The Fire Ascending

by Chris D'Lacey

  “Aunt Gwyneth?”

  “That was the name of Gwilanna’s alternate. When they joined minds, the Ix learned what the Aunt knew about Co:pern:ica, and Gwyneth learned about her counterpart on Earth. She took the claw and drew upon its powers of transformation to write herself back into existence on Earth.”

  In the sky behind him, I saw an image of a woman’s hand writing words of smoke:

  I, Gwyneth, sometimes known as Gwilanna, live.

  “The universe has been in turmoil,” said Joseph, “ever since these words were committed to the Is.”

  I recalled my discussion with David and Rosa in the woodlands of Iunavik. “This is why my tapestry differed so much from David’s drawing. There would have been changes all along the timeline.”

  “Yes,” he said. “There are few things more powerful than a claw of a dragon, especially one illumined by twelve fire tears.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to take in the enormity of Gwilanna’s deceit. It was impossible, even for a mind like mine. “Why am I here and not on the battlefield?”

  He laced his fingers and thought about this. “I wanted to protect you from what is to come. Please don’t fight it, Agawin. I created a paradox and took you from Scuffenbury. It’s not stable. We don’t have long.”

  “What is to come, Joseph?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “What about the others? What happens to them?” Zanna, Lucy, Tam Farrell. All of those caught in the darkness of the Shadow.

  “Nothing, until I give Gadzooks the signal to let go.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “You want to stop Gwilanna, don’t you?”

  There was a flutter of wings and Gideon landed on a lectern near the window.

  “I promised David on the life of my seer that I would stop Gwilanna doing more harm.”

  “I know. I’ve visited the timepoint. I heard you.” And just for a moment he seemed to take on the appearance of Yolen.

  He saw my frail eyes puffing with sadness and softened his features back to David’s. “Would you like to see your seer again? We still have long enough to visit his timepoints. It’s all recorded here.” He swept a hand backward. Behind him, through the open window, the sky filled up with millions of fire stars.

  I shook my head. What was done with Yolen was done. I believed Gwilanna’s version of events, but I did have doubts that the sibyl had been brought to the sea with Grella or that Grella had died a natural death. And I was still perplexed by Gwilanna’s claims to have “made” Guinevere.

  “I can show you what happened,” Joseph said quickly, reading my mind again.

  “You seem eager for me to know.”

  He shrugged, but I was sure he wanted me to see it.

  “It will help you understand Gwilanna better. She was a baby, remember, in Grella’s time. It’s a powerful story, Agawin. But I warn you, it’s not pretty.”

  “Grella suffered?”

  He nodded.

  Now I did want to know. “How can I see it?”

  He opened his hands. The centers of his palms were as violet as his eyes. “We are at the heart of the Is. We can Travel anywhere in anywhen. Touching the appropriate fire stars will take you into Grella’s timepoints. But first, you need to know more.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. Earth will be your world — once we’ve dealt with Gwilanna.”

  “My world?”

  “Alexa will be the Earth’s … guardian angel. You should begin with the ice bears.”

  “The ice bears?”

  “Mmm.”

  On a table in front of Gideon, a large, old book had just appeared. Waves of yellow parchment swept out from its middle. Its bindings smelled of the hide of a goat.

  “There was no template created for the bears on Co:pern:ica. Their auma was sent to Ki:mera when the dark fire was first detected on Earth. Their ancestry with the fire of Gawain encouraged the Higher to protect them closely. But they’re restless. They want to go back to their ice. You should make a note.”

  “A note?”

  “In the book.”

  I heard a scratching of claws. Gideon twisted his nut-brown ear tufts. What looked like a delicate shower of ash materialized and fell across a page of the book, forming beautiful words of dragontongue. I had to flick my wings and hover just off my tiptoes to read them. They said, In the final hours, the auma of Gawain is returned to its resting place and the children of Thoran walk freely on the ice.

  “You’re writing a book?”

  “No,” he said. “Those are your thoughts — on every page.”

  I squinted at the book. A single page turned. Then dozens all at once, bringing with them flickering memories of ice bears, generations of them through centuries of time. “Ingavar,” I whispered. The pages stopped and flickered back the other way. Out of the dragontongue rose an image. A striking male polar bear, sitting on an ice block, addressing eight others. I looked at Joseph again. “David talked about this book, but I don’t remember writing it.”

  “You don’t have to,” he replied. “When you came to the librarium, your mind imagineered it. This place is clever like that. You know it all because of your links to the nexus. It’s always been in your consciousness, just like the tapestry of Isenfier.”

  The Book of Agawin. A history of dragons.

  “And bears. And the Earth. The whole timeline,” he said. “Think of it as a kind of manual or guide — a Theory of Everything. It will help the new Premen, when we’re done.”

  I was about to ask what he meant by “done” when a skogkatt appeared on a shelf beside me where a moment earlier books had been standing. It licked its paws then settled down to sleep, wrapping its distinctive tail around it.

  “Floor Ninety-seven,” he said. “Skogkatts and villhund.”

  I jumped aside as a large black dog came swaggering past.

  “It won’t hurt you. It looks mean, but it’s just … territorial. You’ll see plenty of those in Grella’s story.”

  I watched the dog slink past the skogkatt’s perch before curling up in a shady corner. As it closed its eyes it turned into a jumbled heap of books.

  “A cloak,” said Joseph. “This world will need more animals when the time is right. It’s all in the book.”

  “Skogkatts and villhund?”

  He tilted his head. Light was glittering in the strands of his hair. “I saved two of each species before the Dead Lands, here, became the waste they are now. I got the idea from this.” In his hand appeared another large book, with gold-tipped pages and a ribbon to divide them. There was no dragon auma attached to it, but I could feel it fizzing with boundless energy.

  “Did I imagineer that book as well?”

  He shook his head. “Several Premen wrote this.” He moved his hand in a gentle arc and the pages opened like fluttering silk. “I like the early stories best. In this section an old man rescues animals from a flood. They ride a boat with him until they find land. Then he frees the animals and the world begins again.” He let the book go. It flew out of the window on silent wings. “Floor One Hundred and Eight,” he said to Gideon.

  The firebird shook some dust from his feathers and flew away after it.

  “The animals are all here, hidden among the shelves. The whole building is a boat as well as a library. The cloak dissolves on a trigger set into one of the books.”

  As soon as he had said it, my consciousness jumped to it. “David’s squirrel one.” Snigger and the Nutbeast. He had written it for Lucy’s eleventh birthday.

  “Good,” said Joseph. “You’re tuning in.”

  I looked through the window at the open sky. Its color was changing from blue to black. “Is there going to be a flood?”

  “Kind of,” he said, without really saying anything at all.

  Just beyond his head, some of the stars were coming to the fore. “The timeline,” he said. “You’re thinking about Grella.”

  A desperate ache
took hold of my heart.

  “Don’t be afraid of it. Come and see what Is. We’ll watch it together. Then we’ll talk some more.”

  So I fluttered up and sat on the sill beside him. In an instant, he’d turned us to look at the sky. “You’ve Traveled before — with Aurielle, of course.”

  “Aurielle?”

  “The cream-colored firebird. The clever one.”

  “Yes.” I remembered her from Mount Kasgerden. Here I was, as she’d promised, in my hybrid form, looking at billions of fire stars again. The instant I thought of Grella those fire stars connected to her sparkled brighter and arranged themselves in a matrix in front of me. I was hesitant to touch them. Whatever had become of the brave Taan girl had ended with a skull in Gwilanna’s cave. If I thought about her final breath, most of the lights on the stars would dim, until I was left with the vital one that would have taken me straight to the moment. But I needed to see her entire story. I reached out toward a peripheral star.

  “There are rules,” said Joseph. “Here is the first.”

  My arm and the fire stars froze in space.

  “You can witness any episode of Grella’s life, but you cannot interfere. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “You will be there with her, right in the when. Use your fain to hide your presence. Ready?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  And he set my arm free.

  I began at the tragic chapter with Yolen. I asked the Is to show me Grella building his cairn. Several fire stars sparkled in front of me. I touched the nearest star and materialized behind her like a breath of wind, barely rippling the strands of her hair. Taking Joseph’s advice, I quickly entered the body of a mouse that was tugging at the shawl around the baby, Gwilanna. The mouse squeaked but wasn’t harmed in any way. The sound, however, made Grella turn.

  “Hey, cheeky. Leave that alone.”

  She batted a hand. The mouse scuttled away. I hid myself amid a cluster of stones. When I looked again, Grella had picked up the child and was cradling it in the crook of her arm. It was twilight, almost dark. There was rain in the air, but the ground was dry and tightening with frost. The cold had left its mark on Grella’s face, but she was still as slim and beautiful as ever. The same could not be said of Gwilanna. Her ugly wrinkles were hard on the eye, but Grella seemed neither to care nor to notice. She sang a sweet lullaby over the child. The one that Guinevere had sung to me. Gwilanna made soft-happy gurgling noises. Grella touched the baby’s nose, put the bundle down, and picked up another stone for the cairn.

  I was in the process of blessing the stones, to pay my respects to my beloved seer, when I heard a stealthy movement nearby. A twig breaking. A rustle of leaves. The auma of another animal was approaching. Something far bigger and more threatening than a mouse. I could smell the hostility in its sweat, right down to the dirt between the pads of its feet. I looked at Grella. She had her back to the baby and was still singing. The mouse popped through a skittish circle. It squeaked again, much louder than before. It wanted to follow its instincts to run. But my overwhelming need to see what would happen kept it quaking by the rocks.

  Remember, you must not interfere.

  The primary law of Travel. Joseph’s voice was in my head, reminding me of it. I was desperate to materialize and shout a warning, but all I could do was watch the timeline develop — and wait for the creature to pounce.

  A wild dog, a villhund, slipped through the under-growth. Its hot breath blew across my quivering whiskers. On any other night my host might well have been staked with a claw and instantly ripped to pieces. But apart from slanting a bloodshot eye, the hound walked by me and stalked toward the baby. In a silent, almost tender act of thievery, it hooked its teeth into the folds of the shawl, picked Gwilanna up and trotted away. Grella sang on and knew nothing of it.

  It was the bark of another hound that alerted her.

  Like the skogkatts, the villhund roamed in packs. As the scent of Gwilanna traveled, another dog rushed forward from a copse of trees. There was a bark. A savage scuffle. Fearsome growls. The dog carrying Gwilanna doubled back on itself, chased by two of its ruthless companions. They jinked and swerved and I heard a sharp yelp as a third dog gripped the hind leg of the leader. By now, Grella was also giving chase. She ran at the villhund with two large stones that should have been laid in memoriam over Yolen. Her first throw thumped against the flank of a dog, sending it away, yowling. Her second throw fell short. But by then she had caught up with her quarry. Her threats and screams and flailing arms were enough to make the dogs let go of Gwilanna and shuffle back baring their rotted fangs. She kicked one chancer under the chin, drawing a spurt of blood from its jaw. For a moment or two, she was in control. But soon the entire pack had gathered, growling, wild-eyed, wanting revenge. They formed themselves into a ring around her. She had no bow, no arrows to fire. She had no savior.

  Or so I thought.

  I heard a whistle, thin and sharp as a blade. Every dog flattened its shabby ears. A man stepped into view. Short and dirty, dressed in rags. His hair hung loose in spikes across his face. His legs were red with insect bites. There were coverings on his feet like bandages of sackcloth. Spaces either side of his middle teeth. “Gurl,” he grunted. He spat on the ground. “Lookee tha’ way. Lookee at mounten.”

  “Who are you?” said Grella. Dogs all around her. A wild man in front. A quivering mouse so desperate to help her. She clutched Gwilanna tight to her breast.

  The man clenched his teeth and whistled through the gaps. Every dog folded its knees and lay down.

  Grella stared at the pack like a startled bird. “H-how did you do that? Are the villhund yours?”

  The man narrowed his dingy eyes: two grubby little beads in a landscape of pitted, unwashed flesh. He licked his lips and gestured at the mountain.

  This time, Grella turned her head.

  “What?” she said. “What am I looking for?”

  “Nuffin’.” He put a short pipe to his lips. A feathered dart zipped through the air and landed in Grella’s exposed neck. She fell instantly, collapsing in a bundle. She still held Gwilanna in her arms.

  The fire star closed and brought me back to the Is. Right away, I reached out for the next.

  “There is another rule of Travel,” Joseph Henry said. “Beware, Agawin. If you venture too long at any one timepoint, there is a danger you’ll become attached to it — or it will become attached to you.”

  “Attached?”

  “Your consciousness will feel you belong there. Then there will be no possible escape. The Is will reshape itself, and you will live and die wherever you are set. You could go back to her. You could be with Grella and rescue her from her ugly captor. But you will not stop Gwilanna if you do.”

  My wings shuddered. I nodded, grim-faced. “I will keep to my purpose. But I must know what happens. Who was that man?”

  “He is Stygg, from the wild lands of Nomaad.”

  I had heard of Nomaads. “Eremitts” they also called themselves, because they lived alone and kept no company. “Show me this man,” I commanded the Is. Dozens of stars came out of the matrix. I let my instincts guide me to one.

  I touched it and returned to the same clump of rocks. The mouse, perhaps wisely, had scuttled away, but a small gray squirrel was grubbing about among some nearby tree roots. I let my auma commingle with it. It sat up with a surprised chirrup. Hearing it, Stygg aimed another dart, which missed the squirrel’s ear by the width of a blade of grass. The creature dashed around the back of the tree. I let it catch its breath and groom its tail before I guided it into a viewing position. There I watched the Nomaad dealing with Grella.

  He was remarkably strong for his size. He lifted Grella up and threw her over his shoulder as if she was nothing but a coil of rope. For a moment, I thought he might leave Gwilanna. He grimaced when he saw her and muttered the word “rynkler.” He nudged her with a callused foot and seemed disappointed to hear her cry. He wiped his
arm beneath his nose, both ways. One of the villhund started to howl. “Neh!” he warned it, glaring at them. The pack picked themselves up and mooched away. The man poked Gwilanna again. “What Stygg do with you?” he grunted. But he’d made up his mind as quickly as he’d said it. Grasping the shawl in one hand and twisting it once to wrap the contents, he yanked Gwilanna off the ground and stumped away, swinging her along like a bag of rocks.

  I sent the squirrel in pursuit.

  The sun had gone down and night was upon us by the time Stygg had reached his destination. He had led me to a derelict shack set deep among a coppice of hawthorn trees. He whistled a greeting call. Given that the Nomaad usually lived alone, I was surprised to hear a woman’s voice reply. “Where ya bin? Where ya bin?” She craked like a bird with a bone in its throat.

  “I bin huntin’,” he said. “I made me a catch.”

  “I cun smell it. T’ain’t no fish nor hund.”

  “Be a gurl, and she be mine.”

  “Gurl?”

  “Aye, mine.”

  “You live ’ere, you shares.”

  “I ain’t givin’ you nowt — not nowt o’ this catch, Muther.”

  “You do as Griss sez. Lay it down. Let us see it.”

  Stygg let Grella slide off his shoulder. She groaned as the back of her head struck earth.

  The woman poked her head through the window of the shack, illuminated by the lantern she held. She was the oldest, ugliest crone I’d ever seen. One round eye was poking out of her head like a sticky, overripe plum. There was a stitched-up socket on the other side. Wiry threads of silver-gray hair clung to the rear of her scalp like worms. I almost gagged in the squirrel’s throat as she tipped her head to squint at Grella and the eye made a popping noise in the socket. “Taan,” she said with a lick of her lips. “You bring that inside. We cun use that, we can. What ya got in yer paw?”