by Karen Miller
But fat Durm would counsel caution. Would side with the cripple, not for any care of it or its feelings but to protect his precious protégé Fane from distress.
He would have to follow suit.
Nodding Durm’s head, pursing Durm’s lips in a considering smile, he agreed. ‘Perhaps it would be wise, Your Majesty. Indeed, until I have had time to fully assess His Highness’s breadth and depth of skill, it might be prudent to delay any announcement. If it should prove that Prince Gar is, after all, the moon to your daugher’s sun we might well avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness.’
‘Very true,’ said the king. ‘All right. We stay silent for now. But the minute you’re sure, Durm, we must proceed. This kingdom cannot afford any more body blows. One way or another the question of the succession must be settled to my satisfaction. Soon.’
Morg smiled again, and bowed. Thinking, and so it will be settled, little king. So it will be. But to no-one’s satisfaction save my own.
In something of a self-flagellating mood, Gar headed from the Privy Council chamber to his ruined private garden. With most of it comprehensively destroyed perhaps he should take the chance to consider redesigning its layout. This time he could include a small shrine to Barl, for the offering of penance after transgression.
He found his mother there, making repairs.
Not turning at his approach, keeping her attention on the resurrection of a garden seat, she said, ‘I suppose this was inevitable really. It’s not just your world turned topsy-turvy, it’s hers too. But we were so elated for you, your father and I, I’m afraid we neglected to consider that.’ She sighed, and with a snap of her fingers completed the transformation of charred cinders into carved wood. ‘No doubt that makes us bad parents.’
Gar slipped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her hair. ‘It makes you nothing of the sort, Mama. You might as well say this ridiculous eruption between me and Fane makes us bad children.’
She covered his hands with hers and squeezed. ‘Who says I don’t?’
Laughing, he slid away from her to sit on the newly restored garden seat. ‘Ouch, Oh well. I can’t say a little scolding is undeserved. I’m sorry, Mama. I should never have let it get so out of hand.’
She sat beside him. ‘No, you shouldn’t,’ she said with mock severity. ‘Nor should she have used her magic as a weapon. It’s strictly forbidden, and nobody knows that better than your sister. But what’s done is done, Gar. Best that we all look to the future now.’ She patted his knee. ‘Tell me; how are you feeling? Truthfully?’
‘Truthfully? Truthfully, Mama, I’m scared spitless. My blood has turned to sparkling wine. My bones are made of molten gold. Every time I open my mouth I’m afraid I’ll breathe a cloud of butterflies into the air. The birth of magic is a grim and glorious thing.’ He hesitated. ‘Was it like that for you?’
‘No.’ Her expression softened and her tired eyes gazed into the past. ‘For me, magic crept like the tide upon a beach. Softly. Gradually. Lapping further and further into my life until I looked around and saw only water. I suspect it’s much the same for other Doranen. But your magic has crashed upon you violently, like a storm. And like a storm it’s left the landscape a little the worse for wear. But we can fix that, Gar. With time. With patience. Most importantly, with love.’
Gar considered the wrecked garden. ‘I hope so.’ They exchanged a brief smile. ‘Where’s Fane?’
‘In bed. Sleeping. I had Nix give her a draught. When she wakes we’ll talk sensibly, mother to daughter. We’ll work this out, Gar. We must. The kingdom depends on it. Your father depends on it.’ Something implacable stole into her voice. ‘Now, more than ever, we can’t let him down.’
Gar felt a catch in his throat. Had to blink a few times to clear his blurring vision. ‘We won’t, Mama. I won’t. I swear by Blessed Barl herself.’ He kissed his holyring hard enough to hurt. ‘No matter how this turns out, no matter what I have to do, His Majesty’s kingdom will be safe.’
She took his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles. ‘My darling boy,’ she whispered, then released him. ‘Now run away. I want to have this garden tidied up by dinnertime and I’m sure you’ve got things to do too.’
He looked at her, uncertain. ‘Well … that’s very generous of you, Mama, but surely I should help you …’
She shook her head. ‘No, Gar. I think you’ve done more than enough gardening for one day.’
Shocked, he stared at her. She stared back. A gurgle of laughter escaped her firmly pressed lips.
‘Mama!’ he protested. ‘It’s not funny!’
She struggled for control. ‘I know, dear. I know. Only … look at it!’ Her arm swept wide, encompassing every last sorry inch of the ruined bower. ‘And you were always such a tidy boy!’
Stricken, trying to stifle their shrieks, they fell against each other, shoulders shaking. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ his mother moaned through muffling fingers. ‘I can’t think what’s come over me …’
Sitting up again, Gar sobered. Dragged his shirt sleeve over his face and heaved a sigh. ‘Neither can I. I can’t imagine what Darran would say if he saw us.’
His mother shuddered theatrically. ‘I can. Thank you, Gar. I’m now perfectly sober.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Off you go. Will you come to dinner?’
‘How about breakfast?’
‘All right. Till the morning then.’
With a smile and a wave he left her to the garden and returned to the Tower, where duty waited.
The first person he saw was Darran.
‘Good,’ he said brusquely, a raised hand silencing the old meddler before he could start asking questions or offering advice. ‘I wish to address the staff. Have everyone – Tower, grounds and stables – assembled in the foyer ten minutes from now. Where’s Asher?’
‘Sir?’ Darran said faintly. ‘Yes, sir. Asher’s upstairs, as far as I am aware. Sir, if I may just—’
‘No,’ he replied, and turned for the staircase. ‘You may not.’
He found Asher sitting disconsolate at his desk, the week’s appointment diary unrolled before him. ‘That Darran reckons we should cancel all your meetings for the week,’ he said, looking up. ‘But if we do it means—’
‘Never mind that for now.’ Gar leaned against the nearest chair. ‘Why did you go from tavern to tavern discussing my condition without first asking?’
Asher sat back. ‘Well, to start with it were one tavern, the Goose, and to finish, because Durm said to. He wanted me to “calm the fears of our good City Olken”.’
‘Durm said?’ Gar frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of the two people in this room, Gar, which one’s more likely to have a clear recollection of recent events? Me, same as ever and not a whit changed, or you, the man who spent the morning rollin’ around on the cobblestones spontaneously sprouting flowers?’
Eyebrows lifted, Gar stared. ‘“Spontaneously sprouting flowers”?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Asher, scowling. ‘You’re the one who said I should read more books.’
‘Feel free to stop at any time,’ Gar retorted. ‘So Durm told you to—’
‘Aye. Why? Is there a problem?’
Puzzled, Gar shook his head. ‘No. It’s nothing. It’s just odd he didn’t mention it when—’ He shrugged. ‘Never mind.’ Then he frowned. ‘Was it only this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago.’
‘It was,’ said Asher darkly. ‘Reckon I’ve aged fifty bloody years in the last six hours.’
Gar smiled. ‘Well, I wouldn’t let that worry you. I promise you don’t look a day over sixty. Now come downstairs, would you? I’m about to address the staff.’
There was barely enough space for his assembled people to fit in the Tower foyer. He stood on the fourth step of the spiral staircase, Asher at his right hand, and looked at all their expectant faces as they crowded knee to hip to shoulder inside the room’s circumference.
‘My friends,’ he said, smiling, ‘as doubtl
ess you all know by now Barl has, in her mysterious and infinite wisdom and despite my advanced years, chosen to bestow upon me the Doranen gift of magic. As I’m sure you can imagine I am both honoured and humbled by this momentous event.’
‘Praise Barl!’ said Darran, and started clapping. ‘Praise Barl most mightily!’ The rest of the staff joined in.
After a moment Gar raised his hands. ‘Thank you. Barl is indeed worthy of our praise and appreciation. Now, I expect you also heard about a little trouble in the garden a while ago.’
No applause this time, just shuffling feet and surreptitious glances. He produced a shamefaced smile.
‘It galls me to admit, friends, that while Barl may indeed have gifted me with magic she has yet to bestow the wisdom required to use it properly. Both I and the gardening staff would appreciate a mention of this slight omission when next you’re in the chapel.’
Relieved laughter. A slapped back here and there. Good. Soon the explanation would be running all over the City. As the laughter died down:
‘I’m sure you know this will mean some important changes for us all. From tomorrow I shall be consumed with arcane study so that I might learn how best to control and apply my new talents. Therefore Asher shall become our kingdom’s Acting Olken Administrator. You know him well now. You trust him, as do I, without reservation. Take your problems to him, no matter how large or small they may be. He will help you, as I have helped you. As one day soon I will help you again, in whatever manner Barl sees fit. Thank you all, for your affection and your service. Barl’s blessings be upon you, my friends.’
From the rear of the crowd, his stable meister’s voice rang out. ‘Three cheers for the prince, lads and ladies!’
As they cheered and stamped and hooted their approval Gar felt his throat close with tears.
His loyal loving people … his newly reconciled sister … his magical birthright, burst upon him … truly, truly, was ever a prince of Lur so blessed?
He’d never felt so happy in all his life.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘No, no, no!’ shouted Durm as the wobbling pile of coloured wooden blocks tumbled into disarray. ‘The alignment must be exact, that’s the entire point of this exercise!’
Swallowing rage, choking on humiliation, Gar glared at him. ‘I’m trying.’
Durm bared his teeth. ‘Not hard enough. Now. Pick up the pieces and we’ll start again.’
He reached for the nearest block; Durm cuffed the back of his head. ‘Not with your fingers, you fool! With magic!’
Gar leapt back from the workbench, shaking. ‘Hit me again, Durm, and Master Magician or not there will be consequences!’
For long moments they seethed silently at each other. Then Durm sighed, deflating, and shook his head. ‘Forgive me, boy. I know you’re doing your best. Magic is hard work. And it must be difficult, trying to reconcile a lifetime’s deprivation with a mere month’s bounty.’
Gar unstiffened his spine. ‘Durm,’ he said ruefully, ‘you have no idea …’
A month and still he hadn’t quite accepted his new self. It had been a week before he was able to open his eyes in the morning and not call glimfire even before emptying his urgent bladder. And while that panicked need to reassure himself was now past, still the pleasure of his newfound power was so piercing he was sometimes hard put not to embarrass himself by weeping.
Look at me, I made a flower. Look at me, I locked the door. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.
The wellspring of magic within him was sweeter than wine. It fed his mind, his heart, his soul. If there’d been a way for him to dive headfirst into it and stay there forever he would have.
Sometimes, dragging himself into bed at night so tired after a day of Durm he could hardly raise his arms, he amused himself by conjuring tiny balls of glimfire and dancing them in the darkness like fireflies.
Harmless tricks like that came as easily as breathing now. But this … the exercises Durm had him working at day after day … the struggle to encompass his power, shape it, refine it, control it drop by miserly drop when it thundered through his veins like a waterfall of fire …
‘You must,’ his father had said in a moment of privacy. ‘For the Weather Magic is like a hundred hundred waterfalls and it will crush you to oblivion if you don’t learn control.’
Remembering, Gar exhaled sharply. Braced his shoulders, lifted his head and met Durm’s piercing gaze unflinching.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s start again.’
This time he succeeded. Briefly. The blocks stayed balanced in their tower for a full three seconds before clattering onto the workbench.
‘Better,’ said Durm, and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Much better. I’m going to leave you to practise now. I have other matters to attend to for the next little while. I’ll rejoin you here after lunch, and once you’ve demonstrated to my satisfaction your mastery of this exercise we shall proceed to the next level.’
Dismayed, Gar stared at him, then at the scatter of blocks on the bench. The sweat of effort was still wet on his skin. ‘The next level?’
Durm laughed. ‘And now you begin to understand, Your Highness. The reward for conquering one challenging task is another more challenging task. Welcome to the world of magic, boy.’
Sourly, Gar watched him leave. Pretty soon, something would have to be done about all this ‘boy’ business.
Fane appeared at the open doorway. Gar’s frown vanished, replaced with a tentative smile. She wandered in, casual in green silk tunic and trousers, and laughed when she saw the tumbled wooden blocks on the bench.
‘I remember those,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘Bloody things. I used to have nightmares about them.’
Cheered, Gar grinned. ‘Really? That’s reassuring. And don’t say bloody.’
‘I will if I want to,’ she retorted, and poked her tongue out. ‘Bloody, bloody, bloody. See?’
‘Mama doesn’t like you swearing,’ he reminded her, fighting another smile.
‘Mama isn’t here. Besides, swearing is better than blowing things up.’
‘What things?’
She shrugged. ‘Anything I could find, when I couldn’t make the magic do what I wanted. Why do you think this work room is so empty?’
He hadn’t really noticed. He’d had other, more pressing concerns than a critique of the décor. Looking round the small room, though, seeing it properly for the first time, it did suddenly strike him as a bit on the austere side. Two workbenches, three stools and a cupboard for all of Durm’s training knick-knacks. There was a series of shelves on the wall beside the window, but the only thing on them was dust.
‘You always did have a temper,’ he said, reminiscent. Then he hesitated. Dithered for a moment, and decided to plunge in and take his chances. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any useful advice, have you?’
She didn’t answer straight away. Instead took a slow turn around the room, one finger upraised and trailing a thin streamer of dark purple smoke. It swirled and scented the room’s heavy air. ‘About?’
He waved his hand in a vague attempt to encompass his new life. ‘This. Magic. Durm. Surviving my arcane education. I’m just beginning the journey, Fane, and you’re almost at its end. There must be something you can tell me.’
She lifted one eyebrow, head turned a little over her shoulder. Her lips curved in a complacent cat’s smile. ‘I’m sure there is. The question is, why should I?’
‘It’s not a competition!’
‘So you say.’ She draped herself across the other workbench, chin propped winsomely in her hands. ‘Your promise still stands then, brother dear? My birthright as WeatherWorker remains unchallenged?’
He kept his face blank, just. ‘My heart remains unchanged. I have no desire to wear His Majesty’s crown.’
It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the … exact … truth.
Eyes narrowed, she stared at him. ‘I’m not sure I believe you.’
‘I confess,’ he s
aid carefully, ‘to curiosity, and a little envy. WeatherWorking is the most sacred, most revered act of magic in the kingdom. If I said I hadn’t wondered what it would be like to work the weather, how it would feel to serve the people in that fashion, then yes, I’d be lying. So I freely admit to you: I have wondered. A part of me does … regret. Is that the same as betraying my oath to you? I don’t think so. But perhaps you see it differently.’
Still she stared, nibbling her lower lip. He held his breath. The newborn bond between them continued tenuous, their common ground still stony. If he lost her now …
Sliding off the workbench, Fane twirled a gently curling strand of hair around her finger. ‘The trick with the wooden blocks,’ she said severely, ‘is in balancing the push and the pull of the energies. As I’m sure Durm explained, the blocks have been individually enchanted to repel each other. Your job is to subdue the antithetical elements and forge a fluid alliance between the competing vibrations so they can oscillate in harmony, not discordance. Only when you’ve achieved that will they remain balanced one upon the other.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Is that all? And here I was thinking it was difficult!’
Her smile was kindly condescending. ‘Gar, don’t be dense. You’re a musician, how can you not see the way it should go?’
Frustrated, he glared at the blocks of wood. ‘What’s music got to do with it? I’m not plucking lute strings here, Fane, I’m—’
‘Think!’ she insisted, and clipped him on the back of the head. He winced. Like master, like protege. ‘How do you play music? One note at a time! How do you balance the blocks, control the energies? One vibration at a time!’
And suddenly it all made sense.
He closed his eyes, sought in the velvet darkness for the sounds, the colours, the tastes of each block’s singular identity. Still with his eyes closed, his fingers drifted, his magic unfurled like a seed from its pod. Vibrant with life but at the same time tamed. Only the echo of waterfalls now, waiting for his command. With his mind’s eye he saw the tower of blocks whole, cohesive, compliant. Heard the song they should be singing and coaxed them into a choir. The first block – the second block – third, fourth, fifth, sixth …
