The Last Dragon Chronicles: Dark Fire (11 page)

“Now mine,” said David, reaching

across the bed.

The instant Liz touched him her mind

was set free on a stunning landscape of cracked ice floes and pressure ridges flooded by a burnt orange sun. “Oh my goodness, where are we?” she gasped.

“In Henry’s imagination,” said David, speaking directly into her mind. “In search of an answer to a riddle, I think. Relax. Let the images come to you. I’m going to guide him.”

A moment later, Henry’s awareness opened up fully and his voice, as clear as the polar sky, floated into the scene. “Ah, Hella,” he said.

“Yes,” said David. “Dream it, Henry.” And using the power of his Fain teaching, he let Henry’s thoughts pan back from the

ocean, where the gigantic Hella glacier cut a path through the coastal mountains on its long imperceptible slide towards the

sea.

Henry rested a moment in the cold,watching a shower of Arctic ternsarrowing west towards the  mainland. “Ihear ticking,” he said.

“Then follow it,” said David.

And in his mind Henry trudged towardsthe sound, ice crunching to the beat of hisfootsteps.

In a single, shifting moment of time David guided him to an untidy icescape,which could have been the ground-levelruins of a castle had the blocks not been

chiselled by water and wind. At its furthest point was a misshapen arch.

Under the arch sat a large male polar bear. The ticking was coming from between itsfront paws.

Suddenly, into the scene stepped a man. He wore waxed brown trousers. A thicklypadded   jacket.   Cream   balaclava. Snowshoes. Gloves. Despite the bulkinessof his Arctic clothing it was easy to seethat he was tall and physically well-proportioned. At his hip, he carried arifle. The bear turned its rigid gaze on theman. It showed no sign of suspicion ordistress.

The man drew to within twenty feet ofit and stopped. He lowered his gun, thenpushed back the fraying hood of his jacketand tore off his balaclava. He shook his

hair loosely about his shoulders. It was

straggly, almost golden, highlighted by catches of glinting frost. “You have my watch,” he said.

The bear cast its almond eyes down at the timepiece –  a pocket watch, still ticking despite the cold. “You may have it back if you come with me, Anders Bergstrom.”

The golden-haired man looked all around him, before returning his focus to the bear. “Are you a spirit?”

“Sometimes,” the bear said, lifting its chin. “I am Thoran, the first bear to walk this ice.”

“And what is it you want with me –

Thoran?”

“To commingle with your auma. So that

you might take me to the hearts of men. I

will show you great wonders in return.”

The man called Anders Bergstrom switched his rifle to the opposite hand. “Why me?”

“Because of what you have seen.”

“The writings in the caves? They
 
are
 
writings, aren’t they?”

The bear pointed its black-tipped snout into the wind. “They are a record of a meeting. They are the words of dragons.”

Anders Bergstrom laughed. Every fold of his clothing crackled as he crouched down and laid his gun upon the ice. With a finger, he drew three lines in the snow. “What does this symbol mean? I see it everywhere. Why do the Inuit fear it?”

The polar bear shuffled its shaggyhaired feet. “There is power in the

symbol. It can be used for good or evil. Once, it caused a war across the ice and came to be known as the mark of Oomara.

The lines represent the lives of men, bearsand dragons. But they are not in harmony. This is why they do not meet. Yet theforce which keeps the lines apart alsoholds them close, so that each alwaysdreams of alliance with the others.”

“What is this force?” the man asked

boldly.

The polar bear raised its snout. “
 
You
 
might  call   it  consciousness, Anders Bergstrom. Bears would point to the colours in the sky and call it the dancing spirit of the North. Dragons would call it the breath of Godith.”

Bergstrom ran the knuckles of his glove

across his chin. “Will the lines ever

meet?”

The bear took a breath. It seemed to

create the first hint of a blizzard, which ruffled the hairs around its stubby little ears. “Take off your glove,” it said.

Bergstrom levelled his gaze.

The bear grunted and nodded at the symbol of Oomara. The lines were beginning to glow.

The explorer pulled off his glove. Without waiting to be asked, he laid three fingers into the lines. His hand quickly turned a bright translucent blue and the ice all around him shook. “Unity will come through fire,” he whispered. “Fire? In the ice? How can that be?”

“Come with me,” said Thoran. He was

standing in the  archway, pointing north. Air billowed over his shoulder as he

spoke. “All you have to do is pick up the

watch.”

Anders Bergstrom looked back the wayhe’d come. He looked for the shapes andcolours of his camp, but the wind hadbeen busy, covering his tracks.

When he turned again, Thoran waspadding away.

Bergstrom knelt down and picked upthe timepiece. He sat it on his hand like ashining jewel. In shape it was nothing buta standard pocket watch. But where therehad once been an antique clock face therewas now an impression of a solar systemwhirling   around   inside   the   casing. Bergstrom snapped it shut. The ice upon

his eyebrows cracked with the eager movements of his thoughts. Once more, he stared ahead at the bear. Then he threw

away his other glove and stepped through

the arch.

“Mmm,” a voice grunted. It was Henry

Bacon.

David’s thought waves surged towardshim. “Now you know what happened inthe watch story, Henry. Now your mindcan be at peace.”

Henry grunted again. Then (to Liz’sshock) he appeared in the scene, dressedin trousers and a golfing sweater and thespotted cravat that were his everydaytrademark.

Somewhere on the periphery of theirentwined  thoughts, a machine began to

beep.

A shift of time took Henry to the brink. One more step and he would find himself on the far side of the ice. In the distance, Thoran was waiting.

“Henry?” Liz said, projecting her worries into her thoughts.

“Time I was off, Mrs P,” he said, speaking back as if he could see her. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.

From far away, came the sound of people running.

The old man’s eyes rose up to meet David’s. “Good to see you, boy. Hair’s a disgrace. Get yourself to a barber’s, eh?”

“I’ll attend to it,” David said. “Go forward, Henry. Take your freedom. Explore, like you’ve always wanted to.

Look through the archway, into the light.”

Henry took a deep snort of polar air. “You’ll remember me to Suzanna?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Mmm. Don’t forget to feed my fish.”

With  that,   Henry  Bacon  stepped through the arch. David squeezed Liz’s hand and let her go.

The dreaming broke.

Almost immediately they were bundled aside by a nurse and a young Asian doctor.

“His heart’s stopped,” said the nurse.

“Call a team. We’ll need a defib –

now,” the doctor said, pulling the covers off Henry’s chest.

“No, you will leave him,” a stern voice said from the back of the room.

Everyone turned to look at the elderlywoman standing in the doorway. “He is atpeace. Let him go.” She looked pointedlyat David, kindly at Liz. “You must be Elizabeth,” she said. “I am Agatha, Henry’s sister.” Her gaze ran the length ofthe figure in the bed.

The  doctor  checked  the  monitor,looked at Henry, looked at Agatha andobediently accepted the situation.

Liz turned away with tears in her eyes.

Henry Bacon, her neighbour of somefifteen years, was no more.

Funeral blues

Agatha Bacon turned out to be every bit asorganised as her late brother. In thehospital, she gave her thanks to Liz and David for visiting Henry, but asked to bealone with him at his hour of passing. They did not hear from her again untillater that evening when a card wasdropped into number 42 explaining that amodest funeral ceremony would be held at St Augustine’s church in a few days’ time. Henry would be buried in the graveyardthere. The family were invited to pay theirlast respects.

Come the day, Lucy, who loved thechance to dress up for anything, wore aknee-length skirt with a matching black

crossover top. Her wild red hair was pinned up in a clip, the odd strand winding a stalactite path towards her shoulders. Her mother, a little more conservative, chose a simple skirt and blouse. Black and cream. Pearl brooch at

the neck. Both of the Pennykettle women were impressive, but they were each about to be eclipsed by Zanna.

The young mother stepped out of the house in a chic black dress, belted at the waist. It flared slightly just below her knees and swept around each hip and

curve  with the design and grace of a very expensive Italian sports car. For the first time in many years she had applied an amount of dark make-up to her eyes, reinventing her gothic roots. Her glossy

heels took her to over six feet. She was

the only member of the family to wear a hat: a modest lace affair, tilted at a thin Saturnian angle.

“Anyone would think she’d won an Oscar,” Lucy tutted, watching her partsister working the catwalk that was the Pennykettles’ driveway. “I bet she’s only done it to tick David off.”

“Don’t be unkind. She looks fabulous,”

said Liz.

The chauffeur sent to pick them upclearly thought so too. His jaw was almostdragging the pavement as he rushed toopen the door for her.

Zanna got in discreetly, holding her hat. The weather was breezy. Pollen in the air. Henry himself would have probably said

it was the perfect day for his own funeral.

Alexa, in stark contrast to her mother, was dressed entirely in white. She had a cardboard fairy pinned to her shoulder (her personal tribute to Henry). She jumped into the back seat alongside Zanna,   full   of  excitement   for   the forthcoming ride.

Lucy glanced down the drive at David, who was guiding Arthur towards the car. “Wow, you look weird,” she said.

David smiled and handed Arthur into

the care of the driver. “I was hoping for

‘smart but casual’, to be honest.”

“Is that one of Arthur’s suits?”

David struck a pose. “This year’s

must-have fashion.”

“You look very smart,” said Liz,

adjusting his lapels and brushing a speck or two of cotton off the jacket. “I’d be proud… to call you my son.”

That remark produced a grimace from Lucy, who turned her head to look at Agatha Bacon and the plump-suited gentleman accompanying her. They had just stepped out of Henry’s house and were taking the leading car.

“What’s she like?” asked Lucy.

“A female version of Henry,” Liz replied.

“Should be a fun party afterwards, then.”

That earned Lucy her first tap on thebottom for five or six years. “Get into the

car.
 
Now
.”

St Augustine’s church was a well-preserved   sixteenth-century   buildinghalfway up the rise of Croxley Hill,looking back over the south side of Scrubbley. To Liz’s surprise their party ofsix was the largest present. Apart from afew colleagues from the town library,where Henry had worked for most of hislife, there were no other friends or familybesides Agatha (who, Lucy said,  remindedher of Miss Haversham, ‘the old madcow’ from
 
Great Expectations
 
). But justas the service was about to begin, anotherfigure   strolled   through   the   archeddoorway. A woman in a two-piecebusiness suit.

“Oh, no. What’s
 
she
 
doing here?” Liz

gasped.

Zanna lifted her head from her prayers. Gwilanna was walking towards the altar.

David, standing with Lucy in the pewbehind Zanna, gripped Zanna’s arm toprevent her from moving. “No. Not here.”

“Get off me,” Zanna hissed, shakinghim away. She glared at the sibyl whonodded at her coolly and slid into a pewon the opposite side.

“Dear friends… ” the vicar began, overa wisp of organ music.

“Not for long,” Lucy said below herbreath.
 
Might be afun party after all
, shethought.

The service was short and passed withoutincident. The small congregation thenfollowed Henry’s coffin through the

graveyard. As they shuffled down a path between the gravestones and the yew trees, Liz, puffy-eyed but still together, gave a firm order that
 
no one
 
was to engage Gwilanna until they were out of the church grounds. The sibyl had tagged on to the rear of the mourners, but  well away from the Pennykettle family. Zanna, a hurricane bound in black, walked tall behind the figurehead of Agatha Bacon, dragging Alexa along at her side like a teddy bear with an outstretched paw.