by Toby Forward
Cabbage was surprised to hear the big man speak. Save for a few questions earlier he had held his peace. The room seemed to be taken aback as well. A small murmur of surprise washed over them from the other tables.
“You think that whatever has slipped its leash will be tethered again if Flaxfield goes? Eh? And takes his boy with him, and the roffle?”
Rotack scowled.
“There was no trouble before he arrived,” he answered.
Cartford rubbed his chin with a rough hand. “No? Is that what you think?” He drained his mug and slammed it on the table. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you, young roffle,” he said. “Fill that up for me, will you?”
Perry scuttled off and held the mug beneath the tap on the firkin.
Now that he had their attention Cartford looked around him at all the faces in the room, turned in his direction.
“Anyone else here who saw the magic ripple over the field today? Anyone see the ears of wheat dip in the breeze when there was no breeze? Anyone see the poppies glow?”
Some heads nodded.
“Have you made fire this week, Rotack?” he asked.
“No.”
“No. I thought not. No fires in the hearth this weather. What do you think, Flaxfield? Do you think Rotack here keeps his eyes open? Do you think he knows what’s going on?”
“These are not easy days, Cartford,” said Flaxfield. “It’s no shame for one not to see.”
“You were always too gentle,” said Cartford. “Perhaps that’s good in a wizard. I don’t know. Not much good in my trade. If you had lit a fire,” he continued, staring at Rotack, “perhaps you would have felt this coming.” He looked again at the people in the inn. “What do you think?”
A woman indicated that she wanted to speak. He nodded to give her permission, and Cabbage realized that it was no accident that Flaxfield had joined this table. These, for some reason, were the village leaders. Cartford exercised power here.
“I’ve burned a stew three times this last few weeks,” she said. “And the fire under the pot is greedy.”
A ripple of agreement from other women showed that she spoke for them, too.
“I saw a creature in the fire,” said another. “And it didn’t burn. It was as though it lived there.”
Rotack started to laugh and quickly stifled it when he saw angry faces turn towards him.
“What sort of a creature?” asked Flaxfield.
“A beetle,” she said. “But not like any beetle I’ve ever seen. Bigger. Red-black and blazing. I took the poker to it and it disappeared. But it was there. I saw it. Twice. It came back.”
Others agreed and added their own stories.
Perry whispered to Cabbage. “I thought it was only when there was magic used.”
“There’s magic in every fire,” said Cabbage. “Only a little. But enough for the wild magic to fasten on to.”
“What about you, Cartford?” asked the first woman who had spoken. Cabbage took notice of the strength of her face. She had more courage, more confidence than the others. “What have you seen?”
“At my forge?” he asked.
And all at once it was clear to Cabbage what Cartford was and why he hadn’t been in the fields. He was the blacksmith.
“You wouldn’t want to know the things I see in the fire in my forge,” said Cartford. “Especially these last few weeks.”
Then Cabbage understood. It was like the shape out of the corner of the eye. Like the creak in the house. Like the shadow on the wall. They had all of them seen or felt something approaching, something there, something wrong. And they had all said it was just an imagining, just a mistake. Now it was too late. Now it was here.
“But I’ll tell you this,” said Cartford. He looked directly at Rotack. “Flaxfield didn’t bring it here. And it won’t leave us if he leaves. If we want some magic done from time to time, and we all want that, there’ll be no safe magic till this is sorted out.”
Dorwin gave her father a grateful look. Rotack scratched the table top with his fingernail. Leathort sighed. What are we to do?” he asked Flaxfield.
“What do you do when you sting yourself with a nettle?” he asked.
No one answered.
“Come on,” he encouraged them. “You all know what to do. Tell them, Cabbage.”
“Get a handful of dock leaves,” said Cabbage. “Screw them up in your hands to bruise them and make the juice flow. Then smear the juice on the sting.”
“But what if there aren’t any dock leaves?” asked Flaxfield. “What then?”
Rotack laughed. “This is simple magic,” he said. “Anyone does this, wizard or not. And there are always dock leaves where there are nettles. They grow side by side.”
“So they do,” said Flaxfield. “Side by side. Wherever there’s a nettle, there’s a dock. Wherever there’s a sting, there’s a salve. We’ve been stung. Today. We lost a field. So if we look around us we’ll see a remedy.” He sat back, smiled, lifted his mug of cider as though making a toast and drank it off.
“You’ll have a long wait,” said Rotack.
“Do you think so?” asked Flaxfield.
As he spoke, the door opened and a man and woman came in, dirty and hot from a journey. Their tiredness was on their faces like dust. The man put his hand out to steady the woman. They looked around the room, surprised to see so many there. They stepped forward and were followed by a small woman, with grey hair and a busy manner. She ushered them forward, encouraged them in.
“Let’s get you some food and a drink, a wash and a place to rest,” she said.
She surveyed the crowd.
“Busy today,” she said. “Hello, Cabbage. Hello, Flaxfield. You’re here at last.”
“Ah, Flaxfold,” he said. “I was talking about you.” |
“Was that story true?”
asked Perry. “The one about the shield and the blacksmith and the king.”
Cabbage was still trying to recover from seeing Flaxfold again. Her arrival had broken up the meeting. Flaxfield left the table and started to talk to Flaxfold and to ask questions of the couple who had come in with her. Flaxfold shooed him away and hurried the two of them upstairs.
“They’re tired,” she said, over her shoulder. “And hungry. No time for questions now.” She patted the woman on her arm and said, “And I expect you’d like to wash and change, wouldn’t you?” The woman thanked her and allowed herself to be led away.
It had always been the same with Flaxfold, remembered Cabbage. She looked plump and placid, yet somehow she got her way and she got things done. And they were done in half the time you’d have expected. While Cabbage was panting with the effort and the speed of it all Flaxfold never seemed rushed or breathless.
Perry gave him a friendly punch.
“Well? Is it true?”
“It’s just one story about magic. There are others.”
Perry looked disappointed.
“So it didn’t happen, then?”
The day had decided it had seen enough for the time being and night had taken its place. Cabbage and Perry sat in the garden of the inn, backs against the bricks of a stable block.
“It’s a funny thing,” said Cabbage. “This is a really lovely inn, but have you ever noticed how much nicer places look from the outside than when you’re actually inside them?”
Perry hadn’t and he asked Cabbage to explain.
“I can’t,” said Cabbage. “It’s just that looking into the inn from here, seeing the candles burning, the reflections and the shadows, I like it more than I did when I was actually there.”
Perry thought about it for a moment.
“So,” he said. “Did it happen or not?”
“The blacksmith and the shield? It might have done. Probably it did. I don’t know. But whether it was how magic came into the world? I don’t know; that’s different.”
“How does it end?” asked Perry. “We didn’t even get to the magic part.”
; “Flaxfield started to tell you,” said Cabbage. “You’ll have to wait for him to finish it.”
He was trying to listen to the stars and he didn’t want to be rude to Perry and tell him to shut up. It was no good. They still weren’t saying anything. It was difficult for Cabbage not to do any magic at all. Apprentices can’t be stopped from doing something. Cabbage’s favourite magic, when he was bored or resting, or if he had something on his mind, was to dangle his hand over the edge of a chair or from his knee and let stars fall from his finger ends and pile up on the floor beside him. When the pile was large enough he made a tiny cat, the size of a wasp, fall from his hand and lick up the stars. It wasn’t allowed, of course, but it’s part of the nature of boys to fidget and to do what they’re not supposed to do, and it didn’t do much harm. Usually.
Talking to Perry had made Cabbage let his guard down. That, and a full stomach after a good meal, and the soft summer night air, and the long walk in the heat. He was thinking about the old stories and whether they were true or not. Sitting with his back to the sun-warm wall, his hand dangling from his knee, he forgot about the wild magic. Silent stars began to drop from his fingertips, landing bright on the night grass.
Perry tapped his arm and pointed to the inn window. Rotack was watching them. His face was dark with the light behind it but they knew him from his shape, his size. He moved his head and said something to another person in the room. Then there were two of them looking out at the boys. Rotack raised his arm. Cabbage collected his thoughts and saw the stars falling from his fingers, the small heap of them on the grass.
Then it was all noise and rushing. The door swung open and slammed against the wall. Flaxfield strode out.
“Perry,” he shouted. “Get away. Be quick.”
The roffle scrambled to his feet and backed away. Cabbage jumped up, keeping his back to the brick wall.
Dorwin ran over to Perry and pulled him towards the inn. Leathort stepped aside to let them through, but Perry slipped out of her grasp and ran back towards Cabbage.
“Come back,” shouted Dorwin. Perry ignored her. Flaxfield put out his staff and, flicking it round, caught Perry’s legs and took them out from under him. The roffle stumbled and fell, winding himself and grazing his elbows on the grass.
The heap of stars began to smoke. Cabbage watched the grey fronds rise up and swell and billow out. The smoke wound itself round his legs. He couldn’t move.
“Run,” shouted Flaxfield.
Cabbage looked at him, tried to lift his feet. He was fixed to the spot. At the base of the cloud of smoke orange flames glowed and grew and licked up.
“Run,” shouted Dorwin.
Flaxfield strode forward towards Cabbage, arm upraised, brandishing his staff. As he drew near a whip of fire lashed out and struck him on the cheek. He flinched, then moved forward again. Again the flame whipped his face. He wrapped his cloak around his arm and raised it against the attack. Cabbage was alight now from foot to chest. The smoke rose higher and covered his face.
Flaxfield threw himself forward. A wall of fire stopped him and covered Cabbage completely, blocking him from view.
The flames lashed Flaxfield over and over, driving him back.
“For pity’s sake,” shouted Rotack. “Use some magic, Flaxfield. Save the boy. He’s burning to death.”
Flaxfield raised his singed face. “I can’t,” he said. “If I do it will grow stronger and kill us all. I can’t.”
“Better we all die than watch this,” said Dorwin. “Do something.”
A black shape, the size of a large cat, broke through the flames then disappeared back into them.
“What was that?” asked Dorwin.
Perry was clutching his shins and groaning from where Flaxfield had hit him. Flaxfield reached out a hand and helped him up. The heat from the flames drove them all back towards the inn. Perry buried his face in Flaxfield’s cloak.
“Look,” said Dorwin. “There it is again.”
The black figure half-emerged then was swept back into the blaze. For a moment the fire just there flickered, then died, leaving a hole in the wall of flame.
“No,” said Flaxfield. “It’s not possible.”
“What?” demanded Leathort.
“Watch.”
The wall was breached now. The shape moved round; a tail flicked.
“Is it eating the fire?” said Dorwin.
Flaxfield patted Perry’s head. “Yes.”
“Eating it?” said Perry. “No. That’s horrible.”
“Eating the fire,” said Flaxfield. “You can look.”
Perry moved the cloak to one side so that he could see with one eye. As the flames died back the shape revealed itself as a large black cat. It moved unhurt through the fire, lapping the ground at first then moving in and eating up the heap of stars that had started the blaze.
Cabbage stood, eyes closed tight, hardly breathing, back against the red bricks, which glowed with the heat. Smoke still curled around his ankles like morning mist. The cat flicked its tail, licked its lips, sat down, looked up at the watching crowd, looked back at the little heap of embers, licked up the last of them and blinked.
Perry started to shout to Cabbage. Flaxfield raised a finger to his lips. The wizard spoke to Cabbage in a low voice.
“Cabbage?”
He didn’t move. His eyes stayed tight shut.
“What’s wrong?” asked Perry.
Flaxfield put his hand on the roffle’s shoulder. “It isn’t over yet,” he said.
“But the fire’s gone. And he’s all right.”
“Wait.” He called softly to Cabbage again. Still no response.
Dorwin whispered to Flaxfield. He shook his head.
“Let me try,” she said.
“This is magic I don’t understand,” said Flaxfield. “It’s already killed a memmont and the innkeeper. It nearly killed me today. We don’t know what it might have done to the boy. He may never recover. If we push too hard it may flare up again.” He called a third time, louder, “Cabbage.”
A spark flew up from the ashes and burst into yellow fire. The cat pounced on it, seized it in its mouth and shook it. The fire went out. The cat licked its paws.
“You did that,” said Dorwin. “You’re a wizard. Whatever you do has magic clinging to it. You’ll feed the flames. Let me try.” She moved towards Cabbage. Perry broke free and joined her. He put out his hand and she took it in hers.
Before they could move to Cabbage there was a scuffle behind them and Flaxfold jogged them to one side.
“Sorry,” she said. “Oh, I am sorry, dear. But please could you just leave him for a moment?”
Dorwin squeezed Perry’s hand to stop him going any further. The roffle tugged at her.
“Let me try,” he said. “He’s my friend.”
Flaxfield took his arm.
“Let’s see what she says,” he advised. “If you want to save Cabbage.”
Flaxfold led the new couple out of the back door.
“These people have experience of this fire,” she said. “I think they can help.” She looked at them. “Is that right?”
“I don’t know,” said the man.
They had rested and eaten. The woman had brushed her hair, the man had changed his clothes. They looked younger, not so frightened, but still cautious, alert for danger.
“We can try,” said his wife. “At least we can try, can’t we? It can do no harm?”
Flaxfield stared at her.
“You can try,” he said. “But I can’t promise that it will do no harm. This is new magic to me.”
“See?” said her husband. “We could make it worse.”
Flaxfold put her arm through his, linking like a girl with her boyfriend. “No,” she said. “I think you should try.”
Rotack moved to stand in their way.
“Who are they?” he said. “More wizards? Wizards have done damage enough today.”
Perry tried to pull forward to challenge him
. Flaxfold patted Rotack’s cheek.
“Not wizards,” she said. “Just a mother and father. Just people like you, but I think they can help.”
While the scuffle was going on the woman moved towards Cabbage. She glanced over her shoulder to her husband, who sighed and followed. She leaned forward and put her cheek against Cabbage’s.
“He’s cold,” she said.
“Through all that fire, and he’s cold,” said her husband.
“Yes. It’s just the same as her.”
She looked over her shoulder. “What is his name?” she said. She frowned when Flaxfield told her. “No,” she said, “his real name?”
“Cabbage will do,” said Flaxfield. “If that won’t wake him, nothing will.”
“He should have a better name,” she said.
“He has.”
The man stood to one side and put his arm round Cabbage’s shoulder. The woman leaned in again and rested her face on his.
“Cabbage.” Her voice was soft against his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
A shadow moved away from him, low against the ground.
“The cat,” said Perry. “The black cat.”
The creature had been so still they had forgotten it.
The woman stepped aside so that it could pass.
“Cabbage,” she said.
The cat ran down the garden away from them. Reaching an apple tree, it clambered up the sloped trunk, claws catching easily on the bark. It ran along a branch, leaped into the air and, in an instant, disappeared.
Cabbage jerked his head round. His eyes flashed open. He looked into the black night where the cat had been. He shouted, “No!” then looked round at the faces in the windows’ light.
“Cabbage,” she said. Her voice was still soft, her cheek still close to his.
Cabbage moved his head back, looked at her, looked at the man, looked back at her.
“You’re her mother,” he said.
Flaxfield banged his staff on the ground with pleasure.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. |
They wouldn’t leave Cabbage alone
and he was embarrassed.
The man’s name was Pellion and the woman was Vella. They wanted to talk to him all the time. They wanted to know that he was all right after the fire.