The Prodigal Mage Part 32

Incredulous, Asher stared at her. Dathne, you aint thinkin. The Councils goin to say yes to Pintte and Badens expedition. And when it fails, cause it will, the rest of usll be right back where we started. Stuck here in Lur, and Lur fallin to pieces around us. So if I dont try fixin things, what happens then?

I dont know, she said, defiant. Terrified. All I know is that you promised me youd not touch that Weather map again. Asher, you promised. And if you break that promise I will never forgive you.

And she walked out so he could think on that for a little while, on his lonesome.

Goose peered over the rim of the vast oak tub. No, he said. Not yet. Keep crushing.

Sweating, choking on the stink of bruised malted barley, Rafel glared. Ive been crushing the b.l.o.o.d.y stuff for hours, Goose. My arms are about to fall off!

Youve been crushing it for nigh on five minutes, said Goose, grinning. You little girl.

Little girl? He blotted his forehead dry with his sleeve. In case youre addled from drinking your own ale, Meister Goose, you might remember Im back from Westwailing where You were a hero. I know, said Goose, still grinning. Then the grin slipped. And came b.l.o.o.d.y close to feeding a whirlpool. So if youre still weary, then He was. Not just from the harbour, but from the long carriage drive home, tooand most of all from the effort it took to keep his newly woken magic contained. It was unruly, his power. Simmering always on the edge of his mind. Teasing, taunting, demanding to be let loose. And fighting, fighting so hard, cause he couldnt let it. Cause it had to be contained.

Oh yes. He was weary.

But hed skin himself alive before admitting it. Weary yourself! he scoffed, and starting pounding the malt again. You roll them oats. Thats your job, I reckon, not giving me grief.

Snorting, Goose fed another scoop of groats into the handroller and cranked its heavy handle. Come on, Rafe. Life aint worth living if I cant give you grief.

Ha! he said, and picked up his heavy wooden hammer. Life aint worth living upside down in an ale casket, neither!

Goose pulled a face. True.

Comfortably companionable, they continued pounding and rolling. Goose was experimenting with a new ale recipe hed dreamed up, so they were making a small batch in the home brewery down the back of his family house. The air was thick with the rich smell of crushed malt and rolled oats, and damp with steam from the huge kettles of freshly boiled water standing ready to make the mash for fermenting.

Rafel, watching Goose roll his last scoop of oats, seeing the fierce concentration in his friends face, and the carefully buried excitement, felt a pang of envy. Lucky Goose, knowing what he loved and was good at. Was allowed to be good at. No-one ogled him for being a brewer. No-one stared at him with curiosity and suspicion. As though he might erupt into dangerous magic any ticktock.

Goose looked up from his rolling. Hows your father?

Da? He reached for the broad oak paddle and loosened up the crushed malt. Hes fine.

And you?

And me.

You sure?

He scowled. Yes.

The look on Gooses face said he wasnt convinced. These days his da wasnt Meister of the Brewers Guild but that didnt stop him hearing every last whisper from what went on in the General Council. Three days had pa.s.sed since Das brangle with Fernel Pintte. Dorana was still buzzing on itand City folk didnt know half of what went on.

And I only know all of it cause Goose told me. His da talks to him like the man grown he is. Da and Mama want to keep me a sprat. Even after Westwailing, theyre trying to protect me. When are they going to realise its too late for that?

Goose came over to check the pounded malt again. Thatll do, he declared, and fetched the large pail of rolled oats. Together they lifted the heavy tub of malt, tipped it into the oats, then shoved the emptied tub to one side. Here, said Goose, handing him the oak paddle. Mix them up good and proper.

Aye, sir, he said, and got stuck in with the paddle. While he mixed the malt and oats, Goose lugged over the empty oak barrel set aside for his new ale. Levered the first full, steaming kettle off the stove and tipped the boiled water out slowly, encouraging more steam to billow. Tipped in the second kettle, and some of the third.

Right, said Goose, smiling. He was a man who surely loved his work. Time for the magic.

They dribbled the dry malted barley and rolled oats into the sloshing oak barrel, then Rafel stood back as Goose poured in more steaming water. When that was done his friend nodded, well pleased.

Now we wait a bit. Fancy a tot of my last brew?

What was your last brew? he said, feeling cautious. I aint of a mind to tiddly myself so early in the day.

You wont, Goose promised. Its mild as mothers milk. Weaker than what were brewing here, which is why I had a little fiddle with the recipe.

Rafel took the cool bottle Goose offered him, plucked from a clay-and-tile lined pit in the brewery floor, unstopped it and swallowed. Liquid gold poured down his throat. Not bad, he said, pretending indifference, and hitched his hip onto a handy oak barrel. Id pay for it in a pinch, if I had to.

Goose didnt bite. So tell me the truth, Rafe, he said. How are you? He sighed. Shouldve known he wouldnt let it go. He never does. The day they got back from the coast he told Goose everything about Westwailing. Told him how Da had hidden most of his magic from him for years, and only revealed the truth cause hed been pushed to it. With Goose there wasnt any need to hide. All his pain, his rage, his bewildered betrayalGoose knew it all. There was comfort in that.

I aint fine.

Goose was watching him closely. You still not talking to your dad?

Not about He shook his head. Not really.

Rafe.

He swallowed more ale. He could talk to me. He could say sorry.

Maybe he doesnt know how, Goose said gently.

Or maybe hes not sorry.

And if hes not? said Goose. What then? Are you going to stay mad at him forever?

b.l.o.o.d.y Goose and his questions. As bad as Deenie, he was. You saying I aint got a right to be mad?

Im saying with whats going on, maybe theres other folk deserve your anger more than him. Fernel Pintte, for one.

Aye, he admitted, feeling his belly gripe. Fratched as he was at Da, and he was b.l.o.o.d.y fratched, what Pintte had said in the General Council I tell you, Goose, I wish Id never helped save that poxy s.h.i.ts life. Or Sarle Badens.

Goose snorted into his ale. Dont let Barlsman Jaffee hear you say that. Then he shook his head. Sarle Badens grieving, and Pinttes raving, you know that. Your dadhed never hurt Lur. Only a fool would think it. Only a mean fool would say it. Fernel Pinttes a mean b.l.o.o.d.y fool, Rafe.

I know, he agreed. Da knows it too. But stillhes hurt. Hed never say so but I can tell. He grimaced. Even if we aint talking.

What your dad said about not sending more folk over the mountains, Goose said, frowning. Did he mean it?

Course he meant it. You ever know my da to say nowt he didnt mean?

But Goose was still frowning. He doesnt know for sure that what Tollin wrote about is still true, does he? Hes not had a vision or anything. Right?

Right, he said slowly. I spose you could say its nowt more than a feeling.

Do you feel it? said Goose. Do you think its still death to cross Barls Mountains?

Rafel stared at the brewerys cool brick floor, and was suddenly five years old again. Hiding in the lampha bushes outside the palace, listening to things he wasnt sposed to hear. Looking back at himself, a man now, remembering the sprat hed been, his dreams of exploring, he remembered too how full of fear Tollins voice was. How cracked and seamed with grief. And how angry Da had sounded, that good men died with nowt to show for it but sorrow.

And he remembered Westwailing, so close and so raw. The taint of Morgs sorcery. How he and Da had vomited half the way home, purging that taint the only way their bodies knew how. It meant he understood a bit better, why Da was so set on keeping everyone in Lur.

But does that mean I dont want to go see for myself whats over the mountains?

No. It b.l.o.o.d.y didnt. Even if it was dangerous he wanted to go.

He looked up at his best friend. Goose, I hate Fernel Pinttes miserable guts but hes right. We cant stay pinned in this kingdom. Not with its troubles, and no sign of healing them.

Goose put down his half-drunk ale bottle on the cool end of the stove. So you think its safe to go?

I didnt say that. What Morg left behind him? He shuddered. I aint got words to tell you. But it aint living magic. Its leftovers. And I reckon it can be beat. I reckon I can beat it. But he couldnt say that out loud, not even to Goose. With enough good mages, any road.

And Sarle Baden? Hes a good mage? Goose said, looking to his brew again. Good enough to keep folk on an expedition safe?

Rafel watched him add more water to the steeping mix of grains in the oak barrel. Breathed in the thick, fuggy smell of the mash. Well, Rodyn Garrick wasnt a complete fool, and he put his life and Arlins in Badens hands when they were working the reef. Why?

Goose fitted the barrels lid back on, put the waterless kettle on the floor with the other two, then shoved his hands in his pockets. And then he pulled one hand free, and rubbed his nose.

Rafe Im going.

Going? he said blankly. Going where? The mash aint done yet, Goose, and I dont know how to finish it. Youre the fancy brewer here, not me.

Rafe. Goose sighed. I mean Im going with Pintee and Baden. It aint been announced yet, but the Councils said yes to another expedition. Pa and I talked it over, and we decided Im going, for the guild.

Years ago, when they were sprats, he and Goose once fratched themselves into fisticuffs. Some stupid reason or other. Maybe hed said Stag was the better pony, no argument. Any road. Goose had punched him in the belly so hard he couldnt breathe. So hard he fell on his a.r.s.e and sat there gasping like a landed fish, while Goose stood over him with his fists clenched, howling, Take it back! Take it back! So he took it back and they never talked on that again, not ever. He never said diddly about Gooses ponies again, neither. Not the dirty cream one or the one that came after.

Now he stared at his friend, gut-punched a second time. Gut-punched so he couldnt speak, disbelieving and dismayed.

See, the thing is, said Goose, determined, Pas too old. He wants to go, but his legs bad and his chests wheezy and theres no pother who can fix him. And see, Asher, the guilds worried. After all the bad weather the barley yields down by more than half. Sos the oat crop. And the quality of the grain? Nowhere near what it used to be. Ive seen the guild records. And its not just the rain and tremors. Its like Lurs getting tired. Like its worn out with growing things. And weve got to do something. All our brewings are at stake. The whole guilds at stake, I think.

And this is what your da came up with? he said, finding his voice. You joining Pintte and Badens expedition?

Goose nodded. Thats right.

Butwhy you?

Why not me? said Goose, ready to be offended. If its guild business, someone in the guilds got to go. And Gryf Macklin might be Guildmeister these days, but no big decision gets made without Pas chinwag. And he wants it to be me.

What about you, Goose? Do you want to go?

I wasnt sure at first, Goose admitted. Its a big thing. And with what your dad saidbut like you say, he could be wrong. And if I go, then Im a part of something important. Not just for the guild, but for Lur. Id like to do something important. Id like to matter. His cheeks tinted. Like you matter.

Me? Doubly dismayed, Rafel slid off his oak barrel perch and started pacing. Goose, dont be b.l.o.o.d.y stupid. Aint you the youngest brewer ever to get the Guild Medal? Aint the strong brew you cooked up last winter the best-selling ale in all Dorana City? Goose, youve done more than I have. And you What? said Goose. Rafel, what?

Youve got a future, he muttered, goaded into saying what hed sworn hed never confess. And whatve I got, eh? Magic n.o.body wants me to use. And a da asas Asher, your dads a hero, said Goose. Your dads the greatest man ever born in Lur. Beating Morgand what he did down in Westwailing, he He aint the same, Goose, he said, still pacing. Westwailingit changed him. Day and night he sits around brooding on them fools who drowned, and on how every harbour in the kingdoms ruined, and how he didnt stop it and how he cant fix Lur. And he broods on my magic.

Cant blame him for that, Rafe, said Goose. Its something to brood on.

Maybe, but its mine, not his, he retorted. Mine to use, mine to ignore, mine to study on, if thats what I want. But Das so scared of magic fuddling me, Goose, hes got me chained up like a dog!

Goose shrugged. Then unchain yourself, why dont you, Rafe? Do what you want. Come with me.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

What? Rafel stepped back. Goose, I cant. I mean, I want to, but I cant.

Why not? said Goose, a little hurt. A little puzzled. After all those explorer games we played when we were sprats? I thought Then he jumped, turning. Sink it. The mash.

Thoughts on the new expedition were flung aside as he pulled the lid off the oak barrel, grabbed his stout oak pole and began stirring the malt barley and oat mash, thick as porridge and twice as heavy. It wasnt a job for two, so Rafel again perched himself on the spare oak barrel and watched, his thoughts racing.

I cant go. How can I go? How would it look? And Mama? If I even suggest it, sh.e.l.l never forgive me.

Right, said Goose at last, and hoiked the oak pole out of the barrel. Now it gets to sit for an hour or three. Sticking a thumb-tip into the hot, odorous mash, pulling it out again quickly, he stuck it in his mouth and sucked. Not bad. Should ferment up just right after its sat a spell, and Ive yeasted it.

Pleased to hear it, Rafel muttered, feeling gnarly. Dont know what Dorana Citys alehousesll do with themselves once you gallivant over them mountains.

Splattered with ale mash, stinking of malt, Goose looked at him squarely. Rafe. Are you going to bellyache forever? Until youre an old man? Come with me.

I cant, Goose, he said, feeling wretched. Not after what happened in the Council meeting. Not after what Da said.

Goose picked up his half-finished bottle of ale and emptied it down his gullet. Swallowed, burped enormously, then tossed the bottle onto a handy pile of hessian sacks.

Going to say something now, he announced. You might want to punch me after, but its got to be said so Ill take my chances. And you can sit there with your trap shut and listen, right?

Goose Trap shut, Goose insisted. And listen.

He folded his arms. Fine. Im listening.

So heres the thing, said Goose. If a whirlpool had took your dad down in Westwailing, like it took Arlins, or if his magic had killed him, youd be on your own now. If he werent here to answer toif hed diedwould you go?

And for a heartbeat he did want to punch Goose, for daring to even ask such a question. For daring to put into loud words that tiny, horrible thought lurking deep in his mind.

I would. I would. I b.l.o.o.d.y well would.

But he couldnt say it out loud. Whatleave Mama and Deenie behind? Alone? How could I do that?

I guess you couldnt, said Goose. But since your dad isnt dead, Rafe, theyd not be alone. If you want to go, you should go. Like you say, its your life. Not his. He grinned his quirky, lopsided grin. Besides, if you dont come, Rafe, Ill be stuck on my lonesome with Fernel b.l.o.o.d.y Pintte. Call yourself my friend and do that to me, would you?

Groaning, Rafel pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. You aint fair, Goose. None of its so easy as you make out.

No? said Goose, and busied himself tidying up the oat-roller. How old was your dad again, when he left Restharven to come here?

My age, he muttered. Everybody knows that.