Actually, he seems improved. But I need a time for my own thoughts.
Very well.
I turned back to the Fool, but he had either sunk into a true sleep or was pretending one so convincingly that I could not find it in me to try to wake him. I needed a time to think. I thought there must be some way to get him to change his mind, if only I could think of it.
“I'll be back,” I told him, and then slung my cloak over my shoulders and went out. I thought I might as well make a trip through the Elderling maze to retrieve some of the Skill scrolls. It would keep me busy while I thought. I have never done my best pondering while sitting still. I climbed the steep path and found I did not have to squeeze quite as much to get into the crack. My comings and goings were wearing it open, I thought to myself. Yet I had not gone far under the false light of the Elderling globes before I saw someone coming toward me. It startled me for the instant before I recognized the Black Man. He had a haunch of smoked meat on one shoulder, and as we drew near to one another, he nodded to me and then slung it carefully to the ground.
“Her supplies, I stole. Many times. Not like this. A little bit here, a little bit there. Now, what I want, I take.” He cocked his head at me. “And you?”
“Somewhat the same. Years ago, scrolls, special writings, were taken from my king. She has them, here, in a room near her bedchamber. I am to bring them home again.”
“Ah, those. I saw them long ago.”
“Yes.”
“I will help.”
I was not sure I wanted help, but there seemed no courteous way to refuse him. I nodded my thanks, and we walked companionably through the halls. He shook his head at the desecration of the carvings and the missing art from the empty niches. He spoke to me of the folk who had lived here in the times he had known. Thick had been right. Once, the stone hallways had been warmed. Elderlings had come and gone from this place, enjoying the wonders of the ice and snow that never reached their warmer lands. I tried to imagine taking pleasure in coming to a cold place, but the idea was foreign to me.
Prilkop had somehow unharnessed the magic that gave warmth to the stone. He had sought too to deprive the Pale Woman of the Elderling light, but had failed at that. Yet even without warmth, she had stayed. She had driven Prilkop into hiding, and shown her disdain for him and the dragon-partnered Elderlings by her encouragement of the destruction of their art.
“Yet she left the map room alone,” I pointed out to him.
“She did not know of it, perhaps. Or, not knowing the use, did not care. Of the travel portals, she knew nothing. Once, only once, to flee her I used one.” He shook his head at the memory. “So weak, so sick, so--” He put his fists to his temples and made pounding motions. “I could not come back, for many days. When I did”--he shrugged--“she had made my city hers. But now I take it back.”
He knew his city well. He took me by a different path, through narrower ways that had, perhaps, been for servants or tradesmen. In less time than I had thought possible, we turned down a hallway that led us past her bedchamber. I glanced in. Someone had been there since I last glimpsed it. I halted and stared. Every item in the room that could have been pushed over or dragged about had been. A cask of jewelry had spilled a stream of pearls and silver chains and glittering white stones across the floor. Some had settled in slow melt into the floor of the chamber. Prilkop saw me staring and calmly entered the room. “This will work,” he told me, and pulled a silk coverlet from her bed. As I watched, he knotted the corners to form a very large carry sack. Catching the sense of what he did, I found another and copied him. Then, our makeshift sacks slung across our backs, we went on to the scroll room.
I was not prepared for the sight that met me there. The racks had been deliberately pushed toward the center of the room, so that as they fell, their shelved contents spilled in a messy pile. A broken pitcher lay near them and oil drenched a number of the scrolls. The Pale Woman lay on the floor near them. She was very dead. Her blackened stick arms reminded me of insect legs. Freezing and death had darkened her countenance. She had thrown back her head and died, mouth open like a snarling cat. An Elderling light globe, pried loose from its setting, lay near the oil-soaked manuscripts. It looked battered, as if it had been kicked and beaten. For a time, Prilkop and I stared in silence.
“She tried to make a fire to warm herself,” I hazarded my guess. “She thought something in the light globe might catch the scrolls on fire.”
He shook his head in disgust. “No. To destroy. Her whole desire that was. Dragons to destroy. Other Prophets to destroy. Beauty. Knowledge.” He nudged one of the oily scrolls that was close to her body. “What she could not control or possess, she destroys.” He met my eyes and added, “She could not control your Fool.”
He set to work alongside me. The unruined scrolls, we loaded into one sack, taking as much care as we could, for some were very old and fragile. Those that had taken the oil I placed separately from the others. I noticed that we both avoided the Pale Woman. When I had to move her body to get at the scrolls beneath her, Prilkop backed away and looked aside. When every single scroll had been rescued, I looked at her lying there. “Do you want me to do something with her body?” I asked him quietly.
He stared at me, as if uncomprehending. Then he slowly nodded.
So it was that I bundled her into one of the sumptuous fur spreads from her bed and dragged her down the hall behind me. He showed me a door, quite small, that I would not have noticed on my own. It opened onto a chute and the distant rush of waves. He had me push her into this. She vanished from sight, and that seemed to give Prilkop much satisfaction.
We returned to the scroll room for our trove. We walked through the halls, dragging the sacks more than carrying them. Scrolls are surprisingly heavy. I winced at every bump as we took them up the stairs, imagining how Chade would scold me for treating them like this. Well, he would not know what condition they were in when I first found them. With Prilkop's help, I got both sacks up to the pillar room. There we paused to catch our breath. For all his years, the old man seemed as spry as a youngster. For the first time, I pondered how old the Fool might live to be. Then, the even more strange thought came to me, to wonder where he was in his life. Was he still a youngster? Did that have any meaning to him? Once he had told me that he was older than Nighteyes and I put together...I pushed the thought aside uncomfortably. I did not want to consider how different we were, how different we had always been. Our friendship had crossed that line and made us one.
Just as my bond with Nighteyes had made us one. And yet. I sighed as I followed the Black Man down the steps to the map room. And yet it had not made us the same. I was a man, with a man's concerns with this world, unable to live fully in the now as Nighteyes did, or to stretch his years beyond their span.
Was that how the Fool saw me?
I made a small sound in my throat. Prilkop glanced back at me, but said nothing. When we reached the map room, he paused by the image. He rubbed his hands together as he considered it, then, with a raised eyebrow, he gestured at it.
I touched the grouped gems near Buckkeep. “Buckkeep,” I told him. “My home.”
He nodded sagely. Then, as the Fool had before, he touched a land far to the south. “Home,” he said. Then he touched an inlet on the coast of that land and said, “Clerres.”
“Your school,” I guessed. “Where you wish to return.”
He paused, head cocked, then nodded. “Yes. Our school.” He gave me a sad look. “Where we must return. That what we have learned may be recorded. For others, yet to come. Very important this is.”
“I understand.”
The Black Man looked at me kindly. “No. You don't.” He studied the map again, and then, as if speaking to himself, said, “The letting go is hard. Yet, this you must do. Both of you. Let go. If not, you will make more changes. Blindly. If, because of him, things you do make changes, what comes of them? No one can say. Even a little thing. You bring to him bread. He eats. If you do not bring this bread, someone else eats it. See, a change. A little change. To him, you give your time, your talk, your friendship. Who then does not receive your time? Hm? A big change, maybe, I think. Let go, Fool's Changer. Your time together is over. Done.”
It was none of his concern and I very nearly told him so. But he looked at me so kindly and sympathetically that my anger died almost as soon as I felt it.
“Let us go back,” he suggested. I started to nod and then Thick broke into my thoughts.
Fitz? Have you finished yet? The Queen is still waiting.
I sighed wearily. I'd best go take care of it, and then beg some time for myself. I've finished. I'll bring the Skill scrolls home with me this time. Meet me at the Witness Stones and help me carry them.
No! I'm eating raspberry tart! With cream.
After the tart, then. I felt a sudden sympathy for Thick's unwillingness to interrupt his meal to rush and find me. Prilkop had reached the end of the steps. He glanced up at me quizzically. “I have to go back to my home for a time,” I told him. “Please tell the Fool that I will come back as soon as I can. I'll bring more food then, fresh fruit and bread.”
Prilkop looked alarmed. “Not through the portal stones? So soon? Not wise is that. Foolish, even.” He made a beckoning gesture at me. “Come to Prilkop's home. A night, a day, a night, a day, and then go back through the stones. If you must.”
“I fear I must go now.” I did not want to see the Fool or talk to him again until I had found a way around all his arguments.
“Changer? You can do this? You have done this before?”
“Several times.”
He came back up the steps toward me, his brow lined with anxiety. “Never have I seen this done so often, so close together. Be careful, then. Do not come back too soon. Rest.”
“I've done this before,” I insisted. I recalled how I had been in and out of the Skill-stones with Dutiful on that long-ago day we fled the Others beach. “Do not fear for me.”
Despite my brave words, I wondered if I were being foolish in going through the Skill-stones once again. Whenever I look back on that moment, I wonder whatever possessed me. Was it the press of hurt that the Fool had taken our link away? I truly think not. I think it was more likely too little sleep for too many days.
I climbed back up the steps to the Skill-pillar. The Black Man followed me anxiously. “Sure you are? Sure of this?”
I stooped and took up the necks of both bags. “I'll be fine,” I assured him. “Tell the Fool I will be back.” I gripped the necks of both bags in one hand. I opened my other palm wide and pushed into the pillar. I stepped into a starry night.
RESUMPTION
In that last dance of chances
I shall partner you no more.
I shall watch another turn you
As you move across the floor.
In that last dance of chances
When I bid your life good-bye
I will hope she treats you kindly.
I will hope you learn to fly.
In that last dance of chances
When I know you'll not be mine
I will let you go with longing
And the hope that you'll be fine.
In that last dance of chances
We shall know each other's minds.
We shall part with our regrets
When the tie no longer binds.
Fate took a final swipe at me. That is how I have come to think of it. Perhaps the gods wanted to reinforce Prilkop's warning to me.
I felt a very mild surprise. I saw eternal blackness and a scattering of lights of various brightnesses. It was like lying on my back on a tower top and staring up into a summer night. Not that I thought of it that way at the time. At the time, I drifted through stars. But I did not fall. I did not think, I did not wonder. I was simply there. A brighter star there was, and I was drawn to it. I could not tell if I got closer to it, or if it approached me. I could not have told anything, for while I was aware of these things, they did not seem to have any significance. I felt a suspension of life, of interest, a suspension of all feelings. When finally the star was close, I attempted to fasten myself to it. This act did not seem to involve any will or intention on my part. Rather, it was like a smaller drop of water starting to blend with another one close by. But she plucked me free of herself, and in that moment of her considering me, I once more came to awareness of self.
What? You again? Are you really so intent on remaining here? You are far too small, you know. Unfinished. There is not enough of you to exist by yourself here. Do you know that?
Know that? Like a child learning language, I echoed her final words, trying to pin meaning to them. Her kindness to me fascinated me, and I did long to immerse myself in her. To me, she seemed made of love and acceptance. I could let go of my boundaries, if she would allow me, and simply mingle what I had been with what she was. I would know no more, think no more, and fear no more.
Without my speaking, she seemed to know my mind. And that is what you would truly wish, little one? To stop being yourself, before you have even completed yourself? There is so much more you could grow to be.
To be, I echoed, and suddenly the simple words took force and I existed again. I knew a moment of full realization, as if I had surfaced from a very deep dive and taken a full deep breath of air. Molly and Nettle, Dutiful and Hap, Patience and Thick, Chade and Kettricken, all of them came back to me in a wave of possibilities. Fear mingled wildly with hope as to what I could become through them.
Ah. I thought perhaps there was something more for you. Then you wish to go back?