And if wishes were fishes then no-one would starve.
So do I, he said. Howd this happen, any road? Aint he just had you breathin down his neck for an ague in his chest? You standin there tellin me you never noticed he had a palsy brewin?
He knew he sounded angry, as though this was all Kerrils fault. As though somehow, by coming to tell him, shed made it happen in the first place. He knew he wasnt being fair. But he couldnt help himself. This after the cherry orchard? And the Weather Chamber? It was too much.
Dathne clicked her tongue. Asher, thats hardly No, its a reasonable question, Dathne, said Kerril, her grave expression unchanged. If hed hurt her, or angered her, hed never know. She wasnt like Nix, whod bl.u.s.tered and fussed. I physick your family, you need to know I know my task. Hands clasped before her, she frowned before answering. Palsy often strikes without warning, Asher. A man can be fiddle fit one day and drop dead in his doorway the next. Theres no rhyme nor reason, alas. It kills the young and the old, men and women both. I doubt Darrans ague had a thing to do with it. He was mostly over that, just a little cough remained.
And now hes dyin. Grief surged, unexpected, stealing his breath. In the djelba trees surrounding the Tower courtyard, nightbirds flapped their wings. Days end approached and they were waking from sleep.
Asher Dathne rested her hand on his forearm. Kerril says Rafel was with Darran when the palsy struck.
He stared. What? Where is he?
Indoors, said Kerril. He took no harm. He called for help then stayed with Darran comforting him. He was a brave boy, Im told.
Of course he was. He was Rafel. Exasperated, he turned to Dathne. And were out here flappin our lips instead of seein to our son cause Because he doesnt need us smothering him, she snapped. Because a s.p.a.ce of time and silence are as healing as soft words.
He loved her so much that he forgot, sometimes, how hard she could be. Her years as Jervales Heir had marked her. She were more comfortable than she used to be, but the core of her remained unchanged, stronger than iron.
He can have both, Dath, he said. Aint no need for him to choose.
He looked past her and Pother Kerril, through the Towers open double doors and into its circular marble-floored foyerand saw his son on the spiral staircase. Rafes knees were pulled close to his chest, dark hair flopping over his lowered face, small hands clutching his shinbones tight.
Can I see the ole man? he asked Kerril, his eyes not moving from that slight, still body on the snail-sh.e.l.l stairs.
Hes asking for you, said Kerril. Stay as long as you like. Ive eased him as much as I can, and left an elixir. If the shaking takes him again, a spoonful should help.
With an effort, he wrenched his gaze from Rafel. Will he see sunrise?
As I said, these things cant be predicted, Kerril replied gently. Then she sighed. But theres a good chance he wont.
Go, said Dathne. Her dark eyes were full of quiet misery. An iron core, she had, aye but a lot more besides. If business arises Ill see to it. Dont fret on that.
He nodded, suddenly unable to trust his voice.
If youve need of me, send to my infirmary, Kerril added. I have possets and so forth to see to. Ill be working late into the night.
My thanks, Kerril, he said. Shamed that hed lashed out at her, looked to hurt when all shed done was help. I know better than that. Im me, I aint my brother. Zeth hurts folk heedless. Im better than Zeth. There be no pother in Lur couldve cared more for Darran, I reckon. Hes old and wore out, thats the sad fact of it. And Im thinkin hes walked a long road. Longer than most.
Indeed, she replied. Though thats small enough comfort.
It were no comfort at all. Barl save him, he was sick to death of death. With a nod for Kerril, and a small smile for Dathne that was all pain and no pleasure, he left the women on the Towers front steps and trudged inside.
Hearing his footsteps, Rafel looked up. With the evening drawing in, the foyer had been lit with glimfire. Sconces glowed against the circular wall, throwing shadows. Their warm light found the tears in Rafels eyes, that the boy was too proud to let fall. His face was grimy, his short black hair streaked with dust. Rafe charged through life as though it was a race, heedless of skinned knees and bruises, never frettin if he fell. Why would he? Hed find his feet all right. He always did.
Da, the boy said. His bottom lip quivered. The ole fools dyin, I reckon.
Aye, he said, and sat himself on the stair beside his son. Reckon he is. But dont call him that, eh? Hes got a name, Rafe, and enough years in his dish you can respect him by usin it.
Rafe twitched one skinny shoulder. You call him an ole fool. You call him worse, Ive heard you.
Aye, but thats me, he said, and draped an arm round his son. What I call him be our business, Rafe. Mine and Darrans. You know the ole man and me got history. Youre a spratling yet. You aint earned the right.
I never will, if hes dying, said Rafe, and his voice broke in a small sob. Hes my friend, Da. I dont want him to die.
I know you dont, Rafe, he whispered, and pulled his son close. n.o.body wants their friends to die. Friends is what makes the world worth livin in, even when its falling in flames around your ears. But you got to remember, Rafe, men dont live forever. No-one lives forever.
He felt Rafes thin, wiry body tremble. Like Dancer?
Aye, he said gently. Just like Dancer. He had a good long life and Darran has too. There aint nowt to be sad on for that. But dont you go lettin your ma hear you measurin the ole fart to a pony. Sh.e.l.l clip you round the earhole for that.
And sh.e.l.l clip you for calling Darran an ole fart, said Rafe, swiftly smiling. He looked like his mother then, quicksilver mischief, their dark eyes the same.
Aye, mayhap she will, he said. So that be our secret, eh?
Rafe heaved a deep sigh. Da Aye, Rafe?
Cantcant you live forever?
The plaintive question plunged through him like a harpoon meant for a shark. Breached his heart and stole his breath. Bleeding tears on the inside, for hed not ever let his son see a weeping father, who should be strong, he shook his head.
No, Rafe. But theres nowt to fret on, I promise. I aint goin nowhere for years and years and years.
Morg lived forever, Rafe said, his voice still broken and soft. Nearly. He wouldve, cept you killed him. Cant you He sniffed. You know.
Stricken, Asher stared through the open foyer doors. Dathne and Pother Kerril still stood on the Tower steps, gossiping like women did, praise Barl. For if Dath were here, and caught Rafel in such a question He tightened his arm hard around his sons slight frame. No, Rafe. No. Fear had him by the throat, squeezing it almost closed. We talked on this before, remember? That kind of magic is wrong. And it dont exist any road. Not any more.
Maybe. But Da, youre a great mage, said Rafe. He was stubborn, so stubborn, he never knew when to leave well enough alone. You could find it. You could never die.
Swamped, Asher hauled his son closer still, wrapped both arms around him and hung on for grim life. I told you, sprat, I aint dyin, he said, m.u.f.fled against Rafels dusty, disordered hair. I know youre fratched cause of Darran, but thats him. That aint me. Now, you put that kind of magic out of your head, you hear? It aint never to be spoke of again. Not to me, not to your mother, not to a living soul. Understand?
Rafel nodded. Yes, Da.
Leaning back, Asher stared into his sons vivid face. You just sayin that, Rafel? Or are you hearin me? Do you promise? Is this your proper word, given man to man, and no breakin of it for nowt?
The tears Rafe had held back were sprung free now, and sluicing his cheeks. Promise, he said, choking. My word, Da. Man to man.
All right then, he said, still terrified because Nix, who knew such things, had told him and Dath seven years ago that Rafel, their precious son, had magic in him like his father. No tame Olken mage, this boy, but a child of both worlds who could scorch as well as soothe. All right. So thats your word sworn to me, and well not speak on this again.
No, Da, Rafel whispered. Da, I was just asking. I didnt mean to do wrong.
And there was another wave crashing over him, stealing his breath again. I know. I know. Youre a good sprat. I know.
He felt Rafels arms curl round his neck. Felt his sons wet, grimy cheek press against him. His own da had been a good man, a kind man, a man to love with all his heart. But fishing were a hard life; he never was one for hugs and kisses. Love was food on the table, a bed to sleep in, and no leaky roof.
Ma had hugged him, but Ma died young. Hed had to wait until Dathne to feel that loved again. And as hed stood by her bedside ten years ago, as hed watched her hold their squalling newborn son, indignant and outraged, still sticky with birthing blood, hed promised himself: He wont doubt me. He wont wonder. h.e.l.l have hugs and kisses every day.
I got to go, Rafe, he murmured, holding on tight. I got to see that ole fart up there, that ole man whats dyin.
Can I come too? said Rafel. Darran and me, we never finished our game. We couldnt find a good book to buy so we were playing hop-poddle and I was winning, for real.
Mayhap you can see him later, he said. For now theres words as need sayin between him and me and no-one else.
Sniffing, Rafe wriggled free. What if there aint a later, Da? he said, and dragged a grubby sleeve across his woeful face. He might die of a sudden. Gooses ma went like that.
If I reckon hes goin, Ill say somethin for you, he promised. What should I say?
Standing on a lower step, head down so his eyes and his slow tears were hidden, Rafel shrugged. Then he looked up. Tell the ole fool I love him, Da. Tell him thank you for his stories.
He tousled his sons hair, then pushed to his feet. I will. Now go find your ma, Rafe. Id say shes worrited for you.
But instead of leaving, Rafel stared up at him, so solemn. Im sorry, Da. It aint fair, how your friends die.
Dont you fret on me, Rafe, he said at last, when he could trust himself, so close to breaking. I got you and your mother. I got your sister. Youre my best friends, you are. I be fine.
Rafels smile broke through the grief and tears. It was his own mothers sunlight smile, found its way to his small sons face. Dont you fret on me neither, Da. I aint leavin you. I aint goin no place.
He watched Rafel bound down the foyer stairs, leap lightly across the marble floor and run to Dathne, alone now on the Towers sandstone steps. He watched them embrace, and for a hurting heartbeat saw Dana and Gar, whod loved one another the way Dath and Rafel loved.
And then he turned and trudged his way up the Towers spiral staircase, sorrow a dreadful weight bowing his spine.
Pother Kerril had left glimfire burning in Darrans chamber, and scented tapers so the air smelt of spring. The curtains were drawn against the window, dark blue velvet echoing a summer night sky. Darran had slept in this small s.p.a.ce for more than ten years. It was the room he took when JarraltMorgbanished him to exile here with Gar. When that business was done with, and Lur had been saved, hed been offered the whole floor of the Tower where Gar used to live, the kings privy chamber and his study and his library too.
Shocked, offended, Darran had refused. That floor was Rafels now. And Darran lived here, a chamber less than one-quarter of a single floor, so simple and spare. No fancy tapestries and folderol for Darran, who dressed in black every day of his life. Hed sleep in black nightshirts, if that were something that got done.
But it werent, so there he was beneath his blankets, white nightshirt b.u.t.toned to his scrawny throat. His lank hair on the pillow was pure silver, the echoing colour of old Cygnets mane and tail. His hands, their skin gauze-thin and wrinkled, blotched with spots, fingers gnarled, rested on his toast-rack chest; hed never got fat, not by an ounce. He still looked like a stork. He still scolded and sighed. His breathing barely stirred the air as his palsied face spasmed and ticced.
Asher eased the door closed and crossed to the bed. A plain chair stood beside it. Sitting, he reached for Darrans thin hand. It was icy cold, as though winters grip on Lur hadnt loosened and hed been outside with no gloves.
Hey there, ole man, he murmured. His eyes burned. His throat felt tight. Lazin about like there aint no work to do. What kind of example is that to set, eh?
Looking more closely, he saw that glimfire shadows hid the worst of Darrans twisted left cheek, his drooped eyelid, his sagging mouth. Spittle dribbled down his grey-stubbled chin. Letting go of Darrans hand, he took the cloth from its bowl of water on the beds posset-crowded nightstand, wrung it to dampness and wiped the old man clean. Then he put the cloth back and took possession of Darrans hand again, hoping his own warm blood would warm this dying mans frail flesh.
Asher, said Darran, his eyes still closed, his voice slurred, and so soft. As though speaking were as hard a task as calling down the rain. Have some respect.
He tightened his fingers, just a little. Oh, aye. Like youve earned it, eh, you ole crow?
Reprobate, said Darran. His eyelids lifted, painfully. Beneath them his clouded eyes swallowed the light. Rapscallion. Ruffian.
Aye, he said, scowling. Reckon I be all those things, do you?
Darrans fingers tightened, no stronger than a babys. All those and more. He frowned. Whats the matter?
Nigh on twelve years ago now, hed met this man. In nigh on twelve years theyd danced a dance or two. Hated each other. Hurt each other. Wept in silence side by side.
Whats the matter? he echoed. What dyou reckon, you ole fool?
Yes, Im dying, said Darran, acerbic, not even frailty able to sweeten his tart tongue. But Im not such an ole fool I think youre grief-struck because of it. Theres something else, dont deny it. Ive lived my whole life watching great men of power. I know when aughts amiss, and setting them on edge.
Great men of power. His palsys addled him. Youre wrong, he said quietly. I aint pleased to see you go.
Asher Asher Darran managed a lopsided smile. Youd keep me here, in this faded, failing body? Thats cruel even for you.
He looked away until he was certain he could speak without letting loose words hed come to regret. You want to die? Is that it?
I want you to tell me whats wrong, said Darran, still slow, still softbut with as much iron in him as Dathne. Dying hadnt rusted him, that much was clear. Perhaps I can help you. Id like to think I can. One last service for the kingdom. I think you owe me that much.
There was no repaying what he owed this persnickety Olken. No undoing of past mistakes, no healing old wounds.
But how can I tell him what me and Dath think? His lights goin out. He deserves an easy death, not doubt and fear and frettin over what he cant help.
Asher Darran closed his eyes, just for a moment, then dragged them open again. If I make it my last wish? If I beg you? Shall I beg?
Why dyou want to know? he said roughly. There aint nowt you can do.
I can listen, said Darran. And whatever you tell me, I can take it to my grave. Ill do that best of all.
Sighing, he let his chin drop to his chest. The ole man werent entirely wrong and he could say things to Darran he couldnt say to anyone else. Not even Dathne. Especially not Dathne. She was brave, she was so brave, but hed kill her, saying this. Hed given her a promise, knowing that he lied.
Asher, said Darran, his fingers tightening a little more. If this is about the kingdoms safety you cant spare me. You cant spare yourself. Gar died for Lur. Will you sit there and not speak?
The ole b.a.s.t.a.r.d, skewering him like this. Twisty, sneaky, bringin up Gar.
Bitterly he stared at Darran. Since when did I spare mself, you manky ole man?
Never, Darran whispered. So dont start now.
Sink me. Sink me. I ought to walk away. I ought to keep my mouth shut. If I dont say it then it aint true.
Youre not a coward, said Darran, relentless. Barl knows youve more faults than a cur dog has fleas, Asher, but He broke off, his breath catching in a cough, that ague in his chest not done with him yet. A problem denied is a problem unresolved. Bornes father taught me that. A lesson well learned.
He stared at his fingers. If he closed his eyes he might think he could still feel that sizzle of power in them, from touching Barls map. If he closed his eyes hed feel the flogging might of her magic Asher, said Darran, his voice tight with pain. Is Lur in danger? Is that your dread?
On a gasping breath, he nodded. Aye. Feels like it. And if it is could be Ill have to do somethin. Somethin I dont want to do, as might cause as much trouble as itll fix.
Ah, said Darran, a long slow sigh of regret. WeatherWorking you mean?
Startled, Asher stared at him. I never said that. Why dyou think that? Aint no such thing as WeatherWorkin no more, Darran.
So feeble, the ole man was now. His eyes sunken, his colour bad, the palsy dancing in his cheek. A fresh thin thread of spittle crept down his chin. Weakly he swiped at it, then weakly snapped his fingers for the damp cloth. Wouldnt take help in cleaning himself, this time.
No such thing? he said, handing the cloth back. His clouded eyes couldnt mask his temper, or the disgust he felt at his bodys slow decay. Of course there is, Asher. You never lost that power. You just lied and said you did. For the greater good, of course. Because Lur needed to hear it. I always knew better. Blinking slowly, he pressed withered fingertips to the flickering muscle beneath his cheeks lace-thin skin. But what makes you think now our kingdom might need to hear otherwise? Is it the uncertainty youre feeling in the sleeping earth?
What? he said, choking. Howd you know that? You aintyou said you felt nowt of Olken magic in your blood. Were that a lie, Darran? You been lyin to me?
And if I was? Darran retorted, an echo of his younger, vigorous days sounding in his voice. About myself? About something so personal and private? Whether or not I was born gifted, is that any business of yours? I dont think so. I think He broke off, coughing again, sunk too low for indignation.