The Last Dragon Chronicles #5: Dark Fire

by Chris d'Lacey

  “Don’t be upset. She’s only sleeping,” David said, as a whimpering hurr escaped Glade’s throat. “Glade, listen to me carefully for a moment.”

  The dragon turned her head.

  “I know you read moods. What else can you do?”

  She lifted her wings. Grow things, she hurred.

  “Plants?”

  She nodded.

  “You look after them at home?”

  Hrrr, she said brightly. None of her humans knew it, but yes.

  Arthur’s mouth opened with a watery smack. “One of Gwillan’s cherished duties,” he said.

  David sat down and felt for Liz’s hand. It was slightly cold, but not dangerously so. “Do you know what dark fire is, Glade?”

  The mood dragon brought her eye ridges together. From a distant part of her innate memories the answer came to her. It made her shudder.

  “It’s within Liz,” David told her.

  Glade looked at Liz’s body and gulped.

  “I want you to read her mood, and her child’s if you can. Put aside how you feel about seeing her like this and just show what you find. If it becomes too much, break away and read me instead. Do you understand?”

  Glade shifted her gaze toward Liz, and nodded.

  “Good. Off you go.”

  The dragon found a comfortable dent in the pillow. Then drawing in a puff of her exhaled smoke, she squeezed her eyes shut and fell into a huddle of concentration. To Arthur’s immediate relief, the ivy scales began to show warmer colors, until they’d settled somewhere in the amber zone. “Are you reading Elizabeth now?” he asked. Liz’s eyelids, he noticed, were no longer fluttering. It was the calmest she’d been all day.

  Glade gave out a lengthy hrrrrr.

  “Are you altering her mood? Are you capable of that?”

  Glade frowned, flexed her shoulders, and spoke a burst of dragontongue, far too quick for Arthur to translate.

  David leaned toward him and said, “She says she’s not consciously soothing Liz, but that Liz is somehow exploring her abilities and using them to level her mood.”

  “Like a meditation state?”

  “Sounds like it, yes. Can you pick up the baby’s auma, Glade?”

  The semicircular scales underneath Glade’s eyes tightened as she redirected her senses. She held this pose for several seconds before giving a sudden jerk and flicking out her wings to steady herself.

  “Go carefully,” David whispered. “Feel it from a distance if you need to.”

  The dragon tried again. A few seconds passed. Her tail beat a syncopated rhythm against the pillow. Then, with a snort, she opened her eyes. Her ivy had not changed color.

  “Well?” David asked.

  Glade sank down, frowning. She spoke a few words of dragontongue: hrrr.

  Arthur stepped back, cupping Bonnington’s throat. “She sounds confused. Is the baby all right?”

  Hrrr! went Glade. The ivy rustled as she moved her head.

  David released his grip on Liz’s hand. “She says the baby is ‘growing’ properly, but there’s something unusual about its mood. Its auma is not where it’s supposed to be.”

  “What?” said Arthur.

  “I think you’d better come with me,” David said. He picked Glade up and hurried to the den.

  Sweeping a path through the enquiring dragons, most of whom had never seen a mood dragon before (though Gruffen remembered her from many years ago), David put Glade on the workbench next to Gwillan, who had his head bowed low like a dragon in prayer. “Any change?” he asked Groyne.

  There was no reply.

  “Groyne!”

  The shape-shifter shook himself conscious.

  “What’s the matter? What are you doing? I told you to watch him.”

  Groyne scratched his head and blushed a deep green. He must have fallen asleep, he said.

  David sighed and returned his attention to Glade. The assembled dragons were staring in awe at her mood-detecting ivy, which had flared a deep violet when they’d all leaned toward her. But now that her attention was focused on Gwillan, the ivy leaves were glowing black and white, alternating swiftly between the two.

  “Tell me what you’re reading,” David said.

  Glade picked up the end of her scarf. She seemed as mesmerized as anyone by the changes in the leaves. Hrrr-rr, she replied.

  “What’s happening?” said Arthur, coming to stand by David’s shoulder.

  “Something extraordinary,” David said. He pointed at the workbench. “Glade has detected your son’s auma in Gwillan. It appears that Joseph Henry would like to be a dragon, after all.”

  29 ORDERS

  He’s done what?” Zanna dropped a piece of paper towel into the garbage and gathered Alexa to her. Melanie and her mother were still fast asleep, being watched over by Gretel. “I don’t understand. Do you mean the baby’s transferred his auma?”

  “Extended it would be more accurate,” David said. “Somehow his consciousness has reached out to Gwillan and brought him out of stasis, which means the commingling is more advanced than I thought. The boy’s drawing on the power of Gwillan’s tear. He’s manipulating the dark fire to his own ends.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?”

  “I think he’s clever, which amounts to the same thing. Glade read his mood as ‘playful’ and ‘indecisive,’ and that’s not something I can afford to be anymore.”

  Zanna stared at him hard.

  “The dragon colony wants the dark fire destroyed. I was sent here to retrieve it. My orders were to take it north as soon as I’d reclaimed it from Gwilanna. I held out, hoping I might save Gwillan. Now, the situation has become unpredictable. I need to act.”

  “And do what?” Zanna’s voice was like the clang of steel. Even Alexa looked at her father with stern disenchantment strengthening her curls.

  “I’m going to take Liz and Gwillan to Ki:mera.”

  “Oh, good. Get another gallon of milk while you’re out.”

  “Zanna, this is serious.”

  “Too right,” she said. “When Liz wakes up, she’s going to want a cup of tea. She’s going nowhere, David.”

  “You can’t argue this,” he pressed. “Even by Fain standards what the boy’s done is way off the radar. There’s no knowing what will happen if Gwillan starts to roam.”

  “He was a house dragon,” Zanna hit back. “He watered plants, he dusted, he fed the cat. He had no special abilities other than kindness. What’s the worst he’s going to do? A bit of extreme ironing? You told me yourself not an hour ago that Liz might be dealing with the crisis in her own way. You made me believe it; now it’s your turn. Seek advice from the Fain if you want to, I have no issue with that. But Liz is my patient. She’s mine to watch over. I’ll fight you if you try to take her from me — so will Arthur.”

  “No fighting,” said Alexa, stamping her foot.

  David sighed and looked at the ceiling. He was about to come back with another point when Melanie Cartwright raised her head and groaned. Gretel, who’d been distracted from her duties by the argument, gave an irritated snort and wafted her flowers under Melanie’s nose. The girl’s head jerked back, as if she’d been punched.

  Zanna winced, as if she’d just watched a public execution. “And this situation is plain ridiculous. How long are we meant to hold these two hostage?”

  David glanced at the visitors. Melanie had a face like a ventriloquist’s dummy and Rachel was snoring like Bonnington on a full stomach. Quietly he said to Gretel, “Bring them around.”

  The potions dragon pulled her quiver forward. She stared dourly at Melanie. That was one good tranquilizing flower wasted.

  David’s gaze swept across the kitchen to Gauge, who signaled it was twenty-five minutes past two. Time, thought David, was something he no longer had. He looked at Zanna again. She had her arms draped over Alexa’s shoulders. “They’ll come, Zanna — the Fain
, the dragons — if I don’t deliver the fire to them soon. They’ll work it out and take Gwillan and Liz by force, if necessary. That’s not what I want. It’s not what I came for.”

  Zanna tightened her grip around Alexa. “And neither, it seems, were we.”

  “That’s not true,” David said to her, looking pained. “I can’t ignore this situation. I’ll talk to G’Oreal, try to stall. I might have to travel to the colony tonight.”

  Hearing this, Alexa broke free of her mother and ran across the kitchen into David’s arms.

  Zanna raised her chin. Her body was shaking, her thoughts awash with unresolved angst. But the feeling tearing a hole in her chest she realized, to her dismay, was regret. She folded her arms to protect herself against it. She hadn’t been expecting to react like this.

  “I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Rachel Cartwright sat up suddenly. She blinked a couple of times, looking as fresh and rosy as ever.

  Zanna reached for the teapot. “Another cup?” she asked, even though the pots were all untouched.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” Rachel said. “Gosh, look at the time. We really should be —”

  “Urr …” Melanie’s head rolled and her eyes crossed. In a slurred voice she said, “The gorilla’s burned the sausages …”

  “What?” said her mother.

  On the windowsill, Gretel shook her head and sighed.

  Rachel shook her daughter’s arm. “Wake up, sleepy. You sound like you’ve gone ten rounds in the boxing ring.”

  “I was in the jungle, with tigers the size of cats.”

  “Tigers are cats,” her mother said. “And this is Wayward Crescent — and we’re in company.”

  Melanie scratched her head. “Where’s Glade?”

  “I think you must have left her in the den,” said David. He tapped Alexa, who ran to fetch her.

  Rachel searched her memories. “Did we go into the den?”

  “Well, Glade didn’t fly there,” David said. Across the kitchen, he saw Zanna grimace. I carried her, didn’t I? he mouthed to her.

  “I suppose not,” Rachel laughed, looking around. “And, erm, Arthur?”

  “Gone upstairs to see if Liz can be woken.”

  “No, please. Don’t disturb her,” Rachel said, looking slightly horrified at the idea. “Let the poor woman rest.” Alexa came hurrying in with Glade and put her on the table in front of Melanie. Glade’s ivy, David noticed, was variegated green, just as it had been when she’d arrived. She was settled again. Happy. Proud she’d been of help. As the guests were rising to leave, David sent her an impulse, thanking her. She rolled her eyes toward him and blushed very slightly. He smiled and said to her, Take care, Glade. And although there was no forewarning in those words, it did worry him to think she would be out there unguarded. He made a mental note to ask Lucy next time if there were any more Pennykettle dragons beyond the Crescent. Even so, he saw no reason to frighten Glade with warnings of possible attacks by the ravens. Unlike Grace, she wouldn’t be beaming messages around the world. In that sense she was largely “invisible.” She would be safe if she stayed at home with the Cartwrights.

  “Well, thank you for a lovely afternoon,” said Rachel as Zanna shepherded them down the hall. “Is it me, or did it seem to go in a bit of a blur?”

  “Oh, you know what they say,” said Zanna, “time flies when …” you’re zapped by a potions dragon.

  Rachel smiled and buttoned her coat. “I’m so sorry about Liz. I hope she’s better soon. Tell her you’re all welcome to visit us in Plymouth.”

  “Yeah, and tell Lucy to call me,” said Melanie.

  “The moment she gets back from Scuff —” Zanna paused and bit her tongue, wondering if she’d given too much away. She was relieved when David showed no sign of wanting to zap their visitors again.

  “Scuffenbury?” Rachel stopped pulling on her gloves. “Is that where she’s gone? Scuffenbury Hill? Wonderful place. Very atmospheric. I went there once with my first boyfriend.”

  “Mo-om?” Melanie gave her a look.

  “He was quite cute,” Rachel said, fondly. “He played a tune on his panpipes for me.”

  “That’s gross,” her daughter complained.

  “What’s Lucy doing there? Not off with a boyfriend, I hope?”

  “Project for school — on dragons,” said David. This time he did react, clamping a hand across Alexa’s mouth.

  “Yes, well, they’re very topical, aren’t they?” said Rachel. “I can’t help thinking this TV coverage is all a bit hysterical, though. I mean, dragons never really existed, did they? ‘Imprinted memories of dinosaurs,’ that’s what I read the other day. Mind you, I wouldn’t want a Tyrannosaurus rex trampling through town. Imagine what our insurance premiums would be like!”

  Melanie looked into the rain and groaned. “Mother, you’re being embarrassing. Let’s go.” She set off at a brisk pace up the drive.

  Been a pleasure to meet you, Rachel mouthed.

  And you, Zanna mouthed back, waving good-bye.

  At last, the door closed. Zanna sank back against it and sighed. “Oh, that was weird.”

  A leopard that might have been Bonnington trotted past.

  David chose to make no comment.

  “So, what now?” Zanna asked him. She flicked her head toward the stairs.

  “About Gwillan? We watch him.”

  “We? I thought you were leaving us — again?”

  “Can I watch him?” said Alexa, springing up on her toes.

  Zanna crouched down and stroked the child’s hair. “No, sweetie. Gwillan …”

  “She’ll be all right,” said David. “The other dragons are with him. If there’d been any problems we’d have heard the rumpus.” He made Alexa stand on the second step of the stairs. “If he’s not too tired, talk to him, Lexie. Come and tell me what he says, OK?”

  She gave an enthusiastic nod. Then her gaze dipped toward his waistcoat pocket and she put her hand into it and drew out his watch. A green light was chasing around its circumference. Alexa held it out at arm’s length like a present.

  David took it off her palm and touched her on the nose. “No commingling. Just talking. Promise.”

  “I promise,” she said and hurried upstairs.

  Zanna, watching stiffly from the shadows of the hall, turned and walked silently into the kitchen.

  When she was gone, David stepped out into the rain, hesitantly tapping the casing of the watch. To ignore this call would arouse suspicion and might bring a gathering of dragons to the Crescent. To answer it might have the same result. He thought carefully before he flipped the case open.

  The star patterns cleared and the face of G’Oreal swirled into view. The dragon’s astonishing kaleidoscopic eyes drilled their patterns into David’s mind. “We await news of your progress, G’lant.”

  David gave a slight nod of his head. “The daughter of Guinevere has been sent to her location and the angel child is safe,” he replied.

  G’Oreal’s nostrils contracted a little. “Are you now in possession of the fire?”

  “The fire is contained, yes.”

  “Then bring it to the colony. Why do you wait?”

  David let his gaze slant away to one side. This was the question he’d been hoping to avoid. “The creator of the dragon whose tear was inverted believes she may be able to restore it.”

  The picture glittered, as though G’Oreal was communicating through a blizzard. The image zoomed back and two new dragons could be seen to either side of him. One was almost entirely white with translucent blue bands on the ventral edges of its planished scales. When it moved against the icy background it resembled a cloud of floating lights. The other was a magnificent purple beast, slimmer of face, with dramatic green eyes and a prominent carina. A pattern of semiradiant fins, as precise and threatening as the thorns on rose stems, followed the outlines of its skull, growing larger in size as they ran to its neck. It peered thoughtfully at David, churning small furrows in the ic
e with its claws. It dipped its head to listen to G’Oreal.

  G’Oreal consulted both dragons at length before bringing the transmission back to himself. “This is a dangerous development. The decision of the Wearle was that the fire be destroyed. We are still detecting random concentrations of Ix in your sector. We do not judge it wise to leave a burst of dark fire exposed if the Ix are Clustering.”

  “I can answer this,” David said. “When I recovered the fire, several birds were corrupted by the image of a darkling. My i:sola, Grockle, is hunting them down.”

  The scales around G’Oreal’s temples darkened. “A delicate task to entrust to one so recently ascended.”

  “The threat from these birds is minimal,” David was forced to say, though it pained him to have to block images of Africa from his mind, lest the trio detect them. The purple dragon was a Ci:pherel, a reader. Had he been entirely human, it would have known he was lying. He switched the conversation back to the situation in the Crescent. “We agreed before I returned to this plane that the clay dragons initiated by the spark of Gawain were worthy of special consideration.”

  G’Oreal’s eyes slid closed for a moment. Two antennaelike projections above his eye ridges twisted inward and seemed to give off a slight static charge. “The importance of these figures is still to be assessed.”

  “I agree, but they are as allied to Godith as any dragon of the Wearle. The entity I named Gadzooks has served you well, has he not?”

  Once again, G’Oreal reined the image back. The Ci:pherel nodded. The white dragon spoke in a whisper to him. “His ability to manipulate dark matter through language continues to intrigue us.”

  David smiled and wiped the rain off his face.

  “This amuses you?” G’Oreal’s eye ridges narrowed.

  David lowered his head. His eyes adopted a more subservient slant. “Forgive me, I mean no disrespect. The writing dragon intrigues me, also. My instincts tell me that these creations are highly significant to the outcome of our plans. Even though we have detected other daughters of Guinevere and countless sibyls among the humans, these figures are unique. They are touched by the power of twelve distilled fire tears. I do not think we should forget that.”