by Toby Forward
“Well, he’ll be the worst of them, if he falls under their influence!” Axestone shouted.
“Please,” said Flaxfold. “Sit down.”
He slammed into a chair and banged his arms on the table.
“Where do you think he’s gone?” he demanded.
Flaxfold smiled at him.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “What matters is where are we going now? What are we going to do?”
“Back to the mines for me,” said December. “I’ve got work to do there.”
Flaxfold squeezed her hand, let it go, and leaned forward and kissed her.
“It’s always work with you,” she said. She stroked the ruined cheek. “Why don’t you stay here a while? We can talk about old times, walk in the orchard and enjoy the blossoms. I’ve got cider in the cellar from last year’s apples that I haven’t brought out yet. It’s too good for bad-tempered men. We could enjoy it together.”
December allowed Flaxfold’s hand on her cheek for a moment, then drew away.
“I have to go,” she said. “There’ll be time for rest another day.”
“What about you?” Flaxfold asked Axestone.
“I’m going to camp out by the castle,” he said. “See what I can discover.”
“Don’t try to rescue Sandage and Khazib,” Eloise warned him. “Not on your own.”
“No,” he agreed. “Not that. But we need to prepare ourselves.”
“Why did the dragon lead them there?” asked Eloise.
“He was confused,” said Axestone. “Sam was getting ready to share a life with him. He muddled up the past and the present. He remembered when the castle was a good place. He must have thought he could keep them there, away from Sam. You remember what it’s like when you first find your other way.”
“Yes,” said Eloise. “Yes, it’s unsettling for you and for the other one.”
“There was more than that, I think,” said Flaxfold. “I think he was attacked. I think he was misdirected.”
“We all were,” said Eloise. “In ways we’ll probably never understand.”
“What about you?” asked Flaxfold.
“I’ll go with Axestone, see the castle, keep him company on the journey. But I won’t stay. I’m going home. I need to see the river and the green shade.”
“That’s all settled, then,” said Flaxfold. “We part. We’ll meet again.”
“What will you do?” asked December.
They looked at Flaxfold.
Tamrin squinted in the sunlight
on the turret. Vengeabil pushed open the door and joined her. She had never noticed the small area of shadow by the side of the horse trough, next to the shoemaker’s.
“Come on,” said Vengeabil. “You’ve hidden away long enough.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” said Tamrin.
“Smedge is back,” he told her.
“He’s been gone for months,” she said. “It was summer when he left. It’s spring now. He can’t just come back.”
Vengeabil put his hand on Tamrin’s shoulder. She was twelve, taller than most girls of her age, slender as string, her face not yet set into the patterns of what she would become. The winter had changed her. Days and nights in the bitter cold of the turret, watching, waiting, had hardened her. Before, she had been like a wild animal cub. Now, she had the poise and presence of a creature that was beginning to know its own strength.
“Sam’s alive,” said Vengeabil.
“I know.”
“What?”
“I know.”
“You didn’t say.”
She shrugged.
“How do you know?”
“He’s my twin brother. You know that.”
“You think he is.”
“I know he is. You know it, too.”
“Perhaps I do. But I saw Smedge arrive. And that roffle was in the porter’s lodge. And they talked about Sam. They know he’s alive.”
“Smedge can’t just leave for months and have no one notice, can he?”
Vengeabil frowned.
“He’s my enemy,” she said. “He’ll try to hurt me. I want to leave. He’ll hurt you, too.”
“No. He won’t. We’re nobodies. You’re just the strange girl who couldn’t fit in. I’m just the handyman who lives in the stores and potters around the place. We’re both sort of charity cases, tolerated, but not liked or wanted. No one cares about us. No one notices.”
Tamrin stood up and left the turret. Vengeabil followed her.
The bobbing spheres of light, the crashes and smells from the classrooms, the tingle of magic in the air all around her; she had not noticed before how much magic there was there, how it spread like smoke, touching everything, filling the air, leaving smudges and stains on the walls, the floor, and the cups and plates in the dining hall.
“Was it always like this?” she asked.
Vengeabil looked grim.
“As long as you’ve known it,” he said. “Not before.”
“I don’t remember it as bad as this.”
“You’ve been ill this winter. Not here, really.”
“No.”
They made their way down to the stores, through the curtain, and into Vengeabil’s private rooms.
Tamrin sat at the table and waited.
When he sat next to her, it was with a sheet of thick paper, a pen, an inkwell, and a jar of powder with a sprinkler top to dry the ink.
“Do you want to be a pupil at the College?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do you want to be a real wizard?”
“Yes.”
“How do you want to learn to do that?”
Tamrin looked him in the eye.
“I want to be your apprentice,” she said. “Please.”
“Very well.”
Vengeabil dipped the pen into the ink and wrote his name. Tamrin looked at it and smiled. Then he told her what name she was to write. She frowned.
“Are you sure that’s right?”
“Write it,” he said.
She did.
He sprinkled the drying powder onto the wet ink.
“Now,” he said. “Your first lesson as an apprentice. You are to work no magic at all until I tell you to. Do you understand?”
“How long will that be?”
“It will be until I tell you.”
“Is this what it will be like, being an apprentice?”
Vengeabil smiled.
“It’s one of the things it will be like.”
Flaxfold didn’t wave them off. December left first. No one saw her go. Axestone and Eloise left later the same day. Flaxfold heard the door shut. She finished cleaning the range in the kitchen, washed her hands, had a small mug of the weak cider for everyday drinking, locked the front door, slid the two bolts, top and bottom, put the key into the small drawer of the hall table, and went upstairs. The first floor corridor ended in a small door. Flaxfold unlocked this. It led to another corridor. She took the third door on the left, opened it, and went in. Closing it behind her, she took a book from the shelf, sat at the table, and began to read. Sometimes she stood and looked out the window, as if she was expecting someone.
Starback jumped up to the height
of a haystack, spread his wings, leveled, then plunged into the stream. Sam felt the shock of the cold water from where he stood on the riverbank. Then, with a yelp of laughter, he threw himself in after the dragon. His arms and legs flailed. He hit the water with a slap and a surge of water.
Starback grabbed him and dragged him down. They struggled with each other, playing against the current and diving down till Sam scraped his legs on the pebbles on the riverbed.
Starback held Sam’s leg in his mouth, dragging him along. The water streamed over their heads. Sam forgot for a moment which he was, boy or dragon, and breathed in a lungful of water. A water beetle slipped into his mouth. Sam tried to spit it out. He thrashed around, turning and grabbing, till Starback swept up, broke the sur
face, and flung Sam on the grassy bank. Sam coughed, the spasm jerking his ribs in pain; he spewed up water, coughed again, grabbed his chest. He moaned, more water trickling from his mouth and down his nose.
“Kitchen boy.”
Sam looked up.
Caleb pushed Sam with his foot. Not a kick, but not gentle enough to be friendly.
“What are you doing here, kitchen boy? Washing the stink off?”
Through all the months since Flaxfield had died, through all the pain and danger, nothing had hurt him so deeply as the news that he was dirty and that he stank. He tried to get up and face Caleb. Caleb pushed him again with his foot. Sam slipped. Caleb put his foot on Sam’s chest, pinning him to the ground.
Sam pushed his fingers into his mouth, trying to dislodge the beetle. It was swirling around in there, jabbing his tongue and the inside of his cheeks. He felt himself getting sick and wanting to throw up.
Caleb laughed.
“Cat got your tongue? Or is it something else?”
Caleb unfastened the silver and jet clip at his neck. He threw it into the air, and it hung, then fell, then opened up into a black beetle bigger than Sam’s fist. It circled, swooped, rose, and circled again. A swarm of beetles from all directions gathered around it.
“Come on, kitchen boy. Say something,” Caleb taunted him.
The huge beetle dived and flew straight into Sam’s face. The others followed, swarming all over him. Into his ears, his nose. He closed his eyes tight but he could feel them probing with sharp legs. Caleb took his foot away. Sam scrambled to his feet and lunged in his direction. Caleb stepped aside and Sam fell again.
He was drowning in beetles, being eaten alive by them.
He summoned up all his strength to throw a spell at Caleb, to shake off the beetles with magic.
Nothing.
There was nothing there.
And he could smell smoke. The beetle in his mouth exploded, burnt up, and turned to ash.
Caleb laughed.
The boy was beginning to pass out with the pain and terror when he heard Caleb scream.
The dragon saw the boy covered in beetles, saw Caleb laughing. He flicked his wings, shot from the water, and flew straight at Caleb.
The beetles ran off the boy, popping and fizzing, bursting open and dying. The fist-big beetle flew up high and hovered.
The boy sat up and saw the dragon rocket toward Caleb, mouth open, flames pouring out. Caleb shouted and pointed. Tried to conjure a protection spell. The dragon struck. Its jaws seized Caleb’s head and jerked it to one side.
The boy heard bones snap.
The dragon shook Caleb as a terrier shakes a rat. Caleb’s head lolled to the left, one side of his face burned away. He sagged and fell.
The boy shouted, “Stop!”
The dragon looked at the boy, took Caleb in its jaws, and tossed him into the river.
The boy stood and watched as what was left of Caleb drifted downstream.
The dragon moved to the boy’s side.
They watched together.
Sam spat the foul ash from his mouth, scooped water into his hand, washed around, and spat again.
“We killed him,” said Sam.
Ash fell to the floor and screamed and kicked and tore her gray robe. She threw herself at Bakkmann. It clacked its jaws and fought back, losing a black leg before escaping and scuttling down the stairs. Ash sobbed with fury.
When her rage had died down, she looked through the slit window.
“It is not over, boy,” she said. “Not over.”
She wrapped herself in her robe and went to the dungeons to comfort herself with the prisoners.
Sam stepped into the water again, letting the cool flow soothe his torn flesh.
Starback swam slowly around, waiting for him to recover. Many times Sam filled his mouth with water and spat it out, to get rid of the taste. At last he left the river, walked away, and lay down on his back on the fresh grass in the shade of a tree.
He looked up into the green arms of the willow. The wounds from the axes had healed. All up and down the riverbank, the willows bore the scars of their contribution to Flaxfield’s Finishing. Sam leaned on his elbow and looked at them. New bark was growing over them. He stood and went to the water’s edge, his eyes following the stream that Flaxfield had taken. Starback nuzzled against his leg. Sam scratched the dragon’s head, felt the comforting motion in his fingers and the soothing touch behind his ears at the same time.
“We’re home,” said Sam. “Safe and home again.”
“Dragonborn,” he whispered.
Starback licked Sam’s hand.
THE END
envoi
Sam trudged up toward the house, keeping his eyes away from it. He wanted nothing more than to be in Flaxfield’s house again. The glimpse of it, in the corner of his eye, empty of the old man, silent and hollow, was more than he could turn and gaze on yet.
He pushed open the door. The kitchen was fresh and clean, scented of herbs. A loaf of bread, a bowl of figs, and a bottle of cordial stood on the kitchen table. Sam picked up the bread and smelled it. He squeezed the sides of the loaf. It was fresh. Almost warm.
Sam climbed the stairs and stood in front of the study door. Laying his hand on the polished oak, he felt that the sealing spell he had lain on it had been removed. He pushed open the door and stepped in.
Flaxfold laid down her book and smiled at him.
“Hello, Sam.”
Starback darted across and wound himself around her legs, then lay at her feet. Sam drew back, half turned to go.
“Won’t you sit down?”
“I thought the house was empty.”
“No.”
Sam closed the door behind him.
Flaxfold’s arms rested on a sheet of paper. A pen, an inkwell, a glass of cordial stood to one side.
“You’ve been hurt,” she said.
Sam touched his fingers gently to his bitten face.
“Yes.”
“We can deal with that,” said Flaxfold.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“Gone home.”
Sam sat opposite her. The ash tree outside the window was in bud, green against brown.
“I didn’t want to be with them. I didn’t want to fight their fight.”
“What do you want to do now?”
“I had no magic just then,” he said.
“You walked away from it,” said Flaxfold. “Magic does not like to be rejected.”
For a moment, Sam remembered Vengeabil in the library, the same question, day after day.
“Is it too late?” he asked.
“Never too late,” she replied.
“I want to be apprenticed,” he said. “I want to be a wizard for myself. Not to join in a fight. Just for myself.”
“Sometimes,” said Flaxfold, “a day comes when the fight comes to you. And then you have to decide to fight back or walk away, wizard or no wizard.”
“When that day comes, I’ll see what happens,” said Sam. “But I won’t be a wizard just to look for that fight.”
Flaxfold nodded.
“I’ve never seen you do magic,” he said.
“No. That’s right.”
“Do some magic for me,” said Sam.
“No,” said Flaxfold.
Sam fidgeted with the clasp on his cloak.
“Can you?” he asked.
Flaxfold picked up her book and started to read. Sam waited for something to happen. He watched her carefully. She looked up, smiled, turned the page, and read on.
“I want to ask you something,” said Sam. “I think.”
Flaxfold looked up.
“Trust what you have chosen,” she said. “There is a reason. Sometimes it has chosen you.”
“Please, will you take me as your apprentice?” he asked.
Flaxfold put aside the book, turned the paper over, signed her name at the bottom. She handed Sam the paper, the pen.
“Of course,” she said.
Sam signed.
Flaxfold found a lump of hard wax and a candle. She dripped the hot wax onto the indenture.
“You seal it,” she said.
Sam undid the leather thong and pressed the seal into the wax.
“You know about this?” he said.
Flaxfold nodded.
Acknowledgments
To Denise, Ellen, and Ben at Walker Books, for encouraging me and for the care and attention they have taken. To Felicity at Curtis Brown, for keeping me at it. To Tina Wexler at ICM for finding me a home in the US and to Margaret Miller for providing it. To Gerard Manley Hopkins, Ted Hughes, T. S. Eliot, and others who didn’t know they were writing some of the best parts of this book. To St Alban’s Hull, who gave me more than they’ll ever know and who I miss more than I can ever say. To Cath Fuller, who believed me. To the Athenaeum, Liverpool, for providing a quiet place where no one can find me. To the Travellers Club, Pall Mall, for their hospitality. To Ursula Le Guin, Alan Garner, Susan Cooper, and others, who demonstrate that fantasy is not the same as whimsy, or spy stories with added spells. To everyone who reads this book with pleasure.
To my family, as always.
Copyright © 2011 by Toby Forward
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Originally published in Great Britain in 2011 by Walker Books Ltd
First published in the United States of America in April 2012
by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
www.bloomsburyteens.com
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Forward, Toby.
Dragonborn / by Toby Forward. —1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: The great wizard Flaxfield’s death leaves his twelve-year-old apprentice Sam halftrained,
