The Firebird Chronicles
Page 21
‘Life?’ the old woman whispered.
She could feel its heart beating through its feathers, so small, so fragile. Its little body was warm. If she closed her fingers, she could squeeze the breath right out of it, as easy as squeezing juice from a raspberry. She could end it now.
Why had her sister done this? Why had she given her the choice? Why had she trusted her?
She’s a fool, a bitter voice whispered. But despite all the lies Grizelda had told herself, and despite the black deeds she’d clothed herself in, she didn’t believe it.
Grizelda had spent her life hating her sister. Since they’d been given their gifts all those years ago, she’d nursed a deep bitterness. She’d woken this bitterness each morning at first light and cradled it as the sun sank. Why had her sister been given such a beautiful gift, while she had been dished out that embarrassment, that monstrosity? She had been forced to watch its ugly spectacle day after day as it ripped into flesh. It wasn’t fair. Nothing from that moment had been fair. But Grizelda had decided to make a virtue of it. She’d embraced the hand she’d been dealt. If she couldn’t have what her sister had, she’d destroy it, destroy Life, little by little, piece by piece. Who, then, would be the winner?
And yet, here she was, holding her sister’s gift. It was hers now. She’d won. So why did it feel like a hollow victory? She’d longed for this day, plotted for it, sweated for it, bled for it, fought for it and killed for it, time and time again.
And yet, here it was … but she couldn’t bring herself to wring the little bird’s neck.
She looked at her sister’s body, slumped in the centre of the hall, the point of the lance still pushing slowly through her chest. A circle of blood spread around her, staining the ALETHEAN floor red.
You are a Life bearer too. That’s what her sister had said.
No. The old woman wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t.
This day I choose to share my Life with you. It will not end, it will continue in you.
Grizelda cringed. Despite herself, she could still feel her sister’s presence with her. Even in death she was messing with her head.
‘Fight it!’ the old woman muttered. ‘You’ve won.’
But her words had no effect. Something had changed. The proof was right there in Grizelda’s hand. She hadn’t wrung the bird’s neck. There it sat, ruffling its feathers, looking up at her as if nothing was wrong. Grizelda felt powerless, as though the choice was not really hers to make at all. Quietly, without fuss or fanfare, her sense of who she was, was crumbling.
Life was bigger than she’d realised.
She’d sensed it in the BLACK LAKE. She couldn’t remember exactly what she’d seen there, but it had left her with an uneasy feeling. Even there, even in that place of darkness, Life had been present. It had shaken her. And now this?
If Life was bigger than she’d anticipated, all those years of bargaining and defending, scrapping and stealing, hording and scheming, they’d all been for nothing.
For nothing, the old woman repeated.
That was the folly. That was the waste.
Grizelda felt a sharp pain in her fingers. She looked down. There were flames in her hand.
‘Argh!’ she cried.
The flames leapt up, shooting past her face, singeing her hair. She hopped and jumped, screeching like a crow.
‘What’s happening?’
It was the little bird. It was blazing. Flames crackled from its feathers.
But although Grizelda could feel it, the fire wasn’t burning her skin.
‘I won’t let go!’ she cried. ‘Not now, not after all I’ve been through.’ The bird was hers. There was no way she was going to let it go. She clung to it, despite the pain that shot through her arm.
The fire blazed brighter, its heat spreading through her shoulders and down into her legs. It was inside her, burning, smarting. Her whole body was aflame. It was excruciating. But alongside the pain, Grizelda became aware of a different sensation too. A glowing nub boiled deep in her core. It was small, but it blazed brilliantly, a nucleus of molten energy. What was it? It was spreading outwards, growing.
Get it out of me!
She could feel the cloud writhing inside her. It was angry. She’d become used to its ash, bitter in her mouth. It had always protected her, yes, but it had never let her rest. Now, as the heat pulsated, she sensed it being burnt away. She planted her feet, stilling herself. ‘I’ve had enough of you,’ she growled. She squeezed her eyes shut and allowed the fire to spread. As it did, the cloud gradually receded. The fire was refining her like ore being smelted, its impurities burnt to reveal gold.
Suddenly, the old woman laughed. ‘Of course!’ she cried. ‘The Guardian of Hidden Treasure!’
When they’d been given their gifts, her sister had been awarded that name, while Grizelda had been labelled Guardian of Grit, Base Materials, Fire, Stone and Ash. It was another reason to despise her sister.
But now she could see it. Here, in this moment, the two names were being melded.
Once again you will bear our shared name.
She was being smelted like ore in a furnace. There was fire, yes, there was ash, but under it all was …
‘Treasure,’ the old woman whispered.
She laughed again, and then cried out as a great pillar of fire shot up from the bird. It reached the ceiling of ALETHEA and spread out, plumes of flame glistening above her. Grizelda stared up. She’d seen this before, at the Great Wedding Banquet. Back then, though, she’d feared it. She’d fought it. But now here she was, holding it.
It was a Firebird. She gazed up as bright droplets rained down.
The clatter of weapons broke her gaze. The time enchantment had ended. The NIGHTMARE army lurched back into real time, boots thumping, armour clanking. They crashed into one another, turning away from the circle to look up, cowering away from the Firebird.
As the bright droplets rained down, the hall fell silent.
Then, slowly, everybody turned to look at Grizelda.
‘What you lot gawpin’ at?’ Her voice echoed around the chamber. ‘Well? It’s rude to stare.’
But they couldn’t stop staring. The sight of Grizelda, fire pouring from her hands, was captivating. The old woman had transformed. Blazing wings rose from her back, reaching high into the air. Her black cloak hung from them in strips, like molten lava tumbling down the gold and red feathers. Even more mesmerizing, was Grizelda’s face. The old woman had always kept it hidden. Now, everyone could see. Grizelda’s skin was wrinkled and worn. She looked so human, just an old lady.
Sparks looked at Wisdom. It was a heart-breaking sight. She lay in a pool of her own blood, perfectly still. She’d been their friend. They’d lost so much on this quest. Sparks wanted to blame Grizelda. But as she turned back to the old woman, she couldn’t help but see her resemblance to her sister. Wisdom looked out from behind Grizelda’s eyes. If Sparks nursed bitterness as Grizelda had done, it would be a betrayal of her friend.
Wisdom gave her sister a second chance, Sparks thought. She loved her to the end.
Grizelda had transformed. She’d been changed through Wisdom’s sacrifice.
The old woman’s voice cut through the silence. It was shaky, unsure. ‘I dunno what yer want from me.’
‘Should we kill ‘em?’ one of the Trolls called out.
‘No!’ replied Grizelda. Then, realising what she’d said, she repeated it, quietly. ‘No.’
The NIGHTMARE army glanced at one another, muttering.
‘Alright, alright,’ Grizelda said. ‘I dunno who I am to tell yer anythin’ anymore, but I’ll give it a go.’ She looked down. ‘I ain’t gonna give yer a pretty speech about happy endin’s and all that bobbins, that ain’t my style. And I ain’t gonna tell yer it’s all gonna be okay. I’m not stupid. I ain’t gonna tell yer the world is split into monsters and ‘eroes, neither. It’s not. So-called ‘eroes can be monsters, and perhaps monsters can become ‘eroes too. You lot’ll have t
o prove that to me. But …’ the old woman paused, ‘… I will say this. If I can be a bearer of Life, anyone can.’ She waved her hand over the NIGHTMARE army. ‘If I’m included, you all are. There’s no escapin’ it. And I mean everyone. No excuses. Life-bearers, the lot of yer. And don’t yer ever go forgettin’ it.’
Chapter 37
Becoming Flesh
Libby looked up. That was it, the end of her mum’s story. The last thing she’d ever written.
If I’m included, you all are … Life-bearers, the lot of yer … And don’t yer ever go forgettin’ it.
Somehow, Libby felt her mum had written those words especially for her. It was a message from beyond an uncrossable boundary.
She looked at her dad. There were tears in his eyes. Closing the book, she crossed to him and put her arms around his chest. He clasped her hands. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s good.’
Libby squeezed his hand in reply.
Her dad wiped his eyes and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a thin box, a present, wrapped in brown paper, tied with a red ribbon. He handed it to Libby. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Open it.’
Quietly, Libby undid the bow and gently peeled back the paper. The box was leathery black. She lifted the lid. Inside was a gold pen. It glinted.
‘Merry Christmas, Libby,’ her dad said. Standing, he walked across to one of the kitchen drawers, slid it open and rummaged inside. He produced a long, red candle.
‘Do you remember what your mum used to do every Christmas Eve?’ he asked, putting a saucer onto the kitchen surface.
‘She used to light a candle.’
‘Yes. I’m thinking it’s a tradition we should keep.’
Libby nodded.
Her dad took a lighter from his pocket and, clicking a flame to life, heated the bottom of the candle. The wax dripped onto the saucer. He stuck the candle to the plate.
He looked at her. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m glad you came here. I think it’s going to be a good place to spend Christmas Day.’ Then, holding the lighter to the wick, he lit a flame, and the room was filled with golden light.
* * *
Fletcher looked up. He was still kneeling on the beach, his trousers soaked through from the snow. The pen was in his hand. Quietly, he laid it down and looked at Scoop. She knelt beside him, staring at the page beneath her. It was filled with writing. ‘What just happened?’ he whispered.
Scoop shook her head. ‘I think we made something wonderful happen.’
The light had faded and the first evening stars shone in the sky. Behind them, the brass band was packing up, the last of the children having boarded the ferry with their families, ready to head back to the mainland.
Fletcher looked towards the shadow of the beach huts.
He paused for a moment. ‘Shall we go and see?’
Scoop nodded.
Silently, they folded their stories and put them into their pockets. Then, together, they moved back through the maze of beach huts towards Libby’s mum’s.
Scoop stopped Fletcher a little way from the cabin. ‘We shouldn’t intrude,’ she said.
‘But––’ Fletcher stopped himself. Scoop was right.
He could see a candle flickering in the beach hut. A light had been lit. It was time to let it burn. Libby’s story wasn’t theirs to interfere with anymore.
It was strange to have reached this end, so quiet and still. ‘So, what now?’ he asked.
Scoop shrugged. ‘We head on. We’re adventurers, aren’t we?’
Fletcher nodded.
With one last look at the beach hut, the candlelight flickering through its shutters, they turned and walked away.
* * *
As they walked back towards the jetty, a man in a Santa costume was locking the café. He was standing on tiptoe, reaching up to bolt one of the double doors, his fake, bushy beard pulled down under his chin. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, as Fletcher and Scoop passed.
They stopped and stared at him.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Scoop replied, quietly.
‘What’s up with you two? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’
Fletcher laughed, nervously. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, have a good one, anyway,’ the man said, as he disappeared inside and closed the second door.
The two adventurers stared at it.
‘He saw us,’ whispered Fletcher.
‘Yes.’
There was a pause.
‘And … can you feel it?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re no longer Mortale, are we?’
‘No, we’re not.’
‘We’re real.’
Just then, there was a voice behind them. ‘Woo-hoo!’
Fletcher and Scoop turned to see Hilary approaching. ‘Hello again,’ she said. ‘Are you waiting for the ferry?’
Scoop glanced at Fletcher. ‘Yes … I suppose we are.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you just missed the last one. But you’re in luck. I have my own little boat – a luxury for my retirement.’ She winked. ‘Would you like a lift back to Christchurch?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Scoop. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Not at all. But you’ll have to give me something in return.’
‘Oh,’ said Fletcher. ‘The thing is, we don’t have much. We don’t have money or anything.’
Hilary laughed. ‘Oh no, nothing like that. But if you have a story to tell, that would do nicely. It will brighten the journey.’
Fletcher smiled. ‘Oh, I think we can do that.’
‘We certainly can.’ Scoop agreed.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Fletcher and Scoop were bobbing across the harbour, away from the spit that had been their home.
‘So, where should we begin?’ Fletcher asked.
Scoop grinned. ‘How about, “The girl awoke with a start …”‘
‘Yes, that seems like a perfectly good beginning.’
And so, there on the little boat, as the Christmas stars shone above them, Scoop began to tell their story.
* * *
Rufina finished digging a little hole in the earth and knelt up. She took the peace plant beside her and placed it in the hole. Covering its roots with soil, she patted it down. Beside her, the Mysterious Mountains rose, their peaks still covered with snow, despite the warm summer sun. She stood up and brushed down her trousers.
She’d been meaning to do this for months. But after the events at ALETHEA, she hadn’t been able to. In fact, she hadn’t been able to do anything. To say that the weeks following the breach of the NIGHTMARE army had been difficult, was an understatement. Rufina had never been through anything like it before. She hadn’t wanted to leave her house. She hadn’t wanted to see anyone. She’d felt such shame. She’d failed her friends: the Yarnbard, Alfa and Sparks. Most of all, she’d failed Nib. How could she plant a memorial to him when she had failed him so thoroughly?
But over the weeks and months, her pain had eased. The Yarnbard had kept reminding her that she’d acted out of love. If she’d not played her part, he said, things would never have resolved the way they had. And they had resolved. After Grizelda’s speech, the NIGHTMARE army had disbanded. The old woman seemed to be truly altered. And then, in the freshness of the morning, they’d woken from DREAM to find themselves back on Fullstop Island. The Gigan Ticks retreated below ground again, and everywhere, villagers emerged from their cocoons. On the face of it, the island had returned to its natural rhythm. But nobody could deny that something fundamental had changed.
As she looked at the plant, its white flowers reaching towards the light, its roots burrowing into the darkness, it began to rain. It was a cool summer rain that sparkled in the light. It had been raining a lot recently, and the River Word was almost back to its normal level.
Rufina lifted her chin and allowed the cool drops to settle on her skin. She listened.
In the patter, she could hear voices. They were gentle but familiar.
As the rain soothed her, Rufina knew that although she was alone, she wasn’t on her own. And that was enough.
Other Books in the Firebird Chronicles Series
Rise of the Shadow Stealers
(2013, ISBN: 978-1-78099-694-3)
Fletcher and Scoop are Apprentice Adventurers from the ancient establishment of Blotting’s Academy, where all Story Characters are trained. The trouble is, they can’t remember how they got there.
It’s the first day of term, but the two apprentices soon realise something is wrong. Things are going missing, including their own memories, and Scoop has the unsettling feeling that something is creeping in the shadows.
As the children search for answers, they become entangled with the life of the Storyteller, the island’s creator and king. They journey to his wedding banquet and find themselves uncovering a hidden past. What is their connection to this mysterious man? And is there more to him than meets the eye?
The Nemesis Charm
(2016, ISBN: 978-1-78535-285-0)
They say only the dead can cross a Threshold, the dead and those who have faced a Nemesis Charm.
When Apprentice Adventurers, Fletcher and Scoop, discover their mother has fallen under the curse of a strange sickness, they prepare to sail for its source, a Threshold, a doorway to the world beyond the Uncrossable Boundary.
But they are not the only ones seeking to cross the Threshold. Their old enemy, Grizelda, has heard that beyond the Boundary lives a woman with the same power as the Storyteller. With the help of a monster made with an undead heart, she plans to cross the Boundary and steal that power for herself. If she succeeds, the Academy, the island and everything in Fletcher and Scoop’s world will be hers.