Forest Mage. Robin Hobb

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      I stared too long. In the branches of a nearby bush, a croaker bird suddenly cawed loudly. It lifted its black and white wings and opened its red beak wide at me. It had orange wattles on its bare neck; they were fleshy and wobbled cancerously at me as it cawed.

      I retreated a step, but he still challenged me with three loud caws. The cries were immediately echoed by a couple of his fellows perched in nearby trees. As they raised the alarm, I turned and hastily walked away. My thoughts were in turmoil. It was one thing to hear tales of what the worship of the old gods had demanded; it was another thing to see a carrion tree set up for their delight.

      Did Rosse know of his wife’s beliefs?

      Did my father? My mother?

      I breathed through my mouth as I walked swiftly away from that place. When I reached the lavender beds and the drowsing bumblebees mining them, I stopped. I took deep calming breaths of their fragrance. I was sweating. I’d glimpsed something dark and it filled me with a sudden foreboding.

      ‘Sir. This is a private garden for the family’s meditation and repose. The wedding festivities do not extend to this area.’

      The woman was dressed as a gardener, in rough brown tunic and pantaloons and sandals. A broad-brimmed straw hat shaded her face. She carried a little basket on one arm with a trowel in it.

      I wondered if she was in charge of burying the birds. No. From what I knew of those rites, they had to remain as an offering until the elements and the scavengers had reduced them to bones. I met her direct look and tried to read her eyes. She smiled at me politely.

      ‘I’ve lost my way, I’m afraid.’

      She pointed. ‘Follow the pathway to the gate. Please latch it behind you, sir.’

      She knew. She knew I wasn’t lost and she knew about the sacrifice and she guessed that I had seen it. Her eyes moved over me. Her gaze disdained me.

      ‘Thank you. I’ll be glad to find my way back.’

      ‘You’re welcome, sir.’

      We were so polite. She made my skin crawl. I walked away from her, trying not to hurry. When I reached the gate, I glanced back. She had quietly followed me down the path to make sure that I left. I lifted my hand and flapped it at her foolishly, as if waving goodbye. She hastily turned away from me. I left the garden, closing the gate firmly behind me.

      My first childish impulse was to run to my father and tell him all I’d seen. If Rosse and Cecile had not already said their vows, I might have done so. But they were already joined, and my mother and father had given oaths equally binding to Cecile’s parents. It was too late to stop them from joining our good name with the heathen Poronte family. I made my slow way back through the first garden and to the terrace. As I went, I decided that I would wait until I could privately pass my knowledge to my father. As the head of our family, he would decide what to do about it. Would it be sufficient grounds for him to contact the High Temple in Old Thares and have the marriage voided? Cecile and the other Poronte family members had called the good god to witness their pledges. Did the sacrifice in the garden mean they did not feel bound by their oaths before the good god? Had they smiled at my parents and mouthed words empty of intent?

      On the terrace, people were resting and talking, the women fanning themselves against the rising heat of the day. I kept my smile in place and avoided making eye contact with anyone. No one spoke to me as I passed.

      The musicians were still playing in the ballroom. Dancers still spun to their notes. I told myself there was no sense in dwelling on the ugliness I’d witnessed. I’d set it out of my mind until I could consign it to my father’s judgment. The spinning dancers made a lovely picture, and I was almost calm when Carsina, apparently fully recovered from our scene, swept by me, once more in the arms of Kase Remwar. I turned and moved on to the dining room.

      There, the hubbub of conversation was nearly as loud as the music in the ballroom. Servants bustled around the room, setting out fresh platters of food, refilling glasses, serving people, clearing away dirty plates and putting out fresh settings. The smells of food assaulted me. My stomach rolled over inside me and my hunger became a sharp ache that reached all the way up the back of my throat. I stood still for a moment, swallowing saliva. My conservative breakfast that morning had not assuaged the insult done to my body by my days of fasting. I felt that I could have cleared one of the laden tables by myself.

      Guests were helping themselves and chatting with others as they meandered amongst the tables, taking a serving of fruit there, a sweet from that platter, and a pastry from another. I knew I could not trust myself. I found an empty chair at a clean setting without anyone near me. It seemed to take decades before a servant noticed me. ‘May I bring you anything, sir, or would you care to make your own selection?’

      I swallowed and had to take a breath. I ached with emptiness. ‘Could you bring me a small portion of meat, a roll of bread and perhaps a glass of wine?’

      He startled as if I’d flung cold water at him. ‘And that is all, sir?’ he asked me solicitously. ‘Or shall I select other foods for you and bring them to you?’ His eyes roved over my bulk as if disputing my request.

      ‘Just meat and bread and a glass of wine. That will be fine for me,’ I assured him.

      ‘Well. If you are certain? Only meat, bread and wine?’

      ‘I am. Thank you.’

      He hurried off, and I saw him summon an underling. The servant gestured at me as he passed on my request to the man. The new servant met my glance and his eyes widened. He grinned, bowed obsequiously and hurried off. I realized my hands were clenched at the edge of the table and folded them in my lap. Food. I was trembling with need for it. The intensity of my awareness of the smells and of my urgency frightened me. For the first time, I wondered if this was an unnatural appetite. Despite my fast, my clothing had become tighter. How could I not eat and become fatter? A frightening suspicion came to me. Magic. Was this the lingering effects of Tree Woman’s intrusion on my life? I recalled my vision of my ‘other self’ in her world. He had been heavy of belly and thick-legged. When I took him back into me, had I taken those attributes into my body as well?

      It could not be. I didn’t believe in magic. I didn’t believe in magic desperately, in the same way that a badly wounded soldier did not believe in amputation. Take it away, take it away, I prayed to the good god. If this be magic, put it out of my life and save me from it.

      Dancing Spindle had moved for me. I had ridden it and I had witnessed it stopping. Did I not believe that had happened? I thought of my cinch that had not stayed tight on Sirlofty. But the modern rational man in me wondered if I deceived myself. Could not my saddle’s cinch loosening be a result of my greater weight? If the halting of the Spindle meant that all plains magic was failing, would not it affect every cavallaman’s cinch?

      I thought that I could ask Sergeant Duril about his recent cinch experiences. Then I sighed, thinking that right now I didn’t have the courage to seek him out for anything. I’d disappointed him, and in some ways, disappointing my old teacher was a more personal failure than disappointing my father. And where was that food? The hunger boiled up in me again, driving all other thoughts from my mind.

      Yet it was not food that came to my table next, but my father and mother. I had not noticed them enter the room, and yet there they were. My father took the chair next to me, and my mother seated herself just beyond him. A glance at their faces СКАЧАТЬ