A stand-alone story.

"The last piece of annirwood," said Rann, his voice soft and reverent. The other craftsmen murmured their own respect as he and they all sat cross-legged on the floor of the great, shared workshop.

But Halvik's response was a terse "So I understand", given as he quickly put the matt black length of wood away in his work cupboard.

"Let me buy it from you," said Rann.

His voice still held softness but his eyes flashed desperation.

Halvik replied, "I have plans to make a flute with it," keeping his tone as gentle as he could as he did not want to upset his friend.

"I will pay a fair price," insisted Rann.

"Perhaps," one of the other craftsmen said, "Craftsman Rann should tell us what he needs the length for?"

It was more than Halvik had expected. While his desire to make the last annirwood flute was not unusual, choosing to make it without asking for the council of the gathered craftsman was. But he should not have to. He had bought the wood. It was his, not theirs.

Halvik watched Rann spread his hands and stare down at them in a fetching show of modesty, careful not to meet the eyes of anyone, "I have recently acquired the last living flute of Master Ishak."

There was a further round of respectful sighs. It had been many generations since Master Ishak had made his amazing flutes--fine, almost magical flutes that brought the traders of the known world to Yona.

"Unfortunately," continued Rann, "It is gravely injured and needs healing. That requires a length of annirwood to make an inner sleeve."

"There are other woods," said Halvik, keeping his tone as light and insignificant as possible as he smiled with extreme politeness.

Rann replied with an equally polite smile and light tone, "The same could be said of any craftsman's work."

Halvik dipped his head in a shallow bow of agreement, "That is true. Other woods are used by the apprentices to make poorer quality flutes."

But fully-trained craftsman did not. Not since the Master had shown the way. Not since the amazing tonal quality had made annirwood the only wood used to make flutes.

"There must be more annirwood," burst in one of the watching apprentices, not yet skilled enough to be considered a flute maker in his own right, "How can all the trees have gone?"

"Merchant Korvin cannot find a supplier, therefore there is no annir," one of the eldest said firmly.

Another old voice sighed, "It was a disaster we should have seen coming three years ago."

"When Master Korvin first told of seeing the last crop of annir timber in his suppliers' yards?" asked a younger voice, another apprentice.

Halvik said, "He had told us then the crop taken was pitifully small."

The gathered craftsmen murmured words to the effect of "But we never thought it could be the last."

"We misjudged," said the eldest harshly, "Now, the last crop has ripened enough to work and has been used. All but this last length."

"We must all return to using inferior woods, if such flutes will even sell," said the second voice again.

"They sell well enough for apprentices," remarked a third craftsman, recently through his own apprenticeship.

"Yonan flutes always far out-sing flutes made anywhere else," agreed the eldest, "But we must make them as apprentices do, not to order as a craftsman does."

The statement was greeted with a general pessimistic murmur that the second voice formalised, "Too many more will drown the market."

"Then some of us must turn to other crafts," said the eldest, the tone final.

But still, someone protested, "But what other work is there that we can do? We are flute makers."

"We can work wood," said Halvik, his sentiments echoed by apprentices and recently elevated who had the confidence and time to further their wood-working skills.

"It is hard to believe that, in my day," said the eldest, "When I entered the craft and first used the poorer woods, that the annir trees grew thick and close to Yona."

"How could we have lost them?" the gathered craftsmen asked, "Where did the trees go?"

"But what of this last length?" asked Rann, putting a stop to the remembrance of days gone and the terror of days to come, "Does Craftsman Halvik birth his last new flute?" His tone stayed polite despite the eloquent wave of his hand, "Or do I restore the work of the Master with it?"

The gathered craftsmen murmured again.

The eldest spoke, "It would be best to breathe life back into the Master's flute, I think. In memory of a great tradition that is now dead."

"There is no question," said Halvik firmly, "Of who crafts it. The wood is mine, so I shall work it."

There was a moment of silence as Rann looked at Halvik, his expression that of one betrayed, then the murmuring began again.

The third voice said, "To craft a sleeve for the Master's flute?"

The noises from the other craftsmen implied agreement.

Halvik said, "I choose to give life to a new flute, knowing that Master Ishak's work has enjoyed a long and fruitful life of its own."

There was silence once more.

The workshop was empty, save for Halvik and the young apprentice who worked as his assistant. The older of the two watched the dust dance on the sunlight and smiled. He did not want the workshop to close but imagine, imagine the glory of being the last master of Yonan flutes. His hands would be the last to grace an annirwood flute with life, to send such a glorious instrument into the world. His name would be remembered forever just as the Master's had. He would be Master Halvik.

Halvik's dreams were interrupted by the rustle of the leather curtain being pushed back from the door. He turned to see Rann, carrying a leather-bound bundle under his arm.

"I apologise for interrupting your work, Craftsman Halvik," said Rann, with wearing formality.

Halvik replied in a quiet but firm voice, "I have not begun, yet."

Rann unwound a lump from the leather bundle. Halvik barely contained the sigh that tried to escape him. His watching assistant did not manage that much, the sound of reverence escaping him.

The wood itself seemed fine on the surface, but Halvik knew that the sleeve, the surface of the bored out hollow that took the musician's breath, would have begun to crumble and crack with age. With the faults that made in the flow of air through the flute, the instrument could be nothing but silent.

"It can still be re-sleeved," Rann said in a cajoling tone, "There is still a chance to put that length of yours to the best use."

"As the others wish" hung in the air, unspoken.

"If I let you make a new sleeve for this flute with the length of annirwood, there will be none left for my new flute."

Rann's breath quickened, taking on the timbre of anger but Halvik ignored it. Instead, he pictured the workshop floor covered in the flakes of unused wood cut away from the sleeve. Each flake cut would be too small and damaged to be used for anything but tinder. That the flakes would have been cut away from a slender, hollow cylinder that could, with care, be inserted into the cleaned flute and make it live once more was little consolation for the death of his dream.

"This is the Master's flute," said Rann, his voice ragged with his emotions, "How can you sentence such a thing of beauty to death, to silence?"

"It is already silent. It is already dead. It has had a long life. Let me make bring a new voice, a new life into this world with peace, Rann." Halvik reached a hand out and briefly lay it against the other craftsman's shoulder, "Please?"

But the hand was shrugged off, "Murderer!"

"One cannot murder something that is already dead."

Rann glared and the apprentice let out an embarrassed cough.

"Or maybe we are all murderers," said Halvik more softly.

The apprentice watched him, waiting for words that might turn out to be threaded with wisdom, but Rann had begun to turn away, wrapping up the Master's flute in its leather cover.

"Did you never consider, Rann," Halvik continued, "Why there is no more annir?"

Rann ignored him. The apprentice continued to watch.

"Everyone knows that trees grow from seeds but no one ever bothered to plant seeds for the annir. Master Korvin's suppliers cut down the trees so that we might craft our exquisite children. We did not pay for more than that."

Rann said nothing in response but simply left. Halvik knew that he would be thinking of the flakes of wood that Halvik himself would soon cut away from the new flute as he began to give it life and form.

Halvik sighed and shook his head then put the length of annirwood in the lathe, fixing the string of the bow so it would cut away the excess. Soon the rhythm of the pedestal had him forgetting the disturbance that Rann had caused as the string began to reveal a smooth cylinder of perfect blackness that seemed to pull the sunlight into it.

"Water," he snapped occasionally, reminding his assistant to dampen and cool the rapidly heating string. He knew that the young man was paying little attention because there seemed to be no point to watching, to learning, now that the workshop was finished. He had, however, expressed interest in continuing to work wood. Halvik hoped, for the younger man's sake, that carpenters tended their materials more carefully than he and the other flute makers had.

Halvik cut back the smooth cylinder further and, at the end of the day, he placed the cylinder in his cupboard, happy with the shape he was making.

The next day, he shaped the mouth piece while sitting in the light of a window; ignoring both the dust motes that tumbled around him and his assistant who stared out from another window, absorbed in thoughts of his own until he was called for. There was little else for the young man to be interested in--he knew well enough how to work the woods that were now available to him as a flute maker and there was little to learn from watching Halvik. So the apprentice continued to stare out of the window at the city while the flakes piled around Halvik, much as they had done the day before.

On the third day, Halvik began the most laborious task, boring out the cylinder to form a tube, leaving the sleeve smooth and vibrant, ready for song. It was a job that must be done slowly, else the hard wood would blunt the drill and the blunt drill would damage the heart, meaning that the flute would need a sleeve to sing at all.

Not even a finger into the wood, he felt the first catch. It made him pause and take the drill from the flute-to-be. He examined both but could see nothing. He flicked a glance at his assistant--staring out of the window as he had most of the day before--then picked up some of the shavings.

He cursed at the coarse, dry feel of the wood dust and the young man turned towards him, suddenly alert, "Something wrong, Craftsman Halvik?"

"No," he said, dropping the shavings as if burnt, "Nothing is wrong."

Despite knowing that he should not, he picked up his drill again and continued to bore out the flute. If a job is worth doing, he told himself, it is worth doing well and completely.

Halvik paused again and turned to the apprentice, "But if you are looking for a task to do, you can craft a wooden case for this flute."

"A case?"

"A case. You might be able to use it to persuade some carpenter to take you as an apprentice. I want it plain and understated. With brass hinges. The design is sketched upon the slate, there."

The young man nodded and gathered up the slate, he asked a few questions that left Halvik nodding at how well the young man had taken on the skills of a flute maker and wrote notes of the responses against the designs--measurements and such.

Halvik looked at the shape of the flute and realised what it was for the first time, how it was the twin of another. He shook his head and said with grim amusement, "Make it a case big enough for two such as this."

"Two, Craftsman Halvik?"

The apprentice showed the slate to Halvik, who nodded acceptance of the final version of the design.

"Two."

Halvik was alone in the workshop. He watched the dust dance on the sunlight and smiled as he sat cross-legged on the floor. He did not want the workshop to close but the time had come for the last of the craftsmen to leave.

Those who had been masters of their trade returned to the apprentice workshop in the month since their last meeting to be closer to the stores of poorer quality wood. The young apprentice who had worked as his assistant was gone, like many of both the trained and half-trained, no longer wanting to be a flute maker at all.

Halvik sighed and snapped the case shut on the last, silent Yonan flute. He stroked the golden honey of the case's wood. The joints were well-crafted and barely discernible. It was plain and austere but it was beautiful. No wonder that it had won the apprentice a place as a carpenter's assistant.

Halvik's thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of the leather curtain being pushed back from the door. He turned to see Rann with the leather-bound bundle under his arm.

"Why have you called for me, Craftsman Halvik? Do you seek to boast about your master-piece, the last flute to be made in Yona?"

"There will be other flutes, Rann" said Halvik, keeping his tone as light and insignificant as possible as he smiled, "It is not the last."

"Inferior flutes, made of poorer materials."

"Made of poorer materials, perhaps, but if a man is a master of his craft he may still make something that compares to past glory. And Master Korvin searches for alternative woods. The craftsmen of Yona have yet to try these."

Rann looked at him, "These are not words I would expect of the craftsman who killed the last of Master Ishak's flutes."

"They are the words one might expect of the man who has already pointed out why we no longer have annirwood," said Halvik, "You just do not expect them of me because you do not listen to the words I speak."

"That nonsense!" Rann's exasperation tore at the edges of his voice, "It is not the fault of the craftsmen that there is no annirwood. We have used it wisely and created beautiful children who sing for the world."

Halvik shrugged, "Then consider that perhaps I have learnt a thing or two in the birthing of this new flute."

Halvik spread his hands and stared down at them in an echo of Rann's past show of modesty. Rann looked unconvinced.

"Please, Craftsman Rann, as the man who was once my friend, I should like you to accept my work as a gift."

Halvik waved to the wooden case on the floor beside him. The other craftsman gave him a suspicious look and sat down opposite, laying his leather bundle to the side. Halvik opened the shining case once more and pushed it over.

Rann observed the traditional politeness and bowed to the maker of the instrument before removing the second, newer leather-bound bundle from the case for the first time. He slowly unwrapped the flute. Then he gasped.

"What is this?"

"The flute that wanted to escape its wooden chrysalis," said Halvik, "And live."

"But it did not live," whispered Rann as he fingered the holes and examined the heart.

"No, there was a fault in the heartwood, between one year's growth and the next. There was rot..."

Halvik tailed off, the tears he had hidden from his assistant escaping to splash on the dusty workshop floor.

"Its song is silent," finished Rann.

Only one such as he could understand the agony of having a flute, a child, be stillborn. But then, had Halvik allowed the last length of annirwood to be used for re-sleeving, the same fault would still have made it unusable.

There was quiet for a while as Halvik's tears were allowed to flow, then Rann said, "And there is space for two."

"It is the partner for yours, the work of Master Ishak," Halvik sighed, "A young twin, but a twin all the same."

"Perhaps," said Rann, "Master Korvin will find another grove."

Halvik made no response and held on to the hope that swelled at the thought, no matter how unlikely it was. Master Korvin had already searched long and hard for another source of annirwood.

"Perhaps," said Rann again, then stopped.

He did not need to say the words. They both knew that it was unlikely the two flutes would ever achieve their full potential. But they might have life of a sort, if another wood were found to re-sleeve them both.

Halvik nodded, "Yes, perhaps we should look for another wood that will make them both sing."