Fire Star (16 page)

N
o way,” David said. “You’re out of your mind.”

Bergstrom took a swig of water from a bottle. “It’s my duty to protect my bears and their habitat.”

“Tell that to Liz; she’ll never go along with murdering Gawain.”

“The choice is between one petrified dragon and a disaster of global proportions, David.”

“Not petrified. Flying. Big sharp claws. Neither you nor I could take out a dragon.”

“No, but a pack of polar bears could. When he swoops to the ice, the bears will be waiting.”

“Not an option,” said David, sick inside at the thought of the clash. “Why can’t we send Gawain through the
portal? If the Fain revere dragons, why wouldn’t they take him?”

“They probably would. But you’re forgetting what happened to Gawain. If he wakes, he will sweep the ice and learn what became of his fire tear.”

“How?”

“He’s a dragon, David. A servant of the Earth. He knows, instinctively, about her structure. He’ll destroy the ice trying to take it back. And that would be worse than a dragon invasion. Now do you appreciate how serious this situation is?”

David sighed and laced his fingers round the back of his head. “Why is this even happening, Doctor? When Zanna and I confronted Gwilanna we robbed her of the scale of Gawain she carried. You told me if that was returned to the island, Gawain would go peacefully back to the clay.”

“And he would have,” said Bergstrom, throwing his weight against his chair and rolling it back to the end of the bookshelves. He took a small silver key from a jacket hanging there. “But I have since discovered other
pieces of the dragon are still extant. Without them, Gawain can never be at rest.”

“Then you’d better get searching, fast. There’s no way I’m going dragonslaying.”

“I’ve accounted for all but one piece.”

“Then let’s find it, return it, and get this thing over with.”

“If it was that simple,” the scientist snarled, “don’t you think I would have done so by now?”

The standoff produced a few seconds of silence. David turned away, adopting a slightly more submissive pose. “OK, so what’s the problem?”

Bergstrom thrust the key into the desk drawer lock, pausing again as he twisted it. “It’s hidden from me, protected by a force that even your wishing dragon can’t track down.”

“What, like someone’s put a hex on it?”

“I’m not sure. Lucy has discovered Gawain’s isoscele: the tip of his tail: one of the most potent talismans of dragonkind there is. There were no charms covering that.”

“Lucy? With a talisman? Can she use it?”

“No, not as yet. But Lucy is going through rapid changes. She is related to the sibyl, Gwendolen, and may well inherit some of her powers.”

“Where is this talisman?”

“With her, on the island.”

“With
her? What if Gwilanna finds it?”

“I’m confident she won’t. Any vibration given off by the piece will be lost in the general auma of the island.”

“Yeah, but Lucy can blab for America. She’ll —”

“Lucy is in a hibernation state, protected by a female polar bear; Gwilanna will let her be for now, grateful that she does not have to cope with the girl through the coming months of darkness.”

“And what happens when they wake?”

“If the final dragon piece is still not found, we could try to use Ingavar to block Gwilanna’s power.”

“
Ingavar?
My character?”

“He’s real, David. You drew him into Chamberlain. The wounded bear who attacked you by the trading
post is the one you encountered in your mind. You tapped into the universal auma of the north and from it latched onto a descendant of Ragnar. He is in possession of his ancestor’s tooth. That makes him a very powerful ally. The island has a spiritual link with the bears. Ingavar should be able to monitor any movement of rock or dragon. He could yet turn out to be our savior.”

The window rattled. More snowflakes melted sweetly on the glass. David shook his head, trying to take this in. Ingavar. Real, after all? “Why wouldn’t you admit this back at the research base when you let me have it for being reckless?”

“You’re a loose cannon, David. Sometimes, I have to rein you in. Discipline and patience are not your strengths.”

That didn’t make the student feel much better. He sighed and pouted and thought back to his story. “So Ingavar got the tooth after all?”

“Yes,” said Bergstrom. “And his rise has been the
trigger for more movement. Bears loyal to the line of Ragnar are gathering from all over the Arctic. They will reach the island by the end of winter. You can follow their progress with these.” He slid the drawer open and handed David a small brown envelope.

David split the seal. Inside were three items: a clay pencil and pad, and an unmarked floppy disk. He gave a nod of resignation. More reining in. “So it
was
you who took them. Groyne is yours?”

“Forgive me, I had no choice,” said Bergstrom, shaking his blond hair off his collar. “Gwilanna was tracking your every move. I couldn’t run the risk that you might give her too much information through your writing.”

“And this?” David took out the disk.

“Your saga, reproduced from a printout in my office. As your instructor, I took the liberty of making corrections; you still have much to learn about the ice and the bears.”

David dropped the disk back into the envelope. His gaze, for want of somewhere different to settle, focused on the spines of the nearest row of books. Bizarrely, he
spotted the name “Lono” on one, as he had done once in Henry Bacon’s study. “You want me to continue with the story?”

“It’s what your publisher — and hopefully your public — would want.”

“And you, Dr. Bergstrom? What do you want? What if I write that a bear called Thoran dies at the hand of an evil sibyl?”

With a stare as cool as glacial ice, Bergstrom replied, “You will write what comes to you. That’s the way it is. I have no control over where your mind wanders, but there’s something you ought to know about that. The Fain work in the realms of higher consciousness, creating events in much the same way that a writer makes real his imagination on the page. In that state, words, like thoughts, become living things.”

“So be careful what you wish for, it might come true?”

“Exactly. You are on the edge of that ability, David. Your talent is raw, but growing in strength. Your dragon, Gadzooks, has been testing the boundaries in a bid to
understand where inspiration comes from. Like G’reth, he was looking to the stars. Into the unseen shadows of the universe. It’s my belief that people like you are dipping, unawares, into dark matter, into the thought world of the Fain. You may even be evolving toward them.”

David paused to take a reality check. “Are you telling me I’m some kind of alien, now?”

“Missing link would be a better description. You, and others like you, are the product of human evolution and the memory of the Fain. If you need proof, just look into the sky. There is a fire star shining. Astronomers the world over have failed to report it. But you can see it. So can your dragons. Whatever happens in February, David, you have a vital role to play.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You wait — and write. The fire star reaches its zenith on the fourteenth of that month.”

“Valentine’s Day? That should please Zanna. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do? Help to find this dragon piece, maybe? Is it possible it’s hidden in the
dark matter realm? When Gadzooks is back online I could write about it, see what he comes up with?”

Bergstrom shook his head. “You’re commissioned to write an Arctic saga. All I want of you in the next three months is to live the life of a bear — on the page.”

That brought a sharp lump to David’s throat. During the writing of his Arctic scenes he had felt as if he was padding along with a bullet in his shoulder and the wind in his fur. He turned and glanced into the bleak gray sky. The snow was falling at a lesser rate now as if completion was close on all sides. “When will I hear from you?”

“When the time is right. Be patient, David. When we move, we move
very
quickly. Go home now. Elizabeth needs you. Please don’t speak of these things to her. When this is over, you may tell her all you know.”

David gave a minimal nod. “How do you know Liz needs me?”

Bergstrom leveled his hand. A small white dragon materialized in it. “This is Groyne,” he said.

David stared at him closely. In some ways Groyne
was more of a bird than a dragon. Like a soapstone sculpture of a bird. A caricature, almost. “Is he one of Liz’s?”

“No, but he watches over her at times.”

David nodded again, wondering how often Groyne had been in the house at Wayward Crescent. “Why did you have him release Gretel?”

Bergstrom reached out and stroked Groyne’s spine. “The potions dragon is very powerful. In cooping her up, Elizabeth ran the risk of losing her allegiance. But the decision was not entirely my doing.”

“You sent him.”

“I gave the order, yes, but the thought was heavily impressed on me. That came from another source.”

“The Fain?”

“That, I don’t know. But what took place after Gretel was released was not engineered by me. When G’reth inhaled that burning flower, his reaction to it was so intense that he connected to a deeper realm of the universe. Something wanted him out there, David.”

“The force that’s keeping the dragon piece hidden?”

“Possibly. Now, you must go.” He moved his free hand over Groyne’s head, morphing him into the talisman he carried, the one made from a narwhal’s tusk.

“Versatile little critter.”

“Go,” said Bergstrom. A command this time, not a suggestion.

David backed away, feeling a chilling desire to drop items of his clothing in his wake. At the door he asked, “If I’m part-Fain, what are you?”

“All things to all men. I am who you see.”

“Anders Bergstrom?”

“Sometimes,” said the scientist.

I
t took half an hour to trudge home in the snow. David, his head full of alien invasions, found Liz in the kitchen, sobbing into a tissue. Henry Bacon was at her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” David asked, darting glances at them both.

“Mrs. P.’s had a bit of bad news,” said Henry.

David crouched down beside her. “Is it Lucy?”

“No, it’s Bonnington.”

David glanced around the kitchen. He saw Bonnington’s cat carrier, open near his food bowl. The cat himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Been to the vet with the cat,” said Henry.

“You
have?”

“Couldn’t let Mrs. P. drive in this weather.”

“What’s wrong?” asked David, lightly shaking her knee.

A fountain of sobs left Liz’s throat. “He has a swelling under his tongue. That’s why he’s been dribbling and pushing his food around. He hasn’t been able to eat properly.”

David swallowed hard. “Can they do anything?”

Liz buried her wet face into his shoulder.

“Oh, no,” David whispered, putting his arms around her. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Henry gave a quiet cough. “Well, I’ll be off. You’ll call, if you need me, Mrs. P.?”

“Yes,” she said, touching the corner of his jacket. “Thank you.”

Henry nodded in salute and let himself out. As the door closed, David clasped Liz’s hands. They felt small and frail. She was shaking lightly. He pressed them till she made eye contact. So little green behind the cloaking tears. “How long? How long has he got?”

Liz shook her head, her hair corkscrewing around her cheeks. “The vet’s not sure. He wants to look at him again, after Christmas.”

Some Christmas,
David thought. No Lucy. Bonny dying. And the prospect of a battle to save the world looming. He took a deep breath, careful not to shudder. “Look, this may not be the best time to mention this, but what about Golly?”

Liz shook her head again. “No one lives forever, David. Not even Bonny. I think this is beyond Golly’s range of abilities.”

“But he’s a healing dragon. There must be
something
he can do? Where are they anyway?” he said, looking up. He hadn’t seen a single dragon since he’d walked in. Odd. Gretel never missed a scene like this. And where was the ever-attentive Gwillan? Stranger still, the listening dragon was not on the fridge.

Just then, he heard a noise upstairs. It was a dragon
hrrr,
but a concentrated one, as if they had all breathed fire at once. “They’re in the den,” he muttered. “Something’s going on.”

He was there in seconds. He burst in to find all the special dragons, including G’reth, arranged in a circle on Liz’s workbench. Their eyes were closed and they were holding paws, murmuring softly in dragonsong. In the center of the circle was the stone dragon, Grockle, still curled up in the remains of his basket.

“Liz!” David shouted, but she was only just behind him.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good.”

He gave a quick start as their eyes slid open. Each was staring at a point just above Grockle’s body, creating a cone of violet light. At the apex of the cone, what looked like a holographic image of a dragon flickered into view. It had the same basic shape as a Pennykettle sculpture, but it was shimmering as though it was made from crystal, and its eyes were a swirl of violet and blue. Something fluid was sparkling in its paws.

Liz shook her head in awe. “Is that a fire tear?” she whispered.

“No,” said David, quick to work it out. “That’s Bonnington’s saliva. I really don’t like this….”

But even if he’d known how to safely break the circle, he would not have had time to stop the drop falling. It dripped into the center of Grockle’s stone eye, turning the iris a deep dark amber. The circle of dragons opened their mouths and blew a cloud of red smoke over his body. To David’s amazement, it began to collect around Grockle’s snout, where it billowed … then disappeared into his nostrils. “Oh my God, he’s breathing,” he said.

Slowly, color seeped back into the body. The scales began to soften, unfuse, and lift. The claws retracted. The isoscele turned. From the throat came the all too familiar throw of air. A frozen eye slid fully open. And where there had once been stone, there was life.

The Pennykettle dragons turned to the window, where snow was spilling in on a chute of air.

“No!” David shouted, diving forward, reaching out to pull the window shut. But Grockle had already taken off for it, kicking his empty basket aside. He was
barely halfway through when David grabbed the latch and narrowed the gap. For a moment, it seemed as though he might have succeeded. Grockle was pinned just under his wings. But as David tried to grab him, the tail flicked out, lashing David’s wrist. The tenant cried out in pain and relaxed just enough for Grockle to wriggle the critical extra inch he needed for freedom. He gave one fierce shriek as his trailing foot snagged between the closing window and the frame, ripping out a back claw in the process. It wasn’t enough to prevent his escape.

David turned to Liz and gasped, “What do we do? How do we call him back?”

“We can’t,” she said, her eyes full of fear.

“But he’s a dragon,” David said, clamping his wrist to stem the flow of blood.

A dragon. At large. Among humankind again.