The lamps flickered faintly and one of the casements rattled. Snow was packed tight over the glass.
“It didn’t work for long, of course,” Rap said. “You know that.”
They had never discussed it, but she had guessed, then wormed the story out of her aunt. “Kade told me, roughly.”
“I’ve been lying, all these years,” he said glumly. “I keep insisting I’m not a sorcerer. But that’s like a man saying he hasn’t any money, meaning he left it all at home today. What I mean is ‘I’m not a sorcerer just at the moment.’ I’m an out-and-out liar!”
“No, you’re not! You just avoid the question—I’ve heard you do it. It’s nobody’s business but yours.”
If he’d ever once admitted to having magic powers, then people would have always been bringing him sick babies and dying relatives and they would have shunned him the rest of the time, because the simple folk of Krasnegar feared magic.
“It almost worked,” he said. “You did destroy one of them—Little Chicken’s. It was so weakened that it just stopped existing. I don’t know why, because it was probably the strongest. You shattered the others. They had so little power left that people forgot them. Most people.”
His face was drawn and stiff already. The sorcerous suffered when they talked of magic.
“Not you.”
“No. I have this knack for magic, so I remembered them better than others. As they recovered their strength, I was the one who remembered best. They homed in on me. So I am a sorcerer, after a fashion. A very weak sorcerer, though, because the words are spread so thin. I have three ghost words and one good one—the one I got from Sagorn, the one I didn’t tell you.”
“And where does Corporal Isyrano come in?” she asked, although she was fairly sure she knew the answer now.
“He must have been present in the bailey when you did your big scene. He would only have been a kid then. He remembered one of the words.”
“And he already had a knack for swordsmanship?”
Rap nodded. “Plus a knack for magic, like me. So he remembered a word. He became an occultly gifted swordsman. Once he discovered his ability, of course, then he headed off to the Impire to get coaching, because nobody here could teach him properly.”
And how many others? Brunrag the singer and a dozen or two more she could think of. And, as Rap had said, maybe others who had traveled south and had not returned.
“We may have adepts and mages, as well? Maybe even a sorcerer or two?”
Rap was staring glumly at the red glow of the peat. “No sorcerers. You spoke four words and one seems to have died. So only three survived. I haven’t noticed any mages or adepts around, but they could be lying low. If they have any sense they are.”
Inos rose and went across to sit on the arm of his chair. She stroked his tangled hair. “And now they’re dying off ?”
“Some of them. Words are passed on deathbeds. Anyone may have one. For all I know, old Thrippy has one. Now you see the problem?”
“You think Gath is trying to learn a word of power?” Rap groaned and rubbed his temples.
“Maybe. Someone may have told him about them—Gods know who may know about them. It’s just . . . I don’t know. Gath’s always seemed such an honest, open kid.”
She didn’t say what they were both thinking—that Rap’s son might have inherited his gift for magic.
“Could he be doing it by instinct, do you suppose?” she asked.
“Doesn’t sound likely. Even powerful sorcerers, even the wardens, can’t detect power unless it is being used. So how could he be attracted to it by instinct?”
For a moment they sat in silence. Rap leaned his head against her, weary with worry.
“Is it so serious, though, love?” she said. “Even if he picks up all three and becomes a mage—is that so terrible? You’ll pass on your words to the children when you die, won’t you?”
“Hadn’t planned on dying yet, but I suppose so. I might do what Inisso did and give one to each child. Gath’s far too young to be trusted with power. But that’s not the point.”
She had missed something and obviously it was serious. “What is the point, then?”
“The point is that they’re very weak words. Yes, three will make a mage, but a very weak mage.”
“What can a very weak mage do?”
“Not much, I suspect. If he tried to turn you into a frog, you’d just go green, or something. I don’t know.”
“So?”
“So he’d be a pushover for any good sorcerer who came along, who could sense his use of power and enslave him; make a votary of him.”
“Then you’ll have to have a serious talk with your son!”
“I suppose so.”
“Leave Kadie out of it!” Inos said firmly. “If she finds out, she’ll pester all the old folk in the kingdom to death.”
Rap sighed. “I never knew my father. I’m no good at this being-a-father thing.”
That was absurd. The children worshipped him and so did all the dozens of other children around the palace.
“Urn sure you can handle it, dear,” Inos said sweetly. ”Compared to killing Thane Kalkor, it won’t be difficult at all.”
5
It was all wrong, Frial thought, wrong, wrong, wrong! What should have been a precious, once-or-twice-in-a-lifetime joy had been soured by the curse of Faculty and turned to tragedy. A priceless moment had become a torment.
The roiling Feelings had given her a skull-splitting headache. She was angry at Thaile, who should have told the boy the truth right away and should never have brought him home to the Gaib Place. She was angry at Gaib, who was being awkward and stubborn because he was frightened and wouldn’t admit it. She was even angry with that lovesick runt of a boy with his ridiculous batwing ears—especially angry with him, for being so utterly, witlessly smitten by her daughter. Angry because he looked so wrong and Felt so right.
Angry, also, at the news Thaile had brought back. That shiftless Wide had never Felt right to her, but Sheel had refused to listen. Now what had her stupidity brought her? Any girl should trust her mother’s feelings, especially if they were Feelings, as hers were. But Sheel was another problem, to be suffered later, of leisure.
The sun was just setting behind Kestrel Ridge, the moon just rising over the mountains, golden and almost full. It was a beautiful evening; even the bugs were tolerable. Only the Feelings were wrong. If they were giving her a headache, what must they be doing to Thaile?
Four people sitting outside the cottage, in misery—she and Gaib on the bench with their backs to the wall, the young lovers cross-legged on the ground opposite, close but not quite touching.
He had found his dream Place and wanted a dream girl to share it with. She wanted to hide from the recorders . . . Leeb had never even heard of Gifted families, or Faculty, until now. Gaib had explained, very clumsily. Frial herself had gone over it all again.
The boy was distraught. Thane was close to tears. As she should be!
Now Gaib had fallen into angry, baffled silence, out of his depth. He kept twitching, as if he expected the Jain sorcerer-recorder to materialize out of the trees.
“How long until your birthday?” Leeb asked, turning to Thaile.
She sniffed. “Half a year. First new moon of the rainy season.”
He nodded glumly and picked at a blister on his toe. “Yours?” she asked tremulously.
“Another month. I’ll be eighteen.”
He looked younger, but he gave off no Feelings of lying. He was giving off nothing but massive frustration, plus the underlying infatuation, of course.
“Mother!” Thaile moaned. “What are we to do?”
“Do? You know quite well what you have to do! You have to wait here for another month or two and then we’ll take you to the College.” Frial tried to imagine Gaib going on a long journey away from the Place. Her mind shied like a startled doe. “Or we’ll find someone to go with you. Goodman Leeb will stay the night here and tomorrow he’ll be on his way.”
Twin blasts of pain threatened to tear her head apart. Leeb reached out and took Thaile’s hand defiantly. That didn’t help any.
“There are lots of pretty girls in the world, lad,” Frial said coldly.
More pain.
“This Place of his,” Gaib growled. His anger was growing stronger, hotter. “You’ve not seen it yet?”
“No, Father,” Thaile said patiently. They’d explained that several times. “But I believe what Leeb says about it.”
“Lots of bugs down in the valley,” Gaib mused. He’d never been there, of course.
“I’m a lowlander, sir,” the boy said nervously. “I know some things about bugs.”