Crystal (17 page)

There was a key in the lock of a big door close by. Crystal turned it and they raced through. They were back in the garden. Grint was yelling. He was seconds behind them. Where could they go? Grint was fast. He followed, locking the door behind him and cutting off that exit. The only way to escape now was back through the green door and the waiting room – or over the wall.

‘This way!’ Crystal shouted. She ran towards the green door. Questrid followed.

Somehow Grint got in front of them. He had moved swiftly, anticipating where they’d go. He was scrabbling with the shed door. It swung open and there was a flash of light. Fire shot out and a patch of grass went up in flames. A smell of scorching and ash filled the air.

Crystal screamed. ‘What’s that?’

Questrid stopped breathing.

Something yellow, the size of a vast sofa, charged out towards them.

‘Stop them!’ Grint shouted. ‘Stop them!’

‘It’s a skweener!’ Crystal cried. Her knees buckled and she fell down. ‘A skweener!’

‘It’s a
dragon
, you mean!’ Questrid yelled.

The dragon thundered towards them, its spiked wings held half-open. Anger and rage seemed to burn in its red eyes. Its flared nostrils were like the barrels of a gun, throwing out sparks and smoke.

‘Get that girl!’ Grint shouted again, jabbing a finger at Crystal.

The dragon bounded over to where Crystal lay in a crumpled heap. It was almost upon her, its jaws were open, and it was rearing up on its hind legs, ready to attack—

Then it stopped.

It thudded to the ground and stilled, slowly folding in its wings. The flames died from its nostrils.

‘Oh, my crikey!’ Questrid whispered.

Crystal wasn’t even looking; she had wrapped her arms across her face. ‘Help me, Questrid,’ she whimpered. ‘Help me.’

The dragon tossed its head. Whining and snuffling it bent down and sniffed at her.

Crystal shuddered as if she’d been burned. ‘
Questrid!
’

‘Stop them!’ Grint shouted.

Questrid was right beside her, wafting away the animal’s hot breath wildly. He shook his head in amazement. ‘Phew, that was close. Crystal! It recognizes you!’ he cried, tugging at her. ‘It’s all right. Quick. Climb on! Get on its back!’

Grint was shouting, ‘Get them!’ and leaping around, shaking his fist. ‘I’m your master. Do as I say! Eat them! Burn them! Destroy!’

Crystal dared to open her eyes and peeped nervously up at the dragon. ‘I can’t … I don’t …’

Questrid hauled her roughly to her feet. ‘They
never
forget!’ he said. ‘What did you do? Feed it? Befriend it? It knows you. Come on! Up. Get up!’ He dragged Crystal off the ground and pushed her at the dragon. ‘Come on!’

Grint let out a terrific roar and ran at them brandishing a big stick.

Questrid heaved Crystal up onto the dragon’s back. ‘That’s it! Well done,’ he said. ‘Put your leg over.’

‘I can’t! A skweener!’ She was remembering the other time, the dead skweener in the swamp. All her life she had been terrified of skweeners.

But Questrid had pushed her up and now she had one leg right over its leathery back. ‘I can’t.’

‘You have to!’

‘I—’

The dragon spun round suddenly and Crystal screamed, clutching wildly to keep hold. The dragon pounced like a puppy and puffed a black cloud of ash-laden smoke at Grint.

‘Stop! Get out of—Get the—
cough cough
!’

Questrid scrambled up in front of Crystal. ‘Just hold on, hold on tight,’ he said. ‘We’re OK.’ They were each lodged snugly between the protruding yellow frills that ran along the dragon’s back. Questrid gripped a leathery frill in both hands. ‘Up, up!’ he urged it, squeezing it with his knees. ‘Come on. Come on! Off we go!’ There was no reason why the dragon would understand him or obey him, but that never crossed his mind. It had to.

Grint burst through the black billowing smoke and came at them again. He swung his stick but he was too late.

‘Skweeeeen!’ the dragon called.

Its legs bent beneath it like springs. Mighty muscles swelled and shifted beneath its leathery skin. Its wings snapped out like shutters being thrown open and began beating up and down. It rose vertically into the sky with a whooshing noise like a canvas tent flapping in a gale.

The dragon gushed out a shower of sparks over Grint. It flew up, banked sharply to the left and soared over the garden wall.

Crystal didn’t scream.

She held onto Questrid’s jacket. He was yelling, she could hear his voice above the
flap, flap
of the giant wings and the roar of the wind, but she couldn’t distinguish the words. The dragon’s pulsing muscles throbbed through her body, she heard it gurgle and roar, its lungs puffing in and out like giant bellows. It was like being a dragon herself. Never in her whole life had she been so scared. She closed her eyes as the dragon swerved and tilted and her stomach seemed to sink down to her knees. She clung tighter and dug her knees harder into the dragon’s scaly skin. Next time she dared to look, the Town was tiny; far away the surrounding Wall was like a stack of toy bricks. Beyond the Wall, the colourless hills grew greener and greener in the distance.

‘To Lop Lake!’ Questrid cried, but either the dragon didn’t understand or it had its own plan because it swooped over the rooftops and sped out towards the swamp.

‘What’s that great load of black stuff?’ Questrid shouted. Crystal caught the tail end of his words, opened her eyes and looked down.

‘Swamp!’

The dragon sank down so low it was barely skimming the treetops; any minute Questrid expected leaves to brush against his toes. Now they were directly over the swamp and slowly the dragon began to circle the black boggy ground. Backwards and forwards it flew, head swinging from left to right and right to left, searching. Crystal guessed what it was looking for. She shouted and nudged Questrid, but didn’t dare release her hold to point it out to him.

Beside the broken wooden walkway, close to the tree was the image of the other skweener. There was a perfect trace of the dragon somehow cut into the surface of the swamp.

‘Skween! Skweeeeen!’ The dragon took one last look at the ghost of its dead mate and swerved off again, flying furiously, wildly, raggedly towards Lop Lake, crying all the while.

Questrid hadn’t seen the dead dragon; he hadn’t even seen the distant green hills. Every inch of him was concentrating on riding the dragon, living in the moment. I shall be a Dragon Master one day, he kept telling himself. This is what I was born for; I feel it in my bones. One day I will know everything there is to know about dragons and be famous.

He wanted the ride to go on forever and ever.

Beneath his jacket the eye-cycle slowly melted. Cold water dripped steadily down his thigh and leg but he never felt a thing.

There was still a small cluster of people around Lop Lake searching for Effie.

The dragon screeched like a banshee as it flew over the crowd and everyone turned upwards like a field of flowers turning to the sun. Each face had the same expression: open mouth, eyes wide with surprise. Then horror! The Towners’ screams and yelps ripped through the air and they panicked. They ran still staring upwards, bumping into each other, knocking into the trees, stumbling over the uneven ground. Crystal thought they looked like scurrying ants and was glad they were scared. She wished the dragon would breathe smoke and ashes over their heads.

When she spotted Grint, the only one running
towards
the lake, she hoped the dragon would burn
him
to a smouldering crisp with its fiery breath.

Questrid had seen Grint too. ‘He’s after us,’ he shouted. ‘Hurry, hurry, dragon! Put us down by the lake!’

The dragon spread its wings and swooped down towards the lake as if it were going to make a crash landing, but then it veered off and began to chase the Towners. It stretched out its strong legs and pretended to grab at them with its giant cat-like claws. They screamed! Tilting sideways it dive-bombed them, showering them with ash. They hid their faces with their cloaks and yelled and screamed.

Questrid pointed at the water and shouted again. He was beginning to think they would never get down to earth, when he felt the dragon tense as if it had spotted something, or had tired of its game. It stopped teasing the Towners, changed course and with a sudden burst of speed, headed for the lake.

Really fast.

‘Hang on!’ Questrid yelled. ‘Hang on, Crystal!’

Crystal tightened her arms around his waist.

The dragon whizzed down towards Lop Lake like a rocket. The water came up towards them alarmingly fast. The wind screamed and whined round their ears. Their hair whipped about their heads.

‘We’re going to crash!’

The water was
there
!

The dragon was going to
dive
!

The dragon’s muscles bulged as it folded in its wings, pleating them to its side. It stretched out its neck, pushing forward, reaching … Any moment … Any moment …

Questrid shut his eyes.
Why didn’t I visit my mum more often?

They hit the water with a tremendous crack and splash.

Questrid knew immediately that it was wrong.

It was wet.

When he had passed from Pol Lake to Lop Lake, he hadn’t made a splash; he hadn’t felt water like this, against his skin, pushing into his ears and nose and mouth. He clamped his mouth shut against the water and closed his eyes. He was glad to feel Crystal’s arms still tight around him and know she was safe. He hoped it hadn’t been like this for Effie. He desperately hoped that she had got through safely to the other side.

The water was as thick as soup. They had churned up the mud, and water gurgled and roared in their ears. The dragon was trying to swim, its wings and legs were moving but they were going nowhere and it seemed the water was growing thicker and denser all the time.

They were stuck.

Stuck between the World Above and the World Below.

Questrid tried to look upwards or downwards, he wasn’t sure which: it was all topsy-turvy. Chunks of ice floated slowly by. Then he caught sight of a small, bright circle. Such a tiny chink … A pinprick of light … What could it be?

The Gateway!

It was the Gateway and the dragon was trying to reach it. He was almost there. Then Questrid saw the blue glaze, the shine, and the glitter.

Ice had frozen it over.

They were too late.

Questrid shut his eyes again. Despite being surrounded by water, he found, somehow he could breathe. But did he want to breathe? Did he want to be alive if it meant being down here, stuck in the dark water …?

What if they couldn’t even go back the other way, back to the Town?

The dragon had not given up. It puffed out like bellows, as if it were trying to blow up a giant balloon and a thunderous rumbling noise roared inside its belly.

Questrid felt it growing hotter and hotter.

The dragon opened its jaws wide.

Questrid felt Crystal hug him tighter, he wanted to speak but he couldn’t open his mouth; he squeezed her hand, hoped she could feel it and wasn’t as scared as he was.

A massive ball of flame, red, yellow and gold, burst out of the dragon’s mouth and ripped forwards and upwards through the dirty water. Instantly the water was hot and full of bubbles. The fireball rolled through the grey and burned it out of the way so that a channel of light appeared, as if someone had unrolled a white and shining carpet for them to travel down, and the dragon spread its wings and powered forward along it. In front of them, the ball of fire glided on, burning out their path, clearing the water and ice away.

We’ll do it! We’ll do it!
Questrid expected at any moment they would burst out into the fresh air, but now even that tiny chink of light he’d glimpsed ahead had vanished. All above was the same white colour.

All was ice.

The Gateway had completely closed.

The dragon’s fireball was like a sun, a burning planet beside the wall of ice ahead. It seemed to hang suspended for an age, then there was a tremendous shattering cracking sound, as if twenty greenhouses had all exploded at the same time; a loud splintering noise and the fireball shot through.

The Gateway was blasted open.

They soared forward, forward towards blue sky and sunshine.

Crystal opened her eyes at the final explosion and saw the brilliant white and blue coming, and knew she was safe. Home!

They were moving fast, swimming or flying, it was hard to know which. Around her were melting ice and particles of dead leaf and sticks, and she saw a pale and familiar object like a fish dancing in the dragon’s wake. She grabbed for it, but it was tossed aside and dragged off in the fast-moving swell. She looked back over her shoulder. ‘Sly-ugg!’ she cried, but the sly-ugg had vanished.