The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (59 page)

“Mama
…
”

She closed her eyes. Held out a hand, to fend him off.

“You know where I’ll be,” he said, defeated. “And I’ve got my bit of talking stone. Call if you need me.”

She said nothing. She still wouldn’t look at him.

Furiously miserable, he walked past her to the landing. Picked up his buckled pack, his coat and his hat. Took the treads of the Tower’s spiral staircase two at a time, his boot-heels angrily rapping the marble treads. Once in the foyer he paused to shrug into his oiled coat and button it up, tug his leather gloves from one pocket and pull them on, jam his hat on his head, and then strode outside, his pack hitched over his shoulder. The rain had eased to a mean drizzle, which was a blessing. His only one.

Firedragon, strained fetlock well-mended, was ready for him. He tied his pack to his saddle’s cantle, swung himself astride the restive stallion and held him in check until they were safely out of the stable yard. Then he gave the horse its head and they galloped pell-mell, mud flying, along the tree-lined avenue, away from the Tower, and his father, to the palace grounds’ main gates.

H
is progress after that was much slower. Despite the misting rain, folk were braving the City’s streets. And since everyone knew him, and knew flame-coated Firedragon, since they knew Da was poorly, he couldn’t walk the horse ten strides without someone stopping him and asking,
“How goes your father?”

Because they loved Da, and he was Asher’s son, he couldn’t be rude. Couldn’t jam his heels into Firedragon’s wet flanks and gallop like a madman to Dorana’s gates or slink his way out of the City down back lanes and alleyways. No. He had to nod and smile soberly and thank them for their concern. Tell them,
“Da’s abed, which ain’t a pleasure for him, but he’s resting mighty comfortable. I’ll tell him you asked.”

But folk didn’t ask just ’cause they loved Da. They were frighted too, looking for comfort… and who could blame them? The mood in the City was dark, fear making everyone ripe for fratching and brangles and fisticuffs. The City’s guards were being kept on the hop. No wonder the Council had asked him to do this. And though a part of him still resented how they’d ignored Da and his warnings, which had led to the mess that was Westwailing—though he was close to
hating
them for that—and even though they wouldn’t do what he wanted, get rid of Arlin once and for all—he’d never have refused them.

If only Mama could see that. If only she could see how refusing the Council wouldn’t only disappoint Da, it would give bloody Arlin rocks to throw at them. There was no telling how much trouble that poxy shit would make out of it, with the City on edge. With
Lur
on edge. Frighted folk were skittish folk, and skittish folk, like spooked horses… they didn’t much care who they trampled.

But right now Mama couldn’t see straight. And he understood that, he did, only… he felt like a sprat again, small and shivery inside, because his mother was fratched with him. His whole life she’d been the one who understood. Now she was turned against him. He’d never felt so lost.

But she’ll forgive me when I fix this. When Da doesn’t die, and I find a way to fix Lur, she won’t be fratched. She’ll be proud
.

In fits and starts he continued through the City, until finally he reached its open gates. There was a whole crowd of folk waiting for him there. As a general rule that kind of folderol wasn’t allowed, on account of not slowing down the travellers coming in and going out. But Captain Mason of the Guards stood on duty today, making sure folk behaved themselves and turning a blind eye to those who’d gathered to wish Asher’s son well. As he rode past, smiling his thanks, the Captain nodded.
Good luck
.

“Captain,” he murmured, half-raising his hand. And then couldn’t utter another word, because Charis was one of the Olken patiently waiting to wave him goodbye.

“Rafel,” she said, as he halted restive Firedragon in front of her. She’d thrown a pretty green shawl over her head to keep off the drizzling rain, but she was still damp in patches. Mud splattered her stockings and the hem of her skirt. “Rafe, can we talk?”

He’d not meant to dawdle once he was free of the City. Once safely beyond the anxious well-wishers he’d meant to give Firedragon his impatient head so they could gallop away from busy Dorana, to somewhere quiet that would let him hear Lur properly. That was what he’d meant to do. ’Cept here was Charis, in the rain and splattered with mud, looking up at him with those eyes… wanting to talk.

“I s’pose,” he said, half pleased, half wary. “Go on ahead and wait for me down the road.”

She tried to smile. “I won’t keep you long, I promise.”

As she wriggled her way out of the crowd he looked at all the solemn Olken faces gathered on either side of the wide-open gates. Could feel Captain Mason’s displeasure, but knew he couldn’t ignore them. Not after stopping to have a word with Pellen’s daughter. He could feel their fear, a cold breath on his skin. Could feel them thinking,
“He’s Asher’s son. He’s going to save us.”

He felt sick.

Now that he’d stopped, an ole man raised his gnarled hand. “Barl’s blessings on you, Rafel. And on your father.”

The fervent words were repeated, rushing through the crowd like a warm wind through a field of green corn. But before he could say anything, give these good folk thanks or hope or even a smile, frowning Captain Mason started chivvying them about their business. So he tugged his hat-brim, eased his hold on the reins and let Firedragon bound through the open gates and onto the City road.

Charis had walked just far enough to keep them private, and was standing forlorn in the drizzle with her shawl pulled tight. He jogged Firedragon to join her then drew rein again.

“What’s amiss, Charis? Not your da?” Alarmed, he saw there were tears in her eyes. What? No, no, Pellen couldn’t be—there’d be all kinds of noise if he was—“Charis, he ain’t—”

“Dead? No,” she said swiftly. “But Rafe, he’s… that Council meeting… I begged him not to go, I
begged
him, but…” Her voice caught on a sob. “He’s stubborn. And now he’s paying the price.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling useless and clumsy. Bad enough when Charis was all flirty and knowing, with her cheeky smile and her frivolous blouses that stirred a man to noticing she wasn’t a girl any more. But now here she was all weepy and here
he
was wanting to climb off Firedragon so he could hold her and comfort her and—

Am I in love with her? I can’t be in love with her. She’s Deenie’s little friend. And Da warned me—he warned me—

“Rafe?” said Charis, anxious. “Rafe, what’s the matter? How’s your father?”

“Da’s fine,” he said quickly.
Settle down, you fool
. “He’s resting comfortable. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh,
Rafel
.” Charis glared up at him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of
them
.” Her head jerked towards the stragglers still loitering about the City gates. “You can’t hide from me, you know. I’ve known you my whole life. And who knows better than me what it’s like to have a father so poorly? And Asher is… poorly… Rafe, isn’t he?”

She wanted to know if Da was dying. He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t bring himself to think on it or let himself feel her bright, burning sympathy. He had a job to do. If even
once
he let himself think—

“I’ve got to go, Charis. Give my best to your—”

She stepped into the road, blocking his way. “No. Wait.”

“
Charis
—
”
Guts twisting, he soothed Firedragon’s fret with one stroking hand, easy in the saddle as the horse pawed the cobbles and swung his hindquarters, tail swishing with temper. “What d’you want from me, eh?”

“The truth,” she whispered. “The truth would be nice.”

“I told you the truth, Charis. Da’s in his bed, he’s asleep. He ain’t in pain. At least—” He cleared his throat. “Kerril says he ain’t.”

“But will he get better?”

I don’t know. No-one knows. But if he doesn’t—if he doesn’t—

Staring at his gloved fingers folded tight round Firedragon’s reins, he flinched as Charis’s hand rested lightly on his knee.

“You know what Goose used to say about you?” she asked. “He used to say the real Rafel hardly ever showed his face.”

“What?” Shocked, he looked down at her. “What d’you mean
Goose said
—when did you and Goose ever—”

She was almost smiling. “He’s your best friend, Rafel. And Papa likes his ale. Every few days I’d buy a jug or two off him, directly, and we’d chat a bit.”

“About
me?
”

“About all kinds of things,” she said. “But yes. Sometimes we talked of you. Goose thought—”

“Hey,” he said, scowling. “Don’t talk on what he used to say, Charis, or like he ain’t thinking anything right now. He ain’t
dead
.”

“Sorry,” she said, and took her hand from his knee. “I didn’t mean to—I only meant—” She folded her arms. “I like your father, Rafel. I’m worried for him. I’m worried for
you
. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

No, no, no. He wasn’t talking on that. Not to Charis, not to anyone.
Da witless on the floor of the Weather Chamber, in his arms, thrashing and grunting, his face covered in blood…
“I’ve got to go,” he said, and swung Firedragon to one side.

She leapt in front of him again. “How’s Deenie, Rafel? I’ve not seen her for days.”

He couldn’t ride over her, though the thought was bloody tempting. Just like Mama, she was a slumskumbledy wench.
“Charis
—
”

“And don’t you say she’s fine!” Charis snapped. “Don’t you dare say it, Rafel. She’s my best friend. She’s the sister I never had. And I know she’s feeling the upset in the earth, worse than you are. Worse than me.” Her fisted hand pressed against her belly. “It’s bad this time, isn’t it? Rafe? This time we really are in trouble.”

It was hard to meet her eyes. “What’s Pellen said?”

“Papa?” Smearing spilled tears from her cheeks, she half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Nothing. He thinks silence can protect me. But I see how frightened he is. He’s so sick, and he’s frightened.” She looked at him, her eyes beseeching. “Rafel, can you fix this?”

Barl’s bloody tits…
He breathed out, hard. “I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone can. Even Da. If he—
when
he wakes.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice small. Then she tilted her chin. “Well, I did ask for the truth. And Deenie?”

“Ain’t nowt you can do for Deenie, Charis. Ain’t nowt anyone can do. She feels things and they hurt her. That’s just the way it is.”

His blunt words upset her, he could see that, was sorry for it, but she didn’t lash out. Instead, she tugged her shawl tight again. “I’m holding you up. Perhaps when you come back from your Council business you could stop in and see Papa? He does fret so, being cooped up in the house with mostly me for company.”

“He doesn’t get other visitors?”

“Oh yes, but it’s not the same,” she said. “How can it be the same? They came to know Papa afterwards.”

She meant after the Wall came down. He remembered Da saying that once, when he wasn’t paying close attention to his words. After he’d downed two pints of particular strong ale.
“There be the folk as were there, and the folk that weren’t, sprat,”
he’d said.
“Some things, you can’t explain ’em, or share ’em. If they were there, you don’t need to. And if they weren’t, they won’t understand.”

“Then I don’t see as how I’ll make a difference,” he said. “It was Da knew him then, not me.”

Her smile was brief, her eyes full of quiet misery. “True. But you’re Asher’s son, so it’s almost as good. But only if you’ve the time, Rafel. I don’t want to impose.”

And that made him feel mean.
“Charis
…
”

But she was walking away, back towards the City gates, and Fire-dragon was about ready to stand on his hind legs with temper, being made to wait for so long. So he loosened his hold on the stallion’s mouth, clicked his tongue and let the horse leap into a bouncing canter, hooves pounding wetly on the soaked City road. Overhead the clouds lowered groundwards, heavy with rain. The drizzle thickened and the air swirled cold and damp. Summer, it was s’posed to be, but this wasn’t like any summer Lur had ever seen. Not in a long time. Maybe not ever.