The Last Dragon Chronicles: Fire World: Fire World (25 page)

arm. Her head jerked violently as if something had bitten her. And though she did not wake, the wound began to burn with a blue-white flame.

“What  have  you  done?”  coughed Primrose, backing away.

“What do you mean, what have I done?”

“Look at her arm, at the marks you gouged. You’ve branded her with the symbol of Agawin.”

Aunt Petunia shook her head in fear and

confusion. She let the auma pad fall from

her hand.

“Run, dear,” said Primrose. “We’ve got to run away.” She hurried to the door, pulling her sister with her. Such was their haste that her foot struck the auma pad and knocked it under the burning bed. But it mattered nought to the Aunts any more. They had failed. The only thing now was escape. Primrose unlocked the door and dragged her sister out.

Almost   immediately,   two   things happened. The cages surrounding Aurielle and Azkiar de:constructed as quickly as they’d formed. Both birds were now free, but too dizzy to fly. To Aurielle’s relief, she heard wingbeats through the crackling flames. She looked up expecting to see a host of firebirds coming through the window to quench the fire. But only one

had landed on the sill. Her heart rate tripled and her ear tufts rose.
 
Aubrey?
 
she said. The bird in the window had his features, but there was something horribly wrong about it. There was no colour in the feathers. No kindness in the eyes. And why was there a line of fresh green blood congealing around the ruff of the neck?

Suddenly, it twisted its head to one side, clearly aware of something coming. Only then did Aurielle see that it was carrying an item in its beak. It looked as if it might be a nesting twig, but she was too far away to be sure. The bird was gone before she could decide. And after two or three secs of empty sky, David Merriman scrabbled through the window.

“Rosa!” he yelled. He came powering across the floor, using his arm to shield

his face from the flames. He didn’t even look at Azkiar and Aurielle as he dropped to his knees to lift Rosa up. But the two firebirds were busy in their own right by then, barking orders at the twenty or so more that had just flown into the room. David turned, with Rosa in his arms, to see the fire being consumed by a host of brightly-coloured birds.

When it was done and the birds were settled, on any (cool) perch they could find, David looked at them all and spoke the only word of dragontongue he knew.
 
Sometimes
. Every bird sat up, their ear tufts raised. One by one they set their gaze on Aurielle, who spread her wings and hovered in front of the humans. She replied, in her own form of dragontongue. And though David did not understand her

little
 
rrrh
 
he knew from its tone it was a kindness, a greeting. He nodded at Aurielle and she at him.

Welcome back, David
 
, the firebird had said.

Now the librarium was his.

Part Three

which has its beginnings

on the Isle of Alavon,

a long-forgotten area of

the Dead Lands

also March 7 032

1

Harlan Merriman and Bernard Brothertonwere transported to the Dead Lands, atnight, by penal taxicar. They wereescorted there by two Re:movers (Pin-striped and Plain). The prisoners were notallowed   any  possessions,   only  theminimal clothes they were dressed in. Andalthough neither man was formally bound,the Re:movers ordered them to sit with

their hands clearly visible on their knees. All speech was forbidden. The use of fain, the prisoners were warned, would be considered a grave violation of the terms of their re:moval from the Grand Design. When Bernard rather foolishly asked, “What
 
terms
?” he was rewarded with a

bolt of charge from a scanner. The shock of it left his four limbs shaking and froth bubbling from the corners of his mouth. Harlan, careful not to show any form of dissent, gathered the wounded tech:nician in his arms. The Re:movers let this pass. It was the only concession they made to either captive throughout the remainder of the journey.

When the taxicar finally slowed to a halt, the doors opened with a crisp whoosh and the man-machines stepped out in perfect synchrony. They ordered the prisoners to move. The scientists stumbled down a short metal ramp, onto a dark, desolate,   odourless   wilderness   very similar to that which Eliza Merriman had

encountered. The land was mostly flat in all directions and barely seemed able to

sustain a blade of grass. Here and there, thanks to the few rays of moonlight finding outlets through the clouds, a rough cast of stone could be seen jutting out of the sterile surface. There was no sign of water, certainly no food. Nothing on any horizon but the promise of loneliness.

Bernard began to shiver. It was cold here.
 
Very cold
, Harlan thought. Nothing like the carefully controlled environments either man was used to in Co:pern:ica Central.

Pin-stripe spoke. “Harlan Merriman, Bernard Brotherton, your citizenship of Co:pern:ica is revoked. You will remain in the Dead Lands until you expire by any means. This is by order of an Aunt Su:perior. This is the will of the Higher.”

With that, the Re:movers climbed into

their taxicar and were gone.

Bernard dropped to his knees, sinking his bones into the gluey earth.

“Come on,” Harlan said, touching him gently on the shoulder. “We have to go.”

“Where to?” Bernard begged, throwing his arms wide. “Look around you, Harlan. Everywhere leads to nowhere. We’re doomed.”

“You’ve heard the stories,” Harlan said. “There are communities here. People survive. If we stay where we are the cold will kill us. We must walk, Bernard. It’s our only chance.”

The tech:nician dropped his stubby hands flat against his thighs. “In which direction? We can’t even use our fain to guide us.”

“I’d say our best bet lies that way,”

said Harlan. He nodded at something shimmering in the distance.

Bernard squinted for a focal point. “Are they…
 
torches
 
?” he whispered, gathering hope into his voice. He scrabbled to his feet for a better look. Away to their right, on one of the rolling parts of the landscape, several specks of light were dancing in the darkness.

“Let’s find out,” said Harlan. And he began to pick his way across the turf to meet them.

“What if they’re hostile?” Bernard stood his ground. There were many rumours about life in the Dead Lands. Not all of them were kind.

“There’s little point in running,” Harlan replied. “They’ll catch us if we try. Whoever they are, they’re used to this

terrain; we’re not.”

“We could wait. Lie low. Assess them

as they pass.”

Harlan flicked his eyes towards the lights again. “They’re heading this way. They know we’re here. They probably saw the taxicar or monitored its flare.”

“Then I suppose our fate is sealed,” Bernard sighed. And without another word, he fell into step behind his colleague.

It wasn’t long before the approachinglights began to illuminate the shapes ofmen. There were six in total, but threewere carrying two torches each. Harlanfound this reassuring. It suggested to himthat these people were used to taxicardrops and had brought extra torches for

newcomers to hold. As the group drew close, a youngish man at the front doused a failing torch in a puddle of water. The sudden fizzle made Bernard jump.

The young man quickly put him at ease. “Friends, we mean you no harm.” He signalled to a shaggy-haired member of the group who stepped forward with two bundles of clothing. All the men were wearing shin-length robes, tied at the waist  by  a  short  brown  cord.   “I recommend you undress,” the young man said.

Harlan, not questioning, took off hisjacket.

“Leave it on the ground,” said the manwith the clothing.

This was too much for Bernard. “Why? What’s the point of this?”

The young man stabbed his torch intothe ground, took a robe and let it fall openin his hands. “This will be considerablywarmer, trust me. Regular clothing offerslittle protection to you here, and it willdeteriorate quickly.”

“And it’s probably full of tracers,” aman with broken spex put in.

“Trackers to monitor our movements?”

Bernard asked.

The young man looked at him kindly. “No, friend, to take bets on how long yousurvive.” He offered the robe up. Thistime, Bernard took it.

“You’ll also need these.” An older manwith cheekbones as prominent as his nosestepped forward. He handed Harlan a pairof sandals. They were basic and fairlyshapeless, with a toe-post between the big

toe and the next. “Travelling the marsh land is tiring without them. They will help to spread your weight and keep you balanced. In the morning, we’ll find you a better fit.”

Lastly, the young man gave Harlan atorch. Harlan received it well. There was

something oddly comforting about the weight of the wood and the scent of fire in his nostrils. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Renegades, like you,” the young man replied. “Left here by a dying society that wrongly believes we were the cause of its ailments. My name is Mathew Lefarr and we are the Followers of Agawin. Let me lead you to our shelter. We can talk along the way.”

He signalled to the shaggy-haired man, who put his torch to the bundle of clothing.

When the fire had taken, the group movedoff in the direction from which Harlan had

first seen the lights. “Agawin?” he asked, having to work to keep pace with Lefarr’s trained stride. “I’ve heard that name

before, but I don’t recall where. Is he the leader of your tribe?”

Lefarr considered the question for a moment. “What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

“Harlan Merriman.”

“And your companion?”

“Bernard Brotherton.”

“Colleagues or friends?”

“Both,” said Harlan, looking back. Bernard was relaxed now and moving freely, aided by the man who had given out the sandals. “We are scientists – were

scientists – from the Institute of Realism in

Phys:ics.”

“At what level?”

“Professor.   Bernard   was   my

tech:nician.”

Lefarr nodded, taking this in. “Do youknow where you are, Professor? Did the Aunts or Re:movers tell you where you’dbe dropped?”

“The Dead Lands. That’s all they said.”

“The Dead Lands are vast,” Lefarrexplained. “You are in a sector called Alavon, which we believe was once hometo the seer, Agawin, whose legend wefollow.”

Harlan  glanced  around  him.   Thisdreadful, inhospitable place offered littlepromise of ‘home’ to anyone. Even so hesaid, “Sounds like an interesting story.”

“You will learn more of it in time,”

Mathew said.

They slogged on for another few paces. Despite the cold he could feel in all hisextremities (the toes were probably theworst), Harlan could detect his bodywarmth building and feel it being retainedby the fabric of his robe. “How do youknow the name of this region?” he asked. “I’d always assumed that everythingoutside of Central was uncharted.”

A frail smile broke across Mathew’s

face. “The Dead Lands were mapped many spins ago.”

“Oh? How do you know that?”

Lefarr looked sideways at him. “It’s the reason I’m here.” He took a larger step over a pool of water, urging Harlan to copy what he did. “Take care. The ground here is very boggy. It can suck a man

down in a single draw. Go in too far and we have no way of pulling you out. Don’t talk, just follow. Till we reach the higher levels.”

Harlan looked up. Now that his eyeshad adjusted to the darkness, the contoursof the land were easier to see. Some two

hundred paces ahead the ground curved up in a gentle, extended slope. The men behind Harlan were preparing for the climb by organising themselves into single file. At the risk of annoying his host he asked, “What’s over the ridge?”

“History,”   said   Lefarr.   “Now, concentrate and follow.”

The next fifty paces were some of the longest of Harlan’s life. Twice he was stopped by shouts from behind when one or other of the men (thankfully not

Bernard) lost their footing and had to berescued by their companions. Lefarr, whoseemed to cope better than any with thetreacherous conditions, went back on bothoccasions to offer his help. If he wasn’t aleader, he deserved to be. That made Harlan think again about the origins of thename Agawin. It was reverberating roundhis skull like an echo, yet he could not puta time nor a memory to it. An answer layover the ridge, perhaps? That intriguingpromise, as much as the threat ofsubmersion in the marsh, sharpened hisattention for the final part of the trek. Theslope   was   reached   without   furtherincident, and by the time they could walkand talk again at leisure, Harlan’s mindhad drifted back to the latter part of hisconversation.   “You   said   you  were