Oonie grinned. “Told you you’re not a nobody.”
Mrs. Fickletint looked at Perpetual Faff. “You said you could show us the way on,” she said eagerly. “The Stargold Wings told us to sail to the Final Curtain, then we’d find the Ember Scroll inside a cave that has never been found. And if Morg hasn’t been here yet, then we still have a chance of finding the scroll before her and before tomorrow’s full moon!”
Perpetual Faff shook her head. “I’m afraid there is more than one Final Curtain in Crackledawn.”
Mrs. Fickletint flashed yellow, then blue, then a rather sickly color of green. “I’m not sure I understand.”
The merglimmer looked at the group. “I think you’d better come inside while I explain. And be quick about it.” Perpetual Faff began a frantic fumble through her guzzlebag. “I just need to find the right key.”
Chapter 22
After much flapping, Perpetual Faff drew out the strangest key Zeb had ever seen. The handle was studded with rubies, and the key itself was as long as a walking stick. Seconds later, the merglimmer was ushering the group onto the back of their dragon and racing round to the front of the palace. Zeb, Oonie, and Mrs. Fickletint rode Snaggle through an arch, into a huge marble hallway. There was no furniture inside. And no merglimmers, either; they were still busy rebuilding the tower. The only thing inside this room, positioned at the top of a small flight of marble stairs, was a very large door. Large enough that even Snaggle could fit through it without having to stoop. It was domed in shape, and it had been carved from silver stone.
Snaggle swam around the door, sniffing this way and that, as he took it in.
“But—but there’s nothing on the other side,” Zeb stammered. “The door doesn’t go anywhere…”
Perpetual Faff hung back at the foot of the stairs. “When magic’s involved, there’s always something of note behind a closed door.” She looked from one member of the crew to the next. “No one from Crackledawn has ever been through this door. No Unmapper. No Lofty Husk. No magical beast. Even I have never been beyond it—and that’s not simply because I can’t keep track of my keys. We merglimmers were ordered by the very first phoenix to keep it locked until the day the boy from the Faraway came, holding the Stargold Wings.” She looked at Zeb. “And now here you are.”
Mrs. Fickletint frowned. “But you said there was more than one Final Curtain in Crackledawn. Does that mean there are more doors like this one?”
Perpetual Faff nodded. “According to the very first phoenix, there are three. And the other two are portals, each one guarded by an enchantment called a Final Curtain, which was conjured by the very first phoenix.”
Zeb bit his lip. “Then this door here could be a portal too?”
“Perhaps,” the merglimmer said. “The portal in the north of the kingdom belongs to the dragons. Rumblestar’s dragons use it to carry the marvels here for the sun scrolls, and Crackledawn’s dragons use it to take the sun scrolls on to the Faraway. The other portal belonged to the phoenixes. It was said they simply needed to stand before it and the portal would sense where they wanted to go and open up a way there.” Perpetual Faff’s face darkened. “Morg will know where that second portal is because she used it thousands of years ago to enter Crackledawn from Everdark.”
Oonie hung her head. “Morg heard Zeb saying we were off to the Final Curtain, and she said she’d get there first. But if she wasn’t heading for this door, she must have been speeding off to the portal belonging to the phoenixes. And if she just had to stand in front of it and will on the cave that has never been found for it to appear, she could be miles ahead of us!”
Perpetual Faff raised a blue eyebrow. “She might have reached the phoenix portal. And she might have sent her Midnights to guard the other two doors in case you lot showed up. But you are standing before a third door, built at the beginning of time just for Zeb. For this very moment.” She took a deep breath. “It’s time to find out what’s on the other side.”
Zeb slipped down from Snaggle’s back, then Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint followed.
“We’ll go through together,” Oonie said. “That way if something dreadful happens, me and Mrs. Fickletint will be right there beside you.”
“And Snaggle will be right behind us?” Zeb asked, turning to the dragon.
Snaggle nodded firmly.
Zeb found himself squeezing Oonie’s hand then, and had they not been so pressed for time, he wondered whether he might have even managed another hug.
Zeb took the key from Perpetual Faff. It was heavy, but he hauled it up the stairs and, with a little help from Snaggle, heaved it into the keyhole. Placing both hands on the key, he turned it, and the door creaked open to reveal what was beyond.
Snowflakes.
They were utterly unlike the ones Zeb had seen falling in the Faraway. These were black. Small, glittering crystals that drifted down from the sky like stencils cut out of the night. Zeb wondered, for a moment, whether it was night beyond this door and that’s why the snowflakes looked dark. But when he peered through them, he saw a sun glowing behind the clouds and a valley boxed in by mountains covered in thick, black snow.
Zeb blinked. He could feel water all around him on this side of the door, but beyond the threshold it was like another world entirely. The mountains ran down to a sprawling forest, split through the middle by a frozen river. The ice there was black, too, as were the icicles hanging from the branches of the trees and the frost beneath them. Zeb inched backward as Mrs. Fickletint relayed the scene to Oonie. Something about this didn’t feel right.
The water grew colder suddenly, and, as if the doorway somehow had breath of its own, a flurry of black snowflakes fluttered over the threshold and Steepledoor’s hallway emptied of water.
Oonie turned her face up to the snowflakes. “The cold—it feels like how I imagined standing in Silvercrag might feel like, where the snow scrolls are made for the Faraway. And if this is somehow Silvercrag, then the message in the Stargold Wings makes sense! Step beyond all you know is certain. We were never searching for a cave in Crackledawn. It was in Silvercrag all along.…” She frowned. “Only this doesn’t feel like the kingdom I learned about on Wildhorn where the very wildest magic spins in every snowflake.”
Perpetual Faff nodded. “This is Silvercrag all right. Now that the door has been opened, I can tell we’re on the fringe of another Unmapped Kingdom. But for the snow and ice to be black? That doesn’t sound right at all.…” She swallowed. “That sounds like Morg used the phoenix portal to break into Silvercrag and is now unleashing her magic there.”
Zeb felt sick with worry at the thought of the harpy brewing curses on the other side of this door. Then he felt something else: a familiar tingling over his skin, just like he had when passing through the Final Curtain. An enchantment was stirring, and it seemed to be happening inside his pocket. He rummaged around in it, and when his hand met with the Unopenable Purse, he realized it was wriggling—as if something within the purse was trying to get out. Zeb pulled the purse into the open just as the little silver zipper slid back of its own accord and all sorts of things that couldn’t possibly have fit inside came spilling out.
Brown fur jackets and trousers, together with sealskin boots and thick woolen mittens that looked just the right size for him and Oonie. Miniature knitted leg-warmers and a tiny bobble hat came next, which Mrs. Fickletint beamed at, followed by flasks of water, food parcels, and a bag labeled SECRETS for Snaggle. Zeb marveled at it all. Fox couldn’t have known they’d end up in Silvercrag, but she’d poured all her hopes for him into the Unopenable Purse, and the phoenix magic inside it had delivered. Just as marvelous, though, was the knowledge that someone was watching out for him, even if Fox was miles and miles away.
The purse spat out three final objects and when Zeb saw what they were, he frowned. “A ruler? A whistle? And a tiny pair of scissors? We’re trying to save the world, not have an afternoon of arts and crafts!”
Oonie reached out,
and Zeb placed the items, one by one, in her hands. She shook her head. “I heard about a few magical objects in the lessons I went to, but I can’t say I ever heard about these things being magical. Any ideas, Mrs. Fickletint?”
“No,” said the chameleon. “I can imagine very few scenarios in which whipping out a ruler would help us against Morg.…”
Even Snaggle, who sniffed each item in turn, withdrew with a crumpled brow.
“And yet an Unopenable Purse is powered by phoenix magic,” Perpetual Faff said, “and that magic is on your side, so you’ve got to hope the objects will make sense soon enough.” She turned to Zeb. “Zip them into the purse, even if the ruler seems completely the wrong size—I, of all people, know how much space there is inside magical bags.” She stroked her guzzlebag fondly. “Keep that purse safe, Zeb. Now it’s unlocked, you can open it any time though it won’t be conjuring up any more objects.” The merglimmer looked at Oonie and then she took a deep breath. “Unmappers cannot travel between kingdoms, but as gatekeeper here, I give you my permission to accompany Zeb on into Silvercrag and save the world from Morg.”
Oonie smiled, clearly half-excited, half-afraid by what might lie ahead. The crew thanked Perpetual Faff for her help and gobbled down half of the food parcels (hard-boiled eggs, which were purple, and something that looked like a sausage roll but tasted much nicer). Oonie stored the rest for later in the enormous pocket of her fur jacket, along with a flask of water, while Snaggle scoffed the secrets. And as the merglimmer began shaking out the contents of her guzzlebag in an attempt to find a handkerchief to wave them off, Zeb and Oonie changed into their furs and Mrs. Fickletint tugged on her leg warmers and bobble hat.
Zeb placed a foot on the first step leading up to the door. Oonie joined him, as did Mrs. Fickletint on her shoulder, then Snaggle nudged them forward.
Zeb paused at the threshold. “What if we can’t go back again? We might step across into Silvercrag and get stuck there—with Morg.” He turned to Oonie. “What if you and Mrs. Fickletint never find your way back to Wildhorn? And I never find Fox Petty-Squabble?”
Oonie was hesitating now too. “It’s—it’s not going to be easy, making my way through snow and ice and a whole kingdom’s worth of unfamiliar creatures and places.”
From Oonie’s pocket, Mrs. Fickletint winced. “No, it’s not going to be easy at all.”
But there was one member of the crew who didn’t seem afraid. Snaggle breathed in the icy air, and everything from the spikes lining his back to his talons and forked tail suddenly glittered with frost. And it was white frost, the way it was meant to look. As if the old Silvercrag knew that hope was coming. Zeb gazed at the silver-white icicles now hanging from Snaggle’s chin. He looked magnificent. He also looked ready—for winter and for Morg.
And spurred on by their Crackledawn dragon, the crew of the Kerfuffle took a deep breath and stepped into the swirling snow.
Chapter 23
All trace of Steepledoor disappeared the moment the crew stepped through the portal. They were standing on a hill covered in black snow. Ahead of them lay the valley, with the forest and the river running through it, while behind them plains of dark snow stretched for miles until the land built up once again into mountains, icicled trees, and frozen waterfalls. Through the falling snow and clouds, Zeb could still see the hazy glow of an afternoon sun. But it was as quiet as midnight.
“It’s like looking at a photograph,” he said. “Nothing’s moving. Shouldn’t there be Unmappers in Silvercrag? Or at very least some magical beasts or Lofty Husks?”
Oonie chewed her lip. “I read a book a few months ago called Silvercrag: A Complete History by Wilbur Shivermitten, and it said the Lofty Husks here are snow eagles and the Unmappers are Scavengers and Storytellers who live in igloos on the ice plains near the Impossible Peaks, mountains so high no one has ever scaled them.” She paused. “But it doesn’t sound like there’s anyone nearby. And you’re all sure you can’t see anyone either?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Fickletint said. “Maybe it’s got something to do with the black snow. If it’s cursed, then perhaps Silvercrag’s inhabitants are hiding because it’s dangerous.”
“But we’re all right,” Zeb replied as a black snowflake fell into his palm.
“Maybe Morg’s curse only works on Silvercrag’s inhabitants,” the chameleon replied. “We’re free of her dark magic, for now.…”
Zeb shifted uneasily. “But what if the Unmappers and Lofty Husks here aren’t hiding? We might be too late and they’re already dead.”
“We can’t think like that,” Oonie said. “The Unmappers here are strong and brave. Their Scavengers travel in chariots pulled by frost giants, and they roam the ice looking for magical crystals to help write their snow stories.” She clenched her jaw. “We have to believe we still have a chance of finding the Ember Scroll.”
Snaggle turned a full circle, his nose to the ground, nostrils twitching. Looking up at the valley ahead of them, he grunted. Somehow, in this wintry wilderness, it was clear that the dragon knew where the Ember Scroll was.
“Right,” Mrs. Fickletint said, adjusting her leg warmers. “I think we should have a quick debrief before we set off. We could establish a few onboard rules for riding Snaggle perhaps—Zeb, for one, could work on his posture. And we could come up with some key battle tactics in case we’re ambushed by Morg.”
“We don’t have time for all that, Mrs. Fickletint,” Zeb said. “That’s an afternoon sun up there. We’ve only got until the full moon rises tomorrow to stop Morg!”
Snaggle, who wasn’t one for debriefs or rules anyway, flipped the chameleon onto his back. Mrs. Fickletint straightened her hat and began barking orders to Zeb as he helped Oonie up onto the dragon. Zeb settled himself in front of Oonie this time, because he got the impression Crackledawn dragons did not like being mothered by overprotective chameleons. And since that moment Snaggle poked his head through the dungeon bars, Zeb had felt a strange kind of bond grow between them. On the outside, he and the Crackledawn dragon were very different, but both of them had faced the world alone, until now. Both of them were learning to trust.
Snaggle launched into the air, and the icy wind gusted through Zeb’s lungs as they soared over the valley. At first, Snaggle’s talons knocked clumps of snow from the treetops, then they were higher than the trees, soaring on through the valley toward the Ember Scroll.
Zeb glanced down at the forest below. The trees were bigger and taller than those back home, and the branches here looked different too. They looked more like frozen feathers than boughs covered in leaves.
Mrs. Fickletint followed Zeb’s gaze. “I believe they’re Flyaway Trees. Or they were before they got coated in cursed snow.”
“According to Wilbur Shivermitten, if you cut down a feather from one of those trees you can fly on it, like a broomstick, for a full ten minutes.” Oonie’s face fell. “But Morg will have stolen their magic by now.”
Mrs. Fickletint pointed to a huge humpbacked bridge, made entirely of black icicles, arching over the frozen river. “That looks like the famous Brittle Bridge!”
It was clear that Oonie had an image of the bridge locked inside her mind from the stories she had read. “If you’d grabbed an icicle from the Brittle Bridge before Morg came, you’d have been able to run faster than the wind until it melted!”
Zeb felt Snaggle tense suddenly. He scanned the valley until he found what the dragon had seen. Several upturned chariots beside a frozen lake and the body of something enormous sprawled out close by. It was wearing armor carved from frost, and it had a long white beard tied in thirteen knots.
“A frost giant!” Mrs. Fickletint breathed. “Killed by Morg, no doubt.”
“Oh, the poor creature,” Oonie murmured.
Snaggle growled as he flew on past, then he beat his wings faster still until they burst out of the valley, leaving the hills and the forest behind. In front of them stretched glittering black ice plains, broken only
by a frozen river. But Snaggle didn’t slow. He flew on and on, over iced lakes that Oonie claimed would grant you invisibility for a day if you were brave enough to cross them. And they soared above dozens of caves that Zeb guessed were full of the magical crystals Scavengers collected, if Morg’s curse hadn’t already snuffed them out and drained their magic.…
Eventually, igloos appeared. Hundreds of them, all shapes and sizes, cluttered into some sort of camp around the river. Some were small, no bigger than a garden shed, while others were so large they had room for towers and multiple chimneys. Some were triangular in shape with staircases leading out of the roof up to small turrets, while others still were built on stilts and had elaborate flumes winding down to the river. But each one shone black like a polished shadow.
Many of the igloos had been flattened, the firepits dotted about the place had been knocked over, and strewn on the ground like discarded puppets were men and women dressed in furs, giants clad in glinting armor, and huge birds with snow-white feathers.
Mrs. Fickletint clutched Oonie’s arm. “Silvercrag’s Unmappers, its frost giants, and its Lofty Husks—dead! What has Morg done here? Has she wiped out a whole kingdom in her quest to find the Ember Scroll?”
Snaggle narrowed his eyes, then swooped down to get a better view, and as the crew raced over the camp, Zeb noticed the enormous chests of the frost giants were still rising and falling.
“Wait—they’re alive!” he cried. “I can see the frost giants breathing!”
Snaggle circled the igloos, and Mrs. Fickletint breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s the same with the Unmappers and Lofty Husks! They’re not dead—they’re asleep!”
“A cursed sleep,” Oonie murmured. “Maybe that’s what this snow does to Silvercrag’s inhabitants. It stops them in their tracks—”
“—and opens up the way for Morg to find the Ember Scroll,” Zeb finished.
“We might be able to break this curse if we can find the Ember Scroll first,” Mrs. Fickletint said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that there will be no snow scrolls for the Faraway now that the Scavengers and Storytellers are asleep. Your snowy lands were already melting, Zeb, but without snow from Silvercrag, they will vanish in days!”
Zeb Bolt and the Ember Scroll Page 15
