The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (6 page)

As always, she stole his breath. Was there any part of him that stayed hidden from this woman? From before he’d even laid eyes on her she’d known more of him than he ever knew of himself. But he hadn’t realised she’d been feeling things too. That were irksome. How come she could always hide from him when he almost never managed to hide from her?

“If you been feelin’ this, Dathne, why ain’t you said so?” He sounded accusing, and didn’t much care. Mayhap if they fratched a little they’d not talk about what frighted him.

“I wanted to be wrong,” she whispered, turning away. A breath caught in her throat, a small, stricken sound, and she turned back. “I’d give anything to be wrong. But I knew from the first I wasn’t. What’s causing it? Do you know?”

Since the day he killed Morg—and Gar—he’d hardly ever used the power in him, that he’d never asked for or wanted. There was no need for it. What he did in both Councils and Justice Hall, that were thinking and talking and wheedling folk to see things sensible. A man didn’t need magic for any of that.

But lately, it felt like his magic was stirring anyway.

Wakin’ up in a sweat in the small hours. Feelin’ the earth groan. Knowin’ Lur’s earth-song’s gone and changed its tune—that, too. All of it’s magic, whether I like it or not.

“I ain’t sure, Dath,” he said. “That’s the truth.”

She was frowning. “It’s not the Doranen, is it? It’s not that arrogant Ain Freidin still thinking she’s another Barl?”

“I don’t reckon so. The fuddlin’ she were up to, that couldn’t upset the earth. And she swore blind to me her lesson was learned. Besides, I ain’t heard from Farmer Tarne that he’s lost any more crops and it’s been nigh on a month since the bloody woman was found out.”

“Still…” Dathne hugged her ribs. “Don’t stop watching her, Asher. She’s not to be trusted.”

“I know,” he said. “I ain’t recalling our man just yet.”

Even though that didn’t make life on the Mage Council with Rodyn Garrick any easier. They’d already had sharp words, Garrick making it plain he didn’t care for an Olken taking a Doranen to task over magic. When he learned Ain Freidin was being
watched
he near frothed himself into a spasm. But the rest of the Mage Council had over-ruled his objection.

What’s Garrick’s game? I can’t work him out. Formal hearings in front of the Mage Council mean trouble for everyone. No keepin’ that quiet. Is that what he’s after? Folk buzzin’ about Doranen magic just when Lur’s pretty well stopped nightmaring about Morg? Why?

It was a good question, with no answer to it. But Rodyn Garrick weren’t his only worry. He was starting to worry about all the Doranen. Now that there was no Weather Magic to keep folk sensible, how many more Ain Freidins were out there, sneakin’ off to muck about with dangerous incants? Breaking Barl’s Law? Ain Freidin was lucky. A few slimed spuds on her conscience, no real harm done. But what about next time? Next time, could be, someone might get hurt. Or die.

“I wish Matt was here,” said Dathne, sorrow shadowing her face. “He’d know who or what was causing this. He was the best I ever knew at feeling things in the world.”

Aye, and so did he wish it. Not a day went by he didn’t wish for Meister Matt. Couldn’t walk into the Tower stables without remembering. Feeling grief. Seeing him shoeing a stallion, mending a blanket, stirring his smelly horse porridge on the tack-room’s old stove. Time was supposed to heal wounds, soften loss. Grass was supposed to grow green over a grave.

But not his grave. No, nor Gar’s. I’m as wounded today as I was when they fell. And not even Dathne can bind those hurts
.

“I’m sorry,” she said, watching him closely. “I didn’t mean to stir up—” She sighed. “I’m sorry. You never talk of it, so I forget sometimes…”

“Ain’t nowt to say, is there?” he said, shrugging. “We can’t unmake the past.”

“And wouldn’t if we could,” she whispered, arms folding again to her ribs. Thinking not only of Matt, but Veira too, that bossy, managin’ ole besom. And the folk from her Circle who died before she knew them. “Even if it hurts us.”

Because her pain hurt him, because he couldn’t kiss it away, he turned back to Barl’s Weather map. “No,” he agreed, reluctant. “We wouldn’t.”

Dath shook herself. “So let’s not think on it. We’ve a problem here and now to solve and no matter who or what’s behind it, with luck there’s still time to fix things before it’s too late.”

Despairing, he shook his head. “You reckon?”

“I reckon it’s time we told each other what little we know. For we’ll have
no
hope if we keep secrets,” she said sharply. “Didn’t we promise each other there’d be no more secrets?”

Aye. They’d promised that. And they’d kept the promise for ten years… because there’d been no secrets to keep. He shoved his hands in his pockets, brooding.

“I thought it were over, Dath. I thought once I killed Morg your sinkin’ prophecy was dead too, and Weather Magic put behind me for good. I thought Lur was free of all that.”

She took a deep, unsteady breath. “It is. Asher, it
is
.”

“No, Dath, it ain’t,” he said, and nodded at the Weather map. “ ’Cause that bloody thing ain’t dead.”

“Not dead?” she echoed. “Asher, what are you talking about?
Look
at it. Morg destroyed Barl’s map when he brought down the Wall.”

“I wanted to believe that. But Dathne, I’m tellin’ you, there’s power in it still. I can feel it. And that can’t be good.”

Dathne circled the blighted Weather map, her eyes wide and trepidatious. “How can there be power in it? There’s no more Weather Magic in Lur. Morg—”

“I know that’s what we thought,” he said wearily. “But we were wrong. Looks like Doranen magic don’t die so bloody easy. Could be it don’t die at all. It’s fierce, Dath. It burns. It wants to—to
live
.”

It wasn’t a truth he’d ever shared with her before, knowing it would steal her hard-won peace of mind. It weren’t a secret, not ezackly. Just a little something he’d kept to himself, for her sake.

Halting behind the Weather map, Dathne lifted her gaze to him. Her face was disquietingly pale. “You feel it? After so long, you still feel it?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

For countless nights after his blood-filled confrontation with Morg he’d gone to bed terrified he’d conjure in his sleep, in his nightmares, those fell battle-beasts of Doranen warfare he’d learned from Barl. The wereslags and the horselirs and the gruesomes, monstrosities of myth and murder. Had been terrified he’d wake in his bed to find Dathne clawed to bloody shreds beside him. In the end, exhausted and desperate, he’d turned to Pother Nix. The Doranen physick had drugged him and muttered over him, wrapped his tired mind in spells and soothings. Taught him how to seal away the dreadful words he knew, that meant he could kill with a thought. And he’d found in that teaching a rough measure of peace.

But the words were still there, still buried inside him, just like the Weather Magic. Not even Nix could take them away. Barl’s magic had branded him, altered him, and there was no going back. There was only going forward, understanding what he’d become.

Dathne’s face was crumpled into grief.
“Asher…”

“It’s all right. Don’t fret on me. We got this to fret on now.”

With another deep breath, she banished pain. Stared at the map. “So if the Weather Magic hasn’t died, what does that mean for Lur?”

Joining her, he slid his arm around her narrow shoulders. As she leaned against him he felt the chill of foreboding ease, just a little. “I don’t know,” he said, resting his cheek against her jasmine-scented hair. “All I can be sure on is somehow, what we been feeling is tangled up with this bloody Weather map.”

“Asher…” Her fingers drummed against his chest. “How long have you been feeling unsettled?”

“Ha,” he said, tightening his arm. “You tell me.”

“Four days. You?”

Nine. “Close enough.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.” Her fingers tightened on his jacket and shook him. “
You
should’ve said something.”

He kissed her. “Aye, well. Since we’re both wrong, there be no blame. What is it you’ve been feeling, ezackly?”

“A change in the air,” she said, her voice low. “A change beneath my feet. A sour note on the edge of hearing. Only a whisper, until today.” She shivered. “It shouted today.”

Aye, it bloody well did. “You ain’t had a vision? Nowt’s come to you in your dreams?”

“Not for years. Not since before the Wall fell. I’d have told you if it had.”

“You didn’t tell me this.”

“I thought you said there was no blame!”

He kissed her again. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t want it to be true,” she said, her voice shaking. “We’ve been so happy, my love. We weathered the storm of the Wall’s falling, the revelation of our true magical natures. We’ve forged a new Lur from the ashes of the old and what troubles we’ve had we’ve dealt with, swiftly. Olken and Doranen have managed to keep the peace, most of the time. I can’t bear to think of our new lives tumbling around our ears.”

Neither could he. But worse than that, he couldn’t bear to see her distressed. Pulling her closer, he held on tight. Needing the comfort of her warmth in his arms.

“Who said they’re tumblin’, eh? We don’t know that, Dath. Not for sure. But even if they are, fratchin’ ourselves won’t help. Whatever trouble this is come knockin’ on our door, we’ll survive it. After what we’ve lived through, Dath? You and me, we can survive anythin’.”

He felt her shudder. Then she stepped out of his embrace and started circling the Weather map again, revulsion and yearning clouding her face.

“So this thing’s not dead after all.” She chewed her lip, thinking hard. “But what does that
mean?
”

“Well…” He started prowling the map with her. “We had ourselves six hundred years of Barl’s Weather Magic, Dathne, soakin’ into Lur’s bones. And this map were a big part of that.”

“And if it’s not dead, like we thought, then—” She gasped, her eyes opening wide.
“Asher…”

He nodded, feeling sick. Knowing they were thinking the same awful thought. “I reckon some of that magic was still workin’ even though the Wall came down. Keepin’ this map just a little bit alive.”

“Leftover Weather Magic,” she murmured. “That would explain the ten years since Morg. No floods. No drought. No famine. Lur’s not been much different from when we had a WeatherWorker. I’ll admit it, I’ve been surprised.”

He’d been surprised too—but he was more surprised now, to hear her say so. He stopped his prowling. “You never said that. When folk asked, you said there were no reason to think the weather would turn topsy-turvy.”

“So did you,” she retorted, halting opposite him, “and we both know why. Because keeping folk calm was our most important task.”

“Aye,” he said, troubled. “But I believed it, Dathne. I thought you did too.”

Uncomfortable, she hugged her ribs again. “When the Wall came down I feared those storms would never end. And then they did. And I thought—I hoped—it meant that nothing had changed after all. That nothing
would
change. That Lur’s trials and suffering were brief, and over. I was a fool. I should’ve known better.”

“Why?” he demanded. “This ain’t your fault, Dathne. How were you s’posed to know? How was any of us s’posed to know? It ain’t like this has happened before.”

She managed a small, unhappy smile. “I can’t help it. I’m Jervale’s Heir. The kingdom’s always been mine to protect.”

And mine
. But he didn’t say that aloud. Didn’t even like thinking it.
Nobody asked me if I wanted the bloody thing.

Dathne was once more frowning at the Weather map. “So if the earth is stirring now—if we can feel something’s wrong—” She looked up, a horrified understanding clouding her eyes. “Jervale save us all.”

He didn’t want to believe it either. The thought made his skin crawl. But—“Don’t reckon there’s another explanation, Dath. The Weather Magic’s runnin’ dry at last, and Lur’s feelin’ it.” He swallowed. “
We’re
feelin’ it. And I reckon what we’re feelin’ might just be the start.”

Her face was stark with anger and fear. “So the cataclysm we dreaded ten years ago is come upon us
now?
”

“Could be.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And if it is…”

She inhaled, sharply. “
Asher
. You
can’t
.”

“I might not have a choice, Dath.”

“There’s always a choice!” she snapped. “
No more Weather Magic,
you told me. How can you think to undo that decision?”

“How can I
not
think it? There’s a bloody kingdom at stake!”

“But Asher, you lied to both Councils. To everyone in Lur. You said killing Morg burned the Weather Magic out of your blood. If you
tell
them you lied then trust will be broken. And once it’s broken—”

“There’s worse things than trust as could get broken here, Dath,” he said. “I lied so Lur could start over. Leave the past in the past. But the past’s just gone and sunk its teeth in our arse, ain’t it?”

“Asher, if you bring back WeatherWorking you could
die
. It could
kill
you!”