The Prodigal Mage Part 27

Regretfully he took his fathers advice, letting the wave hed conjured dwindle almost to death. The skiff settled onto the harbour and drifted to a lilting standstill, perhaps a quarter league distant from the blue and yellow fishing boat. Not so close theyd be swiftly noticed, but close enough to see its crew dotted around the deck, working hard, and the yellow heads of the Doranen mages gathered in the bow.

Not far beyond the smack stretched the ragged reef, with its cloud of sickening magics. On the other side of the reef six enormous water-spouts whipped their erratic way across the waters restless surface. And droning beneath their higher-pitched howl, the whirlpools. Shading his eyes, Rafel thought he could see one, groaning and grinding a hole in the ocean.

Drat em, said Da tightly. That be a b.l.o.o.d.y daft thing to do, Gar-rick. And heres me thinkin you were a sight smarter than that.

Tasting the air like his father, he let out a sharp sigh. Daft was right. Poxy Arlins father had the mages attacking the reefs magics with a Doranen spell of coercion, designed to force things apart. Which was fine if they were looking to lift buried stones out of the earth or pull down an old brick wall, but they werent. Worse, he could still taste what was left of the first spell theyd tried, and now the leftover echoes of that compulsion spell were muddling with the coercion chant and You feel that, Rafe? said Da, one hand going to his head. The reefs pushin back.

Aye, he gasped, his skin p.r.i.c.kling with the loathsome touch of it. The pain was in him, too, spiking through his temples and deep into his chest. His belly heaved, and he spat saliva and bile mixed yellowish at his feet. Barls mercy, is that Morg?

Da was bent over, hands braced on his knees. What be left of him. Rafe, dont you give in to it. Dont let his muck in you. Could be I might need you in a ticktock or three.

Why? he said, and spat sickness again. What are you going to But Da wasnt listening. Dropped to his knees, one hand braced on the skiffs side, he was pouring his power towards the reef, trying to sh.o.r.e up what little remained of Barls sweetness. Pouring so much power, Rafel could hardly believe it. What was in his father made his own powers look paltry. All this was in Da? Hed never given a hint of it. In twenty years, not once.

How could he have this and not want it? Hes mad.

But even though Da was amazing, what he gave of himself wasnt enough. Morgs foul malevolence was too vile. Too strong. Not even Das power and the power of the Doranen mages in the fishing boat combined could smother the reefs seething darkness. Letting blind instinct guide him he tried lending his own power, but compared to Da and the Doranen it was only a trickle. It was like p.i.s.sing on flames let loose in a summer wheat field.

His father was breathing so hard now it sounded almost like groaning. With his belly still heaving and his mouth slicked sour, Rafel crabbed his way to the skiffs bow.

Da! Da!

Blood was trickling from beneath his fathers closed eyelids, and out of his nostrils over his pressed-white lips. His fingers were bloodless on the side of the small boat, and every muscle in his rigid body shuddered.

Hunkering down, he threw one arm around his fathers shaking shoulders. Da, its no good. We cant do it. Stop, before you kill yourself.

No, Rafe Teeth chattering, Da cracked open one pain-filled eye. We can. But you got to help me.

How? he said, hearing his voice break. Tell me what to do and Ill do it.

Das fingers anch.o.r.ed themselves in his shirt, and twisted. Tugged him close. Rafe His voice was a choked whisper. Dyou trust me?

What? Aye, Da! You know I do!

Da nodded, coughing, a harsh, hacking sound. His twisted fingers tugged again. Rafe, Im sorry. You werent sposed to find out. Not like this.

He stared. Find out what? Da, find out wh And then he gasped as his fathers spread-fingered hand pressed hard to his face. A flash of heat, burning. A convulsion in his blood. A burst of power, incandescent, like a sunrise in his mind. He tried to pull away, tried to protest, but he couldnt move. Couldnt speak. Now his blood was on fire, flames pumping through him with every beat of his heart. His bones caught fireand still he couldnt scream.

Shouting, Da s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away. Rafel felt himself fall backwards, felt his shoulders smack the skiffs wet boards. Dazed, he stared at the blue sky, at the clouds scudding across it, set to blot out the sun.

And then he realised: Im different.

Closing his eyes to the blue sky and the clouding sun, he turned his sight inwardsand discovered a cauldron of power hed never dreamed might exist. It was terrifying. Glorious. Hot and bright and hungry and his.

First came astonished pleasure. Then came the rage.

Rafel! said Da, on his feet again and hauling him upright, his stubbled face ghastly behind its mask of smeared and trickled blood. Hate me later. Hate me all you like, til I die an ole manbut first we got to help Garrick and them other fools afore its too late!

He felt so betrayed, so wounded, he wanted to vomit, or weep. Wrenching himself free, he s.n.a.t.c.hed at the skiffs mast for balance and unleashed his woken senses on the world. Felt in a searing rush the unm.u.f.fled malevolence of Morgs blight, saw its claws sunk deep in the heart of the reef, saw with his newly opened eyes how it strangled the tattered shreds of Barls miracle. Fed off them. Distorted them. Like a parasite consumed them.

Staggering, his mind reeling, he managed to keep his feet as the skiff rocked and juddered beneath them. The harbours waters were waking. Something terrible stirred. A dreadful wave of nausea rose and rolled through him.

s.h.i.t! Whatwhat Be you with me, Rafe? Da demanded, breathing hard and heavy. I need you with me, sprat. Cause any ticktock nowany ticktock It seemed to him then that the whole world inhaled, and time stood still, and he was crushed to a pulp. He felt the reefs magic, Morgs magic, writhe and shudder in his twisting guts. He felt his blood catch fresh fire, freeze solid then burst burning from his eyes and nose. He heard himself shout. Heard Da shout. Felt the world exhale and magic rip through the water between the reef and the skiff. Their borrowed boat flew into the air, tossing them with it, then smashed again to the harbours wildly agitated surface.

His head smacked salty timber, knees and elbows striking hard too. Tossed beside him, his father grunted in pain. Battered and bruised, he scrambled upright and looked around. Da had the same idea. Clutching the skiffs sides as it rocked and spun, they stared at the blue and yellow fishing boat flailing too far away. Her crew darted from stern to bow and back again, answering their captains faint shouts. Terrified in the cloud-striped sunshine, blond Doranen heads huddled close.

A heartbeat later he cried out, because a whirlpool was forming right before his stinging eyes, in the stretch of whipped-up water between the fishing smack and the reef. In Westwailing Harbour, where theyd always been safe. The surge was small but steadily growing, the harbours waters spinning and spinning and as he watched, dry-mouthed with horror, he saw the blue and yellow fishing boat begin drifting towards it.

Rafel! said Da, and reached for his arm. His fingers, taking hold, felt desperate. We got to stop that b.l.o.o.d.y thing. We cant have whirlpools in the harbour. Itll be the end of everything, sprat.

Stop it? he said, the heel of his right hand pressed to the side of his head against the spike of pain stabbing through his skull. How?

I dont know, said Da, teeth gritted. But we got to try.

Head pounding, he stared at his father, whod lied to him. Betrayed him. Da, there aint no way we can Das fingers closed so hard on his wrist it felt like the bone might break. You wanted to know what it were like, facin Morg? You wanted to know how I felt that day? This be how I felt, Rafel. This be what it were like. You p.i.s.s your pants. You s.h.i.t yself. This is why I told em to leave well enough alone.

With a shrieking scream a waterspout whipped into life a long stones throw from the bow of their skiff. Another shrieking scream and there were two waterspoutsthen threethen four. The skiff rocked and spun like a paper boat on a millrace as the spraying spume swiftly soaked them to the skin.

Too far away, too close, the whirlpool whirled wider.

Rafel dragged his sopping sleeve across his face. Were going to die. Sink me, well b.l.o.o.d.y drown or get sucked down that thing or ripped to bitty pieces by a waterspout. He turned to his father, not knowing what hed find. Saw anger. Saw revulsion. Saw pity. Saw fear.

And then saw the face of the Innocent Mage.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Power blasted from Das outstretched fingers in a stream of burning light. Touched the nearest waterspout, which collapsed in a gouting wave. Touched the next, the next, the last. As their skiff stopped its wild lurching, Da fell across the rowers seat.

Da! Rafel shouted, reaching for him.

I be fine, sprat, Da grunted, shoving to his feet. Fresh blood slicked his face, muddling with the salt water. He looked like someone had tried to skin him alive. A good thing Mama werent here to see it. She really would skin him. She might skin him yet.

If I dont do it first.

His newly woken powers seethed.

Rafe, said Da, his voice rough and rasping. You know when Doranen mages do a working, sometimes not all of em say the spells. Sometimes they just let emselves be used. You know that?

He nodded, distracted. The whirlpool was maybe twenty feet across now, roaring louder. Though the smacks crew was fighting hard, they couldnt keep their boat from drifting towards its widening mouth. Theyd never survive the encounter. Theyd be smashed to splinters.

Rafe, said Da. Listen!

He glanced sideways. What?

Sprat, I need to use you. Itll take more power than whats in me to fuddle that b.l.o.o.d.y whirlpool.

We can do it together, he said. Teach me the There aint time. Blood-slicked face twisting, Da cupped the back of his neck. And there aint time for me to do this gentle, neither. Rafe, its goin to hurt. Are you with me?

He looked again to the fishing boat. The waterspouts had tossed the skiff a good bit closerto the smack, the reef and the growing whirlpool. As the smacks crew fought their desperate battle, Fernel b.l.o.o.d.y Pintte dangled over the side, wildly gesturing. Rodyn Garrick, sopping, his long blond hair plastered wet to his skull, stood with poxy Arlin, tall and thin and wet through, his yellow hair short like most young Doranen wore it these days. Along with the other mages they were throwing spells at that howling hole in the ocean. For all the good they were doing they might as well be throwing flowers. Or t.u.r.ds.

Das cupping fingers tightened. Rafe. Are you with me?

Dont ask stupid questions, Da, he said, slicked with cold sweat. Just do it while we still can.

Right, said Da, nodding. Might be best you sit all the way down.

So he b.u.mped his a.r.s.e to the skiffs rough floorboards, and let his hands fall loose into his lap. Kept on staring at the helpless, drifting smack. At Arlin, who was going to spit blood when he found out who helped save him.

Ha.

Das left hand came to rest gently on his head. Here we go. Dont fight it. Youll feed bad but you wont die.

At first he felt nothing but an oddly warm sensation, as his father pointed towards the viciously expanding whirlpool, whispering under his breath. Then Da traced a sigil on the wet-salt air, which caught fire and burned with a strong, wild scent.

Power surged. Magic stirred. Rafel took a deep breath. Da whispered again, and drew another sigil, and now he felt a kind of collapsing, as though he were a blown-up pigs bladder with a pinp.r.i.c.k in it, slowly losing air. Another deep breath. Another fiery sigil. Then he felt a stabbing pain behind his eyesand suddenly he was bleeding magic. And it hurt Barls t.i.ts, it hurt Dimly he was aware of Da raging against the whirlpool. Dimly he could hear someone moaning and realised: Thats me. The trickle of power leaving him widened widened further and suddenly Da was pulling magic from him in a white-hot flood. He choked a scream in his throat.

Da was cursing the whirlpool now, cursing Morg and even Barl. Rafel cursed with him, shuddering with the pain. Then Da dropped to the floor of the skiff, retching for air, and the terrible outpouring of his magic stopped.

It aint workin, Da gasped. All them whirlpools feed on each other, and they feed off that b.l.o.o.d.y reef too. I aint strong enough to break em.

Sowas that it? Had they failed?

Come on, sprat, said Da, coughing. On your feet. We still got work to do.

He couldnt stand. His bones were hollow, his muscles pulped. He could taste iron-salt blood, thick and wet on his lips. But Da hauled him up and somehow he managed not to fall. Managed to open his bleary, burning eyes.

Oh, s.h.i.t.

The doomed fishing boat tossed on the edges of the whirlpools growing wake. The swirling defiant water was nigh on forty feet across now, thundering its hunger, growling to be fed.

Work? he croaked, cold with terror, as beneath their unsteady feet the skiff began to drift. What work? Da, what can we do?

We can save them b.l.o.o.d.y idiots on that fishing boat, I reckon, said Da. Afore they manage to get emselves drowned.

At her wits end trying to comfort Deenie, Dathne jumped near out of her skin when someone banged a fist on the inns chamber door.

Meistress Dathne! Best you come quick!

That was Silas, whod taken over the Dancing Dolphin from his father, Hiram, dead these three years past. She glared at the closed door then bent again over her daughter, curled whimpering on the bed and shaking so hard the bed-frames timber creaked.

Meistress Dathne! Silas called again. Be you in there?

She pressed a kiss to Deenies brow then hurried to the door. Cracked it open a fingers-width and tried to smooth away her frown. Silas? Whats amiss? Only Deenies not feeling spry and Silas was large and red of face, just like his father. Trouble down the harbour, Meistress Dathne, he said, his pouched eyes wide. Seems your Ashers neck-deep in it. And Rafel. The mayor sent someone to fetch you.

Dathne swallowed a curse. Of course her men folk were neck deep in trouble. Where else would they be?

Who jumped first, I wonder? Or did they jump together, hand in hand?

She glanced at Deenie, who shivered and shook on the soft feather bed. I cant leave, Silas. My daughters Go, Mama, said Deenie, her voice reed thin and trembling. They might need you. I cant help them. Im useless.

She waved her hand in a just a moment gesture at Silas, shoved the door shut and returned to the bed. Dont talk like that, she scolded, smoothing Deenies sweat-damp hair. Youre not useless. If youre anything, youre too sensitive. Deenie, I Pansy eyes huge in her pale face, Deenie summoned an unsteady smile. Im not dying, Mama. Im justjust a mouse. Go.

A wave of angry misery surged through her. All shed ever wanted was for prophecy to be over. Shed wanted peace and happiness for her family. Her children. Why couldnt they have happiness? Why wouldnt strife leave them alone?

Is this my fault? Has my past destroyed their hopes for the future?

Mama Fighting weak tears, she looked down. What, mouse?

Please. Go.

Ill not be long, she promised, chafing her daughters cold hand. If you need me call me for Silas and h.e.l.l find where I am.

The someone Westwailings mayor had sent to fetch her was a plump, anxious young Olken man who dithered in the Dolphins public lounge and nearly ran towards her as she came down the crooked stairs.

Meistress Dathne! Praise Barl!

Curse Barl more like it. Who are you? she snapped, heading for the front door.

The mayors young someone leapt after her. Trotter. Phlim Trotter.

And whats happened, Meister Trotter?

Looks like magic gone mad, Mayor Threeve says, he said nervously, his voice low, as they left the inn and struck out towards the harbour. And Asher She flicked a glance at him, walking as fast as she could along Bait-man Alley without actually running. I know. Silas said.

But thats good, Phlim Trotter added, breathless. If theres a man who can save us its the Innocent Mage.

His simple faith should have warmed her. Instead she was winter-cold inside. Asher Asher Indifferent to Phlim Trotters panting discomfort, Dathne swung hard left into the skinniest of laneways separating one alehouse from its neighbour, swished her way between a wall and a row of rubbish bins and shot out the other end of it into Seaswell High Street. The thoroughfare was buzzing, Westwailings homegrown and its visitors milling and agitating, staring down the townships gentle slope towards the harbour. Ignoring Trotters ineffectual bleating, she leapt to the top step of a handily placed bakers shop, shaded her eyes and fixed her anxious gaze on the distant water.

Oh, Jervale preserve us all.

Waterspouts were whipping across the wide harbour where the mage-workers distance-shrunk fishing boat plunged like a mad horse, close enough to the reefs jagged teeth for the folk gathered in the street to be crying aloud their fear and consternation. Smaller still, a mere black dot, another boat. A skiff. It plunged just as madly through the harbours wild, thrashing water.

Dathne felt her heart seize.

Im going to kill them.

Provided, of course, that the waterspouts or something worse didnt kill her husband and son first. But perhaps theyd be all right if Asher undid the binding on Rafels power.

Oh, Rafel. Will you forgive us?

Pushing that fear aside, she glanced down at Phlim Trotter, fraught on the pavement at the foot of the bakery steps. Young man, can you run?

Run? he echoed, his flushed face dripping sweat from mere walking. Ah Never mind, she said, and picked up her skirts. And dont worry, Meister Trotter. Ill tell the mayor you did your best.