Doubleborn (25 page)

The first to strike drove itself into his right shoulder, sending him staggering back with the force of its blow. Five, eight, more followed, piercing his chest, his legs, his stomach, and, rocking him almost to his knees, one thrust into his throat and stuck out the back of his neck.

Shoddle screamed.

Tamrin laughed.

Sam felt a driving pain in his chest. He looked at Smedge and he hated him with a spinning hatred that he had never felt before. Tamrin’s fear and loathing of the boy took over his mind and he felt the shame of being falsely accused, the rage of being a victim, the fear of further attacks, the triumph of winning a fight. He loved the sight of the wounded Smedge and he felt the sick terror that he might just have killed him.

Smedge sank to the floor.

Sam grabbed his thoughts back from Tamrin. His mind had brushed alongside hers and now he drew back to be himself alone.

Tamrin glanced at him, a shy, embarrassed look, as though he had caught her undressed.

“That was a mistake,” said Flaxfold.

Shoddle pointed a trembling finger at Tamrin.

“You’ll pay for that. That’s murder. Magic or not. It’s all the same.”

He put his hands to the sides of his head to control its spasms.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” said Tamrin. “I just lashed out.”

“He’s not dead,” said Flaxfold. “Nor dying.”

Smedge lay still. Blood pooled on the floor around him.

“Look,” said Solder. “It’s green.”

The arrows sagged and dropped away from his body. Smedge was melting, losing definition.

As they watched Smedge disappeared and became a squat, wet shape, rounded and shining in the candlelight.

“Ugh,” said Sam.

“It stinks,” said Solder.

The tailor drew in breath and smiled.

“Like fresh bread,” he said.

“Worse than slurry,” said Solder.

“What is it?” asked Tamrin.

“It’s Smedge,” said Flaxfold. “Without art or disguise.”

“You mean he’s not a person?” said Sam.

Flaxfold crossed her arms.

“Not at all,” she said. “I recognize him now I see him like this.”

The green slime twitched, heaved and re-formed into slug-like form. It slid towards Shoddle, slurping against the floor. The tailor reached out a hand and stroked it.

Sam shuddered at the strings of sticky slime that attached Shoddle’s hand to the huge slug.

The tailor sniggered.

Slug to toad, and then to monstrous things with teeth and claws and spit and spew, the creature was changing shape, searching.

“What’s it doing?” whispered Tamrin.

“Finding itself again,” said Flaxfold. “Your magic was too strong for him. You took him off guard.” She gave Tamrin a severe look. “Magic’s not for killing,” she said.

“Not for killing that?”

“Not even that.”

The thing that was Smedge had found the shape of the boy again, more or less, with gaps in the face and the wrong teeth and still a thin coating of slime. Grabbing Shoddle’s hand he hauled himself upright and fixed them with a steady stare. One eye didn’t seem to work and was not fixed entirely in the socket. When he spoke, green slime dribbled down the side of his mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, to Tamrin.

Sam prepared himself to fight.

“What?” she asked.

“Thank you.” He swallowed, disgustingly, and coughed. “Now I don’t care what I do. Now we know each other, don’t we?”

He moved towards them, hands outstretched. Sam flinched away. Tamrin stepped back. Solder scooted over to the window and tucked his feet underneath him on his barrel. Only Flaxfold stood firm.

He stopped, tilted his head to one side.

“You don’t want to shake hands?”

Sam moved towards Tamrin. Their shoulders touched and he lost himself again for the moment in the strangeness of her thoughts. They looked at each other and he knew that she had brushed her mind against his.

Smedge started moving again. He was almost within reach of the mirror.

“Stop there,” said Flaxfold.

Smedge dipped his head and carried on. His fingers found the fabric veiling it.

“That’s it,” screeched Shoddle. “That’s it.”

Flaxfold stepped aside. Sam thought she was fearful of Smedge, then he wondered if it was the same disgust that moved her. She stepped back, behind the mirror, leaving the way clear for Smedge to take control of it. She was afraid. So afraid of her own reflection that she gave way to Smedge.

His fingers clutched the cloth.

“Shall I?” he asked.

“Go on,” shouted Shoddle. “Let’s see the mirror.”

Sam didn’t know what to do. If he grabbed Smedge the cloth would come with him.

“Let’s see the mirror,” Shoddle shrieked.

Sam felt Tamrin’s disgust at the gibbering tailor. He felt his own dread of what would happen if the mirror should be unveiled.

Smedge fondled the cloth.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, yes.” He lifted the cloth a little and put his head between it and the reflecting surface. “Come on,” he said. “What can you make of me?”

“Stop him,” said Sam.

Flaxfold moved further into the shadow.

Smedge, his head beneath the cloth, his face against the mirror, shimmered and stood back. He shifted shape. Sam’s eyes were confused by mist and movement. When they cleared he saw, sharp-set for the first time, the slim woman in the grey dress who had hunted him.

“Ash,” he said.

She smiled.

“I’ve come for this mirror,” she said. “And I’ve come for you, Sam.”

Smith and Winny spoke little as Tim raced them towards Tamrin and the tailor’s shop. After a few miles Smith slipped the leash and allowed Tim to run ahead, judging, rightly, that he would not run off altogether.

Tim’s mind was a confusion of perplexity and delight.

He longed to see Tamrin again, though he feared to explain to her what he had done to betray her. He longed to lead Smith where he wanted to go, longed to please the man. Somewhere, lost in the doggy depths of his mind, he still longed to please Smedge, though the thought of the other boy made him cringe. More than that, the thought of Vengeabil filled him with regret, and anxiety. He could never go back now. Never face the old storeman who had trusted him. Thoughts of Vengeabil flooded through his mind and, for a foolish moment, he felt that the man was watching him.

To throw the thought out of his mind he tossed back his head and howled, and ran in a huge circle. He loved the chase, the scent, the air in his lungs, the disappearing miles.

Smith loved the chase a great deal less. Breathing was growing hard. His legs ached. He stopped to recover. Tim lolloped back to join them.

“Are you all right?” asked Winny.

Smith could only nod in reply.

“If you weren’t carrying that it would be easier,” she said.

He looked at the hammer he was grasping and frowned.

“I know,” she agreed. “I’ll carry it for you for a while.”

Smith shook his head, but she took it from him.

Tim rushed round their legs, yelping encouragement.

“All right,” agreed Winny. “But run right ahead. See if you can find a stream or something and wait for us there. You need a drink.”

The stream, when they reached it, was on the edge of the town. Tamrin’s scent was strong and fresh here. And there was Vengeabil’s scent again. Tam must have spent so long in his kitchen that she even smelled of it. Tim bounded with pleasure and couldn’t stop himself from leaping up and licking Smith’s face when the man at last arrived.

“We’re close, are we?” he asked.

Tim yelped.

“I’ll take the hammer, then,” he said.

Winny handed it over. Tim noticed that her hands were large, strong and used to the weight. She wasn’t tired, either.

“Where’s Starback?” asked Winny. “Why isn’t he with us?”

“We’ll go carefully from here,” said Smith, putting Tim back on the leash.

Tim was surprised at how comforted he was by the restraint. He looked over his shoulder, towards Canterstock, so many miles away, and towards Vengeabil, who had helped him and whom he had let down.

“No,” said Winny. “Let him run. Time’s short and he’s faster than us.”

The kravvin army approached from the other side of town, and at a much swifter rate.

They had come further, but faster. Bakkmann, who thought to lead them, found herself challenged to keep up. They wouldn’t stop, even when she tried to make them. She clattered out her orders and they ignored her, streaming ever onward, towards the town, towards the tailor, towards Tamrin.

Starback was a ship without a compass. Sam had gone. Just disappeared. These people were chasing a girl, but Starback needed to find Sam. Needed to be Sam again.

He rose high into the air, out of sight. First he would fly over Boolat, try to find Sam there. Then the college, perhaps. After that, Flaxfold’s house. The inn. Anywhere. Everywhere. Until he found him.

For the first time, Ash stood before Sam’s eyes, clear to see, not shaded by the edges of the Finished World. And Sam was astonished at how lovely she was.

He stepped nearer to her.

She smiled and held out her hand.

“Come to me, Sam,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time. Come, now.”

Her grey dress fell in graceful folds, nearly to the floor. Her outstretched arm was wreathed in a flowing sleeve that shimmered in the candlelight. Her hair framed the delicate features of her face, casting them into mysterious shadows. Her smile was kind. Her hand was open to him.

Why had he feared her?

“Come away,” she repeated. “I’ll show you magic. Magic you’ve never dreamed of.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as though speaking to him alone. “They’ve tricked you. They’ve told you lies. They’ve held you back, Sam. They’re jealous of your magic. They hate you for being so powerful.”

Sam couldn’t take his eyes from her.

“You know it’s true, don’t you? They bind you. They tie you up. They chain you. They restrict you. You want to break free and use your magic and all the time they prevent you. They tell you magic is dangerous. They won’t let you use it. That’s right, isn’t it? You have so much magic. So much more than they do. They envy you.”

Sam nodded. It was true. They did.

“Don’t listen,” said Tamrin. “She’s lying.”

“But she isn’t lying,” said Sam. “It’s all true.”

“No. All she wants—”

Ash raised her arm and drew a circle in the air. The circle became a hole and Sam could see the sky above it, black and starless. Ash beckoned into the blackness. Beetles tumbled over the edges of the hole, falling like hailstones. They swarmed over the floor. They fell on to Sam’s shoulders and into his hair. He flinched in disgust, then began to enjoy the delicate scrape of their legs, the tickling and the scratching.

They covered Tamrin, stifling her. She clamped her mouth shut to stop them running in.

“Take the mirror, Sam,” said Ash. “Carry it out and come with me. To Boolat.”

“Yes,” said Sam.

“And we’ll make more magic than has ever been imagined.”

Sam nodded and moved to the mirror.

“You’ll have to help me,” he said. “It’s too big.”

Ash trembled. She snapped at him. “Use your magic. Quickly. Take it.”

Sam put his hand to the mirror. It was cool to his touch.

Tamrin dragged the beetles away from her, clawed them from her mouth and eyes. She sprang forward and punched Ash full in the mouth. She waited for the horrid thud of fist on face, for the crunch of teeth, the spurt of blood.

Her fist went straight through the face.

“It’s Smedge,” she shouted.

Sam turned.

“It’s not Ash,” said Tamrin. “It’s Smedge. It’s a trick. Ash is still in Boolat. The mirror helped Smedge to look like her.”

She gathered her mind into a concentrated spear and threw it at Sam, breaking through the barrier between herself and him.

For a moment she felt the sly invitation of Ash and wanted to respond.

For a moment Sam felt the sloppy repulsion of Smedge’s face on his hand.

They were one and they were two again in an instant.

It was enough to break the spell. The beetles disappeared. Tamrin drew back her fist. Smedge put his hands to his head and kneaded it as a potter kneads clay, trying to re-form it into something like its usual appearance. The image of Ash had fallen from him and he was himself again.

Sam couldn’t look at the others. He closed his mind tight shut against Tamrin. He glanced at Solder, who was standing on his barrel, avoiding the beetles. He looked at the floor and saw Flaxfold move from behind the mirror. He noticed that she still kept out of its direct aim.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What happened?” asked Tamrin. “Smedge looked in the mirror and nothing really happened. It was just another shape shift.”

“That’s because he doesn’t exist,” said Flaxfold. She turned eyes of pity at Smedge. “He’s not a person at all. He’s just the excrement of the wild magic that Slowin summoned up all those years ago when he became Ash. There’s nothing there to reflect.”

Smedge snarled at her.

“I still hate him,” said Tamrin. “I’m not going to be sorry for him.”

“That’s your choice,” said Flaxfold. “He’s done you great harm and means to do much more if he can.”