Fire World

by Chris D'Lacey

  There was something else she was working on though, quite possibly the most intriguing thing of all about dragons, and that was their language. Thorren Strømberg had told the truth when he had said that the symbols in The Book of Agawin could be found elsewhere. They were in her book. One little squiggle in the right-hand corner of every page. At first glance, every squiggle looked the same. But a careful page-by-page examination showed that none were completely identical. They were arranged in slightly different places, too — always within the same triangle of white just near the page number, but definitely spaced apart.

  Rosa went to sleep with those marks in her mind. She saw them as she turned the pages in her dreams. What was it about them? Why were they important? Did they have any real importance? Maybe Thorren Strømberg had got it wrong. Maybe the author of the book was playing games.

  Then, on the morning that Harlan Merriman was about to conduct his spatial experiment with the horizons of time, Rosa found her answer. She was sitting beside David with the book in her lap when Runcey landed in the window space.

  “Oh,” she gasped. Her heartbeat doubled. The bird looked fit and well.

  He poddled to the inner lip of the window and cast his kind eye down at the boy.

  Rosa laced her fingers into a bundle and brought them up to the level of her chin. “Can you wake him?” she whispered.

  The firebird looked at the book she was holding.

  And Rosa, thinking back to the day of the accident, suddenly felt guilty for having it. She said, “I’m sorry you were hurt. It was all my fault. But … the red one gave me this. Look, Runcey.”

  And with that she did something she had not done before. She ran her thumb across the edge of the pages and flicked through them. She was searching for the picture of the hibernating dragon, but as her gaze fell upon the corner of the book something quite extraordinary happened. In the short time it took for sixty-four pages to roll past her thumb, the marks came together as one symbol. Three ragged lines. Parallel, not connected.

  There was a click. The symbol not only seemed to leap from the book but its meaning entered Rosa’s head as well. Sometimes.

  Sometimes, she thought, the rain will fall or the sun will shine.

  Sometimes, David will wake or David will dream.

  Sometimes, the door will be closed or the door will be open….

  Sometimes.

  “Mr. Henry!” she cried out. “I know how to read dragontongue! I —”

  That was the point at which the world jolted.

  Everything went dark. Co:pern:ica turned. And Rosa passed out.

  She came to on the floor of the room. Her chair had spilled over and Runcey had gone.

  But time had passed, and David was stirring.

  She went to him at once. Kneeling beside him, she gripped his hand. His face was turned to the window. She spoke his name and he turned her way.

  Then came the shock that neither was expecting.

  “David?” she said again.

  “Rosa?” he replied. He sounded just as puzzled as she was.

  She let go of his hand and ran to the only reflective surface in the room — a brass plate that titled the dictionary shelf. In the brass she saw a beautiful young woman, with large dark eyes and long dark hair.

  David pushed himself onto his elbows. “How long have I been asleep?”

  Rosa ran her fingers over her face. “At a guess, about … eight spins.” She gulped.

  PART TWO

  WHICH HAS ITS

  BEGINNINGS ON

  FLOOR FORTY-THREE OF

  THE BUSHLEY LIBRARIUM MARCH 7, 032

  1.

  Eh? How did that happen?” David peered at his hands as if the answer might be written in secret on his palms. “How could I have slept for eight spins?!”

  “You kind of did and you didn’t,” Rosa said. “A few minits ago, we were both kids. Then there was this … time quake or something and suddenly we’re all grown up — and you’re awake.”

  “Time quake?”

  “Or something. I don’t know.”

  David patted his head and face. Hair. Longer hair. Wavy. Thicker. Parted in the center, almost down to his shoulders. He swung his feet off the bed. “What caused it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Something here? In the librarium?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it just us, or —?”

  “You know, I think I preferred you asleep,” she cut in. “I realize you must be feeling all kinds of bright and sparkly right now, but just … slow down, OK? I have no idea what caused the time jump. All I was doing before it was …” She picked up the dragon book from the floor.

  David launched an inquisitive frown. “What’s that?”

  “A book — about dragons.”

  “About what?”

  “Drag — Oh, David, just trust me. A lot of things happened while you were sleeping.” She came over and sat beside him. “I know this must be weird for you. It is for me, too. But don’t drive me crazy with questions yet. I’ll tell you everything when it’s time, I promise. Right now, I need a moment to make sense of something.”

  He nodded and cast his gaze over the book. “Are they firebirds — in armor? Warbirds or something?”

  “No. They’re dragons. And they’re actually very spiritual.”

  “With jaws like that?”

  “David, will you just shut up and listen! The firebirds gave me this book. Well, actually, one of them dropped it on you. I didn’t know why until just before the quake. I found a door to Floor Forty-Three. Do you remember … about the upper floors and stuff?”

  “I think so. You’ve been up to the roof?”

  “No. The door is locked, but the key to it is in this book — I think. Come on, I’ll show you. I want to try it.” She bounced to her feet.

  “Wait. Where’s Mr. Henry?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him.”

  “Well, shouldn’t we go and find him? He could contact my dad. He knows about time.”

  “Later,” Rosa insisted. “This is exciting.” She tapped the book. “Come on, we’ll try the door, then surprise Mr. Henry with it.”

  David stood up (a little unsteadily) and looked at his reflection as Rosa had done. “Wow,” he said, turning his face left and right. “How has this happened? That’s amazing.”

  “Not the adjective I would have used,” she said. “But you’ll do.”

  At the end of the corridor on Floor Forty-Two, the door was just as locked as ever.

  “No keyhole,” David said.

  “Yeah, I kinda spotted that,” Rosa said. “I think it opens with a command.”

  David struck a commanding pose. “Open!” he shouted, with his arms extended.

  Rosa dropped her shoulders. “A special command, idiot. Sleep hasn’t improved you, has it? You’re basically still a boy in a man’s body.”

  “Yeah, and what are you?”

  She tossed her hair to one side and chose not to answer. “Stand back. Let me have a go.” She placed a hand upon the door and spread her fingers. “Sometimes,” she whispered.

  To her dismay, nothing happened.

  “Was that it?” David said.

  Rosa stood away, sighing. “I don’t understand. It should have worked. It was so strong in my mind when I turned the pages.” She banged her fist lightly on the door.

  “Have you tried that?”

  “Tried what?”

  “That — knocking.”

  She swung around, anger blazing in her eyes. “Will you please take this seriously! I sat by you for ages while you were asleep, never knowing if you were going to die or not. So just — what are you gawping at?” His gaze was roaming all over her face.

  “You’re really pretty, aren’t you? Especially when you’re angry.”

  She gulped, then whacked him in the chest with the book. “Concentrate, will you? On the door. Look, if you flick through the pages of the book, it makes a symbol co
me alive in one corner. I’m sure it means ‘sometimes’ in dragon language. I thought it would get us in if I said it. I was wrong. Let’s go and ask Mr. Henry.”

  “Wait.” He caught her arm. “Show me the symbol.”

  “Don’t know if I dare,” she said, tucking her hair behind one ear.

  “Why not?”

  “For all I know, it was me that caused the time quake.”

  “With a symbol?”

  She pointed to the dragon on the cover of the book. “These creatures are powerful, David.”

  “Maybe it’s the symbol that opens the door?”

  With a sigh, she thrust the book at him. “All right. You try it. But if I end up wrinkled and old, you’re history.”

  He smiled and opened the book.

  “There,” she said, pointing out the marks. “Flick fast. See what comes into your head when it appears.”

  And so, David turned the pages as Rosa had done. Once again, the three-lined symbol appeared. It seemed to float off the pages as the ink marks came together.

  Rosa, her breath held, looked at the door. Nothing. And, thankfully, she hadn’t aged a day. “Did you get a meaning?”

  David stared at the symbol. “Yes,” he said. And he spoke it, deep in his throat: Rrrh!

  With a centuries-old creak, the door to Floor Forty-Three finally clicked open.

  2.

  The same could be said of Rosa’s mouth, though that fell open rather than clicked open. “How did you do that? You made a noise like a firebird.”

  “I heard it in my head when I saw the symbol.”

  “The firebirds talk dragontongue?”

  “Don’t know,” he said, lifting his shoulders. “I just heard the noise. And a different translation. ‘Sometimes’ is the nearest we can get to it in Co:pern:ican. It really means ‘all things that are possible are probable.’ And it’s … big.”

  “Big?” she prompted him, becoming impatient. She glanced at the door, barely open a crack. It was moving slightly as if a breeze were blowing from the other side.

  Like you could imagineer a universe by saying it, he thought. But instead he said this: “It sounded like Runcey with a sore throat. Is he …?”

  “Runcey’s fine,” Rosa sighed. “And much as I love this idle chitchat, can we do it another time, please?” She gestured toward the door.

  “OK, go on. I’ll follow you in.”

  “Uh-uh,” she said, clutching her arms. “You first.”

  “Why should I go first? You’re the one who’s insisting on doing the exploring.”

  “It might be dangerous.”

  “My point exactly!”

  “Oh, David, just … open the door.” She put herself behind him and shoved.

  Warily, he gripped the old brass handle and opened the door just wide enough to poke his head around it.

  “What can you see?”

  He waved her quiet. “Bones. The bones of a thousand dragons.”

  “Whaaat?”

  He pulled his head back. “Oh, and some books.”

  With one big push, he swung the door open.

  He wasn’t lying (about the books). Rosa stepped past (having whacked him again) into a room full of written wonder. It smelled of dust and paper and wood, of sunlight on wood, of the settlement of age. It was enormous, ten times the size of any room she’d seen on the lower floors. Strangely, the shelves were set within the body of the room and could be accessed from either side, it seemed. Dozens of them, placed at angles, like a maze. All of them neatly arranged with books.

  “Wow,” Rosa said, trailing her fingers over a few spines.

  David, following just a few steps behind her, was reading the names of the authors. “They’re in order,” he muttered.

  “This is amazing,” Rosa said, taking no notice. “Why do you think it’s been hidden from us?” She disappeared from view around the end of a shelf.

  “Rosa, we should stay together,” he warned her. They were used to the peculiarities of the floors they knew. But this was different. There was something strange about these books. David could feel them pulling him in all directions, whispering, as if they were begging to be read. He ran to catch up, but Rosa was several shelves ahead already and all he saw was a swish of her skirt. He doubled his pace and called out again. His voice, lifted by the space around him, drifted into the high ceiling. Looking up, he saw patterns in the ancient plaster. A system of stars. Planets. A universe. Flying long and flat among the stars were dragons.

  With a bump, he found Rosa again.

  “Watch where you’re going,” she tutted. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and showed him a book. “These are weird. I can’t make out their genre.”

  He took it from her as she walked away. Alicia in a Land of Wonder. Inside was the normal printed text, but here and there were drawings of grotesque people in even more grotesque clothing, plus what appeared to be pictures of animals, though the only one David faintly recognized was a katt with an oversized, hideous grin. “Did you read any of this?”

  “No,” Rosa said, scanning the shelves higher up.

  “It’s got amazing auma. Do you think anyone will miss it?”

  Before Rosa could respond, their attention was drawn by a clanking sound farther down the room. A firebird had landed on a large metal sign suspended by two long chains from the ceiling. It let out a shrill rrrh!

  “Oh, no,” Rosa gasped. “That’s the red one that attacked you. Run!”

  “Wait,” David said, but she had already gone. With a whoosh, the bird took off, leaving the sign swinging and the chains creaking. The last thing David became aware of before he ran off in pursuit of Rosa was the lettering on the sign, beating its rhythm against his eyes:

  FICTION

  3.

  The red firebird, Azkiar, swooped low over David’s head and landed on a shelf, displacing multiple clouds of dust. Unsure whether to run or confront it, David found himself stumbling down unexplored lanes between the shelves. He was going to be lost, very quickly, he knew. But at least he was drawing the bird away from Rosa. If she could make it to the door, she would be free to bring help. And what was the worst that could happen: more sleep?

  When he turned down a lane that ended in a wall, he realized that question would soon have an answer. He skidded to a halt and looked back. Azkiar had landed on the uppermost shelf at the far end of the lane. David backed up until the wall stopped him. He was half-concealed in shadow and could see the bird’s sharp eyes adjusting to the light. Making hardly a sound, it opened its wings and glided closer, crossing to the shelves on the opposite side. Now it was just four sections away — twenty paces at most.

  Books. They were David’s only defense. He hated the idea of using them as missiles, but what other choice did he have? He was still holding on to Alicia in a Land of Wonder, but that was quite small as literary weapons went. He grabbed another one of better weight and turned to face the bird. “Stay back. I don’t want to hurt you. I mean no harm here. I … I like books.” And how hypocritical was that, with four hundred pages of something by the author Steven Kinge ready to be launched from the end of his arm?

  Azkiar fluttered across the lane once more. Too close, David thought. He hurled the Kinge.

  Before he could grab for another, he bore witness to one of the most dramatic and distressing events of his life. As the book flew foward, Azkiar unlatched his jaw and let forth a burst of orange fire. It engulfed the book while it was still in midair and turned it into a crackling fireball. A small corner of the spine, not instantly consumed, fell to the floor and jumped around painfully as the flames fizzled out. Black leaves edged with bright red cinders drifted in flurries over the shelves. A small part of the librarium had been destroyed. All around him, David could sense the building’s sorrow. He could almost hear pages folding in grief.

  “What do you want?” he shouted.

  Azkiar responded by leaving the shelves and hovering in the air in front of David. The bird’s
ear tufts were up and glowing scarlet, the frills around his neck like spikes of steel. There was anger and passion in his unwavering gaze. The kind of look that said trespassers were definitely not welcome. David took a deep breath. He had nothing but his honesty with which to shield himself now. He stepped forward, out of the shadows.

  He braced himself for a burst of fire, but it did not happen. Instead, a subtle change occurred in the firebird’s expression. It tipped its beak down and swiveled its eyes forward. Those eyes grew very round indeed and blinked several times before settling to a stare. Whatever mech:anism governed the way they took in light extended to its maximum, making the eyeballs shine like mirrors — until David could see himself reflected in them, playing back like a pin-sized movie.

  Was he imagineering this or did the bird look puzzled?

  “Please,” he tried again. “I mean you no harm. Let me go and I’ll —”

  He never got the chance to complete his sentence. With incredible versatility of movement, the firebird rose up and simply flew away.

  “OK,” David muttered, blowing with relief. He had no idea why the bird had let him go. But it had, and he needed to be out of there — fast. He crouched down and touched what was left of the Kinge, to offer it what little compassion he could. Reminded that he still had the strange Alicia, he glanced at the cover again. For the first time in months (spins, even?) he extended his auma and let it commingle with the auma of the book. To his amazement, it seemed to reach right into him. It was ready to forgive. And it wanted to be read. So definite. Almost like a dying request. He slipped it into his jacket pocket, then tiptoed to the end of the lane and looked around the shelves for signs of more firebirds — or Rosa. Why, he wondered, had she not come to his aid? Maybe she was lost? Or hiding somewhere? He called her name. It floated like a living thing among the shelves. When he followed it, it brought him back to the doorway and Floor Forty-Two.