“What have you done to Gawain?”
“Ohhh, dragons,” he sighed, flicking his tail, “such a flawed and rather outdated design. Why are humans so obsessed with them? Ah, but I’m forgetting. You’re not entirely human. What do the Higher label you, child?”
“Angel,” she said. “They call me Angel.”
“A good term,” he conceded. “A powerful name. Angel: part dragon, part Fain, part human … part bear, even?”
She felt Gollygosh gulp and prayed he wouldn’t rattle. “No,” she said. “I couldn’t be a bear.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m not very good at sneaking up on people.”
Voss was quick to note this deceit. Was that a hint of eagerness in her voice? Certainly a glitch in the corner of her eye. Treachery was subtly at work in the girl.
Something was approaching him from behind….
Too late, Kailar was on him. And unlike the previous attack on the darkling, Voss was allowed no time to turn. Kailar had stalked him since his landing, using every skill his mother had taught when hunting for slippery, nervous seals. The long, low crouch. The brush of paws hidden in the sigh of a breeze. The silent, deadly leap.
He was exploding through the air as Alexa was finishing her final sentence. Any normal creature, even one of above-human height like Voss, would have crumpled under his immense weight. But Voss had speed and preternatural strength. Not only did he absorb the impact, he opened his wings and lifted the gallant bear off the sea. Out from the notches in his stooping spine came four venomous triangular thorns. Kailar howled as the spikes ground in. (Bears reporting to Avrel later claimed they could feel the fighting bear’s pain, even though they were miles away.) Blood emerged in spurts from each wound, turning Kailar’s undersides red. When the thorns had done their grisly work, Voss withdrew them, letting his attacker slide off his back and fall down with a sorry crump. In his enraged state, the Prime turned and blasted the sea around Kailar with a wide spray of dark fire. It traveled a hundred searing paces. G’reth’s amazing wish was shattered. The Great Sea roared and ran wild again.
At the same time in all directions, bears were pitched into open water. Those who made it back to shore (carried on the huge incoming waves), told how Voss had attacked without mercy, killing bears freely — to be sure, perhaps, that Kailar was dead. Whatever the reason, their champion, their noble leader in battle, descendant of the bear who gave the Tooth of Ragnar its name, was not seen by any of the survivors. He was dead, they claimed. Assumed drowned.
It was not just bears thrown into the water. When Voss struck, the Pennykettle dragons were swept right out of Alexa’s hands and sent tumbling through the heaving waves. Swimming was not something that came naturally to them (there’d been very little call for it at Wayward Crescent). They could do it, of course. Any dragon could. And they were experts at shielding their fire in water (holding their smoke, they called it). Even so, a lot of shape changes took place before they decided that Gwendolen was the one to get them to the surface, where they could look for Alexa again.
The dragon spread her wings and stabilized their fall. But as she kicked her feet and arrowed her tail she was aware of Kailar sinking beside her. Her heart wrenched as she saw his paws moving, stirring up the blood spilling out of his wounds. Despite the severity of his injuries, he was still bravely fighting for life. Still, in his mind, defending Alexa. Gwendolen called on the others for assistance. What could be done to help the bear? Nothing, was the distressed answer from Gretel. The water had washed her flowers away. What did the guard dragon’s book suggest? Gruffen took shape and opened it. Amazingly, the pages did not become water-logged and none of the printed words were blurred. He repeated Gwendolen’s question: What could be done to save the bear? The pages fluttered and stopped at I. One word appeared there: Isenfier.
Isenfier. None of them knew what it meant. And time was running out for Kailar. The bear, though instinctively treading water, was still going down, not up. Bubbles were streaming out of his nose. There was only one possible option left. Gadzooks took shape and wrote the word on his pad.
The response was a little vague. All the same, the universe heard his intent and sent him an instant reply: BLOW. The word arrived in his ear like a mote of dust (or maybe an off-course plankton), spoken, he thought, by Elizabeth Pennykettle.
“Blow,” he transmitted to the others.
“What?” said Gretel, ever the skeptic.
Gadzooks didn’t bother to repeat the word. He just did what dragons do best: breathed fire.
Out into the water went his breath. Instantly, it turned to ice.
HRRR!
The others saw it and quickly understood. They were born of Gawain, the maker of ice. And ice, they knew, floated on water. They swam under Kailar and made the largest raft they could. Lo and behold, as it began to take shape, it lifted the stricken bear to the surface.
And bobbed up under their worst nightmare.
Voss had been carefully scanning the water for signs of Alexa or her body. His surprise at seeing Kailar, on a tablet of ice, was only bettered by his intrigue about Gadzooks.
Gadzooks backed up to Kailar’s flank. The bear was breathing thinly, too weak to stand.
Voss flashed his tail and circled it tight around Zookie’s middle. He yanked the little creature close to his face. “The mysterious tapestry dragon,” he said. “So, we meet at last. What is your name, creature?”
“His name is Gadzooks,” said an unexpected voice. “A foolish-sounding name, I grant you. But it literally translates as ‘claws of Godith.’ Which makes him rather powerful, Father.”
Voss whirled around to see Gwilanna on the far side of the ice. Beside her was a boy in a shimmering robe. No other humans were near. Voss’s attention was briefly taken by a darkling spluttering out of the sky. The third he’d seen drop in as many minutes. “How did you get here? How are you even alive?”
“I was called,” she answered truthfully. “The dragon you’re crushing invoked my auma. He does things like that. Elizabeth, I now see, was very blessed. Surely Zanna warned you about them?”
Voss twisted Gadzooks like a pepper grinder. Yes, the Pri:magon had talked about these creatures. Dragons from clay. He’d paid it no attention.
He did now.
“Who’s the boy?”
“My grandson … in a manner of speaking.” She pinched his perfect cheek. “Joseph is also remarkably powerful. It was him who freed me from your construct and gave me back my … shape.”
Voss eyed Joseph Henry with suspicion.
“He’s kindly offered me a chance of redemption for all the misdemeanors I’ve committed.”
“Grandma?” he tutted.
“Oh, very well. I suppose I was plain bad sometimes.”
In the distance, the island finally erupted. Fire arcs lit the sky. Wave after wave of them. Trail upon trail. Breaking up steadily into stars.
The boy said, “Alexa has opened the core.”
“She sends her apologies,” the sibyl added. “She came to the island seeking help from her father and had to avert a major crisis. There’s been a little problem with G:ravity, apparently. Thanks to you, our universe is in danger of collapsing into Quantum.”
“Quantum?” sneered Voss.
“Your sea of white fire. The world we mistakenly ‘budded’ from. Oh dear, am I sounding like Arthur Merriman?”
“Yes,” said Joseph.
“A little knowledge and we all become scientists,” she sighed.
“Be silent!” said Voss.
“Oh, do calm down,” Gwilanna said coldly. “You’re upsetting the bear.”
Voss’s response was to turn and attempt to kill Kailar for good. But the blast of dark fire he’d gathered in his throat emerged as a slowed-down plasma bubble. Gadzooks had to duck as it clawed at the air, then retreated with a sucking noise into Voss’s mouth. The Shadow Prime grimaced in pain. “What’s hap-pening?” he said, though the words wer
e difficult to speak. He gurgled slightly and the corner of his mouth began to bend inward. One of his thorny hands went to his throat.
“You’re imploding,” said Gwilanna. “Is that the right term?”
“Yes,” said Joseph. “All dark energy is being restored to permissible levels.”
A searing oval of violet light swept out from the island at sea level. At the same time, one of Voss’s knee joints buckled. The line of his waist began to warp. Zigzagging cracks appeared in his chest.
“I don’t understand it either,” said the sibyl, noting the perplexity in Voss’s gaze. Or was that his skull beginning to compress? “You must hate me, Father. This is all my fault. I can’t even offer you a decent skirmish because you’re going to struggle to fly.”
Fittingly, his wings wrapped into his body, pressuring his rib cage against his organs. He cried out as something burst in his gut. It bulged for a moment, then was sucked back in. A shoulder joint failed. A hip caved in. The tail began to wither and shrink. Gadzooks, still caught in the tail, began to struggle.
Joseph tapped his grandmother’s arm. “It’s time, Grandma. The guardians are waiting.”
“Gar … dy … ans?” Voss slurred.
Gwilanna pointed to the sky. The stars that had formed, and were still forming, were popping like fireworks, exploding into sparkling, colorful dragons, no bigger than the size of Gadzooks. One of them dropped down and hurred on Voss’s tail, freeing the grateful Pennykettle dragon. He tipped his snout and hurred back at it. Every one of the guardians suddenly gained a pencil.
“They’ve come to restart time,” said Gwilanna. “They’ve allowed us to keep this sector of the universe as long as time begins in its proper place.”
“At zero,” said Joseph. “All that Is will be restored, with some minor differences.”
Voss’s legs were suddenly sucked into his middle. His head began to melt into the whirlpool of his body.
“That’s got to hurt, hasn’t it?” Gwilanna muttered, pulling an expression of mild abhorrence. “You’ve probably realized, Father, you won’t survive. I don’t suppose there’s any chance that I will, is there?”
“No,” said Joseph.
Gwilanna sighed. “Ah, well. I had a good run. I met dragons. I commingled with the finest one on Earth. I even lived to see where they really come from.” At her back, a silver-colored fire star rose above the island. She stared at Voss, who was now just a howling scrunchbag of darkness. She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “I’m glad the real villain wasn’t me in the end.” And with a whoosh that threw up a minor blizzard, Voss disappeared into a point of no return.
Gwilanna opened her hands. A beautiful fire tear blossomed inside them. In the sky, the sparkling guardians of Quantum all held a fire tear of their own. “So this is it, boy. This is the end for me now?”
“For me, too,” said Joseph, taking her arm.
“Will it be painful?”
“No. Just strange. Think of it as your gift to the world.”
“I will see Elizabeth again, you promise?”
“I promise. I believe she’s expecting us.”
Gwilanna extended her hands, letting the fire tear bobble within them. “A new ice cap. It doesn’t seem much of a gift.”
“It will to him.” Joseph nodded at Kailar.
But the bear had closed his almond eye. And as the north wind stroked his fur and mourned, it was all Gadzooks could do not to shed his spark into the waiting ocean.
Even Gwilanna shuddered. “Stupid lump of fur,” she muttered. “Couldn’t even stay alive for my moment of glory. He was the one who freed me from an ice block when the Ix turned me into a raven, you know.”
“Then now is your chance to thank him,” said Joseph, “and earn the respect of Gaia.”
And so Gwilanna walked over to Kailar’s body and clamped his ear in her one free hand. “Here you are, ice bear, this is for you. Let me be an angel once in my life.”
And legend would record that as the tear of Gawain fell into the ocean, the bear, the sibyl, and the boy who took her hand became immortal.
Frozen in the ice and fire of time.
Wayward Crescent
In the timeline set by the Guardians of Quantum
“David, it’s nearly half past ten. The cars will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Still looking through the albums,” he called.
A floor below, he heard Zanna sigh. “Lexie, go up and fetch him. No. Wait. What’s that on your head? How’ve you managed to get orange peel stuck in your hair? I don’t care. Never mind, just go and get Daddy.”
Feet pounded up the stairs. Seconds later, Alexa ran into the study and plunked herself onto her father’s lap, facing his computer screen.
“You look pretty,” he said, adjusting her so he could still read his manuscript. She was wearing a violet-colored dress and shoes. A green bow wobbled in her wayward hair. “Hmm, oranges,” he said, sniffing her curls.
“Mommy says you’ve got to hurry up.”
“’Twas ever thus,” he hummed.
“What’s this?” She jabbed a finger at the screen.
“A new story. Well, the start of one.”
“About Bonnington?”
“Not this one, no.”
“Daddy, you promised you’d do a story about Bonnington.”
He pinched her around the waist and said, “It’s not your birthday, yet, is it?” He checked the desk calendar. Dangerously close though.
She dropped her shoulders and simultaneously lifted her perfect chin. A gesture that always made Zanna cry, “Action!”
Alexa picked up a pencil and chewed the end.
“Don’t do that.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“You’ll give yourself … pencil poisoning.”
“Mommy says you do it.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why are there teeth marks here and here and …?”
He took it off her and dropped it in his cup with the others.
“Who’s Rosa?” she asked, shaking her hair imperiously. She touched the name on-screen, denting her finger. In a separate window, the character’s avatar appeared.
“She’s a girl. You’d like her.”
“She looks like Mommy.”
“Ten years ago, maybe.”
“Do you love her?”
“Who, Mommy? Of course I love Mommy.”
“Nooo, Rosa.”
“She’s a character, Lexie.”
“Yes, but Mommy says when you write about heroines you’re really writing about her because you find it easier to tell Mommy you love her in a story than when you’re … out shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“Or something.”
There was really no answer to that. I love you, Zanna. Do we need eggs? “Where did you learn a word like ‘heroine’?”
“Mr. Henry taught me.”
“Oh, him again.” Mr. Henry was her “computer tutor.” “Aren’t you tired of the Mr. Henry game? Don’t you want to play some adventure games like …” Normal children, he almost said. “The ones Aunt Lucy makes?”
“Aunt Lucy’s games are all right,” she said, dragging her finger along the edge of his desk. “But Mommy says ‘Librarimum’ —”
“‘Librarium,’” he corrected her.
“— is good because it teaches you things.”
“Not if it gives you a better vocabulary than me.”
“Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”
“Which one of the multitude did I miss?”
“The one about Rosa.”
“What about Rosa?”
“Do you love her?”
David looked at the avatar again. She did bear a strong resemblance to Zanna, though he wasn’t sure Zanna would wear a bracelet made of daisies. “I love them all in a way, even the baddies.”
“The baddies? That’s silly.”
“Well, when you write your first … blockbuste
r you’ll probably feel the same.”
“David, ten minutes!”
The welcome relief of maternal authority. “We’re on our way!”
Though they clearly weren’t.
Alexa rolled her eyes.
“Okay, guilty as charged.” He scrolled the story off-screen, tapping it to bring up the albums database. He double-tapped one called “Mom.” “You can help me choose a picture of Grandma.”
“All right,” said Alexa, resetting herself.
“I’ve narrowed it down to six.” He showed her a montage.
She looked at them carefully and pointed to the one in the center at the bottom.
“Yes, I like that one as well,” he said. It was the oldest picture of the bunch. His mother must have been in her midtwenties. Slim and green-eyed. A beautiful waterfall of red hair was falling halfway to her waist.
“Is that you?” Alexa pointed at the baby in Liz’s arms.
“No, how could it be me? That’s Aunt Lucy. And that’s your great-aunt Sibyl standing behind Grandma — looking like she’s chewed on a lemon, as usual.”
Alexa drew her lips in but didn’t smile. “Why isn’t Grandad in the picture?”
Without thinking, David said, “Grandad Arthur wouldn’t have been there then.”
“Why not?”
“Well —” Hole. Shovel. Deep dark pit. Fortunately, she threw him a rope in her very next sentence.
“Was he in his labradory making spells?”
“Lab-ora-tory. A labradory is … a fancy person’s dog. And Grandad Arthur doesn’t do spells — no matter what the scientific community believes.”
“What does he do, then?
“He swivels in his chair and thinks about things.”
“What things?”
“Oh … little things, mostly. And how the little things make up bigger things, like … toast.”
“Toast?!”
There was a half-eaten piece on a plate on the desk. Not the best example David could have come up with.
And she wasn’t going to let it go. “Grandad Arthur goes to work and thinks about toast?”
“Well, no, I might have been exaggerating there. But if he did think about toast, he’d think about it in a very special way.”