Fool’s Quest

I touched my fingers to my lips. He scowled at me, but was still. I listened, not with my ears but with my Skill. I heard Thick’s music, the constant Skill-sending that was so much a part of him that I now blocked it without even thinking about it. I closed my eyes and sank deeper into the Skill-current. And there I found it, the roaring whisper of a hundred minds reminding each other not to think about it, not to remember who had died, not to remember the screams or the flames or the blood on the snow. I pressed on the whispers and behind them I could glimpse what they hid from themselves. I retreated. I opened my eyes and found Chade watching me.

“He’s correct,” Chade confirmed quietly.

I nodded.

The Skill is popularly believed to be the magic of the royal Farseer line. And perhaps it is true that in our bloodlines it runs stronger and more potent. But when a summoning goes out that will reach only those who already possess the Skill to a useful degree, it is answered as often by a shoemaker or a fisherman as it is by a duke’s son. I had long suspected that all people possessed at least a rudimentary level of this magic. Molly was unSkilled, yet how often had I seen her rise and go to Bee’s crib moments before the child woke. The man who “had a bad feeling” at the moment that his soldier son was wounded or the woman who opened the door before her suitor could knock all seemed to be utilizing the Skill, even if they were unaware of it. Now the unspoken agreement that no one would remember the terrible events that had happened at Withywoods hummed like a hive of angry bees once I let myself be aware of it. All the folk of Withywoods, shepherds, arbor- and orchard-folk and house-servants, breathed the same forgetfulness. The fury simmered with their ardent desire that no one come to Withywoods, that no one wake them to what had befallen them. It flooded me with their lost hopes and dreams.

“They have to be made to remember,” Chade said softly. “It is our only hope for recovering our daughters.”

“They don’t want to,” I protested.

“Yah,” Thick agreed morosely. “Someone told them not to, and then made it seem like a good idea. They don’t want to remember. They all keep telling each other, Don’t remember, don’t remember.”

Once aware of it, I could not clear it from my senses. It was a ringing in my ears.

“How do we stop it? If we stop it, will they remember? If they remember, can they live with it?”

“I’m living with it,” Perseverance said softly. “I’m living with it alone.” He crossed his arms on his chest. “My ma is strong. I’m her third son and the only one that lived. She wouldn’t want to have turned me away from her door. She wouldn’t want to forget my da and my granddad.” Hope and tears stood in his eyes.

What would deaden the Skill and still that forgetful song for them? I knew. I knew from years of indulging in the herb. “I have elfbark. Or had it. With some other herbs in my private study. I doubt it was taken.”

“What are you doing with elfbark?” Chade was aghast.

I stared at him. “Me? What are you doing with elfbark? And not just Six Duchies elfbark, but that Outislander strain they used on me on Aslevjal? Delvenbark. I saw it on your shelf.”

He stared at me. “Tools of the trade,” he said quietly. “Elliania’s father obtained it for me. Some things I have and hope never to use.”

“Exactly.” I turned back to Perseverance. “Find Bulen. Tell him to go to your mother’s cottage and ask her to come here to the house. To this study. I’ll fetch the herb. After Bulen is on his way, go to the kitchen and tell them I need a teapot, cups, and a kettle of boiling water.”

“Sir,” he said. He halted by the door and turned back to me. “Sir, it won’t hurt her, will it?”

“Elfbark is an herb that has been used for a long time. In Chalced they feed it to their slaves. It gives them a jolt of strength and endurance, but with it comes a bleak spirit. The Chalcedeans claim they can get more work out of their slaves and few have the will to attempt to escape or rise against their masters. It can deaden a severe headache. And Lord Chade and I together discovered that it can dampen a person’s ability to use the Skill. The variety from the Out Islands can completely close a person’s mind to Skill-communication. I do not have that kind. But it may be that what I have will be strong enough to free your mother from the Skill-suggestion that she forget about you and your father. I cannot promise you, but it may.”

FitzVigilant stepped forward suddenly. “Try it on me first. See what it does.”

“Perseverance, go on your errands,” I said firmly. The boy left. Chade and I were left alone with Lant and Thick.