The Awakened Mage

by Karen Miller

  Veira still hadn’t revealed the details of this trip. All she’d said was they’d be traveling without stop until they reached Dorana, except for picking up someone else from the Circle.

  Someone, he suspected, he’d not long have the chance to know.

  It was just one of the many things he didn’t want to think about.

  Slowly, steadily, the miles unrolled behind them. The night grew colder, marching towards sunrise, and he wrapped an extra blanket round his shoulders. Held the reins in one hand so he could warm the other in his armpit, and swapped them over time and again.

  Eventually the morning came. Veira stirred and fed them from the basket. They were well along the Black Woods Road now. Sheep grazed on either side and rabbits scuttled white-tailed as they creaked on by but otherwise they were quite alone. Veira ordered him into the back of the wagon to stretch out and sleep properly. Happy to obey her he lay down, tucked the blankets around him and fell into a dreamless oblivion.

  She woke him some little time later and he sat up, stiff and yawning. They stopped long enough to take turns ducking behind some convenient bushes, eat a little more and give the pony a short rest, and then resumed their traveling.

  The sun had climbed almost to ten o’clock when they reached the West Road intersect where a man stood patiently with his eyes shaded, staring in their direction. At first, ridiculously, Matt thought it was Asher and his hands tightened on the reins.

  Beside him, having a rest from driving and dozing with her eyes half closed, Veira tapped him on the knee and said, “No. It’s not him. But looks-wise it could be.”

  He nodded, feeling suddenly ill. He was beginning to make out the bones of this rescue. “And that’s why you chose him?”

  “Prophecy chose him, Matthias. Not me.” Veira sighed. “Does it ever make your blood run cold with wonder? That we’re in dire trouble, needing some kind of a miracle, and here’s a young man who looks like another young man near enough to be his mirror self, or a brother, and he’s one of us and willing to say, ‘Take me to do what’s needed’?”

  He swallowed bile. “Everything about this business makes my blood run cold. I doubt if it’s with wonder. How well do you know him, this young man?”

  It took Veira a little time to answer. She smoothed the sleeves of her padded coat. Tucked her hair behind her ears, then tugged it free again. Chewed on a ragged fingernail, making it worse. He waited, not patient, but knowing he hadn’t a choice.

  “His name is Rafel, and I know him well enough. His mother was my youngest sister,” Veira said at last, sighing again. “When Timon Spake died, and then his father Edvord, the Circle required a new member. Prophecy pointed its finger at Rafel.”

  Shocked, he stared at her. “And you heeded it? This man’s your own flesh and blood, Veira. And in your pocket you carry—”

  Her sideways look at him was bleak. Reproving. “I know what he is, Matthias, and what I carry. So does he. He comes to this quite willing.”

  “And you?” he whispered. “How willing are you, Veira, to kill—”

  “Be silent!” she commanded. “Don’t you understand yet? Prophecy must be served without fear or favor or it can’t be served at all! Did you think this would be easy! Did you think we’d save our Innocent Mage without we pay a price?”

  He wrapped his fingers round her wrist and gently drew her from him. “Not one this costly.”

  “Then you’re a fool, Matthias, and I wonder if I can use you at all!” she retorted.

  There were tears in her eyes. Seeing them, he felt ashamed. He was a fool to think she didn’t know what she was doing, to think her blind to the consequences of their actions. She’d lived with them longer than he’d been alive. He picked up her hand and kissed it.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll not question you again.”

  That made her smile. “Of course you will. I think that’s why Prophecy chose you. It’s your job, and you do it well. Now hush. Rafe’s close enough to hear us and we don’t want him to see us brangling. What’s waiting in Dorana will be hard enough. Let’s not have him thinking we’ve anything on our minds but the gift he’s agreed to give us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rafel, who so eerily looked like Asher and shared family blood with Veira, appeared remarkably cheerful for a man going to his death. Up close Matt could see he was younger than Asher by maybe a year or two, and not quite so heavily muscled. He wondered if that would make a difference. Rafel swung himself and his knapsack easily into the cart as it stopped beside him and settled himself behind the driver’s seat, with his arms folded neatly along its back.

  Veira kissed his cheek, unsmiling. “Rafe.” He nodded, eyes warm with affection. “Veira.”

  “You ready then?”

  “I’m ready.” He had a clear, light voice. Not like Asher’s gravelly growling at all. Neither of his eyebrows was scarred. Hopefully Veira had brought some scissors, to make a quick adjustment. “So. Do you know yet how—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Let’s not think on that just now. Best you don’t have the details to dwell on till they’re needed.”

  His smile was swift and wry. “Maybe so.” Matt knew he was staring. Couldn’t help it. “I’m Matt.”

  “Good to meet a fellow Circleman, Matt.” Hesitant, he shook Rafel’s proffered hand. “Likewise.”

  “You hungry, Rafe?” asked Veira. “Give me the reins, Matthias, and dig out some food from the basket. I’ll have an egg. Peeled, if you please.”

  So he handed over Bessie’s reins and peeled them both an egg. Offered one to Rafel, but he refused.

  “Strange days,” the young man said, and shook his head. “I never thought I’d live to see them.”

  “None of us did, Rafe,” said Veira sadly, and dabbed salt from her fingers with her tongue. “But it’s why we’re here. Why the Circle was formed. Sooner or later these days were bound to arrive.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Rafel. A small silence fell, bloated with words unspoken. He broke it, eventually, saying, “And it’s really him? The Innocent Mage?”

  “Yes, Rafe,” said Veira. “It’s really him.”

  Matt felt his throat close. He couldn’t imagine what this young man was feeling, or know the depth of his courage. His honor. Turning a little so he could see that disconcerting face he said, “I’d like to thank you, Rafel.”

  The young man looked at the sun-splashed passing countryside. “No need. We’re all born with different things to do. This is mine.”

  “There is need. Asher—the Innocent Mage—he’s my friend,” Matt said. “You’re saving my friend. I wanted you to know that, is all.”

  “Ah,” said Rafel, and smiled. “That’s good. That’s nice. Saving a kingdom’s a grand thing to do but it does feel a tiddle bit impersonal. Saving your friend, though. That makes a difference.”

  “You won’t be forgotten,” he insisted. “He won’t forget you, although you’ll never meet.”

  “None will forget our Rafel,” said Veira, a warning note in her voice. “I’ll take the pony now, Matthias. You forage in that basket again and find me some sweet plum cake. And from here on in, I think we’ll get used to calling you by a different name. No sense advertising who you are.”

  “Changing my name is easy,” Matt said. “But what about my face? I’m well known in the City. Even with a hooded cloak and darkness to hide in, there’s a chance I’ll be recognized. I heard you tell Dathne you had some . trick?”

  Veira nodded. “That I do. But I’ll wait a while before I play it. I’m not sure how long it’ll hold.”

  That didn’t sound encouraging, but she was looking so sad he didn’t have the heart to press further. Instead he smiled and nodded, saying, “Whatever you think best, Veira.”

  She dug his ribs with her elbow. “I think plum cake’s best. Didn’t I say so? You’re a bit young to be deaf, aren’t you?”

  As Rafel chuckled and Veira pretended flouncy offense Matt handed over t
he reins and dragged the basket into his lap. “Here you are, mistress,” he said with mock servility, and dropped a lump of moist cake in her lap.

  “Why thank you, Meister... Meister...” Her lips pursed as she thought about it. “Maklin, I think,” she finished at last. “I knew a Maklin once. A right silly fool if ever I met one, and definitely hard of hearing.”

  Matt swallowed a snort. Exchanged amused glances with Rafel, and took the reins back from Veira so she could enjoy her cake.

  ———

  Darran was industriously polishing the staircase banister when Willer returned to the Tower. The foyer doors flung open without so much as a knock and the horrid little man sauntered in reeking of arrogance and pomposity.

  He flung down his polishing cloth, not bothering to hide his contempt. “In Bari’s sweet name, Willer, what do you want now? We gave you all Durm’s books, I promise!”

  “I’ve a message for Gar,” said Willer, smirking. “From His Majesty King Conroyd.”

  He nearly slapped the smug and shiny face in front of him. Had to pinch his fingers together behind his back to stop himself. “Not Gar,” he said icily. “His Royal Highness, the Prince. Call his name like a commoner one more time and you’ll live to regret it.”

  Willer’s eyes narrowed to ugly slits. “Threaten me one more time and you’ll not live at all,” he hissed. “Bolliton has no relevance now. You’re an old man serving a destitute and deluded outcast cripple, while I am personal assistant to the king. His strong right arm. His trusted companion.”

  “His lackey, you mean,” scoffed Darran. “His scuttling errand boy. What’s this message then? Give it me and I’ll take it to His Highness.”

  Willer went to push past him. “I’ll tender it myself. Stand aside, old crow. Don’t interfere with the king’s own business unless you fancy sharing cold straw with Asher.”

  Blocking him, Darran leaned his face close. “His Highness is sleeping and I’ll not see him woken. Not by the likes of you. And as for threats, Willer? I make you no threats. Only this promise. Harass my prince unduly— cause him a heartbeat’s more pain—and you’ll never know another day’s peace. I will destroy you and no one shall touch me for doing it.”

  Whatever Willer saw in his face then, it must have been convincing. The little worm turned sickly pale and stepped back a pace. “Very well. Take him the message yourself, it’s of no account to me. His Majesty commands Prince Gar’s attendance at the execution of the traitor Asher. A carriage will be sent here half an hour before midnight tonight. The prince is advised to be ready and waiting.”

  “I shall so inform His Highness,” Darran said. “Now get out.”

  For a long time after Willer’s huffy departure he stood in the foyer, feeling ill. Feeling old, and helpless. Then, because delay was fruitless, he climbed the staircase to Gar’s apartments and prayed he would not weep.

  “What is it?” said Gar, not looking up from Barl’s diary. He was covered in ink: his fingers, his face. Long blue streaks in his hair. He’d wiped his hands on his lovely rose silk weskit, ruining it forever. The desktop was scattered with scribblings, the floor littered with discarded notes. He looked stretched thin as a wire.

  Standing in the library doorway, afraid to step in closer, Darran cleared his throat. “A message, sir. From His Majesty.”

  Gar kept on writing, one inky finger tracing a tine in the diary, his brow deep-furrowed with strain. “I’m busy.’ Tell me later.”

  “I think, sir,” he said carefully, “I should tell you now.”

  “Then tell me and go away!” Gar shouted. “Can’t you see what I’m doing?”

  Darran told him. Quickly, to get it over with, then watched, unwilling but unable not to, as the meaning and the meanness of Jarralt’s command sunk into Gar’s understanding. The prince’s fingers trembled and dropped the pen.

  “So,” he murmured, unseeing. “It’s not enough that I condemn him. I must also watch him die. Oh, Conroyd, Conroyd ... is this how much you hated us?”

  Darran withdrew and closed the door before it was impossible to pretend he hadn’t seen Gar’s grief.

  ———

  By early afternoon Bessie’s unflagging walk-jog-walk had carried them without incident to the turn-off onto the main City road. Now there was traffic. Carriages and dogcarts and saddle horses, all bearing Olken, all flowing in a steady stream towards Dorana.

  Still driving, his back aching now, Matt stared at them, stabbed through with a furious dismay. “What’s the matter with them?” he muttered to Veira. “Don’t they know it’s bloodshed and murder they’re going to see?”

  “Judicious murder,” said Veira. “There’s a difference.”

  “What difference?” he retorted. “The blood spilled’s not as red?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not red at all, Meister Maklin. It’s black. Black as the heart of the bad man who’s dying.”

  “You don’t believe that!”

  “Of course not. But they do.” She patted his knee “They have to. If they let themselves think for one moment this might not be just... well. Folks like to put an untroubled head on their pillow at night, don’t they? Am it’s harder still for us Olken. If we don’t condemn a dabbling in magic, it’s the same as shouting we’d like to try it ourselves.”

  It made him so angry he could easily have shouted himself. Behind them, in the back of the cart, Rafel snored softly, curled up beneath a canvas coverall. It was no use; he had to ask.

  “When the time comes, Veira, how will you do it?”

  “Kindly,” she said, after a moment. “There’s herbs in the brew I concocted as will ease him gently on his way. When all’s said and done, Matthias, it’s not so different from a dog or a cat that’s aged past saving.”

  Except that it was, and she knew it, and so did he. Nor was it the answer he’d looked for... but it wasn’t in him to press her further. This time he patted her knee, then took her hand in his to hold, and squeeze. She didn’t pull away.

  He guided Bessie onto City Road and let silence fall again for three more miles. Then, still holding her hand, he said, “It could be me, Veira, but I think Dath’s not looking like herself.”

  She grunted without comment and started poking in the basket for a cake crumb she’d missed the last six times she’d looked.

  “She had more color to her, the last time I saw her,” he added. “Of course it might just be the worry ...”

  “Might be,” agreed Veira. “There’s a lot to be worried about, I know that much.”

  “And she wasn’t eating.”

  “Worry can do that to an appetite, I’m told.” Wretched old woman. She wasn’t going to say. If he wanted to have his suspicions about Dathne’s condition confirmed he’d have to ask the question outright, and even then he thought she’d probably feign sudden deafness. He chose another topic instead, one equally as vexing. “If we manage this, Veira, if your mad plan works and we get Asher out of Dorana with his head still attached and ours, too, for that matter...”

  She gave him a hard look. “He’ll be grateful.”

  “For how long? Will he still be grateful when he finds out the truth and how it’s been kept from him all this time? When he learns how I’ve lied, and Dathne’s lied, all to make some Prophecy he’s never heard of come true?”

  “He’s the Innocent Mage,” said Veira, quietly fierce. “He’s got Prophecy in his blood and bones whether he knows it or not. He’ll do what he’s born for, never you fear.”

  She was the Circle Guardian, wise in things he’d never even thought of, but still he was driven to disagree. “We’ve all been so set on what we want. How he fits into our plans. But, Veira, what about his plans, and what he wants? Magic’s meant nothing but hardship and heartbreak for Asher. Look what it’s doing to him now! I don’t know if there’s enough gratitude in all the kingdom, let alone one man’s heart, to dull the pain of these past days. Or douse his anger when he finds out how he’s been duped... and who�
��s done the duping.”

  He was making her angry. Her lips tightened and her fingers fisted in her lap. “He loves her, Matthias.”

  “And she loves him, I know,” he sighed. “But she lied before she loved liirn, while she loved him, after she loved him. Is it ‘cause you’re both women that you can’t see the blow you’ll deal his pride?”

  She fixed her gaze to the carriage up ahead. “Pride’s of no consequence where Prophecy’s concerned.”

  He shut his mouth. Could be she was right and he was wrong. Could be Asher would take it all in his stride, forgive the lies, the manipulation, the nudgings here and there to put him where he was wanted and when. Could be he’d embrace Prophecy and all its mysterious workings as willingly as he’d embraced Dathne when he thought she was only a woman who once worked in a bookshop.

  If he did, well and good. And if he didn’t... what could they do about it anyway? They hved their lives at the mercy of Prophecy and Prophecy, as always, would do as it willed.

  “We’ll not discuss it any more,” said Veira. “What’s done is done and there’s no turning back. Why don’t you climb in with young Rafel and get a little shut-eye? You need to be rested for what lies ahead.”

  “What about you? You need rest too, and—”

  The smallest flash of teeth, as she smiled. “And I’m old? True enough, Meister Maklin. But I’m old like Bessie’s harness leather is old. Tough, well looked after and hard to break. Rest. I’ll wake you when we’re closer to the City and it’s time to play our trick.”

  She’d have her way, he could see that, so he clambered over the driver’s seat and into the cart’s cramped belly, trying not to tread on snoring Rafel. How the man could sleep, knowing what lay ahead for him, was a mystery.

  Even though she was right, and he was very tired, Matt doubted he would sleep ... but a moment after he’d closed his eyes to think on Veira’s words the old woman was shaking his shoulder and urging in his ear, “Meister Maklin! Meister Maklin, come along now! Dorana’s in sight. Wake up, it’s time to fix your face.”