The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One
Copyright © 2009 by Karen Miller
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Orbit
Hachette Book Group
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First eBook Edition: August 2009
Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group. The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-316-05290-0
Contents
Kingmaker, Kingbreaker
The Innocent Mage The Awakened Mage
The Godspeaker Trilogy
Empress
The Riven Kingdom
Hammer of God
Fisherman’s Children
The Prodigal Mage
Writing as K. E. Mills
The Rogue Agent Trilogy
The Accidental Sorcerer
Witches Incorporated
To Kim Manners, director, producer and storyteller extraordinaire. A man of wit and wisdom, who left us far too soon.
T
he first time Rafel told his father he wanted to travel beyond Barl’s Mountains he was five, sailing towards six. When Da said no, Meister Tollin’s expedition didn’t need any little boys to help them, he cried… but not for long, because he had a new pony, Dancer, and Mama had promised to come watch him ride. And then, ages and ages later, the expedition came back—which was a surprise to everyone, since it was declared lost—and he was glad he hadn’t gone with Meister Tollin and the others because while they were away exploring, four of the seven men sickened and died, wracked and gruesome for no good reason anyone could see. Not even Da, and Da knew everything.
Once all the fuss was died down, some folk cheering and some weeping, on account of the men who got buried so far away, Meister Tollin came to tell Da what had gone on while they were over Barl’s Mountains. They met in the big ole palace where all the grown-up government things happened, where the royal family used to live once, back in the days when there was a royal family.
He knew all about them grand folk, ’cause Darran liked to tell stories. Da said Darran was a silly ole fart, and that was mostly true. He was old as old now, with an old man’s musty, fusty smell. His hair was grown all silver and thin, and his eyes were nearly lost in spiderweb wrinkles. But that didn’t matter, ’cause the stories he told about Lur’s royal family were good ones. There was Prince Gar, Da’s best friend from back then. Darran talked about him the most, and blew his nose a lot afterwards. There was the rest of the royal family: clever Princess Fane and beautiful Queen Dana and brave King Borne. It was sad how they died, tumbling over Salbert’s Eyrie. Darran cried about that too, every time he remembered… but it didn’t stop him telling the stories.
“You’re young to hear these tales, Rafel, but I won’t live forever,”
he’d say, his face fierce and his voice wobbly.
“And I can’t trust your father to tell you. He has… funny notions, the rapscallion. But you must know, my boy. It’s your birthright.”
He didn’t really understand about that. All he knew was he liked Darren’s stories so he never breathed a word about ’em in case Da fratched the ole man on it and the stories went away.
He especially liked the one about Da saving the prince from being drownded at the Sea Harvest Festival in Westwailing. That was a
good
story. Almost as good as hearing how Da saved Lur from the evil sorcerer Morg. But Darran didn’t tell him that one very often, and when he did he always said not to talk about it after. He didn’t cry, neither, after telling it. He just went awful quiet. Somehow that was worse than tears.
When he overheard Da telling Mama about Meister Tollin coming to see him, in the voice that said he was worrited and cross, Rafel knew if he didn’t do a sneak he’d never find out what was going on—and he
hated
not knowing. The trouble with parents was they never thought you were old enough to know things. They praised you for being a clever boy then they told you to run away and play, don’t bother your head about grown-up business.
He got so cross when they said things like that he had to hide in his secret place and crack stones with his magic, even though Da would wallop him if he found out.
Of course he knew perfectly well he wasn’t supposed to do a sneak. He wasn’t supposed to do
any
kind of magic, not just stone-cracking, not unless Da or Mama was with him. Or Meister Rumly, his tutor. Da and Mama said it was dangerous. They said because he was special, a
prodigy,
he had to be very careful or someone might get hurt. He thought they were boring and silly, all that fussing, but he did as he was told. Mostly. Except sometimes, when he couldn’t hold the magic in any more, when it skritched him so hard he wanted to shout, he danced leaves without the wind or made funny water shapes in his bath. Only playing. There was no harm in
that
.
The time when Da said he and Meister Tollin were going to meet and talk about the failed expedition, that was when he was s’posed to be in his lessons. But the moment Meister Rumly left him to work some problems on his own, and took himself off for a chinwag with Darran, he did the kind of earth magic that helped Mama creep up on a wild rabbit she wanted for supper and fizzled away to the white stone palace. He had to wait until there weren’t any comings and goings through its big double doors before he could hide in the tickly yellow lampha bushes beside the front steps. Waiting was hard. He kept thinking Meister Rumly would find him. But Meister Rumly didn’t come, and nobody saw him scuttle into the bushes.
Da and Meister Tollin came along a little while after, and he held his breath in case they didn’t choose to talk in the palace’s ground floor meeting room where Da and the Mage Council made important decisions for Lur.
But they did, so once they were safely inside he crawled on his hands and knees between the lampha and the palace wall until he fetched up right under that meeting room window.
There, hunkered down on the damp earth, yellow lampha blossom tickling his nose so he had to keep rubbing it on his sleeve in case he sneezed, and got caught, and landed himself into wallopin’ trouble, he listened to what Meister Tollin had to tell Da about his adventure, that Da didn’t want anybody else to hear.
The lands beyond the Wall were dark and grim, Meister Tollin said. Weren’t nothing green or growing there. No people, neither. All they’d found was cold death and old decay. Mouldy bones and abandoned houses, falling to bits. There wasn’t even a bird singing in the stunted, twisted trees. That sorcerer Morg had killed everything, Meister Tollin said. Might be Lur was the only living place left in the whole world. It felt like it. On the other side of Barl’s Mountains it felt like they were all alone, in the biggest graveyard a man would ever see.
Meister Tollin’s voice sounded funny saying that, wobbly and hoarse and sad. Rafel felt his eyes go prickly, hearing it.
All alone in the world
. Meister Tollin was using tricky words but he understood what they meant. Most every day Mama told him he was too smart for his own good, but he didn’t mind that kind of scolding because in her dark brown eyes there was always a smile.
Next, Da wanted to know why Meister Tollin and the others had broken their promise and not contacted the General Council through the circle stones they took with them. They couldn’t, said Meister Tollin, sounding cross. In the dead lands beyond Barl’s Mountains their magic wouldn’t work. Not gentle Olken magic, not pushy Doranen magic. They tried and they tried, but they had to do everything the hard way. Just by themselves, no magic to help out.
Rafel felt himself shiver cold. No Olken magic, the way it was before Da saved Lur? That was nasty. He didn’t want to think on that.
Then Da wanted to know more about what happened to the four men who died. Three were Olken, and two of them were his friends, Titch and Derik. They’d been Circle Olken, and helped him in the fight against Morg. Da sounded sad like Darran, saying their names. It was horrible, hearing Da sad. Scrunched so small under the meeting room’s open window, Rafel tried to think how he’d feel if his best friend Goose died. That made his eyes prickle again even harder.
But before he could hear what Meister Tollin had to say about those men getting sick for no reason, Meister Rumly came calling to see where he was. His manky ole tutor had a sneaky Doranen seekem crystal that Olken magic couldn’t fool. Meister Rumly was allowed to use it to find him. Da had said so.
It wasn’t
fair
. There were rules about that for everyone else, about using Doranen magic on folk. There were rules for pretty much
everything
to do with magic and big trouble if people broke them—but sometimes they did and then Da had to go down to Justice Hall and wallop ’em the way grownups got walloped. He hated doing that. Speaking on magic at Justice Hall got Da so riled only Mama could calm him down.
Remembering his father’s fearsome temper, Rafel crawled his way out of the lampha bushes and scuttled to somewhere Meister Rumly could find him and not cause a ruckus. If there was a ruckus Da would come out to see why and his tutor would tell tales. Then Da would ask what he’d been up to and he’d say the truth. He’d have to, because it was Da. And he didn’t want that, because when Da said
“Rafel, you be a little perisher too smart for his own good”
he hardly ever smiled. Not with his face and not in his eyes.
So he took himself off to the Tower stables and let Meister Rumly find him hobnobbing with his pony. Knowing full well he’d been led on a wild goose-chase, his tutor wittered on and on as they returned to lessons in the Tower. And all the long afternoon, bored and restless, he wondered and he wondered what else Tollin told Da.
That night at supper, sitting at the table in the fat round solar where they ate their meals, his parents talked a bit about Meister Tollin’s expedition. They didn’t mention any of the scary parts, because his stinky baby sister was there, banging her spoon on her plate and making stupid sounds instead of saying real words like Uncle Pellen’s little girl could. He wished Da and Mama would send Deenie away so they could all talk properly.