Starborn Page 15

  “Hawthorn,” she said. “Small and strong and reliable. That’s the one. Here. Cut the twigs off with that knife of yours.”

  She had found a straight shoot. He flicked away the leaves and twigs. Perhaps not quite straight, now he could see it properly. He put one end on the ground. The branch was not quite as high as he was. About up to his nose.

  “Give it here.”

  Tamrin took it back, pushed her way clear of the woods, and regained the riverbank.

  “We should have more time, really,” she said. “Shouldn’t rush.” She looked at Tadpole. “Still. Got to get on.”

  She put down her own staff and took the hawthorn branch in both hands. Bracing herself, she drove it down into the ground, the effort showing on her face. Her lips were tight, her eyes screwed shut. The branch sank slowly down. Tamrin dropped to her knees, pushing it in, until just about a hand’s breadth remained above ground. She drew back, panting, the sweat dotting her forehead.

  “Get your cooking can,” she said. “Fill it with water.”

  Tadpole found the can in his pack, knelt on the bank and scooped up the water. He handed it to Tamrin.

  “No. You do it. Pour it over.”

  “How?”

  “Just do it. Anyhow.”

  Tadpole poured the water over the end of the branch. It pooled in a dip that Tamrin had made with her fists. The end of the branch grew round. It sucked up the water. Tadpole watched as it formed a sphere of polished wood, amber-coloured, smooth and glossy.

  “What’s on it?” asked Tamrin.

  “Nothing.”

  “Look more closely.”

  Tadpole peered at the branch.

  “Stars,” he said.

  “How many? How big?”

  “Tiny. So small. And thousands of them.”

  “How do you know they’re stars?”

  Tadpole laughed.

  “All right,” she said. “Stand back.”

  Tadpole moved away slowly, never letting his eyes leave the branch end. Tamrin had to elbow him out of the way.

  She took hold of the moulded end of the branch and pulled. She braced her legs, straightened her back and tugged. The effort was even greater than before, but the branch stayed where it was. Not an inch. It was wedged tight in the earth.

  She stood back, her breath loud with labour.

  “I can’t move it,” she said. “Come on. We need sleep if we’re going to travel tomorrow.”

  She walked away.

  Tadpole stayed staring at the end of the branch. It seemed as though the stars had gained strength and light. They gleamed in the darkness of the wood.

  “You’ll get lost,” Tamrin called. “Better follow. I’m not going to wait.”

  Tadpole started to follow her. He stopped, looked back. The stars had dimmed. He followed again. Again he stopped. For a second he couldn’t see where the end of the branch was. He stared into the gloom. A tiny light blinked at him. He ran across to it, seized the rounded end and pulled.

  And he nearly fell backwards on to the ground. The branch came out as easily as a fish from a stream. It span into the air, crashing through the lower branches of trees and sending down showers of leaves and twigs. Tadpole held his breath and hoped that the falling debris would turn into stars. They fell to the ground as bits of tree. The branch clattered down after them. Tadpole picked himself up, rubbing himself where he had landed with a thump, and grabbed the branch.

  “You got it, then?” Tamrin stood next to him.

  Tadpole examined the branch. Its time underground had stripped the last of the small, sharp edges. The bark was smooth and glossy. The end, where the water had soaked in, was the size of a roffle’s fist, comfortable to seize and hold on to.

  “Try it,” said Tamrin.

  He leaned on it. It didn’t bend. He took it in both hands and swung it round, smacking into the trunk of a tree. It was as hard as flint.

  “It’s a wizard’s staff,” Tadpole whispered.

  “It’s a walking staff,” said Tamrin. “And there’s a handy club on the end, if you want to hit a kravvin. You can use it to hack away at stuff if we’re walking through overgrown places.”

  “Will it do magic?”

  “Try it.”

  “How?”

  “Come on,” she said. “Time to sleep.”

  Tadpole followed. The going was a lot easier with something to lean on, to swing, to hack away with. Secretly, he tried to make it pour stars out of the tip, or to light up in the dark, or to make streamers. None of these worked. Still, it was a good staff and he was glad of it.

  Tamrin refreshed the fire and they lay again in its glow.

  “Good night,” she said.

  The night noises returned, comforting and close.

  “What’s happened to Sam?” asked Tadpole. “Do you miss him?”

  Tamrin’s voice was different when she finally said, “Go to sleep, or I’ll send you to sleep and you won’t like that.”

  “Sorry.” He waited for her to answer. There was a question he had been avoiding, and now he had to ask it. “Are we really going to Boolat tomorrow?”

  “I am. You’ll have to do what you want.”

  Sam’s throat still hurt

  when he woke up.

  He braced himself to look inside the house. Flaxfold, Axestone and Eloise. All dead. Killed by Smedge and his army of kravvins.

  He stepped away, back into the early sunlight. Shadow of dragon wing swept across the grass. Sam didn’t need to look up to see Starback, circling overhead.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Stay up there. Keep away. Nothing but death and ending here.”

  He stiffened his shoulders, took a deep breath and went back inside the house.

  Busy. Keep busy was the way.

  Eloise first.

  Flower-like in death, she was slender, light and fragile. Her blue-green robe flowed down as Sam lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the house and down to the riverbank. He laid her softly on the wet grass.

  “The time for Finishings will be later,” he promised. “If I live to do them. For now, the sky and the water protect you. The grass hold you. The air sing to you.”

  He stood for a moment, waiting. When the sunlight shifted through the trees she seemed to disappear into the background. Green of grass. Blue of water.

  Without warning, a tiny arrowhead of colour flashed along the river. Sam smiled.

  The kingfisher veered round, flew past again, over Eloise and back to the water. It dived in. A mushroom of spray marked its path. And then it was out, a fish thrashing in its beak. Sam nodded, stooped, touched Eloise’s cheek, and left her.

  Axestone was heavy. Without the aid of magic Sam could never have lifted him. He scooped up the big man, like a lamb, and carried him, further than Eloise, into the wooded area beyond the garden. It was hard going, even with magic, and Sam was sweating and panting when he cleared the first stand of trees and found an open space.

  “You always were a burden,” he said, letting the older wizard rest on stones and mast. He smiled at him. “Sorry,” he said. “Not a burden. But heavy. You were always heavy. Good cheese is heavy. Iron is heavy. And stone and sorrow.”

  The quick rustle of dead leaves indicated another presence. Sam caught a glimpse of grey fur, bright eyes, a red tongue.

  “Lie heavy on him now, till I return to Finish him,” said Sam, looking up at the wide, green branches overhead.

  He moved away, paused at the edge of the clearing and watched the wolf break free of cover, trot in a circle round the edge before coming to rest at Axestone’s feet, where it sat, patient, looking.

  “Flaxfield dead first. All of Flaxfield’s apprentices being killed,” said Sam, as he returned. “One by one. The seal weakens.”

  He had put if off for long enough, and now he must do it. Starback still wheeled round in the sky, tireless, vigilant. Sam shielded his eyes against the sun and watched for as long as he could, before duty drew him in and
he looked down at Flaxfold’s body.

  He had straightened Eloise and Axestone before he slept. Flaxfold he had left as she fell. He sat cross-legged on the floor next to her. There was no mark on her body. Whatever Smedge had done to kill her he had achieved by a sly, probing magic. Killing her from inside out.

  Sam touched the back of his fingers against her cheek.

  “So cold,” he said.

  Her grey hair had fallen across her face. He brushed it away, and tucked it behind her ear, as he had seen her do a thousand times.

  “I don’t know where to take you,” he said. “Eloise needed the river, and Axestone the bare ground in the woods. But I don’t know where to take you.”

  He wrapped his cloak around himself and looked at her a long time.

  “I tidied the kitchen,” he said. “It’s all just as it was. As though the fight never happened. As though you’re going to bake more bread.”

  His voice failed him and he put the cloak around his face.

  The clock on the wall ticked away the time. Sam cleared his throat.

  “Anyway,” he said. “I can’t leave you here. Look at you.”

  He moved her arms to her sides, straightened her legs so that she lay on her back, orderly and correct.

  He closed his eyes and he was above the house, high in the sky, circling round and round.

  The rushing air soothed him. The dip and veer and rise restored him. He felt the ache in his wings from constant flight, and the pain cheered him. The river threaded below him, blue on green, wet on dry.

  He was thirsty. Laying back his wings he dived, spearing the air and plunging into the water. Twisting like an eel he surged through the water, mouth gaping, taking in refreshment, and he broke the surface again and flew up. Droplets exploded from him, sparkling in the sunlight. He flapped his wings, sending showers of silver down. He circled the house once, then glided to the topmost branch of the highest tree, folded his wings and looked down on the tiny figure of Eloise.

  Sam opened his eyes and was back in the kitchen, sitting by Flaxfold.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s make you comfortable until I know what to do.”

  He carried her upstairs, as she had once carried him when he was tiny and sick. He kicked open the door of her room and laid her on the narrow bed. Sunlight welcomed them, drenching the room with its warmth and brightness.

  Flaxfold’s room was as bare as the rest of the house was filled with things. A bed and a chair. A small chest and table. A jug of freesias on the table. A bookcase, no bigger than a garden gate.

  And the mirror.

  Sam had known it was there, but he never came into this room.

  It dominated the space. It was the size and shape of a door, hung on a stand so that it could be tilted forward and back. Sam tried not to look at it.

  It was the mirror of story. The first mirror ever. The mirror that had brought magic into the world. It was dangerous. It had a power and a history of its own.

  Ash had tried to use it to break free of Boolat. For a moment she had managed to step through it to freedom. Sam and the others had rescued it, and now it was here. Hidden in Flaxfold’s room. They were afraid that if ever it was unveiled Ash would break through again and she would have won.

  It was kept covered. Covered with a cloth to stop it reflecting. Covered as a hawk’s eyes are covered before the hunt. Hooded and weakened, but ready, as soon as the blind is slipped, to rise and kill.

  Sam brought the chair next to Flaxfold’s bed and sat with his back to the mirror.

  “I don’t know why I’m talking to you,” he said. “I know you can’t hear. But there’s no one else.”

  The hair had fallen loose again on the journey to her room and Sam again tidied it behind her ear.

  “Tam’s gone,” he said. “I don’t know why. After the battle, or even during it, she disappeared. I can’t hear her any more. I can’t be her. It’s like … I don’t know what it’s like.”

  He looked through the window at the sky.

  “I think they came for the mirror,” he said. “And the seal. I think Ash wants them both. Tam’s got the seal, so that’s all right. But what if they regroup? We drove them away, but we didn’t kill them all. And Smedge is still alive. I think.”

  He stood up and crossed the room to the mirror. He stood in front of it, testing himself. Daring himself to be there.

  “If they’d killed Smedge, they’d have come back and told us,” he said. “Wouldn’t they?”

  He wrapped himself in his cloak.

  “I think I’ve got to go to Boolat,” he said. “I’ve got to take the fight to Ash. But I don’t know how. The others have gone. Eloise and Axestone dead. December and Waterburn wounded. Tam nowhere to be found. And a roffle,” he remembered. “Poor Tadpole. Caught up in this.”

  He turned to face the body of Flaxfold.

  “The thing is,” he said. His voice grew louder as he spoke. “The thing is, if Flaxfield hadn’t died we’d have been stronger. He shouldn’t have done that.” He was shouting now. “Just when we needed him. And then, you promised me. You promised I could be your apprentice. And look at you.” He was screaming at her now, the tears flowing down his face. Tears of rage as well as of grief. “Look at you. Dead. You can’t expect me to do this all on my own. Can you? Can you?”

  He stamped on the floor, made his hands into fists and beat them against his sides.

  “Look at you. Just look at you. Dead. You’ve no right to die. No right. Look at you.”

  He stumbled back, stepped against the mirror and fell. He reached out his hands to save himself. They caught hold of the fabric covering its surface. He tried to let go of it. Too late. He fell, banging his head against the wooden foot of the mirror stand. The cloth fell on top of him, blinding him. He clawed it away and kicked himself clear.

  The light from the window struck the polished surface and reflected back on to Flaxfold’s body on the bed. Sam looked at it. His kick had sent the mirror round so that it was facing her directly. She was reflected full-on in it.

  The light from the window flickered and was consumed by a greater, a brighter, light from inside the mirror itself.

  “No,” said Sam. “No.”

  The mirror shook and a sound like a huge branch breaking in a storm shattered the room.

  “No. Get back.”

  Sam leaped to his feet and grabbed his staff. He pointed it at the mirror, ready to fight magic with magic.

  Another crack, louder than the first, hurting Sam’s ears. And a rush of wind, too strong to withstand. Sam was blown back against the wall, his staff spinning away from him.

  And a figure, tall, grey and slender, stepped through the mirror and into the room.

  The grey figure ignored Sam

  and crossed the room towards Flaxfold. Sam, still stunned, crawled towards his staff. He was half-blinded by the flash, half-deafened by the noise. He fell to one side, bumped against the wall and threw up. Or, rather, nearly threw up. He hadn’t eaten and all that came was bile. It burned his throat and made him cough.

  “Ash,” he tried to call. “Ash.”

  He tried to focus. The grey figure stopped, halfway to Flaxfold. It turned and looked at him. Sam couldn’t make out the features.

  “Come on,” he coughed, the words hurting as much as the bile. “Come here. Leave her alone.”

  The figure strode towards him, hand outstretched.

  Sam lunged forward and fell on his face, his hand just touching his staff. His fingers sought it, and it slid away, beyond his reach. He was finished, powerless.

  The figure leaned over him, put its hands under his armpits and dragged him to his staff. Sam’s hand closed over it. He felt a new strength, a new power. His throat still hurt. His ears still sang. His eyes were still dazzled, but he could stand. He dragged himself free of the hands, backed against the wall, raised his staff and pointed it at the figure.

  “Sam.”

  Sam paused.

&
nbsp; “Sam.”

  The grey figure took hold of Sam’s staff. It moved it to one side and down.

  “Sam.”

  Sam closed his eyes. Bright flashes of yellow and white and blue carried on behind his eyelids. A hand covered his face. “Sam. Hush.”

  The lights dimmed. The ringing faded. The hand pressed against his face, warm, a little rough, large enough to cover the top half.

  “Sam.”

  Sam took hold of the wrist and moved the hand away. He opened his eyes. Clear sight now. No flashes and confusions.

  “Flaxfield?”

  “Who else?”

  Sam backed away.

  “You’re not Flaxfield.”

  “Sam.”

  “Get back. Get out. Get back through the mirror.”

  Sam brandished his staff, ready to fight.

  The figure swept its arm back and indicated the broken shards of polished steel, the twisted frame. The mirror was destroyed. It put its finger to its lips and smiled. “Hush. Watch.”

  Sam watched it turn and walk towards Flaxfold.

  “I told you to leave her alone,” he called.

  He made a barrier spell and threw it into the figure’s path. The grey thing walked straight through it and when Sam ran after it to grab it, he bumped into his own spell and recoiled from the barrier.

  Helplessly, he watched the figure sit on the chair by Flaxfold’s bed. It took her hand, smoothed her forehead and tucked the stray strand of grey hair more securely behind her ear.

  Sam beat his fists against the barrier. He stabbed at it with his staff. He kicked and hurled himself at it. He had created his own defeat and Ash, or Smedge, or whoever the figure was, had used it against him.

  Now the figure was leaning over Flaxfold. It put its forehead to hers. It took hold of her shoulders and shook them. It leaned back again and turned to Sam with a grim smile.

  Sam clicked his mind over and was on the treetop, surveying the countryside, watchful for attack. He leaped from the branch, rose and dived, flying at full speed towards the house. The window to Flaxfold’s room was small. Starback folded his wings back and smashed through it, making a sharp turn to avoid crashing into the wall. He flipped upside down, curled round and hovered, upright again, wings spread as wide as the room would allow, breathing smoke and fire.