White Bird on a Silver Thread

Chapter Seven: The Journey to the Sea

Ginny was cold, and she was tired, and she was very, very angry. She was not angry with Draco, per se, or with Hermione, either, though she felt that by rights should have been. She was simply angry at life and fate in general.

Mile after mile they flew, fierce, fast, cutting through the cold morning air like arrows, Harry leading the way. There were so many questions Ginny wanted to ask. Things like, just what the hell was going on? Things like, what did they all know that apparently she, Ginny, did not? Things like, did Harry know where he was taking them and where the hell was Nyma and what was happening back at Hogwarts and shouldn't they inform Dumbledore of where they were going? And just how long was this journey going to last?

But seeing the pale, set face of the boys, she kept her mouth shut. Jennie probably didn't know anything, either, and it was out of the question to ask Hermione. She had been growing steadily worse as the day progressed.

So she simply flew with the rest of them, the questions gnawing at her mind, the air stinging her cheeks, and the anger simmering in her heart.

***

Harry was angry, too.

He was angry as hell.

He was angry and determined and frightened to death.

***

Jennie did not understand why she was on this journey. Harry and Ron and Draco were there because they loved Hermione. Jennie did not know Hermione well enough to love her as they did. Ginny was there because Ron would not let Ginny out of his sight, anyway, so she had little choice in the matter. And besides, Ginny was in love with Draco, a blind fool could see, and would have followed him to the ends of the world.

But Jennie did not have to be there. She had the vestiges of a crush on Ron, certainly, but not with the intensity that Hermione loved Harry, or even Ginny with Draco. She loved Ginny, and would have followed her wherever she asked, but that was not the reason she was there.

Why? Jennie asked herself. Why am I here?

Her hand went to her throat. She felt her mother's necklace there, the silky chain, the heavy jewel that had once been white as the stars and was now red like blood. Sybel - strange, terrifying, beautiful Sybel - had known something about her, and her mother.

They are all on one quest, thought Jennie. I am on another.

My mother died without knowing who she was.

I am searching for my mother's past.

***

Ron did not remember when he had last been so terrified, so desperate, with the desperation of despair and hopelessness. Determined with such a singleness of purpose. But he hid it well, because the others were burdened enough as it was.

He did not even argue with Draco.

Just pretended that he was not there.

***

Draco did not like being out of control. He did not like being helpless. And he could not control the ebb and flow of Hermione's life. He was helpless to whether she lived or died.

So he turned his thoughts away from that direction.

In his mind, he went over the scene the night before. Sybel had told him he was a Mage. In a way, he had guessed it. He had always known that he had powers beyond the norm. Over and over he ran over the words she had told him

Chris would have been pleased to know that his grandson was a Mage.

Had Sybel known Christopher Malfoy?

It was highly possible. The painting of Sybel was done in his grandfather's hand, and she had recognized him. She had called him Chris.

Who was Sybel?

His powers were not new to them. He knew how to use them. But it pleased him that now he could give them a name.

Experimentally, he reached out. Potter. He wanted to know what Potter was thinking.

He reached out to Harry, and found a hate there so black that the pain of his own loss seemed mild in comparison.

***

Harry flew in the lead, with the others following him. Every thirty miles or so he would stop and study his map again, making sure that they were following the right direction.

There were advantages to wizarding maps, of course. It marked your progress, and Harry saw that for the most part they had done pretty well, hardly ever straying from course.

They flew low over thickly wooded areas, skimming over the treetops. At midday and then again at about six they stopped for a quick bite to eat, simply hovering midair while swallowing their portions, before continuing on again. At nightfall, they found a clearing, pitched up a magical tent that Harry had taken from Moonstone Cottage, and crawled into it to sleep. Like all wizard items, it was more than it appeared, having two stories, a kitchen, and quite a few beds.

After a good night of sleep, they set off again. They were only twelve hours away from their destination.

They had been lucky the first day, Harry knew.

He did not know how long that luck would hold.

***

They were entering Firedrake Territory. Harry, not wanting to worry the others, said nothing.

By now, the trees were so high and dense and black that they could not fly over it, and resorted to weaving in and out of the lower trunks. At midday, they paused to rest.

Harry felt an odd prickling in his spine. Something in the forest did not welcome their presence. It was a dark, dank, foul-smelling place, with air that tasted black and which sunlight never penetrated. There seemed to be no living things in the place; it was deathly quiet. No plants grew underfoot, either; only a brownish moss.

As they ate their simple meal of bread and cheese, a lizard scurried into their path from a small hole in the ground. The only living thing they had seen all day. Ron, bored, picked up a rock and threw it at it.

Some intuition made Harry shout, "No, Ron! Don't throw it!"

But it was too late. The rock had hit the lizard's back. It hissed and began to swell.

And to the horror of them all, it began to spit fire.

It was not a lizard at all. Its eyes were gold and its tail thrashed; flame teemed from it's mouth, molten spit and reeking, scorching smoke. The effect was like a volcano.

"Firedrake!" choked Hermione.

"Mount your brooms!" shouted Harry. "Hurry!"

They hurried. They mounted their brooms. They took flight.

And the Firedrake spread out scaly wings and followed them.

***

They flew fast and hard and furious, and at last came to a mountain cave. It's opening was far too small for the firedrake in its enraged state to enter, and they scurried inside.

***

"I have a plan," said Draco, quietly, the minute they had entered the cave, panting heavily. Hermione was spewing blood forth again.

"Tell it quickly," said Harry sharply. "We have to get out of here, and fast. Hermione can't last much longer."

Draco reached out with his mind, felt the network of caverns that made up the cave. There was an entrance to a cool green valley at the opposite end, he sensed. The plan that had entered his mind the minute he had seen the firedrake crystallized into pristine sharpness. "You'll have to come with me, Potter. The rest of you must not leave this room at any cost."

He gestured curtly and began to walk. Harry looked uncertainly from Ron to Hermione, who nodded. He followed the other boy at a slower pace.

"Brooms," ordered Draco, and Harry, with uncustomary meekness, obeyed.

"Don't leave, no matter what might be happening outside, " said Draco again.

"All right," snapped Ron irritably. "We heard you the first time. We'll all be waiting for you here. We won't set a foot out, no matter what's happening. Happy?"

Draco nodded. "Come on, Potter."

The two boys set out at a brisk pace. Every once in a while Draco would reach out again, get a sense of where they were, and keep on walking. Harry tried to keep track of where they were going. Left, right, straight, right, left. After a while, he gave up. He had to trust Malfoy. There was no other choice if Hermione were to live.

After an hour of walking - trotting, thought Harry irritably - a gleam of light finally flooded the caves. They had come to the opening.

They stepped outside into a clearing. A stream ran clear. Draco stood very still for a minute, feeling, listening.

Then he told Harry his plan.

***

Ginny and the others had been waiting in the caves for what seemed like days. In truth, it was only two hours, but they were getting more and more anxious with every minute that ticked past. The firedrake seemed to be shrinking. If it shrank any smaller, it could come in and roast them all. She paced the length of the cave, to and fro, to and fro.

Jennie was tending to Hermione, while Ron stood by and watched. Just as Ginny was sure she would die of uneasiness and fear, she heard a familiar voice - Draco's - shouting from outside the cave.

"Oy! Old smoky guts! Over here!"

***

The Firedrake was hissing in rage. No one had ever spoken to it like this before. It's tail began to flog the ground. It began to swell once again.

Ginny, though she had every intention of obeying Draco's previous command, crept close to the entrance, so she could watch. Draco and Harry were both mounted on brooms. Harry was holding a six foot long branch of about half a foot thick, and Draco was carrying a small sack that he had apparently conjured up. Behind them, twelve beehives were floating in the air.

"Call yourself a dragon?" Draco was taunting. 'You look more like a glow-worm!"

The Firedrake had reached full side. Smoke was whistling from its nostrils. When it heard this insult, it swallowed hard in its fury.

Ginny brought her hand to her mouth and tried not to scream as Harry flew straight toward it. Quick as lightning, he had thrust the big stake in the Firedrake's jaw, jamming them open even as the creature gaped wide to let loose the first foul gust of flame. The golden eyes glared at this new surprise. The barbed tail thrashed and twisted to be at him. But Harry dodged, danced, flitted out of range.

And Draco threw the sack he had been carrying straight into the open mouth.

As the two boys flew out of range again, the Firedrake coughed. A hail of cinders flew out. For one moment Ginny thought the sack had come out too - but now, it was still there, caught on a tooth that looked like a scythe.

As Ginny watched, the sack flapped and bulged.

Draco made a high-bitched buzzing sound.

The Firedrake took a deep breath . . .

. . . And swallowed a big queen bee that emerged from the glove as if in answer to Draco's call.

***

"Bees would follow their queen anywhere," Harry explained to a bemused Ron later. "When she flew into his mouth, all of them followed her."

This was true. The minute the queen bee had disappeared down the Firedrake's throat, all twelve hives had come alive. The bees poured out, a singing angry stream, orange, brown, black, yellow. They had buzzed straight toward the Firedrake, who was unable to close his mouth.

The bees poured down the monster's throat like a stream of honey, in pursuit of their queen. But when they reached the Firedrake's stomach their effect was like no honey in the world.

They began to sting.

Hundreds and hundreds of bees, stinging it from inside.

The Firedrake roared with pain and fury. It tried to spit out the bees. But there were too many.

It tried to spew up fire. But its own insides were burning.

The tail thrashed violently, and it managed a tiny little cough of smoke, before turning over on its side and giving up the ghost.

***

But both Harry and Draco knew that they had not yet rid the forests of its shadow. They could sense the darkness, the emptiness.

"Get rid of it," said Harry tonelessly, "Get rid of it, or it will kill Hermione."

Wordlessly, Draco nodded. Shadows. What had shadows?

And the answer came to him.

The Rommalb.

Yet how could he call a creature that had no name? Rommalb, he thought again. He said it aloud, and Hermione said softly, "Turn it around."

At first he did not understand. And then he realized what she meant.

Blammor.

***

It was a shadow in the shadows, a black mist taller than he, with eyes like circles of sightless, gleaming ice. Draco touched its mind and found it as still, as dark.

Give more your name.

Its mind voice was a rustle of dried leaf. Blammor.

Why do you come when I call?

You have a strange power that draws me and that is to see me as I am truly. Thence I have come, to serve you.

Do all men see you as a black mist with fire white eyes, sightless yet seeing?

Men see what they are most afraid of.

What do you require of me? asked Draco, staring straight into its strange eyes.

Nothing but your fearlessness.

It faded into the shadows. They trembled a moment at its passing.

***

Something in the air was changing. They all felt it. One moment it was dank and foul smelling; in the next, it had lightened. Sunlight began to penetrate the thick tree tops - tree tops that were now green instead of black. To their amazement, flowers popped up from the barren ground.

The forest was coming alive.

The six, standing in the center of a clearing, watched in amazement as gold light flooded the place. And then the air parted like a curtain, and five figures were outlined against the shimmer.

"Mortals!" exclaimed a deep male voice, in contempt. "Was it mortals that freed us?"

"It would bode you well, Gules," answered a gentler voice, "to remember that without them we would still be under the power of the Firedrake."

"So be it."

The shapes sharpened and focused. The six companions stared in awe at the beautiful, immortal figures that stood before them.

"We are the five Guardians of these fair lands," said the one called Gules. You have freed us from the Rommalb, and for this we must thank you.

They stepped forth into the light, and Hermione exclaimed, "I've read of you! You are Gules, the Lion. Moira, the Cat. Tircle, the Swan. Ter Falcon. The Boar, Cyrin. You are guardians of the Land of the Two Gates."

Ter Falcon laughed, a strange sound. "We are," he said, "For many years the Rommalb held us in a gray nothingness. While we were gone, the usurper you call Firedrake ruled in our stead, making it the barren wastelands you saw today. But tell me, young mortals. How did you find this Forest? Few can."

They all turned to Harry, who looked at the five Guardians in confusion. "But it was on the map," he said, pulling it out from his pocket. It as looking dirty and dog-eared. He searched for their position. "See? Firedrake - wait." He squinted at the map again. Where it had once said "Firedrake Territory," it now said, "Forest of the Two Gates."

The Falcon alighted on his shoulders. Harry winced at the sharp claws that dug into his flesh.

"Who gave you this map?"

"A Mage-woman named Sybel."

"Sybel!" The Five looked in turn at each other.

"Sybel," repeated the Cat, as she slinked towards them. "Yes. Sybel would know."

"You have our gratitude," said the Swan. "And we will do much for you in return." She turned to Draco. "You need only call to us, Master Malfoy, and we will come to you."

Draco nodded, speechless for once.

"That is enough," said Gules Lion imperiously. "We will direct you to your destination."

***

Sunset - for yes, in spite of all their adventures, not even one full day had passed - found them on the northern shore of Britain, in a small fishing village. In the distance, they saw a light, as Gules Lion had said they would - the Light of Nyma. Hermione charmed Harry's glasses to work like binoculars, and they took turns looking through it. The Hall stood dark against the pink and primrose of the west, and about its base the black water swirled sullenly.

"Let's go rent a sailboat," said Harry, as finally the colors of sunsets faded and he put back on his glasses. "We have to get there tonight."

Walking along the empty streets of the village, they finally came to a boat-smith's shop. Harry, who knew nothing of nautical terms, randomly chose one.

"Ye sure ye want to sail out at this time o' night?" the old man asked, looking at them suspiciously. "Ye might git caught in on o' them whirlpools."

"We'll be careful," Harry promised.

The old man nodded. It was none of his business what them children would be doin'. They had paid him in gold, and he was satisfied. They could be sucked into the whirlpools for all he cared. The payment they had given him was enough to buy the boat two times over.

They boarded the ship, all of them busy putting floating charms on themselves. Harry, as he had done the entire trip, naturally assumed role as captain. But when, some two hours later, they had not yet set sail, Jennie went down to look for him. He was puzzling over the sails and how they ought to be raised.

"Oh, move over," snapped Jennie in annoyance. "You don't know what you're doing."

"And you do?" demanded Harry huffily, as he was pushed unceremoniously aside.

"Of course I do," sniffed Jennie, managing the sails with ease as she spoke. "I grew up in Malta, remember? I could sail a boat when I was ten. You go help Ron and Malfoy get up a good wind."

Harry, glad that the task of sailing the boat was now out of his hands, did as he was told.