Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  —TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES

  They traveled for hours, the sled dogs’ paws light against the snow. After the dogs’ initial hesitation, they seemed happy to run, to work off their nervous energy. The clouds lifted before morning, and the Milky Way illuminated their path, spilling across the sky like a river of pearls. Nisha slept, burrowed in blankets with her head against Ember’s shoulder, but Ember kept glancing back, certain the hunters would pursue them. But she saw nothing but the empty expanse of snow. If the hunters were following, they weren’t keeping up.

  Eventually they had to pause to rest the dogs. Ember examined them thoroughly, checking their paws for any signs of injury as she had watched Gideon do. The lead dog was a beautiful half wolf that the prince had called Finnorah, her fur silver and ivory. She didn’t seem to want to stop, turning up her nose at the meat Ember offered. Whining, she pulled at her harness.

  “You have to maintain your strength,” Ember lectured. The dog stared at the empty horizon, as if expecting someone to appear.

  “We’ll find him,” Ember murmured. She said it with more confidence than she felt. Finnorah nosed reluctantly at the meat. Ember felt like telling her that Prince Gideon wasn’t worthy of so much concern, but she knew the dog wouldn’t believe her. After all, Takagi’s Compendium stated that a dog’s defining characteristic was loyalty, not being a good judge of character.

  Ember, Moss, and Nisha rummaged through the prince’s supplies until they found food for themselves—hard bread, cheese, porridge, dried milk, and fruit. It was fortunate that the prince had been preparing for his own journey south. Though, Ember thought, if the prince was dead, using his supplies was a little creepy.

  Ember shook her head. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. Prince Gideon wasn’t dead. They were going to find him and bring him home, and the dragons would be safe—or at least, as safe as they’d ever been.

  Nisha crouched in the snow over a map, a compass in her hand. Though she was wearing three coats, including an oversized man’s fur she had found on the sled, she was shivering. Ember gathered a few scraps of wood into a pile and, when she was certain Nisha and Moss weren’t watching, lit the fire with a wave of her hand. She whispered to the flames, asking them to consume the wood slowly.

  “Oh, lovely!” Nisha crowded around the fire, warming her hands. “That was fast!”

  “Nice to have some color,” Moss said, and Ember nodded. She was growing tired of featureless snow.

  “Actually,” Nisha said, “white contains all the colors in the rainbow.” She absently retied one of her ribbons. “So, if you think about it, that makes Antarctica the most colorful place on earth.”

  Moss went to the sled to examine the supplies. He wore only one coat, seeming unbothered by the chill even when the wind whipped around them. His pale hair, bleached by the moon, was the color of bone.

  “Do you know how to read that?” Ember asked Nisha, gesturing to her map.

  “Yes. Madame Rousseau always said that navigation was as important a skill as geometry or writing, at least out here.” Nisha pointed at a spot. “We’re here.” She pointed to another spot. “The hunters’ camp is here. I can tell by the mountains. That’s the Shackleton Range, see.” She gestured into the night. “And that’s Whichaway. We could continue south all the way to the pole—there’s a colony somewhere near it, the Scientists say. Do you think that’s where our dragons are going?”

  Ember fingered the heartscale through her coat. It seemed warmer against her skin, though perhaps that was only because of the cold hours she had spent on the sled. “I—maybe.” She felt uncertain. She had seen the dragons fly south, but what if that was wrong? What if they turned around, or veered in another direction?

  “That’s a long way,” Moss said, coming over to the fire. “Days. I don’t know if the dogs will make it.”

  “They’ll make it,” Ember said with more confidence than she felt. “They’ve been to the pole before, with Gideon.”

  “Why do you think the dragons kidnapped him?” Nisha said. “I mean, they knew he killed their friend—he was wearing the heartscale, the idiot. Why not just, I don’t know, turn him into a prince-shaped ice pop?”

  Ember shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe they’re going to put him on trial,” Moss suggested. “Do dragons have trials?”

  “Maybe they know who he is, and they want to scare his father,” Nisha said. She and Moss kept up a steady stream of speculation, while Ember was quiet. She couldn’t guess at why the ice dragons had taken Gideon—she didn’t know how they thought. Were they anything like her? It certainly hadn’t felt that way as she had faced the dragon that had taken the prince. Ember shuddered at the memory of its cold white eyes.

  They set off again, Ember steering the dogs while Moss napped with Nisha in the sled. Ember wondered what time it was. She felt strange gliding over that featureless expanse of snow. The runners whispered, and the mountains loomed larger. It wasn’t until they stopped for the night, hours later, that Ember realized why she felt so strange.

  Though they had traveled all day, the sun hadn’t risen.

  The sky had purpled and then darkened again. They had passed beyond the invisible line that the sun, at this time of year, didn’t cross. Now they were in the land of night. Ember had a sudden image of herself stuck to the bottom of the planet like a bug on an apple, and suppressed the urge to grab hold of the snow.

  Ember helped Nisha and Moss put up the tent. The dogs rolled in the snow, trying to cool themselves after hours of hard exercise. Finnorah came to sit at Ember’s side, and she scratched her ears.

  Ember built the fire quickly, checking that Nisha and Moss weren’t watching as she summoned an orange flame and let it catch on the kindling. She smiled at the dancing fire, which seemed to wave back at her. She had always avoided doing using her powers in London—she had been too afraid of losing control. After extinguishing her palm, she gazed at the dark sky, the snow that stretched in all directions, and let out a long, misty breath. She didn’t have to be afraid here—at least, not of herself. The thought filled her with a sense of peace, which was strange, given all that had happened.

  They sat around the fire, drinking tea boiled in melted snow. Moss had burned the leaves, but they were all too tired to care.

  Nisha rubbed her wrists. “The prince’s men tied those ropes too tight.”

  Ember felt a now-familiar stab of guilt. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you were tied up at all.”

  “It’s the prince’s fault,” Nisha assured her. “Rotten snob. If we do rescue him, I get to punch him in his perfect teeth.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Then Moss said, “What did Lord Norfell mean, anyway?”

  Ember said nothing, though her heart sped up.

  “Ugh!” Nisha said. “Just thinking about that man gives me the creeps.”

  “He seemed to think Ember was under a spell,” Moss said. “Did your father place a spell on you?”

  He and Nisha both looked at her. Ember felt frozen by their gazes. But the truth rose up inside her as it always did.

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “What sort of spell?” Moss pressed.

  “I—” Panic overwhelmed her. She had seen Prince Gideon’s horrified expression when he saw her heartscale. Would she see that same look in Nisha and Moss’s eyes?

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Nisha said. She gave Moss a sharp look before turning back to Ember. “Do you?”

  Ember shook her head mutely.

  “Really, Moss,” Nisha scolded. “That man tried to kill her. He was going to stab her through the heart, or maybe slash her neck open! She doesn’t need you reminding her about it.”

  Ember felt a rush of gratitude—though if it had truly been Lord Norfell she was upset about, she doubted that the graphic picture Nisha painted would have improved her mood. Moss mumbled an apology.
r />   “What’s that?” Nisha said in a brisk, changing-the-subject voice. “A necklace?”

  Ember started. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding the heartscale, which was hot against her palm. “Oh, it’s—” Nothing, she wanted to say, but the word stuck in her throat. And in any case, did it matter if Moss and Nisha knew about the heartscale? She didn’t need to keep that from them too. She removed the chain from her neck and held it up.

  They both gasped. Ember couldn’t blame them—the scale was even more vibrant in the firelight. It looked like flame itself, frozen midflicker.

  “Where did you get that?” Nisha murmured.

  “My father gave it to me.” Ember handed it to her.

  Nisha held it up to the light, looking awestruck. “It’s—it’s a heartscale. And it’s intact! This must be worth a fortune.”

  “Where did he get it?” Moss said. He too looked awestruck, though as he took it from Nisha, he winced. “It’s so hot,” he said.

  “He found it when he was out stormchasing,” Ember said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

  Moss pulled his sleeve over his hand, using it to insulate his fingers from the heat of the scale. He held up the heartscale and gazed through it. “What’s that?”

  “What?” Nisha leaned against him, looking through the scale.

  “Don’t you see? It’s like . . . light.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Nisha said.

  Moss handed the scale to Ember. “Try it!”

  Ember, frowning, held up the scale to the stars as Moss had done. At first, she saw nothing. The stars shone through the scale, their light tinged with red. She lowered the scale slightly, and then—

  Ember drew a sharp breath.

  A faint glow hovered in the sky beyond their camp—it looked like a trail of smoke, but it was luminescent, a silvery moonlight color. It seemed to lead south past the mountains, but how far it went after that, Ember couldn’t tell.

  She moved the scale around, examining the landscape. The same trail of light continued north, back toward the hunters’ camp. Beside it, she realized, was a fainter trail, which ran almost parallel. But she could only see the light through the heartscale; when she lowered it, the sky was empty.

  She looked down at her hand and started so badly she nearly dropped the scale.

  Her hand shone. Shone like fire in the night; like sunlight spilling over the horizon. Ember looked at her other hand, and it glowed too. So did her arm, when she drew the sleeve back—the light was hidden by her clothes. It was her—she was glowing.

  Ember looked at Nisha. She didn’t glow at all—not her bare hands or face, or any other part of her. But Moss . . .

  “What is it?” Moss said, his brow furrowed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Ember swallowed. His skin shone too, though the light was different than Ember’s. It was a paler, cooler glow, and very faint.

  “You see it, don’t you?” Moss said. “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know,” Ember murmured.

  “Can I look again?” Moss said.

  Ember tucked the scale back inside her coat with shaking fingers. “I—I think we should get some sleep.”

  Moss started to argue, but Ember was already walking away.

  She gave the dogs their supper, then did another inventory of their supplies. All the while, her thoughts were whirling.

  She drew the scale out again, and looked at the sled, the snow, the dogs. Nothing. She looked up at the sky, and there it was, that strange trail of light, still hovering in the same place.

  Had it been left by the ice dragons? Were dragons able to sense the paths other dragons had taken, the way hunting dogs tracked their prey? Was that why it was visible through the scale? Instead of a trail of scent, did dragons leave a trail of light?

  An idea struck, and Ember turned the scale toward her own footprints in the snow. Sure enough, a faint but unmistakable glow led back to the fire she had just abandoned.

  Well. That explained Ember’s glow. It explained the light in the sky.

  It didn’t explain Moss.

  Moss was not a dragon. He didn’t move like her, or possess any other dragonish qualities that she recognized. But beyond what her instincts told her, Ember knew that such a thing was impossible: she was the first and only dragon to be transformed into a human. Her father had invented the spell himself. It was unlikely that any other Stormancer had the ability to work that sort of magic.

  But if Moss wasn’t a dragon, what was he?

  Sensing Ember’s anxiety, Finnorah let out a whine. The dog crouched at her side, and Ember absently stroked her head. Her thoughts were a whirl. Before she could sort any of them out, Nisha called, “Ember? Are you all right?” and she had to rise and retire to the tent.

  They spent the night shivering. Ember slept little. What if they didn’t find Prince Gideon? What if all they found was a pile of prince-sized bones? How would she protect the ice dragons then? What about Moss—what was he?

  Ember rolled over and gazed at him. Asleep, he looked like an ordinary boy, if unusually pale and slight as a shadow. She lifted the heartscale to her eye again, and watched him glow like moonlight.

  Storm clouds gathered over the mountains as they set off the next morning (at least, Nisha’s pocket watch said it was morning—the sky was purple ink). The dogs growled, nervous. They were heading toward the storm.

  It loomed above them, towering clouds that hid the mountains behind sheets of white. Gusts of ice-flecked wind rolled over the sled in waves, and Ember’s short hair flapped in her eyes. That wasn’t what worried her—what worried her was the possibility that it wasn’t an ordinary storm. Ember had seen magical storms, and they often looked like this: towering columns lit by lightning that danced and twisted like glowing snakes.

  The dogs yipped, but they kept running, Finnorah leading the way. She barked fiercely at any dog that shied or struggled.

  Ember pulled the scale from her coat. There—there was the trail of light. Leading directly into the storm.

  She swallowed and urged the dogs on.

  But after another quarter hour, even Finnorah was struggling. The wind was so fierce that the dogs were crouched almost on their bellies as they battled against it. Nisha and Moss had their scarves pulled up over their faces. Ember, steering the sled, had to crouch as low as she could, and even then, she was at constant risk of being blown backward.

  Finally, she called for a halt beside a range of nunataks. The first blasts of snow had reached them, and it was icy, threaded with hail.

  “We should set up the tent,” Ember said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. “We can’t—”

  That was all she had time for before the storm was on them, a cruel, ice-clawed pounce.

  Ember could see nothing—not even her hand when she held it in front of her face. The world was reduced to snow and shadow. She was lucky to have been holding on to the sled—if she hadn’t, she might not have been able to find it again.

  Between gusts, her vision cleared slightly. Moss and Nisha were still crouched on the sled. Nisha seemed to be yelling something. The dogs circled, howling.

  Ember fumbled for the tent. “Come on!” she shouted.

  Moss hurried to help her. Nisha tried to stand, and then fell over as another gust crashed into them. Ember’s heart was pounding. How were they going to get the tent up in this weather? How were they going to survive if they didn’t?

  As if in response, the wind gave a mighty roar, pelting the sled with hail.

  Nisha stood and took an unsteady step forward. Lightning flashed, silhouetting her against the black clouds.

  “Nisha?” Moss called. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I heard something,” she yelled back.

  Ember thought she had too. Among the pounding hail and thunder, there were voices. Whispers. She blinked. Figures loomed in the darkness. She caught a flash of reddish hair and a sly smile. A
man stood before her, holding a knife. She screamed. Lightning flashed, revealing—

  Nothing. There was no one there.

  Realization struck. “Oh no,” Ember murmured.

  “What is that?” Moss said. He was looking in another direction, melting snow streaming down his face. “P-Professor Maylie? Are you hurt?”

  Ember wrenched him around. “Ignore it.”

  “But I saw—”

  “You didn’t see anything. Look at me!” Ember grabbed his chin. “This is a magical storm. I’ve never been in one, but my father has. The magic makes you see things, things that aren’t really there. You have to ignore it.”

  Moss’s gaze darted around. But he gave a slight nod and helped Ember unearth the tent from the sled. Ember began driving the poles into the snow.

  “Let me,” Moss shouted into her ear, and Ember handed him the heavy folds of treated leather. But at that moment, the storm roared, and the wind snatched the tent from Moss’s hands, sending it billowing away.

  “No!” Ember screamed. Thunder boomed, and laughter echoed around them. She pressed her hands against her ears. The laughter sounded like Prince Gideon’s. Then it twisted into screams.

  It’s not real. It’s not real.

  Nisha had her hands pressed against her ears too. She rocked back and forth, oblivious to the raging wind. Suddenly she looked up. Ember saw her mouth form a word that she couldn’t hear.

  Aditi.

  “Nisha, no!” Ember grabbed her arm. “It’s just a hallucination. She’s not—”

  But Nisha wrenched away and ran.

  Into the storm, which descended over them again like a black veil.

  “Nisha!” Ember screamed. It was no use—she couldn’t even hear her own voice through the raging, churning wind. She and Moss clung to each other, blind and deaf. Though the sled was mere feet away, Ember could no longer tell where to look for it—all sense of direction had been swept away by the storm. She felt a moment of pure panic, imagining Nisha trapped out there—she would be completely lost. But she and Moss could only sit, grip each other’s hands, and wait. Dragons surged around her, dragons that shrieked and fell from the sky, dead. Lord Norfell stalked among the shadows, appearing sometimes in the distance, and other times at her back, his dagger raised. Ember wanted to scream, to run, but she knew that if she did, the illusions would follow. Moss seemed to be crying.