by Toby Forward
Sam and Starback watched, with double sight, as the grey figure, holding Flaxfold’s hand, helped her from the bed and they stood side by side. Flaxfold and Flaxfield, together.
“Sam,” said Flaxfield.
“Starback,” said Flaxfold.
And, as the boy and dragon looked, the two figures switched, merged and switched back. For a second they were two people. The next second, two Flaxfields. A moment later, two Flaxfolds. Finally, two people again, as they had been originally.
Sam stepped forward. The barrier melted. He stopped, unsure, feeling foolish, fooled.
“Are you Flaxfield?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Flaxfold.
Sam scowled at them.
Flaxfield laughed.
“It’s good to see you, Sam,” he said.
“Don’t say that. What’s happening? I don’t know who you are.”
They switched again, and back again, faster than Sam could keep up with.
“Don’t do that. Who are you?”
“We’re Flaxfield,” they said.
“Flaxfield?”
“Flaxfold.”
“I’ve had enough,” said Sam.
He turned and made for the door. It slammed shut as he approached. Sam could feel that there was a strong sealing spell on it, and he avoided making himself look foolish by trying to open it. He kept his back to them.
“Sam,” said one of them. Their voices were difficult to tell apart. “Sam, please talk to me.”
Sam kept his back to them.
“You’re dead,” he said. “You both are. This is a trick. I know it is. Go away. Leave me alone.”
“We’re Flaxfield. We are.”
“Prove it,” said Sam. He span round and glared at them. “Prove you’re not a spell, not a trick, not a trap. Prove it.” He pointed to the shattered mirror. “Ash climbed through that once. We beat her back. You’re Ash now. Or Smedge. You’re not Flaxfield.”
They looked at him in silence.
“If you’re Flaxfield,” said Sam, “tell me about the mirror. Tell me how you used it to get here.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Flaxfield.
“I promise,” said Flaxfold.
“But first,” said Flaxfield, “I’m hungry. It’s not Friday. But I’d like a trout. Will you catch one for me?”
“Please,” said Flaxfold.
“How do you want it cooked?” asked Sam. He pointed to the Flaxfield figure.
“Fried. In butter. Dusted with flour and salted. Just as I taught you. And, at the end of the cooking, sweetened with a few flakes of almond. Please.”
“Tell me what’s happening,” said Sam, in a softer voice. He was staring now at the old man, trying to remember everything about Flaxfield, trying to see if there was anything wrong, anything different. Trying, too, to decide how to feel if this was true.
“I will,” he promised. “All in good time. First, we should eat, and meet, and talk about each other.”
“You’re dead,” said Sam. “You both are. Aren’t you?”
“We are, as you see,” said Flaxfield, “alive.”
“And dead,” said Flaxfold. “Never forget that.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sam.
“No,” she said.
“No,” said Flaxfield, at the same time, in the same voice. “No. But let’s get some fish while I light a fire in the range. I was hungry the last time you saw me, and I haven’t eaten since.”
“Why didn’t you come back before?” asked Sam, knowing, even before the words were out of his mouth, that there was no answer. And none came. Sam remembered that Flaxfold had always avoided being reflected in the mirror. He started to ask if that was the reason, but couldn’t find the right words. So he let it go.
Flaxfield and Sam walked together to the river, a little apart from one another. Starback hovered overhead, watching them, protecting Sam.
“No magic, now,” said Flaxfield. “Catch them honestly or we’ll go hungry.”
Sam nodded. At the riverbank he drew a length of twine from his pocket, attached it to his staff, and, finding a hook behind a fold in his jerkin, made a rod and line. Quick hands caught a hoverfly. He pushed the hook through it and cast his line.
Flaxfield ignored the preparations. He stepped away and up the riverbank to the shade where Eloise lay. Starback watched him from his position high above them both, soaring on dragon’s wings.
Flaxfield covered her with his cloak. He produced items from his pockets and laid them by her side. Others he found by foraging in the undergrowth. He climbed the lower branches of a tree and gathered leaves and a length of bark.
When all was done, Sam could hear the sound of an incantation, but not the words. He had hooked his first trout by the time that Flaxfield lifted Eloise, slid her into the water and let her drift away. She neither floated nor sank, but melted away as she passed by Sam’s line. The kingfisher darted down, broke the surface, sliced through the water, and Eloise was gone. The bird never emerged, though Sam looked along the length of the stream.
A second fish took the bait, and Sam landed it as Flaxfield disappeared into the trees, in the direction of Axestone.
The third fish was too small and he threw it back. When he had three good ones he scaled and gutted them, sliding the innards into the stream, and carried them up to the house.
The kitchen smelled of fresh-baked bread. The range was glowing. Flaxfold, plump and busy as ever, bustled around, laying places, polishing knives, setting plates and salt and butter, ready for the meal. Sam felt shy with her and put the fish on a marble slab, ready for cooking.
Flaxfold put down a plate, opened her arms and said, “Come, Sam. We’re friends.”
He hung his head. She walked over, put her arms around him and hugged him. He allowed the embrace, even returning a little of the pressure. When she let him go, he turned away, dragged his sleeve across his eyes and sat with his back to her.
“Ash,” he said. “And Smedge. What will we do now?”
“Later,” said Flaxfold. “Plenty of time for that later. Now, we need to eat and talk.”
Flaxfield’s face was grey when he returned. The lines around his eyes were deeper even than when the two of them had walked to the river, just an hour ago. He looked a year older. More. Sam knew the cost that magic took and he said nothing. The old wizard sat opposite him at the table and nodded.
“I’ll cook the trout,” said Sam.
“I’m doing it,” said Flaxfold, and the butter hit the pan with a sizzle.
Flaxfield sliced the crusty bread. He poured water into mugs, passed the butter to Sam.
The trout tasted of the river. Flaxfold had toasted the almonds first, and they were crisp and sweet. The skin of the fish was brittle and salty. She set a plate in the centre of the table for the bones.
Sam couldn’t remember when food had tasted better.
He watched Flaxfield eat, and he remembered the day the old wizard had died. No magic could bring back a dead man. Nothing was strong enough for that.
“Did you really die?” he asked.
Flaxfield bit into a hunk of bread and shook his head.
“You didn’t?”
“I’m not talking until we’ve finished eating.”
Sam allowed his anger and curiosity to give way to the pleasure of eating. Soon, they were talking of fish and sunlight, the garden, and plans for planting a fig tree and a medlar.
“That bay tree in the pot by the door is looking sad,” said Flaxfield. “I’ll have to see to that.”
“And the handle of the frying pan’s loose,” said Flaxfold. “I’ll look out for a tinker to fix it.”
“I can do that,” said Sam. “Remember?”
She smiled. “Of course. But it’s an apprentice’s job. And I think you’re past that now, don’t you?”
“It’s up to any of us to do it until there’s a new apprentice,” he said. “And I don’t mind.”
“Later,” said Flax
field. “I’ll help you, perhaps.”
And the meal passed as though the world was well. Flaxfold stood to clear the table and Flaxfield made her sit again.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
So Sam ran and drew water from the pump, topped it up from the kettle and washed the plates while Flaxfield cleared the table and dried the dishes.
The sun had lost itself behind cloud and a fine rain dotted the window when all was clear. The old wizard dried his hands, passed the towel to Sam, and, while the boy dried his, he hugged him. Sam remembered the scent of Flaxfield’s clothes, the surprising strength of the old arms, the heft and authority of the man.
“It is you, isn’t it?” he said.
The wizard unfolded from Sam and sat down at the table. He kicked a chair with his foot to indicate that Sam should sit, too. Flaxfold had not moved since the meal.
They sat and looked at each other.
“That trout was good,” said Flaxfield. “Thank you. Now, Sam, is there anything you want to talk about?”
Sam gaped at Flaxfield in astonishment,
and when he spoke his voice was louder than he had intended.
“Anything I want to talk about?” he said. “Anything…? What sort of question is that?”
Flaxfold put her hand on Sam’s and he shook it off.
“You just turn up, over a year after you died, and you ask me if there’s anything I want to ask? And you.” He pointed at Flaxfold. “Yesterday you were dead. You were. I know you were. I know when someone’s dead, don’t I?” He stared at them. “Don’t I?”
For a second, they switched and replaced each other. And it was over and they were themselves again.
“And that?” he said. “What does that mean? Switching like that.”
“Sam,” said Flaxfield. “You, of all people, should know about being two and one at the same time. You and Tam.”
“But we’re different,” said Sam. “We’re from the mirror. We—” He stopped and looked at them. Understanding began to print itself on his face. “You’d better tell me,” he said. “Just take everything in turn. Starting at the beginning.”
The warmth from the range cheered them as the day died and the stories unfolded.
“The mirror,” said Flaxfield. “You knew it was the one that Smokesmith made, the one that brought magic into the world, all those years ago.”
“Of course,” said Sam. “It made me, and it made Tam. It’s why we’re only one where two should be.”
“Or two where only one should be,” Flaxfold corrected him.
“Or both,” said Sam.
“Or neither,” added Flaxfield.
They all enjoyed these games of words and smiled at each other.
“Well,” said Flaxfold. “We were the first. Our mother was the very first person to see herself in the mirror. And when one of us was born, the other was reflected.”
Sam interrupted her. “Those babies were killed.”
“You remember the story,” said Flaxfield. “Good.”
“And that was so long ago,” said Sam.
“So long,” agreed Flaxfold.
Sam held up his hand for silence. “If that’s right, then you two are the beginning of magic.”
“We are magic,” said Flaxfield. “All magic flows from us.”
“Even Ash?”
“Even Ash,” said Flaxfold. “That’s why Flaxfield died. When Ash stole December’s name he twisted magic. He made it wild around him.”
“Her,” said Sam.
“Him. Her. Slowin. Ash. The same.”
“Why are you back now?” asked Sam.
“You saw it yourself,” said Flaxfield. “The mirror that made us, remade us.”
“And shattered in the action,” said Flaxfold.
“This is all too complicated,” said Sam.
“Here it is,” said Flaxfield. “Simply. Flaxfold and I are one person. And two. We sprang from the first reflection, and we have been the ones who regulate magic for ever.”
Flaxfold took up the story. “Slowin distorted that and turned magic in on itself. So Flaxfield, weakened, died.”
“And now,” said Flaxfield, “we have the chance to end all this. To defeat Ash finally and for ever.”
“What about me?” asked Sam.
Flaxfield looked at him with kindly sorrow.
“You should never have been,” he said. “The mirror that made you and Tam was hidden away. A chance brought you into being.”
“There’s no such thing as chance,” said Sam.
Flaxfold nodded. “You’ve learned well,” she said. “You didn’t choose to be what you are. It chose you.”
“So what am I?”
Flaxfield spoke very slowly.
“You are the beginning of a new magic,” he said.
“Or the end of magic,” said Flaxfold. “We don’t know yet. Only the defeat of Ash and the wild magic will show us that.”
Sam felt ill. “There can’t be an end of magic,” he said.
“Everything has its end,” she said. “Even us. Even you. Even magic.”
“It’s late,” said Flaxfield. “We should go to bed.”
Flaxfold raked the embers in the range and put on more logs, slow-burning wood to keep the fire in all night.
Sam stopped on the stairs. “Just a minute,” he said. “The babies. The ones that were made by the mirror. You can’t be them.”
“Why not?”
“They were taken away by guards to be killed. All the stories say that.”
Flaxfield smiled at him. “You know the old stories,” he said. “What always happens when men are told to take babies away into the forest and kill them?”
“They don’t do it,” said Sam. “They give them to a kind woman to look after.”
“There you are,” said Flaxfield. “Good night.”
“Tomorrow,” said Sam. “What happens then?”
Flaxfield and Flaxfold stood together. For a moment they merged and there was only one person there. “Tomorrow, we set off,” they said. “To Boolat.”
Sam woke as dawn was slipping night free. He climbed through his window and dropped the short fall to the ground below.
The grass was wet with dew. Daylight lived on easy terms with night, so the moon was pale in the sky, and the morning star still shone alone with her. Sam wondered if Tadpole was awake and if he had caught his first glimpse of a star.
“Not that one will be enough,” he said. “He wants to see the skies covered with them.”
He walked down to the riverbank and sat on the edge, watching the water. When he had built up his courage he shrugged off his clothes and dived in. The shock of the cold stunned him for a moment, before he broke free and splashed out. He was a strong swimmer and went upstream, against the current. He flipped over on to his back, lay flat and let the stream take him back to where he had started. The night had full gone, and he stared into clear blue sky, interrupted as he passed under the green ceiling of trees.
Sometimes he thought he preferred swimming to flying. Even for a dragon the air never supports the body as the water does.
He flipped over, swam upstream again, further, faster, till his arms hurt and his breath came in short bursts. This time the drifting back was like a deep, dreaming sleep.
Flaxfield was waiting for him at the side of the river.
“Breakfast,” he said, and left him to dress and return.
Morning manners at Flaxfield’s were relaxed. Flaxfield was frying bacon while Flaxfold was already eating. At least, Sam thought it was that way round.
“How did you have time to make fresh bread?” he asked.
Flaxfield brought his own plate to the table and started to eat, leaving Flaxfold to answer.
“Are you sure you can’t find Tam?” she asked.
Sam nodded. Even relaxed manners didn’t allow talking with your mouth full.
“That leaves December and Cabbage,” she said.
“If they’re s
till alive,” said Flaxfield.
“Yes. And Tadpole. We need to find him.”
“Unless he’s back in the Deep World,” said Flaxfield.
“He won’t be,” said Sam.
“No?”
“No. He’ll stay and fight.”
“I thought you didn’t like him,” said Flaxfield.
“You weren’t here,” said Sam. “Oh, I suppose…” He looked at Flaxfold. “Do you two know everything that you both know?”
“Is that a real question?” asked Flaxfield. “Does it make sense?”
“Carry on,” said Sam. “Forget I asked.”
“That’s six of us,” said Flaxfold. “Is it enough?”
“Enough for what?” asked Sam.
“Enough to defeat Ash,” they answered.
“Is that what we’re going to do?” asked Sam. “All right. Don’t answer. I know it is. I just keep hoping we won’t have to. Where do we start?”
“Do we need the seal?” asked Flaxfold.
“Are you asking me?” said Sam. “Because I don’t know. I wasn’t even there when Ash was sealed in. And if you’re asking him—” he pointed his fork at Flaxfield — “you don’t need to, because you both know the same as each other.”
“Just thinking out loud,” said Flaxfield. “We all do it. Even you.”
Sam smeared the last of his bread round his empty plate, catching up the juices.
“Tam’s got the seal. We take it in turns.”
“Then all we have to do is find the others, and her, that makes seven, and we’ll set off for Boolat.”
“Easy.”
They all stood.
“We need the strength of many,” said the older ones.
“Where shall we start?” asked Sam.
“Not here. Meet at the study door in half an hour.”
Sam let them leave the table. He watched them. All his childhood they had looked after him, taught him, cared for him and loved him. Now, they were leading him into the greatest danger he could imagine.
He went outside and stretched out his arms. Starback landed next to him with a scratch of claws, a scent of smoke and a leathery fold of wings.
Sam put his arms round the dragon’s neck and whispered. “I’m frightened,” he said. “But I’m proud. And I can’t let them down.”
