by Tad Williams
Meseret the adult dragon lay stretched in her enclosure with her wings folded against her body, big as a city bus, beautiful and awful. Lucinda could not hold in an excited squeak at seeing her. Meseret was like something out of a children’s storybook, all thick, leathery scales and knobs and whorls of bone, something that should not exist in the real world… but there she was. The eyes with their slit pupils watched them all and gave away nothing.
Can you hear me, Meseret? Lucinda did her best to speak with her thoughts. Do you remember me? We flew together! Although to be perfectly fair, an observer on that night last summer might have thought Lucinda had been dangling helplessly from Meseret’s harness. Do you remember me? I’m Lucinda! She had tried to convince herself not to expect too much at first, but Meseret’s gigantic, uncaring silence pained her anyway. Remember? I helped save your egg!
“Man, look at this! The little one’s here too!” called Tyler, and Lucinda reluctantly turned away from the big dragon.
“You wrote in your Christmas letter that you named her Desta,” she said to Gideon.
Her great-uncle nodded. “It’s Ethiopian for ‘Happiness’. My wife Grace once had a puppy with that name that was very dear to her… ”
Desta didn’t look much like a puppy, or in fact like a baby of any kind, at least compared to the tiny thing that had hatched in the farmhouse kitchen last summer. The young dragon was now as big as a small horse. In most ways she was a smaller, slenderer version of her mother, but her overall color was a sandy brown instead of her mother’s drab gray-green, with rosettes of brick red a frill of pale olive spines down her back. Desta’s scales, some as big as Lucinda’s hand, others as small as a sliver of her pinkie nail, glinted and shone as the muscles moved beneath the skin.
The young dragon was watching Lucinda and Tyler, too, but she mostly looked like she wanted to go back to sleep. “ So cool,” whispered Tyler.
“Is anything wrong with her?” Lucinda asked, staring at the straps around Desta’s middle. A chain connected the arrangement to a large ring set into the concrete floor of the pen, close to the pile of straw she was using for bedding. “What’s that thing she’s wearing?”
“Harness,” said Gideon. “Have to keep it on her right now. She’ll learn to fly soon, you see. Don’t want her leaving the property by surprise.”
“She must hate it.”
“Don’t sentimentalize the animals,” her great-uncle said. “That’s a mistake.” Meseret suddenly growled, and although the mother dragon was some distance away from her Lucinda could feel the slow, rumbling sound through her feet.
“Why’d she do that?” Lucinda asked. “Is she all right?”
“Perfectly all right,” said Gideon. “She’s probably just hungry
… ”
Meseret raised her vast head and swiveled it from side to side, nostrils flaring, as if she smelled something.
“Gideon… ” said Colin, “maybe we should… maybe we ought to… ” Lucinda couldn’t help noticing that the older boy sounded genuinely frightened. “I’ll just… ”
A strange, loud noise made Lucinda jump, a wet pop like a starter’s pistol held underwater. Colin Needle jumped, shrieking in surprise and pain. “Owwww! Oh, help, it’s hot! It’s burning me!”
Lucinda spun to see Colin jumping and thrashing wildly. Something thick and sticky was running down his jacket-something that smoked. An instant later, Colin’s jacket burst into flame.
Luckily Mr. Walkwell was only a few yards away. The wiry old Greek moved with such incredible speed that Lucinda had just opened her mouth to shout for help when he wrestled off Colin’s burning jacket and threw it aside. He shoved the pale, whimpering boy onto the floor, then rolled him back and forth to make sure he was no longer on fire. For long moments after the flames were out he kept Colin down on the ground. The black-haired boy lay trembling violently, his breath hitching.
“Is he all right?” Lucinda asked. “Colin, are you okay?”
“It is not bad,” said Mr. Walkwell. “His mother will give him something for the burns.” He didn’t sound too worried.
As Mr. Walkwell and Gideon helped the tall, pale boy out of the Sick Barn, Tyler crept up next to Lucinda and quietly said, “Well, I guess dragons don’t forget that easily, huh? Desta’s mom hasn’t forgotten who stole her egg.”
“Don’t be mean, Tyler!” What he had said finally sunk in. “Wait a minute-you mean Meseret? Was that her? What did she do?”
“I guess she still remembers Colin from last summer. She spit at him from twenty feet away! Hawked a big one.” He rubbed his mouth to hide his grin. “A flaming loogie.” Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. The storm seemed to be moving away.
Lucinda was not amused. In fact, she felt a bit sick inside-all this from trying to be friendly…! “Poor Colin. He didn’t want to go near the dragons but I made him do it… ”
“He’s fine, Luce. Anyway, he deserved it-just ask Mama Dragon!”
But this was most definitely not the way Lucinda had wanted to start the summer.
Chapter 3
Into Mount Zion
The side trip to the Reptile Barn had led them a different route than they usually took back from town. Tyler found it interestingly strange to approach through the center of the farm, past outbuildings and barns, instead of seeing it across a distance from the road in the hills. From the hillside the buildings came into view below like a fleet of strange painted wooden spaceships, all red and yellow and tan and white, but their approach this time made the house and its connected structures rise up before them like a vast sea of saw-toothed roofs and towers-an entire toy city made by drunken Christmas elves and plunked down in the middle of a dusty California valley.
“Look, Luce!”
His sister looked up. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “We’re definitely back.” She had been trying to comfort Colin Needle, who was huddled near them in the back of the wagon, eyes red and jaw clenched. Tyler didn’t think the older boy’s injuries were as bad as he was making them out to be-only a few small spots on his coat had actually caught fire.
Lucinda gave him a warning look as the cart horse pulled them past the old grain silo. The tall, gray structure looked like a haunted house out of a scary movie, but was actually only an empty wooden building that covered the farm’s greatest secret-the Fault Line, a gateway to other times and places that Octavio Tinker had discovered. Tyler didn’t know what Lucinda’s look meant and didn’t much care: she had her dragons and he had the Fault Line. In fact, as far as Tyler knew, he was the only person in the world who could walk into it and out again safely without the help of any machine or device. Did she really think he was going to ignore it all summer?
A crowd of people was pushing through the front door of the farmhouse and out onto the covered porch, a group of smiling, familiar faces waiting to greet them. Even before the wagon rolled to a stop the farm folk were hurrying toward them.
“You are here! That is good, very good!” cried Sarah the cook as she wiped her hands on her apron, her ruddy cheeks even ruddier than usual because she had been cooking. Tyler took his hug from her with good nature, although she nearly squeezed the breath out of him-Sarah was short but strong. She was also serious about hugging: a moment later she had captured his sister too and squeezed her until she squeaked. Sarah’s kind spirit filled the house and was responsible for much of what was homey and welcoming about strange old Ordinary Farm.
Pema, a quiet young woman from long-ago Tibet, and her near-opposite Azinza from Africa, tall, dark, and regal, followed closely after Sarah with hugs of their own.
“We missed you,” Azinza told her. “It was too quiet here after you went away.”
“But not so quiet today, it seems.” Sarah had seen Gideon lead Colin past them and into the house. “What happened to him?”
But before Lucinda could answer, most of the rest of Ordinary Farm’s inhabitants were upon them. Ragnar the Viking, a blond, bearded grandfather built like a
professional wrestler, came at them with a big grin and surprised Tyler by pulling him into a rib-cracking embrace. Kiwa, Jeg, and Hoka, the Mongolian herders whom the Jenkins kids had named the “Three Amigos,” hovered smiling, holding gifts they had made, a bracelet for each of the children woven from long strands of hair.
“Horsehair?” Lucinda asked.
“Not horse,” said Kiwa, the oldest. “Unicorn. From tails, manes. They leave on fence and bushes.”
“Wow,” said Tyler. With Jeg’s help he tied it onto his wrist. The braided hair was surprisingly thick and heavy, shiny as platinum wire.
“That’s so cool,” said Lucinda, examining hers. “Thank you!”
The last person to come forward was Ooola, the girl Tyler had rescued from the Ice Age, cleaned up and wearing a dress but with long, curly brown hair that looked like it hadn’t caught up with modern brushing techniques. Ooola took Tyler’s hand and pressed carefully it to her forehead. Tyler smiled at her, but he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “It is good to see you,” she said, looking at him shyly through surprisingly long lashes. She then seemed to remember something else she had to do and scuttled back to the kitchen, leaving Tyler a bit confused as to what it had all meant.
Of course, a huge celebration banquet had been prepared to welcome them back- “eine Feier,” as Sarah named it-and soon the children were led to the table. Tyler decided it was entirely reasonable and polite to honor the work the cooks had done by dedicating himself completely to food for the rest of the day. As he walked along the table where the dinner had been set out he found roast chickens, juicy inside their crispy skins, enchilada casserole with homemade corn tortillas, several kinds of salad, and great big bowls filled with grilled artichokes and summer beans. Sarah had also prepared a specialty dish called Sauerbraten, a sort of beef roast with fruit and cabbage. Tyler approached that one cautiously, but after a few sample bites he went back and helped himself to a huge serving. Something about Ordinary Farm made him hungrier than he almost ever was at home.
Later, as evening turned to night, Sarah brought out beer for the adults and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade for all the others, then settled her wide, warm self between Tyler and Lucinda. “How you two have grown!” The mistress of the kitchen looked Lucinda up and down. “So big now! Woman very soon, yes indeed!” Lucinda blushed. “And you, Tyler. You are much bigger!”
Tyler laughed. “Oh, I’ve got a while to go before I catch up with Ragnar.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, poor Ragnar, he works so hard on all Gideon’s fences and gates.” She shrugged.
“What do you think about all that?” Tyler asked the cook. “All the new fences and security?”
“Oh, me, I don’t know anything.” Sarah clearly didn’t feel comfortable talking about it. “If Gideon says we need, then we need. He works so hard to keep us safe here! And he is still so sad his wife is gone.”
“Poor man,” said Lucinda. Gideon’s wife Grace had disappeared decades ago but the mystery was still unsolved. “He must miss her so much!”
“But you help him, Tyler!” Pema, the little Tibetan woman, had come up quietly. She blushed when everyone turned to her, but bravely continued. “I mean, when you find his wife’s necklace last summer. He always carries it! Always around his neck. When he is sad, he reaches up and,” she stroked an invisible something at her throat. “Like so. Makes him not so sad.” She pointed. “Look,” she said. “He is doing it now.”
Tyler turned to look at Gideon. He was indeed stroking the locket’s gold chain at his neck, but that wasn’t what caught Tyler’s attention: his great-uncle was speaking to Mrs. Needle, the first time Tyler had seen her since their arrival. The witch-to him she would always be the witch-was dressed in her usual prim, timeless way, long dark skirt and white blouse buttoned right up to her slim throat. She seemed to feel Tyler’s eyes, because she suddenly looked up; for a moment he saw what he felt certain was icy hatred in her eyes, but then it vanished like a mist and she smiled at him in a way that appeared almost natural.
“Welcome back!” she called.
Tyler turned away, his stomach clenching. Lucinda gave him a warning look. “And how is our Mrs. Needle these days?” he asked.
Sarah made sure the Englishwoman wasn’t looking before she scowled. “She is what she is.” Like almost everyone at Ordinary Farm, Sarah was a refugee from the past, a medieval woman with very, very firm ideas about witches. “But she holds Gideon’s ear and he trusts her. Please do not make her angry.”
“Why would we want to make her angry?”
Sarah shook her head. “Just be careful, children, please! She doesn’t like you and she is a bad enemy to have.”
Evening had fallen. Bats were swooping over the garden, snatching up moths and mosquitoes. Country hours ruled Ordinary Farm: those who had not left to take care of after-dinner chores were beginning to drift toward bed. Gideon had retired half an hour earlier. Caesar, the old black man who did handyman work around the house and insisted on taking personal care of Gideon Goldring, suddenly began to sing a song, his cracked old voice full of longing for something Tyler couldn’t quite understand.
“Oh, let me fly, now, let me fly!
Let me fly into Mount Zion,
Lord, Lord.”
The song was exactly right for the mood: or perhaps it was how Caesar sang it… Even Mr. Walkwell tapped a hoof. Ooola the Ice Age girl stood in the middle of the floor swaying and twisting her fingers in her thick brown hair.
“I jes wanta get up in the Promised Land-”
A hard hand fell onto Tyler’s shoulder: he jumped in surprise.
“Good evening, children,” said Patience Needle. “Lovely to have you with us again. Now it’s time for me to show you to your rooms.”
“How’s Colin?” asked Lucinda. “Are his burns okay?”
The woman’s expression did not change. “He is nearly well already. Burns are easy for me to heal. Now come with me.”
Tyler fought to keep his voice friendly. “It’s okay. We remember how to get to our rooms, Mrs. Needle.”
Mrs. Needle smiled thinly. Her pale face gleamed like the moon in the frame of her black hair. “But you don’t have the same rooms this year. Now, come along, children, it’s getting late. Say goodnight to everyone.”
The main house at Ordinary Farm was a labyrinth of wooden floors, dusty, faded carpets, flickering light bulbs in empty halls, and countless locked doors, but it was clear that Mrs. Needle was indeed leading them somewhere different than where they had slept last year. For long minutes she glided before them like an apparition, holding a battery-operated storm lamp, then stopped at last in a corridor Tyler didn’t recognize.
“Here you are, children.”
“Isn’t this in your part of the house…?” Lucinda asked.
“Yes, Lucinda,” the housekeeper said in her crisp way. “It’s near my retiring room-my office, as you’d call it. That’s why I know you will be comfortable here. Sleep well.”
“Why can’t we stay in our old rooms?” Tyler asked.
“Because the decision has been made,” she said, voice less friendly than before. “I can keep a closer eye… pardon, I mean I can take better care of you here.”
The assigned bedrooms stood side by side and both looked out over what was perhaps a courtyard-it was too dark now to tell for sure, although one thing Tyler could make out was that they were several floors above the ground. Mrs. Needle snapped on the overhead light in first one room and then the next, revealing both to have dark wood paneling and flowered wallpaper from another century. The only modern thing in either room were the children’s suitcases, apparently brought up earlier. “Get ready for bed, now,” the Englishwoman said. “It is late.”
Tyler brushed his teeth and returned to his room. He wasn’t thrilled about having to change rooms-it had been hard enough to learn his way around the ever-confusing farmhouse the first time-but he was too tired and too full to worry about it. He was just think
ing about wandering over to Lucinda’s room to discuss this eventful first day when he heard the lock in his door click. By the time he had jumped up and run to it he could hear Lucinda thumping on her own door in surprise and protest. Tyler rattled the knob but it wouldn’t turn and the door wouldn’t budge.
The witch had locked them in.
Chapter 4
Lizard Jerky
Angry but very tired, Lucinda sat on her bed and did her best to ignore Tyler banging around in his room, thumping the walls and door in frustration.
Okay, so they’d been locked in. She didn’t like it either, but they couldn’t do anything about it tonight, so why wouldn’t her brother just let her go to sleep?
Tyler’s room finally went quiet. Lucinda took a book out of her suitcase and settled back against the pile of pillows to read, an old novel of Mom’s called “The Singing Tree” about a Hungarian family during the First World War. The story was good and she was tired enough just to fall into it, so when someone knocked on her window it startled her so much she screamed and dropped the book.
It got weirder. Tyler was hanging upside down at her window like a huge bat, waving and grinning.
“You idiot!” she said as she jumped up to shoulder open the ancient window so he could climb in. She looked down. “It’s like three floors to the ground! You could have broken your neck!”
“You sound just like Mom,” he said. “There’s ivy all over the walls outside-it’s totally grown into the bricks, really easy to climb.” He sat up, his hair all kinds of wild and looking enormously pleased with himself. “Nobody’s going to lock me in.”
Lucinda found herself almost admiring his total irresponsibility. “You’re insane,” she said. “How are you going to get back?
Tyler sank to the floor and stretched out on his back. “It was pretty awesome, really. There’s a big moon, tonight-plenty of light for climbing. And this house…! I forgot how big it is. It just goes on and on-crazy, gigantic big…!” Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”