by Anne Cameron
The ice diamond storm was still raging inside the Rotundra above them. Swarfe was edging slowly away from the steps that led up to the fake snowman, drawn toward the lightning heart like a magnet. If Angus could just entice the monsoon mongrel farther. . . .
He shot a furtive glance at Dougal, then back at the stone steps, hoping his best friend could somehow read his desperate thoughts. Dougal hesitated, slipping his hand into his coat pocket, and nodded once.
“But I don’t understand,” Angus said, turning back to Swarfe. “The lightning heart doesn’t work. I can’t feel anything.”
“You must give it time, Angus. The lightning heart is frail and old. It requires a gentle drip feed of storm prophet contact before it can accomplish great deeds once again. But I first had to lure you down to the very edge of mortal danger, where it would sense your fear and desperation and be shaken from its long sleep at last. Once the lightning heart has been fully restored, Angus, it will revive my own dormant storm prophet skills, the powers I inherited from my ancestors that lie sleeping in my blood, and you will no longer be the only storm prophet in existence.” Swarfe smiled, inching closer to Angus and farther away from the steps. “The lightning heart will be mine to command. The skills that Dark-Angel has been trying to coax out of you with fake ice diamond storms will exist in me. But it will not end there. Why stop at one lightning heart when two, ten, or twenty can be brought into existence.”
“But that’s impossible!” Dougal said, looking horrified.
“On the contrary. When Edwin Larkspur and his team of archaeologists discovered some interesting artifacts under an old paint factory in London, the possibilities suddenly became endless. The objects were still warm, still infused with the violent power that had helped create the lightning heart so long ago. It was a remarkable stroke of good fortune, one that I could not ignore.”
Angus’s brain had gone into overdrive. Swarfe had deliberately broken into the museum and stolen the artifacts months ago.
“With my own special skills, I will create an electrical storm to rival the one that started the Great Fire in 1666. I will use it to strike the lightning tower artifacts and fuse them together with the one crucial component that was present at the making of the first lightning heart. Do you know what that is, Angus?”
Angus didn’t have to guess. The holographic horror had given them all the terrifying details. The third element was the blood of a living storm prophet. Swarfe was going to steal every drop of blood from his veins. He shot a desperate look at Dougal.
“The time has come for us to leave the Exploratorium, Angus.” Swarfe was pulling on his gloves, moving farther away from the steps. “You will travel with me to Castle Dankhart. In a few hours you will be reunited with your beloved parents, and then we will begin our work, restoring the lightning heart to its full potential before creating a new generation of lightning hearts that will unleash more power than you can imagine.”
“NOW!” Angus yelled.
There was a sudden flash of silver. Dougal shot forward, throwing Cid high into the cave. The lightning moth flexed his wings, circled the snow dome once, and dove straight at the shocked monsoon mongrel.
“Get this thing off me!”
“RUN!” Dougal shouted.
Angus sprinted up the steps and pushed the fake snowman out of his way as he tumbled into the Rotundra at last. He was hit by a fierce gust of glacial air. Large drifts of ice diamond spores were being driven in every direction by violent winds. The Rotundra was unrecognizable. The horizon had been obliterated, along with every familiar landmark. Giant crystal fronds had spread across almost every inch of snowy ground, wall, and ceiling like a malicious, choking fungus.
“Hurry up!” Dougal hurtled up the steps behind him. “Cid won’t stop Swarfe for long!”
Angus cupped the lightning heart in both hands and closed his eyes, willing it to come back to life again and give them a small glimmer of hope, but . . .
“Nothing’s happening!”
“Can’t you make it do something?”
“How? It doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual!”
“But you’re a storm prophet!” Dougal shouted above the howling winds. “This is the worst weather Perilous has ever had. Shouldn’t you be feeling something by now?”
Angus scrunched his eyes up tight. Dougal was right. He had to let his storm prophet senses punch through the fear in his brain and take control at last. It was now or never; there would be no second chances.
“Oh!”
The stone convulsed. Angus gasped as the bloodred veins and fissures began to pulse. The lightning heart was beating once again! He felt its power blazing through every inch of his body. And he suddenly knew what had to be done.
“Look out!” Dougal yelled, pointing toward the snow dome, where an angry-looking Swarfe had just emerged at the top of the stairs.
Angus turned and stumbled, trying to make a run for it, but Swarfe was already closing in. He lunged and grabbed Angus by the wrist.
“Let me go!”
“Not until you give the lightning heart to me, you foolish boy!” Swarfe hissed in his ear. “It cannot withstand such powerful forces. I will not allow you to destroy it.”
He twisted Angus’s arm behind his back, forcing him to drop the stone. Then he dove greedily into the snow after it. But Dougal had beaten him to it. He grabbed the lightning heart and lobbed it.
“Angus, catch!”
Angus grasped it with the tips of his fingers and felt an instant surge of power.
BANG!
The fire dragon appeared at last, a blaze of roaring color in the bleak whiteness. The dazzling creature hovered above him for a fraction of a second before it reached out with the tip of its wing and touched the lightning heart.
CRACK!
Sparks flew; deep veins and fissures fractured inside the stone with the force of a mighty frost quake, and the power of the ancient lightning bolt was released at last.
Angus dropped it and flung himself behind a rocky outcrop as lightning burst from the fractured heart in a thousand fiery splinters, each striking the glass ceiling above.
CRASH!
Hundreds of crystal fronds shattered and fell, smashing into the ground. Ripples of lightning swept through the Rotundra in a blistering wave, liquefying ice diamond spores into drops of harmless rain. Angus cringed as the inferno surged across him like countless fire dragons. Gigantic rolls of thunder followed, shaking every inch of frozen ground. And then, suddenly, an eerie silence fell.
Angus waited, half expecting more explosions or a second swell of deadly ancient lightning, but all that was left was a steady drip, drip, drip as a deep thaw set in.
He rose slowly from behind the rocky outcrop. The lightning heart had exploded into a million tiny pieces, its remains now smeared across the snow like a bleeding wound. There was no sign of Adrik Swarfe. Angus wondered if he, too, had been vaporized. And Dougal . . .
Dougal lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. For the second time that night, he was showing no signs of life. Angus scrambled across the snow toward him, gripped by a feeling of dread. He had to get help now! He ran . . . and collided with something solid.
“Angus!” Jeremius grabbed him by the elbows, holding him upright. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“Swarfe!” Angus managed to gasp, feeling desperately relieved that Jeremius was still alive. “Swarfe was here, and Dougal’s hurt!”
Jeremius nodded. “Stay here! I will deal with Swarfe.”
“But Dougal?”
Jeremius was running through the melting snow before Angus could say any more, closely followed by Gudgeon.
Then strong hands were grasping him by the shoulders, turning him away from the snow dome and his friend, back toward the changing rooms.
“I think it might be best if we leave the others to it, Angus.”
Rogwood steered him carefully back across the Rotundra, where Dark-Angel, Catcher Castleman,
and at least thirty other lightning catchers were all staring at the devastation. They walked silently up through the stone tunnels into the Exploratorium. There was a buzzing in Angus’s ears as he slowly played back every scene inside the Rotundra like a slow-motion movie, and each time it ended with Dougal lying lifeless on the ground.
“Please go straight down to your room, Angus, and do not talk to anyone on the way.” Rogwood was speaking again. They had reached the spiral stairs that led to the lightning cubs’ living quarters. “I will join you in a few moments.”
Angus walked wearily down the deserted stairway and along the corridor to his room. He pulled off his snow boots, dumped his damp coat on his bed, and sat in a chair by the fire, suddenly feeling too exhausted to take off his socks.
Rogwood appeared a few minutes later with a tall mug of warm milk from the kitchens, which Angus sipped numbly.
“I am sorry, Angus, but I must ask you to explain exactly what happened tonight,” Rogwood said, watching him closely. “Miss Midnight has been most informative, but—”
“Is Indigo all right?”
“She is perfectly fine. When she realized that you were locked inside the snow dome, she assisted Catcher Greasley back to the changing rooms and then ran up to the Exploratorium, without a map, to fetch help. Were it not for her quick thinking and bravery, we might not have discovered you and Mr. Dewsnap for some time.”
Angus swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe that Indigo had braved the tunnels without a map. If she had taken a wrong turn or run into trouble on her own . . . He hardly dared ask the next question, for fear of what the answer might be.
“And D-Dougal?”
“I will speak to Doctor Fleagal as soon as he has examined Mr. Dewsnap properly. But I have just been informed in the kitchens that Dougal is now conscious and asking a large number of questions. Unfortunately, there is no sign of Adrik Swarfe. It seems he made his escape through the snow dome before Jeremius and Gudgeon could catch him.”
Angus slumped back into his chair, finally feeling an enormous weight lift. Nobody had been killed by the ice diamond storm. Somehow, both Jeremius and Gudgeon were safe. The lightning heart had been destroyed. Adrik Swarfe’s plans had failed.
“Now that we have covered everyone, I would be grateful if you could explain what happened with Adrik Swarfe. Principal Dark-Angel will want to speak to you, Angus, and soon. Doctor Fleagal will also be on his way shortly, to examine you thoroughly, and I believe it would be better to keep some of the details of your adventures between me, Gudgeon, Jeremius, and your closest friends,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Angus. “Swarfe undoubtedly had an accomplice, and until we can prove beyond any doubt who that might be . . .”
Angus wondered if he should mention his suspicions about Valentine Vellum. But Rogwood was already waiting for him to begin his account of events. Angus took a deep breath and explained everything as swiftly as he could, from the appearance of the mysterious Farew’s qube in his bedroom on Christmas morning to the moment their efforts to open it had finally paid off, revealing what he thought was a note from his dad inside.
Rogwood nodded, looking thoughtful. “Swarfe knew that once you’d discovered the message, nothing, including ice diamond storms, would stop you from finding the mysterious lightning heart. The storms, however, kept the rest of us conveniently busy.”
“But, sir, I don’t understand . . . he tried to set off two ice diamond storms in my bedroom,” Angus blurted out, suddenly realizing that only he, Dougal, and Indigo were aware of this fact.
“Hmm. Perhaps Swarfe felt it would provide some extra urgency to your quest, once the real storms had begun. I do not believe he meant to harm you at that time. Although it appears you had a lucky escape in the research department.” Rogwood considered him carefully. “It seems Swarfe is unaware of your habit of turning up in places that you are not supposed to be.”
Angus smiled sheepishly, deciding not to tell Rogwood about the incident in the Lightnarium supplies room and the accidental release of the lightning moths. He quickly described the events that had led them across the emergency training course and down into the snow dome, where Swarfe had revealed the truth about the forged notes and his intention to take Angus back to Castle Dankhart.
“He was planning to make more lightning hearts!” Angus explained. “He was going to use my blood and the museum artifacts.”
Rogwood shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid there is very little hope that the lightning tower remains will ever be recovered from Castle Dankhart. An important part of our heritage has vanished forever. But Swarfe can do very little with them now that you have slipped through his fingers.”
And then Angus came to the moment the lightning heart had finally awakened in his hands. He paused, trying to recall the exact feeling of the powerful stone, hardly daring to believe that he and Dougal had come through the ordeal without getting themselves frozen.
“But, sir, why did the lightning heart shatter? I mean, Swarfe was wrong, it wasn’t fragile at all. I could feel how strong it was.”
“It is quite simple, Angus. I believe Adrik Swarfe failed to understand what would happen when a young and talented storm prophet got his hands on a very thirsty stone. He had no idea that you could revive it in a single moment of great need. Or that the lightning heart would respond so readily. And although I believe you did feel its full power for a brief moment, in the end it was indeed too fragile, and it shattered. Such an object of wonder is less important, perhaps, than the person who is holding it,” Rogwood said wistfully.
“You should be very happy with your efforts, Angus. I realize you must have a great many questions about your storm prophet skills after everything that has happened tonight, but I’m afraid now is not the time to discuss it. I assure you, however, that we will return to the subject, and soon. Sadly, I fear we must,” he said, shaking his head. “All I will tell you for now is that storm prophets do not use their most potent skills until they are faced with the worst possible danger. You have only experienced brief glimpses of that power, and for my part, I would be very happy if it were to stay that way for many years to come.”
Angus sat quietly, trying to make sense of Rogwood’s words.
“Your mother and father would be very proud of you, Angus. No one could have tried harder. It is a credit to your loyalty that you did not ask for help. I believe Swarfe understood that much when he formed his plan. He could see your potential.”
“Is there still no word from my mum and dad?” Angus asked, already knowing what the answer would be. But he had been desperately clinging to the hope.
“Nothing has been heard from them since Jeremius received the note from your father, Angus. I am truly sorry.”
“But they’ve been there for months now. Dankhart could be starving them.”
“I think even Scabious Dankhart is intelligent enough to understand how important your parents are to him. And if he is not, then Adrik Swarfe almost certainly is. They will not perish in those dungeons, Angus, I can promise you that. We will get our chance to rescue them, and in the meantime”—he smiled kindly through his toffee-colored beard—“they are armed with the happy knowledge that Scabious Dankhart makes mistakes.”
Angus stared down at his hands, trying to hide his tears. He had thought that he and his dad were in it together somehow, that they were fighting against Dankhart and the monsoon mongrels. He sank farther into his chair, wishing that the message from Castle Dankhart had been real.
It wasn’t until the following morning, after Doctor Fleagal had forced him to drink a disgusting tonic that tasted exactly like an emergency survival stew, that he was allowed out of bed and up to the kitchens for a proper breakfast.
Indigo was already waiting at their usual table, a deeply anxious expression on her face.
“Oh, thank goodness!” She leaped up from her chair to give him an awkward hug, accidentally squashing the toast he was carrying in the process. “Catcher Sparks knocked
on my door last night. She told me both you and Dougal were fine. I wanted to go straight down into the Pigsty to see for myself. But if Rogwood had caught me . . .”
Angus wolfed down a plate of poached eggs as Indigo described the chaos and panic that had taken hold of the Exploratorium in the hours following the dramatic events in the Rotundra.
“Everyone got woken up and brought into the kitchens, just in case there were any more ice diamond storms,” Indigo told him, helping herself to a slice of his squashed toast. “Violet Quinn had to be taken up to the sanatorium with hysterics. Theodore Twill was running around telling everyone that the ice diamond storms had woken up a top secret herd of woolly mammoths, causing a stampede through the Rotundra.”
Angus grinned. He stared around the kitchens, which were still buzzing with excitement and rumors. Nicholas Grubb and his friends had joined forces with some fourth-year girls, and they were all huddled around one large table. Catcher Sparks was talking quietly with Miss DeWinkle and Catcher Castleman, demonstrating something complicated with a pile of sugar cubes and a spoon.
Ten minutes later, Jeremius appeared, with Gudgeon trailing behind him. Angus jumped out of his chair, abandoning the rest of his breakfast, and he and Indigo raced over to meet them. Jeremius pulled Angus into a tight, rib-cracking hug before explaining exactly how they’d both managed to escape the ice diamond spores.
“The storm went off right behind us. We knew Catcher Castleman would get all the lightning cubs back to safety, but we also realized that if we tried to make a run for it, we’d perish.”
Angus remembered the dreadful plume of diamond-shaped spores about to engulf the igloos and shivered.
“So we blocked the entrance to the igloo with extra snow, to stop the spores from drifting inside, and kept our fingers crossed. It was an extremely close call. The weight of the crystal was starting to crack the roof of the igloo. If we’d been trapped in there for much longer . . .”