Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Nisha said. She stood with her arms crossed, frowning.

  “This must be the remains of another hunt.” Ember took a step back. She wanted to go back to the sled and get far away from here. It wasn’t just the dead dragons; the place had an eerie, watchful atmosphere. “Last year’s, I guess. That storm must have blown away the snow that covered them.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Nisha said. “This isn’t how—”

  The dogs began to howl in unison, sending ghostly clouds of breath into the sky.

  “We should get back to the sled.” Ember set off at a brisk walk, though in truth she wanted to run away as much as the dogs did. The breeze reminded her of fingers sliding along her neck.

  But at that moment, the ground gave a shiver—and then the snow at the bottom of the hill, which Ember and Nisha had crossed seconds before, vanished.

  Ember fell back with a cry. The snow crashed to the bottom of the crevasse that had appeared between them and the sled. Moss yelled at the dogs, which were now trying to run off with the sled.

  “A snow bridge!” Nisha said. “We’re lucky it didn’t give way when we were standing on it!”

  Ember’s heart thudded in her ears. Snow bridges were one of the most dangerous things a traveler could encounter in Antarctica. What looked like solid ground was actually a layer of snow that could collapse at any time.

  “Let’s go around,” Ember said. “Carefully.”

  They joined hands. It was difficult to tell where the crevasse ended and solid ground began—the snow was piled in drifts at the base of the hill. Ember knelt by the crevasse, trying to guess how deep it went. She could clear it, with her wings, but Nisha couldn’t. Her bare hands crunched against the snow, Nisha was muttering things about velocity versus distance, and the dogs were snarling. But underneath those noises . . .

  “Shhh,” Ember said.

  Nisha fell silent. Ember held herself very still.

  Someone was humming. A quiet, melodious sound. Ember couldn’t tell if the voice was male or female—it seemed an odd blending of the two, or perhaps there was more than one voice. The humming grew louder.

  “What is that?” Nisha said, hearing it at last.

  Ember recoiled. “It’s coming from the crevasse.”

  She grabbed Nisha’s hand, and they backed up, away from the crevasse, until Ember felt something sharp poke into her back. She yelled, leaping away from the dragon’s bone.

  “The bones,” Nisha murmured. “They’re wrong.”

  Ember barely heard her—she was too busy panicking. “What?”

  “I tried to tell you before,” Nisha said. “Those dragons shouldn’t have decayed like that. Not in one year, not in a dozen years. It’s just too cold here. But those bones . . . they look like they’ve been picked clean.”

  Ember blinked at her. Then, slowly, they turned back to the crevasse.

  Something was rising from it. Something that, at first, resembled mist or smoke. Ember could see Moss through it, his eyes wide, standing on the other side of the crevasse. But then the wisps of smoke began to thicken, and Ember realized that they were mouths—hundreds of small, translucent mouths, opening and closing like jellyfish. And still that horrible humming continued—so sweet, and so soothing. It was a melody that could lull you to sleep, warm and faintly echoing, as if some of the voices were slightly out of time.

  “Oh,” Nisha whispered. “Oh no. It’s—” She wasn’t able to finish. She didn’t need to. Ember had seen her aunt’s sketch. She had heard the stories.

  The grimlings.

  “What do we do?” Ember realized she was gripping Nisha’s hand hard enough to burn her if she wasn’t careful, and she forced herself to let go.

  Nisha swallowed. “Run?”

  Moss was yelling at them. He gestured them back to the sled, but the crevasse between them seemed to be growing as more of the snow bridge fell away and the grimlings surged through it. It was now at least twenty yards long, and lengthening.

  “Maybe they won’t hurt us,” Ember said. She tried to believe the words as she spoke them. “We don’t know for sure that they killed those Scientists, right?”

  “Right.” Nisha’s voice was faint. The dogs were going berserk. One of them had somehow freed itself from its harness, perhaps by gnawing it through, and it leaped at the grimlings. As soon as its muzzle touched them, they engulfed the dog with an echoing sigh and a flash of hundreds of luminescent teeth, and then it was simply . . . gone.

  Not quite gone. The grimlings drew back, and the dog’s skeleton tumbled to the snow, sightless eyes gaping. As clean as the dragon bones behind them.

  Ember’s stomach convulsed. “Or—or maybe we do,” she whispered.

  The sight of the dog’s gleaming skeleton was too much for Finnorah. With a heartwrenching howl, she ran, the rest of the pack at her heels and the sled flying behind them. Moss shouted for her to stop, but it was no use. The dogs—and all of their gear—faded into the night.

  “Moss!” Nisha screamed.

  The grimlings were circling him, drawing closer and closer. They didn’t attack—it was almost as if they were interested in him. The humming rose and fell, little mouths darting out as if to sniff at Moss. He yelped, starting back.

  “What were you saying about velocity?” Ember’s voice was grim.

  Nisha turned terrified eyes on her. “What?”

  Ember drew a shaky breath. “I’ll just have to estimate, then.” She raised her hand, focusing on the wall of grimlings rising from the crevasse. She was tired, and it wasn’t easy. But she felt the familiar fire burning under her skin, and concentrated—

  The fire exploded, flame leaping from her fingertips and crashing into the grimlings. The humming jarred, a horrible, wrong sound. There was a hiss, as of ice melting in a pot, and a gap opened between the grimlings. Not very wide—but wide enough.

  Ember grabbed Nisha’s arm. “Run.”

  They ran for the gap, down the hill, their speed picking up as they went. Just before they hit the edge, Ember beat her wings, using the added propulsion to launch herself and Nisha over the crevasse. Nisha screamed, and she and Ember landed in a heap on the other side. They were through.

  Moss helped them to their feet. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “You’ve made them angry.”

  “Right, because they were in such a good mood before.” Ember examined the horrible whirl of mouths, which had closed the gap she had created. “Why don’t they attack you?”

  Moss shook his head, and then one of the grimlings lunged at Nisha.

  Ember blasted it back with a plume of flame. She shoved Nisha between her and Moss.

  “We have to go after the sled,” she yelled. The humming was almost deafening now, and so out of time that it was closer to the drone of bees than melody. She held out her hand again, flame spilling from her fingertips, trying to create another gap, a door they could squeeze through. But it seemed as if the grimlings had learned. The gap opened, grimlings melting in the fire, but as soon as it did, others swept in to take their place.

  “We’re going to die!” Nisha yelled. “They’re going to devour us! We’ll be a pile of bones in the middle of—”

  Ember reached her hand out and covered Nisha’s mouth.

  “I think they’re holding back because of you,” she said to Moss. “They don’t seem too fond of me and Nisha. Can you try to talk to them?”

  Moss went pale. “I—I don’t know how.”

  Another grimling lunged out. Its hideous teeth were translucent, like weather-beaten glass, but Ember had seen the damage they could do. She blasted another plume of flame at it—but this time, the fire sputtered and went out.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. The grimling retreated, teeth clacking. A wave of exhaustion passed over her—she had never felt so spent in her life. She tried again to summon the fire, but it was as if it slumbered inside her now, and she could not wake it.

  She e
xchanged a look with Nisha. The other girl’s eyes were panicked, but she set her jaw.

  “We’ll have to make a run for it,” she said.

  Moss took their hands. “I’ll go first,” he said. His hand was shaking so badly that Ember could barely grip it. “If you’re right about me, maybe they’ll let us through.”

  Ember swallowed. She tried not to think too hard about what Moss was volunteering to do, and what would happen to them if the grimlings did not, in fact, have any particular interest in him. What would happen to them all. She saw the dog dissolving again.

  “All right,” she said. “On three.”

  Fwoomp. Fwoomp. Fwoomp.

  Ember froze. She had heard that sound before. It cut through the grimlings’ hum like a knife. She whipped around, scanning the darkness, but saw nothing.

  Fwoomp. Fwoomp.

  Slowly she looked up. All she saw were stars suspended in inky darkness. Then a patch of stars moved, wheeling in a lazy circle, and Ember realized.

  She was looking at an ice dragon.

  The moonlight glinted off its scales. The dragon let out a birdlike cry, and the grimlings went completely silent.

  The dragon folded its wings and dove toward the ground, and Ember, Nisha, and Moss screamed in unison. It was coming right at them! The grimlings scattered, dissolving like smoke, but Ember’s quick eyes saw them dart back to the crevasse they had risen from.

  The dragon banked sharply, raising a cloud of ice crystals. Ember coughed as she inhaled a mouthful of them. She shoved the others behind her as the dragon landed, quiet as a breath, its eyes fixed on her.

  Eighteen

  Aquamarine

  A fire dragon’s wings were typically translucent, ranging in hue from golden to molten orange, resembling those of a dragonfly in sunlight.

  —TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES

  Gode eventide, the dragon said. It did not move its mouth, but purred the words somewhere in its throat.

  Ember felt as if she’d been struck.

  “Did . . . did the dragon just speak?” Nisha asked faintly.

  “I think so.” Moss’s voice was equally faint. “I don’t know what it said. But it said something.”

  “It said hello,” Ember murmured. She had heard the words, and though they were not in a language she recognized, she found that she understood them. She took a step forward.

  Moss grabbed her. “Don’t!”

  Ember shook him off. She kept going, stopping only a yard or two from the dragon. It lowered its head so that its all-white eyes were at a level with Ember’s. It was like gazing into a sentient cloud.

  Litel childres, the dragon said. Hware cumeth thu? And something inside Ember translated: Children, where did you come from?

  “From the research station,” Ember said. To her astonishment, she found she was able to speak the same language as the dragon. The words felt strange in her mouth, curvy and lilting. “Well . . .” She paused, swallowing. “Technically, we came from the hunters’ camp.”

  Tha sottas, the dragon snorted. Its voice inside Ember’s head sounded female, though she could not have explained how she guessed this. Those idiots.

  “We’re not hunters,” Ember rushed to clarify, frightened by the dragon’s stillness and the white breath that curled from her nostrils. The dragon could turn her to ice in a heartbeat. Did she want to? Ember had no idea, which in a way was worse than if the dragon had actually done it.

  What are you? the dragon said. How do you speak my language?

  Ember hesitated. Her knees were shaking so hard they might have been trying to single-handedly—or single-leggedly—propel her backward. It was clear that, like the fire dragons, this ice dragon couldn’t sense what she was. Would revealing the truth help her to trust them?

  She turned, removing her scarf and pushing her uneven hair out of the way. She knew from the dragon’s startled huff that her heartscale shone in the moonlight.

  A dragon child, she murmured. From the north. The lands beyond the sea. I have never met one of your kind.

  “Er, yes,” Ember said. “So . . . as I’m like you, would you consider not eating us?”

  The dragon snorted, tiny crystals of ice shooting out of her nostrils. It was a moment before Ember realized that the dragon was laughing.

  We mostly eat seals, the dragon said. She stretched her back, a catlike movement. Much tastier than humans. And we never harm children.

  Ember thought of Prince Gideon, kidnapped by a dragon. Clearly not all of them refrained from harming children. Were ice dragons like her, unable to lie? If she asked, and the dragon said yes, that wouldn’t tell her anything. A smaller part of Ember wondered how the dragon knew seals were tastier than humans.

  You are under a spell, the dragon said uncertainly. Ember nodded. The magic hides your true form. We dislike magic.

  “Why?”

  It goes against our code. Ember thought she heard an evasive note in the dragon’s purr of a voice.

  “Then you can do magic?” Ember said.

  We can, but we do not.

  Ember’s thoughts flashed to the heartscale. “There was a strange light,” she said. “Like a trail in the sky. We followed it here—”

  That is not magic, the dragon said. It was our footprints. Dragons leave them wherever they go—even you, dragon child.

  A thousand questions filled Ember’s head. “If that isn’t magic, then—”

  The dragon made a low sound that froze her tongue. Why are you here, dragon child from the north?

  Ember swallowed. “We’ve come to rescue someone. My friend was stolen by a dragon several days ago.” She flushed at her own words. She had just called the prince her friend, which must mean it was the truth. Yet he was also her enemy. She thought of how he had threatened her, and also his strange flashes of kindness—how he had saved her from falling and kept her secret from Lord Norfell, despite his hatred of dragons. She didn’t understand how someone could be both a friend and an enemy, but she supposed it made sense that a person as disagreeable as Gideon had managed it.

  The dragon regarded Ember with her strange eyes. While they looked all white at a distance, they were actually a mixture of grays and whites and silvers, swirling like the sea. Ember couldn’t read them at all.

  Tha smeeter childre, the dragon hissed. The murderer child. You cannot have him. You should go back to your home, dragon child from the north.

  Ember blinked. “Then you know where he is?”

  Yes.

  “If you know where he is, take us to him,” Nisha said, striding forward.

  Ember was astonished. “You can understand her?”

  “Not all of it,” Nisha said. “It’s not another language, you see. It’s an ancient form of English—five or six centuries old, I’d estimate. Some of the words are the same. Others are a little twisty or strange, but often you can guess at them.”

  Ember gaped at her.

  “My father collects old books,” Nisha explained. “The older the better. The dragon talks like the stories he used to read to me and Aditi.”

  Ember turned back to the dragon. “You speak English!”

  I speak the language of my ancient ancestors, the dragon said. They were not from this land. We came to this place many centuries ago, after we were driven from our northern mountains by hunters. We wanted to find a place as far from humans as possible, where none had ever dwelled.

  “But . . .” Ember didn’t understand. “But I’m from the north, and there were never ice dragons there. Only fire dragons, like me.”

  Once there were, dragon child, the dragon said. Once there were dragons of all five elements, who dwelled in many parts of this world. Some separately, some coexisting. Dragons not only of fire and ice, but of forest and air and darkness. But over time, our numbers dwindled. More and more humans hunted us. Perhaps there are some who retreated to remote places, as we did. But most were lost. I am not surprised that fire dragons lingered longest—they can li
ve almost anywhere. And humans always did fear them most.

  Nisha’s brow was furrowed. “All this talking isn’t going to help us find Prince Gideon. Tell her she has to take us to him.”

  Behind them, Moss drew in a breath. “I don’t think making demands of a dragon is such a good idea,” he said in a near whisper.

  “Why not?” Nisha said. “Her people kidnapped a child. And now she wants to make polite conversation? I don’t think so.”

  “Nisha—” Moss began.

  “Strength respects strength,” Nisha said. “That’s what my mother always says. I think that if you’re firm about it, she’ll be more likely to listen.”

  What does the human child say? the dragon said. She sniffed at Nisha, as if that might help her understand.

  Ember swallowed. “She says that you must take us to our friend, who your people stole from us,” she said. Nisha folded her arms, and Ember took heart from her cool confidence. “We demand that you do so.”

  The dragon snorted. You are not my blood kin, to make demands of me.

  “But you’re in danger if you don’t free him,” Ember burst out. “He isn’t just a boy—he’s a prince, and his family is powerful. They’ll never stop hunting you.”

  The dragon made a skeptical noise. She seemed to think. I will consider your request, but only if you can offer currency in exchange.

  “Currency?” Ember repeated. “We—we don’t have any. But the prince does. I’m sure he has mountains of gold, or jewels, or whatever you—”

  The dragon was snorting again. I have no use for gold or jewels, dragon child. She spread her graceful, glimmering wings. I have saved you from the Hungry Ones. You are children, so I will forgive the life debt you owe me. Goodbye.

  “Wait!” Ember cried. “An ice dragon kidnapped Prince Gideon—for all we know he could be dead by now. And yet you claim that you don’t hurt children. I think you’re lying.”

  The dragon hissed. I do not lie. I cannot.

  “Prove it.” Her anger rose. She thought of Gideon’s terrified face as the dragon breathed at his back. As horrible as he was, he hadn’t deserved to be snatched away like that. Not that she was doing this for Gideon, she reminded herself, as an odd flush spread over her cheeks. She cared about saving the dragons, not him. “Prove that he’s safe. Or we won’t believe you.”