Fool's Quest (7 page)

I had given up on the mittens. I crouched beside Shun. I wanted to talk to her but had no idea what to say. I would not lie again and tell her that she was safe. None of us was safe. She huddled as deep into herself as she could, pulling her knees up to her chest and bowing her head over them.

“Shaysim.” The plump woman crouched in front of me. I would not look at her. “Shaysim,” she said again and touched me. “She is important to you, this one? Have you seen her? Doing important things? Is she essential?” She put her hand on Shun's bent neck as if she were a dog, and Shun cowered away from the touch. “Is she one you must keep beside you?”

The words sank into me like FitzVigilant's blood had sunk into the trampled snow. They made holes in me. The question was significant. It had to be answered and it had to be answered correctly. What did she want me to say? What could I say that would make her keep Shun alive?

I still did not look at her. “Shun is essential,” I said. “She does important things.” I flung an arm wide and shouted angrily, “They are all essential. They all do important things!”

“That's true.” She spoke gently, as if I were a little child. It came to me that perhaps she thought I was much younger than I was. Could I use that? My mind tumbled strategies frantically as she continued to speak. “Everyone is significant. Everyone does important things. But some people are more significant than others. Some people do things that make changes. Big changes. Or they make tiny changes that can lead to big changes. If someone knows how to use them.” She hunched even lower, then thrust her face below mine and looked up at me. “You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Shaysim? You've seen the paths and the people who are the crossroads. Haven't you?”

I turned my face away. She reached out and took me by the chin to turn my face back to hers, but I put my gaze on her mouth. She could not force me to meet her eyes. “Shaysim.” She made the name a gentle rebuke. “Look at me now. Is this woman significant? Is she essential?”

I knew what she meant. I'd glimpsed it, when the beggar had touched me in the marketplace. There were people who precipitated changes. All people made changes, but some were rocks in the current, diverting the waters of time into a different channel.

I did not know if I lied or told the truth when I said, “She is essential. She is significant to me.” Or if it was inspiration or deception that prompted me to add, “Without her, I die before I am ten.”

The plump woman gave a small gasp of dismay. “Take her up!” she cried to her followers. “Treat her gently. She must be healed of every hurt, comforted of every wrong she has felt today. Be cautious, luriks. This one must live, at all costs. We must keep her out of Hogen's hands, for thwarted as he is now, he will want her more than ever. He will be most determined. So we must be even more determined, and we must search the scrolls to know what we must do to hold him at bay. Kardef and Reppin, your task tonight will be to confer with the memorizers and see if they can tease out any wisdom for us. For I fear nothing comes to mind.”

“May I speak, Dwalia?” A youngster in gray bowed deeply and held that posture.

“Speak, Kardef.”

Kardef straightened. “The shaysim has called her Shun. In his language, it is a word that means ‘to avoid' or ‘to beware a danger.' There are many dream-scrolls that caution us, over and over, to avoid casting significant things into the flames. If translated into his language, could not the dreams have been telling us not ‘shun the flames,' but ‘Shun not into the flames'?”

“Kardef, you are reaching. That way lies corruption of the prophecies. Beware and beware again of twisting the ancient words, especially when you do it so blatantly to make yourself look more learned than your partner, Reppin.”

“Lingstra Dwalia, I …”

“Do I look as if I have time to stand in the snow and argue with you? We should have been away from here before the night fell. With every moment that we linger, the greater the chance that someone may see the flames from a distance and come to see what has happened here. And then must Vindeliar spread his talents even wider, and his control grows more tenuous with each passing moment. Obey me now. Convey the shaysim and the woman to the sleigh. Mount your horses, and two of you assist Vindeliar to the sleigh as well. He is nearly spent. We must away right now.”

Her orders issued, she turned and looked down at me where I crouched by Shun. “Well, little shaysim, I think you have what you wished. Let's get you onto the sleigh and be on our way.”

“I don't want to go.”

“And yet you will. We all know you will, just as clearly as you do. For, from this point in time, only two possible outcomes have been documented. You go with us. Or you die here.” She spoke with calm assurance, as if pointing out that rain could not fall on a cloudless day. I heard her absolute belief in her own words.

Once, my foster-brother Hap had amused me for almost an hour by showing me how, long after he had plucked a string, the wood of his harp still vibrated to its song. I felt it then, how the woman's words woke a harmony inside me. She was right. I knew it was true, and that was why I had threatened them with my death. Tonight, I would either leave my home with them or die here. All the circumstances that might lead to another outcome from this moment were too remote, too fantastic to hope for. And I knew that. Perhaps I had known it since I woke up this morning. I blinked and a shiver ran down my back. Was this happening now, or was it the remembrance of a dream?

Strong arms were plucking me out of the snow, and voices exclaimed in dismay at the frost coating my wet socks. The one who carried me spoke comforting words I did not understand. I lifted my head and saw that four of them were carrying Shun. It was not that she was heavy, but that she struggled in a disconnected way as if her legs and arms were all different creatures.

The woman they called Dwalia had proceeded to the sleigh. She was already in the back, making a fresh nest in the furs and blankets. I was handed up to her, and she set me between her legs, facing away from her, with my back warmed by her front and her arms around me. I did not like being so close to her, but I was wedged there. Shun they loaded like freight, and then heaped blankets over her. Once they let go of her she ceased struggling and lay like dead meat under the mounded wraps. Part of her skirt had snagged on the edge of the sleigh. The flap of red was like a mocking tongue.

Someone spoke to the horses and they moved off. I was facing backward. I listened to the sounds of their hooves dulled by the falling snow, the squeaking of the wide wooden runners, and the fading crackle of the flames that ate the stable. The folk of Withywoods, my folk, were slowly reentering the house. They did not look at us. We left the light of the burning stables behind and entered the long carriageway that led away from Withywoods. The lanterns swung and a bubble of light danced around us as we flowed down the avenue of arched, snow-laden birches.

I did not even realize the fog man was in the sleigh until he spoke to Dwalia. “It's done,” he said and heaved a big sigh of satisfaction. Definitely a boy, I realized. He spoke with a boy's voice as he added, “And now we can go home, away from the cold. And the killing. Lingstra Dwalia, I did not realize there would be so much killing.”

I felt her turn her head to look at him where he sat, up front with the driver. She spoke softly, as if I were asleep. I wasn't. I didn't dare try to hide in sleep. “We did not intend for there to be any killing. But we knew that the chances of avoiding all killing were nearly impossible. We had to use the tools we had, and Ellik is a man full of bitterness and hate. The wealth and comfort he expected in his elder years escaped him. He lost his position, his fortune, and all his comforts. He blames the whole world for that. He seeks to rebuild in a few years what it took him a lifetime to acquire. And so he will always be more violent, more greedy, more ruthless than he need be. He is dangerous, Vindeliar. Never forget that. He is especially dangerous to you.”

“I don't fear him, Lingstra Dwalia.”

“You should.” Her words were both a warning and a rebuke. Her hands moved, pulling more blankets over both of us. I hated the touch of her body against mine but could not find the will to shift. The sleigh lurched forward.I stared at the passing forests of Withywoods. I did not even have the heart to bid it a tearful farewell. I had no hope. My father would not know where I had gone. My own people had given me up, simply standing and going back into Withywoods manor. None had shouted that they would not let me go. No one had tried to take me back from my captors. I faced what my strangeness had done to me: I had never really belonged to them. Losing me was a small price to pay for the invaders to leave with no more bloodshed. They were right. I was glad they had not fought to keep me. I wished there had been a way to save Shun without having her carted off with me.

The corner of my eye caught a movement. The swaying lanterns made the trees at the edge of the drive seem to cast iron bars of blackness on the snow. But this was not a movement born of that light. This motion was standing snow, gripped by a hand black with blood, and above all a pale face with staring eyes. I did not turn my head, or cry out, or catch my breath. I let nothing in me betray to anyone that Perseverance stood in my Elderling cloak and watched us pass him by.

The stairs seemed steeper than I remembered. When I reached my old bedchamber, I entered it as cautiously as befit an erstwhile assassin. I closed and locked my door, put wood on the fire, and for a short time considered simply getting into the bed and going to sleep. Then I drew the curtains shut and inspected the area where they were fastened to the rod. Yes. I saw it now, as I had not in all those years. Another tug on the drapery pull triggered the door panel, but no sound or crack betrayed it. Only when I pushed on it did it swing silently open and the narrow black staircase appear before me.

I climbed the risers, stumbling once when my curly toe hooked on the step. Up in Chade's old workroom, Ash had come and gone. Our dirty dishes had been tidied away, and a different pot simmered at the edge of the hearth. The Fool had not moved since I left him, and I crossed the room anxiously to lean over him. “Fool?” I said softly, and with a cry he flung his arms wide and sat up to cower behind his raised hands. One flying hand glanced off my cheek. As I stepped back from his bed, he cried, “I'm sorry! Don't hurt me!”

“It's only me. Only Fitz.” I spoke calmly, trying to keep the anguish from my voice.
Eda and El, Fool, will you ever recover from what you endured?

“I'm sorry,” he repeated breathlessly. “So sorry, Fitz.” He was breathing hard. “When they had me … they never woke me gently. Or allowed me to sleep until I woke. I so feared sleep I would bite myself to stay awake. But always, eventually, one sleeps. And then they would wake me, sometimes just a few moments later. With a little barbed blade. Or a hot poker.” His grimace had barely the semblance of a smile. “I hate the smell of fire now.” He dropped his head back on the pillow. Hatred surged in me and then passed, leaving me empty. I could never undo what they had done to him. After a time, he rolled his head toward me and asked, “Is it day now?”

My mouth had gone dry and wordless. I cleared my throat. “It's either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on how you think of such things. We spoke last in early afternoon. Have you been sleeping all this time?”

“I don't exactly know. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell. Give me a few moments, please.”

“Very well.”

I retreated to the far end of the room and studiously ignored him as he tottered from the bed. He found his way to the garderobe, was there for some time, and when he emerged called to ask if there was wash-water.

“In a pitcher next to the bowl on the stand by your bed. But I can warm some for you if you wish, too.”

“Oh, warm water,” he said, as if I had offered him gold and jewels.

“Shortly,” I replied. I set about my task. He groped his way to the chair by the fireside and sat down. I marveled at how quickly he had learned the room. When I brought the warmed water and a washing cloth, he reached for it immediately and I realized that he had been silent so he could track my activity by what he could hear. I felt as if I spied on him as he washed his scarred face and then repeatedly scrubbed his eyes to clear the gummy mucus from his lashes. When he had finished, his eyes were clean but reddened at the rims.

I spoke without apology or preamble. “What did they do to your eyes?”

He set the cloth back in the bowl and clutched his damaged hands together, gently rubbing the swollen knuckles. He was silent as I cleared the table. Very well, then. Not yet. “Are you hungry?” I asked him.

“Is it time for a meal?”

“If you're hungry, it's time for your meal. I've eaten too much already. And possibly drunk more than I should have as well.”

His response shocked me. “Do you truly have another daughter beside Nettle?”

“I do.” I sat down in my chair and pulled one of the shoes off. “Her name is Bee. And she is nine years old now.”

“Truly?”

“Fool, what purpose could I have for lying to you?” He made no answer to that. I reached down and unfastened the second shoe. I pulled it free and put my foot flat on the floor. My left calf cramped abruptly and I exclaimed in pain and bent to rub it.

“What's wrong?” he asked in some alarm.

“Ridiculous shoes, courtesy of Chade. Tall heels and pointed tips curling up at the toes. You'd laugh if you could see them. Oh, and the jacket has a skirt that goes nearly to my knees. And buttons shaped like little blue flowers. And the hat is like a floppy sack. Not to mention the curly wig.”

A small smile quirked his mouth. Then he said gravely, “You've no idea how much I'd love to see it all.”

“Fool, it's not idle curiosity that makes me ask about your eyes. If I knew what was done to you, it might help me undo it.”

Silence. I removed my hat and set it on the table. Standing, I began to unbutton the jacket. It was just slightly too tight in the shoulders and suddenly I could not endure how it bound me. I gave a sigh of relief, draped it on the chair back, and sat down. The Fool had picked up the hat. His hands explored it. Then he set it, wig and all, upon his head. With apparent ease, he twitched the hair into place and then effortlessly arranged the hat into an artful slouch.

“It looks far better on you than it did on me.”

“Fashion travels. I had a hat almost like this. Years ago.”

I waited.

He sighed heavily. “What have I told you and what haven't I? Fitz, in my darkness, my mind slips around until I scarcely trust myself at all anymore.”

“You've told me very little.”

“Have I? Perhaps you know very little, but I assure you that night after night, in my cell, I spoke with you at length and in detail.” A wry twist of his mouth. He lifted the hat and set it on the table, where it crouched on its wig like a small animal. “Each time you ask me a question, it surprises me. For I feel that you were so often with me.” He shook his head, then leaned back suddenly in his chair and for a time appeared to stare at the ceiling. He spoke into that darkness. “Prilkop and I left Aslevjal. You know that. We journeyed to Buckkeep. What you may never have guessed is that we used the Skill-pillars to do so. Prilkop spoke of having learned it from his Catalyst, and I, I had my silvered fingertips from when I had touched Verity. And so we came to Buckkeep and I could not resist the temptation to see you one last time, to have yet another final farewell.” He snorted at his own foolishness. “Fate cheated us both of that. We lingered for a time but Prilkop was anxious to be on his way. Ten days he allowed me, for as you recall I was still very weak, and he judged it dangerous to use the pillars too frequently. But after ten days he began to chafe to be on our way again. Nightly he urged me to leave, pointing out what I knew: that together you and I had already worked the change that was my mission. Our time together was done, and long past done. Lingering near you would only provoke other changes in the world, changes that might be far less desirable. And so he persuaded me. But not completely. I knew it was dangerous, I knew it was self-indulgent even as I carved it. The three of us together, as we once had been. You, Nighteyes, and me. I shaped it from the Skill-stone and I pressed my farewell into it. Then I left my gift for you, knowing well that when you touched it, I would be aware of you.”

I was startled. “You were?”

“I told you. I have never been wise.”

“But I felt nothing of you. Well, there was the message, of course.” I felt cheated by him. He had known that I was alive and well, but had kept his own situation concealed from me.

“I'm sorry.” He sounded sincere. After a moment, he continued. “We used the pillars again when we left Buckkeep. It was like a child's game. We jumped from one standing stone to the next. Always he made us wait between our journeys. It was … disorienting. It still makes me queasy to think of it. He knew the danger of what we did. On one of our leaps … we traveled to an abandoned city.” He halted, then spoke again quietly. “I hadn't been there before. But there was a tall tower in the middle of it, and when I climbed those stairs, I found the map. And the broken window and the fingerprints in the soot from the fire.” He paused. “I am sure it was the map-tower you visited once.”

“Kelsingra. So the Dragon Traders name it now,” I said, not wanting to divert him from his revelations.

“At Prilkop's insistence, we stayed there five days. I remember it … strangely. Even knowing what the stone can be and do, having it speak to one continually is wearing. I felt I could not escape the whispers no matter where I went. Prilkop said it was because of the silver Skill on my fingertips. The city drew me. It whispered stories to me when I slept, and when I was awake it tried to draw me into itself. I gave in once, Fitz. I took off my glove and I touched a wall in what had been a market, I think. When next I knew myself as myself, I was lying on the ground by a fire and Prilkop had all our things packed. He wore Elderling garb and had found some for me as well. Including the cloaks that help one hide, one for each of us. He demanded that we leave immediately, declaring that travel through the pillars was less dangerous to me than spending another day in the city. He said it had taken him a day and a half to find me, and that after he had dragged me away I had slept for another full day. I felt I had lived a year in Kelsingra.

“So we left.” He paused.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him.

He considered the question carefully. “My body has not been accustomed to regular meals for quite some time. It is almost strange to know that I can ask you for food and you will give it to me.” He coughed, turning aside as he did so and hugging his belly against the strain. The coughing went on for some time. I fetched him water and he sipped from the cup, only to go off into an even worse spate of coughing and wheezing. When he could draw a full breath and speak, tears had tracked down his cheeks from the effort. “Wine, if we have it. Or brandy. Or more water. And something to eat. But not a lot, Fitz. I must go slowly.”

“That's wise,” I told him, and found that the pot held a creamy chowder of whitefish, onions, and root vegetables. I served him up a shallow bowl of it and was relieved when his groping fingers found the spoon I'd placed within his reach. I set a cup of water next to it. I regretted that his eating would put an end to his tale-telling, for it was rare beyond rare for the Fool to be so forthcoming. I watched him spoon up soup carefully and convey it to his mouth. Another spoonful …

He stopped. “You're watching me so closely that I can feel it,” he observed unhappily.

“I am. I apologize.”

I rose and poured a small amount of brandy into a cup. Then I arranged myself in the chair with my feet outstretched toward the fire and took a measured sip of the brandy. When the Fool spoke, it surprised me. I continued to watch the fire, and listened without comment as he spaced his tale out with slow mouthfuls of the chowder.

“I remember how you warned the prince … well, he's King Dutiful now, isn't he? How you warned him about using the Skill-pillars to go to an unfamiliar destination. You are right to worry about that. Prilkop assumed the pillars would be just as they were the last time he'd used them. We stepped into the pillar in the map-city and suddenly found ourselves facedown on the ground with barely room to struggle out from under the stone.” He paused to eat more chowder.

“The pillar had been toppled. Deliberately, I suspect, and we were fortunate that whoever had done it had not been more thorough. It had fallen so that the top of it rested on the rim of a fountain's bowl. Long dry and deserted: That city was not like Kelsingra. It showed the signs of ancient war and more recent pillaging. Deliberate damage. The old city was on the highest hills on an island. As to where exactly that island is, I could not tell you. It was unfamiliar to me. Decades ago, when I first traveled here, I did not pass through the place. Nor did I on my return journey here.” He shook his head. “When we journey back, I do not think we can rely on that path. What would happen to us if there was no room to emerge from a stone? I've no idea. And no wish to discover it.”

More soup, and a bit spilled. I said nothing, and watched only out of the corner of my eye as he groped for the napkin, found it, and wiped at his chin and nightshirt. I sipped more brandy and took care that my cup made a small sound as I set it back on the table.

“When we had bellied out from under the pillar, it took us half a day to hike through the ruins. The carvings, what little remained of them, reminded me of what I'd seen in Kelsingra and on Aslevjal. Most of the statues had been shattered, and many of the buildings had been raided for stone. The city was broken. I'd hear a shout of laughter and half a sentence whispered by my ear, and then a distant bit of music. The discord rang terribly against me. I tell you, if I had had to remain there any longer than we did, I would have gone mad. Prilkop was heartsick. Once, he said, it had been a place of beauty and peace. He hurried me through it despite how weary I was, as if he could not bear to witness what it had become.

“Are you drinking brandy without me?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes. But it's not very good brandy.”

“That's the worst excuse I've ever heard for not sharing with a friend.”

“It is. Will you have some?”