Icefire by Chris D'Lacey Page B

was much more dignified. They were the defenders of the earth and the servants of Gaia.”
    “Of who?”
    “Gaia — the earth goddess. You’ve never heard of the Gaia principle?” She took another cookie and dunked it in her tea. “Tsk, Rain, you’re such a dunce. The Gaia principle posits the idea that the earth is a living organism.”
    “It breathes …” David muttered, remembering now what Lucy had said about the dragon fire at the center of the earth.
    “Yes. It regulates its environment and weather patterns according to its changing needs. No matter what nastiness we get up to, zap ourselves to dust with nuclear weapons, poison the oceans with toxic pollutants, Gaia — the earth — will always adjust and survive, in time. This is not to say that we, the nauseating dots of life that corrupt every corner of this beautiful planet, can afford to be totally irresponsible and do what we like. Far from it. Our role is to live in harmony with Gaia. The more we nurture the planet, the better and more natural a life we’ll have. Hey, I’m good at this soapbox stuff, aren’t I?”
    “Wonderful,” said David, with his tongue in his cheek. “So where does he fit in?” He nodded at Gadzooks.
    “Well, the more auma something has, the more animated or lively or creative it is, and therefore the closer to Gaia it becomes. When you picture Gadzooks in your mind, you’re basically admitting you believe in him. That raises his auma — to a pretty high level by the sound of things. I reckon Bergstrom was thinking about Lorel when you took that talisman, and Gadzooks picked up on it. When you’re in that enlightened state, you can access other planes of being. A bit like Bonnington being aware of Lorel in the garden.”
    “But that still doesn’t explain why Lorel’s come. How am I supposed to find that out?”
    “Keep dreaming. Let him talk or show you things. Just be open to it, that’s all.”
    David sat back, frowning heavily. He thought about the dream he’d had — of the island that looked like a jagged tooth. Was Lorel trying to show him somethingthen? Where did that fit in with dragons? He rocked forward and stroked Gadzooks. “This auma thing. Is it possible for someone else to raise it, to make it seem like …?” He tipped his head toward the dragon and flapped his fingers to indicate flight.
    “He flies?” Zanna whispered, letting her mouth drop open.
    David stood up, with a finger to his lips. He took the listening dragon off the top of the fridge, opened the bread box, and shut it inside. “Precaution,” he said, and took his seat again. “Liz told me this story once about a dragon called Gawain, the last dragon in the world. Liz has a funny way of telling stories. She sings you a sort of growly lullaby that makes you dream you’re living the plot. And that means you see things you wouldn’t … normally see.”
    “Cool,” went Zanna. “Sing me the lullaby.”
    “I can’t. She kind of warbles it from the back of her throat.”
    “Dragonsong, yes. I’ve read about it somewhere. Wow, this is great. Tell me the story.”
    So David repeated what he’d told to Dr. Bergstrom, and Zanna, like Bergstrom, was intrigued by two things: Gwilanna, and what had become of Gawain’s fire tear.
    “Don’t know about Gwilanna,” David said, “but Liz told me the fire tear is hidden somewhere. I reckon it’s —”
    “In the Arctic,” Zanna guessed, shortening her gaze. “That’s the connection to Lorel. It must be.”
    “Fine. I get that. But what does he want?”
    “Don’t know,” she muttered, thinking hard. “Show me this den, the place where Liz works. There’s gotta be a clue there, somewhere.”
    “I’m not sure,” said David, leaning back. “There are dragons up there that are very special to Liz and Lucy.”
    Zanna tilted her head. A sparkle danced in her large dark eyes.
    David squirmed and knew he was powerless to resist. “All right,” he caved in, “but just a quick