The Fire Chronicle

by John Stephens

  “There they are!”

  The cry had come from down the block, and Kate turned and saw the three thuggish teenagers, led by a tall, angry, pinch-faced youth who looked to be covered in a greenish sludge, sprinting toward them.

  “Get the freaks!”

  “Run!” Kate cried.

  The children needed no encouragement. They bolted down the street, the teenagers hard behind them, howling with fury.

  “Can’t you—do something?” Kate panted. “Some—magic?”

  “You gotta be calm to do magic,” Beetles said. “It don’t work if you’re scared.” And he added, “Not that I’m scared!”

  “Me neither!” Jake said.

  Kate’s mind was racing; she knew they couldn’t outrun the teenagers. But then she saw, past the end of the block, an avenue crowded with pedestrians, carriages, carts. On a packed street, there would be places to hide. That would work, she knew, as long as someone led their pursuers away.

  “Listen, when we turn the corner, you three are going to hide. I’ll make them follow me.”

  “Uh-uh!” Jake said. “Rafe said we’re supposed to watch out for you!”

  “Stupid!” Beetles said. “You’re not supposed to tell her that!”

  “There’s no time to argue! You look after Abigail. I’ll meet you back at the church!”

  “I don’t need anyone lookin’—” Abigail began, but they were already rounding the corner, and Kate spied a set of steps leading to a basement below a grocer’s. She pushed the children toward it.

  “There! Go now!”

  Jake and Beetles grabbed Abigail and dragged her down the stairs and out of sight. Kate leapt into the midst of traffic. She heard cursing and the neighing of horses, the sound of reins being snapped tight, but she plowed ahead, her feet sliding in the slush, looking neither left nor right, till she reached the far sidewalk. Once there, she turned. The three teenagers had reached the corner and were searching for their quarry.

  “Hey! Here I am! Come catch me!” she taunted.

  Shouting with rage, they charged after her.

  That’s right, Kate thought, come on.

  Then she turned and ran for her life.

  But she hadn’t gone more than thirty yards when she realized the boys were going to catch her. They were too big, too fast, and too angry. She could hear the pounding of their footsteps growing louder and louder. Then she spotted the ladder of a fire escape hanging down. She thought if she could climb up and pull the ladder after her, she could get away. Kate put on a final burst of speed and, five yards from the ladder, crashed into a man stepping out of a shop.

  It was like colliding with a brick wall. Her head snapped back, and her entire body seemed to rebound and slam against the sidewalk. She was dizzy and her vision blurred. Her hat had fallen off, and she had to push back her hair to make out the man standing above her, a mountain of a man in a long fur jacket and fur hat. He hadn’t moved.

  “You all right there, lass? You should be looking where you’re going. Running pell-mell like that through the streets.”

  She heard the boys skidding to a halt behind her. She looked back, still too unsteady to get to her feet, and saw the tall, pinch-faced boy, backed on either side by his thuggish friends, pointing his finger at the man in the fur coat.

  “Get away from her! She’s ours!”

  Kate knew she had to run, but she also knew if she stood now, she’d just fall over.

  “And what would you be wanting with a sweet, innocent girl like this?” the man asked. “Sure, she’s done nothing wrong. Face of an angel, she has.”

  “She’s a freak! She—”

  And Kate, who was still looking at the boys, watched as their expressions changed. Something they’d seen had given them pause.

  “What’s that you’re saying about freaks?” the man asked.

  The tall boy looked angrier than ever.

  “You’ll get yours too one day! All a’ you!”

  “Begone,” the man said, “before I find myself losing patience.”

  The tall boy spat on the ground, then they all three sulked off. Feeling steadier, Kate slowly stood and turned to thank the man. She froze. He was flanked on either side by bowler-hatted Imps, their small eyes fixed upon her.

  “It’s her,” one of the creatures said. “I remember.”

  “Sure, isn’t it herself,” the man purred. “Can’t I see it written on her face?” He placed a large hand on Kate’s arm. “Would you mind coming with us for a wee bit? There’s someone who would very much like to speak with you. Oh, but where’re me manners?” He removed his fur hat, revealing the great bald stone of his head. “The name is Rourke.”

  Twice, Gabriel lifted Michael to his feet, and twice, the boy’s knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

  “If you fall again,” Gabriel said, pulling him up once more, “I will have to leave you here.”

  “That—thing took Emma!”

  “I know.”

  “But it took her!”

  “Yes, and I cannot both pursue it and carry you; so either stand or you will be left behind.”

  They were in the clearing. Emma and the creature had disappeared moments before. In the starlight, Michael could see the thick vein of Gabriel’s scar pulsing on the side of his jaw. Michael knew that Gabriel was restraining himself from going after Emma alone. He knew he needed to pull himself together.

  Gabriel released his shoulders, and Michael swayed, but kept his balance.

  “That thing,” Michael said. “Did you see—”

  “Yes.”

  “And was it a—I mean, was it actually—”

  “Yes.”

  It seemed that neither man nor boy wanted to name the creature aloud; but for Michael, it was enough that Gabriel had seen what he had—the great, leathery, bat-like wings, the long serpent’s body, the jagged line of spines ridged along the creature’s back, the enormous talons that had snatched Emma off the ground.…

  He hadn’t imagined it; his sister had been taken by a dragon.

  “But”—and, for a second, he felt so weak and lost that he was sure he would topple over and be left there by Gabriel—“what’re we gonna do?”

  “We will find your sister and kill the beast that took her.”

  “But what if—what if she’s already—”

  Gabriel lunged, seizing a handful of Michael’s shirt. His face was cloaked in shadow, his voice a growl.

  “She is alive. She is alive, and we will find her. Now—come!”

  And he sprinted away across the clearing, with Michael staggering along behind.

  Michael lost track of time. Half an hour. An hour. Gabriel kept disappearing into the darkness, leaving Michael to carve his own path through the thicket of ferns that blanketed the forest floor. Again and again, just when Michael was convinced that Gabriel had finally abandoned him, the man would appear from behind a tree, hissing, “This way! Faster!” and Michael would push himself on as the ferns beat at his arms and face and the same refrain played over and over in his head:

  You lost Kate, and now you lost Emma.…

  You lost Kate, and now you lost Emma.…

  You lost Emma.…

  You lost Emma.…

  Then, abruptly, the trees and ferns ended, and Michael stepped out onto a rocky plain and found Gabriel waiting. Free of the weight of the forest, Michael felt the immense openness of the night sky, and he took a deep, relieved breath.

  “There. You see?”

  Gabriel was pointing up the valley to where the volcano rose from the plain, a quarter of a mile distant. It had not occurred to Michael what direction they were heading in, and he stared now in wonder. The volcano took up almost the entire width of the plain, a perfect pyramid rising nearly to the height of the canyon walls. Looking up, Michael could see an ominous red glow emanating from the cone.

  Unbidden, the memories he’d acquired in Malpesa came surging up, and he had again the feeling of déjà vu. The Chro
nicle was close.

  “You see it?” Gabriel asked.

  Michael realized that Gabriel was pointing to a spot about a third of the way up the volcano’s slope, where a light flickered in the dark. Squinting, Michael could just discern the outline of a large structure. The dead man’s memories filled in the rest.

  “It’s the Order’s fortress,” he said. “This is where they brought the book.”

  “What I care about,” Gabriel said, “is finding your sister.”

  And they set off once more.

  The lower slope of the volcano was a jumble of giant black rocks, and Michael had to clamber upward on all fours as Gabriel strode ahead. Soon, the boulders gave way to small rocks and scree, and for every two steps, Michael slid back one. Still, he kept on. By now, the fortress was in sharp relief, and Michael could make out thirty-foot-high walls of black stone, ramparts and battlements where a defender might take position. He could see nothing of the buildings inside the walls save a lone tower that rose into the sky, at the crown of which a fire blazed forth.

  It was an impressive, imposing structure, but Michael couldn’t help but question the wisdom of building on the side of a volcano.

  “I mean,” he muttered, panting his way up the slope, “they do blow up after all.”

  Gabriel was standing before the fortress gates, a pair of heavy wooden doors the height of the walls, and Michael arrived trembling and out of breath.

  “Sorry. I’m … actually in excellent shape. Must be the altitude—”

  “Look.”

  Gabriel gestured to the three interlocking circles carved into the door. The fortress, the whole valley, was still and silent.

  Michael whispered, “Do you … think they know we’re here?”

  Gabriel picked up a large rock and hammered—thud—thud—thud—thud—till the doors swung open. He dropped the rock.

  “Yes.”

  With Gabriel leading, they passed into a courtyard of packed earth. Michael waited, and when no arrows came whistling out of the dark, he relaxed and allowed himself a quick survey. The fortress had been built on a flattened plot a hundred feet wide and perhaps twice that in depth. The central courtyard—where he and Gabriel stood—was dominated by a two-story stone building with long, narrow windows. The high, flame-topped tower rose from the building’s back corner. A wooden skeleton of ladders and catwalks clung to the inside of the fortress walls, providing access to the battlements. Other than that, Michael saw a few ramshackle structures—a small pen for livestock, a blacksmith’s forge, several storerooms—and all were dark and empty.

  Gabriel unsheathed his falchion. “Stay behind me.”

  Michael didn’t argue.

  Gabriel kicked open the door of the stone building, and they stepped into a large, high-ceilinged room. Thick-bodied columns ran the length of the chamber, while an eerie red glow, rising from a gap in the floor, pushed back the darkness. The building was a keep, Michael realized, a place to retreat to should the fortress be breached.

  They advanced slowly to the gap in the center of the floor. It was perhaps fifteen feet square, and there were a dozen steps leading down to a heavy iron gate, past which Michael could make out the mouth of a tunnel. The red glow was coming from deep in the volcano, and the heat rose up and stung Michael’s eyes. Still, he could feel himself being pulled forward by an invisible force.

  “The Chronicle is down there,” he said quietly.

  “Then it is not alone.”

  Michael glanced at him, questioning.

  “That gate locks from the outside,” Gabriel said. “It is not meant to keep us out; it is to keep something in.”

  He nodded upward, and Michael found himself looking through a large, jagged hole in the keep’s ceiling. The hole was directly over the mouth of the tunnel, and Michael imagined that something very big—something, say, dragon-sized—had come roaring out and blasted through the roof of the keep.

  Except that the gate over the tunnel was down and locked, which meant the dragon had returned home. Michael thought of the creature he’d glimpsed in the clearing, the huge, razor-sharp talons, fangs the length of his arm.…

  “I guess,” he said, trying to sound gruff and ready and not completely, bone-shakingly terrified, “we should go down there, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael nodded. And suddenly he knew that scared or not, if going into the tunnel was the way to save Emma, he would do it. Though he wondered if he should take a moment to stretch.

  “But first,” Gabriel said, “we will search the tower.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The dragon did not close that gate. I want to know who did.”

  He headed for a doorway in the far corner, through which a set of stairs could be seen climbing upward. Michael hurried after him, and for a few moments, the chamber was still. Then a shadow separated from one of the columns, and a cloaked figure drew a sword and followed.

  “Emma!”

  Michael ran forward and threw his arms around his sister.

  He and Gabriel had reached the top of the tower. Climbing the last flight of stairs, Michael had looked up and seen the night sky still brimming with stars, the looming, snowcapped mountains, the red and smoking cone of the volcano; he’d seen a fire burning in a brazier on the tower wall; he’d been nervous, not knowing who or what might be waiting in ambush; then he saw Gabriel stiffen in surprise, and he turned and there was his own sister, alive and unharmed.

  “Oh, Emma!” He hugged her as if he would never let her go ever again. “I was so worried! Gabriel too! We were both really, really worried!”

  Gabriel said his name, but Michael ignored it.

  “Emma,” he said, holding her arms and stepping away. Now that she was safely back, he felt the need to be the stern older brother. “I know you’ve been through an ordeal, but I did ask you to stay out of that clearing. I think there’s a lesson here, don’t you? Perhaps you should pay more attention when I tell you things?”

  “Michael …”

  “Just a moment, Gabriel. Emma, do you hear me?”

  “No, I do not think she does.”

  “What? What’re you—?” Then Michael finally realized that the whole time he’d been hugging her, Emma hadn’t once groaned or tried to push him away or made a joke about why didn’t he go hug a dwarf.

  “Something has frozen her,” Gabriel said.

  For a moment, Michael stared at his motionless sister. Her arms were stiff at her sides and her eyes unblinking; the curled tip of a fern was stuck in her mud-caked hair. As he reached over and plucked it out, he felt the coldness of her skin.

  Then he said faintly, hopelessly, “Can you fix her?”

  Gabriel shook his head.

  “What about Dr. Pym?”

  Gabriel hesitated only a fraction of a second, but Michael understood. They had left the wizard fighting for his life in Malpesa. Who could say when they would see him again?

  “Never mind,” he said. “I know—”

  Without warning, Gabriel spun around, his falchion hissing through the air; there was a loud metallic clang, and Michael turned to see a cloaked, sword-wielding man stagger back.

  The man had almond-colored skin, long, unkempt black hair, and a wild black beard. He was shorter than Gabriel and very thin. His clothes were ragged and patched and looked to have been salvaged from a dozen different sources, giving him the appearance of a down-on-his-luck harlequin. Michael’s eyes went to the man’s tunic, where, stitched into the fabric, were three faded, interlocking circles.

  Gabriel took a step forward, more to shield Michael than to attack, but the man dropped his sword, threw up his hands, and fell to his knees, crying, “I yield! Don’t kill me! Don’t kill poor Bert!” and promptly burst into tears.

  “He’s not what I expected,” Michael said.

  “He has likely been here a long time,” Gabriel said. “Perhaps alone. Solitude can have a terrible effect on the mind.”

  That much,
Michael thought, was obvious.

  The man had finally stopped whimpering and seemed to believe, at least for the time being, that Gabriel and Michael were not going to murder him. He was sitting on the short wall that encircled the tower and consoling himself by munching on a fat black beetle he’d taken from a pocket of his cloak.

  “I just expected someone … cleaner. And not named Bert.”

  “Do you want to question him or shall I?” Gabriel asked.

  That was clearly the next step. Finding out who the man was. Was he indeed a member of the Order? Was he alone here or were there others? Was the dragon locked safely inside the volcano? Was it guarding the Chronicle? What was the dragon’s connection to the man? Why had it left Emma atop this tower? And, most importantly, what exactly had happened to her and could it be reversed?

  Michael looked at his sister. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she’d been on the point of speaking; her eyes were narrowed, and there was a wrinkle of fury on her brow. Michael saw that her hands, down at her sides, were clenched into fists. He knew the signs and was not surprised: his sister had been fighting when she’d been frozen.

  “I will.” Emma was his sister, his responsibility.

  “Very well. I will be here if you need me. But be quick.” Gabriel gave him a meaningful look. “Sooner or later, the dragon will return.”

  Michael conceded that Gabriel had a point. He stepped forward.

  “Right. I want to ask you a few questions.”

  The man had been picking at his teeth with one of the beetle’s legs, but now he sat up, running a hand down his beard, and put on an eager-to-please smile. He was crazy, Michael thought, but he appeared to be nice-crazy, and not I’ll-kill-you-I’ll-kill-you crazy.

  “Happy to talk. Love having visitors. Bert hasn’t had any in, well, ever.” He spoke in choppy, heavily accented English. “Oh, Bert’s very sorry about the whole”—he mimed hacking at them with an imaginary sword. “He thought you were elves.”

  “Yes, well, that’s certainly understandable,” Michael said. “No one wants elves sneaking about.” As he spoke, Michael was mentally reviewing passages from The Dwarf Omnibus about the art of interrogation (the Omnibus, as Michael had often reflected, really did touch on everything). He remembered that G. G. Greenleaf suggested first establishing rapport with your subject. He also said that when the subject’s guard was down, the interrogator should “whack him in the head with a club. He won’t see that coming! Ha!” Michael wasn’t planning anything quite so violent, but considering how skittish the man was, building rapport seemed like a good initial step. With that in mind, Michael tried to make his tone as chummy as possible. “So tell me, friend, you’re one of the Order of Guardians, aren’t you?”