by Dan Davis
Weaver seemed locked inside herself again. She never spoke about her family so Archer was sure by now that Weaver did not have much to look forward to at her home. She just kicked the occasional pebble and kept her mouth shut.
‘There’ll be cabbages every day,’ Keeper was telling Burp, for the hundredth time, ‘and we’ll help grandpa with the bellows and I’ll build you a sand-bed like we had in the Tower and grandma won’t like it much but we’ll be able to talk her round. Look, Burp, my forge is just beyond these trees and I play in these woods all the time, there’s some of the best trees you can get for climbing, you’ll see, come on.’
Keeper could not contain himself anymore and ran on ahead them up the road round the bend. Burp tried to keep up but he could not really go much faster and he gave up and hissed up at Archer.
‘I know, Burp,’ Archer said. ‘Keeper’s just excited to be home. We’ll catch up in a moment.’ Burp hissed again, hobbling onward.
Archer smiled at Weaver, who shook her head, sighing. ‘He’s too stupid to be afraid of what he’s going to find,’ she said, jerking his chin at Keeper’s back. ‘Does he really think his old grandparents are still going to be up there?’
‘He’s not stupid,’ Archer said. ‘I don’t know what he is, exactly, but it’s not stupid.’ Archer rubbed his ear. It was itchy, probably due to being new and all. ‘Anyway, I like him,’ he added. ‘It’s nice to be around him because he’s always seeing the bright side.’
‘Well, why don’t you marry him, then,’ Weaver said, suddenly angry and ran off up the lane after Keeper.
Burp was hobbling along next to him and they looked at each other. ‘I don’t know what that’s all about either, Burp,’ he said.
Burp hissed again and Archer scratched him behind his horns. The dragon had taken a liking to Archer ever since he had saved him from falling out of the tree and Archer realised right then that the feeling was mutual. He was going to miss Burp almost as much as he was going to miss Keeper.
They rounded the bend and there was Keeper standing in the road.
Weaver stood next to him, looking off to the side.
There was nothing there. There was no hedgerow on the edge of the road, just rickety old hazel fence blocking off a small field with a few sheep grazing it. On the other side of the road, behind Keeper and Weaver, was a large forge building and a big, well-built house. No one was around. Smoke drifted out of the forge so Archer thought Keeper’s grandpa must be working.
‘Shall we go up to your house, then?’ Archer asked as he and Burp walked up to him. Keeper had tears streaming down his face. ‘What’s wrong, Keeper?’
‘That place isn’t my house,’ Keeper said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This was my house,’ Keeper said, pointing at the empty field.
Smashing the Chains
‘I don’t understand,’ said Archer. ‘This is just a field, Keeper.’
‘I’m telling you, there’s that house up there,’ Weaver said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. ‘That’s your house, Keeper. You’ve been away so long you forgot where it was.’
‘That other house was never there before,’ Keeper said, his voice strangely flat. His face was expressionless.
‘Houses don’t move, Keeper,’ Weaver said. ‘Look, how could there have been a house here?’ She walked over to the field and hopped easily over the hazel fence. Archer followed her, and then Keeper followed Archer. Burp hobbled up to it, laid his chin on the top and watched Keeper like a hawk, hissing steadily but quietly.
As soon as he was in the field, Archer saw there had been a house there, once. It must have been a very long time ago.
Keeper walked around the plot of land, kicking at the rows of stones that used to be the bases of the walls and poking rotted bits of timber that lay in between. It was a substantial place. But not for a long while.
Weaver and Archer stood next to each other, not speaking, andtrying not to intrude.
After a while, Keeper stopped walking around the field and climbed back over the fence. He threw his arms around Burp and hugged him really tight. Burp laid his head on Keeper’s shoulder, wrapped his chained wings round the boy as best he could and rumbled softly. He rubbed his scaly head into Keeper’s neck, which must have hurt but Keeper did not seem to mind.
A man’s voice cried from the other side of the lane. ‘What in all the Vale is that thing?’
Archer span around, ready to grab his bow.
An old man stood there. Old but with a huge, ragged beard and with big shoulders and arms under his apron and big hands holding a hammer by his side.
The man stared at Burp.
Archer knew a blacksmith when he saw one. ‘That’s a dragon. And you’ll leave him alone.’
‘Well, stone the crows,’ the blacksmith said. ‘Course I’ll leave him be. What you young folk doing with one of them?’
‘None of your business, old man,’ said Weaver.
‘Alright, little miss, I was only asking,’ the blacksmith said. ‘What’s it doing to that there boy?’
‘He’s hugging him,’ said Archer. ‘Our friend has had a bit of a shock.’
‘Had a shock, is it?’ The blacksmith said, looking them all up and down. Archer knew that they all looked like filthy villains. ‘Why don’t you all come inside and have a nice sit down? We can do you all a nice bowl of beans, if you likes? Takes the edge off, does a bowl of beans.’
They allowed themselves to be ushered into the blacksmith’s large house, where he introduced himself as Owen and his wife as Ellen.
Ellen screamed when she saw Burp but was happily stroking his head after only barely any time at all and giggling while she did so.
Archer introduced them as, ‘Archer, Weaver, Keeper and Burp,’ and he watched as Owen and Ellen exchange a glance in confusion at their strange names. But the old couple were too polite to ask any direct questions until after they had fed their guests.
While they ate, Keeper was too dazed to speak, and Weaver just glared at Owen and Ellen like she resented eating their bean stew, though she spooned it in readily enough. They were also given cups of small beer, which Archer gulped down.
‘What were you doing up this way, anyway?’ Owen said, watching them while they ate.
‘This is where Keeper used to live,’ Archer said. ‘Over in the house over there.’
‘Don’t see how can that be?’ Owen said, scratching his head. ‘The old place has been in ruins since before I were born. And you don’t look quite that old, my lad.’ Owen chuckled. ‘So I’m thinking you must be mistaken. Perhaps you’re thinking of another forge further down the Vale?’
Keeper just put his face into his hands and did not say anything. Archer spoke for them.
‘We were taken by the Alchemist,’ Archer said. ‘We were kept prisoner for a long time. A very long time. But it seems like we didn’t get older during that time but everyone else outside the Tower did. Perhaps Keeper was taken first and then our other friend Writer, I don’t know. And I don’t know about Weaver and me because we haven’t been home yet but we’re on our way to our homes now.’
‘Well, I never,’ said Ellen. ‘Imagine that.’
‘I suppose you young folk know that the Alchemist has decided to leave us alone this past few years?’ Owen said.
‘Yes, we heard about that,’ said Archer. Weaver scoffed. ‘Thank you very much again for feeding us and giving us some of your small beer. But we really must be getting to our homes now before it gets dark.’
‘Where did you say you lived, lad?’ Owen asked.
‘Last farm up the Vale before the hills,’ Archer said. ‘Wheat and wool.’
‘Would your old man be Edmund?’ Owen said.
‘Yes!’ Archer cried. ‘You know him? Is he well? My mother? My brothers and sisters?’
‘Oh well I don’t know about any of that,’ Owen said. ‘He came up couple years back to get some bits and pieces. I remember folk talking about him
losing a son to the Alchemist. That’d be you, then.’
‘Yes, that is me,’ Archer said. ‘And was he old? My father, was he an old man?’
‘Old? Now why would he be old? Older than what, exactly? Old like me?’ Owen scratched his head. ‘No, not old like me. Quite a young man, I’d say, to have such a lot of children.’
Archer felt relief flood through him. His parents were not ancient after all. Then he remembered Keeper and felt bad for feeling good about himself while his friend suffered. Archer put his arm round Keeper and said. ‘Come on, Keeper, let’s get going now.’
‘So what about your friend and his wonderful little dragon, here?’ Ellen said. ‘Where are you two going to live?’ She reached across the table and squeezed Keeper’s hand and scratched Burp’s head with her other hand.
‘I suppose they’ll live with me,’ said Archer. ‘Or Weaver, perhaps.’ He looked at Weaver with a question in his eyebrows but she looked away. ‘Me, then,’ Archer said.
‘Well, that’s fair enough, lad,’ Owen said. ‘And you are guests at my table so this might not be quite the thing but I am can’t hold my tongue no moment longer and I hope you can forgive me saying it.’ Archer was worried about he was going to say. Owen cleared his throat. ‘But you see I do love animals so much and I think it awful cruel you keeping that poor little dragon’s wings chained up like that.’
‘We didn’t do it!’ cried Keeper, speaking for the first time since they arrived. ‘It was the Alchemist. He put them on. I hate these chains more than anything. I hate that Burp cannot even stretch his wings out ever, let alone ever fly and I’d do anything get them off, if I could. Only they’re magic and I don’t know how to do it.’ Keeper paused for breath. ‘We looked for the right spell but we couldn’t find the right magic to undo them.’
Owen said nothing but he got up and peered closely at Burp’s wings. Burp hissed warily but Keeper told him it was all right and Burp allowed Owen to examine him.
‘Don’t see how chains is magic, lad,’ Owen said. ‘I tell you what, how’s about we go to the forge and I’ll see about striking these chains off the poor little beast?’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Keeper. ‘Yes, please. I’d like that more than anything.’
They all went together. Keeper held Burp still with his wing over the top of an anvil and whispered calming things into his ear. Owen brought a very heavy hammer and placed a long chisel with a fine point on top of one of the links.
‘Now, Burp the dragon,’ Owen said. ‘You don’t have nothing to fear, right? I promise this won’t hurt a bit.’
He brought the hammer down hard.
Red and white and yellow light boomed out from the chain, blowing Archer backwards off his feet. The forge shook and rumbled.
Archer’s ears rang while the red smoke cleared. Archer got up and saw that Keeper and Burp were fine. Owen helped Ellen up from the floor. Everyone was stunned but unharmed.
‘What in all the Vale was that?’ Owen said.
‘Magic,’ Keeper said. ‘Alchemist magic.’ His face was red, his hair singed and he had tears in his eyes. ‘But it worked,’ he said, looking up at them.
The chain had come completely off. Burp bent his head to the ceiling and hissed louder than Archer had ever heard before, arching his neck. His throat rumbled and a small jet of fire shot out. Owen and Ellen cried out but no harm was done.
‘Do the other one,’ Keeper said, his eyes glowing like embers. ‘Please, break the other chain.’
‘Course I will,’ Owen said. ‘But perhaps Ellen and Archer would prefer to wait outside this time?’
After the second explosion and flash, Archer went in.
‘Thank you, thank you!’ Keeper said and hugged both Owen and Ellen who laughed. Burp could not unfurl his wings any further than they had been when chained up. Ellen thought that he might get better in time.
‘I am hoping he can fly,’ said Keeper. ‘One day, at least. Dragons are supposed to fly.’
‘He’s been squished up for who knows how long,’ Owen said. ‘Sorry, son. But what I really want to know is, does he breathe fire like that all the time?’
‘Only after he’s eaten cabbages. And then he poops out lumps of iron.’
‘Is that right?’ said Owen, his eyes wide. ‘Is it only cabbages he eats? What about turnip tops? What about kale?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Keeper, putting his arm round Burp. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, you know, lad, me and Ellen’s little ones have all grown up and moved up the Vale to Morningtree and the grandchildren comes down sometimes but we are always saying how it’d be nice to have another little lad about the place. And you used to help your grandpa, you said? Well, Ellen and me ain’t getting any younger and we could use a good helper. And then of course there’s Burp.’
‘What about Burp?’ Keeper said, warily. ‘I go where Burp goes and Burp goes where I go.’
‘Of course,’ Ellen said, smiling. ‘We would very much like Burp to live with us, too. And, you know, we’re hoping that he can help us in the forge, as well as you. You see, he breaths fire and he poops iron. And that’s got to be the best combination any blacksmith could wish for.’
‘And we do grow an awful lot of turnips,’ Owen added. ‘And at least a whole acre of kale, most years.’
‘So we can live here? With you two?’ Keeper asked. ‘Me and Burp, together?’
‘It would certainly make us both very happy.’
Home Again
Archer and Weaver left shortly after, promising to come back soon to visit. Weaver angrily said that she would go to her house after Archer had seen his family. He did know what to say about it so he did not say anything.
His house was still there. The yard was full of activity, with farm hands he did not recognise and carts piled up with produce ready to go off to market. Across the yard children forked hay from a pile onto a cart.
Archer had his heart in his mouth when he asked a couple of hired hands about seeing the owners. They looked at him and Weaver strangely but pointed them into the house.
It was the same inside, too, only different. Everything seemed cleaner and nicer and there was more of everything. The smell of onions and greens and hot bread led him into the dining room at dinnertime. The table was laden with food and there were people all around it stuffing their faces.
His parents were older, of course, as he had known they would be. But not really all that much older.
‘Archibald!’ his mother cried and then he found himself in their arms, smothered with kisses and crushed by hugs.
His mother and father cried and cried and they told him off for running away and for not coming back for all these long years.
‘It’s only been about three or four days for me,’ he told them. ‘Not more than a week or so.’
‘You’ve been gone these past six years, son,’ his mother said, her voice cracking. She hugged him yet again. ‘But you’re just the same as when you left. Edmund and Willow are older than you, now.’ That fact made him especially sad. He was now no longer the oldest brother. It was the strangest thing.
‘How come there’s all this extra food and everything?’ he asked them.
‘First harvest day after you went missing,’ his father said, ‘the Alchemist didn’t magic up the produce. No one’s! So after it started to rot we climbed back up the rock and took it all back. Then every year since then we just kept it all. And look at us, now. We have so much wheat and wool that we sell most of it down the Vale. Have to take on more hands, this time of year. And now we know it was all down to you, and to you too Weaver.’
Without warning, Weaver turned and ran out of the house, out of the yard, and into the bare fields.
Archer ran after her, the stubble crunching underfoot, and caught her up. ‘What’s wrong, Weaver?’ he asked. ‘Why are you so angry? Can’t you be happy for me? For Keeper and Writer?’
She wheeled round on him, white with anger. ‘How come everyone el
se gets everything they want?’
‘What do you mean?’ Archer asked.
‘Writer’s got her rich parents and her spell book. She wanted to do magic, that’s why she went to the Tower and she’s got what she wanted. Keeper wanted to be friends with a dragon, that’s why he went to the Tower and now he’s even got a new family to replace his old one. You weren’t even gone very long and your parents got all their extra food and bags of silver shillings that you went there to the Tower for but what do I get? Where am I supposed to go now? Who do I get to live with?’
‘What happened to your parents, Weaver?’ he asked, gently. ‘You never got lost in a storm to end up at the Tower, did you? You went there on purpose.’
‘It was winter,’ she said, holding herself. ‘There was famine. A dry summer, a wet autumn and a cold winter. My dad stopped eating so me and mum could have enough to eat. Then mum stopped eating so I could have enough. After I put them in the earth I grabbed my knife and I went through the snowstorm to the Tower. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill that Alchemist.’
‘And you did,’ Archer said, thinking of the basket in the bottom of a beech tree in the Moon Forest. ‘Sort of.’
‘Writer did that with her spell,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even do anything.’
‘Only because you beat him up so much he couldn’t stop her. I was frozen, I didn’t do anything, Keeper didn’t do anything, nor did Burp. If it wasn’t for you we’d still be in the Tower. And you did it again with Pym, you made the earth rise up and throw him down and then you gripped him with the earth and held him there and then you charged right at him and stuck him with your knife. If you hadn’t done that he would have taken Burp and who knows what else. You saved all of us.’
‘My mum and dad always beat me when the caught me using my powers,’ she said, quietly.
Archer did not know what to say. ‘You could use your powers already?’ he said. ‘On purpose?’
‘Not as much as I did in the forest. But I liked to help in the kitchen garden and help guide the plough. Even when I was little, it was as if I could make the earth move how I wanted. Little bits. My dad’s sister had been like me and one day, before I was born, she disappeared. The Alchemist had taken her, they said, because she was always been showing off her powers to move the earth. So they made me stop doing it. They thought they were protecting me. But now I know that they were wrong.’ She glared at him. ‘I’ll never give up my abilities again. I’m going to become more powerful than anything.’