The Firebird Chronicles

by Daniel Ingram-Brown

  Wisdom’s face was pale, her hands were shaking.

  Felda knew why. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘The well is silent.’

  A little bird flitted down and perched on Wisdom’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s as I feared,’ Christopher said. ‘The heartbeat of the island has stopped. Its source has run dry. That creature is a Gigan Tick – a Time Terminator. They are creatures of the end, tasked with bringing the island into a place of stasis for the Great Waiting, in hope that one day this world will be awoken again. That creature may not seem it, but it’s our friend. It’ll protect the things we love, the people we love. It will wrap them in a protective shell, saving them for the future. More of its brothers will join it soon. Before long, an army of Gigan Ticks will emerge from this gorge, released from the very place the Well Whisper once sounded. They will drag the island into a state of hibernation.’

  Felda thought she could hear the terrible sound of ticking coming from the chasm below. ‘What are we to do?’

  ‘We have to escape,’ Wisdom said. ‘Find a place of safety.’

  Christopher shook his head. ‘Is there anywhere safe?’

  ‘I think, perhaps, there is one place. Come, follow me.’

  Quietly, the Guardians sneaked away from the Central Chasm, careful to avoid the Gigan Tick still perched on the wire, careful not to be spotted by the few Red Hawks still patrolling the streets. Felda wondered if she would ever see Bardbridge again. As she followed Wisdom away from the Three Towers, a fear gripped her, the fear that Bardbridge had been lost, that she would never walk these streets again, that this was the last time she would set eyes on the village she loved.

  Chapter 6

  Digging Down

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  Libby stared at the pile of kids’ toys in the corner of her counsellor’s office. There was one of those “Don’t Buzz the Wire” games, shaped like a tiny rollercoaster.

  ‘You were in some sort of incident at school, Libby. Can you tell me about it?’

  And there was a Lego house, with lots of little characters. There was always Lego.

  Libby was used to sitting in this room, willing the time to pass. It was an old Victorian house that had been converted for use by CAMHS, the Children and Adolescent Mental Health Service. The carpet was green, faded and patchy. The walls were off-white. A desk was pushed into the corner, a computer on it, containing client files. Libby thought about the notes that must be stored there from her previous sessions. In the centre of the room was a little round coffee table with a small vase of flowers on it. Libby sat in an armchair next to it, her counsellor, June, opposite. June’s straggly blonde hair and flushed cheeks made her look tired. She cocked her head to one side.

  Libby sighed. ‘It was just a fight.’ She didn’t look up. ‘They happen all the time.’

  ‘Okay. Well, can you tell me how you were feeling just before it happened?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  June paused. ‘Okay, that’s fine.’

  The two of them sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘How’s your writing going?’ June asked, changing tack.

  Libby felt a twist in her gut. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘No? You were finding it helpful a few months ago.’

  ‘Well, I’m not now. It’s stupid.’

  ‘Stupid? Why do you say that?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Libby could feel her cheeks burning. ‘Dad’s right. I’ve spent too long living in a fantasy world.’

  ‘Lots of people use writing as a way of processing their emotions.’

  Libby shrugged. ‘Yeah. I dunno. I think it was childish – just a childish dream.’

  Her counsellor paused again. The silence was awkward.

  ‘And what about dreams, Libby?’ June asked. ‘Have you had any recently? You’ve spoken about them before.’

  Libby glanced up. Sometimes it felt as though June could see straight through her with those kind eyes.

  I hate that kindness, Libby thought. It’s so intrusive. ‘Yes, I’ve had one,’ she said, looking away again. She didn’t know why she was talking.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Libby shrugged. ‘It’s just about spiders. Lots of spiders in a sort of pit.’

  Her counsellor waited.

  ‘That’s it,’ Libby said. ‘I’ve dreamt about it a few times.’

  June nodded. ‘What do you associate with spiders?’ she asked.

  ‘I dunno.’ Libby paused. ‘People are scared of them, I guess.’

  ‘That’s true. It’s a very common phobia. And what about the pit?’

  ‘I dunno. It’s just a hole, isn’t it?’

  June paused. ‘Often in dreams, or stories, underground places are connected to our subconscious, to things we don’t see on the surface, perhaps things we don’t want to see or acknowledge. Think about going down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland or the Minotaur in the labyrinth.’

  Libby glanced up again. She and June had talked about dreams and symbols before. She could tell it was a subject that interested June. Despite herself, Libby was intrigued.

  ‘So perhaps,’ June continued, ‘there are things going on underneath, in your subconscious – feelings and emotions that, perhaps, you’re afraid of – like the spiders.’

  Libby shrugged again, but she was aware her hands were clammy.

  ‘We all have those feelings, you know,’ June said. ‘We all have parts of ourselves we don’t feel entirely comfortable with, that we aren’t in control of. Sometimes they make us feel afraid.’

  June glanced at the clock. The session had almost finished. She linked her fingers, twiddling her thumbs for a moment. ‘I wonder if, perhaps, a goal for the next few weeks might be to allow yourself to be aware of any emotions that arise – not to push them away too quickly, just to be aware of them, without judging or trying to analyse. If you’re able, you could make a note of anything you do become aware of and we could pick it up in our next session.’

  Libby nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ June said, standing. Libby followed her lead. ‘I’ll see you in a few weeks’ time, yes?’ Libby turned to leave the office. ‘Libby,’ June said. Libby looked back. ‘You’re doing well, you know. Don’t be hard on yourself.’

  Libby nodded again, but as she walked out of the room, she kicked herself for having told June about her dream. She’d said too much. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to lie down and sleep, sleep and never wake up.

  * * *

  Two hundred and fifty miles south, Libby’s mother, Ms Speller, sat on a camping chair on the beach. It was cold. She wore an old puffer jacket and had a blanket thrown over her legs. The beach was deserted now the weather had turned.

  It’s quiet, she thought. Too quiet.

  She stared out across the restless sea, muttering to herself. The wind whipped sand at her, making her skin prickle.

  Ms Speller listened. She was used to hearing them, seeing them – Mortales, the Story Characters that plagued her. They appeared unprompted, unwelcome visitors to her imagination, disturbing her, not letting her get any peace. But no matter how she railed against them, she had become accustomed to them. Since she had thrown her pen into the sea, since Falk had disappeared, her mind had just been … empty.

  Too quiet, she thought. She tapped her foot, nervously. This silence put her on edge. But when her mind was noisy, she couldn’t cope. She couldn’t win. She couldn’t live with them, but she felt lost without them.

  I’ll never have peace, she thought. I’ll never have peace.

  Chapter 7

  Gigan Tick Attack

  Grizelda backed up the steps of the Scythe. She was being pursued by a Gigan Tick. ‘Get back with ya!’ She lashed out with a pike she’d found abandoned on the steps. Tripping over it had been a stroke of luck. Secretly, she thanked the guard who’d left it, although she vowed that if she ever saw him again, she’d kill him for
abandoning his post.

  The old woman lunged forward, swiping with the pike. It struck the Gigan Tick in the eye. Grizelda cackled as it recoiled, its legs slipping from the steps, sending lumps of rock crashing down.

  ‘Go on, back with ya!’ She lunged again. ‘Take that! Don’t yer know who yer messing with? Don’t yer know who I am? I’m Grizelda! Grizelda, you hear? You should be afraid of me!’ She struck out again, knocking one of its legs away. The creature scrambled wildly, trying to gain purchase, but it was enormous, its orbed body squashed against the side of the tower. The steps were ancient and crumbling, and the more the spider struggled, the more debris it dislodged.

  Grizelda raised her free hand and brought it down in a sweeping motion. Her crows dived, madly. They struck the creature like a volley of darts. The great arachnid reared up, catching one in its mouth. There was a crunch as it snapped its jaws shut. Other crows fell from the Scythe, their bodies broken by the impact. Birds bounced down in a flurry of feathers and blood. The enormous spider ticked rapidly, its pincers thrashing.

  ‘Argh!’ the old woman yelled, dashing down the steps. She brought the pike down on the creature’s head with a thwack.

  It let out an ear-piercing screech.

  ‘Take that, yer hairy monstrosity!’

  The beast reared up again, its body swaying. Pressing her advantage, Grizelda struck it in the eye again. It jerked away, losing balance. Its back legs slipped, pulling its bulbous torso with them. It flopped over the rocks, clawing, but it was too heavy. Its body toppled over the ledge. It clung on, two claws hooked onto the pathway, its other legs hanging down, flailing wildly. They thumped the tower. Great chunks of rock fell from the Scythe. The spider screeched again, its ticks like gunfire. Grizelda’s crows dived once more, trying to dislodge the creature’s grip. One of its leg slipped and it lurched to the side, leaving it hanging by a single claw.

  Grizelda stepped forward.

  ‘Send my love to yer maker, won’t you?’ Crouching, she prized the Gigan Tick’s claw from the ledge. It let out a high whine as it lost its grip. It fell, legs swimming through the air. Grizelda brushed herself down as she watched it plummet. It hit the ground with a dull thud, splattering black goo across the square below.

  ‘That’ll teach yer,’ the old woman said.

  She looked out over the village. An army of Gigan Ticks spilled from the Central Chasm. Black legs and bulbous bodies swarmed through the streets. A frenzy of ticking filled the air. The great arachnids scuttled along the cobbles, spinning sticky webs between the houses, climbing onto their roofs, ready to pounce.

  Villagers fled their homes, scurrying to the edges of the village, but it was no good. One by one the Gigan Ticks picked them off, darting from their hiding places to snare them in their web. Gradually, little pouches of white appeared, bodies wrapped and stored, guarded by the giant beasts, victims or valuables, waiting to be woken.

  From the corner of her eye, Grizelda caught sight of another enormous spider beginning to climb the Scythe. Across the way, others were scaling the Giant and Needle too.

  ‘Well, I never did like the place, anyway,’ she muttered.

  She spun round, her cloak fanning out. With a swirl, Grizelda transformed into a large, black bird. It leapt from the Scythe, the few crows that were left following. Up they flew, away from the Three Towers, until Bardbridge, infested with Gigan Ticks, covered in cobwebs, faded, as Grizelda and her flock disappeared into the clouds.

  Chapter 8

  The Venus Flower

  In the wetlands, where the wind from the Marshes of Ersatz meets the shallows of the Puddles of Plot, the Everafterglade thrives. Here, the sun hangs orange all year round. Even in winter, a warm breeze drifts through the eucalyptus trees, making the long grass wave.

  Christopher, Wisdom and Felda pushed through the palms, their feet swirling the shallow water. The carpet of flat leaves that floated on the swamp, parted as they moved. Around them, sleepy geckos flitted from their logs, disappearing into the shade of the ferns.

  The Guardians’ faces were spotted with mud, the bottom of their clothes heavy and sodden. Christopher swatted another fly from his face. He was irritable. There were no paths in the glade. It made him nervous.

  Wisdom, however, moved through the everglade like a butterfly tracking the scent of a rare flower. A little bird flitted ahead of her, darting from tree to tree. She ran her hand through a mass of blue buds, then stopped to smell a cup-shaped flower. It looked as if it had been set at a table of white goblets.

  Felda was the last in line. She was jittery. She kept spying creatures on the edge of her vision and couldn’t shake the feeling the Gigan Tick was following them.

  ‘How far?’ she asked.

  Wisdom held up a finger. ‘Listen.’

  A distant whirring vibrated through the trees, peppered with melodic chirrups like the broken chords of a wind chime. It was peaceful, hypnotic.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That’s where we’re going,’ Wisdom said. ‘It’s not too far now.’

  They moved on, following the sound. As it got louder, the Everafterglade closed in around them. Felda could feel the hum in the air. It made her skin tingle. The noise was soothing, like a blanket being drawn across her shoulders. Her mind quietened and she found herself stepping without thought.

  A white flower floated across her path. She smiled, dreamily. Trillium. The three-petalled buds had always been one of her favourites.

  Slowly, more flowers gathered around her feet, until she was surrounded by a carpet of white. It spilled through the trees, forming a pathway. Tall, scarlet flowers lined the way like torches from an enchanted forest.

  The Guardians followed the pathway until the glade opened into a cathedral-like clearing. Light shot through the trees in hazy beams, the sun hanging behind their branches like a dreamcatcher.

  In the centre of the clearing, a colossal flower blossomed. It sat on the ground, its tulip-shaped bowl surrounded by Trillium buds. Its petals looked as soft as swan feathers, but it was four times the height of Felda. Around the flower, tiny birds hovered, their wings flashing green and blue. They hummed as they beat. The birds seemed to be tending the plant, their beaks stroking its petals, before flitting away to the surrounding branches. As they tended the plant, they chirruped and whistled. A rich scent like sugared almonds and honey lingered in the glade.

  ‘Lullaby birds?’ Felda asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Wisdom replied.

  ‘Then this must be …’

  ‘The Glade of the Setting Sun.’

  ‘And that’s the Venus Flower. So, this is where you’ve been leading us. I’ve heard stories, but …’

  ‘We’ll be safe here.’

  ‘Where?’ Christopher said. He sounded nervous.

  Wisdom pointed at the flower.

  ‘Inside the plant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No! I’m not stepping a foot in there.’

  ‘There’s nowhere safe from the Gigan Ticks. You said it yourself. We cannot stay on the surface of this world. We need to travel deep, to the roots of the land, to the world beneath.’

  ‘DREAM?’ Felda asked.

  ‘Yes, this will be our carriage to the other side. The plant will keep us safe.’

  ‘The plant will feed on us!’ exclaimed Christopher.

  ‘It will sustain us.’

  ‘It will secrete a fluid that will knit our bodies into its vascular system and draw us into a hallucinogenic state. You can smell it now – that sickly scent.’

  ‘You were always so literal, Christopher. I prefer to see it as a pillow, a bed to keep us safe as we cross into DREAM.’

  ‘But how will we get out again?’

  Wisdom paused. ‘There’s no telling how, or if, we’ll ever leave DREAM.’

  ‘Then how is this different to the Gigan Ticks? We’re prey to both.’

  ‘The difference is we choose this willingly.’

  ‘Willingly? Pah!’
/>
  ‘Being taken by a Gigan Tick is like disappearing, swallowed by darkness until you are woken. This way, we will continue to have some level of consciousness. We will slip into the subterranean realm of DREAM where we will be together. Once there, we will be able to fight for our survival. This way we have a chance. The Gigan Ticks will gradually take every living thing – but they will not venture here.’

  ‘For good reason!’

  ‘Christopher, I am Wisdom, the eldest of the Guardians. This is our best chance. It is our only chance. Will you trust me?’

  Christopher held Wisdom’s gaze for a long moment, searching her eyes. Then, he gave a sharp nod. ‘Very well. I will.’

  ‘Good. Then, I bid you sweet dreaming.’

  The little bird that had been flitting ahead of Wisdom landed on her shoulder. She stepped forward, Trillium buds like confetti around her feet. Reaching the Venus flower, she ran her fingers over the edge of its petal. It was silken and strong.

  ‘Hello,’ Wisdom whispered. ‘Will you keep us safe?’

  Finding the place where the petals overlapped, she pulled the flower to one side, revealing a doorway into the warm, dim heart of the plant. The sweet smell spilled out. Wisdom held up her finger and the little bird jumped onto it. She tucked it safely into her pocket and stepped into the plant.

  Felda followed. The flower was spongy beneath her feet. She watched Wisdom sit down, leaning against the petals and stretching out her feet. Felda followed her example. She breathed in the sweet scent and her head swam. She was half-aware of Christopher next to her, breathing deeply. The muffled hum of the Lullaby birds filled the plant. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to slip into the sweet embrace of the Venus Flower.

  For a moment, there was nothing. Felda felt as though she were floating. But then her body became heavy, uncomfortably heavy. She was being dragged down, down into the ground, deep into the earth, to where the roots of all things twisted together.

  A voice spoke: ‘Welcome,’ it said. It was familiar. ‘Welcome to the Halls of DREAM.’