The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (9 page)

“Here, here, you ole crow,” he said, and helped Darran sip from a glass of water. “Best you stop flappin’ your lips now, I reckon. Best I leave you be, to rest.”

Darran only swallowed twice, with awful difficulty, tiny mouthfuls, then turned his face away from the glass. Asher eased him back to his pillows, returned the glass to the nightstand and started to rise. But Darran’s hand stopped him, with a strength born of desperation.

“I feel… nothing,” he said harshly, every indrawn breath a fight. “It was… Rafel. Rafel told me. He said the earth… feels wrong.”

Rafel?
Asher sat again, thudding hard onto the chair. “My son told you that?”
You, and not me?

“He’s… a boy,” said Darran, smiling. “Boys have… their secrets, Asher.” The smile faded. “And you’re… strict with him, you know. Over magic.”

“If I am, I got to be!” he said, stung. “You know what Nix said of him, Darran. You know what it might mean.”

“I know you’ve… never trusted your own… gift,” said Darran gently. “You never… wanted it. You resent it. You blame… magic for every… loss.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Don’t you? Don’t you blame magic for who it killed?”

“It wasn’t… the magic that… killed him, Asher,” said Darran sadly.

Pricked to his feet, Asher stamped to the window and drew the heavy curtain aside. This side of the Tower looked out over the home field beside the stables; in the fast-falling dusk he caught the pearly gleam of Cygnet’s thick winter coat as the doddery horse, without a halter, followed Jed to the gate. Good ole Jed, as kindly as ever, grown more childish with the passing seasons. Not even Nix or Kerril could help that. The blow to his head all those years ago had damaged him in ways that could never be undone. Kerril said there’d come a time when Jed wouldn’t be safe around the horses. Kerril said there were a good chance his friend wouldn’t make old bones.

Death, greedy and hovering, in here, out there, no escape. No reprieve. Rafel, keeping secrets. And now this old wound, reopened.

Gar
.

“I know what killed him, Darran,” he said harshly, keeping his back turned. “That were me. I killed him. Think I need you to tell me who I killed? I don’t. Don’t need you tellin’ me you hate me for it, neither.”

“Hate you?” said Darran. “I don’t hate you. If there’s… any hating, Asher, you’re… doing it. You’re the one… who won’t forgive.”

He turned. “What are you witterin’ about, you stupid ole fool? I don’t hate him! I never hated him. He were my friend.”

“I know,” said Darran. His clouded eyes were full of tears. “You loved him… like a brother. But you did… hate him… a little bit too, Asher. Don’t try to… deny it. I’m dying, but… I remember. We… both do.”

Aye, he remembered. He wished he didn’t. He’d thought he’d found peace in the months after Gar’s death. While Rafel grew in Dathne’s belly he thought he’d found a way to live with what happened. Turned out he was wrong. Turned out some wounds were just too deep to heal proper. And now, feeling the changes beneath Lur’s green and growing skin, all he could think was it had all been for
nowt
.

“Why are we talkin’ on this?” he said. “It don’t matter now. Gar’s gone. You’ll be gone soon. What are you doin’, Darran? Makin’ me pay one last time, while y’still can?”

Panting, Darran straightened against his pillows. “I
never
… blamed you, Asher,” he said with dreadful effort, the chamber’s sweet air thick and rasping in his throat. “I know… it wasn’t your… fault. Gar… went his own way. He never… told me what he planned but… I knew there was… something. Hadn’t I been… watching him… from the moment… he was born? I
knew
him, Asher, better even than… his own flesh-and-blood. I knew… he was keeping… secrets. I… could see it… in his eyes.”

Ten years since that moment in Dorana City’s Market Square, before the steps of the great Barl’s Chapel, and the pain was still so raw. The words of UnMaking blasting through him. Gar falling dead as stone at his feet. Ten years and so much silence. He and Darran had wept over Gar’s coffin and never talked of it after. Not even once. Not even nearly.

“You ole
bastard
. Then why didn’t you
say?
” His hands were fists, and they wanted to
pound
. “Why did you let him throw his life away like that? The magic was
mine,
not his. The prophecy was for
me
.”

Strength spent, Darran slumped. “You… know why,” he said, almost too faint for hearing. His palsied cheek writhed. “Because… he’d not have… forgiven me. Because he was… my king. Because you might… have loved him, Asher, but you… were still blind.
I
wasn’t.
I
could see it. And I was… sworn to serve him. Not… my will, but… his.”

Rage was a storm, battering him near to sightless. “
Blind?
What are you talkin’ about? What did you see I didn’t?”

“That not… dying for Lur… would have… killed him,” whispered Darran. “That what he… did to you, breaking his… oath to you, handing you over… to Jarralt—to Morg—what was… done to you… by that monster…
was
killing him.” Darran coughed again, his lungs heaving for air. “He never… wept for himself, Asher, but he… wept for you.”

“Don’t you tell me that,” he said, turning aside. “Why tell me that? It’s over, it’s in the past. Why drag it up now?”

“Over?” said Darran. His fingers plucked at the blankets. “It will
never
… be over. Not while you… remember him. Not if Lur is… in peril. He left… his kingdom… in your hands, Asher, to keep… safe. But if you turn from… your gift… how is it… safe? How is that… loving… him?”

“I never said I wouldn’t keep Lur safe. But that don’t have to mean WeatherWork. Ain’t no surety in that!”

Darran’s laugh was breathless, and wry. “Ain’t no… surety… for Lur… if… you won’t do… what’s… needful.”

“How would
you
know what’s needful, you silly ole crow?” he said, nearly choking on outrage. “How would you know
anythin’,
with nowt a drop of magic in you? Fussin’ and bossin’ and tellin’ me what to do! Tellin’ me what to think! What to
feel!
All that’s over now, d’you hear me? We ain’t goin’ back to them magic days, Darran. We ain’t goin’ back to hoity-toity Doranen and us Olken bendin’ our knees. This ain’t the old Lur, that old Lur’s dead like Gar. And I ain’t about to kiss its corpse awake, I ain’t about to—”

“
Asher!
What are you
doing?
Have you taken total leave of your senses?”

Dathne, shocked and staring in the open doorway.

Somehow he swallowed his unspoken, angry words. “Dathne, you—”

“Oh, be quiet, be
quiet,
” she said, stepping inside and pushing the door shut behind her. “ Darran—here, take some posset—”

Numb, he stood with his back to the wall and watched as Dathne tipped spoonfuls of Kerril’s elixir into the ole fool’s mouth, as gentle and as loving as though he were one of her babes, or her da. She eased the blankets around the ole fool and chafed his cold hands, smoothed the tarnished hair from his mottled forehead and smiled.

“Don’t be angry… with Asher,” Darran whispered. “You know… how it is… with us. I… fratch him, Dathne. There’s… no harm… done.”

“You let me judge that,” said Dathne, her voice kind, her flicking glance furious. “And rest. Be easy. Guard your strength, Darran. We don’t want you to go.”

There were tears in her voice. More tears in Darran’s eyes, tipping onto his twitching cheek. “I know,” he said, trying to smile even as the spittle ran down his chin. “But I’m going.” His gaze shifted. “You should… talk to your son… Asher. You need to know his secret.”

“No, you tell it me,” he said, scowling. “ Darran—”

Darran’s eyes closed. “Remember… your friend, Asher. Remember… Gar. Don’t… waste… his sacrifice. He died… for you.”

The room blurred, and Darran with it. Dathne dropped onto the bed beside the old man.

“I can’t stay here,” he muttered. “I ain’t stayin’ here. I need air.”

“Asher!”
said Dathne, turning. “Asher, wait, where are you—”

Haunted, hunted, he left her and the ole crow behind.

N
onplussed, Dathne stared after her impossible husband. Beside her, in his bed, Darran wheezed and dribbled. Barl’s
tits
. The dear old man deserved a death with dignity after his lifetime of unselfish service to the crown, and Lur’s people. Without Darran there’d
be
no Lur. At least, not a land anyone living now would recognise. Instead it would be burned and blasted, reduced to blight and stinking evil miasmas, just like the lands beyond Barl’s Mountains. Lands they’d visited once and would never tempt again.

We owe him so much. And now he’s dying and Asher’s fighting with him? I could smack him, Matt, I could smack him so hard.

An old habit, that was, talking to Matt. Sometimes she thought she ought to break herself of it. Talking to a dead man? Not a good idea, surely. But she missed him, as much now as ever she had in the days after his death when she could not understand his absence, could not turn to him for counsel or comfort, and felt herself entirely alone without him. Her friend. Her brother. Her conscience.

What would you say, Matt, if you were here? I wish you were here. I wish—I wish—

“Dathne,” said Darran, the feeble fingers holding hers tightening a hairsbreadth. “Don’t… fret. And don’t… weep. Not… for me.”

That was when she realised her cheeks were wet, her throat hot and tight. She lifted Darran’s hand and pressed it to her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He’ll come back. He will.”

“Mayhap,” said Darran, who never used that country word. “You must… have a care… for your ruffian, my dear.”

She frowned at him. “I do. You know I do. Darran, why were you and Asher fighting? What’s this about a secret?”

Darran’s eyes drifted closed. The palsy in his cheek had worsened, the wasted flesh beneath his skin leaping and twitching. “Ask Rafel.”

“Why?” she said, her heart thudding with dread. “Darran, what do you know?
Darran?
”

He didn’t answer. Sleep had claimed him, the torpor of a failing spirit. She let go of his hand and roamed his small chamber, suddenly sickened by the burning tapers’ sweet smell. It was too much.
Too much
. Finding Asher in the Weather Chamber. The fear in his eyes. Hard on its heels, this awful news of Darran. And now Rafel? Her Rafel?

What secrets can a child have, that matter enough to hasten an old man’s slow dying? To disquiet his last hours with such discord?

Oh, she wanted Asher. But she couldn’t leave poor Darran to go chasing after him. Besides, who could find sense in him when he was in a tearing temper? Older he might be, but not so noticeably wiser. Still a hot-head, still quick to take offence. Always digging in his heels.

No. No, I’m not fair. He’s afraid. The things he feels, that I feel, whose meaning we fathom all too well. They frighten him. They frighten me. We thought peace was well-earned and paid for. We thought life was good and would not change.

But wasn’t that precisely what the people of Lur had thought before the coming of the Final Days? Only she, Jervale’s Heir, had known truth for a lie. And the Circle, who’d relied on her to guide them blindfolded in the dark.

The thought of reconvening the Circle made her feel ill. Not for seeing her friends again, but for what such a calling meant. More strife for Lur, more suffering for its people.

Oh Jervale, if you can hear me, let Asher and I be wrong. Let this be nowt but a phantasm, a boggle of the mind
.

But beneath her feet, she felt Lur shift and groan…

“Mama,” said a small voice, and she spun round to hear it.

“Rafel! What are you doing? I told you I’d come back to you by and by.”

Escaped from the family’s privy apartments, where he and Deenie were eating their early supper, Rafel stood clean and miserable in the doorway. And Deenie stood with him, tempted sometimes—like now—to follow her brother into mischief, when he wasn’t chasing her away for being a tiresome girl.

“I wanted to see Darran,” he muttered, his lower lip pouting. Oh, he did not care to be scolded. So like his father, proud and spirited. Hands clenching to fists at the least provocation. “Da said I could.”