Dragonborn Read online

  “I do not know how to,” she said. “Only the last apprentice knows how. He has taught you.”

  “He didn’t. Truly he didn’t.”

  “Then you are no apprentice,” said Axestone coldly. “You have lied to us.”

  There was a tension in the room as thick as smoke and as hard to breathe. He could feel everyone waiting to see if it was true.

  Sam wanted to cry. He knew, he just knew that Flaxfield had never taught him this. How could he forget? He hated Axestone for humiliating him, and he hated Flaxfield for not teaching him.

  Starback nudged his legs. Sam was so upset that even this was not welcome, though he knew the creature was trying to be kind. He put his hand down to push him away, but Starback grabbed it in his mouth and pulled him away, toward the dresser. He nosed against a small door. Sam opened it. He took out a loaf of bread, some figs, a small bottle of cordial, and a bag of silver coins. They had been put there recently, because the bread was fresh, and there was nothing else in the small cupboard. His hands were not steady. He carried the items carefully to Flaxfield and placed them inside the wicker basket, as close to Flaxfield’s hands as he could. Then, he stopped and looked at the still face. “You have done all things well,” he said, quietly. “Go where you must.” Then, he leaned forward and kissed the cold, dry cheek.

  The room made a small, comfortable sound, of breaths that had been held being released.

  Sam looked around to see if it was right. Axestone nodded, and almost smiled.

  “That’s no good!”

  “Ah, Caleb,” said Axestone, looking at the one who had spoken. “You have arrived at last. That leaves only Waterburn still missing.”

  “In plenty of time,” said the newcomer. He stuck out like a sapphire in a bread shop window. All the others were in traveling drab, or, at least, in sturdy clothes that drew no attention. Caleb wore a brocade jacket, with the cleanest lace at the neck and cuffs, the collar fastened with a jet brooch in the shape of a beetle with a silver mount, and silk breeches with buckled shoes. His hat, discourteously still on his head, was tilted ironically, as though mocking the solemnity of the rites. “I didn’t miss anything. Especially that nonsense this idiot boy just showed us.”

  “It was Flaxfield’s choice,” said Eloise. Her radiance had faded now.

  “We don’t know that,” the man scoffed. “There was no magic in it. Flaxfield was a great wizard. He deserves magic at his Finishing. I was his last apprentice.” He raised aloft a staff that Sam had not noticed before. It was dark, with a deep shine to the wood and silver inlay. Khazib dashed it from his hands and it clattered to the ground, the fine silver work denting on the red tiles.

  “Magic enough has been done today,” he said. “It is for the last apprentice to provide the goods to finish the ceremony, and he has. It is done. We leave now.”

  Caleb stretched out his arm, palm down. The staff rose and he grasped it. His hand clenched tight with fury.

  Axestone nodded to the crowd. Four stepped forward and hoisted the basket to their shoulders. Together in pairs, led by Axestone, they made their way to the river. Sam and Starback nearest the front, as Eloise had made sure they would be.

  They reached the river and Eloise completed the Finishing. When she was done, she turned away and walked off by herself, as Sam had often seen Flaxfield do. Her steps were unsteady, and she stopped soon and stood and waited for the effort of the Finishing to leave her.

  “They don’t know about the boy,” said Ash.

  Even though she was used to its noise now, the clattering laugh made her feel ill. She drew her sleeve across her eyes, smearing the blood but letting her see again. Her arms and foot were completely restored.

  “The gap’s closed now. They’ve kept their magic hidden. But I’ve put a confusing spell there. They won’t know that the boy’s the one. They won’t trust him.”

  “Will they kill him?”

  She tried to stand, staggered, and sank back to the floor.

  “They don’t kill like that.”

  The clacking grew fast and loud.

  “I would kill him. I would stab. I would jab. I would stab.”

  As the creature spoke it jabbed out a clawlike leg and clattered more claws on the smooth floor.

  “I know you would. Perhaps, one day, you will. Not now; it is enough that I’ve made some mischief for them. Now get out.”

  The clacking died down. It slouched away, leaving a faint stink of cat mess.

  Pages from an apprentice’s notebook

  MAGIC IS DIFFERENT IN THE MINES, but nobody really knows why.

  Some people say it is because the miners are all descended from one couple, a person from Up Top and a roffle, so they are neither one thing nor the other. The miners do all look alike, so it may be true. Everyone knows that everything, including magic, is different in the Deep World, so it makes sense that people who are half-roffle would interfere with magic.

  Some people say it is the tunnels, that the magic gets lost in them and can’t find its way out, and can’t work properly, but this doesn’t seem to be right, because magic can find its way through a dark forest, across rivers, and even to the other side of mountains. On the other hand, the tunnels in the mines are like a spiderweb—they crisscross and join up where you think they won’t, so the magic may lose direction.

  It is very dangerous when magic loses its way. If magic forgets who worked it, then it can’t find its way back to its source. So, magic worked for greed may go hunting for someone to return to and go to the wrong person.

  Other people say that magic is different in the mines because it is always dark, but magic sees through the darkness—and anyway, it is light in the Deep World and magic is hardly magic at all down there.

  Because the magic does not work properly in the mines, they are very dangerous places for wizards. Even a great wizard will find that the magic doesn’t behave properly in the mines, and he may hurt himself, or die from a spell that is completely harmless Up Top.

  Wizards should stay away from the mines. There’s no more to say.

  “That boy is a fraud,”

  said Khazib. “I think Caleb is right. We have made a mistake.”

  The others listened, and then joined in as they felt inclined.

  “He can’t do any magic at all,” said Sandage.

  “None that we have seen,” said Eloise.

  “He made a good farewell to Flaxfield,” said Axestone.

  “It was a disgrace!” Caleb was angry, and Sam felt shame scratch down his back.

  The other wizards had all gone, not even returning to the house after Flaxfield’s Finishing at the river. Only these remained. They sat around Flaxfield’s kitchen table, the evening light making their faces clearer, the highlights and shading accentuated by the gloom. Sam had been sent off to occupy himself.

  “We need mushrooms from the wood,” Caleb had told him. “Only the puffballs, mind. It’s for a special spell. And choose only the best.”

  Sam nodded like an idiot, took the mushroom basket, and set off. Puffballs! Puffballs were good on toast, fried in butter. They made a spell for curing the trots in dogs, and you could grind dried ones and put the powder in a lotion to make you look younger (but only for a few hours, “and hope that’s long enough,” Flaxfield had said), and that was about all. So he knew he was just being sent out of the way.

  They watched him till he was past the coppice, then, as soon as he was under cover, he doubled back, climbed up the ivy at the side of the house, slid into an upper window, and crawled down the side of the wall to the smoking-loft over the kitchen fire, which was now cold and dead. Invisible in its cover, he could see most things and hear everything.

  “When was the last time you saw Flaxfield?” asked Axestone.

  It was Eloise who had seen him most recently.

  “At the Tawdry Fair in Cawthwaite. He was buying spices. Four years ago.”

  “Was the boy with him?”

  She shook
her head.

  Caleb looked around at them. His fingers played over the silver and jet pin that fastened his collar. “Did he ever go to a fair without you when you were his apprentice? No? No.”

  They all shook their heads.

  Before that, Axestone had been the last to see him. Over twelve years ago.

  “It was here,” he said. “He looked very old and tired.” He hesitated.

  “Go on,” said Khazib, sensing something important. “You have to tell us.”

  Axestone lowered his head. “He said he had come to the end of his magic, that there was little left.”

  They waited for more.

  “I asked him where his apprentice was. He said he had no more to teach. That he would never have another.”

  Caleb smacked the table.

  “So! I was his last. I should have given him the farewell. I knew it.”

  “He changed his mind,” said Eloise.

  “The boy did it well,” agreed Sandage.

  “That’s not the point. He’s not an apprentice.”

  Sam bared his teeth at Caleb.

  “Look at him. Have you ever seen an apprentice like him?”

  “He is scruffy,” admitted Sandage.

  “Scruffy?” the deep, mocking voice of Khazib interrupted. “He’s filthy. He smells. A castle kitchen boy is cleaner and more wholesome.”

  Sam gasped. He flinched under the words. Was he? He never thought. He didn’t spend much time washing, but why should he? Flaxfield had never said anything.

  “What shall we do with him?”

  In his loft, Sam felt tired and sick. He wanted these people to go away and leave him alone. They had come into Flaxfield’s house, his house, and taken it over as though they lived there, as though it was theirs, not his. And they were making plans for him, as though they were his masters. He wanted Flaxfield to come in and turn them all out. For the second time since the old man died, Sam found himself crying, silently. Starback licked his face, which felt much nicer than you would think. He missed Flaxfield now, more than he could have thought possible. Flaxfield had looked after everything for him, and Sam wanted him back.

  “Send him back where he came from,” said Caleb.

  “We don’t know where that is,” Axestone objected. “And he won’t fit in, not now. Not once he’s been an apprentice.”

  “He isn’t, though,” said Caleb.

  Sandage tapped his fingers on the table and bit his lip.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “What?” Khazib stared at the older wizard.

  “Where was Waterburn?” asked Sandage.

  “I’d forgotten about him,” said Eloise.

  “And Flaxfold,” added Axestone. “She should have been here.”

  “She should have,” said Sandage, “but she was not Flaxfield’s apprentice. It isn’t so important. But Waterburn was.”

  “Have you heard the stories about him?” asked Eloise.

  “Yes.”

  “Are they true?”

  “Some of them are.”

  “Did he ever finish his apprenticeship? I heard he gave up.”

  “All I know for certain,” said Sandage, “is that he finished with magic years ago.”

  “You never finish with magic,” said Caleb.

  “Sometimes it finishes with you, though,” said Axestone.

  “He disappeared,” said Eloise.

  “He disappeared,” repeated Axestone, “just as the magic began to turn wild.”

  Sam strained to listen. Wild magic?

  Caleb laughed.

  “Wild magic,” he said. “Nonsense.”

  “Be careful,” said Sandage. “Those of us who are old have seen changes. There is a fire starting.”

  “What is that to do with Waterburn?” asked Caleb, flicking his fingers against his sleeve.

  “Waterburn was a favorite,” said Axestone.

  Caleb scowled.

  “Flaxfield was closer to him than to most of us,” Eloise agreed. “He was the last, before you, Caleb.”

  “He’s not here now,” said Caleb.

  “No,” said Khazib. “But why?”

  “Waterburn disappeared,” said Caleb. “That’s right, isn’t it? What matters is this boy. The one who pretends to be an apprentice.”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” said Eloise quietly. “I’m sure he’s telling us the truth. Let us find out.”

  “How?” Caleb stared at her. “It’s hot in here.” He unfastened the beetle brooch at his collar and loosened his shirt.

  “He will have signed indentures,” she said. “That will prove it.”

  Sam had forgotten all about the paper he had signed seven years ago.

  “And if he really is, what shall we do? Flaxfield’s death releases him.”

  “We will have a duty to the boy,” said Axestone. “To complete his apprenticeship. One of us will have to take him on. If no one else will, I shall.”

  Sam shook his head. He could never serve this fox.

  “And if he’s not, he can turn the spit in a castle kitchen,” Caleb predicted. “Or go down into the mines.”

  There it was again. The mines. Sam made a face at Caleb.

  “I have an apprentice already,” said Sandage.

  “He’ll need a dozen baths first,” said Khazib.

  “He’ll need a spell strong enough to clean out a town drain,” said Caleb.

  And so on it went. Sam had heard enough. He slid back up and onto the landing. From here, he made his way into Flaxfield’s study.

  It was a small room, but, to the boy’s mind, the best in the house. Three walls were made of books—or it seemed that way. Every inch of space was covered with oak bookshelves made for the room. A huge iron grate with an oak chimneypiece provided heat in winter. A round oak table, with rush-bottomed oak chairs, and a few pictures on the fireplace wall completed the room. Here was the heart of Flaxfield’s mystery. Sam had not stepped into it for the first three years he lived with the wizard. And then, the day Flaxfold left, the day they had signed the paper that Sam now knew was called an indenture, Flaxfield took him in here and sat him at the table. “Don’t touch anything.”

  He nodded, eyes like moons, looking at the books.

  Flaxfield opened a cupboard that was part of the wall of bookshelves. He took from it a box and put the indenture inside, returned it, and closed the door.

  Turning to face Sam, he said, “Choose a book.”

  “For me?” he asked. More than anything else, he wanted to own one of these books.

  The old man laughed.

  “Not yet. Perhaps one day. Perhaps never. But, for now, choose a book you would like to read.”

  The boy looked hungrily at the shelves. Which one? There were huge books on the lower shelves, bigger than the wooden boards he chopped vegetables on, and heavier by the look of them. He would love to turn their pages and see what huge stories they held. But there were others, higher up, just above his head, with colored leather spines, blues and greens and reds with gold pictures and gold writing. Some were so old they looked as though they had been buried in the woods. Others so bright and fresh they could have just been made. Which one?

  “Or perhaps you would rather make up a medicine for me for a sick horse,” said Flaxfield, “if there’s nothing here to interest you.”

  Sam wheeled around, frightened Flaxfield was sending him out of the library.

  “No!” he said. “I really want …”

  The old man was smiling at him, and Sam realized he was being teased.

  “So many,” said his master.

  “I want to read them all.”

  “You shall, I think. But everything starts with one. Which one?”

  Hastily, before Flaxfield changed his mind, Sam pointed to a book he had been considering. It was small, so he felt it would not be too much for him, old, because he liked to think of looking into something that had been there for years and years and that others had thought
was valuable enough to read and to keep, and that had been here many years before he had, but not so old that the cover was dark and dirty. The leather was a dark green, with rich, gold letters, deepened by time, and a small drawing of (and this was what had made his mind up) a dragon.

  “This one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  “Very well.”

  Flaxfield showed him how to take a book from the shelf without damaging the spine. He pushed the books on either side of it in a little and took the book he wanted between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Please begin. Read to me, boy.”

  Sam felt breathless and nervous, the way he did when he climbed the big trees by the riverbank and jumped into the water. It was frightening, but wonderful. So, when he opened the book, the disappointment was like a slap. It was as though the branch broke just before he jumped, and he tumbled down, through the tree, banging and bruising and scratching himself all the way to the ground. He couldn’t read it. He scowled at Flaxfield.

  “Why did you let me take that one?”

  Flaxfield took it from him gently, smiled, and said, “You chose it. Don’t be angry. That’s the first lesson today. Trust what you have chosen. There is a reason. Sometimes it has chosen you. What do you think of your book?”

  “It’s no good.”

  “Come closer.”

  Sam banged his chair across the floor so that the two of them leaned over the book together. The old man smelled of herbs and oil; it soothed the boy, and he reluctantly relaxed a little.

  “See,” said Flaxfield. “The page you opened has only writing. But look here.”

  He turned the page and there was a drawing of a dragon, a Green and Blue, in front of a small group of houses and an inn, with trees framing the picture. Beneath it was a single word, in a script Sam had never seen before.

  “Do you know what this says?” asked Flaxfield.

  “No.” The word came quietly, though still with a resentful tone.

  “It is written in a language that no one speaks anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “The ones who spoke it are all dead these many years, and all we have left are their books. But we can still read it well enough. The letters are not like our letters, as you have seen.” He smiled. “But not so hard to learn.”