Zeb Bolt and the Ember Scroll

by Abi Elphinstone

  Morg laughed. “You think a story can save you now?”

  Oonie ignored the harpy. “The crew called upon the Unmapped dragons! Red ones with star-studded wings, blue ones with river-long tails, silver ones with icicled teeth, and green ones with webbed talons and amber eyes! They called upon every single dragon in the Unmapped Kingdoms—and they came!”

  She felt for Zeb’s hand and hauled him up. “I can hear the dark magic coming for us, Zeb, just like you can. But I can hear the sunchatter back in Crackledawn suddenly, even though we’re miles away now. And it’s different to what I’ve heard before. This isn’t just a few notes; it’s a full-blown symphony. All the sunchatter left in Crackledawn is ringing out one last time, and it sounds like hope rising! I think the sunchatter is urging us to keep going!”

  Zeb’s heart was pounding. Morg’s dark magic was just moments away from finishing them all, but he could see his captain clearly now. She was brilliant at finding sunchatter, but she was even better at finding hope. No one else could have heard hope singing all the way back in Crackledawn, but Oonie had heard it because she had been born for this very moment. The end of the world was drawing close, but Oonie was still fighting with the only thing they had left: a story.

  Snaggle rose to stand with his crew too. Then he, Zeb, and Mrs. Fickletint closed their eyes tight, hoped hard, and imagined all the Unmapped dragons Oonie had called soaring through the sky to help them.

  “Quite finished?” Morg sneered as she drew her arm back, ready to unleash her dark magic on the Unmapped Kingdoms once and for all.

  An earsplitting cry pierced the dusk. Then another rang out, followed by another and another and another.

  Snaggle jerked his head. Zeb and Mrs. Fickletint gasped.

  But Oonie only smiled. “Harpies are strong, but stories are stronger.”

  The cries tore across the darkening sky, and the nightswans scattered first. Then the winterwolves stopped in their tracks and the ogre eel sunk a little lower. And when the crew opened their eyes, they saw hundreds of winged silhouettes beating through the twilight as the sky filled with dragons. Red ones with star-studded wings, blue ones with river-long tails, silver ones with icicled teeth, and green ones with webbed talons and amber eyes! They were all there, just as they had been in Oonie’s story! And these dragons had come to fight.

  They plowed into the winterwolves, they tore after the nightswans, and as they set upon the ogre eel, Snaggle seized his chance and whisked the crew onto his back before launching into the sky. At that very moment, Morg rose up on glittering wings and hurled her ball of magic after them.

  Zeb ducked, but neither he nor Mrs. Fickletint managed to warn Oonie in time, and the dark magic thundered into her. She clutched Zeb’s arm, her face full of fear, and then she and Mrs. Fickletint slipped soundlessly from Snaggle’s back and fell through the sky.

  Chapter 27

  OONIE!” Zeb roared. “MRS. FICKLETINT!”

  Snaggle dived down toward the sea. But there was a battle raging below them—a furious clash of nightswans, dragons, and ogre eels. The little girl and her chameleon were nowhere to be seen.

  “Where are they, Snaggle?” Zeb cried.

  The Crackledawn dragon wanted to go on after Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint—he would have followed them to the ends of the earth—but he could see that Morg was tearing through the sky after them. And there was a glow at the horizon now; the moon was only minutes away.…

  Snaggle scoured the battle one last time before pushing up into the sky. Then two Silvercrag dragons set upon Morg, dragging her back to the fight with their icicled teeth. Zeb knew this was his chance to somehow save the world, but he couldn’t see through his tears. All he could think about were Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint.

  Snaggle twisted his head round and nudged Zeb, as if trying to tell him that he had to go on. There was no other way.

  “What’s the point of a world without Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint?” Zeb sniffed. “And what’s the point of having the Ember Scroll and the Stargold Wings if I can’t even write an ending?”

  Zeb scanned the battle below for a sign of his friends, but no matter how hard he looked, no matter how desperately he willed them to appear, he couldn’t see them. The sadness rocked inside him. They couldn’t be gone—not when they’d gotten this far. Zeb was meant to tell the story of a new phoenix rising to save the world and his crew, but he was high in the sky now—without a quill—and Morg was steadily breaking out of the Silvercrag dragons’ hold.

  But the thing about stories is that beginnings can grow out of endings. Oonie had conjured a sky full of dragons when the end of the world drew close. Zeb had learned to trust when he said goodbye to the pain of his past. And then there was the phoenix itself—a magical creature born out of the embers of the phoenix before it.

  Morg lobbied the Silvercrag dragons with more and more curses until she forced her way free. Then she flew, full tilt, after Zeb, but the Crackledawn dragon was flying faster still.

  Zeb glanced at the Ember Scroll, shining in the gathering dark and rolling and unfurling at the edges as it tried to reach for the Stargold Wings. It was waiting for an ending, and all this time Zeb had assumed that meant he had to write one onto the parchment. But stories didn’t have to be written down. You could tell stories—Oonie had proved that—and you could live them. Snaggle flew on, and Zeb tried to block out the harpy careering toward him and the surging sadness he felt every time he thought of Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint. He knew now what he would do.

  Steadying himself against the wind, Zeb lifted the Stargold Wings out of their pouch and held them on the Ember Scroll. The parchment curled protectively over the wings, and Zeb released his grip on them. When the scroll opened a second later, he saw the Stargold Wings had split down the middle and were glowing once more. The wings fixed themselves on either side of the parchment, and then Zeb lowered the Ember Scroll toward the Crackledawn dragon racing through the sky.

  “Snaggle,” he panted as the scroll rippled in the wind, “I need you to breathe fire one more time.”

  Snaggle’s eyes widened as he realized what Zeb was asking. He had already broken a rule tonight, and this, burning the very thing they’d journeyed so far to find, didn’t make sense at all.

  “Trust me,” Zeb urged. “Please. Trust me.”

  Snaggle swung his head toward the Ember Scroll. Then, after one quick glance at Zeb, he sent his flames into the parchment.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Morg screamed as she reared up before the fire.

  Zeb loosened his hold on the Ember Scroll, then he let it float off into the sky, pursued by the screeching harpy. He had given the story an ending, and he knew, from Oonie, that it was hope that turned endings into beginnings. So, as Snaggle beat his wings to hold them where they were up in the sky, Zeb hoped hard, pouring every drop of his faith into the Ember Scroll as it sailed into the dark. Still Morg raced on, closer and closer to the burning story. And then, just as the harpy reached out a grappling hand toward it, the Ember Scroll exploded.

  Sparks scattered like stars, and the whole world shook so that even those back in the Faraway felt it. Where the burning parchment had been was the creature the Unmapped Kingdoms had longed for every single day since Morg rose up out of Everdark almost five thousand years ago.

  A phoenix.

  Zeb’s jaw dropped. It was the most magnificent thing he had seen in all of Crackledawn. And as it rose into the night, its golden feathers trailing flames, its sweeping tail ribbons of fire, the sky itself came alive. Shooting stars fell, comets soared, and a full moon rose.

  Morg turned then and made a frantic, cowardly attempt to flee. But there was not room for a harpy and a phoenix in the world. And as the phoenix hung in the air, its burning wings outstretched, a blinding light flashed across the kingdom. The harpy screeched, one final bloodcurdling scream filled with terror, because she knew that her time had come to an end. She had clawed her way out of a never-ending well. She had conjured a sh
ip and sailed into Crackledawn. She broken through to Silvercrag and cursed an entire kingdom. But she was no match for a phoenix. Her wings shriveled, her feathers dropped off, her body crumbled, and she fell through the sky as a handful of glittering soot. The winterwolves dissolved, the nightswans faded, and the ogre eels vanished completely. And, just like that, the harpy’s reign of terror ended.

  Zeb watched as the phoenix whirled through the sky and the rest of the Unmapped dragons, who usually roamed the world alone, rose up together to join it. Then the night was filled with their roars and with the eagled cry of the phoenix, because—at long last—a new era had been born and the Faraway had been rescued.

  Zeb should have been happy. He, Zebedee Bolt, had saved the world. But his mind was frozen with thoughts of Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint. Snaggle glided beneath the phoenix, and Zeb saw that his amber eyes were sad. The Crackledawn dragon had answered their call, found the Final Curtain, scaled the Impossible Peaks, and helped them beat Morg. But he had broken the only rule dragons kept.

  And then Zeb spotted something tearing round the coastline. Something large and blue with a matted mane and a river-long tail that scattered dragonflies, hummingbirds, and tropical flowers in its wake. It was one of Jungledrop’s dragons, and on its back there rode a purple chameleon and a girl who knew the taste of moonlight.

  “Oonie?” Zeb breathed, hardly daring to believe it. Then louder because there could be no doubt now: “OONIE! MRS. FICKLETINT!”

  The Jungledrop dragon soared through the sky toward them, shaking snow from its tangled mane, and then—to Mrs. Fickletint’s horror—it tossed them from its back toward Snaggle before racing off to join the other dragons. Snaggle caught the girl and the chameleon between his spikes, and Zeb held them both close.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” he sobbed. “The world felt so empty without you!”

  Oonie hugged Zeb tight. “Nothing can break up our crew, Zeb. Not even Morg and all her dark magic.”

  Zeb and Oonie laughed, and even Mrs. Fickletint managed a shaky grin, despite the trauma that had unfolded after she and Oonie fell from Snaggle’s back. “Tangled in another nightswan web,” she tutted, “dragged off round the coast, nearly eaten whole by a winterwolf, then rescued by a Jungledrop dragon in desperate need of a hairbrush. Whatever next?! Still”—the chameleon hopped onto Zeb’s leg, clambered up his coat, and kissed his nose—“we saved the world.”

  The phoenix drew close, and its flame-rippled majesty stunned Zeb to the core. From the ancestors of this creature, the whole world had sprung. Kingdoms had blossomed and continents, oceans, and galaxies had been born. The phoenix hovered in the air before them. Then it dipped its beak, as if thanking them for all that they had done, before turning to look at Snaggle.

  The dragon bowed his head in respect and in sorrow, for he knew all too well the crime he had committed. The phoenix spoke in a way that neither Zeb nor Oonie and Mrs. Fickletint could understand—a series of caws and clicks—but Snaggle understood. He listened, his wide eyes shining, as the phoenix delivered its verdict on Snaggle’s fate. Then the phoenix wheeled away, back into the sky with the rest of the Unmapped dragons.

  Zeb leaned forward over Snaggle’s neck as he soared through the sky. “What did the phoenix say? Surely you’re pardoned now?”

  Oonie nodded. “Everyone will understand that you killed another dragon to save us—and the world?”

  “It wasn’t as if it was a very nice dragon anyway,” Mrs. Fickletint added.

  Snaggle swung his head round and nuzzled his crew. And though they didn’t know what had passed between the Crackledawn and the phoenix, and Snaggle didn’t rush through the sky to be with the rest of his kind, they could see a hope of sorts burning in his eyes now. The phoenix cried out again, the dragons roared, and as the sky rang with victory, Silvercrag stirred back into life.

  Skystallions poured over the Impossible Peaks. Frost giants lumbered round the coastline, their shoulders laden with Silvercrag’s Unmappers. And eagle owls glided out of secret mountain tunnels. But it wasn’t just those in Silvercrag whom the phoenix had summoned. As Snaggle swooped down toward the sea, Zeb saw boats appearing on the horizon to the west, each one lit with the soft glow of a Bother-Ahead Beacon.

  “Crackledawn’s Unmappers!” Mrs. Fickletint cried in disbelief. “They’ve managed to cross between kingdoms!”

  The boats sailed on through the silver sea toward them, and Zeb grabbed Oonie’s arm as a dhow with a dragonhead prow came into view. “It’s—it’s the Kerfuffle! With Trampletusk and Dollop on board!” He squinted as Snaggle raced closer. “And isn’t that Mr. Fickletint beside them, along with your twenty-seven children?”

  Mrs. Fickletint beamed and then she waved to them before turning hastily back to Snaggle: “Whatever you do, don’t fly too close; I am not getting roped into childcare now.…” Snaggle glided over the newcomers, and Mrs. Fickletint gasped. “Bless my soul if that isn’t Greyhobble, Timberdust, and Crumpet sailing forth on their boat Dragonclaw! Our Lofty Husks have arrived, and they’re safe and well despite all that Morg threw at them!”

  Zeb’s eyes caught on flash upon flash of mirror-bright scales rising and falling beneath the waves. And then a very flustered head poked out of the water. “It’s Perpetual Faff!”

  “With all her merglimmers and her guzzlebag!” Mrs. Fickletint chuckled. “I dread to think how much faffing was involved to get them all to this point!”

  “And what about Rumblestar’s Unmappers?” Oonie asked. “Are they here yet too?”

  Zeb grinned. “If they travel by hot-air balloon, then yes, they’re here! There’s a whole fleet of balloons filled with men, women, and children dressed in overalls and wearing flying goggles, and”—he peered a little closer—“there are lots of short hairy things waving crossbows in the balloons with them!”

  “Snow trolls!” Oonie laughed. “I’ve always wanted to meet one!”

  Mrs. Fickletint raised her brow as a hot-air balloon carrying two ogres and three wizened-looking witches sailed into view. “Even Rumblestar’s storm ogres and drizzle hags appear to have been invited. I must have a word with the phoenix about this guest list.…”

  “And which kingdom has hippogriffs?” Zeb cried. “Because there’s a whole bunch of them storming across the sky from the east, and they’re carrying all sorts of things: golden panthers, a ghost in a loincloth, and a really talkative parrot!”

  “The swiftwings from Jungledrop!” Mrs. Fickletint blinked. “And, my word, that parrot has good genes; she saved her kingdom from Morg five hundred years ago, and here she is, still going strong!”

  The sea, sky, and shore filled with Unmappers, Lofty Husks, and magical beasts, and every single one was cheering for the crew. Because they had beaten Morg, they had rescued the Faraway, and they had rid the Unmapped Kingdoms of dark magic forever. Zeb, Oonie, and Mrs. Fickletint grinned and laughed and hugged again.

  Then a voice called out above all the rest. “Zebedee Bolt!”

  Zeb looked down to see a boat glinting in the moonlight, and at its helm, a woman with fire-red hair and a promise that had not been broken. His breath caught.

  “I told you I’d come back for you! That I’d cross worlds and kingdoms to find you!”

  Zeb’s heart surged. Fox Petty-Squabble had kept her promise! And this was a promise that had followed him into the Unmapped Kingdoms, stood firm when surrounded by Morg’s Midnights, and broken into Silvercrag at the call of the phoenix.

  Snaggle dived down toward the boat and landed, with a thump, on the prow. Fox clambered over the benches until she stood before the dragon.

  Then she smiled. “It’s good to see you, Zeb.”

  And while Mrs. Fickletint and Oonie whispered to each other about asking for the autograph of the legendary Fox Petty-Squabble, Zeb slipped off Snaggle’s back into the boat. Silvercrag rang with the sound of cheers, but Zeb could only hear Fox’s voice in that moment.

  “I’ll take car
e of you,” she said. “There’ll be no more sleeping in armchairs and running away. We’ll find somewhere to live, the two of us together. And yours will be the room with the piano.”

  While the sky danced with fireworks and shooting stars, Zeb fell into Fox’s arms. And it felt like coming home.

  Chapter 28

  The phoenix flew, in a sweeping arc, over the last of the Impossible Peaks, and as it did so, more magic poured from its flaming wings. Bonfires appeared on the beaches, and the air filled with the smell of spices as banqueting tables—piled high with cinnamon buns, warmed gingerbread, and mugs of hot chocolate laden with marshmallows—materialized out of thin air. Zeb watched in awe as the rubble that had once been a cave built up into a frosted fairground: an ice rink filled with shimmering tunnels; a Ferris wheel jutting over the sea; bumper cars made of snow; and pine trees decorated with stardust.

  The Unmappers spilled out of boats and hot-air balloons and slid from the backs of swiftwings and frost giants to celebrate together, swapping stories about their kingdoms. And before long, there were skystallions galloping through the shallows, cloud giants breathing moonbows, and silver whales sculpting every possible magical beast from their blowholes.

  Everyone wanted to talk to the crew of the Kerfuffle and ask them about their dangerous voyage. After Zeb, Oonie, and Mrs. Fickletint had filled Trampletusk, Dollop, and Perpetual Faff in on everything that had happened, Mrs. Fickletint peeled off to see her family, and Zeb and Oonie sat down at the banqueting table with a group of young and very excited Unmappers from Crackledawn. Oonie’s former classmates wanted to know everything about the quest, and Zeb noticed a shy kind of eagerness in Oonie that was altogether different from the defensive girl who had hauled him onto the Kerfuffle.

  Snaggle had stuck around at first—he seemed reluctant to leave, and again Zeb wondered what the phoenix had said to him up in the sky. But when Zeb grabbed Oonie for a spin in the snow bumper cars with a bunch of Unmappers from Silvercrag, Snaggle took himself off for a walk and a think along the frosted shore.