The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (18 page)

He’d long since come to terms with the loss of his leg. But Asher never had, and seeing him wince at the joke was a jabbing reminder of that.
Fool
.

“So, what you both just felt,” he said hastily, with a glance towards the parlour. “You and those Circle folk in there. You’re sure it’s more of the same trouble?”

“Yes,” said Dathne, nodding. “And whatever it is, I fear it’s getting worse.”

“But why is it happening at all? That’s the question we’ve yet to answer.”

“You want to hold the rest of our meetin’ in here?” said Asher. “Only I don’t reckon this kitchen of yours be big enough for us and them Circle folk too, Meister Mayor.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” he said. “So let’s go through to the parlour and get started. I want this problem nipped in the bud. I’ve enough on my mayoral plate as it is. I don’t need more headaches.”

“You might not need ’em, but you’ve got ’em, I reckon,” said Asher. “Now, you done makin’ that tea like an ole besom?”

He was deeply worried, but still he had to smile. In a life full of upheaval one star remained constant: Asher was Asher, and would surely be himself without fear or favour until the end of his days.

“Besom yourself,” he retorted mildly. “I could use another pair of hands.”

He and Asher carried the brewed tea into the parlour, with Dathne bringing the tray of cups, milk, sugar and biscuits. They might well be here to discuss death and destruction but there was no reason to do it parched, or on an empty stomach.

The four summoned former Circle members sat eggshell-anxiousin his parlour. Two women and two men, only one of them younger than fifty, and all of them schooled in the mysteries of Olken magic. Sensitive, as Asher and Dathne and now, it seemed, Rafel—and maybe Charis—were sensitive to the subtle shiftings beneath Lur’s placid, well-ordered surface.

“You know I can’t feel this trouble,” he said, helping Dathne to hand round steaming cups of tea, “but I don’t doubt it’s real. What we must decide, here and now, is what’s to be done about it.”

“If anything
can
be done,” said Polly Marsh from Wynford, on the far side of the Saffron Hills. Plump as an apple puff, surprisingly dressed in baggy trews and even baggier shirt, with her salty dark hair clipped boyish short, she stirred three spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. “For it seems to me we’re at the mercy of chance. We had no warning that the earth was troubled. And there’s no hint of what’s causing it. We’re in the dark.”

“Polly’s right,” said the man beside her on the couch. Beale Lafton, who’d travelled the furthest to be here. All the way from Tamwold, he’d come, right close to the coast, near Salting Town. His hair and beard were silvered through, his face as crumpled as an old linen kerchief. But despite his great age his voice was energetic, his manner brisk. “Whatever’s stirring in this kingdom now, I fear we’re powerless to stop it.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Dathne, and dropped onto a footstool. “What kind of thinking is that, Beale?”

Beale eyed her narrowly from beneath extravagantly bushy brows. “The kind that comes from reading the earth for more than sixty years, young lady.”

“I don’t disagree this is—uncomfortable, Beale,” Dathne said, colour washing her sharp cheeks. “But to call ourselves
powerless?
That’s giving up before we’ve even started.”

“And what would you have us do, Dathne?” Jinny of Hooten Creek asked softly, her blind, gentle eyes darting side to side. She’d lost her sight during the battle with Morg, when the Circle’s binding link with Veira was severed. “We Olken might have our magic restored to us, but it’s no more than it ever was. We can’t bully nature. We can’t dominate with our powers, like the Doranen.”

Pellen, content to stand by the parlour’s cold fireplace and observe, watched Dathne flick a glance at Asher. He was perched on the edge of the room’s deepest windowsill, arms broodingly folded, his rough-hewn face set in that familiar, defensive scowl.

“I know that, Jinny,” Dathne said. “I’m not suggesting we try.”

“Then why send for us?” demanded Fernel Pintte, quarrelsome. Youngest of the four, somewhere in his thirties, and smoothly handsome. Nothing gentle about him, his manner was impatient and curt. “We dropped our lives and came running to you, Dathne, out of respect for who you once were. But—”

“Who she still is,” said Asher, stirring. “Jervale’s Heir. Mind your tone there, Fernel. Ain’t got much patience with them as disrespect my wife.”

Fernel put his cup down on the wooden arm of his chair. Some of his easy belligerence faded, and a wary look crept into his eyes. “There’s no disrespect here, Asher. I’m puzzled.” He glanced around at the other Circle members. “We’re all puzzled. And I think we’re owed an explanation for why we’ve been summoned.”

“You’re here to tell us what, if anything, you feel,” said Dathne. “And when you started feeling it. You’re here so we can work our way through what these stirrings mean, and how we can protect Lur if indeed it is in danger again so soon after Morg.”

Knowing that Asher and Dathne depended on his silent scrutiny, Pellen kept watching closely. Saw that dreaded name stab the Circle members. They breathed deeply, quivering, and briefly looked away.

“Of all the Circle that’s left now,” Dathne added, “you four are the strongest. You have the keenest senses, the sharpest intuitions. Between us, you four and me and Asher, I’m certain we can unravel this mystery.”

“And if we do unravel it?” said Polly, hands clasped to hide their trembling. “What then? Jinny’s right. We can’t forge new chains for Lur.”

“Not without making bargains with the Doranen,” added Fernel. “Is that what you’re thinking, Dathne? That we dance that sorry dance again?”

“That
sorry dance
saved us from Morg and his domination,” said Dathne, annoyed. “Remember?”

“What I remember is living twenty years of my life in terror of being discovered,” Fernel retorted. His narrow face pinched cold, and he reached for his tea-cup again as though he needed to hold on to something warm. “I remember twenty years of secrets and lies, of holding my breath every time I crossed paths with a Doranen, certain they’d sense the magic in me and cry
traitor
. I remember hearing of Timon Spake’s execution and weeping at the thought his death could be mine.”

On the outskirts, on the windowsill, Asher stirred. “Timon Spake’s dead and buried. You ain’t here to talk on him.”

Pellen, with his own memories, met Asher’s bleak gaze. Saw in his friend’s face a reflection of his own sickness, his own memories, never quite overcome or forgotten.

“We were all of us afraid, Fernel,” said Polly, and reached over to the armchair to pat his white-knuckled hand. “But it does no good to dwell. The bad times are behind us.” She sighed. “At least, those bad times are.”

Dathne, on the low footstool, rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin in her hands. “Fernel, I don’t know how to answer you. It could be that whatever is wrong can only be put right by the Olken and the Doranen melding their magics again. I hope that’s not so. I want to look forward, not back. You think I can’t see how fraught with dangers such a choice would be?”

“Do they know?” said Beale. “About these… shiftings?”

Dathne shook her head. “I’m sure they don’t. We’ve said nothing to the Doranen on the General Council. Or the Mage Council. Nothing to any Doranen we know. And nothing has been said to us. But I think it’s only a matter of time before they realise—or learn—that something’s brewing. Our two peoples may still live mostly separate lives, but if what we’re feeling grows any stronger—”

“If it begins to reveal itself, you mean?” said blind Jinny. “If something odd starts to happen with the—the weather?”

And with that one word, all eyes turned to Asher.

“Ain’t no call to think it’ll come to that,” he said flatly. “Ten years without WeatherWorking we’ve had, ain’t we, and the rain’s come as needful. Snow and ice in winter, enough for the icewine vineyards and pond skating, but not so much folk find ’emselves buried. There’s food aplenty, no threat of famine. I don’t reckon there’s cause to start thinkin’ that’ll change.”

He sounded confident but Pellen saw something flicker between him and Dathne. Some misgiving, unshared. He knew them too well. His belly tightened, and his throat.

Lie to them if you must, but you’ll not lie to me. When we’re done with these four the three of us will keep talking.

“Asher’s right,” said Dathne, her chin lifted in the way that dared anyone to contradict. “This isn’t about the weather. Let’s not fright ourselves for no reason.”

“Then what is it about?” said Jinny. Her blinded brown eyes were wide open, as though she could see things the rest of them were denied. “What is causing the earth’s disquiet?”

“And are we going to tell the Doranen?” Fernel added. “Before the earth does the telling for us, and we’re accused of dreadful things?”

Like thunder on the horizon, the memory of fear teased the air. Ten years in the open wasn’t a long time, not after six hard centuries of secrecy.

“It ain’t your concern, Fernel, what they’re told and when,” said Asher. “That’s for me and Pellen to decide, seeing as how he’s Mayor of Dorana and we both be on the Mage Council.”

“Not my concern?” Fernel laughed, unpleasant. “Don’t be a fool, Asher. It’s every Olken’s concern. Until the day comes when the last Doranen leaves our land we’ve got to live with them. We’ve got to live with their magic, which overpowered ours once and easily could again.”

“No, it can’t,” said Dathne. “There are laws, Fernel, binding laws that keep us safe. And doesn’t Asher preside over Justice Hall, to make certain?”

“I feel Fernel’s not so misguided, to worry,” said Beale, gnarled fingers kneading at the arm of his couch. “It’s their own goodwill that keeps the Doranen bound to decency, not any fear of reprisals from us. They know we have none. Nor have we any guarantee that their decency will last.”

“You bloody have, y’know,” said Asher. “You got
me
. Reckon I’ll sit idle if a Doranen tries any funny business on one of us? Took care of that bloody Ain Freidin, didn’t I? Trust me, I ain’t forgot what I learned killin’ Morg. And I’ll use it quick as a fly’s fart if any Doranen breaks them laws we all agreed to.”

“And if they decide that us keeping secrets from them is a breach of law?” countered Polly. “What then?”

“Ain’t said we will keep it secret, Polly,” said Asher, almost snapping. “But I don’t see any use flappin’ our lips till we know what we be flappin’ about. Do you?”

Polly’s round cheeks tinted deep pink. “I’m sure there’s no need to be rude, Asher.”

He threw up his hands. “I ain’t
rude
. Why do folk always bleat that I’m
rude?
I’m just
sayin’
—”

“Perhaps a smidgin forcefully,” said Pellen, swallowing a bark of laughter. Asher’s lack of tact and his genuine bewilderment never failed to amuse. “Though I think the point is fair.” He nodded at Polly, letting her see his sympathy. “I understand your concern, madam, but after ten years as Dorana’s mayor, rubbing shoulders with the Doranen every day, I can promise you they’ll not take kindly to us talking about any kind of magical trouble without proof or a reasonable explanation.”

“They can hardly bring themselves to admit that what we have and do
is
magic,” said Dathne sourly. Then she shrugged. “I suppose it’s not surprising. Compared to them we’re glowing coals to their bonfires.”

Fernel snorted. “We’re subtle. They’re brash. It’s not the same thing. Shame on you, Dathne, for disparaging your own people.”

“She ain’t disparagin’ anyone,” said Asher, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Fernel, what be your problem? Eh? Mayhap you and I should step outside and talk on it private, like.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” said Dathne, leaping to her feet. “I don’t need you thumping Fernel or anyone else on my behalf. Fernel—”

“I speak my mind,” Fernel retorted. “It’s not my fault if you don’t care for what I—”

“Please, let’s not fight,” said Jinny, a little breathless with distress. “We’ve gathered here to talk of Lur’s troubles, not start new battles amongst ourselves.”

Pellen cleared his throat. “She’s right. Would you have me pull out my old Captain’s uniform and play City Guard beneath my own roof? Asher?”

“No,” Asher muttered.

“No,” said Fernel, his jaw tight with temper.

“Then
leave be,
” he said firmly. “
Both
of you. We’ve plenty to talk about without reopening old wounds, be they Timon Spake’s death or what life was like as a Circle member or what the Doranen did hundreds of years before we were born. None of that matters. All that matters is
now
.”

Asher and Fernal looked at each other, tomcat unfriendly, but held their tongues.

Letting out a sharp breath, Dathne dropped again to her footstool then nodded at Polly. “You go first. Tell us what you’ve been feeling in the earth.”

Taken aback, Polly shifted a little beside Beale, plump fingers fluttering to the pale pink stone hung on a chain about her neck. “I don’t know,” she said, almost whispering. “It’s hard to explain.” Then she half-laughed, half-sighed. “You’ll think I’m just a foolish old woman.”

“No, we won’t,” said Dathne, leaning forward. “I asked you here to share your impressions, Polly.” She swept her sharp gaze across everyone’s face. “Nobody will mock you, no matter what you say.”