by Karen Miller
Gar nodded. “At your service, Veira. Matt’s told me all about you.”
“Well,” the old woman said, lips pursed, “not all about me, I’m guessing.” She turned to Darran. “And who might you be?”
Darran managed a tottery bow. “His Highness’s secretary, madam. Good morning.”
“This is Darran,” said Gar. “A dear, dear friend, and all that’s left of my family.”
As Darran choked back unseemly emotion, Veira again considered Gar with a narrow gaze. “And why have you come here? To hide? If so, you’re doomed to disappointment. There’ll be no hiding for anyone in the long dark days ahead.”
Gar met her appraisal unflinching.
“I’ve come to help,” he said. “And also... to make amends.”
Veira reached out and laid her palm against his pale thin cheek. Stared deep into his eyes. “Good. For you’ve a lot you can do and much to be sorry for.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Not that much. Gar helped me escape the guardhouse. Darran, too, and Captain Orrick.”
“Orrick?” said Dathne, startled.
Matt’s smile was tired. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it properly later. After I’ve spoken with Asher.”
“I don’t think that’s wise. He’s angry with you too, Matt. He knows you’ve a part in the Circle, and all that’s happened.”
Veira closed a warning hand about her wrist. “You’ll find him in the woods yonder, Matthias,” she said, pointing behind the cottage. “Working out a thing or two on his lonesome. Might be he could use some company round about now. He’s had a tricky night.”
Matt nodded. “I heard. I also heard he’s—”
“Aggravated?” said Veira, eyebrows raised. “It’s not surprising. A man has a right to be aggravated when he learns last of all he’s born to save a kingdom. We’ll see you inside directly, child. Dathne, tend to the donkey.”
As Veira ushered the prince and his secretary into the cottage, Dathne rolled her eyes at Matt. “I think she and Asher spent half the night talking.”
“Well, he has been hardly done by, Dath,” said Matt, determined to be reasonable. “He had his head on the axeman’s block before we saved him. That’d give any man pause.”
She winced. “I didn’t know. Viera hasn’t yet told me what happened. We were ... busy with other things.”
He dropped an unexpected kiss on the crown of her head. “Go coddle the donkey, Dath. I’ll see you inside, by and by.”
Unwilling to let him go, she twisted her fingers in his shirt front. “Be careful, Matt, please. He really is angry— and there’s a power in him you can’t imagine.”
He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “I’ll be fine. Stop fratching.”
And he walked away, without looking back.
———
Slumped at the foot of a twisted honey-pine, aching and hollow, thrumming still, hours later, with the echoing remnants of power, Asher heard footsteps approaching and scowled. If he had to hear one more story about dear young Rafel he was going to puke. Or worse, do someone a mischief.
“Piss off, ole woman,” he said unkindly. “After listenin’ to you jaw at me all last night my bloody ears have gone numb. I ain’t interested in anythin’ else you got to say.”
“That’s a fine greeting for a friend,” said a hurtfully familiar voice. One that once would’ve been welcome. “If I am a friend. If you’re willing to forgive me.”
He scrambled to his feet. Felt his hands clench into fists, and didn’t unclench them. “Matt.”
The stable meister looked terrible. Hollow eyes, sunken and bruised-looking. Charred patches on his face and a livid purple bruise around his throat. He stood at a distance, a little worried. A little wary.
As he should be.
“I hear you’re feeling... aggravated.”
He smiled unpleasantly. “You might say that. You might say aggravated don’t even come close.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Matt. His battered face was sympathetic.
He sneered. “That’s right generous of you.”
Sighing, Matt slipped his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to tell you months ago, Asher. I wasn’t permitted. If I say now I’m sorry, will it make a difference?”
“What’s the point? Sorry won’t undo what’s done.”
“You’re right. It won’t,” Matt agreed. Hesitated, then took two steps closer. “But neither will sulking out here in the woods. You are what you are, Asher. I didn’t make you a mage. Neither did Dathne, or Veira, or anyone else. It’s what you were born. What Prophecy meant you to be. Needs you to be.”
“I reckon,” he said conversationally, “if one more person says the word ‘prophecy’ where I can hear it they’re goin’ to be bloody sorry.”
Matt’s lips quirked into something near to a smile. “I can understand that.”
Bastard. Matt was talking the way he used to talk to fractious yearlings. Calm. Gentle. Soothing. Any minute now he’d reach out a hand to pat him on the bloody forehead...
Asher folded his arms across his chest. “So. Everything those bitches told me. Magic and history and dreams. What I was born for. You reckon it’s true, do you?”
Matt frowned. “Don’t call them bitches.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes.”
But then, he knew that already. He’d felt the rightness of Dathne’s fantastic tale humming in his blood and bones, even as he’d rejected it. Veira had told the truth too, talking gently and softly throughout the long night. But it had taken him till now to admit it.
Sink the truth.
“I could walk away,” he said, belligerent. Daring Matt to contradict him.
Matt nodded. “You could.”
“I could walk away right now and no one could stop me. Not you, not Dathne. No one.” He bared his teeth in a Conroyd smile. “I’m a man of power, Matt. I could burn you with a look.”
“I know it,” said Matt, unmoving. “I felt the change when that power woke within you. Like a thousand roaring furnaces devouring a million trees, it was. You could burn this whole kingdom with a look, if that’s what you want. Is it?”
“I want to be left alone!”
Matt sighed. “To do what? Go where? There’s nowhere to go, Asher. For better or worse, this kingdom’s all we have. And unless you do what you were born to do we won’t even have that.”
Asher raised a hand above his head, despairing. “I’ll tell you what I don’t want, Matt! I don’t want this!”
A thin stream of fire poured out of his fingers and flamed into the sky, singeing the honey-pine’s fragrant foliage. Birds rattled upwards in a panic, screeching. Raggedly panting, not knowing how he knew it, knowing only that he could, he pulled the power back into himself. Slowly lowered his arm and stepped sideways to sag against the honey-pine’s crooked trunk. His heart pounded and his blood burned. He spread out his fingers and looked at his hand. His shaking magician’s hand.
I used to be a fisherman.
Matt was staring at him, wide-eyed but unflinching. Asher scowled. “So what happened to your throat?”
For the first time Matt looked uncomfortable. “In the chaos after your rescue, I was taken. I... tried to hang myself.”
“Hang yourself?”
Matt shrugged. “Jarralt was coming to question me. I was afraid I’d talk. Tell him everything. Endanger you.”
“Jarralt.” He felt his fingers clench to fists. “I want to kill that bastard, Matt, with my two bare hands. I want his bones for toothpicks!.”
Matt’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Stand in line.”
“How’d you escape him?”
“Pellen Orrick helped me.”
Orrick. Another name with spikes in. “That bastard.”
“He knows now he was hoodwinked,” said Matt. “I owe him my life, Asher. Don’t judge him too harshly. He didn’t have all the facts.”
Facts. “So he’s on your side now?”
“Our side.
Yes.”
He pulled a face. “Who says there’s an ‘our side,’ Matt? Who says I’m goin’ to join you? You savin’ my life don’t mean I aim to join you!”
Matt dragged a dirty hand across his unshaven face, wincing as calluses scraped burned and blistered skin. “Look, Asher, I wish there was time for you to think on this,” he said impatiently. “I wish there was time for a lot of things. But there isn’t. You can’t see it here, we’re too deep into the Black Woods, but you can see it from the road leading in and elsewhere in the kingdom.”
“See what?” he said roughly. “What are you on about now?”
Matt looked up, as though his gaze could pierce the forest’s ceiling. “The Wall,” he said. The faintest tremor was in his voice and his expression was bleak. “Asher, the Wall is falling. The Final Days are here. And without your help—without the Innocent Mage—not a man, woman or child in this kingdom stands a chance of surviving.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Asher stared at him, dumbfounded. “What am I s’posed to say to that? What d’you want me to say?” Gently distressed, Matt spread his hands wide. “Honestly? That you’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“Accept your destiny. Fulfill Prophecy. Save us.”
“How? How am I s’posed to save you? Does your precious bloody prophecy tell me how?”
Now Matt looked uncomfortable. “No. Not in so many words.”
No, of course it bloody didn’t. That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? “Then what does it say?” he asked, struggling with temper. Old Veira had tried to tell him last night but he’d refused to listen. Now, though, he thought he’d better. “Or is the bloody thing so vague you can’t even remember it?”
Matt let out a hard breath and his gaze lost focus. “ ‘In the Final Days shall come the Innocent Mage, born to save the world from blood and death. He shall enter the House of the Usurper. He shall learn then ways. He shall earn then love. He shall lay down his life. And Jervale’s Heir shall know him, and guide him, and enlighten him not.’”
“ ‘Lay down his life’ ? You mean die?” He backed away, shaking his head. “Matt—”
“I know, I know, but think about it,” Matt said quickly. “In a way you’ve done that already.”
Sharp pain. A furious, bewildered resentment. “Wrong. Somebody else did that.” Not that he’d ever asked for it. Not that he ever would.
“But you were about to die,” Matt insisted. “It was intended. And you helped Gar, knowing it could mean your life. If you look at it that way, Prophecy holds.”
He turned away. “Prophecy’s a crock of shit, Matt. It can mean whatever you want!”
“Then forget Prophecy and trust in your senses!” Matt urged him. “Barl’s Wall is unraveling. I can feel it. You’d feel it too, if you’d let yourself. Don’t be afraid of what’s inside you, Asher. Embrace it. Extend your senses and feel the world around you. You’ll see I’m right. You’ll feel what I feel. Do it! Now, before it’s too late! Before we’re all beyond saving!”
In a different lifetime, he’d called this man “sir.” Spurred by Matt’s pleading he fell back on old habits. Did as he was told. Closed his eyes and opened his mind.
Darkness, seething. Malevolent power. Stuttering light. Thrashing feebly, Barl’s Wall dying ... black rotting patches like mold, like slime, smeared across its shimmering surface...
Gasping, he wrenched himself free of the vision—the dreaming—whatever had snared him. That part of himself he’d never dreamed existed, and didn’t want to possess.
“You see?” said Matt. “Dathne was right. The Final Days are on us. And you’re the Innocent Mage.”
Dathne. More anger, more pain. “That’s what she says,” he muttered. “Take my advice, Matt. Don’t go believin’ everythin’ you hear.”
Matt’s hard horseman’s hand closed about his arm and roughly pulled him around. “Dathne was born with a destiny too,” he said fiercely. “To carry Prophecy in her heart and mind. To deny all womanly desires, her dreams of hearth and home. To risk her life, every day, safeguarding Prophecy first and then you. And she did it willingly because she knew it was needful. Even though it hurt her. Even though she knew she was falling in love with you, and what would happen when she finally told you the truth.”
Asher broke Matt’s grip and retreated. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want Matt to stand there defending the bitch. She’d lied to him, made a fool of him, coaxed out his heart then cut it to ribbons.
“Something evil has entered the kingdom, Asher.” Matt’s voice was quiet now, ferocity subdued, or spent. “Something you were born to fight. That only you can fight—”
No, no, no, he didn’t want to hear this. Not from Matt. He’d heard enough of it last night from Veira and it was all a load of ole cobblers. “I’m a fisherman, Matt! I ain’t a warrior! This evil of yours, you want me to fight it with trout guts?”
“Of course not,” said Matt, impatient. “You’ll fight it with magic.”
“You fight it with magic!” he retorted. “You and your damned Circle! You’re the ones been practisin’ for the last six hundred years. Me, I ain’t got the first idea what I’m doin’!”
“If we could we would, believe me,” said Matt. “But Olken magic isn’t strong enough, and none of us can wield Doranen magic. Without your help we’re doomed.”
“Why does it have to be me?” he shouted. “Why can’t you find someone else?”
“There is no one else! There’s only you That’s why you’re the Innocent Mage!”
“Well, I don’t want to be the Innocent Mage! I never asked for it! I’ve a bloody good mind to just walk away right now! Walk away and never look back!”
Matt met his gaze unflinching. “Yes. You can walk away, Asher. I’m not strong enough to stop you. No one is. You can walk away and all of us can die. It’s not fair, it’s not just, but it is that simple. If you walk away, the rest of us will die.”
Badgered, cornered, backed against the wall of his inconvenient conscience, Asher stared at his blunt, square hands. Beneath the surface of his skin the power simmered. If he closed his eyes he could almost see it: a river of fire, flowing through his veins. Ever since his outburst last night his awareness of it refused to fade. He took a deep, resentful breath, and eased it out slowly. He could still feel the sticky touch of darkness, fouling his mind.
“It’s askin’ a lot, Malt,” he whispered. “One man against that kind of evil. One man all on his lonesome.”
“You’re not on your lonesome!” Matt said sharply. “You’ve got me. Dathne. Veira. The rest of the Circle.”
He snorted. “Thought you said Olken magic was nigh to useless?”
“I said it couldn’t defeat the evil we’re facing. But there’s still work for us to do. All of us have sworn to aid you, Asher. We’ll give our lives if that’s what’s needed.” Matt stepped close again, his face a riot of unhappy emotions. “I wish there was another way. I wish we could’ve told you sooner. I wish you hadn’t suffered what you’ve suffered. When this is over, if you want to punish us for lying, or deceiving, walk away then. Never speak to us again and we’ll understand. But I’m begging you, Asher: don’t walk away now. Not when we need you. Not when you’re all that stands between us and destruction.”
Silence, as though the Black Woods was holding its breath. Deeper in, a fox barked. Once. Twice. A predator, prowling. Searching for its next kill, and all the little rabbits unsuspecting...
Matt was right, the bastard. It weren’t fair and it weren’t just. But it was simple. Maybe he was this Innocent Mage, and maybe he wasn’t. That weren’t really the point. At the end of the day he was his da’s son, and Da had never once in his life turned away from someone in need. Wherever he was now—if he was anywhere—he’d expect his youngest to follow that example.
So he would. But that didn’t mean he had to like it, or play nice.
“Wait!” Matt called after him, as he stomped away in
the direction of Veira’s cottage.
“Thought you said we were runnin’ out of time?” he snarled over his shoulder. “You want to get this done or don’t you? Make your mind up, Matt!”
“But there’s something I haven’t told you, Asher! Something you need to—”
“You told me enough! Now are you bloody comin’, ‘cause I ain’t got all day!”
After ten minutes tramping he reached Veira’s clover-patched yard. Scattering chickens he marched across it to the cottage, shoved open the back door and went inside. The kitchen was empty, but he could hear voices murmuring from along the narrow corridor. He followed the sound to its source: Veira’s tiny excuse for a sitting room. It was crowded with bodies. Veira. Dathne. Darran? And—
“Hello, Asher,” said Gar.
He felt smothered. Disjointed. The room was suddenly hazy with red. A voice—his voice—said thickly, “Get him out of here.”
Behind him Matt said, “No. Wait. You don’t understand—”
“Get him out or it’s over!”
As Veira, thunderous, opened her mouth to say something he didn’t care to hear and she might well regret Gar stood, dropped the leather-bound book he was holding onto the faded carpet and tugged at his travel-stained weskit. Then he glanced at all their horrified faces.
“I’d like a moment in private with Asher.”
“I got nowt to say to you.”
Gar held his hot gaze unflinching. “All right. Then I’ll talk and you can listen.”
“Hear him out,” Matt said, his voice low. “Please.”
The river of fire burned hotter still. It was almost sweating out of him. “Why should I?”
“Because we need him—and he saved my life.”
He wasn’t expecting that. Startled, he looked at Matt, who nodded. Something must have changed in his face then, because without a word Dathne and Veira and Darran got out of then chairs and headed for the sitting-room door. He stood aside to let them pass. Refused to meet Dathne’s anxious eyes or give Darran the satisfaction of acknowledgement.
Matt nodded. “Thank you.”
Then he was gone too, the door was closing and it was just him and Gar. He felt sick, his vision still clouded with scarlet.
