The sibyl ground her teeth. “That dim-witted fur-ball. Next time I find it under this bed I will turn it into a pair of slippers. Come. Bring the girl. I don’t trust her to be left alone with the egg.”
David yanked Lucy onto her feet and dragged her after him into the kitchen. Gwilanna pulled the back door open. “The pouch is by the potting shed. Bring it, boy. Hurry.”
Hugging his upper arms for warmth, David hurried outside and crunched across the patio. Since his return from Boston, the weather had slumped to the lowest rungs of the meteorological ladder. The wind was scooping the marrow from his bones and every snowflake that managed to flick his cheeks stung like the crack of a tiny whip. He arrived at the shed, but the pouch was not in sight. He fiddled in the drifts around the base of the plant pots. Nothing there either. This was ridiculous. Where was the wretched thing? The wind laughed and picked at his brain. He searched twice more, then reported to Gwilanna.
“Not there?” Her voice was like the screech of a circular saw.
“Look for yourself. It’s not a trick.”
Gwilanna put the ice water on the drainboard. “Keep her away from that. If she moves toward it, snap her ears, too.” She swept out into the snow.
The moment she had gone, David and Lucy began a frantic babble. This was all very well, for both of them had a great deal to say. But they quarreled in such a competitive fashion that neither was able to deliver their point or really be aware of what the other was saying. So it was no surprise that both of them failed to see Bonnington slinking out from under the table. The big tabby cat, unfairly described as a dimwit and a slouch, was not displaying those attributes now. His ears were pricked, his bearing agile, and his shining copper eyes like points of steel. He moved to the center of the kitchen floor and lifted his hunter’s gaze to the drainboard. With a silent bound, he was on it.
It was Lucy who first caught sight of him. “Hhh!” she gasped, pointing a finger.
“This rose,” said David, not looking at first, so desperate was he to show her Gretel’s flower. “Just listen to me, Lucy. Just … what? What is it?” The panic in her eyes made him turn his head.
Bonnington was lapping the water from the box.
“Bonnington, NO!”
Over the next few seconds it seemed as if a circus troupe had invaded. Gwilanna stormed in, purple with rage, almost breaking the door off its hinges; David was tearing toward the sink, kicking cat litter into every corner; Bonnington was scrabbling his way off the drainboard, then running, ears flat, tail down, for his life. And the box? One moment it was safe in David’s hands, the next it was somehow flipping through the air and landing with a clatter in the kitchen sink.
Lucy’s fists came up to her mouth.
Even Gwilanna looked moderately shocked. “The auma,” she whispered and snatched up the box. It was empty. The last drops gurgled in the sink. “You festering fool!” She turned on David and hurled the box sideways across the room. Lucy yelped as it smacked into a corkboard behind her and bounced back, almost catching her head.
“It was the cat. I was trying to —”
Gwilanna seized him by the throat. “My pouch is missing. What do you know of it?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
She tightened her grip.
“Uthin’! H’nest! Lemme go.”
Gwilanna snarled and pushed him against the fridge. It rocked and the listening dragon fell over. There was a crunch as the frame of its spectacles broke. “Bring me that cat,” Gwilanna growled.
“You leave Bonnington alone!” cried Lucy.
“No. Let her be,” David croaked, stepping in before Gwilanna could react. “I’ll find the pouch. The cat’s probably carried it to the garden. He steals things and hides them away sometimes.”
Gwilanna’s eyes began to swirl like soup. Suddenly, her nose began to jump and twitch. “There is something not right about you,” she hissed. “I smell a potion on you. Show me your hands.”
David tried in vain to resist, but how could he oppose the power of a sibyl? His trembling fingers began to uncurl. The orange rose rolled over his palm. “Gretel dropped it on the train,” he gulped. “I meant to leave it in the gift box. I don’t know what it’s for.”
Gwilanna snatched it from him. She twisted the flower into one wet nostril, squeezed the stalk, and took a gruesome sniff. Her eyes shone violet and boiled with rage. “Treachery,” she hissed. “Chamomile and peach. Gretel has turned you back.”
“What?” said Lucy. “He can’t be back. A real David wouldn’t be as nasty as him. He broke Grace’s ears.”
“All for nothing,” the sibyl smirked. “It was a useless sacrifice, a futile attempt to infiltrate my plans and make me believe he was my ally. The boy has been playing tricks, my dear. We should have known all along that he was merely trying to secure my trust so that he might upset this hatching. He is fouled by bears and will not change. He would steal the scale at the drop of a claw — and take your brother away from you.”
“Don’t listen to her,” David said to Lucy. “That egg she’s hatching is not your brother.”
Gwilanna narrowed her gaze.
“Oh yes,” said David, squaring up. “Gretel turned me back all right. She was made by a Pennykettle — or had you forgotten? She had enough basic goodness in her to realize her mistress was up to no good, and so she passed your secrets to me. Your mom did want another child, Lucy, and put enough of her auma into that egg without ever thinking it might be quickened. Then Zanna happened by, and everything fell very neatly into place. Your ‘aunt’ here recognized the perfect conditions to kindle the baby she’d always wanted. Except it’s not a baby, is it, Gwilanna? It’s never going to lose its dragon features; it’ll lose its human ones instead.”
Lucy’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “Mom’s making a real dragon?”
Gwilanna ignored her and spat at David: “You cretinous, interfering dunce. I should turn your bones to ash for this, but I still might have a use for you yet.”
“Forget it. I’ll never help you,” said David. “Stop the kindling and wake Liz now. Let the dragon go back to the clay. It’s doomed, like the others you’ve tried to rear. Without the auma of the icefire, it can’t survive.”
“Oh, but it can,” Gwilanna said, coldly. “Elizabeth is no ordinary host. She has been touched by the ice for years. She, like the red-haired girl who spawned her, has the true dragon’s fire within. And what is within can also be without.”
“What does she mean?” Lucy asked David anxiously.
“Find that pouch,” Gwilanna snapped. She pointed backward at the clock on the wall. Its hands, as though possessed of a whirlwind, whipped around and stopped at four-forty-seven. “You have until then, the first phase of the hatching. If the snow is not mine by the time the moon rises, the girl’s mother will join her dragons.”
“How?” bleated Lucy. “What does she mean?”
Using his hands like a pair of bookends, David moved Lucy toward the hall. “Get your coat,” he said quietly, eyeballing Gwilanna. “We’re going out, into the garden.”
“But —?”
“Lucy, don’t argue.” David pushed her away. Streaming with tears, Lucy went to get her coat.
“A wise decision,” Gwilanna said smugly.
David looked back at her with all the loathing his heart could muster. “If any harm comes to Liz, I’ll —”
“You’ll what?” sneered the sibyl, staring down at him. “Who are you to meddle in the ways of dragons? If you want to aid Elizabeth, find that pouch.”
Surprisingly, however, David didn’t even try. On the doorstep, he abandoned the search and told Lucy they would go to Mr. Bacon’s instead. The snow was falling star upon star, bringing a cold gray fog down with it. No one could possibly see through that.
But the tenant was wrong. There was one creature with eyes capable of piercing such a mist. He was hiding in a plant pot behind the shed, confused and afraid, and wondering why the universe had
brought him here. Somehow he had survived the loss of auma and escaped from the terrifying sibyl, Gwilanna (sneaking out cleverly through Bonnington’s cat flap). As far as he knew, he was the only survivor. And that troubled him, deep to his spark. But he must go on. He must not shed his tear. He was a wishing dragon, born to serve. He had a duty to his naming master, the David, and the greater needs of the Mother Earth.
And so he brought his dishlike paws together and let the universe guide him once more. This time it responded with an eddy of wind that tugged his gaze to the center of the garden. Through the flurries he saw … great Gawain! A bear! It rose up out of the snow as if it had merely been sleeping flat. Startled, G’reth glanced quickly at the house. If the sibyl saw this, what further terrors might she unleash? But the bear, expert at hiding himself, merely tilted his black-tipped snout in a manner that suggested G’reth should follow. The wishing dragon flicked his tail. He let his spark glow bright a moment and melted the excess snow from his wings. In doing so, he leaped with fright at his stupidity. What was he thinking? Warming his scales so close to the pouch! With remarkable dexterity for one with paws as large as his, he pulled back the drawstrings and peeked inside. A nugget of frozen water winked back. He pulled the drawstrings tight and hurred with relief (upward into the sky this time). A low growl reminded him the bear was waiting. G’reth hurred and flipped the pouch over his shoulder. Spreading his toes so his feet would skate the snow, he started on the next phase of his journey. This time, he would not have to travel far. Just to the box at the top of the garden …
… where the pink-eyed hedgehog, Spikey, would be waiting.
30
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
David and Lucy, meanwhile, were ready to depart for Mr. Bacon’s house. Lucy was not at all happy about this. She wanted to know, not unreasonably perhaps, why they were walking out on her mom, and what David planned to do about finding the pouch, having spilled the remaining icefire down the sink? To be fair, Gwilanna’s ultimatum was at the forefront of David’s mind, and as they stepped out into the gathering storm, he promised Lucy faithfully he would stop Gwilanna, rescue Liz, and restore all the dragons back to full flight. What he omitted to say was how. When, by return of breath, Lucy barked that question at him, a pit of despair opened up in his chest; for the truth was, he didn’t know what to do. The one shred of hope he was clinging to now was Bergstrom’s instructions to watch and wait. Bergstrom: What had become of him?
As it happened, someone else was watching and waiting. Just within reach of Henry’s door, a brittle voice said, “Hello, remember me?” and Zanna appeared in front of them. She was shivering inside an ankle-length coat, which she wore wrapped around her like a cape. Snowflakes had gathered in the trim around the hood, giving her the look of a fairy ice queen. “Icy” perfectly described her mood, as Lucy was about to discover.
“What’s she doing here?”
“You’d better ask him that,” Zanna growled back, causing Lucy to shrink away.
“Zanna, ease off,” David said. “I know I’ve been ignoring you. I can explain.”
Zanna raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. She folded her arms and took another pace forward, putting her scarlet lips near to his. “It had better be very, very good.”
And there they stood for a moment, transfixed — she searching for the trust she had lost, he idly wondering if he ought to kiss her.
It was Lucy who eventually forced them apart. “I’m cold,” she whined, tugging David’s arm.
He blew a snowflake off his nose and fiddled for his keys. Seconds later they were in the house, warmed by the glow of Henry’s fire.
“All right, let’s hear it,” Zanna said, perching on the leading edge of the sofa.
David threw off his coat and flopped down in the recliner. Forget the rules; he’d had a hard day. He told Zanna everything, explaining how Gwilanna had turned his mind and how Gretel had managed to turn him back, the polar bear story that had come out at the publishers, and all that was going on next door. At the end of it, Zanna sat back, dazed.
“Gwilanna’s raising a real dragon? But how could I quicken an egg like that?”
“I have a theory, but I don’t think you’ll like it.” David waited a second, then looked her in the eye. “I think you’re a sibyl like her. You just don’t know it yet.”
“Told you she was a witch,” sniffed Lucy.
“Not a witch, a prophetess,” David jumped in. “A wise woman. A seer. Being a sibyl doesn’t make you bad. In the legend of Gawain, Guinevere went to Gwilanna for help. In the beginning, she trusted her.”
“Yeah, and look where it got her,” said Zanna.
“All the same, I think you’ve got dormant powers. When I sniffed Gretel’s rose, I sensed that Gwilanna is wary of you. I’m not sure how we can use that yet, but when we find the pouch, we should see what effect the icefire has on you.”
Lucy Pennykettle sat bolt upright. “That’s for the dragons. She’s not having it!”
“I didn’t say I wanted it,” Zanna said coolly, exchanging bad-tempered glances with her. “But I do want to help your mom and your dragons, and whatever is in that egg.” She turned again to David. “What are you planning to do?”
David glanced at his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before the moon rises. If we can’t find the pouch by then, we’ll have to take her on somehow.”
“Take her on? This is Gwilanna you’re talking about. You can’t just march in, all guns blazing.”
“OK, some sort of diversion, then? Maybe we can stall her with a piece of snow that isn’t the real icefire?”
“For a nanosecond, maybe,” Zanna said doubtfully. “It might help if we knew some more about this snowball. How did your mom first come by it, Lucy?”
With a nudge from David, Lucy said reluctantly, “She went to Norway when she was little.”
“Norway?” David tipped forward in his chair.
“She was playing in the snow and she lost her hat. It blew off in the wind and tumbled down a hill. This man found it and brought it back. When he gave it to Mom, there was a snowball in it. He told Mom the snowball was very special. He said it would never melt in her hands. So she put it in a box and brought it home. She’ll be mad when she finds out what you did.”
“It wasn’t me, it was Bonnington, OK?”
“Bonnington?” Zanna looked up, puzzled.
“He drank some of the icefire water,” said David. “And David knocked the rest down the sink,” Lucy jabbered.
“I didn’t. I —”
“Shush,” Zanna said, flapping them quiet. “Bonnington drank a dragon’s fire? What’s that going to do to him?”
David and Lucy gave a synchronized shrug.
Zanna went back to the incident with the snowball. “This man, has your mom ever talked about him? About what he looked like? She must have said something?”
“She said he was tall … and had eyes like a bear.”
“Bergstrom,” said David without a second thought. He flopped back and slapped the arm of his chair.
“The polar bear man?” Lucy asked straightaway. “The one who asked you about the dragons?”
“Must be,” Zanna said quietly to David.
Lucy was on her feet in a flash. “Call him!” she insisted, almost pulling David’s arm from its socket. “Find him! He’ll come! He’ll come and help Mom!”
David, however, refused to be hurried. If it was true and Bergstrom had given Liz the snowball, what was the motivation behind it? It could not have been something he did by rote with all of Guinevere’s female line, or Gwilanna herself would never have been curious about the strength of Liz’s auma. Why had Liz been singled out?
“Come on-nn,” begged Lucy, rifling through David’s pockets for his cell.
He moved her aside and spoke to Zanna. “Did you go to him, like you said you would?”
“Twice, but his room was locked both times. When I couldn’t find him, I came around here.”
“Call him!” Lucy badgered.
“Try,” said David, giving Zanna the nod. He leaped from the chair and hurried to the door. “Where are you going?” “Upstairs. Won’t be long.”
“But?”
“Do it,” said Lucy, and plopped the phone in Zanna’s lap.
Zanna called the college. Dr. Bergstrom, they said, was not answering his extension, and no one in the geography department seemed to know where he might be found. Zanna moved the telephone onto the sofa. “Sorry, no good.”
Lucy flopped down and beat her fists against her thighs. “But we’ve got to help Mom.”
“We will,” said Zanna, squeezing her shoulder. “This man — Dr. Bergstrom — I don’t believe he’ll let your mom be hurt. He’s a good man, Lucy. He knows about Gwilanna. He’ll stop her, even if we don’t manage it. I think there’s something odd going on here that none of us understands too well. It’s all connected with David’s wish and the way that … the universe is dealing with it. I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But we won’t let Gwilanna win, I promise. Hey, you know about the Earth Mother, don’t you?”
Lucy looked at her sideways and nodded.
Zanna pulled out a chain from under her top. Dangling off its end was a silver pendant, made in the shape of a circular labyrinth. She unclipped it and gave it to Lucy to hold. “That’s an Earth Mother symbol, used by the Hopi Indian tribe. I know you think I’m, well, a bit strange, but I’m going to say a prayer on it. I believe that the earth and all the creatures upon it are connected together in a universal spirit. In ancient times, people used to think that spirit was bound by the fire of dragons. If you and I can reach it, we might not need Dr. Bergstrom at all. Do you want to try? We need to focus on something close to the soil.”
“Like a hedgehog?” Lucy wiped her face clean.
“Yes — oh, that’s right, David told me you’d seen one in the garden. I like hedgehogs. It’s white, isn’t it?”
Lucy looked at the far conservatory windows. Wide fringes of untouched snow were dressing the sills like Christmas trimmings. “Yes.”
Icefire Page 16
