The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (7 page)

“I never said I wanted to bring it back!” he protested. “Believe me, Dath, it’s the last bloody thing I want. I never took a breath without it hurt me, all the time I was doin’ Gar’s job for him. Every day it was like walkin’ on knives. Breathin’ glass. Breathin’ fire. It’s behind me, and good riddance. I don’t want them poxy days back again. But—”

“What?” she said. “But what?”

His belly was churning. They were fighting. They never fought. Not like this. Not over poxy
magic
. “You know what, Dath. If we’ve spent the last ten years livin’ on Barl’s leftovers… if the wrongness you and I are feelin’ is just a taste of things to come… what do we do about it? What do
I
do? If I’m the only man standin’ between us and ruination?
What do I do?
”

“Who says you’re the only man? Lur’s a land of magicians now, Asher. Throw a stone in any direction and you’ll hit three on the head.”

She was trying to protect him. There’d been a time, once, when she’d tossed him headfirst into danger… but that was before. She might look the same, but she was a different Dathne now.

Question is, I reckon, am I a different Asher?

“Aye, mayhap, but they’d be the wrong kind of magicians, Dath,” he said, knowing the answer. Feeling the weariness rise in him like a bloodstained tide. “There ain’t a man or woman in Lur to do the Weather-Working aside from me. I’m the only one livin’ with that magic inside. And there ain’t a way of passin’ it on. Not any more. You know that. You bloody
know
it.”

Pointed chin arrogantly tilted, eyes glittering, she glared at him across Barl’s troublesome map. “Then forget about the Weather Magic. We’ll find another way to fix things, if it turns out they’re broke. But you can’t go back to those days of blood and pain, Asher. I won’t have it. You’re a father. Your children need you.
I
need you.”

“Oh, Dath…” Warmed anew by her fierce love, chilled by his fears, he shook his head. “It ain’t never been about what we want. What Lur wants did always come first. You’re the one said I was born to save it.”

“And you did save it,” she said. Tears trembled on her lashes. “That’s done.”

“What if it ain’t done? Eh? What if Lur needs itself savin’ again?”

The tears spilled. “Then somebody else can bloody save it! There’s no prophecy I know that says you have to save it twice!”

He went to her. Folded her within the shelter of his arms. “Not a prophecy, no. More powerful than that, I reckon. You said it, Dath. I’m a da. You think there’s nowt I won’t do to keep Rafe and Deenie safe from harm?”

“I know there’s not,” she whispered. “But I won’t have you risk yourself—risk all that we’ve worked for—on nothing more certain than feelings. D’you hear me?
I won’t.
This is too important. This is our lives.”

Aye, but she were a stubborn, slumskumbledy wench. She knew it weren’t so simple. She knew this were about the lives of every man, woman and child in Lur. Again. That they depended on him, again, when all he’d wanted was peace.

“Dath, Dath…” He was aching with regret. “Ain’t no use hiding under the blankets on this one. The trouble’s real, we both know it, and chances are we ain’t the only ones to feel it. There’s powerful sensitive Olken in Lur. Folk who be woken to ezackly who and what they are. And if they start stirrin’ round about the place and we ain’t ready to settle their fears? That’ll mean strife, the kind that spreads itself fast.”

She nodded reluctantly, shivering. “I know. But you can’t risk yourself on guesses and mayhaps. We need to know for certain what’s happening.”

“Aye, but—”

“The Circle can help us,” she said, pulling free. “What’s left of it. I’ll reach out to the best of them—Fernel Pintte, and Jinny of Hooten Creek. One or two others. I’ll ask them to the City. We’ll see what they know. And
then
we’ll decide what’s to be done. Agreed?”

He sighed. “Aye. Agreed.”

Her pointed finger stabbed him hard in the chest. “And that means no Weather Magic in the meantime, Asher. No meddling until we’re sure there’s nowhere else to turn. Promise me that.
Promise
.”

“I promise,” he said, because what else could he say? He didn’t want to fight with her. He didn’t want to make her cry.

She kissed him. “Good. Now let’s get out of here. I never liked this Chamber. It makes me want to throw up.”

I
n worried silence they walked hand-in-hand back from the Weather Chamber, by privy pathways that meant they’d meet no folk wandering the public parts of the palace grounds. Coming in sight of home at last, Asher felt Dath’s fingers tighten painfully around his. Pother Kerril was standing lonesome on the Tower’s distant steps, neat and tidy in her green physick’s smock. Waiting for them, it looked like.

“What now?” Dath said, and let go of him. “Please, not Rafel. Not again.” She hurried ahead.

Asher wanted to hurry with her, but he made himself walk slowly, casually. Not because he didn’t care, but because he knew he cared so much. And because he wasn’t comfortable letting all and sundry see how deep he loved his son. That were private. That were his heart, for him to know and no-one else, save Dath. But if Rafe had tumbled into fresh trouble, hurt hisself so soon after his last heedless scrape…

He’ll be the death of me, that boy. I’m goin’ grey afore my time.

As he reached calling distance from the Tower steps, Dath turned from Kerril. “It’s all right. It’s not Rafel.”

Praise Barl
. He didn’t need to ask if it was Deenie. His daughter weren’t rambunctious like her big brother. Deenie was his little brown mouse, who startled at a loud sound and eyed boisterous Rafel askance.

But in the wake of relief he felt a pinching of worry. Beneath Dath’s smile was something heartstruck, and dreadful.

“What?” he said, climbing the wide stone steps to join her and the pother. “What’s amiss, Dathne?”

Instead of answering, Dath looked to Kerril. A tall Doranen woman with a calm face and kind eyes, she’d taken over from Nix on his retirement to the coast. Royal physician in everything but name, she was, with a keen and constant interest in the health of her patients.

She nodded, a brisk greeting from one authority to another. “Asher. I’m sorry… it’s Darran.”

He felt his heart thud hard, just the once.
Darran
. Silly ole fart. Thorn in his side. Enemy then ally. Family, of sorts. “He’s dead?” he asked, and heard the roughness in his voice.

“No, he lives,” said Kerril. He wished her eyes held less sorrow. “But he’s sinking. A palsy.”

“Sinkin’ how fast?”

“I wish I could tell you, Asher. I wish I had better news.”

And if wishes were fishes then no-one would starve.

“So do I,” he said. “How’d this happen, any road? Ain’t he just had you breathin’ down his neck for an ague in his chest? You standin’ there tellin’ me you never noticed he had a palsy brewin’?”

He knew he sounded angry, as though this was all Kerril’s fault. As though somehow, by coming to tell him, she’d made it happen in the first place. He knew he wasn’t being fair. But he couldn’t help himself. This after the cherry orchard? And the Weather Chamber? It was too much.

Dathne clicked her tongue. “Asher, that’s hardly—”

“No, it’s a reasonable question, Dathne,” said Kerril, her grave expression unchanged. If he’d hurt her, or angered her, he’d never know. She wasn’t like Nix, who’d blustered and fussed. “I physick your family, you need to know I know my task.” Hands clasped before her, she frowned before answering. “Palsy often strikes without warning, Asher. A man can be fiddle fit one day and drop dead in his doorway the next. There’s no rhyme nor reason, alas. It kills the young and the old, men and women both. I doubt Darran’s ague had a thing to do with it. He was mostly over that, just a little cough remained.”

“And now he’s dyin’.” Grief surged, unexpected, stealing his breath. In the djelba trees surrounding the Tower courtyard, nightbirds flapped their wings. Day’s end approached and they were waking from sleep.

“Asher…” Dathne rested her hand on his forearm. “Kerril says Rafel was with Darran when the palsy struck.”

He stared. “What? Where is he?”

“Indoors,” said Kerril. “He took no harm. He called for help then stayed with Darran comforting him. He was a brave boy, I’m told.”

Of course he was. He was Rafel. Exasperated, he turned to Dathne. “And we’re out here flappin’ our lips instead of seein’ to our son ’ cause—”

“Because he doesn’t need us smothering him,” she snapped. “Because a space of time and silence are as healing as soft words.”

He loved her so much that he forgot, sometimes, how hard she could be. Her years as Jervale’s Heir had marked her. She were more comfortable than she used to be, but the core of her remained unchanged, stronger than iron.

“He can have both, Dath,” he said. “Ain’t no need for him to choose.”

He looked past her and Pother Kerril, through the Tower’s open double doors and into its circular marble-floored foyer—and saw his son on the spiral staircase. Rafe’s knees were pulled close to his chest, dark hair flopping over his lowered face, small hands clutching his shinbones tight.

“Can I see the ole man?” he asked Kerril, his eyes not moving from that slight, still body on the snail-shell stairs.

“He’s asking for you,” said Kerril. “Stay as long as you like. I’ve eased him as much as I can, and left an elixir. If the shaking takes him again, a spoonful should help.”

With an effort, he wrenched his gaze from Rafel. “Will he see sunrise?”

“As I said, these things can’t be predicted,” Kerril replied gently. Then she sighed. “But there’s a good chance he won’t.”

“Go,” said Dathne. Her dark eyes were full of quiet misery. An iron core, she had, aye… but a lot more besides. “If business arises I’ll see to it. Don’t fret on that.”

He nodded, suddenly unable to trust his voice.

“If you’ve need of me, send to my infirmary,” Kerril added. “I have possets and so forth to see to. I’ll be working late into the night.”

“My thanks, Kerril,” he said. Shamed that he’d lashed out at her, looked to hurt when all she’d done was help.
I know better than that. I’m me, I ain’t my brother. Zeth hurts folk heedless. I’m better than Zeth.
“There be no pother in Lur could’ve cared more for Darran, I reckon. He’s old and wore out, that’s the sad fact of it. And I’m thinkin’ he’s walked a long road. Longer than most.”

“Indeed,” she replied. “Though that’s small enough comfort.”

It were no comfort at all. Barl save him, he was sick to death of death. With a nod for Kerril, and a small smile for Dathne that was all pain and no pleasure, he left the women on the Tower’s front steps and trudged inside.

Hearing his footsteps, Rafel looked up. With the evening drawing in, the foyer had been lit with glimfire. Sconces glowed against the circular wall, throwing shadows. Their warm light found the tears in Rafel’s eyes, that the boy was too proud to let fall. His face was grimy, his short black hair streaked with dust. Rafe charged through life as though it was a race, heedless of skinned knees and bruises, never frettin’ if he fell. Why would he? He’d find his feet all right. He always did.

“Da,” the boy said. His bottom lip quivered. “The ole fool’s dyin’, I reckon.”

“Aye,” he said, and sat himself on the stair beside his son. “Reckon he is. But don’t call him that, eh? He’s got a name, Rafe, and enough years in his dish you can respect him by usin’ it.”

Rafe twitched one skinny shoulder. “You call him an ole fool. You call him worse, I’ve heard you.”

“Aye, but that’s me,” he said, and draped an arm round his son. “What I call him be our business, Rafe. Mine and Darran’s. You know the ole man and me got history. You’re a spratling yet. You ain’t earned the right.”

“I never will, if he’s dying,” said Rafe, and his voice broke in a small sob. “He’s my friend, Da. I don’t want him to die.”

“I know you don’t, Rafe,” he whispered, and pulled his son close. “Nobody wants their friends to die. Friends is what makes the world worth livin’ in, even when it’s falling in flames around your ears. But you got to remember, Rafe, men don’t live forever. No-one lives forever.”