Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

"I know, Sparrow," said Shiara the Silver softly, looking out toward the sunset with unseeing eyes. "Oh I know."

"I’m sorry Lady," said Wiz contritely. "I’ve been thinking of my own problems."

"We each of us dwell on our own lot," Shiara said briskly, "sometimes too much. The real question is what do we do to go beyond it."

They were silent for a bit as the clouds darkened from orange to purple and the shadows crept deeper across the yard below. The swallows were fewer now and a lone brave bat fluttered around the battlements, seeking the insects that had attracted the birds.

"Lady, may I ask you a kind of personal question?"

"You may ask," said Shiara in a tone that implied it might not be answered.

"How do you go about rebuilding a life? I mean I can’t work with computers here and that’s all I know. How do I become something else?"

"The same way you became a—ah, hacker? Yes, hacker. One day at a time. You learn and you try to grow." She smiled. "You will find compensation, I think."

Bal-Simba left them that evening, walking the Wizard’s Wary back to the Capital. For several days Wiz remained sunk in black depression, dividing his time between the battlements and his room and only coming down to eat a hasty and silent evening meal. Ugo took over the woodcutting chores again.

Finally, on the fifth day, Shiara asked for his help.

"We have many things ripening in the garden," she explained. "Moira is busy in the kitchen preserving what she has picked, Ugo has so much else to do and I," she spread her hands helplessly, "I am not much good at harvesting, I am afraid."

Moira looked askance at Wiz when Shiara brought him to the kitchen for directions. But he had been so genuinely miserable since Bal-Simba’s visit that she kept her reservations to herself. Anything to get him out of himself, she thought, even if it means ruining half the crop.

So Wiz took a large basket and set to work picking beans. He worked his way down the rows without thought, examining every vine methodically. The beans had been trained to tripods of sticks, making rows of leafy green tents. As instructed, he took only those pods which were tan and dry, meaning the beans within were fully ripe.

He filled the basket and two more like it before the afternoon was over. Then he sat down outside the kitchen and carefully shelled the beans he had picked.

He was nearly done with the shelling when Moira came out of the kitchen and saw him working.

"Why thank you, Sparrow," she said in genuine pleasure. "That is well done indeed."

Once it would have thrilled Wiz to hear her praise him like that. But that time was past. "Pretty good for someone who’s worthless, huh?"

Moira sobered. "I’m sorry, Wiz. I should not have said that."

"Meaning it’s all right to think it, but not to say it."

"It isn’t right to hurt another person needlessly," she said earnestly. "I spoke in anger and loss. I hope you will forgive me."

The way she said it hurt Wiz even more. She was sincerely sorry, he realized, but she was sorry for hurting his feelings, not for the thought. She was a queen, graciously asking pardon of one of her subjects.

"You know I can’t refuse you anything, Moira."

Moira closed her eyes and sighed. "I know, Wiz. And I’m sorry."

"Well, that’s the way it is. Anyway, here are your beans."

Wordlessly Moira took the basket of shelled beans and went back into the kitchen.

That day in the garden was a turning point for Wiz. From then on he largely took over the job of harvesting the rapidly ripening crops. He spent several hours a day working outdoors while Moira divided her time between the kitchen, pantry and stillroom. Most of the time Wiz picked without supervision, although Moira occasionally came out to instruct him in the finer points of gathering herbs and some of the more delicate vegetables.

A few times he went out into the Wild Wood with Ugo to gather fruits and berries. There were several ancient orchards in the quiet zone, their trees long unpruned and loaded with apples, pears and other fruits. The sight of the trees, so obviously planted and long unattended, made Wiz sad. He wondered if some long-ago Lothar had planted those saplings, full of hope for the future.

Ugo forbade Wiz to gather more than half the fruit on any tree. "Leave for forest folk," he admonished. Still they brought back basket upon basket of crisp pears and small flavorful apples which Moira set about processing in the kitchen or storing in the cellars.

Three of the four "cellars" were not under the keep or hall at all. They were root cellars, small underground rooms a few steps from the kitchen door. One day Moira asked Wiz to help her move several barrels of apples packed in oak leaves from the kitchen out to the furthest cellar.

Huffing and puffing, they tilted the heavy barrels and rolled them out to the place where they would be stored. It took both of them to carry each barrel down the steps into the cool twilight of the root cellar.

"Whoo!" Wiz gasped, standing upright after the last of the barrels had been shifted into place. "I wonder how they did this before we got here?"

"Ugo doubtless did it," panted Moira. "Wood goblins are stronger than they look and they can be very ingenious when needs be."

"Do you think we’ve got enough food here for the winter?"

Moira ran a practiced housewife’s eye over the cellar. "That and then some, if I am any judge. It is the flour, salt and other staples that are the concern. The Mighty bring those to Heart’s Ease over the Wizard’s Way and they have not increased the supply since we came."

"Why not?"

"First because the Wizard’s Way was chancy when the Dark League was in full cry for us. Secondly, because they dared not increase the amount of supplies brought through lest it reveal to the League that there are extra mouths here."

Moira looked around the cellar again and breathed deeply to take in the scent of the apples and other good things stored in the earth. Then she sighed.

"Penny," Wiz said.

"What?"

"A penny for your thoughts. I was wondering what you were thinking."

"What I was thinking was none of your concern, Sparrow," Moira said coldly. "And if you are through prying into my private thoughts, we still have work to do. Come!"

"No, I don’t think I am done," Wiz said slowly. He moved in to block her way out. "There’s still something I want to know and I think you owe it to me to tell me."

Moira stopped, suddenly unsure of herself. She’d seen Wiz bewildered, sullen, lovesick, awestruck, depressed and in the throes of a temper tantrum, but she had never seen him coldly angry as he was now.

"What is it I must tell you then?"

"Why are you so mad at me?"

"Crave pardon?" she said haughtily.

Wiz plowed ahead. "From the moment I met you you’ve disliked me. Fine, I’m not a magician, I don’t know my way around this place and I’m a first-class klutz. But why are you so bleeding mad at me? "

The question brought Moira up short. Wiz had never spoken to her like that before and she had never really examined her feelings toward him deeply.

True, he was inept and he had nearly gotten them both killed repeatedly on the journey. But it was more than that. She had disliked him from the first meeting in the clearing.

"I had to leave people who needed me to bring you here."

"Not guilty," Wiz said. "That was Bal-Simba’s idea, not mine." He paused. "Besides, I think there’s something more to it than that."

"There is," she said bitterly. "Patrius died to bring you here." Her eyes flashed. "We lost the best and most powerful of the Mighty and got you in return."

Wiz nodded. "Yeah, so you’ve told me. But I wasn’t looking to come here and I’ve suffered more from what Patrius did than you or any of the others. Again, not guilty."