The Reluctant mage: Fisherman’s children

by Karen Miller

  “Call them and kill them, you mean?”

  Charis gave her another look. “Well, we can’t eat them alive.”

  She’d never seen Mama call rabbits for the oven. She’d never done it herself. Just the notion had made her cry. Poor helpless little things. Rafel poked fun at her for it and said she was a noddyhead for caring. If she could eat rabbit pie then she should know how it was she came to be eating it. He’d been right on that, but it made no difference. She never could go with Mama to catch wild rabbits.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how it’s done.

  “So we’ll do it?” said Charis. “Deenie, I think we have to.”

  So many horrible things they had to do, these days.

  She sighed. “Have you ever called a rabbit before?”

  All this time on the open water had turned Charis’s pink face a deep brown but still, the blush was there. “No. But you could tell me how. You know I’m counted a fair Olken mage and this is Olken magic we’re talking on. Or—or you could call them and I could kill them.”

  “You kill them?” Deenie stared. “What do you know of killing rabbits?”

  Charis looked around. Pointed. “There’s a good stout branch. One whack on the head and the job’s done.”

  “And if you missed? If you only half-killed the poor thing? What then?”

  “Then—then I’d whack it again.”

  “With the rabbit bleeding and shrieking in pain?” Deenie pressed a hand to her face. “I don’t think so, Charis.”

  “Then I won’t miss!” said Charis hotly. “I’ll make sure I kill it first blow. Deenie, I am not leaving here without cooked rabbit in my belly!”

  She let her hand drop. “It’s not just killing them, Charis. It’s skinning and gutting them, too.”

  “So? We’ve got knives, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Deenie, I will skin and gut them with my bare teeth if I have to!” Charis shouted, and snatched up the stout, fallen branch she’d pointed to. “Now call the sinking rabbits! I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

  Without Charis she never would have been able to break free of Lur’s blighted waters. Without Charis she’d stand no chance of finding Rafel.

  “Put down that horrible branch, Charis,” she said, so tired. “And stand away. Stand still. I’ve never done this before. I don’t want to spill over on you.”

  Charis dropped the branch and backed to the shelter of the nearest spindly tree. Her eyes were wide and suddenly uncertain. “Deenie? What are you going to do?”

  “What needs to be done.”

  “Oh, Deenie.” Charis chewed her lip. “Are you sure?”

  And how Charis that was, to suddenly wonder if what she’d said, what she wanted, was the right thing after all.

  She couldn’t help a little smile, even though she felt so sad. “Yes, Charis. I’m sure.” Her stained leather leggings creaking, she dropped to the cold ground. “Now hush.”

  Drifting her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and slowly, deliberately, loosened some of the tight grip she held upon her mage-sense. Straightaway the blight surged, eagerly seeking her weakened places. Seeking out the parts of her the reef’s blight had touched and changed, that she couldn’t change back again no matter how hard she tried. Scars on the inside, where no-one else could see.

  She touched her mage-sense to the rabbits in their warren. Five in all. She let it stir them. Beguile them. Lull them to thinking they could come to no harm.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But we can’t afford to starve.

  She heard Charis gasp as the rabbits appeared out of the woodland’s undergrowth. Heard her friend gasp again, almost a cry, as one by one she snapped their necks with a thought.

  “Deenie! How did you—that’s not Olken magic. Olken magic doesn’t kill.”

  Shuddering, ashamed, even though she knew it had to be done, Deenie stared at the kindly-killed rabbits. “I know.”

  “Then how did you kill them?”

  She looked up. It’s only fair that I tell her. She deserves to know the truth. “Charis, that last whirlpool—it was so strong. It was too strong. To break it, I had to—I had to let the reef in.” A deep breath. A slow sigh. “And some of its magic stayed in me.”

  Charis’s eyes opened wide. “Dark magic, you mean? Morg’s magic?”

  “Part of it is, yes,” she said, struggling to meet Charis’s shocked stare. “But Barl magicked the reef first, remember? There’s some of her in me, too. I think. It’s hard to hear it. The blight shouts so loud. But I’m sure I can feel her. At least, I can feel something that isn’t dark.”

  “Deenie.” Charis blinked back tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to fright you. And I’m still trying to make sense of it myself. But it’s hard. I’m so tired.”

  Frowning, Charis tugged at her salty hair. “If you’re right about Barl, well, that’s a good thing. Seems to me we can use all the help we can get. Only—it’s not Barl’s magic that showed you how to kill those rabbits. Is it?”

  “No,” she said, very quietly. “It’s not.”

  “Well, that does fright me,” Charis said at last. “I’m sorry to be hurtful, but it’s the truth.”

  “Don’t worry, it frights me too,” she said, hugging her ribs, feeling her heart thumping them, hard. “But what’s done is done, Charis. I can’t get rid of it. So I’ll have to find a way to live with it. And use it for the right reasons. Like now.”

  After a moment, Charis nodded. “I suppose.” And then she was frowning again. “But I do wish you’d told me sooner.”

  Told you what, Charis? That there’s a darkness inside me I don’t know what to do with?

  “I wanted to,” she said, staring at the dead rabbits. “Only I was afraid you’d look at me like I was—”

  “A monster? Like Morg?” Charis stamped a foot. “Shame on you. As if I ever would!”

  “You just said you were frighted!”

  “And so I am!” retorted Charis. “But that doesn’t mean I think you’ve turned into a monster.”

  “Maybe you don’t, Charis,” she retorted. “But maybe I do. I’m turned upside down and inside out, ain’t I? The things I’ve done since we stole that bloody skiff? I’m Deenie the mouse! No-one ever said I had that kind of magic! Nobody ever told me I could kill a rabbit with a thought!”

  “Don’t shout, Deenie,” said Charis, her voice small. “I’m as turned about as you are, one way and another. Last time I looked I wasn’t s’posed to be a sailor. I’m Mayor Orrick’s pretty daughter. I keep house and I dance and flirt with young men. I’m not s’posed to be gallivanting about blighted lands wearing men’s woollen leggings with a knife strapped to my hip.”

  Breathing fast, they glared at each other. And then Charis laughed, wildly.

  “No, no, it’s not funny,” she said. “But I don’t want to cry. I’ve had enough salt water on me to last two lifetimes.” She pressed her hands to her face for a moment, then let them drop. “You should go and find us some water. I’ll stay here and roast these rabbits. We can eat our fill then take what’s left back to the skiff. Cooked and covered, the meat will last a day before it spoils.”

  It was a sensible suggestion, only—“You can do that?”

  “Of course I can,” said Charis, scornful. “I’m three times a better cook than you, Meistress Deenie. And my magic’s dab at fire starting. Off you go. I’ll be right as rain.”

  And now it’s my turn to be uncertain. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Just—use that fancy mage-sense of yours to check again we’re alone in these parts.”

  She’d been about to do that. Closing her eyes, Deenie unfurled her feelings and pushed them through the cloying blight. “There’s no-one. We’re lonesome.”

  “Then off you dawdle,” said Charis briskly. “And if you get yourself lost, just follow the smell of roasting rabbit.”

  She’d never tell Charis, but it
was an aching relief to find herself alone for a while. Close quarters in that small skiff, peeing with company, trying to wash in salt water with company, grieving with company—and she’d spent her life ’til now quiet and a lot of it on her own. Not lonely. Never lonely. Content in her own company. It made no difference she loved Charis like a sister. She needed her solitude.

  Especially now.

  The countryside beyond that narrow belt of woodland was, in its own way, as barren as the rocky shore. A tussocked stretch of open land, it reminded her of Crasthead Moor’s vast stillness. Only the moor smelled sweet with wildflowers and its crisp, untainted air carried the skirling of eagles.

  Here was dour sourness and the ever-present taint of poisoned magics.

  Mindful of the sun in its slow slide to the horizon, Deenie strode the stinging grass with the hessian sack of empty waterskins slung over her shoulder, resolutely in search of a spring or creek or pond. The blessed freedom of walking, of striking boot heels to the ground, was so exhilarating it almost managed to banish the oppression of the blight.

  Almost.

  It’s bad here because these are the blighted lands. Once we’ve sailed past them, I’ll feel better. And when I’m past them I’ll be able to feel Rafel again.

  She’d not felt him for days. Not since she gave herself to the reef and broke the last whirlpool. She hadn’t even dreamed him. Not childhood dreams, not anything. That sense of him that linked them, that let her know she was travelling in the right direction, travelling towards him… it was gone.

  Not broken. It can’t be broken. For it to be broken he’d have to be dead and he’s not dead. He can’t be. That, I would feel.

  It was as though they’d spent their lives tethered and now, careless, she’d let go.

  As to what the rest of it meant? The mage-sense and the magic seared into her by the reef? That was a mystery whose unravelling would have to wait. If it meant she could call and kill rabbits, kindly—if it meant she and Charis wouldn’t starve on their way to rescuing Rafel—then that was enough.

  In truth, it was all she wanted to know.

  She was breathing harder now, the countryside tilting upwards in a long, slow rise. Inside her leathers she began to sweat. If only she weren’t so hungry, so parched. If only the ancient dark magics soaked into the soil weren’t so brutal.

  By the time she reached the top of the rise she was giddy with the effort, sucking in air like a broken-winded nag. Every beat of her labouring heart was like the banging of a fist on a wide, wooden door.

  But when her clouded vision cleared, the sweat and pain and banging were worth it, because she could see in the distance a spreading patch of bright green and hear on the fitful breeze the breathy chuckle of running water. Relieved beyond tears or laughter, she broke into a wavering, tottering run.

  Barl be praised. If you’re there. If any power’s watching over me.

  It was a spring, bubbling up between a cradle of rocks from deep underground. Cold and sweet, the only sweet thing in this forsaken land, she was sure, the water had worn a thin bed for itself and ran down the hill in a swift, narrow stream.

  Having tasted it once, quickly, Deenie cast aside the hessian sack full of waterskins and flung herself face down on the grass. She drank in great gulps, panting, desperate to drink all the swallowed and breathed-in sea salt out of her body. No sooner was she so full she thought she’d burst than she felt the urgent need to pee.

  There was nobody to see her. She kicked off her boots and her socks, stripped off her leather jerkin and her shirt and her leather leggings, and squatted on the grass like a country sprat of three. After that she drank some more. Peed again. Drank deep for a third time. And then, not caring that the water was so cold, regretting only that she’d not thought to bring her puny sliver of soap, she sluiced herself as clean as she could. Oh, if only she could wash her hair too. It felt so horribly filthy it made her want to cry.

  To dry herself off Deenie lay on the grass and rolled like a horse. Poor Charis, cooking rabbits. If there was time she should come here and drink her fill and wash then warm her naked body in fresh, saltless sunlight. That would only be fair.

  Relaxed beneath the open sky, it seemed that even the weight of the blight was lifted. For the first time in a long time it felt like she could breathe. What a shame she had to pull her manky clothes back on. But the sun was still sliding and she had waterskins to fill.

  Carrying them back to the woodland, and Charis, was a wearisome task. But the pain of that heavy burden vanished as she watched her friend gratefully guzzle a whole waterskin dry.

  “There’s water enough to bathe in,” she said, as Charis washed her hands and knife blade free of gutted rabbit. “I did.”

  “Oh,” said Charis, longingly. Then she looked at the fire with its flame-heated rocks and jointed, roasting rabbits. “Maybe after we’ve eaten. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want food more.”

  They burned their fingers and their tongues and the insides of their mouths on that rabbit, and they didn’t care. After nothing but nuts and dried beef and dry biscuits for so long, the feast of flavour nearly brought them to tears. Between them they ate three and a half of the rabbits then sprawled on the ground afterwards, replete.

  “I’m like to pop,” said Charis. “And I truthfully don’t mind.”

  Deenie smiled at the paling blue sky. Sorrow lingered for the rabbits, but she couldn’t entirely regret their deaths. Not with her belly full for the first time in so many days.

  “I know these lands are blighted,” Charis added. “But I can’t help thinking they’re peaceful, too. I wonder what this place was named?”

  She felt her smile die. Felt the sinking sunlight cast colder. “I’d rather not know. I think they must all be dead, Charis, the people who once called these lands home. It grieves me to think on them.”

  “Then don’t,” said Charis simply. “You didn’t kill them, Deenie, and you can’t bring a single one back to life. The dead stay dead and the living go on without them.” She sighed. “Is it still bad? What you’re feeling?”

  Her respite by the spring hadn’t lasted long. The blight’s darkness was back, humming through her blood and bones, trying to spoil the pleasure of their meal.

  “Yes.”

  “Deenie?” Charis sat up, bits of dead grass and dead leaves stuck in her hair. “I don’t mean to nag, but I have to ask. What’s doing with Rafel?”

  She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach churn. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean,” said Charis. She sounded afraid. “Where is he? And how much further must we sail to find him?”

  “I’m sorry, Charis. I don’t know.”

  “But you must,” Charis insisted. “You must know something. We can’t be travelling blind, Deenie. Can we?”

  Charis, Charis… why did you have to ask?

  “And if I said we are travelling blind? What would you do? Demand that we sail all the way back to Lur?”

  “Well?” Charis’s breathing quickened. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  Reluctant to answer, Deenie let her forearm fall across her face.

  “Deenie!” Charis’s voice was sharp now. “I’ve been patient. I haven’t asked you to share everything you’re feeling or complained when you sit hour after hour in silence, pretending I’m not there, so the least you can do is be honest with me. I think I deserve that much. Don’t you?”

  “That much and more,” she said, sitting up. “But all I know for certain is Rafe’s not dead. For the rest? I don’t know. We just have to keep sailing north and see what we find.”

  Charis’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought we were going to find Rafel.”

  “We are. We will.” I hope. Oh, please. “But right now I can’t tell you when or where or how. I’m sorry, Charis. I’m doing my best.”

  “I know you are,” said Charis, sniffing. “And I know you’re suffering and I know you hate being here and I know you pr
obably wish I’d stayed behind in Dorana.”

  Leaning over, Deenie grabbed Charis’s hand. “No.”

  Another sniff. “Good. Now we’d best get back to the skiff. The sooner we sail away from this place the better you’ll start to feel and then maybe—” Charis’s eyebrows went up. “—Barl willing, you’ll dream of Rafel again.”

  Oh. “I never said I’d stopped dreaming him.”

  “You didn’t have to,” said Charis, clambering to her feet. “I’m not blind, Deenie. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She didn’t want to talk about that. “You’re sure you don’t want to bathe? You’re a bit manky, you know.”

  Charis wrinkled her nose. “Sorry to say this, but you bathed and you’re still manky. The only hope for us is hot water and soap.”

  “True,” Deenie sighed, and held out her hand. Charis hauled her upright and together they kicked over the fire and stamped its embers to death, put the remaining cooked rabbit in the sack with the waterskins, then began the long trudge back to the beach, and the skiff.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Two days later, just after dawn, racing along with a strong wind at their backs, they sailed past the last of the blighted lands. Feeling the darkness lift, like a cloud clearing the sun, Deenie burst into tears.

  Charis sat up, smeary with sleep. “What is it? Deenie, what’s wrong?”

  Folded over the skiff’s tiller, she could only shake her head and sob.

  Charis moaned. “Oh, Barl save us, it’s Rafel, isn’t it? He’s—he’s—”

  “No,” she said, sitting up. “No, it’s not him. It’s me. I can think again. I can feel again. Properly.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Charis, look at the coast. That’s unblighted land.”

  “Unblighted?” Turning to look, Charis laughed. “Oh, Deenie…”

  After so long weighed down, she thought the lively salt wind might blow her away. “Can you take the tiller, Charis? I feel so strange. I need to sleep, just for a little while. I need to find my balance again.”

  Charis shooed her. “Go. Go. I’ll be fine. I’m as good a sailor as you now.”

  Barely past the horizon, the sun lacked any heat but still she took refuge in the gloom of their rough-made canvas shelter. Though they’d eked out the remains of the cooked rabbit and the rest, their food had come to an end last night. It meant she was hungry but they had plenty of water. They’d manage. All that mattered was that they were past the filthy, blighted lands. Once she was rested they’d sail close to the coast and make landfall again the first chance they got. The thought of walking clean, blight-free grass, of breathing blight-free air, almost had her weeping again.