The Prodigal Mage Part 5

Here, here, you ole crow, he said, and helped Darran sip from a gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s. Asher eased him back to his pillows, returned the gla.s.s to the nightstand and started to rise. But Darrans 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?

Hes a boy, said Darran, smiling. Boys have their secrets, Asher. The smile faded. And youre 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 youve never trusted your own gift, said Darran gently. You never wanted it. You resent it. You blame magic for every loss.

Why shouldnt I? Dont you? Dont you blame magic for who it killed?

It wasnt the magic that killed him, Asher, said Darran sadly.

p.r.i.c.ked 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 Cygnets 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 pa.s.sing 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 thered come a time when Jed wouldnt be safe around the horses. Kerril said there were a good chance his friend wouldnt 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 dont. Dont need you tellin me you hate me for it, neither.

Hate you? said Darran. I dont hate you. If theres any hating, Asher, youre doing it. Youre the one who wont forgive.

He turned. What are you witterin about, you stupid ole fool? I dont 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. Dont try to deny it. Im dying, but I remember. We both do.

Aye, he remembered. He wished he didnt. Hed thought hed found peace in the months after Gars death. While Rafel grew in Dathnes belly he thought hed 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 Lurs green and growing skin, all he could think was it had all been for nowt.

Why are we talkin on this? he said. It dont matter now. Gars gone. Youll be gone soon. What are you doin, Darran? Makin me pay one last time, while ystill can?

Panting, Darran straightened against his pillows. I never blamed you, Asher, he said with dreadful effort, the chambers sweet air thick and rasping in his throat. I know it wasnt your fault. Gar went his own way. He never told me what he planned but I knew there was something. Hadnt 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 Citys Market Square, before the steps of the great Barls 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 Gars coffin and never talked of it after. Not even once. Not even nearly.

You ole b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Then why didnt 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 hed not have forgiven me. Because he was my king. Because you might have loved him, Asher, but you were still blind. I wasnt. 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 didnt?

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 Jarraltto Morgwhat 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.

Dont you tell me that, he said, turning aside. Why tell me that? Its over, its 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 wouldnt keep Lur safe. But that dont have to mean WeatherWork. Aint no surety in that!

Darrans laugh was breathless, and wry. Aint no surety for Lur if you wont do whats needful.

How would you know whats 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 thats over now, dyou hear me? We aint goin back to them magic days, Darran. We aint goin back to hoity-toity Doranen and us Olken bendin our knees. This aint the old Lur, that old Lurs dead like Gar. And I aint about to kiss its corpse awake, I aint 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. Darranhere, take some posset Numb, he stood with his back to the wall and watched as Dathne tipped spoonfuls of Kerrils elixir into the ole fools 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.

Dont be angry with Asher, Darran whispered. You know how it is with us. I fratch him, Dathne. Theres 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 dont want you to go.

There were tears in her voice. More tears in Darrans eyes, tipping onto his twitching cheek. I know, he said, trying to smile even as the spittle ran down his chin. But Im 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 Darrans eyes closed. Remember your friend, Asher. Remember Gar. Dont waste his sacrifice. He died for you.

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

I cant stay here, he muttered. I aint stayin here. I need air.

Asher! said Dathne, turning. Asher, wait, where are you Haunted, hunted, he left her and the ole crow behind.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Nonplussed, Dathne stared after her impossible husband. Beside her, in his bed, Darran wheezed and dribbled. Barls t.i.ts. The dear old man deserved a death with dignity after his lifetime of unselfish service to the crown, and Lurs people. Without Darran thered 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 Barls Mountains. Lands theyd visited once and would never tempt again.

We owe him so much. And now hes dying and Ashers 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 wishI wish Dathne, said Darran, the feeble fingers holding hers tightening a hairsbreadth. Dont fret. And dont weep. Not for me.

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

Im sorry, she whispered. h.e.l.l 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? Whats this about a secret?

Darrans 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 didnt 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 mans slow dying? To disquiet his last hours with such discord?

Oh, she wanted Asher. But she couldnt 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, Im not fair. Hes 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 wasnt that precisely what the people of Lur had thought before the coming of the Final Days? Only she, Jervales Heir, had known truth for a lie. And the Circle, whod 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 Id come back to you by and by.

Escaped from the familys 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 sometimeslike nowto follow her brother into mischief, when he wasnt 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.

Your father said youd be called if Darran was in the mood for visitors, she retorted. Truths not an ivy-plant, Rafel, to be grown any shape that suits you. And you, Deenie, she added, frowning at her daughter. Youve run off from Cluny too? For shame.

Deenie was small for her eight years, slender like a poplar sapling, a child of thistledown and whispers. Eyes as round as pansies in her narrow, secret face. Where scolding made her brother cross, she wilted under the mildest scrutiny.

Sorry, Mama, she said, her voice hiccupping with dismay. I only wanted to say goodbye, like Rafel.

Dathne felt her heart break. No, no, shes too young. What do you mean, goodbye? What a nonsense that is.

Deenie glanced up at her brother, fingers twisting in her bright blue cotton smock. Rafe said Tattle-tale! Rafe spat at her, and shoved his shoulder against hers. Hold your tongue, I told you. Now look what youve done, Mamas fratched!

So Rafe had told Deenie the old man was dying. Anger nipped at heartbreaks heels, that hed so carelessly shatter his small sisters innocence.

Rafels chin was up, his brows knit together in a belligerent scowl. And oh, it was his fathers face he was showing her now, all bark and bite, their tempers two bright mirrors reflecting each other.

No-one said not to tell, he muttered. Da never said I werent to tell. And neither had she said it, never dreamt shed have to. She glanced sideways at the bed, at Darran, and saw that he was roused from drowsing and watching her from beneath half-lifted eyelids. His sunken eyes, age-fuddled and dimmed with his slow dying, still reflected a gentle amus.e.m.e.nt. Oh, he loved her children. If she hadnt discovered an exasperated affection for him before Rafe was born shed have lost her heart to him after, in his doting on her child. On both her children, who loved him for his kindness and his stories and the way he poked gentle, impolite fun at their father.

Dathne Darrans voice was the threadiest whisper. Youd ease me if you let them stay.

She wanted to deny him, but only because she would shield her children. Yes, Rafe and Deenie had both encountered death, but it had been the small deaths of animals. This death was not small. Darran had grown to be a loving part of their lives. She feared so much the wounds his dying would inflict upon her son and daughter.

Did I mean to let him become so important? Did I not notice how we all grew to lean on him, even Asher? When did I start to love him? When was the first time Asher turned to him as a friend?

She couldnt remember. She only knew it was true, that this ole man, this ole fart, ole scarecrow, ole trout, was part of her family. And that his death would cause her beloved Rafel and Deenie pain. But she couldnt protect them, she knew that. No mother could, though she gave her own life to save their innocence from harm.

Please, Mama, said Rafel, so stubborn. He never once let go of a coveted thing, not even in his cradle. I want to stay.

She looked at her son. Saw with a pang, with grief-sharpened eyes, that he wasnt a little boy any more. Ten years old and growing fast. St.u.r.dy, like his father. A promise of charming good looks contained within the childish framework of his face.

But his eyes are far from childish. He knows things. He feels them. Pretending he doesnt makes no difference to the truth. Weve cursed him, Asher and I. When we made him, we gave him power.

It galled her, to think that Darran knew things about her son that she didnt. That Asher didnt. That she needed to be told by a dying old man that her son had a secret which was causing him hurt.

Please, Mama? said Rafel. Dont make me go. He glanced sideways at Deenie and pulled a little face. Cant we stay?

If Asher were here she was almost certain hed say no. Not to spite Darran, but to protect his children.

And he would be wrong.

Yes, Rafe, she said, feeling her eyes sting. You can stay and say goodbye. Then she shifted and looked down at the old man. But you mustnt be long.

Thank you, Dathne, Darran breathed. Ill not keep them.

She nodded at her children, then stepped back from the bed into pooled shadows, as Rafe and Deenie moved to Darrans side. At the old mans smile Deenie clambered onto the blanketed mattress and took his withered, age-spotted hand in hers. Rafel, scorning such babyish scramblings, echoed his father with thrown-back shoulders and a fearsome scowl and stayed standing.

Rafel, Darran whispered. Deenie. Shall I tell you a story?

Still scowling, Rafe shrugged. Spose. If you want to. I dont care.

But Dathne, watching, knew that he did. He was desperate for a story. He loved Darrans tales. So did Deenie. Asher never looked back, not even for his children. Darrans stories taught them about their father, who loved them beyond all things but kept so much of himself a closed book.

Darran gestured to the chair at his bedside. Make yourself comfortable, then, Rafe, he invited. His rheumy eyes looked feverish now. She could see he was burning the last of his guttering candle for her childrens sake. She should in conscience send them away.

But I cant. I cant. They need this. And so does he, I think. And so do I.

Rafe dropped onto the chair beside Darrans bed. Trying hard to be brave, though his small heart was breaking.

Your father, said Darran, his gaze shifting from Rafe to Deenie and back again, so much love in him she could feel it like a furnace, is a rowdy and a ruffian and the bravest man I ever knew. Braver even than our dear late king, and Gar had courage enough for twenty men.

The bravest man? Braver than Gar? Dathne heard her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Hed never said that before. Hed praised Asher, yes, but never once above his precious prince, the boy hed looked on as a son.

Rafel, I know Ive told you before, said Darran. His voice was raspy, the chambers scented air wheezing in his throat. The story of how your father saved Gars life. But Ive not told your sister. I think I think His gaze drifted to the shadows. Its time for Deenie to hear this one.

Dathne folded her arms against a sudden shiver. Deenie knew her father was counted a hero of Lur. How could she not know it? But theyd kept her sheltered from the details. She was still a little girl. She had the rest of her life to discover Lurs harsh, recent past.

Except there was something important about her hearing such stories of her father from Darran. For one thing, Asher would never tell them. He squirmed and scowled when anyone tried to praise his doings. Not only because hed never relished public acclaim, but because his victory over Morg was tainted by those other deaths. By Gars death especially, which quietly haunted him and robbed him of peace.

But Deenie, like Rafel, was ent.i.tled to know his worth. And there was something special about stories that were told not by a mother and a wife, but an outsider. She understood that. She knew what Darrans stories meant to Rafel. Coming from the old man, the tales were somehow moremore true.

And Deenie deserves that truth no less than her brother. She deserves to know her das a great man.

Darran was watching her, his gaze anxious. Eager. He wanted to gift her children with one last story and his time was dwindling. How could she refuse?

When she nodded, his pale, palsied face flushed with pleasure. A tear escaped his drooping left eye to trickle down his twitching cheek. Deenie pulled a kerchief from the pocket of her smock and gently patted his face dry.