The Frozen Menace

by Ursula Vernon

  The phoenix swung her great head around and looked down at Christiana instead of Wendell. Christiana took a step back, but faced the giant bird squarely.

  “Your body heat woke them,” she said. “They are creatures of cold. Even your meager warmth burned them like fire.”

  “They must hate you, then,” said Danny. “You’re all fiery.”

  “We are ancient enemies,” said the phoenix. “But this time of year they sleep. They would not have come so close to my nest if they were not enraged.”

  “Sorry!” said the phoenix. “Yes, we are all sorry! But that does not change the fact that a child of immortal fire has imprinted on a . . . a lizard.”

  She said “lizard” so scornfully and Wendell looked so miserable that Danny had to speak up.

  The phoenix stared at him. Her eyes swirled with flame and seemed to burn as they bored into Danny. Danny gritted his teeth, but refused to look away. He was a dragon! A dragon was just as good as a phoenix! And Wendell was his best friend! No giant burning bird talked about his friends like that!

  “Wendell saved your chick’s life!” he shouted, and then nearly doubled over. His innards were really gurgling now. It sounded like a washing machine was starting up under his rib cage.

  “Herbert?” said the phoenix.

  “He looked like a Herbert,” said Wendell weakly.

  The phoenix stood before them, looking tall and fiery and elegant, and then she let out a long, blistering sigh and put her wing over her face.

  The phoenix sat in the water, which began to steam gently. The three kids sat down on the edge of the bowl and put their feet in the water. It was as hot as a bathtub. Christiana sighed happily.

  Herbert curled up next to Wendell and gazed adoringly into the iguana’s glasses.

  The phoenix looked at the two of them and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “You spend all eternity living and burning and rising from the ashes and then life throws you a curve.”

  “Maybe if I leave, Herbert will forget about me?” said Wendell hopefully.

  The phoenix grimaced. “Herbert. Bleh.”

  “What do phoenixes usually call themselves?” asked Christiana.

  “Names with majesty,” said the phoenix. “I am called Sun-Blazing-on-the-Snows-Eternal. My brother was called Dancing-in-the-Heart-of-the-Farthest-Star.”

  “Hoo,” said Danny. “I bet it takes forever to write your name on the top of your papers in school.”

  “You may call me Sun-Blazing,” said the phoenix. She scowled. “I was going to name him Aurora-Burning-on-the-Highest-Mountain, but I suppose he’s Herbert now.”

  Privately Danny thought that Herbert looked much more like a Herbert than an Aurora-Burning-on-the-Highest-Mountain. It did not seem like a good time to mention this.

  He opened his mouth to say something and then his stomach clenched, almost like it did when he was about to throw up.

  “Danny?” said Wendell. “Are you okay?”

  Danny leaped to his feet and ran to the edge of the stone bowl.

  He opened his mouth, expecting to throw up—and barfed fire.

  It was horrible.

  Being a dragon, his throat was fairly well insulated against breathing fire, but his stomach wasn’t. He suddenly understood what heartburn was, and why there were so many commercials on TV advertising cures for it.

  “You’re breathing fire!” cried Wendell, delighted.

  “No, I’m not,” croaked Danny. He grabbed a handful of snow and tried to wash his mouth out with it. “I’m puking fire. It’s the worst thing ever.”

  He coughed up more fire and clutched his chest.

  “Worse,” said Danny. “Much worse.”

  The fire was dark and sort of drippy. It pattered over the snow and melted through it like acid.

  “Great-Granddad didn’t warn me about this . . .” moaned Danny.

  “Ew,” said Christiana, coming up beside him.

  The phoenix landed next to them. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she said, “but your fire is attracting attention.”

  Danny looked up blearily.

  All around the edge of the snowfield, he could see white shapes heaving themselves over the snow.

  The iceworms were returning.

  And they had brought reinforcements.

  “So that’s a lot of worms,” said Christiana. “Um. Quite a lot.”

  She stood beside (and slightly behind) Danny, staying out of the line of fire.

  “Bleerraggh . . .” said Danny. His mouth tasted like the bottom of a charcoal grill.

  The phoenix shook her head slowly. “I’ve never seen so many,” she said. “You must have woken half the population.”

  “Sorry,” said Wendell. “We didn’t mean to . . .”

  The giant bird rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotten my chick to imprint on you and brought a horde of giant iceworms to attack my nest site. I’d hate to see what would happen if you did mean to do something.”

  Danny wanted to say something in their defense, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth, more fire was going to come up.

  “So maybe now would be a good time to retreat,” said Christiana.

  “Good luck with that,” said the phoenix. “This is the only really defensible place for miles. That’s why I put my nest in it.” She frowned. “Normally the iceworms sleep until summer, and then they migrate away. They never bother me. Then again, I also don’t land on their roosting grounds when they’re trying to sleep.”

  “Sorry,” said Wendell, for approximately the hundredth time.

  Christiana and Wendell each took one of Danny’s arms and hauled him back into the relative safety of the rocks.

  “I am going to try to draw them off,” said the phoenix. “Don’t leave. And don’t let Herbert get hurt.”

  Wendell let go of Danny and wrapped his arms around Herbert. The phoenix chick chirped happily.

  The adult phoenix sighed and spread her wings.

  From the edge of the stone bowl, they watched as she dove at the approaching iceworms. Their blunt heads turned to follow her. She banked sideways, leading them away, and a large number gave chase.

  “I think it’s working!” said Wendell.

  “Not quite,” said Christiana. “Look, there’s still a couple coming this way . . .”

  “Bleagh,” said Danny. He peered blearily into the snow.

  And indeed, it looked like Christiana was right. The bulk of the iceworms were following the phoenix, but a few determined individuals were approaching the stone nest.

  “It’ll be fine,” said Wendell. “We’ll just wait in here like before, and they’ll get tired and go away.”

  The iceworms reached the rocky outcropping and paused. Two of them swung their heads back and forth in front of the stone.

  The third crawled up beside them and all three began swaying in unison.

  “Thaaaaat’s weird,” said Danny.

  The worms began to make a strange, high keening noise.

  “Uh,” said Wendell. “Are the things on their heads . . . glowing?”

  It was hard to tell, in the blinding white of the snow, but there seemed to be a faint glow coming from the green patches on their heads.

  “Not gonna lie,” said Christiana. “That’s starting to creep me out. I don’t think tiny iceworms do that.”

  “I think . . . I think they’re talking . . .” said Wendell.

  “To us?” said Danny.

  Wendell shook his head. “To each other.”

  “Yay,” said Christiana. “Telepathic glowing iceworms. Next time you get sick, Danny, go to the emergency room like everybody else.”

  • • •

  The iceworms moved.

  One oozed forward and lay down against the rock. A
white wall of flesh covered the entrance to the bowl.

  “And we’re trapped,” said Christiana.

  Wendell hugged Herbert more tightly. “It’ll be okay,” he told the chick.

  Danny wondered if he’d be able to breathe fire. Surely the horrible fire in his stomach must be close to igniting his internal furnaces by now!

  He tried to breathe fire, discreetly, and retched again.

  “What are they doing out there?” asked Wendell.

  Christiana shook her head. They could hear the sounds of the iceworms dragging against the stone. The strange sloughing noise echoed through the stone bowl.

  “They’re circling,” said Christiana. “Are they trying to find a way in?”

  An enormous green head appeared over the top of the stones.

  Danny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, when he was sure he could speak again. “They’re climbing.”

  “Worms can’t climb,” said Wendell. “I mean, not very far, anyway. Can they?”

  “They don’t have to climb very far,” said Christiana grimly. “Danny’s right.” She turned, following the sounds of wormflesh scraping against the stones. “One wrapped around and another climbed on top of it. If the third one climbs on top of it . . .” She shook her head. “That’s what they were talking to each other about. They had to make a plan. I can’t believe they were smart enough for that . . .”

  “Maybe they’re smarter together,” said Wendell. “Like a hive mind.”

  “Oh, that’s a happy thought.”

  Christiana turned to Danny. “Can you breathe fire yet?”

  Danny shook his head.

  Danny felt horrible.

  Wendell didn’t sound much better.

  Danny put a hand over his stomach. It felt awful and acidic, but it also felt . . . empty.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I think I already threw up everything.”

  Christiana nodded and turned sharply on her heel. She waded out into the water in the center of the stone bowl and knelt down.

  “Uh . . . Christiana?”

  He would have asked what she was doing, but at that moment, the head of an iceworm came over the top of the stones.

  “If we get in the warm water, they won’t be able to pick us out, right?” said Danny. “If they’re attracted to heat?”

  Wendell peered up at the iceworm. “Maybe?” he said.

  The iceworm began to slide over the stones, down into the bowl. Rock dust drifted down around them. The nest, which had seemed quite large before, suddenly got a lot smaller.

  “Or we could go hide in the cave,” said Danny.

  “Let’s do that.”

  Wendell picked up Herbert. Christiana was still rooting around in the water.

  They backed toward the cave. Danny wasn’t sure what they were going to do once they got there, but it was bound to be better than being squished.

  “Christiana!” he called. “Uh, Christiana . . . ?”

  The end of the worm touched the water. It recoiled as if burned.

  “Maybe it’ll be too warm!” said Wendell hopefully.

  The worm shook itself. It pulled back from the water and began sliding down, along the edge of the nest, avoiding the water.

  “. . . or not,” said Danny.

  “Maybe the phoenix will come back?” said Wendell, somewhat less hopefully.

  Christiana stood up and sprinted for the cave.

  The motion must have attracted the iceworm. It turned its great head toward her, snuffling at the air. Ripples of water touched its side as it moved and it shuddered, but did not retreat.

  “It’s getting used to the water . . .” said Wendell.

  “That’s bad,” said Danny.

  Christiana paused. The iceworm’s head lay between her and the cave, moving back and forth.

  Its head began to glow again. It suddenly lifted up a few feet and seemed to fix on Christiana.

  The worm swung its head toward Danny.

  “Hey, look, it worked!” said Danny. “Worm! Your mama is so worm-like she . . . um . . . slithers . . . I’m not good at ending these . . .”

  “It’s not responding to the jokes,” snapped Christiana, splashing toward the cave. “It’s responding to the motion— Look out!”

  The iceworm’s head slammed down, inches from Danny. He jumped back, into the cave.

  It reared back and began sniffing along itself, looking for squashed dragon again. That was all the opening Christiana needed to run forward, through the gap, and into the cave herself.

  It was dark inside, stained with smoke, but the worm couldn’t possibly fit through the opening.

  “You made it!” Wendell said. Christiana panted.

  Outside the cave, the iceworm discovered that it had not squashed anyone and roared in displeasure.

  “We’re safe in here, right?” said Wendell. “It can’t possibly fit—”

  The cave went very dark. The only light came from Herbert’s fiery feathers.

  “I’m not sure it knows that,” said Danny.

  The iceworm pressed forward, filling the mouth of the cave. It met resistance and retreated slightly.

  The expression on a giant eyeless worm face was hard to read, but Danny thought that it looked frustrated.

  It jammed itself forward again. Its body squished and flexed and it made it another few inches into the cave.

  “Safe?” said Christiana. “Err. I don’t think we’re that safe. If it’s like a big earthworm, it can expand and contract itself pretty well . . .”

  Danny couldn’t even remember food.

  “Mama!” said Herbert, hiding behind Wendell. The chick chirped miserably.

  “Do something!” said Wendell. “It’s scaring Herbert!”

  “Forget Herbert, it’s scaring me!” said Christiana as the worm forced its way slowly through the passage.

  Its head was glowing again. The cave was filled with ghastly worm-light. Small rocks fell from the ceiling. The expression (and Danny still wasn’t sure if he was imagining it) grew focused and intent.

  It squished forward another foot. Danny could see its skin flexing against the stone.

  “Right,” muttered Christiana. She pressed something hard and cinnamon-scented into Danny’s hand. “Here, eat this.”

  Danny had to hold it up in front of him, blinking by the dim light of the worm’s head and Herbert’s flames.

  “I dunno,” said Danny. The thought of eating more eggshell made his stomach roil again. “Just the thought is pretty nauseating . . .”

  “How’s the thought of getting eaten alive by gigantic annelids treating you?” asked Christiana.

  “What’s an annelid?”

  “It’s another word for worm,” said Wendell, “and I never thought I’d say this, but maybe this isn’t the best time for a vocabulary lesson?”

  The worm got another few inches into the cave. It bit at the air, insomuch as something without teeth could bite. Herbert wailed.

  Danny shoved the eggshell into his mouth.

  It was just as sickening as he thought it would be. The cinnamon taste had been pleasant at first, but mostly it reminded him of how sick he was going to be in a minute. He swallowed hard, feeling sharp bits of eggshell gouging his throat on the way down.

  It would be really awful to choke to death on an eggshell right before being eaten by an iceworm.

  The worm roared. The sound, in the enclosed space, was deafening.

  The sound knocked Wendell over. He landed on his back and his glasses went flying. Herbert chirped in confusion.

  Danny’s stomach felt like someone had kicked him with a boot covered in hot sauce.

  “C’mon,” said Christiana, watching him closely. “You can do it!”

 
“You’re not—urrp—helping—” said Danny.

  Speaking was a mistake—or the best thing he could have done, depending on your outlook. Danny’s innards rebelled.

  He barfed fire.

  Christiana grabbed his shoulders and pointed him at the iceworm.

  Something happened inside Danny’s chest. It felt like a match being dragged along the rough strip on a matchbox.

  Scrape . . . scrape . . .

  He actually felt his fire ignite. Suddenly flame poured out of his mouth—real, honest-to-goodness dragon fire, not the awful . . . whatever that was . . . that he’d been bringing up before.

  The iceworm shrieked.

  In fairness, almost anyone would shriek if you threw up on them, but dragon fire and dragon stomach acid together was a horrifyingly potent mix. The worm jerked backward, trying to escape, and yanked itself completely out of the hole.

  “Go, Danny!” cried Christiana.

  Danny staggered forward, flaming wildly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the worm to escape, but now that he’d started breathing fire, he wasn’t sure if he could stop. It felt like his whole torso was a thin skin filled with fire instead of bones.

  The worm was retreating over the edge of the stones.

  He remembered Great-Grandfather Dragonbreath telling him not to flame any of his friends when his fire reignited. At the time, he’d thought it was an odd thing to say, but now it made sense. He couldn’t seem to stop breathing fire.

  “Is it gone?” called Wendell from the cave. “I can’t find my glasses . . .”

  Herbert wandered out of the front of the cave, chirping worriedly.

  There were too many people in the nest, and Danny didn’t want to hit any of them. When he turned his head, fire shot out at an angle and left a black line of char across the stones.