by neetha Napew
And so we parted for the night.
chapter15
CIVIL
Hoquin was the White Prophet and Wild Eye his Catalyst in the years that Sardus Chif held power in the Edge Lands. Famine had ruled there even longer than Sardus Chif, and some said it was a punishment on the land because Sardus Prex, mother of Sardus Chif, had burned every sacred grove in wild mourning and fury at the Leaf God when her consort, Slevm, died of pox. Since then, the rains had all but ceased, and that was because there were no sacred leaves for the rains to wash. For the rains only fall for holy duty, not to slake the thirst of men or their children.
Hoquin believed that his call as White Prophet was to restore the fertility of the Edge Lands, and he believed that to do this, water must come. So he made his Catalyst to study water and how it might be brought to the Edge Lands, from deep wells or dug canals or prayers and offerings for rainfall. Often he asked her what she would change to bring water to her people’s lands, but never did she have an answer to please him.
Wild Eye had no care for water. She had been born in the dry years and lived in the dry years and knew only the dry years and their ways. What she cared for were thippi-fruits, the little soft-fleshed many-seeded pomes that grow low to the earth in the shelter of the claw brambles in the ravines of the foothills. When she was supposed to be at her chores, she would slip away up to the foothills and go to the bramble thickets, returning with her skirts and hair thick with claw seed and her mouth purple from thippi-fruit. This angered Hoquin the White, and often he beat her for her inattention to her duties.
Then, around their cottage, where had been only dusty earth, the claw brambles began to grow. Their tangling thorns sheltered the soil from the sun and beneath them came in the thippi-fruit vines. In the season when the thippi-fruit died back, greygrass grew, and rabbits came to live beneath the brambles and eat the greygrass. Then Wild Eye caught and cooked the rabbits for the White Prophet.
—SCRIBE CATEREN, OF THE WHITE PROPHET HOQUIN
Despite Chade’s suggestion, I did not go immediately to my blankets. I returned to the fire, where Thick sat staring at the remaining embers and shivering as the cold of the glacier crept up into him. I rousted him from there and saw him off to bed in the tent we would share with Riddle and Hest. The tight quarters were welcome for the body warmth that would be shared. He settled in, gave a huge sigh that ended in a coughing fit, then sighed again and dropped into sleep. I wondered if he would be conversing with Nettle tonight. Perhaps in the morning I’d have the courage to ask him. For now, I’d be content knowing she was safe at Buckkeep.
I left the tent and went out under the stars. The fires had died out almost completely. Longwick would keep a few coals going in a firepot but we didn’t have enough fuel to keep them burning constantly. There was a dim light from Dutiful’s tent; probably a small lantern still burned in there. The Fool’s tent was likewise illuminated, glowing like a jewel in the night. I walked quietly over the snow to it.
I halted outside it when I heard soft voices from within. I could not make out the words, but I recognized the speakers. Swift said something, and the Fool replied teasingly. The boy chuckled. It sounded peaceful and friendly. I felt a strange twinge of exclusion, and almost retreated to my tent. Then I rebuked myself for jealousy. So the Fool had befriended the boy. Very likely, it was the best thing that could happen to Swift. As I could not knock to announce myself, I cleared my throat loudly, and then stooped to lift the tent flap. A slice of light fell on the snow. “May I come in?”
There was the tiniest of pauses, and then, “If you wish. Try to leave the snow and ice outside.”
He knew me too well. I brushed the damp snow from my leggings, and then shook it from my feet. Crouching, I entered and let the tent flap fall closed behind me.
The Fool had always had the unique talent of creating a small world for himself when he wished to retreat. The tent was no exception. When I had visited it before, it had been charming, but empty. Now he occupied it and filled it with his presence. A small metal firepot in the center of the floor burned near smokelessly. A smell of cooking, something spicy, lingered in the air. Swift sat cross-legged on a tasseled cushion while the Fool was half-reclined on his pallet. Two arrows, one a dull gray, the other brightly painted and obviously the Fool’s work, rested across Swift’s knees.
“Did you require me, sir?” Swift asked quickly. I could hear his reluctance to leave in his voice.
I shook my head. “I didn’t even know you were here,” I replied.
As the Fool sat up, I saw what had made Swift laugh. A tiny marionette dangled from his hand, with five fine black threads going to each of the Fool’s fingertips. I had to smile. He had carved a tiny jester, done in black-and-white. The pallid face was his own, as it had been when he was a boy. White down hair floated around the little face. A twitch of one long finger set the creature’s head to nodding at me. “So what brings you here, Tom Badgerlock?” the Fool and his puppet asked me. A shift of his finger made the little jester cock his head inquiringly at me.
“Fellowship,” I replied after a moment’s pondering. I sat down on the opposite side of the fire from Swift. The boy gave me a resentful look and then glanced away.
The Fool’s face was neutral. “I see. Welcome.” But there was no warmth in the words; I was an intruder. An awkward silence fell and I perceived in full the mistake I had made. The lad knew nothing of the connection between the Fool and me. I could not speak freely. Indeed, I could suddenly think of nothing at all to say. The boy sat staring glumly at the fire, obviously waiting for me to leave. The Fool began to unfasten the marionette from his fingertips, one string at a time.
“I’ve never seen a tent like this. Is it from Jamaillia?” Even to me, my query sounded like a polite nothing said to a chance acquaintance.
“The Rain Wilds, actually. The fabric is Elderling-made, I suspect, but I chose the patterns sewn into it.”
“Elderling-made?” Swift sat up with the avidity of a boy who senses a tale. A very faint smile played about the Fool’s mouth. I suspected that he had seen the quickening of interest in my face, too.
“So the Rain Wild people say. Those who live far up the Rain Wild River. They say that once there were great cities there, and that the cities were the homes of the Elderlings. What exactly or who the Elderlings were is harder to tell. But in some places, buried deep in the muck of the Rain Wild swamps, there are cities of stone. Sometimes, one can find a way into them and, within whatever chambers have remained dry and intact, discover the treasures of another time and people. Some of the items they rescue are magical, with uses and abilities that not even the Rain Wilders completely understand. At other times, they find things that are just as we might make ourselves, but of a different quality.”
“Like this arrow?” Swift held up the gray arrow. “You said it came from the Rain Wilds. I’ve never seen wood such as this.”
The Fool’s eyes flickered to me and then away. “It’s wizardwood, a very rare wood. Even more rare than the fabric of this tent, which is finer than silk, and stronger than silk. I can crush all the fabric into a wad I could hold concealed inside my hand, yet stretched over the poles of the tent, it is sturdy, and so strongly woven that it holds warmth in and wind out.”
Swift reached out to run a wondering finger down one wall. “It’s nice in here. Warmer than I had thought a tent could be. And I like the dragons on the walls.”
“So do I,” the Fool said. He reclined on his pallet again as he stared into the firepot. The tiny flames found twin homes in his eyes. I leaned back, away from the light, and studied him. There were planes and angles to his face that had never been there when we were children. His hair had seemed to gain substance with color. It no longer floated wildly around his face when it was loose, as it was now. Sleek as a horse’s mane but far finer, it hung to his shoulders. “The dragons are why I am here.”
For a fraction of a moment, his eyes flickered to mine. I cro
ssed my arms on my chest and leaned back deeper into the shadows.
“There are dragons in the Rain Wilds,” he went on, speaking to Swift. “But only one that is hearty and strong. Tintaglia is her name.”
The boy edged even closer to him. “Then the Bingtown Traders spoke truth? They have a dragon?”
The Fool cocked his head as if considering the answer. Again, that ghost of a smile bent his mouth. Then he shook his head. “That is not something I would say. Rather, I would say that there is a dragon in the Rain Wilds, and Bingtown falls within the territory she claims as her own. She is a magnificent creature, blue as good steel and silver as a gleaming ring.”
“Have you seen her, your own self?”
“Indeed I have.” The Fool smiled at the boy’s wonder. “And had words with her.”
Swift drew his breath in. He seemed to have forgotten my hulking presence. Yet I wondered to which of us the Fool spoke as he said, “This tent is one of the gifts she persuaded the Rain Wild folk to give me.”
“Why did she ask them to give you gifts?”
“She told them to give me gifts because she knew that I would serve her purpose unswervingly. For we have known each other, in other days and shapes.”
“What do you mean?” The boy suspected he was being teased. I feared he was not.
“I am not the first of my kind to have dealings with dragonkind. And she has all the memories of her race. They cascade through her mind like bright beads sliding on a string. Back they go, past the serpent she was once to the egg that serpent came from, to the dragon that laid that egg, to the serpent that dragon was, to the egg that serpent hatched from, to the dragon that laid that egg, to the serpent that dragon—”
“Enough!” the boy laughed breathlessly. The Fool’s tongue juggled the words like pins.
“Back to where she knew another such as I. And perhaps, had I a dragon’s memory, I might have been able to say to her, ‘Ah, yes, I do recall, and that is exactly how it was. Such a pleasure to meet you again.’ But I have not a dragon’s memory. And so I had to take her word for it that I was as trustworthy a fellow as she was ever likely to meet.”
His words had fallen into the artful cadence of the storyteller. The boy was enraptured. “And what is her purpose that you shall serve?” Swift asked eagerly.
“Ah!” The Fool swept his hair back from his face, then stretched, but suddenly his long forefinger was pointing unerringly at me. “He knows. For he has promised to help me. Haven’t you, Badgerlock?”
Frantically, I scrambled through my memories. Had I promised to aid him? Or had I only said that I would decide when the time came for it? I smiled, and with a wittiness I did not feel, I replied, “When the time comes, I’ll serve my purpose.”
I knew he marked my distancing from his words, but he smiled as if I had agreed and said, “As shall we all. Even young Swift, Burrich’s son and Molly’s son.”
“Why do you name me so?” In that instant, the boy was stung. “My father is nothing to me. Nothing!”
“Whatever he is to you, you are still son to him. Perhaps you can deny him, but you cannot make him deny you. Some ties cannot be severed by a word. Some ties simply are. Such ties are what bind the world and time together.”
“Nothing binds me to him,” the boy insisted sullenly. A little time passed. He perceived he had broken the string of the story, and that the Fool was not going to knot it back together for him. After a pause, he conceded, asking again, “What is the dragon’s purpose in your being here?”
“Oh, you know what it is!” The Fool sat up. “You’ve heard what was said back on the beach, and I know how swiftly gossip travels in a small group like this. You have come to slay the dragon. I am here to see that you don’t.”
“Unless it’s a righteous battle. Unless the dragon attacks us first.”
The Fool shook his head. “No. I am simply here to see that the dragon survives.”
Swift’s eyes traveled from the Fool to me and back again. He spoke hesitantly. “Then you are our enemy here? To battle us if we try to kill the dragon? But there is only one of you! How can you think to challenge us?”
“I challenge no one. I make no one my enemy, though some may consider me theirs. Swift, it is simply as I say it is. I am here to see that no one slays the dragon under the ice.”
The boy shifted uncomfortably. I could almost see the thought pass through his mind, and when he spoke it, he sounded so like Burrich that it nearly broke my heart. “I am sworn to serve my prince.” He took a breath, but when he spoke his voice was still troubled. “If you oppose him, sir, then I must oppose you.”
The Fool had kept his eyes fixed on the boy’s face all the while. “I am sure you will, if you believe it is the right thing to do,” he said quietly. “And if that is so when the time comes, well, that will be soon enough for us to be opponents. I am sure you will respect the duty of my heart just as I respect yours. For now, however, we travel all together in the same direction, and I see no reason why we should not share what Tom Badgerlock came to seek here. Fellowship.”
Again Swift’s eyes traveled between us. “Then you are friends, you two?”
“For many years,” I said, at almost the same instant that the Fool said, “Far more than friends, I would say.”
It was at precisely that moment that Civil Bresinga flung open the tent flap and thrust his head inside. “I feared as much!” he declared angrily. Swift looked up at him, his mouth a round O of surprise. The Fool gave an exasperated sigh. I was the first to find my tongue.
“Your fears are groundless,” I said quietly, while Swift, entirely mistaking Civil’s declaration, retorted, “I would never be disloyal to my prince, no matter who tempted me!”
That comment, I think, threw Civil into complete confusion. Now totally uncertain of what was going on, he contemptuously ordered, “Swift, come out from there, and go to bed in your own blankets.” Then, to the Fool, “And don’t believe this is the end of this. I’ll be taking my concerns to the Prince.”
On the heels of his words, before the Fool or I could respond, we heard Riddle’s voice ring out in challenge. “Hold where you are! Who goes there?”
I thrust Swift out of the way to bolt out of the tent. I nearly knocked Civil over as I passed him, not that I would have regretted it much. I sensed him following me, and knew that Swift and the Fool would, also. By the time I reached Riddle’s sentry post, most of the camp had tumbled out of their blankets to see what the uproar was about.
“Who goes there?” Riddle shouted again, his uncertainty making him more angry and challenging.
“Where?” I demanded as I came up beside him, and he lifted a finger to point.
“There,” he said quietly, and then I saw the man’s shadow. Or was it the man himself? The uneven surface of the blown snow on the glacier and the feeble light of the fire quarreled with the deep gray of the northern night, making it hard to tell substance from shade. The snowy mountains above us cast a second, deeper shadow across the reach of snow. I squinted. Someone stood at the far edge of the dwindled fire’s reach. I saw no more than his silhouette, but I was certain it was the man I had glimpsed earlier in the day. Behind me, I heard Peottre gasp, “The Black Man!” He spoke with dread, and the spreading mutter among the Hetgurd men who had also roused was uneasy. The Fool was suddenly beside me, his long fingers gripping my forearm hard. He breathed his words, and I doubt any heard them save me. “What is he?”
“Come forward and show yourself!” Riddle commanded him. His drawn sword was in his hand as he stepped out of our circle and into the darkness. Longwick had thrust a torch into the dwindled embers of the fire. As the pitch took flame, and he lifted it aloft, however, the man simply was no longer there. Just as a shadow vanishes when light comes too close to it, so had he disappeared.
His appearance had roused the camp, but it was his disappearance that threw us into chaos. Everyone spoke at once. Riddle and the other guards ran forward to examine t
he place where the man had stood even as Chade shouted at them not to tread on the snow there. By the time Chade and I reached the spot, they had already trampled over whatever sign he might have left. Longwick lifted the torch higher, but we saw no definite footprints either approaching or leaving that spot. It was within the boundaries that Peottre had staked out for the camp, and our own trails crossed and overcrossed there.
One of the Outislanders was praying loudly to El. Never have I heard anything so unnerving as a hardened warrior praying to a god known for his merciless heart. It was a harsh prayer, one that promised gifts and sacrifices if El would only turn his attention elsewhere. Web looked shocked by it and Peottre’s face was pale even in the torchlight. The Narcheska looked as if she had been carved from ivory, so still and stunned were her features.
“Perhaps it was only a trick of the light and shadows,” Cockle suggested, but no one took him seriously. The Hetgurders offered no suggestions, but spoke low and swift amongst themselves. They sounded worried. Peottre too held his silence.
“Whatever or whoever it was, he’s gone now,” Chade declared at last. “Let us get what sleep is left to us tonight. Longwick, double the guard. And build up the fires.”
The Hetgurd contingent, perhaps not trusting our sentries, set a guard of their own. They also spread an otter skin on the snow at the edge of our encampment and once more set out offerings on it. I saw Peottre shepherd the Narcheska back to their tent, but doubted he would sleep any more this night. I wondered why he appeared so badly rattled, and wished that I knew more of this “Black Man” and the traditions surrounding him.
I thought Chade would want to speak to me, but he only gave me an accusing glare. I thought at first that he wished that I had done more to apprehend the visitor; then realized it was because the Fool still stood beside me. I started to move away from him, then irritably checked my own action. I would determine where I wished to be, not Chade. I met his gaze levelly and kept my face devoid of expression. Nonetheless, he gave his head a small shake before he turned aside to accompany Dutiful back to their tent.