The Awakened Mage (64 page)

“He’ll stop himself soon enough,” said Veira, filling the kettle. “Best he gets it out of his system before we try another sensible conversation. I’ve dampened the bedroom, child. He’ll do it no damage.”

She hiccuped, struggling for self-control. “Dampened it? When?”

“While you were talking.”

“You expected this?”

“A tantrum?” Nodding, Veira put the kettle on the stove top then opened the stove’s front to rouse the coals with a poker. “Of course. Didn’t you?”

“It’s more than a tantrum! That’s not a fair word. He’s angry, Veira, and he’s every right to be. I did deceive him. In a way, I did lie.”

Veira sniffed. “You did your duty as Jervale’s Heir.”

“He doesn’t think so,” she whispered.

“He will, in time.”

She felt her eyes fill again. “He called me a bitch.”

“And so you are,” said Veira tartly. “And so am I. You think this a business for gentle folk?”

She held Veira’s challenging gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I’m sorry about Timon Spake. If there hadn’t been an accident—the cakes ruined—I’d have told you what I did.”

Veira shrugged. “As you say, child. It’s in the past. And after Rafel, who am I to judge you?”

On the stove top the kettle bubbled, burping steam. Veira set out mugs and milk and frowned at the almost empty jug. “First thing in the morning you could make yourself useful, if you like, and wander along to the village. Get me more milk, since I’m almost out and we’ve got company coming.”

Oh, yes. Incredibly, she’d forgotten. Matt, and Gar, and Darran. Would they be here soon? She hoped so. “Why don’t you keep a cow? Or a goat?”

“‘Cause there’s only me, that’s why,” said Veira, adding tea leaves to the pot. “And my few cuicks help the milkman. Will you go? I’ll give you directions. It’s easy enough to find.”

She nodded. “Trying to keep me out of Asher’s way?”

“I think it’s advisable,” said Veira, making the tea. “For the next little while at least. You can bring back more bacon too. Maybe some ham. There’s carrots and greens in the garden and a big jar of pickled cabbage. Lots of eggs. I think provisions will stretch.”

She took the mug that Veira offered, “Won’t the villagers be curious about me?”

“Curious, yes. Rude, no,” said Veira, smiling briefly. ‘Tell them you’re my niece come to visit, that’ll answer.”

The tea was hot and sweet, a welcome relief to the cold lump in her middle.
Asher.
She swallowed greedily, not caring that it burned. “Will it be much longer, do you think? Before the absolute end?”

Veira blew on her own tea, brow furrowed with thought. “No,” she said at last. “Not too much longer.”

It was what she thought herself. Didn’t know whether hearing the suspicion confirmed made matters better or worse.

“So what now?”

“Now, child, we’ll have us some supper. Then you can go to bed and I’ll sit up for Asher. And tomorrow will bring us what it brings.”

She wasn’t hungry or tired but there was nothing else to do. She even managed to doze a little. She heard no alarm from Veira’s bedroom. Its door opened and closed three times, and she caught the merest murmur of voices, but no one called for her to come. Asher stayed safely within.

At first light she rose, bathed, dressed and saw to the livestock. The chickens cackled, the pigs snorted, the raw-boned horses snatched for their hay.

Well. At least someone was glad to see her.

She heard the cottage’s back door bang and put her head round the corner of the stable. Asher. He was dressed in drab brown jacket and trews Veira must have had stored or brought with her from the City. Grim-faced, he strode across the back yard, kicked open the gate to the forest and kept on walking. She almost ran after him, shouting. The Black Woods were dangerous. There were bears. Wolves. People. He shouldn’t go in there alone . ..

The kitchen door opened again. Veira stood in the doorway and watched the forest’s shadows swallow him. Said nothing as he disappeared among the mossy tree trunks. She was calm and quiet. Peaceful, almost. As though she’d reached a place of balance and was happy to stay there for a while. Dathne held her breath, half hoping Veira saw her, half hoping that she didn’t.

She did. Nodded, acknowledging, then went back inside. Dathne sighed and followed her.

“Is he all right?”

Close to, Veira looked exhausted. Slumped in a chair, head propped in her hands with her silver hair all which-way, she nodded. “Right enough. And will be better, by and by. He needs more time alone.”

“He won’t run?”

Veira snorted. “Run where? We’re his only haven and he knows it. Make us breakfast, will you, child? I’m almost too weary for breathing.”

She cooked them eggs with cream and dill. Settled Veira in the sitting room with tea and a blanket, then went on her little trip to the village. It was surprisingly pleasant, marching through the forest with only a basket for company. A little balm for her lacerated soul. The air was fresh and clean, scented with pine. Unseen birds whistled and called, sounding cheerful. She kept one eye out for Asher but didn’t see him. Finding the little forest community without mishap, she told all who asked that she was Veira’s niece. As Veira predicted, they seemed happy with that. Gladly they sold her milk and meat and gave her ajar of honey in welcome.

She felt like a fraud, accepting.

Walking back was a slower affair; the provision-filled basket was heavy. There was still no sign of Asher. As she reached the cottage gate she paused and stared down the road, hopeful but not expecting—

Someone was coming towards her. Several someones. And a donkey. And a cart.

She dropped the basket and ran.

“Matt! Matt!”

Startled, he jogged to meet her halfway. “Dathne, Dathne, what’s amiss?”

She held him like a long-lost sweetheart, hugging his ribs to breaking. Cradled his hurt face gently in her hands . and scolded him without mercy.

“I’m all right, I’m all right!” he soothed her, alarm and pleasure mingled. “Is Asher here? Is he all right?”

“Yes.” It was all she dared to say.

Matt looked into her face and sighed. “You told him.”

“Yes.”

“And now he’s angry.”

She saw again that terrifying torrent of magic. “Very. I know … I know . .. you warned me.”

A tentatively cleared throat turned her head. It was Gar, looking fragile. She hadn’t even seen him. She stepped back from Matt and managed a half-hearted curtsey. “I’m sorry, sir. Your Highness.”

He shook his head, faintly smiling. “Gar.”

“And Darran,” she added, nodding at the old gentleman as he leaned against the rickety donkey cart. “Forgive me. You both must be exhausted. Come inside. Veira will want to—”

The cottage’s front door opened. “Greet her visitors,” said Veira, and joined them. She kissed Matt’s cheek and touched a finger to his bruised, rubbed throat. “Welcome back, Matthias. You’re a little the worse for wear.” Looking Gar up and down she added, “And you’ll be our late king’s son, then?”

Gar nodded. “At your service, Veira. Matt’s told me all about you.”

“Well,” the old woman said, lips pursed, “not
all
about me, I’m guessing.” She turned to Darran. “And who might you be?”

Darran managed a tottery bow. “His Highness’s secretary, madam. Good morning.”

“This is Darran,” said Gar. “A dear, dear friend, and all that’s left of my family.”

As Darran choked back unseemly emotion, Veira again considered Gar with a narrow gaze. “And why have you come here? To hide? If so, you’re doomed to disappointment. There’ll be no hiding for anyone in the long dark days ahead.”

Gar met her appraisal unflinching.

“I’ve come to help,” he said. “And also… to make amends.”

Veira reached out and laid her palm against his pale thin cheek. Stared deep into his eyes. “Good. For you’ve a lot you can do and much to be sorry for.”

Matt cleared his throat. “Not that much. Gar helped me escape the guardhouse. Darran, too, and Captain Orrick.”

“Orrick?” said Dathne, startled.

Matt’s smile was tired. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it properly later. After I’ve spoken with Asher.”

“I don’t think that’s wise. He’s angry with you too, Matt. He knows you’ve a part in the Circle, and all that’s happened.”

Veira closed a warning hand about her wrist. “You’ll find him in the woods yonder, Matthias,” she said, pointing behind the cottage. “Working out a thing or two on his lonesome. Might be he could use some company round about now. He’s had a tricky night.”

Matt nodded. “I heard. I also heard he’s—”

“Aggravated?” said Veira, eyebrows raised. “It’s not surprising. A man has a right to be aggravated when he learns last of all he’s born to save a kingdom. We’ll see you inside directly, child. Dathne, tend to the donkey.”

As Veira ushered the prince and his secretary into the cottage, Dathne rolled her eyes at Matt. “I think she and Asher spent half the night talking.”

“Well, he has been hardly done by, Dath,” said Matt, determined to be reasonable. “He had his head on the axeman’s block before we saved him. That’d give any man pause.”

She winced. “I didn’t know. Viera hasn’t yet told me what happened. We were … busy with other things.”

He dropped an unexpected kiss on the crown of her head. “Go coddle the donkey, Dath. I’ll see you inside, by and by.”

Unwilling to let him go, she twisted her fingers in his shirt front. “Be careful, Matt, please. He really is angry— and there’s a power in him you can’t imagine.”

He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “I’ll be fine. Stop fratching.”

And he walked away, without looking back.

Slumped at the foot of a twisted honey-pine, aching and hollow, thrumming still, hours later, with the echoing remnants of power, Asher heard footsteps approaching and scowled. If he had to hear one more story about dear young Rafel he was going to puke. Or worse, do someone a mischief.

“Piss off, ole woman,” he said unkindly. “After listenin’ to you jaw at me all last night my bloody ears have gone numb. I ain’t interested in anythin’ else you got to say.”

“That’s a fine greeting for a friend,” said a hurtfully familiar voice. One that once would’ve been welcome. “If I am a friend. If you’re willing to forgive me.”

He scrambled to his feet. Felt his hands clench into fists, and didn’t unclench them. “Matt.”

The stable meister looked terrible. Hollow eyes, sunken and bruised-looking. Charred patches on his face and a livid purple bruise around his throat. He stood at a distance, a little worried. A little wary.

As he should be.

“I hear you’re feeling… aggravated.”

He smiled unpleasantly. “You might say that. You might say aggravated don’t even come close.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Matt. His battered face was sympathetic.

He sneered. “That’s right generous of you.”

Sighing, Matt slipped his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to tell you months ago, Asher. I wasn’t permitted. If I say now I’m sorry, will it make a difference?”

“What’s the point? Sorry won’t undo what’s done.”

“You’re right. It won’t,” Matt agreed. Hesitated, then took two steps closer. “But neither will sulking out here in the woods. You are what you are, Asher. I didn’t make you a mage. Neither did Dathne, or Veira, or anyone else. It’s what you were born. What Prophecy meant you to be. Needs you to be.”

“I reckon,” he said conversationally, “if one more person says the word ‘prophecy’ where I can hear it they’re goin’ to be bloody sorry.”

Matt’s lips quirked into something near to a smile. “I can understand that.”

Bastard. Matt was talking the way he used to talk to fractious yearlings. Calm. Gentle. Soothing. Any minute now he’d reach out a hand to pat him on the bloody forehead…

Asher folded his arms across his chest. “So. Everything those bitches told me. Magic and history and dreams. What I was born for. You reckon it’s true, do you?”

Matt frowned. “Don’t call them bitches.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

But then, he knew that already. He’d felt the rightness of Dathne’s fantastic tale humming in his blood and bones, even as he’d rejected it. Veira had told the truth too, talking gently and softly throughout the long night. But it had taken him till now to admit it.

Sink
the truth.

“I could walk away,” he said, belligerent. Daring Matt to contradict him.

Matt nodded. “You could.” 

“I could walk away right now and no one could stop me. Not you, not Dathne. No one.” He bared his teeth in a Conroyd smile. “I’m a man of power, Matt. I could burn you with a
look.”

“I know it,” said Matt, unmoving. “I felt the change when that power woke within you. Like a thousand roaring furnaces devouring a million trees, it was. You could burn this whole kingdom with a look, if that’s what you want. Is it?”

“I want to be left alone!”

Matt sighed. “To do what? Go where? There’s nowhere to go, Asher. For better or worse, this kingdom’s all we have. And unless you do what you were born to do we won’t even have that.”

Asher raised a hand above his head, despairing. “I’ll tell you what I
don’t
want, Matt! I
don’t want this!”

A thin stream of fire poured out of his fingers and flamed into the sky, singeing the honey-pine’s fragrant foliage. Birds rattled upwards in a panic, screeching. Raggedly panting, not knowing how he knew it, knowing only that he could, he pulled the power back into himself. Slowly lowered his arm and stepped sideways to sag against the honey-pine’s crooked trunk. His heart pounded and his blood burned. He spread out his fingers and looked at his hand. His shaking
magician’s
hand.

I used to be a fisherman.

Matt was staring at him, wide-eyed but unflinching. Asher scowled. “So what happened to your throat?”

For the first time Matt looked uncomfortable. “In the chaos after your rescue, I was taken. I… tried to hang myself.”

“Hang
yourself?”

Matt shrugged. “Jarralt was coming to question me. I was afraid I’d talk. Tell him everything. Endanger you.”