Dragon Fire

by Lisa McMann

  Thisbe’s earnest look didn’t waver. “So you’ll do it?”

  Fifer nodded slowly. “We’ve already got enough of a mess in Artimé without Quill barging in and being obnoxious.” Tamping down the voice in her head, she slipped her arms into the robe and fastened it around her neck. She looked up, her face aglow. “Okay, team. Let’s make this happen.”

  Restoring

  With her mind made up, Fifer walked over to the back step of the gray shack. She still had so many questions about how she would handle the clash between the dissenters and the other Unwanteds. She still had doubts and the constant reminder that she’d killed a human being. But she knew that things would only get worse the longer they had to live without the comforts and necessities of Artimé. Being reminded that Quill was also wiped out made Fifer want to get things up and running. Pronto.

  She stood squarely in the correct spot. After a quick tutorial from Aaron, and with the friends she’d rescued standing all around her, she concentrated and carefully recited the spell that would bring Artimé back. She could feel each word deeply in her core: Imagine. Believe. Whisper. Breathe. Commence. Then she repeated them two more times. At the end, after a whispery moment in the eerie gray world, everything began to change. Colors reentered, and the mansion spun back into existence, with the roof in the correct place. The lawn reappeared and spread under everyone’s feet, and fountains sprang up in the usual places. The jungle sprouted and grew to maturity, and the world was repopulated with beavops and owlbats and rabbitkeys and platyprots and squirrelicorns once more. The lifeless statues stirred.

  “You did it,” Aaron whispered in Fifer’s ear. “I’m really proud of you. We’ll talk soon about how Kaylee and I can help you. I won’t leave you stranded.”

  “Thanks, Aaron,” said Fifer, hardly able to believe what was happening. She’d really done it. And now she was head mage of Artimé, looking at her magical world. Her eyes traveled to Simber, halfway across the lawn, his face still smashed into the ground but his hindquarters in the air now as he pushed himself to his feet. How would she explain things to her new number one companion? She started toward him.

  Simber groaned as the grass grew up around his face and tickled his nose. He snorted and stretched his limbs and neck, then shook the dust and dirt off. He lifted a paw to his chin and rubbed it, feeling the new scrapes there. “What the—” he said, looking around to figure out where he was and how he’d managed to land so ungracefully. He’d experienced this strange feeling of having missed something important a few times now. This time it didn’t take long to understand what had happened. And for once he wasn’t forced to experience the growing feeling of horror and dread coming over him that he’d lost another companion, which was a relief. “Did Fiferrr succeed? I think she actually did it,” he muttered to himself, remembering his final move before everything went blank. “I knew she could.” His heart swelled, and he looked around to see who had brought the world back. He wished he’d said something to the humans before all of this happened about who he’d have chosen if given options.

  Then Simber noticed Aaron alive, safe, and moving to the fountain for freshwater. He wasn’t wearing the robe, which was a surprise. “Then who…?” Simber’s gaze swept the area, anxiety growing as he saw Ol’ Tater stomping and splashing at the edge of the sea. The mastodon statue always came alive when the world was brought back. But who had restored it, if not Aaron? Claire, perhaps? That would be okay with him, though he knew she didn’t want to be the head mage.

  But what if something else had gone wrong, and the head mage was someone horrible? He had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been minutes or days. When his eyes alighted on a young woman coming toward him wearing the head mage’s robe, Simber blinked. And then his face broke into a rare, wide grin. “Well,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, well, well.” He almost wasn’t sure how to feel about it at first, for he didn’t know how the decision of who would bring back the world had come to happen. Were there arguments over it? It didn’t matter much, at least at the moment, for an overwhelming joy took root in Simber’s soul and grew. He’d seen something in Fifer. They’d already experienced times of true companionship. She’d helped convince him to free himself from his attachment to Frieda Stubbs. And she’d led the team to victory. Now Fifer was his new head mage companion. After a tumultuous year, things were finally looking up for Simber.

  He loped toward Fifer as she was nearing him. He could see the flush of success on her face and the light in her eyes. It seemed right and good.

  “Simber,” said Fifer. Merely mentioning his name almost choked her with emotion. This moment… this… this thing… It meant something so great and deep and surprising, so far beyond her own comprehension. She thought about all the passages she’d read in which Mr. Today and Simber were together. And so many more about Alex and Simber. And now it was her turn. “I— Hello, Simber. Hi. So… this happened. Just a short time ago. Today.” She searched his face. “You helped. We did it together. Do you remember?”

  Simber couldn’t hide his pleased look, and he didn’t really want to. But he said in his usual gruff voice, “You could have waited to end herrr until I’d landed on the grrround, you know. I think I’ve chipped a tooth.”

  Fifer smiled. “Just trying to keep you on your toes,” she said. The two gazed self-consciously at one another, a bit overcome in the moment. And then Fifer slipped her arms around the cheetah’s neck and stroked the scrapes on his chin. “I’m glad you’re not too banged up. I’ll get it right next time.” They both paused, thinking and wondering about what next time would look like, and Fifer realized that if next time came and Simber was transformed into a frozen statue, that would mean Fifer had been the one killed. “Uh,” Fifer said, editing her previous statement, “next time we fight an enemy together, I mean.”

  “Rrright. I knew that’s what you meant.”

  “Heh. Anyway, we’ll need to fix your tail and your tooth and those scratches on your chin.”

  “Florrrence can do it. Or Aarrron.” He hesitated. “Was everrrything all rrright with him?”

  Fifer nodded. “They’re all okay. And… yeah. So… this robe and I seem to be okay with everyone in our group… I think.” She looked at him expectantly.

  Simber let out a soft growl that was almost a purr, and Fifer knew that meant he was happy. They looked up as Carina approached. She congratulated Fifer. “I just spoke to Florence. She’s figured out it’s you.”

  “Thank you,” said Fifer. “I’m starting to realize how difficult it will be to reunite Artimé after… everything. But I want to get it right.” She cringed as the voice in her head reprimanded her again, and she glanced at Florence. The warrior trainer was directing the dragons to keep the dissenters contained, as if nothing had happened. “Florence has them under control.”

  “Yes,” said Carina. “She told me to tell you to come see her when you have a moment. Also, Ol’ Tater is at it again. Do you want me to send Sean over there to put him to sleep?”

  “I’ll take care of him,” said Fifer, glancing at the beast, who was harmlessly splashing at the shore for the time being, thanks to one of the dragons swatting him with his tail when he strayed too close to people. “And then I’ll talk to Florence.” It felt official—Florence, the great warrior, was summoning the new head mage to discuss the next steps. Even though Fifer had led a team before, this was different and strange and monumental, because Florence hadn’t been there. And this time it was permanent.

  “Did Kitten make it out all rrright?” Simber asked Carina.

  Carina nodded. “She and Fox have been reunited. Everyone on our team is tending to the injured.”

  “Simber,” said Fifer, “could you check with Kitten and find out how many lives she has left? I believe she lost two in this battle.”

  “Of courrrse.”

  Fifer started toward Ol’ Tater. “I’ll be right back.” She hastily left Simber and Carina and went down to the shor
e. When she was close enough for the mastadon to hear her, she thanked him for his help, then, with a pang of sympathy, sang the song that would put him to sleep.

  As before, Ol’ Tater’s movements ceased. Fifer went up to him and touched his side, then concentrated and transported him magically back to his spot in the Museum of Large.

  Once that was taken care of, Fifer went over to Florence. A sudden feeling of inadequacy came over her, for she still had no idea what to do next, and she hoped Florence wouldn’t demand any answers quite yet. But it was clear the dissenters needed tending to—the injuries they’d sustained were significant from the shack roof dropping down on them. Fifer spotted Henry, Thatcher, Lani, Samheed, Seth, and several others moving through the corralled group with medicine from the hospital ward now, trying to make the people more comfortable.

  Fifer was struck by the scene. A pang of emotion ran through her for her friends. Despite the dissenters attacking them, there was no question that Henry’s team would care for them when hurt. This was what Artimé was supposed to be like all the time. This was what Fifer wanted to bring back to this magical land: Love. Kindness. Peace. And a renewed appreciation for the reason Mr. Today had created this world in the first place. But was that possible after what had happened? After what Frieda had done to create the frenzy and after what Fifer had done to stop it? Had things gone too far to turn back? Some of these dissenters were responsible for destroying the tubes, knowing full well that people were trapped inside. Could they ever be forgiven? What punishment should they face? And… would they accept Fifer as their head mage? She knew some of them wouldn’t.

  “Congratulations, Fifer,” Florence said warmly, though she held her hand out as a warning to the dissenters to stay in their places. “That robe looks just right on you.”

  “Thanks. It’s a bit too long in the sleeves, but Sky can tailor it for me later,” Fifer said. “How are things going here?” She lowered her voice and eyed the dissenters, continuing to wonder how they felt about another Stowe being the head mage—one that had ended the life of the leader they’d followed. Had they heard what had happened yet? Did they know Fifer was responsible? At present no one was outright challenging her.

  But the whispers among the captured ones had begun now that the world was restored and they saw Fifer wearing the robe. Fifer shifted uneasily, wondering what the people were thinking about her. Did they hate her because of all the lies Frieda had told them? Did they still resent her for the once uncontrollable magic she possessed and the danger she’d put them in for years just by existing? It was unfortunately likely that both were true. Fifer nodded primly to acknowledge the dissenters’ looks and whispers, then stood up straighter and lifted her chin. She was their leader now, and she wasn’t going to be intimidated. But standing here, looking at them in their pitiful state, gave Fifer an idea. She was, in fact, planning to do something that might surprise them. She was going to show them how a real Artiméan should behave. Maybe they’d learn something.

  “I think I know what we should do,” Fifer said to Florence. “We can bring the dissenters into the hospital ward to make it easier to treat them. By doing that, we’ll keep them all contained in one space. We’ll post guards at the exit. And…,” she continued, thinking hard, “no one gets released without a thorough interview, conducted by me and others of my choosing.”

  “An interview?” asked Florence, sounding unsure.

  “Yes. We’ll need to ask each one of them where their loyalties lie and what their intentions are going forward. Find out how they feel about what they’ve done.”

  Florence tapped her chin thoughtfully, waiting to hear more. “Some of them have done great harm,” she said. “What about them?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Fifer admitted. “But Thisbe, being part dragon, has a new sense that I think will help us understand their hearts. Maybe, if she’s willing, she can help us decide if we can believe what the dissenters say.”

  Florence nodded. “That’s the beginning of a sound plan,” she said. “Very fair and kind, I think. Maybe a little too kind, but I admire that in you. I think even though we’re in the minority, we have such a great, strong team who already trusts you. I feel certain they’ll buy into this idea.”

  “We don’t actually have a lot of other options. What else are we supposed to do? Banish them?”

  “Maybe.”

  “To where? The Island of Graves to get eaten by the saber-toothed gorillas? Or to live in the underwater Island of Fire? None of our other island friends would want them.” Fifer gave a grim smile. “Besides, it’s the way things should be around here. Compassionate. I’m going to show them what they never showed Thisbe and me. Maybe we can turn this around if it’s not too late.”

  “You’ve always been good-hearted,” Florence said carefully. “But don’t fall over backward trying to make them all comfortable. They need to feel some shame. And some need to pay for what they’ve done.”

  Fifer nodded, but she wasn’t sure about that. What about herself? Did she deserve to be banished after what she’d done? She was certain some of the dissenters would think so. “I hear you, Florence,” Fifer said, but she was still conflicted.

  She took a step toward the mansion, then hesitated. She wanted desperately to talk to someone about everything, and Florence had always been there for Fifer. But now wasn’t the time to be selfish when people were in pain. “Thanks,” she said instead. “I’ll go assign duties, then check on the hospital ward.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hope everything inside the mansion was magically restored to its usual splendor. But somehow I fear it won’t be.”

  “Henry said the hospital ward is in good shape,” Florence said. “He’d made it small when things started to ramp up with Frieda. So hopefully if you extend it to its largest size, most of the things inside it will be intact.”

  “Good,” said Fifer. “Keep things under control out here. We’ll talk later once we get everyone settled. I’ll let you know when the hospital ward is ready for patients.”

  Fifer walked briskly to the mansion, her new robe swishing around her ankles. She opened the main door a crack, then cringed. She pushed the door farther and saw the entirety of the mansion’s enormous entryway. It was as she’d feared: just as destroyed as they’d left it. They’d have a lot of work to do on the structure and the people before things would be back to normal. It was clear that bringing the world of Artimé back was just the first step in a huge process, which was revealing itself little by little as an enormous never-ending task. And Fifer, finding herself in a very sticky situation, wanted desperately to stay focused, reestablish Artimé’s policies, and show the people how things were going to be from now on. Somewhere in there she would have to find a friend she could confide in. But without Thisbe at her side, she felt isolated and lonely amid a sea of friends. It seemed like things were growing more difficult by the minute.

  Palace in Pain

  Dev wasn’t sure what to think as he and Astrid roamed the palace property, taking it all in. Set within a mysterious fog was the debris-covered land: uprooted pavers everywhere and an immense dead garden covered in spider webs. Rising above the fog were the palace’s towers, the largest in the center of a covered courtyard and one at each of four corners surrounding it. All of the towers were topped with weather-beaten bulbs like enormous onions, and all but the middle one had cracked and split. Two of the bulbs had fallen into such disrepair that they were in pieces that hung down like petals, revealing glimpses of ruined interiors. The whole property was an old, decaying mess.

  It had been completely abandoned, or so it seemed. From the looks of it, nobody had lived here in a long time. The correct shapes were there to match the image in Dev’s head, but the palace was otherwise hardly recognizable from the glorious purple, orange, and gold image that had danced around the edges of Dev’s mind ever since he’d taken in the ancestor broth. All the splendor had drained out.

  “I keep wondering what happened here,” he sa
id softly, overwhelmed with disappointment. He berated himself for getting his hopes up so high. He never used to do that. Turning to his ghost dragon companion, he asked, “Do you remember what went on to cause this?”

  Astrid sat on her haunches. The low part of her ethereal body blended in with the fog. Her neck curved around and downward, as if she were bowing to this mess. “Seeing it like this brings back the memory of those terrible days,” she said slowly. “I’d forgotten them for a blissful little while.” She paused, then added, “Sometimes forgetting is nicer than remembering.”

  “What days?” Dev pressed. “Are you saying you know what caused this? You must tell me!” He was somehow devastated by the deterioration of this strange place, even though he had no memory or connection to it other than the image and his expectations. But he felt a strong tug at his heart when looking at the palace and property. This place was connected to him somehow. He’d never felt anything like this before. “I’m almost certain my ancestors died here,” he blurted out.

  He didn’t know what had prompted him to say it. He’d been a slave in the castle Grimere his entire life and had never known his parents. He’d spent his years as a companion and whipping boy for Princess Shanti for as long as his memory served him. He’d known zero information about his mother and father, much less anyone else in his familial line who would have been alive when this place was destroyed. All he’d had were his black eyes to give him a clue. Until now.

  There had been an image of a gray man in his mind too. Hunched over a small desk, his white-and-charcoal beard hanging down. Deep wrinkles in his gray-brown face. Ashes were sprinkled over his gray robe. Before this moment, Dev hadn’t focused on that image—the man was so gray and boring. Besides, Dev had no idea who he was. He’d chosen instead to dwell on the beautiful palace. But now the gray man came forward in his mind. Who was he? Why didn’t Dev have any memory of him, either?