Robin Hobb - Fool's Errand

Then I looked out over the retreating water, searching for anything that might indicate worked stone. Nothing was exposed yet, but one area looked promising. As each wave fell back, I had glimpses of what might be several large black stones with straight edges. They were still under a shallow layer of water. I hoped it was not a geological quirk. There was a tangle of driftwood on the beach, with a seaweed-festooned branch that pointed toward the rocks. I noted it as a guide. I wasn't sure the tide would bare the rocks completely, but when it reached its full ebb, I intended to investigate them as much as I could.

Finally, with a sigh, I lay down on my belly, scrabbled my legs over the edge, and felt for the first foothold. The climb down was even more unpleasant than the journey up, for I had to grope blindly for each step as I descended. By the time I reached the ground, my legs had a tremor of weariness in them. I skipped the last two steps, dropping to the sand and nearly falling to my knees.

"Well, what did you see?" the Prince demanded.

I let him wait while I caught my breath. "Water. Rocks. Trees."

"No town? No road?"

"No."

"So what are we going to do?" He sounded annoyed, as if it were all my fault.

I knew what I would do. I was going back through the Skill-pillar, even if I had to dive to find it. But what I said to him was, "What I tell you, she knows. Isn't that true?"

That stole all his words from him. He stood for a time just staring at me. When I set off down the beach, he followed me, unaware of how much authority he had ceded to me.

The day was not warm, but hiking on sand demands more effort than walking on solid ground. I was tired from my climb and preoccupied with my own worries, so I made no effort at conversation. It was Dutiful who broke the silence. "You said she was dead," he abruptly accused me. "That's impossible. If she is dead, how does she speak to me?"

I took a breath to speak, sighed it out after a moment, and then took another. "When you are Witted, you bond to an animal. It's more than sharing thoughts, it's sharing being. After a time, you can see through the animal's eyes, experience its life as it does, perceive the world as the animal does. It isn't just—"

"I know all that. I am Piebald, you know." He gave a snort of contempt for my words.

I don't think an interruption had ever irritated me more. "Old Blood," I corrected him sharply. "Tell me you're Piebald again, and I'll have to beat it out of you. I've no respect for what they do with their magic. Now. How long have you known that you're Witted?" I demanded suddenly.

"I why," I saw him struggle to push his mind past my threat. I'd meant it and he knew it. He took a breath. "For about five months. Since the cat was given to me. Almost as soon as her leash was given over to me, I felt "You felt a trap closing on you, one you've been too stupid to perceive. The cat was given to you because others knew you were Witted before you knew it yourself. So you've shown signs of it, without being aware that you were doing so. Someone noticed, someone decided to use you. So they presented you with an animal to bond with. That's not how it's supposed to be, you know. Witted parents don't just hand their child an animal and say, here, this is your partner for as long as you both live. No. Usually the child is well schooled in the Wit and its consequences before it bonds. Usually the child makes a quest of some sort, seeking a like-minded animal. When it's done right, it's like getting married. This wasn't done right. You weren't educated about the Wit by people that cared about you. A group of Witted saw an opening, and took advantage of it. The cat didn't choose you. That's bad enough. But I don't think the cat was even allowed to choose the woman. She stole it, as a kit, from the mother's den, and forced the bond. Then the woman died, but she kept on living in the cat."

His eyes were wide and dark, staring up at me. He looked slightly aside from me, and I felt the Wit working between them.

"I don't believe you. She says she can explain it all, that you're trying to confuse me." The words spilled out of him hastily, as if he tried to hide behind them.

I glanced over at the boy. Skepticism and confusion had closed his face.

I took a breath and kept my temper. "Look, lad. I don't know all the details. But I can speculate. Perhaps she knew she was dying; maybe that's why she chose such a helpless creature and forced the bond. When a bond is uneven, as that one would have been, the stronger partner can control the weaker one. She could dominate the kit, and move in and out, sharing the cat's body as she pleased. And when she died, instead of dying with her own body, she stepped over to the cat's."

I stopped walking. I waited until Dutiful met my eyes. "You're next," I said quietly.

"You're mad! She loves me!"

I shook my head. "I sense great ambition in her. She'll want a human body of her own again, not to be a cat, not to die when the cat's days are done. She'd have to find someone. It would have to be someone who was both Witted, and ignorant of the Wit. Why not someone well placed? Why not a prince?"

Conflicting expressions flickered over his face. Some part of him knew I spoke truth, and it shamed him that he had been so deceived. He struggled to disbelieve me. I tried to temper my words, so that he did not feel so foolish.

"I think she selected you. You never had any choice at all, any more than the cat did. The woman-cat is what you're bonded to, not the cat itself. And it wasn't done for love of you, any more than she loved the cat. No. Somewhere, someone has a very careful plan, and you're just a tool for it. A tool for the Piebalds."

"I don't believe you!" His voice rose on the words. "You're a liar!" On those words, his voice cracked.

I saw his shoulders heave with the breath he took. I almost felt my Skill-command hold him back from attacking me. For a time I was carefully quiet. When I judged he had mastered himself, I spoke very quietly. "You've called me a bastard, a thief, and now a liar. A prince should be more mindful of what insults he flings, unless he thinks that his title alone will protect him. So here's an insult for you, and a warning. Hide behind being a prince while calling me nasty names, and I'll call you a coward. The next time you insult me, your bloodlines won't stop my fist."

I held his gaze until he looked aside from me, a cub cowed by a wolf. I lowered my voice, forcing him to listen carefully to catch my words. "You're not stupid, Dutiful. You know I'm not a liar. She's dead, and you are being used. You don't want it to be true, but that's not the same as disbelieving me. You'll probably keep hoping and praying that something will happen to prove I'm wrong. It won't." I took a deep breath. "About the only thing I can offer you right now is that none of this is really your fault. Someone should have protected you from this. Someone should have taught you about Old Blood from the time you were small."

There was no way to admit to either of us that that someone was me. The same person who had introduced him to the Wit and all it could be, through Skill-dreams when he was four.

We walked for a long time without speaking. I kept my eyes on my seaweed-festooned snag. Once I'd left the Prince here, I could not predict how long I'd be gone. Could he care for himself? The treasures in the alcove made me uneasy. Such wealth belonged to someone, and that person might resent an intruder on his beach. Yet I could not take him back with me. He'd be a hindrance. A time alone, taking care of himself, might do him good, I decided. And if I died trying to save the Fool and Nighteyes? Well, at least the Piebalds would not have the Prince.

I set my teeth, trudged through the sand, and kept my grim thoughts to myself. We had nearly reached my snag when Dutiful spoke. His voice was very low. "You said my father taught you to Skill. Did he teach you to—"