never heard. With Inis, it could be something really unusual, or something from another country or even another world. The worst, the absolute worst, would be if it was something from another world written about him, now, and Inis knew that.
The problem with Inis was that he was both very mad and very wise, which made him just impossible. Most people were limited in what they would say by politeness, but never Inis.
Sometimes Ferdia thought the Vincans were right to kill all the oracle-priests or drive them out of their empire. But then, Inis was especially rude even for an oracle-priest. It might have been because he was the
Page 40
king's father. Nobody even dared reproach him.
Whatever Inis meant about the lonely bed, Ferdia didn't want to talk to him about it. He realized he'd just been staring at him for a long time without saying anything.
"I don't mind if it's lonely as long as I can lie down," he said, and faked a yawn.
"Darag won't be there," Inis said plainly.
Ferdia wanted a god to swoop down from the sky and catch him up to the clouds. He wanted the hill to open so he could dive inside. He felt his cheeks heating so much he feared that Inis would see. He swallowed and tried hard for a casual tone. "No, he's still dancing. He'll probably get to bed late. Or maybe not until tomorrow." He tried to sound amused rather than distressed, and thought he did quite well.
"I wish you could stay boys forever," Inis said, and he sounded really sad. What did that mean?
"Too late," Ferdia said. "We are men already and have taken up arms."
"He has killed the deer and the swan. Soon he will add a man. All of my grandsons will, and you will fight, too, son of Cethern." Inis rocked again and closed his eyes. Ferdia bit back questions.
"Soon" must mean this summer, it had to. He didn't want to know more than that. He didn't want to know anything. He knew he would have to deal with oracle-priests all his life, but he just wanted to do things without it all being doomed and prophesied. Often enough if you listened to them, you ended up worrying about things that didn't happen anyway. His father told him that. He took a step toward the door. Inis's eyes shot open again. Ferdia froze.
"So, though you are a man, you go to bed early on the Feast of Bel, like a boy?" Inis asked.
"I'm tired," Ferdia said, and was horrified to realize it came out like a whine, like the child Inis said he was.
"This could be a night you would get strong sons," Inis said.
Inis knew that sort of thing. Everyone knew that he did. He was one of the three best reckoners of lucky days in the island of Tir Isarnagiri. The story was that years ago King Nessa had asked him what the day was fortunate for, and he had replied that it was a lucky day for begetting a king on a king. As he was the only man around, she had taken him to her bed, for all that she had a husband and he had a wife, and the result was Conary. Nobody could deny that Conary was a king, and one of the best kings Oriel had ever had. But even if Inis did know it, what good would it do anyone? "I could beget sons maybe, but not sons of my house,"
Ferdia said. "They would be neither heirs for Lagin nor grandsons for my father."
"No," Inis agreed. "But children of your body. Heirs for Mother Breda. A son might come of this night who may not bear your name but who will take your face down the years."
"That would be a child denied to the wife I will one day marry," Ferdia said.
"Now there is the thought of a man who would live long," Inis said. Ferdia stared at him again, the whole world narrowed to Inis on his stool. What did he mean? That he was going to die soon? Or that he wasn't?
"I have two sisters and a brother," Ferdia said at last, as the thought came to him.
Inis smiled sadly and gestured to the darkness. "Then you may deny a wife nothing, if you can find her here tonight."
Ferdia didn't want a wife, or a child, not yet, not now, not like this. He just wanted to go inside and
The problem with Inis was that he was both very mad and very wise, which made him just impossible. Most people were limited in what they would say by politeness, but never Inis.
Sometimes Ferdia thought the Vincans were right to kill all the oracle-priests or drive them out of their empire. But then, Inis was especially rude even for an oracle-priest. It might have been because he was the
Page 40
king's father. Nobody even dared reproach him.
Whatever Inis meant about the lonely bed, Ferdia didn't want to talk to him about it. He realized he'd just been staring at him for a long time without saying anything.
"I don't mind if it's lonely as long as I can lie down," he said, and faked a yawn.
"Darag won't be there," Inis said plainly.
Ferdia wanted a god to swoop down from the sky and catch him up to the clouds. He wanted the hill to open so he could dive inside. He felt his cheeks heating so much he feared that Inis would see. He swallowed and tried hard for a casual tone. "No, he's still dancing. He'll probably get to bed late. Or maybe not until tomorrow." He tried to sound amused rather than distressed, and thought he did quite well.
"I wish you could stay boys forever," Inis said, and he sounded really sad. What did that mean?
"Too late," Ferdia said. "We are men already and have taken up arms."
"He has killed the deer and the swan. Soon he will add a man. All of my grandsons will, and you will fight, too, son of Cethern." Inis rocked again and closed his eyes. Ferdia bit back questions.
"Soon" must mean this summer, it had to. He didn't want to know more than that. He didn't want to know anything. He knew he would have to deal with oracle-priests all his life, but he just wanted to do things without it all being doomed and prophesied. Often enough if you listened to them, you ended up worrying about things that didn't happen anyway. His father told him that. He took a step toward the door. Inis's eyes shot open again. Ferdia froze.
"So, though you are a man, you go to bed early on the Feast of Bel, like a boy?" Inis asked.
"I'm tired," Ferdia said, and was horrified to realize it came out like a whine, like the child Inis said he was.
"This could be a night you would get strong sons," Inis said.
Inis knew that sort of thing. Everyone knew that he did. He was one of the three best reckoners of lucky days in the island of Tir Isarnagiri. The story was that years ago King Nessa had asked him what the day was fortunate for, and he had replied that it was a lucky day for begetting a king on a king. As he was the only man around, she had taken him to her bed, for all that she had a husband and he had a wife, and the result was Conary. Nobody could deny that Conary was a king, and one of the best kings Oriel had ever had. But even if Inis did know it, what good would it do anyone? "I could beget sons maybe, but not sons of my house,"
Ferdia said. "They would be neither heirs for Lagin nor grandsons for my father."
"No," Inis agreed. "But children of your body. Heirs for Mother Breda. A son might come of this night who may not bear your name but who will take your face down the years."
"That would be a child denied to the wife I will one day marry," Ferdia said.
"Now there is the thought of a man who would live long," Inis said. Ferdia stared at him again, the whole world narrowed to Inis on his stool. What did he mean? That he was going to die soon? Or that he wasn't?
"I have two sisters and a brother," Ferdia said at last, as the thought came to him.
Inis smiled sadly and gestured to the darkness. "Then you may deny a wife nothing, if you can find her here tonight."
Ferdia didn't want a wife, or a child, not yet, not now, not like this. He just wanted to go inside and
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