Zeb tried to imagine a Faraway without snow. The Arctic and the Antarctic would disappear. As would the polar bears, beluga whales, and narwhals. And once an animal was extinct, there was no going back.
He leaned forward over Snaggle’s neck. “How long until the cave that has never been found? Are we close yet?”
Snaggle snorted and a plume of mist shot out from his nostrils, and Zeb knew that there was a long way to go yet. But the dragon sped on, leaving the camp behind, as more foothills began to spread out below them. They started small enough, just rolling hills, black on black. And then they began to build into something bigger, mountains with crags and peaks and jutting ledges. Zeb bent his neck back to see how far up they went and almost toppled off Snaggle’s back. The mountains rose to such dizzying heights they were lost, eventually, in the clouds.
“The Impossible Peaks,” he murmured.
Mrs. Fickletint paled. “The Unmappers haven’t scaled them, because apparently nothing, let alone magical snow crystals, can survive up there, so there’s little point trying. And I heard even Silvercrag’s dragons have never made the summit because it’s a part of the kingdom that’s just too wild to conquer.”
“Morg must have scaled them,” Oonie said quietly.
Mrs. Fickletint inhaled sharply. “I don’t think she can have gone over these mountains, because if you look closely at that ledge there”—she pointed—“chunks of rock have crumbled away, and there are black feathers jammed into the cracks.” She shivered. “Morg knows how to dig through rock better than anyone—that’s how she escaped the never-ending well in Jungledrop and found her way to Hollowbone—and I think she might have conjured a tunnel through the Impossible Peaks.”
Zeb scanned the mountain face. “If there was a tunnel, it’s closed up now.”
“And from the way Snaggle is flying,” Oonie said, “it doesn’t feel like he’s going to hang around to try and open it back up.” She took a deep breath. “Hold on, crew: Our Crackledawn dragon’s heading for the summit.”
Snaggle climbed up into the sky, circle upon circle as he searched for a way over the mountains. But they kept rising. An impassable face of rock.
“Surely they’ll end soon?” Zeb cried.
But Snaggle beat on, heaving himself and the crew higher and higher into the sky. They were so far up now, Mrs. Fickletint had covered her eyes, and even Oonie was gripping Snaggle so tight her mittens were shaking. The air was thinning the higher they went, and, before long, the crew found themselves gasping for breath. Even Snaggle seemed to be struggling, each puff a labored grunt, and icicles hung from his lashes. The dragon slowed a fraction, and Zeb felt a knot of panic twist inside him. If Snaggle backed down now, they’d never save the world. Going over the Impossible Peaks was the only option, no matter how scared it made Zeb feel. He bit his lip as Snaggle struggled on and then he remembered how Mrs. Fickletint had fed the dragon after the sea witches to keep his energy up. Maybe a secret would give Snaggle just a little more strength to reach the summit.
Zeb bent forward over Snaggle’s neck. “All my life I’ve felt lonely,” he whispered, “but when I’m with you and my crew, I feel like”—he paused before letting the last part of his secret out—“like I’m a part of something at last.”
The snow fell harder, but the dragon turned then, and his wide amber eyes blinked slowly, as if he understood a little about what it meant to feel alone. Then he turned back to the sky, and, fueled by the strength of Zeb’s secret, he pushed up on through the snow.
The Impossible Peaks showed no sign of coming to an end. But Snaggle was showing no sign of backing down. Mrs. Fickletint, though, had begun to cough. A small, spluttery cough that squeezed her breath into short, sharp gasps.
“Too high,” the chameleon squeaked from Oonie’s pocket. “Too much for Mrs. Fickletint now.”
“Don’t you go talking like that, Mrs. Fickletint!” Oonie said through chattering teeth. “We’re going to reach the summit soon. You’ll see!”
Zeb risked a look behind him. Mrs. Fickletint was blue and shaking, and at the sight of her like that, a lump slid into his throat. The chameleon was bossy and she fussed over everyone far too much, but she was what kept this crew together.
“Don’t give up, Mrs. Fickletint!” Zeb cried. “Stay with us! Snaggle will keep you safe!”
But the higher they rose, the weaker Mrs. Fickletint’s breathing became. Oonie’s furs were crusted with black ice now, Zeb could no longer feel his toes, and even though Snaggle was trying to roar fire so that Mrs. Fickletint might be warmed, all that came out were clouds of glittering ice. And then the snow closed in around them and Zeb could no longer see which way was up or down.
“We should turn back!” he cried. “We’re not going to make it after all, and Mrs. Fickletint is on her last legs!”
Oonie lifted the little chameleon up to her chest and tucked her into her coat, where it was warmer. But she didn’t order Snaggle to fly down to safety. She was the captain of this crew and knew what was at stake if they gave up now. “We have to keep going!” she shouted into the blizzard. “We’re the only ones left who can beat Morg!”
Snaggle thrust his wings on up through the snow, even though Mrs. Fickletint’s eyes were closed now and Zeb’s head was growing dizzy with lack of air. On and on he went, through the driving snow and past the point the fiercest Silvercrag dragon had ever dared to go. The blizzard raged, pinning Snaggle back, but he forced his way on, his wings juddering against the wind and snow.
And then, when Zeb felt sure that his lungs couldn’t possibly take any more, the Crackledawn dragon burst out of the blizzard, and the crew realized that he had done something remarkable. They were above the clouds now, and not only was it no longer snowing, but the mountain peaks below them were glittering white instead of black. The snow here was whiter than paper, whiter than bedsheets, whiter even than the moon. They must have risen up above Morg’s curse! Snaggle had achieved what nobody else in the kingdom had been able to: He had conquered the Impossible Peaks.
Chapter 24
You did it!” Zeb gasped in astonishment. “You actually did it!”
But Snaggle wasn’t celebrating. He was racing over the first ridge, because the peaks dropped away a little after that—a sea of summits piercing the clouds all the way on to the setting sun—he had to get lower if Mrs. Fickletint was to stand a chance.
The air began to grow thicker, and as soon as Zeb was able to breathe more easily, he twisted his whole body round until he was facing Oonie. “Is she okay?”
Only the chameleon’s head showed, poking up out of Oonie’s coat, and Zeb could see that Mrs. Fickletint’s eyes were closed and her scales were still blue.
“Tell me she’s going to be okay!” Zeb panted.
But Oonie said nothing. She was bent over Mrs. Fickletint, whispering the chameleon’s name over and over again. “Her heartbeat’s so slow and faint—it’s almost not there at all!”
Zeb felt his own heart quicken. Surely this wasn’t the end for Mrs. Fickletint? Surely she was going to wake up and start bossing them about again? Snaggle tried again to breathe fire, but only ice appeared. He swung his head round and his eyes—usually so full of fight—looked tired and sad. And it was only then that Zeb realized all that the little chameleon had come to mean to him.
“Don’t—don’t leave us, Mrs. Fickletint!” he stammered. “Oh, please don’t leave us!”
Snaggle flew on, and Zeb felt the Stargold Wings around his neck flutter and then grow still. He drew the wings out into the open and they glowed a bit before the light sputtered out. The phoenix magic inside them was almost gone now, but they seemed to be trying to tell Zeb something. And then he remembered the objects inside the Unopenable Purse. Still facing Oonie, Zeb tugged the purse out into his lap.
“Think back to everything you know about magic, Oonie. How can a ruler, a whistle, and a miniature pair of scissors help us? The very first phoenix knew I’d come along one day,
so maybe it also knew that Mrs. Fickletint would need its help! Maybe one of these objects could make all the difference!”
“But I didn’t even finish my first year of lessons!” Oonie cried. “I missed out on tons of stuff about magical objects.” She stopped suddenly. “Hang on, I could have sworn I overheard a crew of Sunraiders talking about a rule-breaker they’d found over in the Sighing Caves last month—an object that looked like an ordinary ruler but had magical powers.”
Zeb stuffed the Stargold Wings back into the pouch and took out the ruler while Oonie cupped her mittens and blew on Mrs. Fickletint to try and warm her. But the chameleon showed no sign of moving. And up ahead of Snaggle, the Impossible Peaks showed no sign of ending.
Zeb frowned at the ruler. There were dashes to mark the different lengths and a word at the start of the ruler to denote the type of measurements used. “Pinches?” he murmured.
Clutching Mrs. Fickletint close to her chest, Oonie racked her brain. Then she gasped. “I remember! It’s all about rhyme: The ruler is measured in pinches instead of inches, and if you pinch it in the right place, you’re given something to treasure rather than measure! And what we’d treasure more than anything right now is something to warm Mrs. Fickletint up!”
Zeb lifted a hand out of his mittens, and the cold clawed at his fingers. He ran his thumb over the dash marked 1 PINCH. “Words are appearing, Oonie!” And then he raised an eyebrow. “It says: Greyhobble’s golden sink.”
“What?!” Oonie cried. “That makes no sense!”
Zeb placed his thumb over the next dash. “Timberdust’s velvet pantaloons.”
Mrs. Fickletint’s head drooped to one side. “No!” Oonie gasped. “Don’t go! I’ve—I’ve got this, I’m going to work the rule-breaker out, I promise!”
But Mrs. Fickletint’s scales were slipping from blue to white now and she was ice-cold.
“What if—”
“Quiet, Zeb!” Oonie barked. “I’m trying to think!”
But it was obvious Oonie had stopped thinking and was panicking. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she started to sob. Her first friend, the only creature she had relied on for so long, was fading. “I can’t remember,” Oonie sobbed. “I can’t save her!”
“No,” Zeb replied, “but maybe I can.” He paused. “If you let me.”
Oonie raised her tear-streaked face and sniffed as her pride fell away. “Please help, Zeb.”
Zeb looked at the rule-breaker and thought fast. “It’s giving us the names of Lofty Husks,” he panted. “They’re actual rulers, and the words seem to be spelling out things that belong to them. Their most treasured items maybe?” His mind whirred. “You said the rule-breaker gives you something to treasure rather than measure, so maybe it’s listing the Lofty Husks’ most treasured items, and one of them will be something we could use now!” He passed a thumb over the third dash. “Wrinklestoop’s marble chess set.” Then the fourth, and his eyes lit up. “Crumpet’s eversnug hot water bottle. This is the one we need, Oonie!”
Zeb pinched—hard. The rule-breaker trembled, shook from side to side, and then, to Zeb dismay, it broke in half. His hopes plunged, and even Snaggle let out a long, sad sigh. What could they do now for poor Mrs. Fickletint?
But sometimes magic just needs a moment to get going. Especially the magic of a rule-breaker, which—as Oonie and Zeb were about to find out—only really springs into life when the ruler is broken. Sparks burst out of the ends of it, there was a loud bang, the rule-breaker disappeared, and in Zeb’s hands lay a hot water bottle lined with the softest fur.
“We’ve got it!” he cried, thrusting the hot water bottle into Oonie’s arms.
She slipped Mrs. Fickletint down inside the fur so that the chameleon was pressed up close to the warmth. Oonie, Zeb, and Snaggle held their breath. For a full, terrible minute, nothing happened. Then, very slowly, Mrs. Fickletint opened one eye. The other followed, and she blinked. Her scales changed from white to blue before flashing red, then settling purple once again. She looked up to see Oonie and Zeb on either side of her.
“My crew,” she said quietly. “My precious little crew.”
Oonie cuddled the chameleon, while Zeb and Snaggle exchanged a relieved look.
“You gave us such a scare, Mrs. Fickletint,” Zeb said. “I don’t know what we would have done if we’d lost you.”
Mrs. Fickletint smiled weakly. “I know exactly what you would have done. Stayed up far past your bedtime and got yourself into an awful spin about Morg.” She snuggled into the fur lining the hot water bottle. “That Fox Petty-Squabble is doing a good job of keeping her promises.”
Mrs. Fickletint smiled again, and then, exhausted by the ordeal, she fell asleep, safe and warm at last, leaving Zeb to wonder how Fox and the Unmappers were faring on Wildhorn. How much longer could they ward off Morg’s Midnights before the skeletons broke into Cathedral Cave and finished everyone off?
Oonie stroked Mrs. Fickletint, then she looked up at Zeb. “When I first met you, I thought you were a selfish little scaredy-cat, but you’re not. Not at all.”
Zeb blushed.
“You’re brave. You think fast. And”—Oonie paused—“you’re kind.”
Zeb felt pride rise up inside him. He had saved Mrs. Fickletint, and big biceps hadn’t featured at all. He belonged to a crew who believed in him, and this was the greatest happiness he had ever known. He looked at Oonie. “You did good, too, you know.”
“Me?” Oonie laughed. “I just panicked and started crying.”
“You asked for help,” Zeb said. “And that means you’re strong. Strong enough to make room for a miracle.”
Mrs. Fickletint slept on as the sun dipped beyond the peaks, and Snaggle flew into the night. Zeb shivered as the darkness crept in. Before long, the sun would rise and they’d only have a few hours left to find the Ember Scroll and stop Morg from destroying everything.…
The crew shared what was left of the food parcels—wafers filled with caramel goo and crisps that crackled inside their mouths. Snaggle ate a handful of secrets from Oonie that involved her admitting she hadn’t brushed her teeth for at least a week and couldn’t remember the last time she had had a bath. Then Zeb and Oonie thanked him so many times for scaling the Impossible Peaks that eventually he grew so embarrassed, he nipped their boots to move the conversation on.
After a pause, Zeb said shyly: “Snaggle, have you ever thought about being part of a crew?”
The dragon raised a frosted eyebrow.
“I know, I know,” Zeb said. “I was dead set against the idea when I arrived in Crackledawn. But crews are actually quite good news.”
Oonie nodded. “We’d love to have you in ours, if you wanted. And if you have time, of course. We appreciate you’ve got a lot on your plate what with finding the Ember Scroll, scaling mountains, and keeping us safe.”
Snaggle dipped his head and carried on flying. Zeb and Oonie grinned—their little crew was growing.
The first stars appeared above them, bright white like specks of ice, and something began to emerge from the clouds below. Zeb watched nervously. He had thought that everything in Silvercrag was under Morg’s curse and that no other creature had scaled the Impossible Peaks. If that was the case, then why were there two dappled horses rising up on wings toward them? Snaggle didn’t seem disturbed and bent his head in greeting.
“Winged horses!” Zeb whispered to Oonie. “Two of them. Good news, right?”
Oonie gasped. “Skystallions! Wilbur Shivermitten wrote about them being extinct in Silvercrag, but they must have been living up here! The only creatures, apart from Snaggle, to have secretly scaled the Impossible Peaks! Up here, they’ve stayed well clear of Morg’s curse.…” She laughed. “Skystallions are said to grant Unmappers safe passage through Silvercrag. I read they only stay for a night, but so long as they’re with you no harm will come your way.”
“Then we can sleep and not worry about falling off Snaggle and being speared on a mountain peak!�
�� Zeb breathed a sigh of relief. “If Mrs. Fickletint was awake, she’d be so pleased.”
He watched as the skystallions drew up, one on either side of Snaggle. Their manes and tails trailed through the dark and their wings reached right over the crew, so that Zeb felt nothing, not even Morg and her Midnights, could harm them. Safe, at last, from the harpy’s dark magic, Oonie and Zeb drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 25
At sunrise, several hours later, Snaggle shook the crew awake. The skystallions were gone, but the Impossible Peaks were still there, and Snaggle was still flying above them. Zeb remembered Dollop’s words about Crackledawn dragons traveling vast distances without tiring. It was just as well, because they had a world to save and only until moonrise to do it, but Zeb could tell that Snaggle was beginning to flag.
Mrs. Fickletint wriggled out of the fur lining the hot water bottle and began bossing Oonie and Zeb around straightaway. “Empty the hot water bottle, Oonie; it’s lukewarm now. But remember to pop it back in the purse afterward, Zeb; that’s a genuine eversnug fur and they’re extremely hard to come by.”
The snow clouds below them had gone, and now that the sun was up, Zeb could see the mountains in all their glory. Towering peaks and overhangs as well as crags and gullies—and everything was coated in snow and ice. But Snaggle hadn’t woken them for the views. There were shapes in the sky ahead that looked like birds. A dozen of them, with long necks and black feathers flying straight toward them.
“What—what are they?” he whispered to Mrs. Fickletint.
The chameleon, now nestled in Oonie’s pocket, craned her neck to get a better look. “Oh, heavens,” she muttered. “That’s not good. Not good at all.”
“What is it?” Oonie asked.
Zeb Bolt and the Ember Scroll Page 16
