Fireborn

by Toby Forward

  “Well?” she said.

  “What?”

  “You know what. Is it over? The wild magic?”

  “It must be,” said Cabbage. “You got here. There was no barrier.”

  He drew a breath.

  “Don’t,” said Flaxfield.

  Cabbage turned his back to Flaxfield and snapped his fingers. A fine mist of gentle rain began to fall, only on Cabbage and the space just around him. He turned his face up and closed his eyes, enjoying the soft relief. He pushed his hair back and let himself relax. Snapping his fingers again he stopped the rain and looked at Flaxfield.

  “That was a risk,” Flaxfield warned him.

  “Not really. I made stars earlier, and the cat. In fact it was the cat who found her.”

  “What happened to the wizard?” asked Dorwin. “Slowin?”

  Flaxfield bit his lip.

  “That’s what I’ve been looking for,” he said. “And he had an assistant. Brassneck, or something. They’ve both disappeared.”

  “Dead?” asked Cabbage.

  “I don’t think we’ll be that lucky,” said Flaxfield. “Perhaps. We’ll find out eventually.”

  “Can you make a litter?” asked Dorwin. “We’ve Bee to look after and Leathort to pick up on the way back. And there’s Perry.”

  “Your father’s a practical man,” said Flaxfield. “I suppose that’s where you get it from.”

  He walked off and began prodding the ground with his staff again.

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like not knowing where they are.”

  “Well. Please can you hurry?”

  Flaxfield stood over Bee. She looked so small.

  “Come here, boy,” he said. He held his staff out to Cabbage.

  “I can’t take that. It’s yours.”

  Flaxfield smiled at him. “You know,” he said. “I tell you off a lot, and I don’t say often enough how well you’re doing, do I?”

  Cabbage looked away.

  “But you’re a good apprentice. You learn well. Today, you’re going to learn that there are some times when you have to do what you’ve been told you must never do. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “What must you never do?”

  Cabbage answered promptly and without needing to think. It was as simple as saying his five times table.

  “You must never take or use anything proper to another wizard,” he said. “You must never use his name as though it were your own. You must never take his staff and make magic with it. You must never…”

  “That’s enough for now,” said Flaxfield. “You’re going to take my staff and do as I say.”

  Cabbage allowed himself to be handed the staff. It was smooth and supple, made of willow, but darker, heavier.

  “You’re my apprentice,” said Flaxfield. “So we’re bound together in a way. You can use my staff with my permission. So. Make a litter from it, please. Like a hurdle. A willow one. From young wands, slender, yielding branches, that will bend but not break under Bee’s weight.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Go on, boy. Or I’ll tell everyone why you’re called Cabbage.”

  It took a few tries before Cabbage made the litter exactly as Flaxfield wanted it. Then it wasn’t easy lifting Bee on to it and fastening it to Dorwin’s horse. The end dragged along the ground; the top was fastened to her saddle, so the angle was quite sharp and they needed to secure Bee quite firmly to stop her falling off. Cabbage made special bonds that didn’t cut into her. |

  Part Four

  FIRE-BURNED

  The harvest took everyone’s time,

  now that the wild magic had blown itself out. And anyway, Flaxfold sent them packing.

  “The inn’s closed,” she said. “So you’ll have to find somewhere else to get together.”

  It lasted two days. Cartford rolled a barrel of cider over the green and set it up on a table in the garden outside the inn. He encouraged others to bring food and more drink. When the sun was low and the crops were garnered they gathered and sang and drank until Flaxfold opened the door.

  “All right. You can use the front parlour and this garden. I’ll serve you food and drink and you’ll be gone an hour before midnight, and you’ll leave us in peace. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” said Cartford. “And we’ll keep the noise down now. How is she?”

  “As you’d expect,” said Flaxfold.

  “No worse?”

  “No better.”

  Flaxfold looked down at the girl and she cried. No noise of sobbing, no heaving chest, just slow tears as though they would never end.

  “We should have stopped this,” said Flaxfold.

  Flaxfield didn’t cry. His face was blank.

  “We didn’t know,” he said. “There was no way we could have known.”

  The girl lay on a bed of moss and herbs. She was naked when they found her. All her clothes had flared up and turned to smoke and ash. Now the green tendrils and fronds curled around her and over her so that only her eyes and mouth and fingers could be seen. It was as though she had been carved from stone and left out in the weather, till lichen had possessed her and turned her into a green form.

  “Will she live?” asked Cabbage.

  “She may.”

  “I’m going back there. To take a look.”

  “You should stay here,” said Flaxfold. “It’s dangerous.”

  “I’ve got to find Perry,” he said.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Flaxfield.

  “Better if you don’t.”

  Flaxfield left the room.

  “You should show him more respect,” said Flaxfold. “He’s your apprentice master.”

  Cabbage looked down at Bee.

  “How do you make the moss grow on her?”

  “It wants to. It’s that sort of moss.”

  “How much magic can you do?”

  Flaxfold folded a towel and hung it over a rail.

  “Enough for this,” she said.

  “Will Flaxfield’s magic come back?”

  Flaxfold put her arm around Cabbage.

  “Think how bad it is for him,” she said. “All his magic has gone. The wild storm took it. It’s worse than being killed.”

  “What’s a wizard without magic?” said Cabbage. “I’ll see you later.”

  The stink of smoke made Cabbage want to throw up. It was greasy and hot. Not the sweet smoke of a winter fire in the hearth, or the swirling, scented smoke of an autumn bonfire. He made himself go on, into the low ring of bricks that marked where the perimeter wall had stood before the fire. He stepped over and was inside the ruins of Slowin’s domain. His feet slipped on the cobbles, streaked with damp soot. All of the buildings were destroyed. The round bases of the towers stood like broken teeth, hollowed out by decay. At least the beetles had gone now.

  He knew why he was there. To make sure that Slowin was dead, that he had been eaten up by the fire that had nearly killed Bee. Cabbage had never seen anything really bad before. Never experienced the sort of hatred and greed that had brought this about.

  He couldn’t rid his mind of the picture of Bee. Bee as he had first seen her, burned like a pit-roast hog. Bee as she was now, a breathing statue, wreathed in moss. He promised himself that whatever else he did, for the whole of the rest of his life, he would never give up until he settled a score with Slowin, who had done this to her.

  But first he had to know if the wizard was even still alive. Cabbage felt him there. He felt something hidden, in the yard. Something moving. Something growing and changing. All was dry and dead like a chrysalis. Cabbage knew what life lurked inside that dry husk.

  There should be something, some remains of the wizard. Cabbage prodded heaps of ashes with his toe. They crumbled and drifted in the breeze, the backdraft carrying some onto his legs, leaving grey patches. Nothing had survived. If Slowin had died here, even his bones had been consumed by the savage heat. From tower to tower he stepped and studied. Nothing. Cabbage s
tamped his feet in frustration, and something stirred. A shiny, black oval hauled itself up from between the cracks in the slate floor. It paused, took stock and started to walk on crooked legs.

  He kicked away the black beetle. It tumbled back, righted itself, raised its wing case and clicked. The boy hesitated. The beetle was big, bigger than any he had seen before, the size of a walnut. He walked towards it, raised his foot to stamp on it, bracing himself for the wet crunch he knew would come when it crumpled under his boot. Another beetle hauled itself up through the crack. And another, and another. They grouped around the one that he had kicked. He stopped. Waited. The beetles moved towards him. The walnut-sized one was the smallest. The biggest was the size of a man’s fist. He left quickly.

  “Is he dead?” Flaxfold’s face was hard now, the softness of the tears had gone.

  “I don’t know,” said Cabbage.

  “Could anything live through that fire?”

  He told her about the beetles.

  “Really? Still there? Bigger than ever?”

  “Do you doubt it?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t like it.”

  They sat on wooden chairs in the doorway to the inn, facing out. They were set back from the red road, a garden between them and the dusty clay, roughened by the iron shoes of the horses and the iron rims of the wheels of carts and coaches. The sound of scythes drifted towards them over the fields.

  “How is she?”

  “I think she’ll live.”

  He grimaced.

  “It’s better that she lives,” she said.

  “Is she in any pain?”

  “Not now. But when she wakes.”

  “She’s clutching something in her hand.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you see what it is?”

  “Not yet. Perhaps it’s nothing.”

  “The beetles were talking to each other.”

  “That can’t be right.”

  “The one I kicked called for help. The others came.”

  “Do you think it was his doing? Slowin?”

  He stood up and walked away from her. He liked the scents of the garden. The stench of the fire wouldn’t go away. He tried to fill his lungs with the green aroma of growth and life.

  “Are you doing everything?” he asked. “For her.”

  Flaxfold did not bother to answer him.

  “There must be some other magic that would help.”

  “Then you go and use magic on her,” she said. Her voice was gentle. “See if apprentice magic is better than my way.”

  He reached down to a snapdragon, put his fingers to it as though he might break it from the stem. He squeezed the sides so that the jaw opened and closed, then took his hand away.

  Flaxfold put her hand on his back.

  “We both want to help her,” she said. “I know that. But she has been nearly destroyed by magic. More magic, even to try to heal her, would kill her. She is surrounded by magic, held by it. Magic is growing all over her, to protect her. But I can’t let magic change her.”

  Cabbage moved away from her touch.

  “This isn’t what I thought,” he said, “when I set out to be a wizard.”

  “No,” she said. “But it’s what being a wizard is.”

  They watched Flaxfield walk up the lane towards them.

  Cabbage broke the silence before the wizard arrived.

  “He looks tired.”

  Flaxfold nodded. “He’s been helping with the harvest. He can’t make the harvest spell, so he bends his back and stacks the sheaves. He can’t stay away.”

  “That’s not wizard work.”

  Flaxfold stopped smiling. “I think he knows what wizard work is better than you do,” she said.

  “What’s that?” called Flaxfield. “Talking about wizard work?”

  “I’ll get you drink,” said Flaxfold.

  Cabbage jumped up. “I’ll go.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder and made him sit again.

  “You and Flaxfield talk. I’ll bring something cool for you both.”

  Flaxfield sat back and closed his eyes, enjoying the late afternoon sun on his face. Cabbage tried not to wriggle and show impatience. Flaxfold was taking a long time with the drinks.

  “Sorry,” said Flaxfield.

  “What for?”

  “What are you angry with me about?”

  Cabbage thought about it.

  “Perry,” he said.

  “We looked for Perry,” said Flaxfield. “But I’m sorry we didn’t find him.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we won’t know unless we look for him some more.”

  Flaxfield wiggled his aching fingers, flexed his stiff shoulders and sighed.

  “I’m not used to hard work,” he said.

  Cabbage glared at him.

  “Cabbage,” said Flaxfield. “Please can we talk?”

  “We are talking, aren’t we?”

  “Good. Then we’ll both listen.”

  Cabbage waited.

  “How many things do we have to do, soon?” asked Flaxfield. “Important things?”

  “Perry,” said Cabbage. He turned to face Flaxfield. The old wizard nodded.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “We need to know what happened to him. Then there’s Slowin. I know he’s still somewhere. I just know it.” He folded his arms and got ready to argue.

  “What else?” asked Flaxfield.

  Cabbage wasn’t ready for this. He expected Flaxfield to answer him.

  “Well, there’s Bee, of course, but Flaxfold is looking after her.”

  “I thought you wanted more,” said Flaxfield. “I thought you believed that she wasn’t doing enough.”

  “Well, nothing’s happening,” said Cabbage.

  “What else?”

  Cabbage said nothing.

  Flaxfield waited.

  The sound of harvest had stopped. Soon they would be coming back, walking past the inn, waving their greetings, interrupting.

  “What did you do in the fields?” asked Cabbage.

  Flaxfield explained, taking his time.

  “What will happen if there’s no harvest spell?” asked Cabbage.

  “We’ll have to see,” said Flaxfield.

  The silence folded them into itself again. Cabbage felt choked by it.

  “Flaxfield,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you get your magic back?”

  Flaxfield put his hand on the boy’s arm.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What will happen to you, if you don’t ever get it back?”

  “There are stories,” said Flaxfield, “about wizards who lost magic.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “The stories say different things. And the thing about stories is that they’re stories.”

  Cabbage thought about this.

  “You mean they’re not true?”

  “I mean they’re all true,” said Flaxfield. “Especially when they’re different.”

  Cabbage waited what seemed like a long time before he asked the next question.

  “If you never get your magic back, what will happen to me?”

  “Ah,” said Flaxfield. “Here are the drinks.” |

  Perry was as anxious to see Cabbage

  as Cabbage was to see him.

  He watched Cabbage run down the hill to Slowin’s Yard then he turned his face to the ground and lay still. He was deaf from the thunder, half-blind from the fizzing magic, unable to stand or move. Anyone else would have been killed by the onslaught from the wild magic. Anyone but a roffle. He clutched his hands to his head for protection, clenched his jaw and prepared to withstand the tumult.

  “Get up!”

  A hand shook his shoulder. He lifted his head and saw a mouth shouting at him. Jagged lines crossed his vision, but he thought it looked a lot like Megawhim, his father. The mouth opened and shut again. Stil
l no sound.

  “I said, get up. Come on. No time.”

  Perry felt his arm dragged up and he followed it, staggering to his feet. Now this person looked even more like his father. Perry stumbled. The fall jolted his head and he whimpered with pain. Megawhim dragged his arm harder and Perry slid across the grass, scraping his knees.

  “Get in here.”

  He hauled Perry round the side of a large rock and down into the earth.

  As soon as the light faded, and the two roffles could smell the cool earth and touch the damp sides of the tunnel into the Deep World, Perry recovered as though he had never been hurt. All that was left of the wild magic was a small ringing in his ears and a slight fuzzy feeling in his head.

  “You were following me,” he shouted.

  Megawhim walked on, deeper into the tunnel. Perry followed him, still shouting.

  “What were you doing? You were supposed to leave me with Cabbage and Flaxfield, not go on sneaking after me.”

  They turned a corner, down a slope and through a door, heavy, wooden and strapped with iron hinges and braces. Perry closed the door behind him and they were in the Deep World. He didn’t like to admit it to himself, but he felt a solemn pleasure to be back.

  The light was constant in the Deep World, with no cloud or fierce sun. There was warmth that never burned, light that never dazzled. And the air was lighter, easier to breathe. A few deep breaths and all of Perry’s discomfort had gone.

  He was hungry. Despite his anger and his anxiety about Cabbage and their task, Perry longed for roffle food.

  He half-ran to keep up with Megawhim.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Why didn’t you let me go on my own? You said you would.”

  Megawhim ignored him and carried on. Perry gave up the chase. He sat down, leaned back on his hands, turned his face up to the light and closed his eyes. He could eat later.

  He’d worked out that if his father hadn’t been willing to leave him before then he wasn’t going to walk away now and let Perry turn around and go back Up Top on his own, looking for Cabbage.

  He was right.

  When Megawhim discovered that Perry wasn’t following him he turned and came back.

  “Don’t sit there all day,” he said. “I want to be home by suppertime.”