The Last Dragon Chronicles: Dark Fire (35 page)

“Mel, get out!” Rachel yelled, and was grateful to see the passenger door open and her daughter fall onto the grass verge beside it. But her own door, wrenched and buckled by the crash, stayed jammed. In an instant the bird had forced its way in. It clamped Rachel Cartwright’s face in its

claws and knocked her head against the frame of the car. It would surely have gone on to fracture her skull if a voice hadn’t called out in the tongue of dragons:
 
Stop!

The raven paused. Rachel’s blood was warm between its claws. In one swift

movement it let go of the broken, unconscious human and snatched up the little mood dragon instead, dragging Glade out onto the bonnet of the car.

“No-oo.”

The raven turned its head. The human

that had not tried to challenge it was huddled up and crying at the side of the road.  For  a  moment  it  considered

terminating the girl, wondering if the tiny life quaking in its claws could be made to

shed its fire tear. But the dragon had been brave to give itself up and was therefore unlikely to demonstrate weakness. And there was no time to waste  in idle

speculation, not when the rest of the raven flock had been turned to water – or lately to ash – by a dragon many times the size of this.

And so the last of the ravens that would

be a darkling took to the skies with its delicate hostage, spreading its shadow in premature triumph over the image of the horned white horse, before pitching towards the hill from where the dragon auma was steadily rising. There it set down – in the branches of a dead tree

beside an old house – and concealed itself

in   shadow,   awaiting   developments,

unaware that the dragon imprisoned in its grasp was not quite as helpless as it might have seemed. For Glade was doing innately what all Pennykettle dragons were capable of: she was sending out a message to a listening dragon. Her signal of distress was beaming across the Vale of Scuffenbury all the way back to Wayward Crescent, where it was indeed being heard – but not by the listener on top of the fridge or even by Grace, still in semi-stasis on the workbench in the Den.

Both of those dragons had now beensuperseded by one with fast-growing,superior  powers.   His   name,   albeitarbitrary, was Gwillan.

And his time had come.

Escape

Though her lungs were bursting and tearscontinued to cloud her vision, Lucy ranand ran down the Glissington tunnels,driven on by fear and the rumbling groansof the shifting Tor. Every few yards ashower of earth fell. The air was now

dreadfully choked with heat and soiled with an awful, foetid smell which was beginning to sting the lining of her nostrils, something foul she knew she could have identified if she’d taken the time to try. But time was something she didn’t have. Ms Gee could not be far behind.

On the path, lit by the lights at floorlevel, Bella was leading the escape. While the sibyl and Hannah had been

arguing by the chamber, the cat had padded up, pawed Lucy’s hand and together they had drifted away. So far Bella had guided them faithfully, past two of the kerosene marker lamps, but as they approached the intersection of tunnels she skidded to a halt and disappeared suddenly into the shadows. Confused, and fearing more treachery, Lucy at first prepared to run on. A warning yowl from the cat made her stop and reconsider. It was then she heard what Bella must have

heard: Clive’s voice, further along the tunnel, calling  out in search of Hannah. If Clive and Hannah were working together, Lucy needed to hide. Looking back and seeing no sign of Ms Gee, she followed Bella’s cry and found herself in a back-

filled side tunnel, scrabbling up a mound of earth until she was several feet higher than the path and swallowed up in a knot of darkness.

It wasn’t long before Clive and Ms Gee came together. Lucy had managed todraw herself up with Bella’s warm bodypressed against her shins. Although theycould not be readily seen, Lucy’s concernwas that they might be heard. The cat wasmaking small gagging noises, her sensitivenose tortured by the putrid odours and theheat. Lucy silently gathered her up, just as Clive swept past with a torch. A fewyards further down the tunnel, he stopped. “Ms Gee? What the—? Has Hannah

brought you here? What’s going on?”

“Where’s the girl?” said Ms Gee, with

a sandpaper snarl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy heard Clive say, and her heart almost burst. For she realised now

that Clive was innocent and therefore in

terrible danger. But in those fateful few seconds she spent wrestling with the option of warning him or not, another evil was about to be done.

“You need to get out of here,” Clive

went on. He was  coughing deeply and his

voice   was   strained.   “Dragons   are emerging from hills and mountains all over the world. This is a predestined site. Run, Ms Gee. These tunnels aren’t safe. Even if the rigs don’t collapse from her movements, you’re going to be poisoned by the stench of her urine.” (Urine.
 
That

was the smell. Lucy covered her mouth and quashed a rush of bile.) “After several thousand years of non-release, there are certain things a hibernating creature needs to do. Now, is Hannah down here or not? Hannah?!”

“Idiot,” Ms Gee said coldly.

“
 
What?
 
”

At that moment, Lucy decided to giveherself up. What else could she do to save Clive’s life? But just as she began to callout, her exclamation was quickly abridgedby a loud and lingering gurgling soundemerging from Clive’s throat. It wasfollowed by a cocktail of spurting liquid,tightening muscle and a strangely hideouspopping noise. Lucy sank back in terror. She knew right away that Clive was dead,

but could only imagine what horrors the sibyl must have committed. She heard the fatal slump of his body, followed by Ms Gee’s brief snort of contempt. With it, all hope of escape seemed to fade. To make matters worse, Bella was arching up in her lap, doing her utmost  not to sneeze. Lucy quickly turned the cat into her body hoping to soften the sound against her clothes, but the tiny expulsion of air sounded like the crash of a hundred

dishes. In the tunnel, she saw a light beam rise. Ms Gee had picked up Clive’s torch.

Within seconds, their hiding place was flushed with light. “Out,” the sibyl snarled. “And bring that ungrateful girl with you.”

The cat hissed. Lucy cradled her

tighter. Though she couldn’t be sure which of them Ms Gee was addressing, she boldly shouted, “Why? Why are you doing this? Why did you turn Bella into a cat?”

“Because she’s unruly, like you,” the sibyl growled. “I find young girls become

more…polite   for   the   experience, especially when they know what will happen to their parents if they should betray me or try to leave. I trust you’re listening,
 
Bella
?”

The cat shivered. Lucy stroked her head. “Why her? Why pick on Bella?”

There was a triple thump and the Tor shuddered. The stench of urine grew even stronger. Lucy turned her head. The soil beside her was sweating with the stuff. In the space behind Ms Gee, the air was also

beginning to mist, giving the appearance

of fine rain.

Even so, the sibyl kept talking. “She’sa red-headed  innocent, born of dragons. Ibrought her here to calm the creature –and, as luck would have it, the unicorn. But you and she are from the same stock,which makes one of you dispensable – orperhaps you
 
both
 
are.” Lucy didn’t likethe sound of that. A smug sibyl was aseriously dangerous one. From Ms Gee’slips came more words of magick. Lucytensed herself, half-expecting she wouldbe padding along like Bonnington fromnow on. Yet, as the spell ended, nothingmuch seemed to have happened. Then shesaw that Ms Gee was holding anunstoppered vial, into which a few drops

of liquid were falling. Lucy touched her cheeks. They were hot and dry. The old witch had stolen her tears.

“What are you doing?” Lucy gasped.

“Oh, come, girl. I don’t have time for history. Didn’t the sibyl that delivered you teach you
 
anything
? Your tears are the purest form of the dragon essence within you and the safest means of identifying yourself to them.” She stoppered the vial and waggled it in front of her evil face. “If I’m correct – and I usually am – one drop of this thrown into the eye of the Glissington cairn will spread out and form a mirror to reflect moonlight back over Scuffenbury Hill. The light wakes the unicorn, the unicorn frees the dragon. Perfect. You really are quite useful, you

girls. All I need now is your beautiful red hair.  Oh, and for your insolence, child, I will try to make this as painful as possible – before I kill you, that is.” She twisted a hand.

“No!” Lucy screamed as her hair began to rise. Every root protested in agony. Her scalp tightened and the skin above her ears was tugged to tearing point. But just when it seemed she would be sick with

the pain (and stripped of her chief claim to beauty), she heard the sibyl herself give out a sharp screech.

Lucy’s hair fell back into place. Looking up, she saw Ms Gee flapping a hand. A wisp of smoke was rising from her fingers.

“Gwendolen,” Lucy whispered. She

spotted the little dragon zip around behind the sibyl and let loose another quick tongue of flame.

“Agh!” the sibyl cried. Her bun of grey hair crackled alight and frazzled into a blackened prune. She staggered back against the tunnel wall. But by now she had set her evil glare on her assailant and the next exclamation to leave her mouth

had venomous intent wrapped all around it. The spell left Gwendolen frozen in flight.

Ms Gee fumbled by her feet for a stone. “You pathetic excuse for a dragon,” she sneered. “I’ll smash you into pieces, scale by scale… ”

“No-ooo!” Lucy screamed. And as if her cry of woe had ignited a charge, the

Tor lurched and part of the main tunnelcollapsed.

Ms Gee looked up. The last thing shesaw was the ceiling splitting open and aflood of stale urine pouring down uponher. Within five seconds, its toxic acidityhad stripped the clothing and flesh fromher bones, leaving nothing but her skeletonstanding.   The   frail   whimper   she’dmanaged to elicit just before the stinkingdeluge engulfed her became a sad andeerie echo for mercy. Mercy there wasnone. Her bones wobbled then collapsedinto the poisonous stream, fizzing likemagnesium strips as they were carriedaway with the flow.

And though she could have beenimagining it, Lucy thought she heard a

high-pitched cackle of laughter rushing through the tunnels – as if the ghost of Mary Cauldwell had finally had her

revenge.

At the same time, the spell holding

Gwendolen was broken and she tumbled

into a heavy spin. Lucy cried out, but could do nothing to stop her beloved special dragon falling headlong into the waste. The splash gouged a chasm in Lucy’s heart and drove her scrabbling to the edge of the stream. Only Bella’s tight claws and yowling protests prevented her from wading in to try to  save the dragon. Lucy’s arid skin wetted with tears again.

But then came a remarkable turn of

events. The waste water parted and Gwendolen rose up, shaking herself dry in

mid-air. She spat out something Lucy cared not to imagine and coughed an important hurr.
 
Dragon
 
, she said.

Lucy looked at the yellow-green flow. “You mean it won’t hurt us?” She tweaked

Bella’s ear.

Gwendolen nodded. She dipped herpaw into the urine and stroked Lucy’shand. The fluid ran away. No burning. No

scars.

Lucy gulped, closed her eyes anddipped one foot in up to her ankle. Herewas a journal entry to top all others:
dragon urine feels unsociably warm andhas the density of milky semolina, butit’s safe to descendants of Guinevere and Gawain
 
. “Lead the way,” she said,holding Bella safe in her arms.

Within a minute, and with tunnelscollapsing as they went, Gwendolenbrought them back to the cellar. Letting Bella go, Lucy pounded up the steps andfell to her knees in the kitchen, taking in

enormous   gulps   of  air.   Gwendolen immediately landed beside her carrying Ms Gee’s vial, which had washed up by the cellar steps. She put it down beside Lucy, whose first thought was to dash it against the tiled floor. Bella came up and eyed the  vial intently, as if she’d had the same idea. The two ‘girls’ exchanged a green-eyed look, and for some reason she couldn’t explain just then, Lucy changed her mind and put the vial into her pocket. Bella slunk away and leaped onto the drainer, to look through the window at the

rumbling Tor.

Lucy stood up and rested her hand on the table for support. In doing so, she began to appreciate the magnitude of what was happening. Anything that could move within the house was rattling. Lights were swinging. Doors were banging open and shut. Cans of vegetables were dancing on their shelves. Apples were tumbling off their pyramid in the fruit bowl.

Yet, despite the threat of destruction, the situation seemed to have peaked. For the Tor was still standing and the cairn at its zenith was visible again. It was as if the dragon had risen so far but could go no further until the right word was spoken or the right action was completed. This was confirmed when a bellow of despair