The Firebird Chronicles: Through the Uncrossable Boundary

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

The Black Horizon

'Dead Man's Fingers!' the Dark Pirate cried. 'Hard to port!'

The outline of a flinty column emerged from the mist. It looked scaly, like the decaying claw of a fallen sea monster waiting to snare ships. The Boatswain swung the wheel hard to the side, sweat pouring from his bristly beard. The ship lurched, making the crew stumble. Knot, already unsteady on his feet due to his considerable bulk, grabbed a rope as the vessel tilted. He watched, wide-eyed, as the ship curved away from the wrecking rocks, sending a cloud of sea spray into the night.

* * *

At the prow of the ship, two young Apprentices, Alfa and Sparks, fought the buffeting wind. Their waterproof hoods were pulled tight, frizzy hair whipping their faces, as they pressed into the storm. Sea lanterns swung from their hands, the beams trying to pierce the night. But the mist twisted the torchlight into ghostly shapes and rain formed a curtain of jewelled light in front of them.

'I can't see a thing!' Sparks called, her voice shrill above the waves.

'Me neither,' Alfa replied, 'but we have to try. Dead Man's Fingers are notorious wrecking rocks. A little light could make all the difference.'

Sparks's hands were trembling. 'Do you think they'll come after us?' She glanced to her side, looking for the flicker of lights in the ocean. Moments ago, the crew of the Black Horizon had been captive, surrounded by an army of Red Hawk soldiers. But then, as their leader, Falk, had met his end, the soldiers had retreated. Sparks had barely had time to take in what had happened.

'I don't know,' Alfa replied. 'They'll probably regroup and come after us. Red Hawks aren't known for their mercy. That's why we must get out of here now, even though it's dangerous to sail these waters at night. I heard the Boatswain say we had to make it past Turnpoint Island by dawn.'

'We better had,' Sparks said, 'because you know who else is out there.'

Alfa knew exactly whom Sparks was talking about – Grizelda. The old woman was their deadliest enemy.

'She's not going to leave us alone, is she?'

Alfa shook her head. The old woman would probably be even more dangerous now Falk had been defeated.

'Watch out!' Spark shouted. 'Look!'

Alfa swung her lantern to reveal a second jagged needle puncturing the sea.

'Hard starboard!' the Dark Pirate called. Sparks felt the ship adjust its course. She gripped her lantern tightly, holding her breath as they narrowly cleared the rock.

* * *

At the other end of the galleon, Mr Snooze watched the coastline of Fullstop Island disappear into the darkness. The skin of his face was paper thin, his silver hair pale in the night. Tears stung his cheeks. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the calming candlelight of his little Bedtime Story Slumber Shop in the village of Bardbridge. This was the first time Mr Snooze had been away from home and he was scared. It felt as though a chasm had already opened between him and everything he was familiar with.

I wonder when I'll see my home again, he thought. If I'll ever see it again.

He opened his eyes and blinked back a tear.

You mustn't think in that way, he told himself. Stay strong.

Mr Snooze squinted, trying to make out the cliffs, but he couldn't see them anymore. There was nothing but inky blackness, smudged by cloud.

His home was in terrible danger.

That's why I'm here, he reminded himself. That's why we must leave.

Fullstop Island was under the curse of a strange sickness – a living death that had swallowed many of his friends. He pictured them: Mr Bumbler, the Quill sisters and Isaiah Scriven. Mr Snooze took a sharp intake of breath and wiped his eyes.

Be strong, he told himself again. Be strong for them.

* * *

Above Mr Snooze, Fletcher looked down at the ship from the topmast. From there he could see the whole crew: the Dark Pirate on the quarterdeck, his black cape flying out behind him; the Boatswain pressed against the ship's wheel; and Alfa and Sparks on the forecastle, the beams of their lanterns crisscrossing the ocean. His friend Nib was battening down the hatches. Fletcher watched as Rufina passed. She stumbled. With lightning speed, Nib reached out to break her fall. He always seemed to have peripheral vision where his girlfriend was concerned. Fletcher watched Rufina grin, her hair fiery under the ship's lanterns. Then she crossed the deck to join Knot, who was straining to tighten the mainsail. These were Fletcher's friends. They were like family to him. Fletcher felt sick to his stomach. He believed it was his fault their lives were now in such deadly peril. And he believed it was his job to keep them safe.

He scanned the ship looking for his Academy partner, Scoop. She wasn't on deck.

She must be below, he thought.

Ever since he'd discovered Scoop was his sister, he'd felt protective of her, although he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone. The little things she did – how she brushed her thick, black hair from her eyes, or tried to straighten her spectacles – had become as familiar to him as his own sharp features. It was they, Fletcher and Scoop, Apprentice Adventurers from the Department of Quests, who'd been given the task that had led to this flight from Fullstop Island. They had been charged to bring an end to the sickness that now plagued their world.

Fletcher felt small as he clung to the mast. The task was huge. He knew the odds of success were tiny. For a moment, he was acutely aware of his thin, awkward frame. He stared into the swirling cloud that obscured his vision, and replayed the task they had been set: to sail to the island with a cliff shaped like a skull and to enter the cave they found there. They had been told it was a doorway between worlds, a Threshold leading beyond the Uncrossable Boundary. He recalled the words he and Scoop had heard before accepting the quest:

Once such a doorway is crossed, there is no going back. There is no returning from a Threshold. It is like entering the mouth of death itself.

Fletcher shivered.

He looked down to where the crew of the Black Horizon scurried and scuttled, working with all their might to master the vessel and bring it safely to open waters. He was glad to have his friends with him, but he still couldn't shake the guilt. It was his fault they were in this situation. His quest had plunged them into this chaos. He carried the responsibility for putting their lives at risk.

* * *

Below deck, in the captain's cabin, Scoop knelt across a narrow bunk. She pulled the final strap across the body in the bed and fixed it in place.

Now, that should keep you safe, she thought, as the ship tossed and plunged. She watched the body rock with the motion, but the straps held it firm. Two other bodies had also been secured to their bunks. Scoop studied them. They looked so still, almost peaceful as the ship creaked with the rhythm of the petulant sea.

This is wrong, so wrong. You're the ones who should be looking after me. You're my rocks, my lights.

She stared at the three bodies. They lay unconscious, victims of the sleeping sickness. How was it the most powerful people in her world had been reduced to this? She, Fletcher and the crew of the Black Horizon might have rescued them, bringing them to the ship, but they hadn't saved them. She looked at each of their faces in turn, trying to recall moments she and Fletcher had shared with each of them, remembering how safe she felt in their presence. She looked at the Storyteller's face. It was pale. He looked like a statue on a tomb. Scoop remembered him showing her and Fletcher around his castle, Alethea. His eyes had sparkled as he'd revealed the mysteries of the castle. She remembered how proud she'd felt that she and Fletcher were able to call him father. Next to him, her mother lay – the Storyteller's Princess. Scoop studied her fingers, so long, so elegant. She remembered her mother holding the Golden Feather, teaching her how to use it as a quill to reveal the truth. Her mother's fingers were now limp and lifeless.

She turned to the third body.

'Yarnbard,' she whispered. She struggled to see the old man so frail. His grey beard was barely rising and falling as he breathed. How she loved him. How she hated seeing him like this. The Yarnbard was their mentor at the Academy. She didn't know another person who carried the same energy, whimsical and wise in the same moment; she didn't know anybody who had the same impish sense of humour. She smiled, remembering the Yarnbard leaping out from a tree and spurting Fletcher with Inspiration Ice. How furious he'd been, and yet, how much he'd droned on about the sonnet he'd penned afterwards.

She looked back. The three bodies lay unconscious – the three people she trusted most in the world, the three people she relied upon for everything.

Not just me, she thought, glancing at the Storyteller again. The whole of this world depends on you. You're its life, its guide. We must get to the Threshold. We must wake you from this sleep, even if it costs our lives.

As Scoop left the captain's cabin, the wind sweeping her into the battle to reach safer waters, the three bodies were left alone to be rocked by the restless sea.

* * *

On the other side of the Uncrossable Boundary, two women stared at different tracks of water. They were mother and daughter, but separated by hundreds of miles, and by having spent many months apart. The younger of the two, Libby Joyner, watched a river flow past and disappear over a weir. The older, Ms Speller, sat and stared at the grey, flecked sea. Although they were separated by time and distance, they shared the same state of mind: their hearts ached with loss.

It's strange how an object, something ordinary, can be imbued with emotion, linked to memory. Libby and her mother pictured such an object. For both, it was the same – it was a pen. Two pens that had been thrown into those different tracks of water, one in anger, the other in despair. The pens reminded each woman of the other. Both imagined them sinking through the water to be covered by layer upon layer of silt, and as they did, both buried their grief and allowed their hearts to harden.

The Guardians Flee

On the moor, to the north of the Creativity Craters, three figures – a man, a woman and a girl – moved hurriedly along a rocky ridge. The first, a rugged fellow, wearing a grimy shirt and carrying a leather backpack, leapt over a boulder. He landed on a pathway that had been hidden by gorse bushes. Stooping, he studied the track.

'Quickly, this way,' he whispered.

Turning back, he held out his hand. An older lady, white hair pulled back into a bun, seized it and heaved herself over the rock, panting with the effort. 'I wish I'd worn better shoes for this.' She laughed nervously, nodding at her wellies.

'It's not as if we had much time to prepare for the journey now, Felda, is it?'

'No, Christopher, we certainly didn't.'

Felda looked over her shoulder at the girl who was following them, jumping from rock to rock. 'We're with the right person though, aren't we?' she called, trying to sound upbeat.

'If you say so,' the girl replied. A little bird settled on her shoulder and she stroked its feathers.

'I guess we need some luck.'

'I'm not used to relying on luck,' Christopher said, beginning to push through the gorse bushes along the path. It zigzagged down the steep slope of the moor.

Felda shook her head. 'None of us are.'

The girl looked down from where she was balanced on a boulder. 'Do we have to go that way? The bushes will sting my legs!'

'This is the way,' Christopher replied, not looking back.

'Who made you leader?'

'He is the Guardian of the Highways, dear,' Felda said, and began to follow him. 'We should probably take his advice.'

'And I'm Wisdom. You should listen to me too. And I don't like my legs being stung.'

'You'd think Wisdom would know better than to keep shouting and that she'd get a move on,' Christopher said, testily. 'They'll be after us, you know. And they move quicker than we do.'

Felda's face flushed. 'I'm sorry. I'm slowing you down. You go on without me. I'll catch you up.'

'We're not leaving you,' Christopher snapped. 'We've left too many already.'

Wisdom leapt down from the boulder and the little bird flitted away. 'At least we agree on one thing.' She started to skip and jump along the pathway. 'Ouch!' she yelped as the gorse scratched her legs. 'Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!'

'Shh!' Christopher hissed.

'But it hurts!'

'Well if you have to wear such flimsy clothing!' He waved at her green tunic. It looked as fragile as a leaf.

'These clothes are as tough as I am, I'll have you know! And they help me move with the wind.'

'They don't look very practical to me.'

'And you don't look very elegant to me. Ouch!'

Felda stopped. 'Will you two stop arguing! If it isn't enough to be ambushed by Red Hawks and imprisoned by that ghastly woman, I must put up with you two constantly bickering. It's too much, too much!'

'Sorry,' Wisdom muttered.

Christopher grunted.

'Oh, it's alright.' Felda sighed. 'It's just a lot to take in.' She paused. 'What do you think happened back there, to the Red Hawks I mean? They just ...'

'... vanished,' Wisdom said, staring out across the valley. 'Disintegrated to dust.'

'Such an eerie sight. Though quiet somehow, almost peaceful.'

'Until all hell broke loose,' Christopher added. 'And I don't have to remind you that only half of them vanished. The others are still there. So, let's not get carried away.'

Felda nodded. 'It was chaos after, wasn't it? Soldiers running, shouting. It was when I saw them abandoning their posts and fleeing into the forest that I knew I had to take a chance. I just ran. I didn't have time to think, though. To take it in.'

'Some of the soldiers had the wherewithal to stay,' Christopher said. 'To keep their guard. Otherwise more of us might have escaped.'

'Is it really only the three of us who made it?' Wisdom asked.

Christopher nodded. 'From what I could see. The others were still being held.'

Felda stared at the ground and shook her head.

For a moment, the three walked in silence.

'I thought,' Felda said, quietly, 'that maybe our powers would return, you know, after the Red Hawks vanished, but ...' She stopped and gingerly stretched out a green-gloved hand, touching a nearby bush that looked withered and brown. She closed her eyes and waited for a moment, as if willing life to pour from her fingers. Then she opened her eyes again. Seeing that there had been no change in the colour of the bush, she quickly withdrew her hand, a look of panic on her face. 'Nothing,' she whispered. 'What's to become of us? What's the use of being Green Guardian if you can't restore life to things?'

Christopher looked grave. 'What's the point of being Guardian of the Highways when you must navigate by your eyes, just like everybody else?'

'And what's the use of being Guardian of Hidden Treasure, when you're unable to call help from the deep?' Wisdom added.

'We might be free,' Felda said, 'but our home is still in terrible danger. The Red Hawks may be diminished, but our ability to maintain the balance of the island has gone. We need help. We need to consult something greater than us, something beyond even our power.'

'I agree,' Wisdom said. 'And I think we know what.'

Christopher nodded. 'The Well Whisper.'

'Yes.'

The Well Whisper was the voice of the island itself, constantly guiding the stories of its inhabitants to their conclusions.

Wisdom stared across the valley. In the distance, the Three Towers of the Academy rose from the jumble of streets that made the village of Bardbridge. 'That's where we need to go,' she said, pointing. 'The Well Whisper rises from the Central Chasm, right there in the centre of the Three Towers.'

'But the Red Hawks,' Felda said. 'Grizelda. They'll still be there. It would be madness for us to try and sneak into the heart of the Academy when the village is under their control.' She looked at Christopher for assurance, but he shook his head.

---

Excerpted from "The Firebird Chronicles: Through The Uncrossable Boundary"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Daniel Ingram-Brown.
Excerpted by permission of John Hunt Publishing Ltd..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---