Robin Hobb - The Golden Fool

‘Not quite. Piebalds are Witted who betray other Witted. They are the ones who post the little notices that say, “Jinna is Witted and her beast is a fat yellow cat”.’

‘I am not!’ she exclaimed indignantly.

I perceived she thought that I had threatened her. ‘No,’ I agreed calmly. ‘You are not. But if you were, I could destroy your livelihood and perhaps even take your life by making it public. That is what the Piebalds do to other Witted.’

‘But that makes no sense. Why would they do that?’

‘To make the other Witted do what they want.’

‘What do they want them to do?’

‘The Piebalds are seeking to gather power to themselves. To gain that, they need money and people willing to do what they tell them.’

‘I still don’t understand what they want.’

I sighed. ‘They want the same things most Witted want. They want to exercise their magic openly, without fear of the noose or flame. They want to be accepted, not to have to live with their talents hidden. Suppose you could be killed simply for being a hedge-witch. Would not you want to change that?’

‘But hedge-witches do no harm to anyone.’

I watched her face carefully as I said, ‘Neither do Witted.’

‘Some do,’ she rejoined instantly. ‘Oh, not all of them, no. But when I was but a child my mother kept two milk goats. They both up and died on the same day. And only the week before that she had refused to sell one to a Witted woman. So you see, Witted are like anyone else. Some of them are vengeful and cruel, and use their magic to that end.’

‘The Wit doesn’t work that way, Jinna. That is like me saying a hedge-witch could look in my hand, and put a line there that would make me die sooner. Or blaming you because you looked at my son’s hand, said he had a short lifeline and then he died. Would that be your fault? For saying what you’d seen there?’

‘Well, of course not. But that’s not the same as killing someone’s goats.’

‘That is what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t use the Wit to kill anyone.’

She cocked her head at me. ‘Oh, come, Tom. That great wolf of yours would have killed that man’s pigs if you’d told him to, wouldn’t he?’

I sat a long time silent. Then I had to say, ‘Yes. I suppose he would have. If I were that sort of a man, I might have used the wolf and my Wit that way. But I’m not.’

Her silence lasted even longer than mine did. At last, very unwillingly, she said, Tom. You killed three men. And a horse. Wasn’t that the wolf in you? Wasn’t that your Wit?’

After a time, I stood up. ‘Goodbye, Jinna,’ I said. ‘Thank you for your many kindnesses.’ I walked towards the door.

‘Don’t go like this,’ she begged me.

I halted, miserable. ‘I don’t know any other way to go. Why did you even let me inside your door today?’ I asked bitterly. ‘Why did you try to see me when I was hurt? It would have been a greater kindness simply to turn away from me than to show me what you truly thought of me.’

‘I wanted to give you a chance,’ she said dismally. ‘I wanted… I hoped there was some other reason. Something besides your Wit.’

Hand on the latch, I paused. I detested my last lie, but it had to be told. ‘There was. There was a purse that belonged to Lord Golden.’ I did not look back to see if she believed me. She already had more truth than was safe for her to own.

I closed her door softly behind me. The day had clouded over abruptly and the shadows on the snowy ground were dark grey. All had changed in that sudden way that early spring days can. Somehow Fennel had managed to slip out with me. ‘You should go back inside,’ I told him. ‘It’s getting cold out here.’

Cold isn’t so bad. Cold can only kill you if you stand still. Just keep moving.

Good advice, cat. Good advice. Goodbye, Fennel.

I mounted Myblack and turned her head towards Buckkeep Castle. ‘Let’s go home,’ I told her.

She was willing enough to head for her stall and manger. I let her set her own pace while I sat in the saddle and pondered my life. Yesterday I had felt Dutiful’s worship. Today, Jinna’s fear and rejection. More, today Jinna had shown me how deep and wide the prejudice against the Witted might go. I had thought she had accepted me for who and what I was. But she hadn’t. She had been willing to make an exception for me, but when I killed, I had proved her rule. The Witted were not to be trusted; they used their magic for evil. I felt myself sinking into despair as I realized the depth of it. For there was more than that. I had learned, yet again, that I could not serve the Farseers and still claim a life for myself.

Not this again, Changer. How could the moments of your life belong to anyone but you? You are the Farseers, blood and pack. See the whole of it. It is neither a binding nor a separation. The pack is the whole of you. The wolf’s life is in the pack.

Nighteyes, I breathed. And yet I knew that he was not there. As Black Rolf had told me it would be, it was. There were moments when my dead companion came back to me as more than a memory, yet less than his living part of me. The part of me that I had given to the wolf lived on. I sat up straighter in the saddle and took charge of my horse. She snorted, but accepted it. And then, because I thought it might be good for both of us, I put heels to her and sent her surging up the snowy road to Buckkeep Castle and home.

I stabled Myblack and saw to her myself. It took me twice as long as it should have done. It shamed me to be out of the habit of caring for my own horse, and shamed me more that she should be so willful that she made it difficult. Then I forced myself to go to the practice courts. I had to borrow a blade. I had gone into Buckkeep Town today unarmed save for the knife at my hip. Foolish, perhaps, but I’d had no alternative. I’d visited my room today, intending to get my ugly sword, only to discover it was missing. Most likely it was lost or adopted by an opportunistic city guardsman. The bright blade the Fool had given me was still hanging on the wall. I’d considered it but I could not bring myself to buckle it on. It was a symbol of an esteem he no longer extended to me. I’d decided I’d no longer wear it save in my role as his bodyguard. For practice, a dummy sword was best anyway. Dulled blade in hand, I went looking for a partner.

Wim was not about, but Delleree was. In a very short time, she had killed me so many times I lost count, using either of her weapons at will. I felt it was all I could do to hold my sword up, let alone swing it. Finally, she stopped and said, ‘I can’t do this any more. I feel like I’m fighting a stickman. Each time I hit you, I feel my blade clack against your bones.

‘So do I,’ I assured her. I managed to laugh and thank her, and then limped away to the steams. The looks of pity I received from the guardsmen there made me wish I had never disrobed. From the steams, I went directly to the kitchens. A cook’s helper named Maisie told me she was glad to see me on my feet again. I am sure it was pity for me that made her cut an outside slice off a joint that was still roasting on the spit. She gave it to me on a slab of bread from the morning’s baking, and then told me that Lord Golden’s serving-boy had been looking for me earlier in the day. I thanked her but did not rush to my lord’s summoning. Instead I stood outside, my back to the courtyard wall, and watched the folk of the keep while I wolfed down the food she had given me. It had been a very long time since I had just stood still and watched the folk of Buckkeep. I thought of all the other things I had not seen or done since I had returned to my childhood home. I had not visited the Queen’s Garden at the top of the tower. Not once had I gone walking in the Women’s Garden. I suddenly hungered to do simple things of that sort. Ride Myblack through the forested bills behind Buckkeep. Sit in the Great Hall of an evening and watch the fletchers work on their arrows and speculate on hunting prospects. To be a part of it all once more rather than a shadow.