Dragonborn (7 page)

“Indeed,” said Axestone. “A spell as powerful as youth itself.
Who would have thought he had such strength left in him?” And he walked away quickly.

“I'm not a wizard,” said Sam, “but I will be one day.”

“You are already, or you wouldn't know the secrets of the roffles. That's wizard work,” said Megatorine, in a voice so gentle and friendly that Sam told him everything, without stopping to think whether it was a good idea or not.

“Well that's easily settled,” said the roffle.

“Really?”

“You don't need a master,” he said. “That's old-fashioned. You can go to a proper place to learn to be a wizard, with lots of others. Besides, there's lots of bad magic about these days. Magic that will eat you up if you're not trained.”

Sam leaned forward, surprised to hear the roffle saying what the wizards had been talking about.

“How do you know that?”

“Roffles know lots of things. The tunnels in the Deep World link up all over the place. We move where no one sees us.”

“Where does the bad magic come from?” asked Sam.

“Ah, now you're asking.”

“And what's the answer?”

“Most things begin with one thing,” said the roffle.

“What was the one thing?”

“A cat with a silver knife is one thing.”

“No, it's two things,” said Sam.

“So it is.”

“A silver knife shaped like a cat is one thing.”

“Is it?”

“It's a knife,” said Sam. “That's one thing. But it's a sort of cat as well, and that's another thing. So it's two things.”

“Two things can be one thing.”

Sam thought about that.

“What was the one thing that started the magic going bad?” he asked.

“It was a wizard,” said the roffle.

Waterburn
, thought Sam.

“And that's why you've got to go to College, to learn properly. You need lots of wizards around you.”

“But wizards live alone. They guard their secrets. They don't share them like that.”

“Oh, it's secrets you want, is it?”

Sam wished Starback was with him. Somehow, when the dragon was nearby, he seemed to know what to do. This was the longest time they had ever been apart.

“Do you really want to be a wizard?”

“Yes.”

“I'll take you, if you like.”

“Is it far?”

“Day and a half. And if you see a memmont on the way, give me a shout.”

“All right.”

The night was so far on that the road was invisible; even the short path back to it through the trees had curled up on itself and hidden.

“We'll sleep here first, though,” said Megatorine. “Make us a fire.”

Sam had been longing for a fire, for warmth, and for protection against any creatures of the forest.

“I can't. I've no flint.”

“Magic one up for us.”

Sam shook his head. “I can't use the magic for myself,” he explained. “It would go wrong.”

“That's all right. The fire isn't for you. It's for me.”

“But—”

“No buts. No fire, no help. Find the wizard school yourself. I'm off.”

Sam flicked his fingers and a crackling fire sprang up in the clearing. Megatorine gave him an orange grin. “That's more like it,” he said. “I knew it was my lucky day. My own wizard, eh?”

And he curled up tight like a hedgehog and was snoring before Sam even had time to worry about who the fire was for.

Starback had flown back to watch the five wizards leave the house and search for Sam. They all set off in the right way, following the boy's footsteps as though they were glowing in the dark. Wizard sight sees what has been as well as what is there. But when they reached the first fork in the road, the footsteps went in both directions.

“What's this?” said Khazib. “Did he double back? Go both ways?”

Caleb ran along one path, then along the other, as far as the turn in each direction. “They go both ways for miles,” he said. “He couldn't have doubled back, there wasn't time.”

Eloise looked long and hard at each trail.

“I think this one,” she said, pointing left.

Sandage put his hand on her arm. “Are you sure? Is there some magic we have not used?”

“No. I just think it,” she admitted. “It could be the other way.”

Caleb smashed his staff against a tree. All the leaves instantly curled up and fell crackling to the ground, dead. Birds flew up from the branches, and a line of black beetles scrambled out from the roots and disappeared into the undergrowth.

“How is it done?” he shouted.

“If Eloise goes left, I'll take the right,” said Axestone.

“I'll come with you,” said Khazib.

“And I with Eloise,” said Sandage.

“It is not possible!” said Caleb. “The boy is no wizard, not even a proper apprentice. He can't have done this.”

“But it is done, anyway,” said Axestone. “So we must do our best. With us, or Eloise?”

“With you,” said Caleb.

“I thought so,” said Eloise, watching them set off. “Caleb will not follow a woman's lead.”

“The more fool he,” said Sandage.

At the next fork in each direction, the footsteps disappeared altogether. Instead of two trails, there were none. They doubled back and assembled again. Caleb raged; Sandage nodded his head slowly. “I begin to admire our young friend,” he said. Eloise silently chose the left fork again, leaving Sandage alone. Khazib pointed at the two clear paths.

“The boy is clever,” he said, and trudged on alone.

“Not the boy,” Axestone whispered to himself. “This is dragon magic.”

“I'll beat him till his bones shake when I get hold of him,” said Caleb.

Axestone walked steadily away. He left Caleb slumped at the base of an alder. “He may not be so easy to discipline,” he predicted. But anger had closed Caleb's ears.

When he was sure that the five were separated, Starback flew back to the clearing and was not at all happy when he saw the fire and the roffle and Sam half-awake and frightened. He hid above him in the beech tree and waited for morning. While he waited, the small shape of a black, broken dragon circled around, fell to earth behind Starback, found the rough bark of the tree, and began to climb. Not a leaf moved as the dragon rose ever higher. He rose through them like smoke. Then, when he had found a branch above Starback's head, he shimmered, lost shape, and drifted down onto the Green and Blue and folded himself around Starback's face. Starback blinked, shook his head, and shuddered as the smoke curled into his ears and disappeared.

 

FINISHINGS. There is Up Top, and there is the Deep World. People live Up Top. Roffles live in the Deep World.

Roffles are used to coming Up Top; it is easy for them. They are used to the way we do things here. Very few people have been to the Deep World, and those who do find it hard to get on there. Things are different in the Deep World.

The first time that people go to the Deep World, they often get ill. The food there is delicious and different from food Up Top, and they eat too much too quickly, so they spend the next day alone in the bathroom and come out with sore bottoms. This is why when anyone has a runny tummy it is called “taking a roffle holiday”.

Then there are the Solstucks. These are small, green, furry things. They can fly, but are not very good at it, so they wander around like bumblebees and crash into things a lot. Roffles are used to them, and they just laugh because it tickles. But most
people find that if a Solstuck flies into them it hurts, like a wasp sting. They get a lump that itches and then turns yellow and starts to ooze a nasty fluid. The only way to stop this is to press some fresh cabbage leaves on the place. Roffles don't grow cabbages, so that's difficult. There are other things in the Deep World that the traveler comes across that are not very nice, but which never trouble the roffles, because it is their world.

The only thing Up Top that troubles roffles is boiled eggs, so they never eat them.

Then there is the Finished World.

There are many doors between the Deep World and Up Top. For people, there is only one door to the Finished World. And they can only walk through it one way.

No one knows what the Finished World is like. A wizard can see through the door to the Finished World, but he must not step through. To walk through is to die, and to lose all hope of a final, safe journey to the Finished World, prepared and guided by a wizard.

Everyone knows the story of Glassmere, who fell in love with Skeltring. Wizards do not marry, and Glassmere went away to leave Skeltring in peace so she could marry an ordinary man. He returned after fifteen years, and found that she had locked herself away, waiting for him to come back to her. She lived alone, in the mill house where her parents had died. Her only company was
the wild cats who came in from the forest and lived with her, sleeping in the beds and on the armchairs, dragging food into the house that they had caught in the forest: voles and rats, starlings and grass snakes. Skeltring soon forgot how to speak; she made noises like a cat and ate the animals they had killed for her.

When Glassmere found her he could see her cheekbones through her skin; her fingers sharp as sticks, her wrist bones wider than her arm. She had waited for him, and now it was too late.

Glassmere cleared the house of cats and their stink. He made it as it had been, clean and fragrant and decorated for a wedding. Taking Skeltring's hand, he summoned all his power and restored her to the lovely girl she had been the day he left.

Taking him in her arms, she kissed him, and died.

At Skeltring's Finishing, the village came back to her. They surrounded her house, bringing gifts and food and music.

Glassmere carried out the ceremonies, he gave her the Finishing Goods, he led the procession into the forest, and settled her on a grassy bank in a clearing. Then, when the time came for the Finishing Words, he saw the door open to the Finished World. Skeltring passed through. Just as the door was closing, she looked over her shoulder at Glassmere. He stepped through after her.

The people watching could never agree on what they saw. Some said Glassmere just disappeared. Others, that arms reached out and took him. Others said that he was still there and that he walked away in silence and was never seen again. Yet others said that when the air had settled and the door had closed, Glassmere
was no longer there, but where he had been standing there was a stone, slender and tall, and not in any way shaped like a man, with the base buried in the forest floor. To this day, people go to the stone when they are in need—especially those who are wounded or lost in love. They leave flowers and gifts of food at the stone, or sometimes wine and oil. The flowers die and rot, returning to the earth. Wild cats come at night and eat the food.

A new wizard must be prepared well to conduct his first Finishing, and must always be assisted by his apprentice master. Otherwise, to look through the door to the Finished World is too dangerous. To step through is death.

stands open to the sun and a weaver's day begins early. Though it weave the most delicate fabric, a loom is a dangerous machine. Weavers rise early and work as soon as it is light; they do not weave when twilight comes, but sit and drink beer and tell stories.

Martin the weaver had been at work for two hours by the time he saw the boy and the roffle break through the line of trees and walk down the hill toward his cottage.

“He'll want food,” he said. “And more.” He pedaled a little quicker and made the frame dance, anxious to finish the next piece of the pattern before he was interrupted. The red yarn he was using was almost gone, and he didn't like to finish before the last of it was woven into the design.

He broke off as they were halfway down the hill, stretched his legs, and tromped downstairs, before he had the chance to see Starback fly over the forest and settle on the tip of an
ancient elm, watching the two small figures as they approached the cottage.

Ash muttered and spat, scratched the walls and broke her fingernails. She tore her gray robe, ripped a square of cloth from it, tossed it high in the air, and watched it float down and settle on the cold floor. Bakkmann huddled in a corner, hoping to avoid attack.

Ash threw herself down and pushed her face against the cloth. She grabbed it with blood-smeared hands and tied it around her eyes like a blindfold.

“They're tracking the boy,” she said. “The wizards.”

Bakkmann clattered.

“I'll dazzle their way, hobble their feet. They'll never find him.”

She grabbed the soles of her feet and rolled over and over, banging into the wall, blind and confused.

Bakkmann slid away, leaving her writhing and screaming.

“I'm not having that boy in my house. Not like that.”

Martin knew better than to argue with his wife. He shrugged his shoulders and looked apologetically at Sam.

“You can't blame her,” he said.

Sam's face flamed. He had never known he was dirty; now everyone said he was.

“How about it?” asked Martin.

“All right,” Sam agreed. He was very hungry and didn't want
to be dirty anymore. Mrs. Martin tossed him the soap, a hard, yellow, lumpy, smelly stone, and then she went inside, for modesty. Sam took off all his clothes and Martin made a fire of them; they burned up nicely, though with a nasty smell, not like the fragrant apple-wood fires that Sam made for Flaxfield in the winter. Many buckets of water later, and after making his eyes sting so much he thought he would go blind, Sam found himself folded in towels and sitting at the kitchen table, hair damp and feet cool on the gray slate floor, eating toast and marmalade and bacon. He didn't like to say so, but he quite liked the feeling of being clean. He looked up from his plate and tried to work out what sort of people these were. Martin was an old man, at least forty-five, with gray streaks in his sandy hair and the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes. Mrs. Martin was about the same, but a little plump and with her hair tied back in a bun, except for the strands which had the nerve to disobey her and dangle down, sometimes falling in front of her face—which was stern, but not unkind. Even when he was sitting still Martin moved his fingers and hands in a nimble, sweeping fashion, as though to emphasize what he said, but really in memory of the motion of the loom and the shuttle, which he missed whenever he was away from them. He smiled often and laughed easily.