The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One by Karen Miller Page A

don’t. Think I’ll trust Rodyn Garrick on this? After how he fratched at me about Ain Freidin? Don’t reckon I’d trust him to tell me the bloody time!”
    Pellen sighed, gustily. “Then what about Barlsman Jaffee and Sarnia Marnagh and—”
    “
No
, Pellen,” he snapped. “It ain’t safe. What they don’t know won’t cause us ructions.”
    “I don’t like it, Asher,” Pellen muttered. “I’m not comfortable with these kinds of secrets.”
    “Then you bloody
get
comfortable, Pellen. I can’t sort this with the Mage Council breathin’ down my neck!”
    “This—this
change
you’ve been feeling,” said Pellen, after a moment. “Who else can feel it, do you think?”
    Rafel
. But he couldn’t tell Pellen that. He could hardly bear to think it. He and Dath had done what they could to shield their son from the magic that was in him—but was it enough? At only ten, still a sprat, was he outgrowing that protection?
    No. No. Don’t let it be that.
    “Don’t know,” he said. “But if it gets any worse there’ll be a lot of folk feelin’ it.”
    “If that happens you can forget keeping secrets,” said Pellen, and ran a hand over his face. “From the Mage Council
or
the kingdom. How long do we have before this becomes common knowledge?”
    “Don’t know that, either.”
    “Is there anything you
do
know?”
    Biting his tongue, Asher half-turned away. Brawling with Pellen, on account of they were both frighted and heartsore, weren’t likely to help things.
    “I know I need you to stand by me, Pellen. I need you to trust I can find us a way out of trouble.”
    “Don’t be a fool!” said Pellen, stung. “Whatever’s gone wrong, I know you’ll put it right.”
    There were no doubting his friend’s sincerity. But suddenly, instead of helping, Pellen’s faith was a fearful burden.
    What if he’s wrong? What if I can’t? It’s been ten years and I ain’t stirred my magic hardly at all since Morg. What if I can’t make it do what’s needful? What if I don’t know the right words?
    Pellen took hold of his shoulder. “Asher, don’t worry. When the time comes—
if
it comes—you’ll know what to do. And whatever help you need to do it, just ask. I’ll not turn my back.”
    “Good,” he said, and heard his voice rasp. “That’s good, Pellen.”
    And since there weren’t nowt else to say, he started again towards the Tower. Pellen walked with him. They climbed the sandstone steps and went inside, then tramped the spiral staircase to Darran’s quiet, sweet-smelling room. Pother Kerril was there, bending over the ole man. Dathne too, at the foot of the bed.
    “He’s failing fast,” she whispered, greeting them at the open door, then managed a trembling smile for Pellen. “I’m sorry. He wore himself out for the children.”
    Asher frowned. “You let Rafe and Deenie—”
    “Yes,” she said, her voice sharpening. “My decision, Asher. You were too busy sulking.”
    He didn’t want to fight. And Rafe had said he wanted to say goodbye. But
Deenie?
    “I let Charis say goodbye to her mother,” said Pellen, his voice low. “It pained her, but it was the right choice. Your Deenie’s a quiet child, Asher, but she’s resilient. Not saying goodbye would be harder, I think.”
    Pellen knew Deenie well. She and his Charis were good friends, thick as thieves. Only a year between the girls, with Deenie the younger, living in each other’s pockets like peas in a pod.
    Asher glanced at Dathne, whose eyes were tear-washed. His heart, which he was guarding, cracked a little for her pain. “I ain’t fratchin’ you, Dath. You’re their ma, you know what’s best.”
    “Can I take a moment with him?” said Pellen. “I’ll not stay long.”
    “Of course,” said Dathne, and stroked a hand down Pellen’s arm. “It’s good of you to come.”
    As Pellen crossed to the bed to say his goodbyes, Dathne wiped her wet cheek with the back of one hand. “The dear old man told the children