Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  “Go back to sleep, you old moaner,” her father said. “Ah, I am glad the doorknob worked—one can never be certain when it comes to magical objects, particularly those that have been accidentally granted a sense of self. I’m not quite sure how it came about, in all honesty.”

  “How did you do it?” Ember said. “I didn’t think it was possible to create a portal to somewhere so far away.”

  “Well, I had to put a crease in the fabric of the world,” Lionel St. George said. “Which wasn’t exactly difficult—the fabric, you see, is quite malleable. The real crux was connecting that crease to a specific place.”

  Ember marveled. She had never heard of a Stormancer transforming the shape of the world itself.

  “I needn’t have taken a ship to Antarctica,” she said.

  “Well, no—a portal requires two doors, one at each end. I suppose I could have mailed the doorknob to Antarctica, though there is a law against leaving sentient objects unattended. Pesky, though not without merit, given the issues we had with feral wigs during the Magical Restoration of the 1740s. . . .”

  He touched Ember on the chin. “Now, tell me how you’re doing. Is your aunt treating you well?”

  In a great rush, Ember told him everything that had happened since she left London. As she came to Lord Norfell, Lionel’s face became grave.

  “You must keep away from that man, Ember,” he said.

  Ember bit her lip, thinking of her vow to become Lord Norfell’s enemy. But he had probably left Antarctica by now, sailing off to the Americas or back to Europe, where people would be sure to gawp admiringly at a dragon hunter as dashing and successful as he was. Her thoughts darkened.

  Her father seemed to notice her expression and squeezed her hand. “I wonder if this might boost your spirits.”

  He strode to his desk and rummaged in a drawer. Then he handed Ember a torn piece of paper.

  She was holding a sketch of a dragon. No—Ember squinted. Several dragons. The sketch was roughly done, as if the artist had been in a hurry, and not particularly graceful. The dragons appeared to be in some sort of underground room.

  “When was this drawn?” she asked, taking a seat in her favorite chair.

  “About ten days ago.”

  She stared at her father, who was smiling slightly. “Then these are ice dragons?”

  “No. It’s a group of eight fire dragons currently being held captive in a barge on the Thames. That sketch was drawn by a spy I sent in to investigate once I heard the rumors.”

  Ember’s eyes widened. It wasn’t possible. Fire dragons were extinct—she was the last. She had always been the last. She stared hungrily at the sketch, barely able to breathe.

  “The owner of the barge is a wealthy merchant,” Lionel said. “I believe he captured the dragons years ago, perhaps taking them from their parents, and raised them in captivity. Now he has been allowing rumors of their existence to surface in order to attract a bidding war among the country’s wealthiest hunters. I’m sorry to say that there are a good many who would pay handsomely for the privilege of hunting a fire dragon again.”

  Ember touched the sketch. Fire dragons—real, live fire dragons! “Then you know where they are?”

  “Yes. And what’s more, I think I’ve figured out a way to fix the spell.” His voice was low and earnest. “But I need the blood of a fire dragon to do it.”

  Ember’s heart pounded. If her father was right, this could be the thing that stopped her from bursting into flames. She wouldn’t have to stay in Antarctica forever; nor would she need to worry about hurting anyone. She could come home!

  She looked back at the sketch and felt a pang. “Can you buy them?” she said.

  Lionel’s face fell. “I’m afraid not. Even if I had the funds, it wouldn’t be fair to release them into a world where they would not long survive.”

  Ember bit her lip. Puff wove about her legs, purring in a demanding sort of way.

  “The real difficulty was locating the barge,” Lionel said. “It moves about, and the merchant has hired a Stormancer to alter its appearance every few days. A Russian Stormancer, by the feel of it . . . Russian magic has such a grassy aura; so many of their storms form over the Steppes . . .” Lionel brushed a hand through his hair, and a bolt of electricity sparked from his fingers.

  “When can you take us to the dragons?” Ember said. She wanted—needed—to see them with her own eyes. “You can really do it?”

  “Well . . .” Lionel smiled. “Technically, you can.” His gaze drifted to the open door between Antarctica and London.

  “Oh!” Ember exclaimed. She rose and went to her wardrobe, unscrewing the doorknob. She kept her foot in the jamb of her father’s office door, afraid it would swing shut behind her. She returned with the doorknob and handed it to her father.

  “I named it Montgomery,” Ember said.

  “Montgomery?”

  “I think it’s a bit of a snob,” she explained.

  Lionel held the doorknob out, allowing the magic that coursed through him to flicker through his palm and into Montgomery. It looked as if tiny lightning bolts, as delicate as spider silk, were wrapping themselves around the doorknob. Lionel murmured a spell in stormspeech, a rumbly sort of language that sounded nothing like any human tongue.

  “There,” he said, leaning back into the sofa once the light had faded. “Try the doorknob again.”

  Puzzled, she took it. Montgomery sparked, as if with static.

  “Close the door to Antarctica first,” Lionel said.

  Ember did. Then, glancing back to her father for reassurance, she unscrewed the doorknob on the door that normally opened onto the secondary hallway. She replaced that doorknob with Montgomery, who seemed sluggish now, as if the magic had made it sleepy.

  “My spy has already anchored a portal to the ship,” her father said. “Turn the doorknob to the left this time, my dear.”

  “But you said—”

  “Yes, I did. Before I cast the spell, the doorknob, if turned to the left, would have opened onto the Red Labyrinth between the worlds—an unpleasant place, I can assure you. But now I’ve linked it to the portal on the ship.”

  Nervously, Ember turned the doorknob, bracing herself in case her father was wrong and some beast from the Red Labyrinth decided to leap through.

  She gasped. Her wardrobe and coats were gone. She was gazing down a narrow corridor. It was deserted and dingy, lit only by a sputtering lantern mounted on one wall, and ended in a strange metal door.

  “It worked!” she whispered as her father came to peek through the door beside her.

  “Probably,” her father said. “There’s only one way to be sure.”

  They exchanged serious looks, then stepped through the portal.

  “They should be beyond that door,” Lionel murmured, gesturing to the other end of the short corridor. “My spy told me that the first door—the one he used for the portal—was heavily enchanted, but Montgomery seems to have cut through all that, clever chap.”

  The floorboards in the little corridor creaked underfoot. They were underwater—Ember could sense it. Her left wing twitched. Lionel placed a hand on the metal door, which stretched all the way to the ceiling. In the dim light, his eyes were like a cat’s.

  “Yes, this is it,” he said. “There’s a spell on this door too, but it’s a simple thing, cast only to strengthen the lock. They won’t be worried about Stormancers getting this far.” He murmured a few words, and the door creaked obligingly open. He had transformed the lock into dust, which drifted into the corridor.

  Heat radiated through the gap. Lionel seemed to steel himself, and they pushed through the door.

  It was like stepping into a forge—the room was smoky and dark, save for a faint glow at one end.

  Ember felt as if she were in a dream. The dragons slumbered against the wall, steam rising from their nostrils. Four of them were small—only a little taller, perhaps, than Lionel St. George—but the rest were enormous, twice
the height of a horse and several times as long. Their bodies were all serpentine curves, their claws enormous daggers. The males had antlerlike horns that were both graceful and terrifying. In the darkness, they glittered like a sea of rubies.

  Ember gasped. One of the dragons lay curled on its side, its front foot bent at an odd angle. A bloody gash stretched across its left eye, which was missing. Ember noticed similar gashes on the other dragons—they looked like whip marks. The larger ones couldn’t stand upright without hunching, and metal chains bolted into the floorboards prevented them from moving more than a few feet.

  “How could anyone do this?” Ember breathed.

  “I don’t know.” Lionel’s expression was grim.

  Ember couldn’t bear it. “It’s not fair,” she whispered.

  “No. I’ve often had reason to observe that there isn’t much fairness in the world,” her father said heavily. He squeezed her shoulder.

  “Do we have to take their blood?” They were speaking in hushed voices, though the dragons had given no sign of noticing them. Some slept lying down, others standing upright like horses. “I don’t want to hurt them.”

  Lionel frowned. He squinted into the darkness, then pointed.

  Beside the cage was what looked like a puddle of water—but then one of the dragons shifted position, and the glow of its scales shone upon it. It was dark red, and reflected the light oddly. Dragon blood.

  Lionel reached into his coat and withdrew a glass vial. “Stay behind me.”

  They slowly approached the dragons, who slept on, though one shifted slightly when a board creaked under Lionel’s foot. They were close enough to feel their breath, which was hot and sour. Scorch marks covered the floor.

  “Look,” Ember murmured. Several of the dragons’ chains were damaged—the metal was frayed in places, as if the creatures had been gnawing on it. “Do you think anyone noticed?”

  “Doubtful. I don’t think the owner of this ship is overly concerned about the safety of these dragons—or the men guarding them.” Lionel knelt to collect the blood. As he did, Ember took a hesitant step closer to one of the dragons. She could scarcely believe it was real. She reached out a trembling hand and touched its brow, half expecting it to dissolve like a mirage.

  The dragon’s scales were warm, but not hot. This was all Ember had time to notice, for the dragon was blinking awake.

  Ember froze. Her eyes watered as she returned the dragon’s gaze—it was so bright! Its eyes were like twin suns, glowing and pupilless.

  “Hello,” she whispered. She didn’t know what response she hoped for—would the dragon recognize her immediately, or would it simply be confused? She stared, transfixed.

  The dragon arched its neck and let out a terrible scream.

  Ember stumbled back, her hands going to her ears. “Ember!” her father said, catching her by the shoulder. Other glowing eyes were opening in the darkness and fixing upon them. The young dragon strained against its chain, snapping and snarling. It caught the end of Ember’s coat in its mouth.

  If her father hadn’t been there, Ember would have been wrenched into the range of the dragon’s glistening teeth. But he held on to her, and the dragon came away with only a scrap of her coat. Another dragon roared, and another.

  “Run!” her father shouted.

  Ember ran. But when she looked back, her father had fallen behind. And one of the dragons was opening its fanged mouth, fire glowing at the back of its throat.

  “No!” Ember cried. She turned back and flung herself between her father and the dragon. The burst of flame engulfed her, and she felt no pain—it was like being enveloped by a gust of wind.

  She looked down and found that her clothing had been reduced to charred rags. Her hair, which she had been carefully growing out, was unevenly short—everything past the nape of her neck had been burned away.

  Her father dragged her through the door. They slammed it behind them, and leaned heavily against it as the dragons roared in fury.

  “I don’t understand,” Ember said between gasps. “They attacked me.”

  “I’m sorry, Ember.” Her father’s face was sheened with sweat. “I never should have brought you on this adventure. Those dragons, it’s clear, have learned to despise humans—they saw us as enemies from the very start.”

  Ember felt as if someone had struck her. She had been so certain that the dragons would know her, welcome her—but then, why should they? She looked like an ordinary girl.

  There came the sound of shouting from above, and the thunder of distant boots. The men on the ship must be coming to see what had set the dragons off. The door behind them creaked and groaned—the dragons were blasting it with their fire.

  “We’d best be on our way,” Lionel said. Together, they leaped through the portal, back to Chesterfield.

  Five

  The Boy From Nowhere

  Perhaps because of its beauty, the heartscale is a source of foolish superstition. Some blame heartscales for the death of renowned dragon hunter Sir Francis Tolemy II, who was driven to murderous madness whilst wearing several around his neck. . . .

  —TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES

  Ember and her father went for a walk around the grounds of Chesterfield so that Ember could touch her favorite trees and breathe in the smell of her favorite library. When they got back to Lionel’s office, the fire was out, and there was a strange chill wind whistling through the room.

  “Oh my,” Lionel said, gazing at a wet stain on the carpet. The wet seemed to be emanating from the open door, which was the wardrobe door in Antarctica—from this side, it looked like Lionel’s ordinary office door, with several of Ember’s coats hovering in midair in a ghostly way. A snowflake fluttered past Ember’s nose—a small drift had accumulated on the carpet.

  “What’s happening?” Ember said. “Is it snowing in my room?”

  “No—I believe it’s Antarctica itself, seeping through the portal.” Lionel sighed. “I’m afraid your time here must be limited—all sorts of nasty things can result from portals being left open too long. We will have to wait a week, at least, before your next visit, to allow the fabric of the world to unwrinkle itself.”

  Ember swallowed her tears and hugged her father goodbye. She stepped back through the wardrobe and closed the door behind her. Then she unscrewed the magical doorknob and replaced it with the ordinary one. When she opened the wardrobe again, she saw only her clothes.

  Two days later, Madame Rousseau, sniffling from a cold, declared that a true professional did not risk passing germs to her pupils, and gave them the afternoon off school. Ember darted from the classroom just as Nisha opened her mouth to speak to her.

  Ember didn’t want to talk to anyone. Her encounter with the dragons had only fed the formless anger she had felt since leaving Chesterfield, which lurked like a hungry crocodile in a bayou. She had been so certain that somehow the dragons would recognize her. But they hadn’t, and even if they had, it wouldn’t matter. They were trapped, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  The anger rose again. She wanted to run, to pull the shadows around her like a cloak as she did at Chesterfield. It seemed to her that the cozy research station, which was only a little bigger than her father’s rooms at the university, grew smaller with each passing day.

  A frigid breeze caressed her cheeks as she ran outside, past the greenhouse and the row of storage sheds. It was a pure blue sky that greeted her, though her shadow was longer than it should have been at midday. The sun didn’t climb as high as it did in London.

  The fresh, cold air made her feel light and bold. When she spotted Aunt Myra, she ran up to her.

  “Ember!” her aunt said, starting. She stood by a sled with two other Scientists, all bundled in enormous coats and scarves. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Madame Rousseau canceled school,” Ember said. “Where are you going? Can I come?” She looked hungrily at the sled. She wondered if they were going all the way to
the mountains, which loomed in the distance like slumbering giants.

  Her aunt took her by the arm, drawing her back. “How many times have I told you that you are not to go outside unsupervised?”

  “Twenty?” Ember guessed automatically.

  Aunt Myra’s mouth tightened. Ember hadn’t been giving her cheek—it was just her honesty again, leaking out at the worst times. Before she could explain, though, Aunt Myra said, “No, you’re not going to come with me. It’s far too dangerous. You’re going to go back inside and do your homework.”

  Ember was surprised. “Why would I do that?”

  Aunt Myra stared. “Haven’t you been doing your homework?”

  “No.” Madame Rousseau had told them to read a chapter a day of a strange book about two children who had rhyming conversations with various animals that looked as if they’d been drawn by someone who’d never seen one. It was the most ghastly thing Ember had ever read. She had felt sorry for Madame Rousseau, who couldn’t have seen many books if she thought something like that was worth reading. Ember hadn’t been aware that this “homework” was mandatory. When she didn’t like something her father gave her to read, she simply told him so, and they had a lively debate about it.

  “Come along,” her aunt said, taking her hand. Her mouth was a thin line.

  “I know the way,” Ember said, pulling her hand back. It was true enough, but it was also the wrong thing to say. Aunt Myra’s expression darkened.

  “Ember, when you are told to do something, you must do it,” she said. “Now, please, go to your room and do your homework. We’ll have a conversation when I get back.”

  Ember doubted very much it would be a conversation. Her anger rose again. She didn’t want to go back to the station, but she knew Aunt Myra wouldn’t listen if she argued, so she didn’t bother. She waited in the library until she guessed that her aunt had left, then put her coat back on and went out again.

  She wandered to the penguin beach, where she sat for a while, comforted by their squawks and honks. Two of the younger penguins came to sit at her side. They swiveled their heads, eyeing her from different angles.