Hrrr! went Gretel, saying something unkind about the hopelessness of Pennykettle dragons in general. She shook herself down, blinding half the guards with a shower of soot, then proceeded to dust the flower petals clean, spitting angrily at David for each one that broke from the head of the flower.
Sucking his hand, he knelt down to her level. “Gretel, what are you doing?”
“Learning,” she hurred. “Flowers hear.”
David looked at the chimney they shared with Henry. “Words, you mean? People talking?”
Gretel raised an eye ridge. “Bring the listener.”
“Watch her,” David whispered to Gruffen, and he hurried downstairs and slipped into the kitchen. Henry Bacon turned to him at once. “Well, boy? Any problem?”
“Nothing we can’t handle. Need this,” he said to Liz, grabbing the listener off the top of the fridge.
Henry’s facial muscles swelled with disbelief. “What the deuce are you up to now?”
A question mirrored in Liz’s face.
“And why are you back so early from the north?”
“Too chilly,” David said. “Didn’t like the cold.” He hugged himself, then shot up the stairs. By now, Gretel had cleaned the petals to a satisfactory state and was busy flicking droplets of water over them.
The listener struggled free from David’s hands and landed on the workbench beside the potions dragon. There was a brief and rapid exchange of dragontongue while Gretel arranged several flowers in her paws. Then she began to sing. It was a lullaby, not unlike the kind of thing Liz would use to calm a restless dragon into sleep. To David’s amazement, the flower petals bristled, then turned toward the sound. Gretel gestured at the listener, who cocked one large and fragile ear, wrapping it close to the centers of the flowers. After a while, its eyes began to open in sheer amazement.
“Well?” asked David.
Ssss! went Gretel.
The listener listened. And listened. And listened. With each revelation, it seemed to grow ever more bewildered and shocked.
“What’s it telling him?” David pressed.
The flowers faded and the listener pulled away. It took off its spectacles and gave them a polish. Then with a jitter, it related what it had heard. It came in broken phrases, some more revealing than others.
“Fire star?” muttered David.
“Gawain?” hurred Gretel. She dropped back onto her haunches, looking slightly frightened.
David bolted downstairs again.
He found Liz in the hall, waving Henry good-bye. “What was all that with the listener?” she asked.
“Go and sit in the living room. We need another cup of tea.”
She caught his arm. “I’d like to know now.” “Gretel has ‘interrogated’ Henry’s pot plants. Gwilanna is going to try to raise Gawain. I think she’s taken Lucy to the Tooth of Ragnar.”
20 RETURN TO CHAMBERLAIN
Going somewhere?”
As he turned to see Zanna, leaning back against the outer wall of the base, idly brushing snow off her flawless mukluks, what startled Tootega the most was the stealth she had used to creep up on him. Here she was, a mere girl, a kabluna, inexperienced in the ways of the hunter. And yet she had stalked him as easily as a bear might ambush a fat and witless seal. It was twenty-five yards to the nearest door and the snow was solid enough to crunch when it broke. How had she closed the gap and made no sound? And even if his ears were bemired with blubber, why had the team of dogs not stirred?
“Nice woofers,” she said, and pushed away from the wall.
Tootega did not understand these words, but his instincts warned him he was being scorned. He hissed at her through broken yellow teeth as she moved among the thirteen panting huskies. Showing no fear, she crouched by the handsome lead dog, Orak, looking deep into his eyes as she gripped the thick fur around his neck and roughed his head back and forth like a doll. Orak growled, but did not snap or bite.
“Good boy,” she said, and held out her glove.
Frightened to see the animal sniffing it, Tootega stepped forward, halfheartedly flicking a sealskin whip. “You go. Leave here.”
“We talk,” said Zanna, using such a mordant edge to her voice that the leather-faced Inuk shuddered and fell back, almost toppling onto his sled.
Zanna stood up, testing the tautness of the ropes that bound furs and tarpaulins over a bundle of hidden possessions. “Heavy load. Doesn’t look like a quick scoot round the bay. Moving igloo, are we?” Tootega swore at her and spat between her feet.
“Nice,” she said, toeing the stain into the snow.
“First you try talismans to scare me away, now your foul smelling, whiskey soaked phlegm.” She pulled off a glove and pushed back her sleeve. “What does this mean, Inuk?”
“He can tell you on the way up to Chamberlain,” said a voice. And there was Bergstrom, walking steadily toward them in a billowing blue windbreaker that rustled at every step.
Tootega whistled the dogs to their feet. “We go now.”
“No,” said Bergstrom, looking absently across the bay. “You take Zanna in the pickup to Chamberlain.” He leveled his blue-eyed gaze at the Inuk. Tootega nodded and backed down instantly.
Zanna dropped her sleeve. “What’s happening in Chamberlain?”
“The bear is ready for release,” said Bergstrom, grimacing against the low, sharp sunlight.
Tootega grunted in his native tongue.
The two men exchanged a short babble of Inuit words, then Bergstrom spoke in English again. “Russ is up there, waiting for you. He’ll fly you to the pack ice where you’ll set the bear free. Enjoy it, Zanna. David would envy you for this.”
Zanna pulled off her bobble hat and tied back her hair. “David quit,” she said. “Let’s roll.”
For the first five minutes on the road to Chamberlain, Zanna said nothing, knowing this would irritate Tootega even more. His anxiety levels, already visible in the whiteness of his knuckles as his hands steered the straight gray road ever north, were at a maximum when she eventually said, “The Inuit, they like stories, right?”
Tootega breathed in deeply. His narrow black eyes remained fixed on the road.
Zanna smiled and folded her arms, shuffling herself into the angle of the seat and the rattling door. “On the flight over, David told me one — set here, in the north, thousands of years ago. He’s not sure how it came to him, but what does that matter? Stories float around like snowflakes, don’t they? They settle on the ears of anyone who’ll listen. It’s about a time when polar bears — nine of them — ruled the ice, lived in packs, and outnumbered men. Sounds corny, right? But then all myths do. Except, David doesn’t think this is a myth. He wouldn’t say so, to your face, but in his heart he believes every word of it is true. He started to write about it while he was up here. Good yarn. Wanna hear it? Gotta pass the time somehow.”
Tootega muttered something under his breath.
“Fine. I’ll take that as a yes,” said Zanna. “So, we’re in this Inuit settlement called Savalik. It’s a small place, somewhere in the Canadian High Arctic. More teeth in a man’s head than occupants, you know? It’s been a bad year for weather, even worse for seals, and the main guy, some hunter — David calls him Oomara — comes back from a hunting trip empty-handed to find his kid, a boy of ten, dead from starvation. So Oomara builds some kind of ceremonial shrine and lays the kid out in it, wrapped in furs. Now this is where it starts to get a bit creepy, ‘cause a day or so later a bear wanders by — not a daddy bear — a cub, and he’s starving, too. He sniffs out the corpse and starts to eat, until all that’s left of the kid is bones. But Oomara discovers it and he’s filled with rage. So he goes to the shaman of the settlement who says, ‘Kill the cub. Take back what the bears have taken from you.’ But Oomara’s afraid, really afraid. Bears rule the ice. They’re fierce and powerful, their spirits even more so — but then working around Bergstrom, you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
The pickup wobbled a fraction
off course. Tootega, desperate not to look at the girl, ground his teeth and babbled out a litany of blasphemies — or prayers — while he swung the spikes of his lank black hair back and forth across the pits of his sunken cheeks.
Unrepentant, Zanna continued: “So Oomara goes back to the shaman and says, ‘How? How do I do this, without bringing the soul of the bear into my house?’ And the shaman says, ‘Take a bone of your dead son’s body and strike the bear cub once in the forehead —’”
“You stop now,” yelled Tootega, slapping a hand against the steering wheel. Sweat beads rolled across his creased dark brow and dripped into the fur around the hood of his parka.
“But this is the interesting bit,” said Zanna, leaning forward and tapping her sleeve. “The blow Oomara inflicted on the cub left a mark in its head like the one on my arm. Identical, I think, to the one on my arm. I didn’t want to believe it till we came up here last time and had our little encounter with —”
“We see bear. Let him go. Come home,” snapped the Inuk. “Then you and I …” He slashed his fingers across his throat.
Zanna smirked and pointed a toe of her boot. Idling a finger in a patch of condensation at the edge of the misty windshield she said, “Oh yeah, I sure plan to see Ingavar again. I’ll say one thing for David, he’s a talented bunny, drawing characters to him just by writing about them. Hey, do you think the bear will remember me?” She sat up suddenly, forcing Tootega to punch the brakes. The cab filled with the smell of burnt rubber as the tires locked onto available tarmac. The truck skidded to a halt, steam rising from the hood. “Nice driving,” Zanna drawled, setting herself straight.
Tootega looked away from her face to the dribbling mark of Oomara in the windshield. “What you want?” he spat, eyes wild with fear.
She knuckled the screen. “To know what this means. Am I cursed or blessed? I need an answer, because I know now I’m related to her.”
“Who?” the Inuk grunted.
“You know who,” Zanna sneered back. “The shaman of Savalik, the priestess, the sibyl, the legendary ‘wise’ woman who forced the simpleheaded Oomara to murder a bear and so turned the laws of the north on their head. To you, she’s something unpronounceable, no doubt. I call her by her western name, Gwilanna.”
“We see bear,” Tootega repeated, flaring his nostrils till the soft hairs inside were glistening with dew. “I do what Bergstrom say.” He started the truck again and roared away.
“Oh yeah, Bergstrom,” Zanna said, nodding. “Champion of bears and keeper of mysteries. Wow, you must have seen some shamans in your time, but never one quite like him, eh? Thing is, anyone can bang a drum and claim to speak with spirits, but transfiguration … that’s something else, isn’t it? Changing yourself into an animal — and back. Ever seen it happen? Ever seen the good doctor do the magic?”
“You should be dead,” the Inuk growled as they sped on, blurring past the tall town sign. “I pray to bear, eat you up and spit your bones.” He lurched the truck left, heading west beyond the houses for a piece of open ground, dominated by the outline of an orange and white helicopter.
“Not this bear,” Zanna grunted, mimicking the Inuk’s soupy accent. “Ingavar, my friend. He talked to me. He got the mark of Oomara on his head.”
“You lie,” Tootega shouted, stopping the truck again. He pulled a knife and jabbed it at her.
“Oh, that’s really smart,” she said, looking down, unperturbed, and laughing. “How are you gonna explain that to the Chamberlain police — and Russ?”
Tootega glanced ahead. Some fifty yards away, the pilot was standing over the body of a prostrate bear. One of the uniformed policemen beside him gave the pickup a salute of recognition.
“You so much as glint a light on me,” said Zanna, running her finger down the flat of the blade, “and I’ll call the sibyl down from that tin can there.”
Tootega swallowed hard and stared again. Perched on top of a cylindrical steel holding pen that was used to jail unruly bears was a large raven.
Zanna moved her eyes toward the men. All three were staring in confusion at the pickup. “They’re beginning to wonder what the holdup is. If I were you, I’d drive.”
Tootega bundled the knife away and slammed the truck into gear again. Within seconds, they were pulling up by the bear.
“Hey, cowboy,” Zanna said, jumping out before the wheels had fully stopped turning.
“Hey,” said Russ, glancing at the cab. “Why the wait? Everything OK?” He nodded at Tootega, sitting motionless with his hands on the wheel.
“Freaked by the blackbird,” Zanna said, laughing. She pointed at the raven and walked on by. “How’s the baby?” she said to one of the policemen, a middle-aged guy with full red cheeks. He was spreading out a large rope net beside the bear.
“Kinda sleepy,” he replied.
“Can I touch him?”
“Oh yar. He ain’t gonna bite. Any minute now we’re gonna roll him up in this big old net and take him for a long ride outta town.”
Zanna smiled and hunkered down. Through half-closed lids, the bear’s dark brown eyes stared vacantly at her. “Hello, Ingavar,” she whispered, and taking off her glove she ran her hand over the fur of his neck and upwards to cup his ear in her palm.
On the roof of the holding pen, the raven squawked.
“Beauty, isn’t he?” Russ came to crouch beside her.
“The best,” she said. “What’s with the blood on his lip?” Russ knelt forward and opened the bear’s mouth. Its thick black tongue lolled sideways, into its upper palate.
“We took a tooth,” he said, showing off a gap in the lower jaw. “Messy, but it’ll heal all right.”
“Tooth?” said Zanna, looking up at the bird.
“Umm,” Russ grunted, laying the head flat. “Every year, they add a new layer of enamel. If you section through it you can count the layers, just like you can with the growth rings in a tree. Easiest way to age them. This guy’s about twelve. In his prime. It would have been a travesty if the goon that shot him had finished the job.”
Zanna pursed her lips and made her straight hair dance. “I think he’s got a really big future, this bear.”
“He’s got a big journey, that’s for sure,” said Russ. “Fifty miles, up the coast.” He stood up and patted her shoulder. “Come on, we need to get this package wrapped. It took a lot of dizzy juice to knock this guy out. He’s strong. He won’t be asleep for long. Tootega, lend a hand, here.”
With a shuffle of feet, the Inuk stepped forward. Zanna immediately stood up and faced him.
“The bird knows,” she said quietly. “You’d better give it back.” She rubbed her fingertips together, guiding a smear of blood across her skin.
“Tootega, come on, take a paw,” Russ called.
But the Inuk was watching in horror as Zanna pushed her hand inside her sleeve and carried the blood of the ice bear, Ingavar, to the scratches on her arm. With a lurch, he stumbled past her and helped the other men roll the bear onto the netting.
“OK, have it your way,” Zanna whispered and raised her dark-eyed gaze once more.
The bird extended its sleek black wings.
“To the ice,” said Zanna.
Caaark! went the bird, and flew away.
North.
21 WHAT TO DO ABOUT LUCY
She can’t raise Gawain. That’s impossible,” said Liz. She put aside the tapestry cushion she was clutching as David handed her a cup of strong tea. He put a plate of cookies on the sofa arm beside her.
“Well, Gwilanna obviously believes she can. And in three months’ time, she’s going to give it a try.”
“But it’s ridiculous. She’d need his fire tear for that. How can she revive him when he’s locked in stone?”
David sat down, focusing on the space between his knees. “We’ll talk about the tear in a minute. Tell me what you know about this star.”
“Nothing. I’ve never heard of it before.”
“You don�
�t know how dragons came to be?”
“There are myths,” Liz said, “about a dragon called Godith.”
“Oh? You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“Her,” Liz corrected. “Godith was supposed to have created the world with one gigantic outgoing breath, making dragons in her image — as you would.”
Hrrr, went the Pennykettle dragons in turn, who had gathered as a group on the mantelpiece.
David scratched the side of his neck. He looked at Gadzooks, Gretel, Gruffen. All of them had their ears cocked forward. “I thought dragons were created from clay and their fire was born from the center of the Earth?”
“They are,” said Liz, “but something had to kick the process off. It’s like saying how did we get here? How far back can you go? No one truly knows. Actually, Henry’s very knowledgeable on this subject.”
“The birth of dragons?”
“No, cosmology. If you’re looking for a connection with this so-called fire star, he might be able to identify it for you. He’s got dozens of books on the subject.”
David nodded and broke a cookie in half. “What about Lucy, then? Why would Gwilanna take her away?”
On the floor at Liz’s feet, Bonnington mewed. Liz widened her arms to let him jump onto her lap. The cat sniffed at the cookies and drew his nose away. He circled twice, then settled down and started to groom his paws. Liz stroked him gently as she spoke. “It was always going to happen that Lucy would have to spend a while with Gwilanna. As you know, Gwilanna is always present at the birth of a dragon child. She takes it upon herself to instruct us in the old ways. I was taught by her myself, like all the descendants of Guinevere before me.”
“This is different,” said David, crossing his arms. “She snatched Lucy without your permission. She hasn’t gone to school, Liz. She’s being held hostage on an island in the Arctic.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“It’s a pretty safe bet. Gawain turned to stone on the Tooth of Ragnar. It’s seems sensible, therefore, to think that’s where Gwilanna will take her.”
Fire Star Page 8