The Prodigal Mage Part 9

Mayhap that Kerril can brew up a potion, he said, staring through the chamber window at the moon, fat and full and boldly shining. Some way of smotherin whats bubblin in him, pastpast what weve kept locked away safe. Hes too young for it, Dath. He aint ready for what it means.

I thought you were over this, she murmured, her cheek resting against his spine. Ten years is a long time. I thought I hoped Will you never accept who you are? What you are?

And what am I, Dath? A fisherman who aint allowed the sea. A fisherman brimful of magic, who never once asked for it. A da who cant protect his son from pain. A da who gave him that pain, who b.l.o.o.d.y poisoned him with Asher, stop it! she said, and tightened her arms till his ribs creaked. This is grief talking. This is your nerves on edge because of what you felt in the Weather Chamber. Your imaginations run rampant, dreading the worst with no good reason. Youre being foolish. Its not like you.

On a deep breath he turned, and pulled her into his arms. Buried his face in her hair, buried his fears in the feel of her, soft yielding flesh over bones of diamond and gold.

Hush, my love, hush, she murmured, her warm hands gentling him. Well be all right. Rafe will be all right. Whatever were facing well survive it. Youre the Innocent Mage, my love. You were born to prevail.

Because he loved her, because she ruled him, he showed her his face. You sure on that? You promise?

Tears shimmered in her eyes. I promise.

They made love again, not tenderly. And afterwards, spent and panting, waited a long time for sleep to claim them.

You called them Circle folk here yet? he asked, hearing his voice slur. We got to get things sorted, Dath.

Her unbound hair tickled his skin as she slowly shook her head. Tomorrow, she said, drowsy. Ill send word to them tomorrow. With Darran at rest I can think clearly now.

He hadnt meant to nag. Right. Tomorrow.

You mustnt fret, she whispered, on the brink of sleep. Theyll come, and well sit down together and see whats what. Theres an answer to this mystery and theyll help us find it.

Drowsy himself, he drifted his fingers to the old faded scar on his chest. Felt the shard of Circle crystal he still carried within him, that he couldve had cut out a hundred times over but didnt.

Aye, he said. Aye, well find it.

And didnt know if he believed that, or not.

CHAPTER SIX.

Heart thudding, Rafel closed Das library door behind him. He wasnt meant to be in here. Not without Da or Mama. He wasnt meant to know what Da kept in the big trunk under the window. And he definitely wasnt sposed to faddle with it.

But here he was. Alone in Das library where he wasnt meant to be. Cause it was in his head like a worm in an apple, to have a looksee in that trunk full of books and scrolls on Doranen magic.

Two days after they put Darran in the royal crypt hed overheard Da talking to Uncle Pellen on some bit of Doranen magic or other he had to rule on in Justice Hall, saying as how hed been studying what Durm said on it in the privy diaries the master magician had left behind. Uncle Pellen had muttered how the thought of those magics being writ down to fall into the wrong hands made him awful nervous. And Da had said how Uncle Pellen werent to fret, for they were kept safe and tight in his library trunk where no eyes but his would ever see em.

That was all hed overhead, cause Da and Uncle Pellen had started walking down the Tower stairs again on their way out to the stables. But hed not been able to forget what was said. Could hardly sleep for wondering what more he could learn about Doranen magic, that he couldnt pinch off Arlin. That Da wouldnt tell him, even though he ought to.

Every time Da wouldnt, he felt better about his terrible secret.

Then, a week after he overheard Da and Uncle Pellen talking their business, out of the blue came this one chance to have a looksee for himself. With Da and Mama gone early to visit Uncle Pellen, and Deenie spending the day with Charis, Cluny to mind them, and no more stickybeaking Darran in the Tower, Barl rest him, and this his one day of the week let out of school, he could sneak into Das library and have a rummage through that trunk of magic. Cause the spells he pinched from Arlin, they were all right but they werent big spells. And he really, really wanted to try a big spell.

So even though he knew this was bad, he waited till no-one was nearby and slid into Das library like an eel into waterweeds. And if a teeny tiny part of him felt ashamed of doing this behind Das back, when Da trusted him? Well. He wasnt going to think about that. What was one more secret? Besides. He wouldnt have to sneak, would he, if Da would keep his promise, and talk magic.

The mysterious trunk had a lock on it.

Not an ordinary lock, neither, with a bra.s.s key to turn it. No, this lock was made of Doranen magic. He could feel its buzziness in his mind, behind his eyes, where he always felt it. Scowling, Rafel thumped to the carpet in front of the trunk. Not one spell hed ever pinched off Arlin would do the trick.

Sink it.

He closed his eyes. Sat very still and quiet. Let the buzziness in his mind tell him what the lock looked like and maybe how it could be undone. Inside his head he saw it as a big ball of string, looped and knotted and stuck through with thorns. But if he tugged this bitthen this bitand got it loose and wiggly right there With an odd kind of springiness, the trunks Doranen-magic lock gave way. Shocked, Rafel opened his eyes. Hed done it. All by himself, without even one of Arlins pinched spells to help him. And the feeling of it, the way the magic made his blood thick and hot, the way it made him feel strong andandinvincible. Not one of Arlins spells had ever made him feel like this, like a real mage. He was Rafel of Dorana, and hed fuddled Das lock.

If Da finds out h.e.l.l b.l.o.o.d.y fuddle me.

But he was too c.o.c.kahoop to fret on that right now. Hurrying, cause chances were one of the Tower maids would get down to dusting this floor pretty soon, he lifted the trunks lid and gazed greedily at its contents.

All the books! And the scrolls! All the secret Doranen magic!

Careful, since Da would notice if the trunks contents were messed about too much, he poked and prodded his way through the forbidden treasure. Read a bit here, a bit there, understanding some of it. Not all. Not most of it. Feeling the buzziness in his mind stir stronger and louder. Feeling his fingers itch, wanting so much to play.

But he didnt dare. If something went wrong Goose said once, when they were talking on magic, that a lot of Durms books had ended up in the General Council library. His da, whod been a councilor then, couldve brought some home if hed wanted. Only he had no interest in Doranen magic, which had nowt to do with hops and ale, and Goose said he didnt want a clip over the ear for asking, thanks.

But compared to these books of magic, those others were nothing. He didnt care any more that he couldnt get his hands on them. These books, with Durms name scrawled and faded on the flyleaf, they were special. And one day hed read them and learn every spell. One day hed do every last bit of magic in them. And then he could feel like a real mage every day.

But not today. He couldnt stay in Das library any longer. Through the closed door he could hear Biddy singing, loud and out of tune like always, as she dusted her way down the Tower staircase. If she found him in here thered be such a ruckus Reluctantly, he started to close the trunks lid. Then his eye caught sight of a fat scroll tucked down the side. It looked much newer than the other scrolls hed rummaged through. Holding his breath he eased it out, undid the ribbon keeping it closed and let it unroll just enough to see.

His heart thumped so hard it nearly leapt out of his chest. Tollins account of his expedition over Barls Mountains. He felt like dancing. Like shouting. Like laughing out loud. Not caring any more that Biddy was dusting closer, he let the scroll unroll itself properly.

And it turned out there were three copies of the same account bundled together. The writing was small and cramped and squiggly, so that Tollins memories would fit front and back on one long sheet of parchment.

Rafel stared at his discovery, feeling sweaty sick. Everything he ever wanted to know about Tollins adventures, that Da and Mama would never ever tell him, that not even ole gossipy Darran would tell him I could take one. I could. Whyd they need three for? They dont need three. And if I keep it proper hidden, no-one will find out.

All those books and scrolls of magic. All the truths Da wouldnt share. The magic that was kept from him. The things he didnt know.

Da shouldnt keep secrets. Not about me.

Quickly he took one of Tollins scrolls, folded it over and over and shoved it inside his shirt, down the waistband of his trews. Then he rolled up the other two, tied the ribbon tight round them again, shoved them back into the trunk then closed its lid with a soft thump.

And then he realisedhe had to lock it again.

Oh.

With his eyes closed and his mind still, feeling that lumpy folded parchment slowly warming against his skin, he picked up the undone ends of Das lock and put them back the way they were. Not sure how he was doing it, knowing only that he was. That he could feel exactly which bit went where, and how, so Da would never know what had happened.

When he was finished Rafel opened his eyes, shaken and blinking as the buzziness in his mind faded. The trunk was locked again. It was time to go. He and Goose were meeting at the City gates to spend the day on horseback. If he didnt hurry he was going to be late.

Closing Das library door behind him, he heard Biddys clomping footsteps on her way down the staircase. Any ticktock she was going to find him.

He bolted.

Hey! Hey! Race you! Goose shouted as soon as they were safely through the City gates, and dug his heels into his ponys ribs. Eyes rolling, ears flattened, the pony swished its tail and bolted.

Rafel stared after him, mouth dropped, then let out a bloodcurdling yell. Stag needed no more urging. With a snort and a kick-behind he pounded after Gooses pony. Lucky thing the road into the City was empty just then, for between them theyd have easy run a fancy carriage into the ditch.

Laughing, breathless, the wind whipping his face, Rafel galloped after Goose. Heels drumming, elbows flapping, lurching left and right in his saddleStablemeister Divit called his best friend a sapsterGoose veered off the roadway and across the open meadow towards the river where it pooled and puddled near Dragonshead Bridge.

Gooses pony was a game one, but Stag was bred down on the Dingles, on the horse farm King Gar started when he was a spratling prince. The best bloodlines in Lur came from Kingsfarm: Cygnet, and poor dead Ballodair, and every horse in the Tower. His first pony, Flea. Then Dancer. Now Stag.

Standing in his stirrups, knees gripped tight to Stags barrel ribs, he buried his fisted hands in the ponys black mane and shouted into one turned-back ear. Go on! Catch him, Stag! Catch him! Go on!

He felt the pony stretch out long and low beneath him and saw clottings of green turf fly past, dug loose by Stags hard shod hooves. They were gaining on Goose gaining gaining there was the bridge there was their favourite patch of flower-scattered meadow there was the deep riverpond, known to locals as the Dragons Eye Ha! he shouted, triumphant, as Stag surged past Gooses wallowing beast. Beat you, Goosie! Beat you! Ha!

Gooses wail of defeat made him laugh and laugh. Which was mean, he knew it was mean, but he couldnt help it. He liked to win.

Their race over, they let the hobbled ponies graze the gra.s.s and flowers, kicked off their boots and socks and sat on the ponds low gra.s.sy bank dangling their bare feet above it. Nearby flowed the Gant, wide and slothful. The snow up high hadnt melted yet, so the springrace was still a few weeks away. A long stones-throw distant stood Dragonshead Bridge, and the sound of the river slipping and sliding around and past its stone supports was sleepy and comfortable. The Eye sparkled in the sunshine, early dragonflies dancing across its still, mirror surface.

Rafel breathed out a huge sigh of satisfaction. Aside from practising his magic, there was no better way to spend a free day than with Goose and the wide blue sky, nowt else. What with Darran dying and all, it felt like years since hed been let loose to amuse himself.

And theres Tollins adventure inside my shirt. I got such a tale to tell. One of these days, said Goose, his long black hair flopping, Im going to win a race agin you.

Yreckon? he said, grinning.

Goose slumped. Probly not.

Probly youre right, he said, still grinning, and idly kicked Gooses k.n.o.bby sockless ankle. Get yourself a Dingles-bred pony, you might stand a chance.

Dont you spit on Taff, said Goose, firing up. Hes a good pony, he is.

Rafel looked sideways to where Stag and Gooses pony were tearing at the meadow, their slipped bits jangling, nudging and jostling jealously over the sweetest bite of gra.s.s. Stags dark brown coat gleamed ripe with dapples. Beside him, Gooses muddy cream pony looked a lot like a nag.

Goose, seeing it, stayed loyal. Any road. Even if my dad did believe in paying Dingles money for a pony, I wouldnt push Taff out. Were friends, him and me.

I know. He didnt want a brangle with Goose. Not when the sun was shining and the day was theirs to play with. Not with Tollins parchment snug tight against his skin. Youre right. Hes a good pony.

After a hard look, just to make sure he wasnt being joshed, Goose reached beneath his laced-up leather jerkin. There was a clinking, and some wrestling, then two bottles of beer sat on the gra.s.sy bank between them.

Impressed, Rafel stared. That for us?

No, said Goose, going cross-eyed. For Taff and Stag.

That your das brew?

It is, said Goose. His best strong beer, from the bottling that won him the last guild gold medal. A quick, shy smile. Goose was proud of his da. Put hairs on your chest, that will.

Did he want hairs on his chest? Theyd be a bit hard to explain Chewing his lip, Rafel frowned at Gooses folly. Beer, eh? Hed never drunk a whole bottleful before. Sometimes Da gave him a mouthful from his own tankard. He didnt care for it overmuch but he never told Da that, because sharing a brew was manly important. He wasnt about to tell Goose, neither. Not with his friend all puffed up for bringing it.

Your da catches you pinching his prize beer, Goose, youll get walloped right into next week, he said. He notices his prize beer gone missing, you wont sit down three Barlsdays running.

Goose hooted. Notice two bottles gone? My dad wont notice that. Hes got so much beer in the pantry theres no room for spuds. You should hear my ma. Trust me, Rafe, Im safe.

Probly that was true. These days Gooses da was Meister of the Brewers Guild. Near to all the back yard of his City house in Brewers Corner was taken up with a hops-oven and a malting hut and the smelly vats where he made his homebrew beer. Breathing at Gooses house was like swimming in the stuff, yeasty and eye-tickling. He always went home from Gooses smelling like an alehouse, so Mama made him wash even when he was still clean.

Goose held out one bottle. Drink up.

He took it. There was a little gleam in Gooses eye, as though he knew this was a kind of dare. As though he knew he could make up for losing another pony race. Ha. Rafel unstopped the bottle with his teeth, spat out the spongewood stopper and tipped his head back. Beer swilled, blood-warm and heady, over his tongue and down his parched throat. The taste was strong and earthy, a punch to his belly. A rush to his head. It didnt taste anything like the beer Da liked to drink.

Good, eh? said Goose, smacking his lips. Hed been raised on beer, and ale, and watered-down wine. He was going to be a brewer when he was a man growed. Not because his da said he had to, though he did, but because he wanted it.

And whatll I be? I dont know. I want to be an explorer, cept there aint nowt left to explore in Lur. And we cant get past the reef and there aint no more going over the mountains, so that doesnt leave me much save Council work, and who wants that? I dont.

Keep drinking, said Goose, not noticing. You let beer sit too long, all the bubbles burst. You shouldnt let it sit too long once youve unstopped it, Rafe. All the goodness is in the bubbles.

He gave Goose a sideways look. Practising to be Guildmeister, are you?

Goose shrugged. No. Its just you got to drink beer proper, Rafe. You got to respect it.

Respect it? It was beer. But there was Goose looking to get all hot and bothered, so he shrugged and swallowed another mouthful. Didnt want Goose thinking he was a girl, did he? It tasted even better this time. He swallowed again. Burped. Laughed.

Goose was eyeing his own bottle sadly. Hed nearly drained it dry. Shouldve brought more.

He nodded, grinning. This was good beer. Worth its gold medal. Aye.

I will, next time, said Goose, slumping his chin to his chest. Two each. Dad wont notice. He never notices what I do. He says I wont be interesting till Im old enough to shave.

Rafel pulled a face. Poor ole Goose. Still, the beer was good. Swallow by swallow, his stolen bottle emptied.

Below their dangling bare feet, gaddies chased away the dragonflies and whizzed in dizzy circles above the riverponds quiet surface. A stir, a splash, and a fat silver-scaled carp hurtled into the air and swallowed a mouthful of gauzy wings. Goose hooted again, finger waving. Lookee that! Lookee!

Goose was tall and gangly for ten, lots of s.p.a.ce in him to fill out. His da was a big man, and hed be big too. So it always seemed funny, that he could giggle like a girl. Like Deenie and Uncle Pellens Charis when they played silly dolls together.

Rafel s.n.a.t.c.hed a handful of gra.s.s and threw it at him, haphazard. Its a fish, Goose. You aint seen fish before?

Sure I seen fish, said Goose. But these are funny fish, Rafe.

Beneath the riverponds surface more silver carp thrashed and jostled. The water seethed then fell silent.

Oh, said Goose, disappointed. Whered they go?

Somewhere, he said, and tipped the last of the warm beer between his teeth. In his head a warm buzz, like the droning of summer bees. Like Doranen magic. Want em back, do you?

Goose tip-tilted his own beer bottle, gurgling the dregs. Yes, but theyre gone.

Poor Goose. His da hardly noticed him and his pony wasnt Dingles-bred. Itd never run faster than Stag, not even if it had two extra legs. Rafel tossed aside his emptied purloined beer bottle then tugged the folded parchment out from under his shirt.

Here, he said, flipping it to Goose. Mind that. No peeking. Goose fumbled the catch. What is it? he said, picking up Tollins scroll from the gra.s.s.

A surprise, for later, he answered, then scrunched himself right to the edge of the riverbank. Slid a little further, then dropped down into Dragoneye Pond.

Rafel! said Goose, his voice squeaking. Rafe, dont be daft! Dont go in there. You want to drown?

I aint going to drown, he said, the cool water lapping at his leather belt. Cutting him in half. Beneath his bare feet sludge squished and pebbles bruised. I could swim before I could walk. Well, almost. Near enough. Him and Deenie both werent frighted of the water, Da had made certain sure of that. Theyd even been swimming in the ocean, down on the coast. But dont you try it, Goose, he added, and jabbed a pointed, warning finger. Youre a City Olken through and through. Youd be drownded in no time.