by Robin Hobb
‘I don’t want to talk about my father,’ Molly declares suddenly, but there is uncertainty in her voice. She reaches for the baby like a child clutching at a favourite toy and Burrich lets her take the infant. Molly sits on the hearthstones and opens her blouse. The baby seeks her breast greedily and is instantly silent. For a time the only sounds are the wind muttering outside, the bubbling of the porridge pot and the small stick noises of Burrich feeding the fire. ‘You did not always keep your patience with Fitz when he was little,’ Molly mutters chidingly.
Burrich gives a brief snort of laughter. ‘I don’t think anyone would have been eternally patient with that one. When I got him, he was five or six, and I knew nothing of him. And I was a young man, with many other interests. You can put a colt in a corral, or tie a dog up for a time. Not so with a child. You can never forget you have a child for even an instant.’ He shrugs his shoulders helplessly. ‘Before I knew it, he’d become the centre of my life.’ An odd little pause. ‘Then they took him from me, and I let them … And now he’s dead.’
A silence. I wanted desperately to reach to them both, then, to tell them that I lived. But I could not. I could hear them, I could see them, but I could not reach them. Like the wind outside the house, I roared and pounded at the walls, to no avail.
‘What am I going to do? What will become of us?’ Molly asks abruptly of no one. The despair in her voice is rending. ‘Here I am. No husband, and a child, and no way to make my own way in the world. Everything I saved is gone.’ She looks at Burrich. ‘I was so stupid. I always believed he would come to find me, that he would marry me. But he never did. And now he never will.’ She begins to rock as she clutches the baby to her. Tears spill unheeded down her cheeks. ‘Don’t think I didn’t hear that old man today, the one that said he’d seen me in Buckkeep Town and I was the Wit-Bastard’s whore. How long before that tale races through Capelin Beach? I daren’t go to town any more, I can’t hold up my head.’
Something goes out of Burrich at her words. He slumps, elbow on knee, head in his hand. He mutters, ‘I thought you had not heard him. Had he not been half as old as god, I’d have made him answer for his words.’
‘You can’t challenge a man for speaking the truth,’ Molly says dispiritedly.
That brings Burrich’s head up. ‘You’re not a whore!’ he declares hotly. ‘You were Fitz’s wife. It’s not your fault if not all were privy to it.’
‘His wife,’ Molly says mockingly to herself. ‘I was not, Burrich. He never married me.’
‘Such was how he spoke of you to me. I promise you, I know this. Had he not died, he would have come to you. He would. He always intended to make you his wife.’
‘Oh, yes, he had many intentions. And he spoke many lies. Intentions are not deeds, Burrich. If every woman who had heard a man promise marriage were a wife, well, there’d be a spate less of bastards in the world.’ She straightens up and wipes the tears from her face with a weary finality. Burrich makes no answer to her words. She looks down into the little face that is finally at peace. The babe has gone to sleep. She slips her little finger into the child’s mouth to free her nipple from the babe’s sleepy grip on it. As Molly does up her blouse, she smiles weakly. ‘I think I feel a tooth coming through. Maybe she’s just colicky from teething.’
‘A tooth? Let me see!’ Burrich exclaims and comes to bend over the baby as Molly carefully pushes down her pink lower lip to reveal a tiny half-moon of white showing in her gum. My daughter pulls away from the touch, frowning in her sleep. Burrich takes her gently from Molly and carries her over to the bed. He settles her into it, still wrapped in his shirt. By the fire, Molly takes the lid off the kettle and gives the porridge a stir.
‘I’ll take care of you both,’ Burrich offers awkwardly. He is looking down at the child as he speaks. ‘I’m not so old I can’t get work, you know. As long as I can swing an axe, we can trade or sell firewood in town. We’ll get by.’
‘You’re not old at all,’ Molly says absently as she sprinkles a bit of salt into the porridge. She goes to her chair and drops into it. From a basket by her chair, she takes up a piece of mending and turns it about in her hands, deciding where to begin. ‘You seem to wake up new each day. Look at this shirt. Torn out at the shoulder seam as if a growing boy did it. I think you get younger each day. But I feel as if I get older with every passing hour. And I can’t live on your kindness forever, Burrich. I’ve got to get on with my life. Somehow I just can’t think how to begin, just now.’
‘Then don’t worry about it, just now,’ he says comfortingly. He comes to stand behind her chair. His hands lift as if he will put them on her shoulders. Instead he crosses his arms on his chest. ‘Soon it will be spring. We’ll put in a garden and the fish runs will begin again. There may be some hiring work down in Capelin Beach. You’ll see, we’ll get by.’
His optimism reaches something in her. ‘I should start now and make some straw hives. With great good luck, I might chance on a swarming of bees.’
‘I know a flowering field up in the hills where the bees work thick in summer. If we set out hives there, would the bees move in to them?’
Molly smiles to herself. ‘They are not like birds, silly. They only swarm when the old hive has too many bees. We might get a swarm that way, but not until high summer or autumn. No. Come spring, when the bees first stir, we’ll try to find a bee tree. I used to help my father hunt bees when I was smaller, before I grew wise enough to winter a hive over. You put out a dish of warmed honey to draw them. First one, and then another will come. If you are good at it, and I am, you can find the bee line and follow it back to the bee tree. That is only the start, of course. Then you have to force the swarm out of the tree and into the hive you’ve made ready. Sometimes, if the bee tree is small, you can simply cut it down and take the bee gum home with you.’
‘Bee gum?’
‘The part of the tree they nest in.’
‘Don’t they sting you?’ Burrich asks incredulously.
‘Not if you do it right,’ she tells him calmly.
‘You’ll have to teach me how,’ he says humbly.
Molly twists in her seat to look up at him. She smiles, but it is not like her old smile. It is a smile that acknowledges that they are pretending it will all go as they plan. She knows too well now that no hope can be completely trusted. ‘If you’ll teach me to write my letters. Lacey and Patience started, and I can read a bit, but the writing comes harder to me.’
‘I’ll teach you and then you can teach Nettle,’ he promises her.
Nettle. She has named my daughter Nettle, after the herb she loves, though it leaves great rashes on her hands and arms if she is careless when she gathers it. Is that how she feels about our daughter, that she brings pain even as she brings enjoyment? It pains me to think it is so. Something tugs at my attention, but I cling fiercely where I am. If this is as close as I can come to Molly right now, then I will take what I can and cling to it.
No. Verity speaks firmly. Come away now. You put them in danger. Do you think they would scruple to destroy them, if they thought by doing so they could hurt and weaken you?
Abruptly I am with Verity. He is somewhere cold and windy and dark. I try to see more of what is around us, but he blocks my eyes. So effortlessly he has brought me here against my will, so effortlessly he closes off my vision. The strength of Skill on him is frightening. Yet I can sense he is tired, weary almost to death despite this vast power. The Skill is like a strong stallion and Verity is the fraying rope that tethers it. It pulls at him every minute and every minute he resists it.
We are coming to you, I tell him needlessly.
I know. Hurry. A
nd do this no more, think of them no more, and give no thought at all to the names of those who would do us harm. Every whisper here is a shout. They have powers you do not imagine, in strengths you cannot defy. Where you go, your enemies may follow. So leave no trail.
But where are you? I demand as he thrusts me away from him.
Find me! he commands me, and slams me back into my own body and life.
I sat up in my blankets, convulsively gasping for air. It reminded me of wrestling and being slammed down on the flat of my back. For a moment I made tiny sounds as I sought to fill my lungs. Finally I drew a full breath. I looked about me in the darkness. Outside the tent, the windstorm howled. The brazier was a small red glow in the centre that illuminated little more than Kettle’s huddled form sleeping close to it.
‘Are you all right?’ the Fool asked me quietly.
‘No,’ I said softly. I lay back down beside him. I was suddenly too tired to think, too tired to say another word. The sweat on my body chilled and I began to shiver. The Fool surprised me by putting an arm around me. I moved closer to him gratefully, sharing warmth. The sympathy of my wolf wrapped me. I waited for the Fool to say something comforting. He was too wise to try. I fell asleep longing for words that did not exist.
TWENTY-FIVE
Strategy
Six Wisemen came to Jhaampe-town
Climbed a hill, and never came down
Found their flesh and lost their skins
Flew away on stony wings.
Five Wisemen came to Jhaampe-town
Walked a road not up nor down
Were torn to many and turned to one
In the end, left a task half-done.
Four Wisemen came to Jhaampe-town
They spoke in words without a sound
They begged their Queen to let them go
And what became of them, no one can know.
Three Wisemen came to Jhaampe-town
They’d helped a king to keep his crown.
But when they tried to climb the hill
Down they came in a terrible spill.
Two Wisemen came to Jhaampe-town
Gentle women there they found.
Forgot their quest and lived in love
Perhaps were wiser than ones above.
One Wiseman came to Jhaampe-town.
He set aside both queen and crown
Did his task and fell asleep
Gave his bones to the stones to keep.
No wise men go to Jhaampe-town
To climb the hill and never come down.
’Tis wiser far and much more brave
To stay at home and face the grave.
‘Fitz? Are you awake?’ The Fool was bending over me, his face very close to mine. He seemed anxious.
‘I think so.’ I shut my eyes. Images and thoughts flickered through my mind. I could not decide which of them were mine. I tried to remember if it was important to know that.
‘Fitz!’ This was Kettricken, shaking me.
‘Make him sit up,’ Starling suggested. Kettricken promptly gripped me by my shirt front and hauled me into a sitting position. The sudden change dizzied me. I could not understand why they wanted me to be awake in the middle of the night. I said so.
‘It’s midday,’ Kettricken said tersely. ‘The storm hasn’t let up since last night.’ She peered at me closely. ‘Are you hungry? Would you like a cup of tea?’
While I was trying to decide, I forgot what she had asked me. There were so many people talking softly, I could not sort my thoughts from theirs. ‘I beg your pardon,’ I told the woman politely. ‘What did you ask me?’
‘Fitz!’ The pale man hissed in exasperation. He reached behind me and dragged a pack over to him. ‘He has elfbark in here, for tea. Chade left it with him. It should bring him back to himself.’
‘He doesn’t need that,’ an old woman said sharply. She crawled closer to me, reached up and gripped my ear. She pinched it tightly.
‘Ouch! Kettle!’ I rebuked her, and tried to pull away. She kept her painful hold.
‘Wake up!’ she told me sternly. ‘Right now!’
‘I’m awake!’ I promised her and after a scowl at me, she let go of my ear. While I looked about me in some confusion, she muttered angrily, ‘We’re too close to that damnable road.’
‘It’s still stormy outside?’ I asked bewilderedly.
‘You’ve only been told that six times,’ Starling retorted, but I could hear the worry that underlay her words.
‘I had … nightmares last night. I didn’t sleep well.’ I looked around at the circle of folk clustered around the small brazier. Someone had braved the wind for a fresh supply of wood. A kettle hung on a tripod over the brazier, heaped full of melting snow. ‘Where’s Nighteyes?’ I asked as soon as I missed him.
‘Hunting,’ Kettricken said and, With very little luck, came the echo from the hillside above us. I could feel the wind past his eyes. He had folded his ears back from it. Nothing is moving in this storm. I don’t know why I bother.
Come back and stay warm, I suggested. At that moment, Kettle leaned over and pinched my arm savagely. I jerked back from it with a cry.
‘Pay attention to us!’ she snapped at me.
‘What are we doing?’ I demanded as I sat rubbing my arm. No one’s behaviour made any sense to me today.
‘Waiting for the storm to pass,’ Starling told me. She leaned closer to me, peering into my face. ‘Fitz, what is the matter with you? I feel as if you’re not really here.’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I feel caught in a dream. And if I don’t concentrate on staying awake, I start to fall right back to sleep.’
‘Then concentrate,’ Kettle advised me roughly. I could not understand why she seemed so angry with me.
‘Maybe he should just sleep,’ the Fool suggested. ‘He seems tired, and from all the leaping and yelping he did in his sleep last night, his dreams were scarcely restful.’
‘So he will get more rest staying awake now than from going back to dreams like that,’ Kettle insisted mercilessly. She poked me suddenly in the ribs. ‘Talk to us, Fitz.’
‘About what?’ I hedged.
Kettricken moved quickly to the attack. ‘Did you dream of Verity last night?’ she demanded. ‘Is Skilling last night what has left you so dazed today?’
I sighed. One does not answer a direct question from one’s queen with a lie. ‘Yes,’ I told her, but as her eyes lit I had to add, ‘But it was a dream that will bring you small comfort. He is alive, in a cold, windy place. He would let me see no more than that, and when I asked where he was, he simply told me to find him.’
‘Why would he behave so?’ Kettricken asked. The hurt on her face was as if Verity himself had shoved her away.
‘He warned me severely against all Skilling. I had been … watching Molly and Burrich.’ It was so hard to admit this, for I wanted to speak nothing of what I had seen there. ‘Verity came and took me away from there, and warned me that our enemies might find them through me and hurt them. I believe that is why he concealed his surroundings from me. Because he feared that if I knew them, somehow Regal or his coterie might come to know them.’
‘Does he fear that they seek for him also?’ Kettricken asked wonderingly.
‘So it seems to me. Though I have felt no tremor of their presence, he seems to believe they will seek him out, either by the Skill or in the flesh.’
‘Why should Regal bother to do so, when all believe Verity dead?’ Kettricken asked me.
I shrugged. ‘Perhaps to make certain that he never returns to prove them all wrong. I do not truly know, my queen. I sense that my king conceals much from me. He warne
d me that the powers of the coterie are many and strong.’
‘But surely Verity is as strong?’ Kettricken asked with a child’s faith.
‘He masters a storm of power such as I have never witnessed, my lady. But it takes all his will to control it.’
‘All such control is an illusion,’ Kettle mumbled to herself. ‘A trap to deceive the unwary.’
‘King Verity is scarcely unwary, Dame Kettle!’ Kettricken retorted angrily.
‘No, he is not,’ I agreed in a conciliatory tone. ‘And the words were mine, not Ver … King Verity’s, my lady. I only seek to make you understand that what he now does is beyond my comprehension. All I can do is trust that he knows what he is about. And do as he has ordered me.’
‘To find him,’ Kettricken agreed. She sighed. ‘Would that we could leave now, this very minute. But only a fool defies a storm such as this one.’
‘While we bide here, FitzChivalry is in constant danger,’ Kettle informed us. All eyes turned to her.
‘What makes you say so, Kettle?’ Kettricken asked.
She hesitated. ‘Anyone can see it is so. Unless he is kept talking, his thoughts drift, his eyes become empty. He cannot sleep at night without the Skill coming upon him. It is obvious that the road is at fault.’