FLASHBACK

Dead of night on an empty road. Rattling wheels are heard on the stone path leading to the castle gates. A lone wagon rumbles through with a single driver at the front. The back of the wagon is covered up, undisturbed until a slender hand slips through the curtained entrance. A young Mal peeks through for a single second before he is pulled back into the dark.

He winces when he hits hard wood, pain being natural for a human body to experience. His mother clicks her tongue behind him. “Mal!” She hisses in an attempt to speak quietly. “Stay inside. You know we can’t be seen.”

Mal rubs his bottom and turns to face her. Her graying hair, partly from age and partly not, is bound in a tight bun, an embroidered shawl covering her chin and neck. Her stern, angular face softens to worry and she scoots over to him to fix Mal’s hair from his face.

“But I want to see the castle,” he whispers.

“You’ll have plenty of time to see it once we’re inside.” Once she’s satisfied she pats his head and makes herself comfortable beside him.

Adjusted to the dark once again, Mal moves their bags to create a cushion. The words are on his tongue but he takes his time flattening a bag of clothes, stealing glances at his mother. When the question becomes too much he asks, “How long are we going to be staying here?”

“Until magic is allowed again,” she says vaguely. “Or the shades all disappear. Whichever comes first.” When he doesn’t respond she pulls him into her embrace and rests her head on his. “We’ll be fine. The king will protect us.”

A scoff. “Only because he wants our magic. If we said we didn’t want to make his clothes and his cloaks…”

“Now, now, Mal. We spin and we embroider to protect those that don our wears. And what greater glory is there than protecting the king and his family? You could say we’re protecting the entire kingdom!”

“But I don’t want to protect the entire kingdom!” All his repressed thoughts he’s held back for his mother burst out. “Why can’t we make his clothes from home? No one would ever turn us in. My friends would never…”

The words soften into silence when Mal feels his mother’s grip on him tighten around his shoulders. He sniffs but doesn’t wipe away the single, angry tear. He’s suddenly ashamed of himself for his outburst when his mother had to say goodbye to her friends, friends she’s had longer than Mal’s been alive.

“Hush now, Mal. You’ll see them again someday.”

Those words are as much for herself as they are for Mal so he quiets down. Soon after the wagon comes to a stop and Mal feels his mother’s body go stiff. They listen intensely as a pair of footsteps come around to the back and the curtain is pulled open. A knight in full armor and helmet peers in for a couple seconds before he barks his order: “Follow the servant inside.”

Mal’s mother shuffles outside with a firm grasp on Mal’s hand. He squeezes back standing beside the tall knight who is content to ignore him so he turns around to the castle just a few feet away. Though they are at the back the structure is no less intimidating, a single tower piercing the sky, higher than Mal ever thought possible. He’s pulled away through a little wooden door in the otherwise stone wall. They speed through hallways, staircases, narrow passageways in between walls at times, and then winding stairs up to the same tower Mal had seen from below.

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The highest room is round, furnished into a workshop with new equipment and a partial loft where Mal assumes is the bed. Behind him he hears the servant talk to his mother. “If you would follow me.”

“Yes, of course.” She slips her hand from Mal’s and he whips around, suddenly afraid of the dark. His mother places her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll be gone for a moment. Go up to bed if you’re tired. Don’t wait for me.”

Before he can tell her he’s scared she’s gone. Mal stands in the lone room listening to their fading footsteps and once he hears nothing he turns to the rest of the room. A single candle is left for him on the table and he hurries to its light. While he warms his freezing fingers over the flame he takes stock of his new home, too organized and too bare. A brand new spinning wheel stands to the side, one Mal would’ve admired through the shop windows knowing he’d never be able to touch it. But he misses his instead, the one they left abandoned, with uneven legs and scratches all over its body from constant use. The same spinning wheel he spun his first thread on.

He starts sniffing again and he rubs away the first few tears pooling in his eyes. The sadness is consuming but before he fully drowns in it he hears a sharp thud. He seals his mouth shut and whips to the side table beneath the window. Moonlight reflects off the pair of scissors on the floor and beside it a little boot. Mal follows the leg, torso, chest and finally reaches the little face of a boy maybe a year younger than Mal. His scruffy hair is striking black framing vivid honey brown eyes.

Mal takes a step back. “Who are you?”

The boy gulps and slowly stands up, a deep red cloak hanging off his shoulders. “I’m…a servant.”

The cloak blares its color in the dark and Mal scrutinizes it. Gold embroidery runs along the edges with more subtle red designs throughout the fabric. Realization dawns on Mal’s face. “I helped Mother make that cloak. For the prince.”

“You made this?” All initial distress is gone from the boy’s face as he rushes forward with an elated grin. “You’re the witch that saved my life?”

Mal stumbles another step back more from surprise as the boy comes around the table to him. “What?”

The boy continues on with fast words. “But you’re not wicked and mean, so you must be a magicker.” He raises a corner of his cloak. “I was ambushed some days ago by a thief. He came at me with a dagger but I didn’t get a single scratch. Father said it was because the cloak was spun by magic.” His finger pokes through a tear and he wiggles it. “But it got torn. Father says I’ll get a new one but I want to keep this one.”

His pleading face is enough for Mal to lower his guard and approach him for a closer look at the damage. “I think I can fix it.”

“You can?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to spin new thread first.”

“Wow! You’re amazing. I was expecting the spinster to be some old woman, but you’re rather pretty.”

Not expecting such a compliment Mal’s face goes red and he attempts to hide himself by combing his fingers through his loose hair. He clears his throat. “If you leave your cloak with me I’ll have it ready in a few days.”

The boy nods and pulls it off with care and folds it into a neat square, saying, “Normally I wouldn’t entrust my cloak to just anyone but since you helped make it I’ll make an exception.”

Mal laughs. “It’d be difficult to fix it while you’re wearing it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mal. Should I address you as Prince or…?”

The boy gives him a toothy grin. “You can call me Phellious.”

END SCENE