“I haven’t really told you anything yet, Gath.”
“Sorry, Dad. I’m trying not to.”
“Not to what?”
“Interrupt. Was he a real raider? Did he kill people and burn towns and . . . What’s the matter, Dad?”
His father was looking awful solemn—the unhappy starting. “I don’t know, Gath. You seem to be getting ahead of me.” Gath sniffed, feeling a lump starting in his throat. “Ever since this morning, I think.”
“You not feeling well?”
“Oh, it’s just Thrippy!”
“Something bothering you?”
“But, honestly, Dad, I didn’t know the silly old man was going to throw an arm around me and I didn’t really hear what he said and she’ll make an awful scene!”
“I think wed better get your mother . . . Gath, what did you just say?”
He knew he was going to cry, so he decided he might as well get it over with. He jumped up and across to his father’s chair and was falling into his arms, except that Dad hadn’t started to hold them out to him, but they soon got that straightened around . . .
He wept, or would weep, and was held, or would be held, or had been held . . . He had felt, would feel, better after his weep, when they would go to Mom and he was telling them about Thrippy and what he’d whispered and of course they would know the old man had died would die was dying . . .
He was ever so mixed up.
8
Inos marched into the parlor and shut the door. The fire had shrunk to a few glowing ashes; the room was chill. Some of the candles had gone out and the others were guttering.
Rap lay sprawled in one of the big pillowed chairs, looking as long as a jotunn. He glanced up at her gloomily. “Well?”
“He’s sleeping now,” she said. “He was pretty distraught there for a while, but I think he’ll be all right.”
Rap grunted in misery.
“Not much we can do, really,” she said, “except hold him tight and love him and stay cheerful.”
Rap turned his mournful gaze back to the ashes in the grate. “No.”
She perched on the arm of his chair. She had never seen Rap give in to despair before, and she was not going to allow it now. “I know he’s big,” she said, “but he’s only thirteen. A thirteen-year-old in trouble needs his mother.”
Rap took a moment to react, then he looked up at her inquiringly. “I know that.”
“Oh, good. I thought perhaps you were sulking and feeling rejected. ”
But that did not win the indignant response she had hoped for. Rap just said, ”No,” and went back to brooding.
She tried again. “You have a kingdom to run. You can’t spend all your time nursing children. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine, because I was supposed to be minding the kids while you were away.”
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Rap told the fireplace.
She tousled his hair thoughtfully. Obviously there was more wrong than she knew and obviously Rap had given up pretending that there wasn’t, or he would be trying to seem more cheerful. It must be bad, if he was taking this long to get around to it. Something had happened back about Winterfest, around the time Holi was bom. Rap had been wading deep waters ever since.
“It wasn’t deliberate,” she said. “I’m sure of that. Gath wasn’t deliberately trying to learn a word of power. He says he wasn’t and he’s not lying. He didn’t know that Thrippy knew a word of power. How could he? No one did. Thrippy’s never shown any occult ability at all that I know of. In fact, a little magic might have improved his work considerably.” Thrippy had been a palace servant so long that she could not remember when he had not been old.
Rap showed no amusement. “I went down there,” he said.”He’s in a coma now, and sinking. They don’t think he’ll live till morning.”
Poor old Thrippy!
But the word that had done nothing for the old man had shattered the boy. Gath must have inherited his father’s knack for magic, just as he had inherited his porcupine hair. Different-colored hair; different talent.
“So Gath has a sort of foresight? Your mother was a seer?” She waited a long time and finally Rap said, “So they say. I got the impression Gath was kind of a few minutes ahead of me all the time. He was answering questions before I asked them.”
“That’s when he’s upset. When he calms down, he’s all right. I think he’ll cope. When he gets used to it.”
“Yes.”
“It does take some getting used to,” she said. “Magic does. I remember. You must remember that. It takes time.”
No reply.
“Rap!”
“I was even younger,” he muttered. “I blocked it out altogether, somehow. I didn’t know I had any power at all until I was older than he is.”
“Well, that was you. This is Gath.”
“It’s tough enough on adults. It must be a hundred times worse for a kid.” He shivered. “How can he live at more than one time? He’ll go crazy!”
“Phooey!” Inos said. “Children bounce like balls. He’ll be all right, love. It’s not him I’m worried about.”
Rap sighed very deeply. “Sorry. I’m just tired. Let’s go to bed.”
He tried to pull himself up in the chair and she pushed him back.
“There’s more to this than you’re letting on! What are you hiding? ”
He rolled his eyes to stare up at her in abject misery. “I’ve never kept secrets from you, Inos.”
“Good. Why start now? Out with it.”
“There’s nothing to `out’ with.”
“Rap, I’m tired, too, but you don’t get out of this chair till you talk. You may start losing eyes or skin very shortly. And don’t just say, `There’s more bad news but you’d be happier not knowing!’ That’s a sure way to make me fear the worst. Speak!”
He clasped her hand and squeezed. “You couldn’t fear the worst!”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I made an error, darling.”
“When? How?”
“That’s the trouble—I don’t know when. Or how. But somewhere in our adventures, when we were kids, I fouled up badly. And now the ravens are coming home to roost.”
She felt a tremor of real fear. “What ravens?”
“Don’t know that, either. Something to do with the end of the millennium.” Rap looked up at her bleakly. “The night Holi was born, I talked with a God and They said . . . They told me . . . They said that one of the children . . . now I think They were talking about Gath . . .”
Hostages to fortune:
He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune.
— Francis Bacon, Essays
INTERLUDE
All over Pandemia, spring ripened into summer.
In Krasnegar the king spent less time on the mainland than was his custom at that season, and more with his children. Gradually a certain very frightened boy began to adjust to his uncanny new talent. He did not go insane, as his father had feared.
In the splendor of the Opal Palace the imperor clung to life, weakening steadily and rarely seen. Rumor—and there was always rumor in Hub—contended that he was failing and could no longer cope with the immense workload he had always handled so easily. Recalling an unhappy regency eighteen years previously, the wags whispered jokes about a pressing need for faun sorcerers.
Princess Eshiala continued to decline almost all social invitations, while pursuing her studies in elocution, music, deportment, jurisprudence, literature, equitation, poetry, history, interior design, piscation, geography, constitutional law, theology, venery, and all the many other matters with which a future impress was expected to be conversant.
The curious term “covin” came into more general use, although no one would admit to knowing to what it applied, or even whether its new popularity derived from some particular conspiracy.
In Qoble the prince imperial fretted. Agonizing months passed after Eshiala’s note told him of his grandfather’s decision. When the old man did finally issue a formal recall and appoint a successor, he was adamant that Shandie must not return by ship. That refusal was both inexplicable and ominous.
Admittedly the sea routes from Qoble led around either Zark or IIrane. Shandie knew he must not set foot in either, but shipwreck was a rare thing. Any decent sorcerer could raise a storm, of course, but to do so against the heir apparent would be a flagrant breach of the Protocol, which should call down the wrath of the Four. No sane sorcerer would dare. So what did the imperor fear? Was he totally senile?
Unseasonable blizzards in the Qoble Range kept the passes closed far later than usual.
In Thume a boy and girl had consecrated their Place in the way of the pixies and begun to build their cottage. For them the days were filled with joy and the nights with love. Time flowed by unnoticed, and no one came near to disturb their idyll.