Peter Dickinson - The Ropemaker

He twitched the tassel and each thread became a wriggling line of flame, brighter than the lamplight, flowing across the table without quite touching the surface. They withdrew the moment he twitched the tassel again.

“There’s a scorch on Calico’s right haunch,” said Tilja.

“Sorry about that,” said Tahl, his laugh belying the words. “I hadn’t got the hang of it, then. It does what I want, just because it’s me wanting it. Look.”

Another flick, and this time the fiery threads flowed out close together, like a loose-woven cord, which coiled around the pile of walnut husks Tilja had been constructing on her platter while she was listening to Da’s story. The husks burst into flame and burnt until they were ashes.

“Anyway it did the trick with Calico,” said Tahl, still laughing. “One squeal and she was up and away. I gave the thing another shake, trying not to touch her this time, just to tell her I’d still got it, but it did better than that. The fire threads shot out and round behind her, like a dog snapping at her heels, telling her she’d better behave. Could have done with that once or twice on our journey, right? She got it at once.

“She was really flying now, and Alnor wasn’t having any trouble making her go where he wanted, so I put the thing back under my jacket, but of course I was thinking about it, wondering what else it could do, when the fellow’s name clicked into my mind . . . Dorn. . . . You’d told us about him using his fire whip on the walls of Talagh, remember, Til, and again in the barn in Goloroth? That’s what it was. And that’s why the Ropemaker had given it to me—to use against the horse tribes in the fighting. So I told Alnor to steady Calico best he could and then hold on tight, and I leaned over and spotted a tree in a field and I took the whip and gave it a shake and said, ‘Burn that!’ Aaaah! ”

Tilja couldn’t see his face, but there was something in his voice, something in the wildness of his excitement, and in the long sigh of exhilaration at the end, that bothered her. And there’d been that curious pause as he had spoken Dorn’s name. Tilja remembered the Ropemaker’s words— Bit of stuff I got from Dorn. Better keep an eye on him.

She rose, taking her plate, moved round the table and scraped the ashes into the trash bucket, then came quietly back and stood behind Tahl.

Anja had been falling asleep again, but the movement woke her.

“Go on,” she mumbled, still with her eyes half shut. “I’m listening. What’s happening?”

“This,” said Tahl, flicking ribbons of fire across the table toward her.

She screamed. Tahl flicked again, laughing wildly. Tilja leaned over his shoulder and closed her naked hand around the blazing source of the fire. There was the now-familiar quick shock of numbness, and when she opened her fist a twig and a handful of twisted grass stems tumbled onto the table.

“What did you want to do that for?” shouted Tahl, scrambling up and turning toward her. His face was taut with fury. She thought he was going to strike her. She grabbed his wrist and he went rigid. They stood like that for a moment while she channeled the quick sluice of magic through herself, realizing with relief that Dorn himself wasn’t in it. It was just leftover Dorn stuff, like a dead man’s clothing.

She let go of Tahl’s wrist and he slumped back into his chair and put his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and again, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop it.”

Only when he’d spoken did Tilja realize how intense the silence had been while the shadow of Dorn had come and gone through the kitchen. Now she could sense the others relaxing, and daring to breathe.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “The Ropemaker told me it was a risk. But it was worth it, wasn’t it? If it hadn’t been for you, Da would be dead by now, and farms would be burning all across the Valley.”

“And that’s true,” said Da.

“You know what I’m thinking,” said Ma in a low voice. “Now that we’ve all seen a bit of real magic, we understand that we’re better off without it, here in the Valley. It belongs in the forest and the mountains. It has no place here, among us.”

“And that’s true too,” said Da.

“But what happened next?” said Anja. “What happened in the battle?”

Tahl raised his head and attempted a smile.

“Alnor’s turn,” he said.

“If you wish,” said Alnor, formal among near strangers. “There is not a great deal to tell. We landed twice at farms to ask where our people were gathered, and arrived around midmorning. We could see the fighting, and I spotted Dusty in the middle of it, so I didn’t wait. I had no trouble with Calico—she must have warhorse blood in her somewhere, I think. I just shook the reins and gave her a kick with my heels and she came swooping down and gave a great ringing neigh as we were going in. ‘Neigh’ is the wrong word. It was more like a cock crowing, a cock the size of an elephant.”

“That’s the roc,” said Tilja. “It did that when we were leaving Talagh.”

“I expect so,” said Alnor. “Anyway, there is more magic in old Calico now than just flying. Right through the din of the battle every horse must have heard her—one moment they were charging up the slope and the next they were all over the place, out of control.”

“That’s right,” said Da. “Dusty too. And till then the horsemen could’ve done almost anything they wanted with their ponies.”

“Then we were over them,” said Alnor. “And Tahl started to use his whip. Leaning over, I could see the fire ropes just licking the riders out of the saddles without even touching the animals. We went round a couple of times and then flew over and did the same on the far side, and harried them around for a bit, but there didn’t seem any point in going on with that once they were all crowding into the pass, so we came back to look for Solon and see how the battle had gone. He had hurt his arm—he didn’t tell you . . .”

“Kick from a horse,” muttered Da.

“So we talked with some of the war council and decided to fly up the pass and make sure the horsemen kept going. In fact we went right over onto the far side and burnt their tents, so they knew we could get at them there too, if we wanted. We’d have liked to come straight back to Woodbourne, but Calico had done a lot and we were tired too, so we spent the night at our camp, and then flew over the pass again this morning to check. We didn’t find a soul in sight in a day’s journey from the pass, so we turned round and came home. Anything else, Tahl?”

“The whip,” said Tahl in a low voice. “It wanted to burn the horses. I wouldn’t let it.”

“Sounds like you’re well shot of it,” said Meena. “Well now, I suppose you stay-at-homes are wanting to know what we’ve been up to since you saw us off on the raft. It’s mostly going to be Tahl and Tilja, for the first half, anyway, because it’s confusing for Alnor and me after what’s happened to us. And then there was a bit when the other three of us were asleep, and only Tilja knew what was going on. It’s going to take a while—there’s a lot of it to tell. You sure you’re up to it, Til?”

“We can wait till tomorrow,” said Ma.

“I can’t,” said Anja.

“Thing is, there’s something we’ve got to do, Alnor and me,” said Meena, “and it’s only going to be worse for us if we hang around. So we’d like to get this over, if Til’s not too tired.”

“I’m all right,” said Tilja.

In fact the story seemed to tell itself, just as it had when she’d told it to the Ropemaker. Perhaps it was easier for them to understand because they had all just seen a piece of true, dangerous magic doing its work in Ma’s kitchen, until Tilja’s touch had unmade it. Even Anja, when she next woke, asked almost no questions, but stared at Tilja with wide, amazed eyes, as if her sister had been as strange a creature as the great roc that had carried her to Talagh. It must have been midnight before she reached the point where Meena and Alnor had eaten their grapes on the southernmost tip of the Empire, and from then on they joined in the telling. Tahl too by now had recovered his spirits, so they could pass the tale round among the four of them. Clearing the table while one of the others was talking, Tilja noticed a glint of gold among the litter of grass stalks into which Dorn’s whip had disintegrated. Yes, of course , she thought. For a piece of magic that powerful. She picked up the single strand of the Ropemaker’s hair and wound it carefully round the little finger of her left hand.