by Robin Hobb
Careful! Don’t let his fingers touch you!
What bit him?
I don’t know. ‘I don’t know anything,’ I said aloud, bitterly. ‘I’m blundering in the dark, hurting everyone I care about in the process.’
‘I dare not interfere,’ Kettle shouted at me. ‘What if some word of mine set you on the wrong course? What of all the prophecies then? You must find your own way, Catalyst.’
The Fool opened his eyes to look at me blankly. Then he closed them again and leaned his head on my shoulder. He was starting to get heavy and I needed to find out what was wrong with him. I shrugged him up more firmly in my arms. I saw Starling coming up behind Kettle, her arms laden with wet laundry. I turned and walked away from them both. As I headed back to camp with the Fool, I said over my shoulder, ‘Maybe that is why you are here. Maybe you were called here, with a part to play. Maybe it is lifting our ignorance so we can fulfil this bedamned prophecy of yours. And maybe keeping your silence is how you will thwart it. But,’ and I halted to fling the words savagely over my shoulder, ‘I think you keep silent for reasons of your own. Because you are ashamed!’
I turned away from the stricken look on her face. I covered my shame to have spoken to her so with my anger. It gave me new strength of purpose. I was suddenly determined that I was going to start making everyone behave as they should. It was the sort of childish resolution that often got me into trouble, but once my heart had seized hold of it, my anger gripped it tight.
I carried the Fool into the big tent and laid him out on his bedding. I took a ragged sleeve off what remained of a shirt, damped it in cool water, and applied it firmly to the back of his head. When the bleeding slowed, I checked it. It was not a large cut, but it was on top of a respectable lump. I still felt that was not why he had fainted. ‘Fool?’ I said to him quietly, then more insistently, ‘Fool?’ I patted his face with water. He came awake with a simple opening of his eyes. ‘Fool?’
‘I’ll be all right, Fitz,’ he said wanly. ‘You were right. I should not have touched her. But I did. And I shall never be able to forget it.’
‘What happened?’ I demanded.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t talk about it just yet,’ he said quietly.
I shot to my feet, head slapping against the tent roof and nearly bringing the whole structure down around me. ‘No one in this whole company can talk about anything!’ I declared furiously. ‘Except me. And I intend to talk about everything.’
I left the Fool leaning up on one elbow and staring after me. I don’t know if his expression was amused or aghast. I didn’t care. I strode from the tent, scrabbled up the pile of tailings to the pedestal where Verity carved his dragon. The steady scrape, scrape, scrape of his sword point against the stone was like a rasp against my soul. Kettricken sat by him, hollow-eyed and silent. Neither paid me the slightest bit of attention.
I halted a moment and got my breathing under control. I swept my hair back from my face and tied my warrior’s tail afresh, brushed off my leggings and tugged the stained remnants of my shirt straight. I took three steps forward. My formal bow included Kettricken.
‘My lord, King Verity. My lady, Queen Kettricken. I have come to conclude my reporting to the King. If you would allow it.’
I had honestly expected both of them to ignore me. But King Verity’s sword scraped twice more then ceased. He looked at me over his shoulder. ‘Continue, FitzChivalry. I shall not cease my work, but I shall listen.’
There was grave courtesy in his voice. It heartened me. Kettricken suddenly sat up straighter. She brushed the straggling hair back from her eyes, then nodded her permission at me. I drew a deep breath and began, reporting as I had been taught, everything that I had seen or done since my visit to the ruined city. Sometime during that long telling, the scraping of the sword slowed, then ceased. Verity moved ponderously to take a seat beside Kettricken. Almost he started to take her hand in his, then stopped himself and folded his own hands before him. But Kettricken saw that small gesture, and moved a trifle closer to him. They sat side by side, my threadbare monarchs, throned on cold rock, a stone dragon at their backs, and listened to me.
By one and by two, the others came to join us. First the wolf, then the Fool and Starling, and finally old Kettle ranged themselves in a half circle behind me. When my throat began to grow dry and my voice to rasp, Kettricken lifted a hand and sent Starling for water. She returned with tea and meat for all of us. I took but a mouthful of the tea and went on while they picnicked around me.
I held to my resolution and spoke plainly of all, even that which shamed me. I did not leave out my fears nor foolishness. I told him how I had killed Regal’s guard without warning, even giving him the name of the man I had recognized. Nor did I skirt about my Wit-experiences as I once would have. I spoke as bluntly as if it were only Verity and me, telling him of my fears for Molly and my child, including my fear that if Regal did not find and kill them, Chade would take the child for the throne. As I spoke, I reached for Verity in every way I could, not just my voice, but Wit and Skill, I tried to touch him and reawaken him to who he was. I know he felt that reaching, but try as I might, I could stir no response from him.
I finished by recounting what the Fool and I had done with the girl on a dragon. I watched Verity’s face for any change of expression, but there was none I could see. When I had told him all, I stood silent before him, hoping he would question me. The old Verity would have taken me over my whole tale again, asking questions about every event, asking what I had thought, or suspected of anything I had observed. But this grey-headed old man only nodded several times. He made as if to rise.
‘My king!’ I begged him desperately.
‘What is it, boy?’
‘Have you nothing to ask me, nothing to tell me?’
He looked at me, but I was not sure he was really seeing me. He cleared his throat. ‘I killed Carrod with the Skill. That is true. I have not felt the others since then, but I do not believe they are dead, but only that I have lost the Skill to sense them. You must be careful.’
I gaped at him. ‘And that is all? I must be careful?’ His words had chilled me to the bone.
‘No. There is worse.’ He glanced at the Fool. ‘I fear that when you speak to the Fool, he listens with Regal’s ears. I fear it was Regal who came to you that day, speaking with the Fool’s tongue, to ask you where Molly was.’
My mouth went dry. I turned to look at the Fool. He looked stricken. ‘I do not recall … I never said …’ He took a half-breath, then suddenly toppled to one side in a faint.
Kettle scrabbled over to him. ‘He breathes,’ she told us.
Verity nodded. ‘I suspect they have abandoned him then. Perhaps. Do not trust that is true.’ His eyes came back to me. I was trying to remain standing. I had felt it as they fled the Fool. Felt it like a silk thread abruptly parting. They had not had a strong hold on him, but it had been enough. Enough to make me reveal all they needed to kill my wife and child. Enough to ransack his dreams each night since then, stealing whatever was of use to them.
I went to the Fool. I took his unSkilled hand and reached for him. Slowly his eyes opened and he sat up. For a time he stared at us all without comprehension. His eyes came back to mine, shame washing through their smoky depths. ‘“And the one who loves him best shall betray him most foully.” My own prophecy. I have known that since my eleventh year. Chade, I had told myself, when he was willing to take your child. Chade was your betrayer.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘But it was me. It was me.’ He got slowly to his feet. ‘I am sorry. So sorry.’
I saw the start of tears on his face. Then he turned and walked slowly away from us. I could not bring myself to go after him, but Nighteyes rose soundlessly and trailed at his heels.
‘FitzChivalry.’ Verity took a breath, then spoke quietly. ‘Fitz. I will try to finish my dragon. It is really all I can do. I only hope it will be enough.’
Despair made me bold. ‘My king, will not you do
this for me? Will not you Skill a warning to Burrich and Molly, that they may flee Capelin Beach before they are found?’
‘Oh, my boy,’ he said pityingly. He took a step toward me. ‘Even if I dared to, I fear I have not the strength any more.’ He lifted his eyes and looked at each of us in turn. His gaze lingered longest on Kettricken. ‘It all fails me. My body, my mind, and my Skill. I am so tired, and there is so little left of me. When I killed Carrod, my Skill fled me. My work has been greatly slowed since then. Even the raw power on my hands weakens, and the pillar is closed to me; I cannot pass through it to renew the magic. I fear I may have defeated myself. I fear I will not be able to complete my task. In the end, I may fail you all. All of you, and the entire Six Duchies.’
Kettricken bowed her face into her hands. I thought she would weep. But when she lifted her eyes again, I saw the strength of her love for the man shining through whatever else she felt. ‘If this is what you believe you must do, then let me help you.’ She gestured at the dragon. ‘There must be something I can do to help you complete it. Show me where to cut stone away, and then you can work the details.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘Would that you could. But I must do it myself. It all must be done by me.’
Kettle suddenly surged to her feet. She came to stand beside me, giving me a glare as if everything were all my fault. ‘My lord, King Verity,’ she began. She seemed to lose courage for a moment, then spoke again louder. ‘My king, you are mistaken. Few dragons were created by a single person. At least, not the Six Duchies dragons. Whatever the others, the true Elderlings could do on their own, I do not know. But I know that those dragons that were made by Six Duchies hands were most often made by an entire coterie working together, not a single person.’
Verity stared at her mutely. Then, ‘What are you saying?’ he demanded in a shaking voice.
‘I am saying what I know. Regardless of how others may come to think of me.’ She gave one glance around at us, as if bidding us farewell. Then she put her back to us and addressed only the King. ‘My lord king. I name myself Kestrel of Buck, once of Stanchion’s Coterie. But by my Skill I did slay a member of my own coterie, for jealousy over a man. To do so was high treason, for we were the Queen’s own strength. And I destroyed that. For this I was punished as the Queen’s Justice saw fit. My Skill was burned out of me, leaving me as you see me: sealed into myself, unable to reach beyond the walls of my own body, unable to receive the touch of those I had held dear. That was done by my own coterie. For the murder itself, the Queen banished me from the Six Duchies, for all time. She sent me away so that no Skilled one would be tempted to take pity on me and try to free me. She said she could imagine no worse punishment, that one day in my isolation, I would long for death.’ Kettle sank slowly to her old knees on the hard stone. ‘My king, my queen, she was right. I ask your mercy now. Either put me to death. Or …’ Very slowly she lifted her head. ‘Or use your strength to reopen me to the Skill. And I will serve you as coterie in the carving of this dragon.’
All was silence for a time. When Verity spoke, it was in confusion. ‘I know of no Stanchion’s Coterie.’
Kettle’s voice shook as she admitted, ‘I destroyed it, my lord. There were but five of us. My act left only three alive to the Skill, and they had experienced the physical death of one member and the … burning of myself. They were greatly weakened. I heard that they were released from their service to the Queen, and sought the road that once began in Jhaampe town. They never returned, but I do not think they survived the rigours of this road. I do not think they ever made a dragon such as we once used to dream about.’
When Verity spoke, he did not seem to be replying to her words. ‘Neither my father nor either of his wives had coteries sworn to them. Nor my grandmother.’ His brow wrinkled. ‘Which queen did you serve, woman?’
‘Queen Diligence, my king,’ Kettle said quietly. She was still kneeling on the hard stone.
‘Queen Diligence reigned over two hundred years ago,’ Verity observed.
‘She died two hundred and twenty-three years ago,’ Starling interposed.
‘Thank you, minstrel,’ Verity said drily. ‘Two hundred and twenty-three years ago. And you would have me believe you were coterie to her.’
‘I was, my lord. I had turned my Skill upon myself, for I wished to keep my youth and beauty. It was not regarded as an admirable thing to do, but most Skilled ones did it to some extent. It took me over a year to master my body. But what I had done, I did well. To this day, I heal swiftly. Most illnesses pass me by.’ She could not keep a note of pride from her voice.
‘The legendary longevity of the coterie members,’ King Verity observed softly to himself. He sighed. ‘There must have been much in Solicity’s books that Chivalry and I were never made privy to.’
‘A great deal.’ Kettle spoke with more confidence now. ‘It amazes me that, with as little training as you and FitzChivalry have, you have managed to come this far alone. And to carve a dragon alone? It is a feat for a song.’
Verity glanced back at her. ‘Oh, come, woman, sit down. It pains me to see you kneel. Obviously there is much you can and should tell me.’ He shifted restlessly and glanced back at his dragon. ‘But while we are talking, I am not working.’
‘Then I shall say to you only what needs most to be said,’ Kettle offered. She clambered painfully to her feet. ‘I was powerful in the Skill. Strong enough to kill with it, as few are.’ Her voice halted, thickening. She took a breath and resumed. ‘That power is still within me. One strongly Skilled enough could open me to it again. I believe you have that strength. Though right now, you may not be able to master it. You have killed with the Skill, and that is a heinous thing. Even though the coterie member was not true to you, still, you had worked together. In killing him, you killed a part of yourself. And that is why you feel you have no Skill left to you. Had I my Skill, I could help you heal yourself.’
Verity gave a small laugh. ‘I have no Skill, you have no Skill, but if we did, we could heal one another. Woman, this is like a tangle of rope with no ends. How is the knot to be undone, save with a sword?’
‘We have a sword, my king. FitzChivalry. The Catalyst.’
‘Ah. That old legend. My father was fond of it.’ He looked at me consideringly. ‘Do you think he is strong enough? My nephew August was Skill-burned and never recovered. For him, I sometimes thought it a mercy. The Skill was leading him down a path ill-suited to him. I think I suspected then that Galen had done something to the coterie. But I had so much to do. Always so much to do.’
I sensed my king’s mind wavering. I stepped forward resolutely. ‘My lord, what is it you wish me to attempt?’
‘I wish you to attempt nothing. I wish you to do. There. That is what Chade often said to me. Chade. Most of him is in the dragon now, but that is a bit I left out. I should put that in the dragon.’
Kettle stepped closer to him. ‘My lord, help me to free my Skill. And I will help you to fill the dragon.’
There was something in the way she said those words. She spoke them aloud before us all, yet I felt that only Verity truly knew what she said. At last, very reluctantly, he nodded. ‘I see no other way,’ he said to himself. ‘No other way at all.’
‘How am I to do a thing, when I don’t even know what that thing is?’ I complained. ‘My king,’ I added, at a rebuking look from Kettricken.
‘You know as much as we do,’ Verity rebuked me quietly. ‘Kestrel’s mind was burned with the Skill, by her own coterie, to condemn her to isolation for the rest of her life. You must use what Skill you have in any way you can, to try to break through the scarring.’
‘I have no idea how to begin,’ I began. But then Kettle turned and looked at me. There was pleading in her old eyes. Loss, and loneliness. And Skill-hunger that had built to the point at which it was devouring her from within. Two hundred and twenty-three years, I thought to myself. It was a long time to be exiled from one’s homeland. An impossible time t
o be confined to one’s own body. ‘But I will try,’ I amended my words. I put out my hand to her.
Kettle hesitated, then set her hand in mine. We stood, clasping hands, looking at one another. I reached for her with the Skill, but felt no response. I looked at her and tried to tell myself I knew her, that it should be easy to reach Kettle. I ordered my mind and recalled all I knew of the irascible old woman. I thought of her uncomplaining perseverance, of her sharp tongue, and her clever hands. I recalled her teaching me the Skill game, and how often we had played it, heads bent together over the gamecloth. Kettle, I told myself sternly. Reach for Kettle. But my Skill found nothing there.
I did not know how much time had passed. I only knew that I was very thirsty. ‘I need a cup of tea,’ I told her, and let go of her hand. She nodded at me, keeping her disappointment well hidden. It was only when I let go her hand that I became aware of how the sun had moved above the mountaintops. I heard again the scrape, scrape, scrape of Verity’s sword. Kettricken still sat, silently watching him. I did not know where the others had gone. Together we left the dragon and walked down to where our fire still smouldered. I broke wood into pieces as she filled the kettle. We said little as it heated. There were still herbs that Starling had gathered earlier for tea. They were wilted, but we used them, and then sat drinking our tea together. The scraping of Verity’s sword against the stone was a background noise, not unlike an insect sound. I studied the old woman beside me.
My Wit-sense told me of a strong and lively life within her. I had felt her old woman’s hand in my own, the flesh soft on the swollen, bony fingers save where work had callused her skin. I saw the lines in her face around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Old, her body said to me. Old. But my Wit-sense told me that there sat a woman of my own years, lively and wild-hearted, yearning for love and adventure and all that life might offer. Yearning, but trapped. I willed myself to see, not Kettle, but Kestrel. Who had she been before she had been buried alive? My eyes met hers. ‘Kestrel?’ I asked her suddenly.