Fire World

  With no choice but to do as she was told, Rosa set about piling books into the window space to form a barrier against the wind. (This also shut out the light, though both Aunts favored imagineered lighting anyway.) With every book she added, Rosa could feel the building resisting. It would move slightly and make the books topple, just as she was completing a stack. Or when she turned her back in search of a book she was sure would fit into a particular space, she would return to find the dimensions of the hole compressed. Only when she cried out, “Stop it! Stop it! I don’t want this any more than you do!” did it give in and let her complete her task. Even then there were gaps and the Aunts complained of drafts. “I can’t help that,” Rosa protested. The books alone were never going to make for a perfect fit. But Aunt Primrose had a most hideous solution. The nasty old woman did no more than snatch up a book, tear out several pages, and stuff the gaps at the window with crumpled paper. Rosa ran from the room in tears, the Aunts’ laughter chasing her through the building.

  In time, the twins did tire of such cruelty and began to leave Rosa to her own devices. She could be alone, she was told, but she could not hide. This she knew all too well, of course. She remembered the ease with which Aunt Gwyneth had tracked her down that time on Floor Forty-Two.

  Oh, Floor Forty-Two. On several occasions, Rosa had stood outside the door there, trying in vain to replicate the dragontongue David had used to open it. If there was any kind of sanctuary from this madness, it was going to be found higher up the building, surely? But the door just would not open for her. And fearful that the Aunts would catch her there and quiz her and maybe breach the upper floors themselves (the idea simply mortified her), she gave up and confined herself to her own company. Hours she spent, barefoot in a window recess, knees drawn up to her elegant chin, staring helplessly at the horizon, always wondering if she dared run away, not knowing where she would go to if she did, knowing in her heart that the building needed her, remembering her happiness when she was twelve, remembering Mr. Henry and the undemanding joy of ordering the books, remembering the rain that had ceased to fall ever since David had gone away.

  She tried very hard not to think about David.

  It truly was a miserable time, compounded by the feeling that even Runcey had deserted her. She had not seen the lovely green firebird for days and had started to wonder if the birds had actually abandoned the aerie following the death of Mr. Henry. But this was not so. Unbeknownst to Rosa, Runcey had been to see her. What’s more, he had not come alone. Aleron (to give him his proper name), along with Aurielle and the grumpy Azkiar, had visited her hammock one night during sleep. They were there to verify Azkiar’s claim that an image of Rosa was stitched on the Tapestry of Isenfier.

  By the light of the strong Co:pern:ican moon, they had examined and measured and recorded her face. When Aurielle saw the changes in Rosa, she was stunned. Yet, she was not convinced. For of the two humans shown on that part of the tapestry, the woman’s features were the harder to distinguish. In the picture, “David and Rosa” were kneeling and he was holding her head to his chest, protecting her from the Shadow of Ix. Only half the woman’s face could truly be seen. But the hair, the eyes, the shape of the head, the long slender arms. It did look like a positive match. There was only one problem. The mark, Aurielle said to the other two birds. She doesn’t have the sign of Agawin on her arm. In the tapestry, the three-lined mark (the one Rosa had discovered in the dragon book) was clearly visible on the girl’s arm. It was one of the most potent signs on the whole picture. For it not to be present on Rosa’s skin left serious holes in Azkiar’s theory. Azkiar puffed his feathers out and said Aurielle was simply making excuses. The humans had gotten through the door, he reminded her. But Aurielle refused to be swayed. The girl is inconclusive, she said. The only way to be sure is to check on the grown-up David as well.

  But that would not be easy now that David had left. Yes, they could seek him out well enough; few humans (construct or real) possessed an auma trail like his. But if they went to him, together, in a less secure environment, it might cause problems. Aurielle drummed her claws in annoyance. Why, she wanted to know, was the boy dismissed from the building in the first place when the books had clearly warmed to him so? Aleron, who’d been carefully observing the situation downstairs, said it was the work of Aunts, two of whom had been installed in place of the old curator. Azkiar made a sound like Aurielle’s knee joints. He didn’t like Aunts. He’d crossed paths with them before. They’re going to be trouble, he said. Aurielle, looking at the moon through Rosa’s window, agreed. Over the last few days it had not been difficult to sense a decline in the general intensity of auma in the aerie. Some of it was due to the loss of the curator, though his spirit still floated over the daisies. But there was also a crippling moodiness present that seemed to be leaching right out of the stones. And in all this time, the rain had not fallen. And that was very wrong indeed.

  Aurielle folded her wings and assessed the situation. A mysterious time shift, two intriguing humans, and an egg that was not of the firebirds’ making. And still no one had seen Aubrey. She glanced at the sleeping Rosa. And here was plausible evidence that the story of the Isenfier tapestry was unfolding. Something must be done. Guidance must be sought. There was nothing else for it.

  She must speak with the Higher.

  11.

  Up a hundred floors she flew that night. A hundred? Well, that was just a token number. No firebird had ever really taken the trouble to measure how many floors there were between the designated cutoff point for humans and the great glass dome at the top of the librarium. The count would not have meant much anyway. For to reach the roof (and this is what humans did not understand) it was not so much a question of how far one traveled, more of how much one needed to get there.

  So it came to pass that after some time, Aurielle set down on the circular balcony that ran around the whole circumference of the dome. The dome was surrounded by thick clouds, as always, but the air was calm with no hint of a chill. This close in, it was easy to spot an open window, which was the only requirement necessary for a firebird to gain entry. Aurielle selected one and flew straight in, pulling it closed as tradition dictated. (Such an annoying task when all you had was feet!) But it was the custom and that was all that mattered. Before she’d finished fixing the latch, a hushed voice swept into the center of her mind. “Hello, Aurielle,” it said.

  It always made her feathers shake, the nature of that voice. Despite the dizzy height she was at, there was nothing particularly “lofty” about it. It was gentle and caring and really rather welcoming. She had tried to describe it to Azkiar once (who had always shied away from coming up here for fear that he’d pass out in the watery air and kill a thousand daisies in his plummet back to the ground). Like a wind from another world, she called it, because no matter where she hovered or tumbled or flew she could always hear the voice, all around her, like a whisper.

  Yet she had never seen what produced it.

  (That, she suspected, was the real reason Azkiar never went near the roof.)

  Apart from the billions of tiny fire stars that twinkled on and off, off and on, in the dome, only once had Aurielle seen anything here. Strangely, that had been on the last occasion when she’d gone to report on the time rift the firebirds had sealed above David. As she’d entered through her chosen window, she had seen what she’d thought was a length of ribbon, twisting and curling in the glittering space. But when she’d followed its movements closely, she had seen that it was, in fact, some kind of object, shaped like a slender tube. The only thing she could equate it to was a fragment of bone. It was half the span of her knees to her toes and etched with a number of unusual marks. As it twitched it produced three uniform contrails, which eerily reminded her of the ancient symbol that opened the door to Floor Forty-Three. But what would a piece of bone be doing here? She had asked herself that many times of late. It made no sense. No sense at all.

  She was thinking of this when th
e voice of the Higher invited her to join them. Spreading her glorious cream-colored wings, she closed her eyes and launched herself toward the stars, into the sensory matrix the Higher called the Is. To be in the Is was just like flying without wings. (In fact, spreading her wings had no effect on her movements, it simply felt more natural to do it.) She knew she would never fall within the Is, but simply float where the power of the Higher wished to take her. The more she let go of what she knew about flight, the better the experience became.

  In the Is, there was no need for speech (though the movement of the mouth, like the movement of the wings, always felt more appropriate). All Aurielle had to do to communicate was be. For the Higher knew precisely what was in her mind from the very first moment she entered the dome. They knew what she’d discovered on the floors downstairs. They knew of her concerns about the future of the books. They acknowledged her excitement about the Tapestry of Isenfier. And in that one full moment of knowing, they also considered all the probable outcomes that might arise from those discoveries and concerns. And this is how they responded to her: “Aurielle, what will be, will be.”

  With a whoosh, they swept her to the top of the dome as her concentration lapsed into fragments of worry. “Do not be concerned by these developments,” they soothed her. “The Higher will always seek order in the aerie. When there is order in the aerie, there is order in the world. Whatever actions you take to aid our task will always be correct. This is a result of your purity of spirit.”

  There was a time shift, she commingled, relaxing a little.

  The Higher let her spiral down within the Is. “We are aware of this,” they said. “You were not at fault. We allowed it to happen.”

  Aurielle felt herself roll. “May I know why?”

  There was a pause. They let her glide for a moment. “Isenfier is upon us,” they said.

  Whoosh! That made poor Aurielle plummet as her mind grew heavy with a daisy field of questions. Once again the Is was there to support her. As she calmed, she rose again.

  “She is coming,” they said.

  “She?” said Aurielle.

  “You are tending Her closely.”

  The egg on the table.

  “Yes,” said the Higher, reading her thoughts. “She will lead you to Isenfier. David will prepare the way.”

  “Then it’s him?” said Aurielle, thinking of the tapestry.

  “Aurielle, you always knew,” they said.

  Aurielle gulped. She found herself floating motionless now. Yes, in her heart, she had always believed that the boy was special. Trust your intuitions, the Higher had always taught her. Intuitions, they said, were the future calling.

  Daringly, she opened her eyes. The strange fragment of bone was dancing about her, looping her body in figures of eight, wrapping her in its lengthy trails. The sun was shining through a parting in the clouds, making all the fire stars dance. And the rain was falling. The rain was back, making a rainbow over the dome. Suddenly, Aurielle knew what she must do. “I must find him,” she said. “I must drive out the Aunts and bring David back.”

  “He will be the new curator,” they said.

  The rainbow illuminated Aurielle’s heart. She soared. Courage flooded her breast. She would need it, for the Higher’s next words were a caution: “We have only one warning.”

  Oh. Aurielle faltered a little.

  “Beware the thread,” they whispered.

  Thread? she commingled.

  “Of time,” they said. “The thread of time.”

  Aurielle twitched her ear tufts a little. “But the birds are the guardians of time,” she said. Hadn’t this always been so?

  “That is your vulnerability,” they warned her. “But only She can decide the final outcome.”

  She. There was a pause. The fire stars blinked. “Is She like us? A bird — from an egg?”

  “She is what you see on the tapestry,” they said.

  A girl, dressed in white.

  “Yes,” said the Higher.

  “And you?” Aurielle asked rather boldly. She had floated this question in her mind many times and the Higher had always let it do that — float. Now Aurielle pressed for an answer. At last the Higher replied with one.

  “We are Fain,” they said.

  Aurielle drew a breath and looked all about her. Pure fain? No physical body?

  “We are everything — and no thing,” the Higher whispered.

  The piece of bone twitched as it whipped past her face. It was starting to make her go cross-eyed now. “This is some thing.” But what exactly?

  The Higher paused before replying. “This is your possible future,” they said.

  “My …?” I’m going to be a piece of bone? she thought.

  “This is an agent of the universe,” they said.

  Oh, thought Aurielle. That is better.

  “This is not its true form.”

  “May I see its true form?”

  There was a humming sound within the Is. “It can only be a moment, a shimmer in time. It will be here but not here. Seen but not seen.”

  “I understand,” said Aurielle. A glimpse was all she wanted.

  A glimpse was all she got. Right before her eyes, the “bone” stopped moving and physically changed shape. It happened so quickly that she almost sneezed and blew the apparition to the far side of the dome. But there, so faintly trans:lucent that it was almost lost among the pulsing stars, Aurielle saw a hint of how her kind would evolve. Not into larger birds. Not even into dragons. But a creature somewhere between the two. The image was there in a blink and gone. She barely had time to take it all in. But the one thing she couldn’t fail to notice was a feature she had always envied in dragons. A physiological improvement on the firebird anatomy that filled her with the greatest excitement ever. She paddled her feet in the Is and was joyous.

  Someday, firebirds were going to have paws.

  12.

  One thing Aleron had not explained to Aurielle during their conversation about Rosa was how the Aunts were treating the books. Thankfully, he had not been there to witness Aunt Primrose savagely tearing out random pages, but he had found the shocking results of her wickedness when he’d flown by the blocked-up window space. What a terrible thing it was for a caring firebird to register the distress of ripped-up words, crumpled in their paper, dying and forgotten. He’d found a ball of that paper lying on the ground at the edge of the daisy bed and had straightened it out as best he could. But it was never going to be as clean and sharp as the day the words had been put onto the page. There, in those wrinkles, was the sadness of the aerie in microcosm. Aleron had burned it, to relieve it of its suffering, and blown the ashes over the daisy fields. One shred of paper, at least, was at peace. But the books could not tolerate much more stress.

  Rosa had been coming to that same conclusion. She, too, was not immune to the sadness around her, but had so far sat back and done nothing about it. But as time went by and the librarium’s mourning seemed to be growing worse, she began to wonder what the Aunts were up to. To her relief, they had not gone around the building wrecking shelves or tearing down books. She was grateful for that, but she was still suspicious. They had practically ignored her since that first day of scrubbing and had kept themselves confined to the room she had cleaned. What, then, was the nature of their “re:assessment”? What could they assess from one small part of a building as huge as this?

  On the third day, curiosity got the better of her and she crept downstairs to investigate. Most rooms in the librarium had no doors, and those that did were rarely closed. The Aunts’ door was not only closed but had a large KEEP OUT sign hanging off the doorknob. For the first time, it occurred to Rosa that the blocking of the window had nothing to do with drafts or cold. The Aunts just did not want to be seen. She stooped down and put her eye to the keyhole. It was stuffed with paper. She raised her fist to knock, then thought better of it; if they were this keen on secrecy, they weren’t going to let her in on a whim. Politeness wa
s not an option. But how could she, a girl with no fain, possibly distract two powerful Aunts?

  She took the problem to her hammock that night. As she tossed and turned between half sleep and worry, her mind seemed to fly around the walls of the librarium as if she were spinning on a carousel of books. For the first time in her life, she realized she was dreaming. Or was it that the building was leading her somewhere? It had done this many times in her waking life, but that had always been in response to her intent. This time the intent seemed to be that of the building. And so it proved to be. In the middle of the night, with the moon outside her window, she woke with a start, swung out of her hammock, and started to run. She arrived breathless in a room on Floor Eleven and skirted the shelves, almost tearing down the books until she found the volume she was looking for — the title the building had put into her mind: The Properties of Mushrooms.

  Mushrooms. She had heard Mr. Henry say something disparaging about these things once. How they were prisoners of the dark and grew in damp corners in the muggy cellars beneath the librarium, only fit for consumption by Aunts, who couldn’t get enough of the horrid things, apparently. Rosa had been very young at the time and had not understood this little rant, but she had taken note of it. Aunts liked mushrooms. And now here she was with a strange book about them and two scheming Aunts in a room downstairs. But what did the building want her to do? A sudden breeze swept through the room, rapidly turning the pages of the book. Three firebirds (Aleron being one) had just flown in. They looked at Rosa and she at them. “You, too, huh?” she said, knowing full well they’d been drawn here, as she had. She glanced at the open book. On the page was a glossy digi:graf of a basket made from woven grass. In it was a number of strange gray objects with spongy stalks and purple spots on their rounded caps. Rosa read the caption beneath. Purple-spotted mushrooms are edible, but will induce drowsiness if eaten in quantity. She smiled and patted the librarium wall. Suddenly, a plan had formed in her mind.