Fool's Fate ttm-3

by Robin Hobb

  "I would still rather have my father." She sniffed, and turned her face from me. She spoke to the darkness, hoarsely. "Are you going to tell me what happened to him?"

  "Yes. I am. But I am trying to decide where to begin that tale." I weighed caution against courage, and then suddenly realized my decision should not rest on my feelings at all. How much should a young woman, alone and in grief, suddenly be confronted with? Now was not the time to change her perception of who she was. She was facing enough changes. Let her grieve unfettered by questions such as my revelations could raise for her. "Your father took his death wound in service to the Farseer monarchy, it is true. But when by sheer will alone he dropped a dragon to his knees, it was not for his prince. It was because the stone dragon had threatened his beloved son."

  She was incredulous. "Swift?"

  "Of course. Swift was why he came here. To get his son and take him safely home. He did not think there would be a real dragon to face."

  "There is so much I don't understand. You call the dragon that they faced a 'stone dragon.' What is that?" She deserved to know. And so I told her a hero's tale, full of the Pale Woman's dark magic and of a man who had come, half-blind and alone, to face down a dragon for the sake of his wayward son. I told her too of how Swift had stood before the dragon's charge, and sped the arrow that slew him. And then I spoke of Swift's loyalty to her father as he lay dying. I even explained the earring that Swift would be wearing when he returned home to them. She wept as I spoke, black tears that vanished as they fell. Her garden faded around us, and the icy glacier wind blew past us and I realized the strength of my telling was such that she saw it, much as I had. Only when my words had faded, did the garden ease back into existence around us. The fragrances were sharper, as if a recent rain had watered them. A moth fluttered by.

  "But when will Swift come home?" she demanded anxiously. "It is hard enough for my mother to know her husband is dead. She should not have to worry whether her son will return safely. Why do they linger so long there when their task is done?"

  "Swift serves his prince. He will come back when Dutiful returns," I assured her. "They are still negotiating the marriage that will bind our countries in friendship. These things take time."

  "What is wrong with that girl?" Nettle demanded angrily. "Is she without a mind or has she no honor? She should live up to the word she gave. She got her dragon's head on the hearthstones. I saw to that!"

  "So I have heard," I told her wryly.

  "I was so angry with him," she told me confidentially. "It was the only thing I could think of to do."

  "You were angry with Icefyre?"

  "No! With Prince Dutiful. Dither, dither, dither. Does she like me, does she love me, I won't force her to keep a bargain made under duress, I am so, so very noble… Why does not he tell that fickle Outislander girl, 'I paid the toll and I'll cross the bridge.' I'm sure I would have!" Then her blaze of indignation suddenly dampened as she said, "You don't think I'm traitorous to speak so of him, do you? I mean no disrespect. I am as loyal a subject to our illustrious prince as anyone. It is just that, when you speak with someone mind to mind, it is hard to remember that he is a prince and far above me. There are times when he seems as thick-witted as one of my brothers, and I just want to shake him!" Despite her earlier protestation of loyalty to her monarch, she suddenly sounded like a girl very exasperated with foolish boys. "So. What did you do?"

  "Well, at that time those Outislander people were making much fuss over his not having put the dragon's head on the hearthstones of her mothershouse. As if rescuing her mother and sister were not worth the weight of a bloody dead animal head stinking in front of your fireplace!" I could feel the effort it took her to restrain herself. "Mind you, I only know of these things as I relay them to the Queen. I am the one who must stand before her each morning and pass on such tidings as they send through me. Does he think that is pleasant? But it occurred to me one dawn, after leaving my queen solemn and heavy of heart because the marriage might not happen at all, that perhaps there was something I could do. Despite her bluster and threats, I know Tintaglia well. Perhaps because of those things, I know her well. So, as she had pestered me, disturbing my dreams whenever I slept, so I began to do to her. For in all her comings and goings from my sleep, she had worn a sort of path that I could follow back to her. If that makes sense to you."

  "It does. But I still marvel that anyone would dare 'pester' such a creature."

  "Oh, in the dream world, we are well matched, as I think you might remember. I doubt she would fly all the way here just to trample a mere human. And unlike me, she prefers to sleep heavily after she has eaten or mated. So, those were precisely the times I chose to bother her."

  "And you asked her to ask Icefyre to return to Mayle Isle and put his head down on the Narcheska's hearth?"

  "Asked her? No. I demanded it. And when she said she would not, I said it was because she could not, that despite all humans had done to rescue him, Icefyre was too petty to acknowledge the debt. And that she durst not make him do it, for though she claims to be a queen, she allowed him to master and drive her. I said that her mating must have addled her brains. That put her into a froth, I can tell you."

  "But how did you know it would?"

  "I didn't. I just got angry and said what first came to me." I felt her sigh. "It's a fault I have, one that has not made me popular in this court. I am too swift of tongue. But I think it is the best way to speak to a dragon. I told her that if she could not make Icefyre do what was right then she needn't flaunt about so high-and-mighty. I hate it when people lord over you when you know that, given a good scratch, they're no better than you are." She paused, then added, "Or dragons. In all the legends, they are wise, or incredibly powerful or—"

  "They are incredibly powerful," I interrupted her. "I assure you of that!"

  "Perhaps. But Tintaglia, in some ways, she's like… me. Sting her pride a bit and she has to prove she can do whatever you've told her she can't. She's a nag, or worse, a bully, when she thinks she can get away with it. And just because she lives so long and was born remembering so much, she acts as if we are moths or ants, with no lives worth honoring."

  "It sounds as if you've had more than one conversation with her in this regard."

  She paused a trifle. "Tintaglia is an interesting creature. I don't think I'd ever dare call her my friend. She thinks she is, or more accurately, I think she believes I owe her loyalty and duty or worship, simply because she is a dragon. But it is hard to call someone your friend when you know that your death would mean no more to her than a moth flying into a candle means to me. Pftt! Oh, it's gone. Too bad. As if I were just an animal!" She snatched a flower from a nearby bed as if to tear it apart.

  I winced. She sensed it.

  "No, I meant like a bug or a fish. Not like a wolf." Then, as if the thought had only just come to her, "You aren't as I see you in my mind. I know that now. I know you aren't a wolf. I mean, I don't think of you as just an animal. Did I hurt your feelings?" Hastily, she restored the flower to its broken stem.

  She had, but I didn't think I could explain it to myself, let alone her. "It's fine. I know what you meant."

  "And when you come back with the others, I'll finally get to meet you and see you as you are?"

  "When I come back, it's very likely we'll meet."

  "But how will I know you?"

  "I'll tell you it's me."

  "Good." Hesitantly she added, "I missed you while you were gone. I wanted to talk to you, when they told me my father was dead. But I couldn't find you. Where did you go?"

  "Someone very important to me was in trouble. I went to help him. But now that's all settled, and we'll be coming home soon."

  "Someone important to you? Will I meet him?"

  "Of course. I think you'll like him."

  "Who are you?"

  I wasn't expecting the question just then. It took me off balance. I didn't want to tell her that I was FitzChivalry or Tom Badge
rlock. I found myself saying, unplanned, "I'm someone who used to know your mother, before she met Burrich and married him."

  Her reaction was not what I expected. "You're that old?" She was shocked. "And I think I just got older," I told her, laughing.

  But she did not laugh with me. Her reply was stiff. "Then I suppose that when you return, you are more like to be my mother's friend than mine."

  There was a complication I had not counted on. Jealousy rang green in her thoughts. I tried to stem it. "Nettle, I have long cared about both of you. And will continue to do so."

  Even colder, she asked, "Will you try to take my father's place with her?"

  I felt a blundering fool. I groped for an answer and then forced myself to face a truth I'd been avoiding. "Nettle. They were together for, what, sixteen years? They shared seven children. Do you think anyone could take his place with her?"

  "Just so you understand that," she replied, somewhat mollified. And then she dismissed me with "Now I must clear my dreams of you in case the Prince wishes to find me. Almost every night, he or Lord Chade has words I must bear to the Queen. I get little time to make my own dreams anymore. Good night, Shadow Wolf." And then her fragrant garden and gentle twilight world faded away from me and I was left in the darkness. It took a short time for me to realize I was not asleep at all, but was lying on the floor of the Black Man's cave, staring into shadows dimly lit by the embers in his fireplace. I thought over what I had told Nettle, and decided that I had been foolish to let her know that I had once loved Molly. And how could I not have foreseen that Molly's children, including Nettle, might see me as an interloper in their household? I felt discouragement wash over me, and considered a total retreat from all of it.

  But in the wake of that, I found iron resolution. No. I would not flee from the chaos I had made of my life. I loved Molly, still, and I thought it possible that she might still have some feelings for me. Even if she didn't, I had told Burrich that I would see to the well-being of his younger children. I would be needed there, even if I were not welcomed at first. I might fail; Molly might even drive me off. But I would not surrender before I had tried.

  I was going home.

  Chapter 32

  Through Stones

  The Witness Stones have stood, time out of mind, through storm and earthquake, on Witness Hill near Buckkeep Castle. There is no record of who raised them. Some say that they are as old as the foundations of Buckkeep Castle itself. Others say they are older still. A number of traditions have grown up around them. It is a popular place for couples to pledge their wedding vows, for it is said that if someone speaks falsely before the stones, the gods themselves will punish them. It is also said that if men meet there, to decide the truth by contest, the stones will look down and see that the victory goes to the honorable man.

  There are similar standing stones throughout the Six Duchies and beyond. All seem to be carved of the same black stone. All seem to have been sturdily set to withstand all elements. Some are decorated with runes. Others seem to be plain, but a closer inspection usually reveals that runes once graced them, and have either worn away or been chiseled off them.

  Although we have not been able to find mention of them in the Skill scrolls we have, they were almost certainly used by the Elderlings as a method for swift transit from one place to another. Herewith, I have set out a map of the known Skill-pillars, as I shall call them. On this map, I have clearly marked a legend that shows which runes apply to which locations. Although some of the Skill-pillars may appear to be unmarked, an experienced Skill-user can still use them for transit. It is not suggested that younger users of the Skill be allowed to travel through the stones alone. Indeed, they should always be accompanied by an experienced user, and should only use the stones for travel as an absolute necessity. It can be a taxing experience for the novice user, leading to exhaustion or, in the case of forced overuse, madness.

  Chade Fallstar's "On Skill-Pillars"

  The Fool's fragile recovery collapsed in the early hours. I awoke in darkness to the sounds of him tossing and struggling in his sleep. When I tried to wake him, his face was warm and I could not break him from his nightmares. I sat beside him, holding his hand and talking to him softly, easing him into quieter dreams. I was uncomfortably aware that the Black Man had awakened. He lay on his bed and silently watched me with the Fool. I could not see his eyes, but I felt them on me. He measured us and I did not know why. Toward dawn, I felt Chade's press against my mind. Reluctantly I admitted him. You can go home now. This will be your tale. The Prince and I sent you home early with Thick, on a trading vessel, as Thick was miserable here and we wished you to bear tidings to the Queen immediately. I think that will be believable; just avoid giving any details. I shall be so glad to have you in place there. Nettle is a fine girl, but we have had to be very circumspect in our reports through her, and very careful not to task her beyond her abilities. It is imperative I have someone in place who can be privy to the sort of information that must be conveyed to the Queen. I cannot go now, Chade. The Fool has fallen ill. He cannot travel.

  Chade was silent for a few moments. Then, But from what you said, you would not have to carry him far. Just to the Skill-pillar, and then whisk him home, to healers and warmth and safety.

  I wish it were that simple. The path to the pillar is very treacherous and cold. And the journey through the Skill-pillar is tasking for him. I dare not risk him. He has already been through too much.

  I see. I felt Chade weighing my words. Then, Do you think he will be better a day from now? I could give you another day.

  I made my thoughts firm. I do not know. But I will take as many days as he needs, Chade. I will not risk him.

  Very well. The thought oozed annoyance but also acceptance. If you must.

  Indeed, I must, I replied firmly. We will travel when the Fool is stronger. Not before.

  Dawn found me hollow with worry. Well I knew that many men who died from battle wounds died days after the battle, from fevers and flux and infection. The journey here had strained his healing and undone many days of rest. The Fool slept heavily, far past midday, and then woke, gummy-eyed and haggard, to drink cup after cup of water. Prilkop insisted that we move him from the floor to his bed. The Fool made the short staggering walk between us, then folded onto the Black Man's bed as if he were exhausted, and almost immediately sank down into sleep. His skin was warm beneath my touch.

  "Perhaps it's just one of his changing times," I told Prilkop. "So I hope. It would be better than infection. He will be feverish and weak for several days, and then shed a layer of skin as if he'd been burned. Underneath, his new skin will be darker. If that is what this is, there's little we can do for him now except keep him comfortable and wait."

  Prilkop touched both his cheeks with a gesture, and then smiled at me, saying, "This I suspected. To some of us, it happens. The discomfort passes." Then, looking down at the Fool he added, "If that is all of it." He shook his head. "The injuries to him were many."

  A question came to me and I asked it without pausing to wonder if it were impolite. "Why did you change? Why is the Fool changing? The Pale Woman remained white."

  He lifted his hands, expressing bafflement. "On this, I have thought many times. Perhaps, as we cause change, we change. Other prophets who remain white often speak much, but do little. He and I, in our youths, much change we foretold. Then, out we went and we made changes. And, perhaps, we also changed ourselves."

  "But the Pale Woman also did things to try to make changes."

  He smiled, grimly satisfied. "She tried. She failed. We prevailed. We changed." Then he tilted his head to one side. "Perhaps. So this old man thinks." Prilkop glanced over at the sleeping Fool and nodded to himself. "Rest is what he needs. Sleep, and good food. And quiet. You and Thick, go fishing. Fresh fish would be good for him."

  I shook my head. "I don't want to leave him when he's like this."

  Prilkop put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You make him
restless. He feels your worry. To let him rest, you away go."

  Thick spoke up from his corner by the hearth. "We should go home. I want to go home." The Fool startled me when he croaked my name. "Fitz."

  I was instantly at his side with water. He did not want to drink it, but I was insistent. When he turned his face from the cup, I took it away. "Was there something else you wanted?"

  His eyes were unnaturally bright with fever. "Yes. I want you to go home."

  "He doesn't know what he's saying," I told Prilkop. "I couldn't take him like this."

  The Fool drew a deep breath. He spoke with an effort. "Yes. I do. Know what I'm saying. Take Thick. Go home. Leave me here." He coughed and then motioned for more water. He drank it in sips, and then pulled in another deep breath. I let him lie back in his blankets.

  "I won't leave you like this," I promised him. "I'll take as much time as we need here. Don't worry about anything. I'll be right here."

  "No." He seemed irritable, in that weary way the sick do. "Listen to me. I need to stay. Here. For a time. With Prilkop. I need to understand… when I am, where I am… I need to… Fitz, he can help me. You know I will not die of this. It is only my changing time. But what I need to learn, I must learn alone. Be alone, for a time. I need to think, alone. You understand. I know you do. I was you." He lifted thinning fingers to rub at his face and cheeks. The dry skin rippled and rolled under his fingers, flaking away from newer, darker skin beneath. He rolled his eyes to Prilkop. "He should go," he said, as if Prilkop could force me. "He is needed at home. And he needs to be home."