples and exchanged stories by the fire. Cai talked about his lessons, and though Autumn didn’t understand half of what he told her about the principles of incantations and higher magics and balancing the realms, she found it fascinating. She’d never known, for instance, that star magicians had an affinity for healing enchantments, while sun and fire mages were best at blasting holes in things (monsters especially). She didn’t feel as if she was any closer to understanding the world of magicians, but it was as if she could glimpse the edges of it now, like a coastline emerging from the fog.

  She told Cai about her beastkeeper duties, which she didn’t expect him to find very interesting. But there she was wrong—he asked question after question and seemed astonished by her answers.

  “I had no idea it was so much work,” he said after she told him about the gwartheg deworming process—not the safest of subjects for lunchtime.

  Autumn raised her eyebrows. “You thought all those monsters looked after themselves?”

  “I—” Cai blushed. “I guess I never really thought about it.”