Starborn

by Toby Forward

  “I came here when I was very young,” he said. “Long years ago.”

  “It can’t have been.”

  “It was.”

  “You’re only a boy now.”

  “Only a boy?” said Mattie. “Always a boy. That’s what happened. All those long years ago.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m hungry. Aren’t you going to share?”

  Tadpole slid the top of the roffle pack tight shut.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Give me a sandwich and I’ll tell you.”

  “I can’t. It’s roffle food. I’m not allowed.”

  “Then I’m not telling.”

  Mattie began to move away, down the stairs.

  “No. Please. Don’t leave me alone again.”

  “Sandwich?”

  “I can’t. No. Please. Don’t go.”

  Mattie stopped.

  “I’ll give you something else,” said Tadpole.

  “What have you got? I saw a book.”

  Tadpole slipped the flask back into the pack as well, just moving the lid aside enough to make room.

  “Let me see the book,” said Mattie.

  “Look at this.” He handed Mattie the old shield. It looked worse than ever in this gloom, battered and useless. “It’s not much,” he said. “I mean, it doesn’t look much, but it’s special.” And it was an Up Top thing, not from the Deep World, so it wasn’t too bad to let him hold it.

  Mattie grabbed it. His thin fingers felt all around the edge, stroked the surface, found the strap, and he put his arm through.

  “It’s nice,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I like it.”

  Mattie stood back and tried to make himself look like a warrior.

  “Can I have it?”

  “I don’t think so. It isn’t mine.”

  “If it’s not yours you can’t take it from me.”

  “No. I mean, it isn’t mine to give.”

  “Or yours to take.”

  Tadpole tried to grab it. Mattie dived away, slippery as a promise.

  “It’s too heavy for you.”

  “No. Look. It doesn’t weigh anything.”

  Tadpole pursed his lips. It was right. Mattie wasn’t weighed down at all by the shield. Now that it was being used, Tadpole began to value it more. He wanted it back.

  “You can have it for a little while. Then it has to go back.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour.”

  Mattie banged his fist against the front of the shield. The thin hand only made a small, tapping sound.

  “Come on,” he said. He slipped past Tadpole and stood on the stair above him. “But hush. We’re going to look at Ash. Hurry.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “She won’t see us. If you’re quiet.”

  Mattie darted up.

  Tadpole didn’t hesitate.

  “Wait for me,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

  It wasn’t far to Ash’s room,

  set high in the tower that rises over Boolat. Tadpole hoped it would take for ever to get there. In fact, they reached it before he even had time to get short of breath.

  Mattie ran with the shield over his head, as though sheltering from rain. Tadpole had to work hard to stop his roffle pack banging against the sides of the narrow passageway, alerting Ash of their arrival.

  Mattie waved to him to slow down, take care, creep up.

  Tadpole hung back. He clutched his cloak around him, hoping for invisibility. It could still be a trap. Mattie could be leading him to Ash as a victim. Tadpole waited. Mattie beckoned him on. He put his bony finger to his lips. Not that Tadpole needed warning. He edged closer. Mattie stood aside and let him look through a chink in the wall.

  It was a circular room, the shape of the tower. Windows all round. And it was high.

  There, at last, was Ash.

  And she was beautiful.

  The stairs had led the two boys higher than the level of the floor of the tower room. They looked down from ten feet above her head. The roof of the room was another fifteen feet above them.

  Tadpole drew back and stared at Mattie. Really? That’s her? His eyebrows raised with the question.

  Mattie nodded.

  Tadpole looked again. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps there were two of them in there and he’d missed one. The room was barely furnished. A table for a desk. A chair. A small cupboard. No bed. No easy chair. No room for another to hide. She was quite alone.

  Tadpole looked at Mattie again, for confirmation. Mattie pushed him aside, with a strength that seemed too great for his frail body. He looked through the squint.

  “That’s her,” he whispered.

  Tadpole looked again.

  Tall, slim, with a face composed in beauty, she paced the room. Her grey gown trailed behind her, light, like silk. Tadpole couldn’t look away from her.

  Surely she was not what they said?

  She crossed the room and looked out through the arrow-slit window. Her long hair rippled in the breeze.

  It’s different when you’re dealing with wizards.

  What if it was all a mistake?

  The only wizard Tadpole knew about was Flaxfield. And he was dead. These others. These wizards. What if they were the bad ones? Megapoir had warned him, in the guide. He leaned in to the viewing place, drew in his breath to call out to Ash, to tell her to look up.

  Something bashed the back of his head and sent him thumping into the stonework. He banged his forehead and bounced off. Mattie pushed him away. He ran at him with the shield, driving him down the stairs, away from the squint.

  Tadpole lost his balance and tumbled down, rolled on his side and only came to a halt when his staff jammed into the sides.

  “What —?”

  Mattie put his hand over Tadpole’s mouth. It was like being silenced by a handful of dry leaves, odd but not unpleasant.

  “You mustn’t,” he whispered. “She’ll hear you.”

  “I want her to hear me.”

  “You don’t.”

  Tadpole looked at the terror on Mattie’s face.

  “You really don’t,” said Mattie. “Come on.”

  With many a backward glance Tadpole followed Mattie until, after a long and complicated walk, they stepped into a bedroom.

  Mattie looked shy as they entered.

  It was a palace room. Still furnished with rich tapestries on the walls, ornate rugs. There were easy chairs, and a bed, a huge bed, with posts at each corner and a rich canopy over. Tables and dressers, a wardrobe and a desk.

  Once, it had been a room for a king.

  Now?

  Now, it was dusty and decayed. Where the tapestries were rotting away Tadpole could see the wall showing through. The canopy over the bed tilted where one of the posts had broken, eaten away by woodworm. At Tadpole’s home, wood gleamed and shone, scented with the beeswax his father used every other day. The furniture here was dull, dark and lifeless, with white blooms of mould.

  “This is my room,” said Mattie.

  “It’s…” Tadpole searched for a word. “It’s a grand room,” he said.

  Mattie sat in one of the easy chairs, in front of an empty fireplace. Tadpole moved to sit opposite him. The chair cushions were black with mould. He hesitated. Mattie swept his thin arm through the air in a gesture of welcome. Tadpole braced himself against the texture and sat down. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, though the musty smell wasn’t so good.

  “Are we safe here?” he asked.

  “Ash hardly ever leaves her tower, except to go to the kitchens and the cells, or to walk in the courtyard. She never comes here.”

  “The kravvins? The takkabakks?”

  Mattie looked stricken. He shook his head.

  “They don’t come here?” asked Tadpole. “Why not?”

  Mattie put his hands over his face.

  Tadpole stood up and walked around the room,
looking at everything.

  “At first,” said Mattie, his voice smaller than ever, “when Ash arrived, with her beetles, they swarmed everywhere. Here as well. They killed everyone. Nearly everyone.”

  Tadpole looked out of the window while Mattie was telling his story.

  “I hid. In the walls. I was only a kitchen boy, so no one knew where I went, what I did. They didn’t notice me. Then, when it was all over, all the killing, the takkabakks and the other beetles went down to the basements and the lower floors. They like it there. They seem to need to be near to the earth.”

  “Tell me about the walls,” said Tadpole.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if they were secret passageways for hiding and escape. Or workmen’s tunnels to get to places. Or servants’ routes. They’re just there. They saved my life.”

  Tadpole sat again, eager, now that Mattie was talking, to hear his story.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked again.

  “Always. As long ago as I can remember I was a kitchen boy. I may have been born here. Perhaps my parents were poor and sent me here. I don’t know.”

  He slid down in his chair as he was talking, his feet in the ashes of the grate.

  “A bad spell set fire to the kitchen. Was burned. Hurt.”

  Mattie spread his hands over his face, as though feeling for something.

  “Everywhere. All my body, burned.”

  He made a high, keening sound. Tadpole looked around at the door and Mattie stopped. He nodded. Put his finger to his lips.

  “Yes. Hush. Yes. Right.” He put his hands behind his head and pushed his face forward. “Anyway. I ran away. They sent me away. I don’t remember.”

  “What happened to you?”

  Mattie looked up. “A girl,” he said. “A wizard girl. With magic. She made it better.”

  “What did she do?”

  Mattie sucked his thumb and played with his ear. He rocked back and forward. “Ssmmch.”

  “What?”

  He took his thumb from his mouth and wiped it on the chair. “So much,” he said. “It hurt so much.”

  “What did she do?”

  Mattie put both hands on his ears now and pressed them tight, as though blocking out any argument. “She made the pain a stone. And she ate it. She ate the fire.”

  Tadpole stared at Mattie. It was hopeless. Whatever this boy-thing was, he was quite mad. He sat back in his chair, all interest in the story fled away. The room stared back at him, decayed, damaged. The thin, rocking figure of Mattie made Tadpole’s head spin. He closed his eyes, wished he hadn’t, and opened them again quickly. Mattie was looking at him, waiting. Tadpole understood that the story wasn’t over.

  “What happened next?” he said, to be polite. “Where’s the girl now?”

  The question started Mattie rocking again. He covered his eyes with his hands.

  “Dead,” he moaned. “She’ll be dead, now. She was the only friend I ever had.”

  He was so forlorn, so bereft, that Tadpole spoke before he thought. “I’m your friend,” he said.

  Mattie peeped through his fingers. “Really?”

  Tadpole had regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. He felt even worse now.

  “Of course,” he said.

  Mattie was off his chair with the speed of a ferret. He switched round and wriggled to sit next to Tadpole in his chair. There was only just room for them both and Tadpole had to budge up. He felt that Mattie might break if he wasn’t careful with him. Snap like a fried piece of bacon rind. Mattie darted back to his own chair, scooped up the shield, put it on his head and wriggled back next to Tadpole. He put his forefinger on Tadpole’s chest.

  “You’re a roffle,” he said.

  “I am.”

  Mattie looked as though he had discovered a great secret. “What’s it like?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Being a roffle.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been anything else. What’s it like being you?”

  Mattie stopped smiling. He pulled the shield down over his eyes, and his voice was hollow when he answered. “It’s horrible.”

  The rim of the shield was in Tadpole’s way. He had to lean uncomfortably to one side to avoid it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you want it to be like?”

  Mattie moved the shield a little to one side so that one eye showed. “I want a friend,” he said. “And I want to be able to run about, outside. I want to see the dead girl, and for her to be alive. I want to say thank you to her. She sent me away. She said I couldn’t stay with her.” He hid his eyes again. “I wanted to. She could have been my friend.”

  “But you came back here?”

  “I hadn’t got anywhere else.”

  Tadpole tried to think what it must be like, living there, hiding. The stink. The fear. The beetles. Ash in her tower. And Smedge? Did Smedge come here? He was Ash’s helper.

  “Does Smedge come here?” he asked.

  Mattie closed his mouth tight and nodded. He screwed up his eyes.

  “I wanted to call out to her,” said Tadpole. “I thought she looked better than the others. She’s…” He hesitated. “She’s beautiful.”

  “At first sight,” agreed Mattie. “Until you’ve seen her work.”

  Tadpole needed more space. The chair was not big enough for comfort for two. He stood and crossed to the window. Cloud. Always cloud at night. Never stars.

  “The girl,” he said. “Was there really a girl? Try hard. I have to know you’re telling me the truth about things.”

  Mattie’s voice betrayed his disappointment. “I only tell the truth,” he said. “Only. Always. All these years I haven’t spoken to anyone. I won’t waste words on lies. I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. Sorry. I just need to know. Tell me something about her.”

  Mattie came and stood next to him.

  “She was pretty,” he said. “And kind. And funny. And I think she was sad. Do you believe me?”

  “I believe you.”

  “Her name was Bee,” said Mattie. “Isn’t that strange? Bee. Like a bee. Buzzzzz.”

  Tadpole stepped away from the window

  and grabbed Mattie’s hand so they stood facing each other.

  “This is no good,” said Tadpole.

  “What?”

  “Just standing here, being frightened. We can’t do this.”

  “What else?”

  “We’ve got to fight Ash. We’ve got to beat her.”

  He pulled his dagger from his belt and stabbed the air.

  “We can’t.”

  “No one else can, can they? We’re here. We’re inside Boolat. We’re the only ones who can do it. Come on. What about it?”

  Tadpole’s eyes were gleaming in the dark room. The blade glinted.

  Mattie waved the shield above his head. His thin legs jigged. He laughed.

  “I’d rather die,” he said, “than live like this any longer. Die with you.”

  Tadpole paused. His enthusiasm drained away. He gathered himself again and stabbed the darkness.

  “We won’t die,” he said. “Not this time. We’ll kill Ash instead.”

  Mattie danced again. The sight of the wasted boy’s sudden joy robbed Tadpole of his own. Mattie danced around Tadpole and whispered as he passed, “Use magic. It’s the only way. The only thing.”

  Tadpole turned round and round, following Mattie’s dance.

  “I can’t.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t use magic.”

  Mattie stopped. He was breathing heavily. He lowered the shield and held it in front of him.

  “You have to.” He sniggered. “Do you think you can just stab her, with your knife?” He danced back and mimed stabbing.

  “I can’t use magic,” Tadpole repeated. “I haven’t got any.”

  Mattie stopped stabbing. “What sort of wizard are you?”


  “I’m not a wizard at all.”

  “You look like a wizard.” Mattie pointed. “With your cloak. And your staff. Why are you dressed as a wizard if you aren’t a wizard?”

  Tadpole shrugged. “They were presents,” he said. “This is to keep me dry. And the staff was to help me walk through a wood.”

  Mattie’s face showed that he didn’t believe him. He put his finger alongside his nose and winked. He moved his finger to his lips and winked with the other eye. “Say no more,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t. Keep it a secret.”

  Tadpole gave up.

  “We could ask Khazib,” he said. “He’s got magic.”

  Mattie tried to sit on the roffle pack. Tadpole put his arm around Mattie and led him to the window. Mattie struggled a little, tried to slip away and sit down. Tadpole nudged him aside, flipped the pack on to his back and led him back over to the window.

  “Clouds,” he said, “but no rain.”

  The moon was invisible behind the cloud. Only a bright glow over the tops of the trees showed where it was.

  “What’s that?” asked Tadpole.

  “The moon.”

  “No. Something flew past.”

  “An owl?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. It could have been close, but it seemed bigger, further away.”

  Tadpole strained to look. The clouds shifted in the night breeze. More shapes drifted and flew. For a second the clouds parted and the moon shone bright, then, covered again, disappeared.

  “Something down there,” said Mattie.

  Tadpole dragged his gaze from the sky and followed the path of Mattie’s thin finger. A memmont? Crossing the open ground between the trees and the castle? Tadpole leaned forward.

  “It’s a dog,” said Mattie.

  “The takkabakks will kill it.”

  The takkabakks did, indeed, swarm to it. The dog stopped, half-turned, looked at the castle, sat down and waited.

  “No,” said Mattie. “It’s been here before.”

  The takkabakks circled the dog, clattering.

  “It’s Tim,” said Tadpole.

  Mattie touched his arm. “Is it your dog? Is it following you?”

  “It’s not my dog,” said Tadpole. He thought about Mattie’s second question and wondered. “It’s someone else’s dog. At least, that was what I was told.”