XIV. The Ounce

Sikander faced the icy gusts blowing across the mountainside and spread his wings. The wind lifted him off the ground into the air, soaring around in a climbing loop. "Head south, ne'er stop climbing till you see blue ice shine." On the advice of the Fox-princess Sikander had held a southerly bearing as long as his strength had lasted. Now as he gained altitude he saw see that he was deep into the midst of huge mountain ranges. Snowy peaks beyond snowy peaks stretched away to the horizon in all directions.

Surely the princess must have meant him to head south until he reached these mountains, and to then keep climbing higher and higher, looking out for shining blue ice. After all, what could be higher than the Roof of the World? Surely that must have been her intent. But still, which way next?

Climbing and climbing higher in the wind, the Sandragon spiralled round again and again, scanning the mountain ranges all around, trying to guess which direction would lead to the tallest of them all. Far off, away to the south-east, one rocky pyramid stood out on the skyline higher than all others, so Sikander decided to head that way.

As he set out the air was colder than he had ever felt before. He headed off with strong wing-beats, partly to make his way to the Phoenix as quickly as he could, partly to try and warm up in that ice-sharp air, so freezing cold that it seemed to burn his skin, a feeling that no Sandragon could ever learn from fire or flames. Sikander was tempted to fly back down into the warm shelter of the chamber under the cedar-tree, but there was no time to lose. Hadn't the Owl said that the Firebird was already waiting, somewhere out here in the cold?

As Sikander flew onwards the cold seemed to get worse, to eat into him. The sun was setting and as it sank down the sky, the colours of the mountains around him reflected those of the falling night, slowly darkening shades of golden yellow merging into pink, livid red and purple. The dragon flew across valleys in shadow as deep and dark as pitch. It all reminded him of dusk in his far away dreamdesert home, but here the mountains reared vaster, more savage and steeper than the sweet sweeping dunes of the desert. The chill was more awful than anything he had ever known in the desert.

A full moon rose before Sikander and the landscape below lit up in sharp contrast, silver and black. The sky-vault grew dark as obsidian, stars shone like handfuls of diamonds strewn across the face of the night. Sikander could do nothing but clench his teeth against the harsh frost of the air and fly on.

That night seemed endless. Minutes dragged out as long as days, hours passed as slowly as months. It seemed to Sikander that the deep cold thickened and froze time itself. He flew on and on, but his landmark peak off to the south-east seemed to remain as distant as ever, to grow no closer, no matter how hard and fast he made his way though the night. He wondered if the slowing of time was some strange trap laid out by Fimbulgard the Icedragon to prevent him from ever reaching the passes to the Roof of the World. On he flew.

After what felt like an eternity of flying, at long last the sky began to lighten again, the utter blackness all round became less extreme and the eastern horizon grew paler, lightened to grey. The stars imperceptibly vanished and the freezing sky turned to the palest of pastel pinks as dawn approached. Sikander flew on. Daylight brightened the highest peaks first, little by little the slopes and valleys came out of their deep shadows. Sikander's heart warmed with the dawn, but he felt light-headed with tiredness, dazed by the effort of flying through such freezing air. On he flew, wondering how he would ever find out whether he was going the right way.

Wherever Sikander looked there was snow. The entire landscape around him was blazing white. Mountain peaks, great stone blades sharpened by ice and snow, seemed bite into the very substance of the sky above, piercing layers of cloud below. Motionless rivers of ice, pale as amethyst, clung to the mountains like gleaming cloaks on the backs of gigantic rocky kings. Crevasses and seraks looked like mere ripples and eddies on the surface of the glaciers. The Sandragon had never seen such an enchanted landscape in his life – he drank in the glittering view all around him, spell-bound in the blazing light, in the blinding clarity of the mountain air.

Abruptly a tiny spark flickered bright red and brown across a snowfield then vanished. "Life," thought Sikander. He twisted down towards the spot where the movement had disappeared. The spark flashed out from behind a snow-drift and flew across the whiteness, fast as an arrow. It was a small bird, no bigger than a sparrow, its breast as red as rust. Sikander closed in and called out:

"Stop! Wait little fellow, stop! Have no fear! I need your help."

The bird stopped on the snow and cocked its head round to look at the dragon, its eyes bright with amusement.

"Fear? Me? Never had any of that, nor want any either thank you."

Sikander landed on the snow and slithered to a halt, nearly crashing into the little bird. It hopped out of the way to one side, just in time, looking more amused than ever. "Careful there big flapper, slow down. Don't want to hone your nose on a lump of stone do you?"

Sikander looked down at the tiny creature and felt sheepish for his clumsy landing.

"Good morning. Thank you for stopping. I am a stranger to these parts and need help to find the right way to reach the Roof of the World."

"The Roof of the World. No less.
Perhaps I might help you to force Fimbulgard's Pass,
to trespass on the Icedragon's reserves,
or perhaps I might not.
And who might I be helping, if I should?"

"I am Sikander of the Dreamdesert Sandragons.
On a Shadowhawk's request I must bring fire and life to a Phoenix, if I am not already too late.
Who are you, little one ?"

"They call me Bold Bobby Bloodbreast. And I shall call you Dream Flapper. That other name of yours is far too long.

You say fire for a Phoenix on a Shadowhawk's request. Well, I can hardly refuse assistance to such birds as those – a robin's name would be dust for ever, so I shall help you.

But the truth is, Flapper, that although I know this neighbourhood as well as my eye-feathers, I have never ventured up to the tall passes which some say lead over to Roof of the World.

The best I can do is lead you to the one creature who pays no heed to Fimbulgard's rules. The Ounce will be able to tell you the way, if he should so choose".

"Master Bloodbreast you are most kind. I have never heard of your Ounce and have no idea what it is, but if you show me the way I shall follow."

"Then follow on."

The little robin flew off and Sikander nearly lost sight of him as he zipped away. Bobby Bloodbreast flew up the side of a steep snowy ridge then skimmed down the far slope, across a deep dark valley and up a narrow corridor of rock and black ice. At the top he flipped over another ridge and into a vast amphitheatre of snow and ice, the source of a huge glacier snaking away down the mountain. As Sikander followed the robin into this frozen valley he saw that at the high lip of the mountain bowl, where the ancient glacier fell away from the mountain-face in slabs the size of buildings, if left glittering cliffs of ice, shining in translucent hues of turquoise, aquamarine and the palest blue.

"Where the blue ice shines" Sikander felt his heart lift. At the far end of the half-bowl valley a tumble of grey boulders stood out in the sun, dry on the snowbound slopes. The robin fluttered to a perch on one of these and nodded down as Sikander came to a halt beside him, taking care to make a more graceful landing than last time.

In the lee of the boulders a little tree had somehow managed to find shelter and force its roots down into the rocky soil. One last withered brown leaf clung to its gnarled branches. Reclining in the snow under this lonely tree, as comfortable as on a feather bed, Sikander saw an animal that looked like a leopard, and yet not like a leopard. Too big for a cat or a lynx, yet smaller than a panther or tiger, the creature's grey-spotted, cream-coloured pelt was richer, thicker, warmer and softer than any lion's or cheetah's. The animal looked as noble and serene as a king in his mountain court.

There was no cheek in the robin's voice this time. If Bloodbreast knew no fear, he clearly knew where and when respect were due.

The Ounce turned its head and stared at the little bird with eyes as pale and hard, as cold and clear as the ice-cliffs above. Its voice was a deep growl,

"Bloodbreast. What company is that you have brought here then?"

"Iskander Dreamflapper Sandydragon, sir."

Sikander moved into sight, a little higher on the boulder. The Ounce remained motionless on the snow, only its eyes moved and fixed on the Sandragon.

"Ho! A Sandragon!
Here in a high desert, with no sand but snow sand.
Such a visit has not been seen for many generations.
Something tells me that bold little Bloodbreast did not get your name quite right."

"My name is Sikander of the Dreamdesert Sandragons, but I never heard tell of any other Sandragons coming to these mountains."

"Welcome Sikander. My name is Ounce, as you heard young Bloodbreast say. My ancestors were jungle cats who came hunting here when the world was young and animals were less set in their ways. My family's legends say that once, many thousands of years ago, a Sandragon bearing the colours of deep sandy deserts crossed these mountains. But that is little more than a cub's drowsing tale. Is it true that you breathe flames the colour of ancient ice?"

For an answer Sikander blew a feather of blue flame shimmering into the cold air.

"What brings you here, Sandragon?"

"This very fire. A Shadowhawk asked me to bring it to the dying Phoenix. A spy-snake told me the Phoenix was to be found on the Roof of the World and a Fox-princess bade me search where the blue ice shines. Robin Bloodbreast brought me to your home and told me that you are the one creature who could help me to find my way across the Icedragon's forbidden passes. Please would you help me help the Phoenix, Lord Ounce?"

"Fire for the Phoenix." The Ounce seemed to be thinking about this notion,
"What makes you think the Phoenix wants that fire?"

"Why, it is life for the Phoenix. Through the fire the Phoenix will be re-born, will live again, though it will die in the flames."

"So it is said. But some say that same fire is chaos and illusion, that serenity and release from that fire are nobler and higher attainments than life itself. Those who so speak are held to be wise, Sandragon. Will you help or hinder the Phoenix by providing fire, by looping it back into another round of life? Will you not force the Phoenix once more into its long cycle of birth, ageing, death?"

At the Ounce's words tiredness and gloom shook Sikander and nearly overcame him. The idea that the Ounce might refuse him guidance on the very threshold of his journey's end would have brought tears to his eyes, but Sandragons contain fire, no water nor tears. The Ounce had not moved from its couch of snow. It lay there, looking at the Sandragon through half-closed eyes.

Sikander had never heard of the ideas which the Ounce put before him. It was a new one on him to consider that some living creature might want something more than life itself. He must think fast if he wanted to persuade the Ounce to help him before it was too late. He must put aside his feelings of sadness and exhaustion, must concentrate on the task at hand. One of the Owl's gifts came to Sikander's mind: if your path does not or cannot lead to your goal, then change your path. There seemed little hope in arguing the Ounce's position. Sikander changed his path.

"Who are we to choose what is right and what is wrong on behalf of the Phoenix, Lord Ounce? Are you and I to judge for the Phoenix on the matter of his own life and death? Is there any release from a fire that never burns? Let us rather give the Phoenix the choice which is his by right. Please help me find the way to the Roof of the World."

The Ounce closed its eyes and was silent for a long while. Then it looked up and said, "Very well, Sikander. As you wish. I shall show you a path that leads to the Roof of the World, but it will be up to you to walk it, if you can. Fimbulgard suffers no trespass on his territory lightly and I see his breath on the peaks already."

On the horizon Sikander saw what looked like banners of smoke trailing from the peaks of the tallest mountains. Bobby Bloodbreast bobbed in a little bow and took his leave. The Ounce rose from the snow and padded silently off across the snow, grace and precision in every movement.