A Duel of Charms (29)
I could see Mother’s mind working. It was to be a duel, I realized. A duel of charms.
Go back to the INDEX.
Mother stepped aside, and said, “Please, come in.” I could see her mind working. She closed the door behind the stranger, and I knew that she felt that we had him surrounded, if it came to that. There was calculation in her eyes, for just a moment, and it melted away to a wide smile that reached all the way to her eyes. Utterly believable, outwardly.
Mother said, “You have us at a disadvantage, mister ...?”
The man turned to face her. I guessed he was about sixty. He had short grey hair, stark against the darkness of his skin, and was clean shaven in the Agalin fashion. “Godiar,” he said, extending a hand. “Aranon was a fool to not hold on to you.”
It was to be a duel, I realized. A duel of charms.
Mother’s smile remained convincing. “He was a fool in many ways, but no, he was wise to let me go. I would have killed him YEARS ago.” She winked.
I winced, but I supposed it was one way to draw out a reaction.
Godiar didn’t give one. He turned to me. “You are not at all what I imagined, Araled. Your hair ...?”
“Long story. I wonder though, how did you find us?”
“Ah,” said Godiar, not seeming at all put out by the question or my own lack of charm and grace. Godiar reached into a pocket, and pulled out a scarf. Not just any old scarf. MY scarf.
“My favourite scarf! I lost it, oh—”
“A couple of years ago?”
“Yes. Apparently it was STOLEN.”
“By your father, yes. He brought it to me. It had to be your favourite, unfortunately.”
“I’d appreciate it back, sir.”
“Of course.” I wouldn’t be wearing it any time soon, but there was a principle at stake.
“Why did it have to be my favourite?”
“That’s how it works. My talent. My gift. With the scarf in my hands, I could tell where you were and how far away. More or less.”
“Like a bloodhound. Like a dog.”
Godiar guffawed in a slightly exaggerated way. “Indeed. Just like a dog following your scent. Oh, if you’ll pardon me, I have a stone in my shoe.” Godiar held onto the cabinet for support, removed his shoe, and tipped a stone out of it.
I watched the pebble roll across the tiled floor a short distance.
“Ah, that’s better. Yes, just like a scent.”
“But you seemed surprised to see me. You said, ‘And good, Araled is here,’ as though you weren’t certain about it until the door had opened.
Godiar wagged a finger and then held out his arms, as if he were about to embrace me in a bear hug like some long-lost uncle who hadn’t seen his nephew in decades.
I glanced at Mother. She was watching Godiar.
“From here to here,” he said, indicating each hand in turn. “This is how sensitive my gift is. It works, but it is imperfect. I knew you were close. I didn’t know you’d be right in front of me, but it was gratifying that you were.”
“I’m happy to be a welcome sight.”
“You are indeed, young man. I’ve been following your comings and goings with interest, and some surprise! I’d expected things to be a little simpler!”
“I bet. And why exactly WERE you following my comings and goings?”
“For your father, of course. I promised him. I promised to help you, when the time came. Aranon wasn’t expecting Ollyna to help, of course, all things considered, but I’m happy you’re here too. Many hands make light work. Three heads are better than two?” He smiled, but there was an edge of something unusual in it, like anxiety, or desperation, unless it was only uncertainty or bravado.
Mother interrupted. “Godiar, would you honour us by sharing a meal. All we have is sihan, and a light wine, but we are all of us tired after a long walk, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Indeed. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
I offered him a chair, and Mother soon came to the table with one of the sihan loaves and three small plates, and then with a ceramic jug of room-warm day wine, with a tight lace covering over the top and the spout, and three cups.
“How did you know Aranon?” Mother asked, as she poured the wine.
“Ah,” said Godiar. “The beginning. Very sensible. In my youth, I was a mage. A farsender. At the time, there was an element of professional pride for a farsender to have a long line of destinations in his mind. The most efficacious way to gain a long line of destinations is to head out in one particular direction and simply keep going, or so I thought. I saw some sights, you must believe. More impressive for being seen with young eyes, perhaps. I found myself far from Agali, in lands where SNOW falls, and where there is WINTER.” Godiar smiled to himself, or at his memories. “In time, I found myself in Peledar, and realized how useful and strategic a location it is. Just inside Kinona, with good links to so many cities — farsenders, I mean — and I found myself tired of wandering. I was a young man. And it was LOVE that led me astray, in all honesty. The love didn’t last, but my connection to Peledar did. I stayed, and I became famous, in a way, for my long line of distant destinations. Not least of which was Agali, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
“And that’s how I met Aranon. He was a boy of maybe fifteen, being dragged across the world by his father, who thought it would do him good. Alesiyon had a particular interest in Agali. They came here often. And after Alesiyon departed this world, Aranon continued to come to Agali. Through years of almost-familiarity, we had exchanged pleasantries, but after Alesiyon had departed, Aranon talked more, and we became friends.”
“He never mentioned you.” I took an infinitesimal sip of wine.
“I wouldn’t expect him to. This was years ago. He was a young man. Years before you were born. But for a time we were good friends. Then he concluded his interest in Agali, and we began to drift apart. And then I, uh, was forced to give up my farsending practice and returned home.”
“Forced?”
“Well, it’s embarrassing to admit to. A farsender relies on mind, on imagination, on focus. I began to send people astray.” He looked away. His brow furrowed.
“Astray?”
“I became *inaccurate* in my farsendings. An unforgivable crime for a farsender. I was disgraced, ridiculed, and shunned. I had no choice but to return home. You see, it was an illness. A degenerative illness of the brain. It limited a number of other workings, as well. I became only half a mage. I sank into obscurity in the bowels of Agali.”
Mother and I shared a glance, but Godiar interrupted it with a quick resumption of his story.
“So you can imagine my surprise when Aranon appeared on my doorstep, year before last, after almost thirty years without contact. He was intent, secretive, suspicious. He insisted we go deep into the, uh, Prison Precinct, the FOLLY, before he would tell me anything about it. He gave me your scarf, and told me a number of things he made me promise not to repeat. He told me his expectations, that you, Araled, would come, be imprisoned, and then need my help, that you, Ollyna, would not likely come, but if you did that I should rely on your insight. Most importantly, he told me he expected to die here, sooner or later. He didn’t explain why. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust me, he said, rather that I would understand eventually, after I had figured it all out.”
“That is ... interesting.” This was factually accurate, but also a gross oversimplification.
“It is. I heard about what happened to him, and when I looked for you, you were in prison. I asked—”
“You could tell? From your gift?” The idea was astonishing. I was in a Folly, where all magic ought to be impossible. I already knew of exceptions, of course, but could this really be another?
“Aranon said it was the rarest of gifts, my talent. He’d examined it exhaustively, mercilessly. He became excited when it seemed to work within the area of a Folly. We traipsed around all over the countryside west of Peledar. So when he came to me, he was counting on me knowing when you were imprisoned, and when you were released. But you surprised EVERYONE there, I think.”
I nodded, without giving him any more information.
“Farsending all over the lands, here, there, and then back again, and back to prison. Admirable decision, I have to say. Good for you.”
“But your illness. How could you keep track of my movements?”
“Keep track? Not at all. I knew only that you were moving, that you were suddenly very distant, then suddenly very distant in another direction. The further away you are from me the less precise my perception of where you might be. Like anything, the further away a thing is, the less detail you can make out. I knew you weren’t in Agali. And then you were. I asked about your release date, which is why—”
“They tell just anyone about prisoners’ release dates?” I felt like I was sniffing out things as well.
“Of course not. But your escape and return were somewhat EXCEPTIONAL circumstances, and you’ve been the subject of gossip, here and there. I had the additional advantage of a friend who works as a GAWAR.”
He noticed my lack of understanding. “A prison guard. When he called you an albino, I thought he was exaggerating in some way. Apparently not.”
Again, I shrugged, and avoided comment.
Mother took a sip of her wine. “And so, Mister Godiar, what aid do you have for us? Where should we begin in our search for answers? What do we do?”
“Ah,” said Godiar, with an air of satisfaction, as if this were the moment he’d been waiting for. “There are some obvious difficulties, as I’m sure you must realize. Thirteen months have passed since Aranon’s passing, for a start. Any evidence that existed is likely obscured, or even destroyed, by the passage of both time and people. This is a difficulty, but not an insurmountable one. If we can retrace Aranon’s steps, and find a place where some details remain, that would be a good start.”
Mother gasped, as though she hadn’t made this point shortly before Godiar’s arrival. “What a splendid idea! There is hope after all!”
“There is ALWAYS hope, in any enterprise.”
Mother smiled, and a look of wide-eyed innocence played across her face. “How do we find his steps or retrace them at all?”
“I fear we must begin with guesswork. You know where Aranon was staying. We can guess at a few places he might have wished to visit, and from this line of thinking infer possible routes he might have taken. We’ll need maps of the city in order to plan our next move. I believe I can obtain useful ones. Perhaps this evening. Shall we reconvene in the morning?”
Mother beamed. “Agreed. Thank you so much for your help, Mister Godiar. I know we are in good hands.”
“Oh please, just call me Godiar. I’m no one special at all.”
Mother nodded at his words. “We are all special in our own way, I think.”
Godiar smiled at that. “A reassuring sentiment, I agree. Well,” he said, getting up from his seat. “If we can make an early start, we might be following paths, new and old, all day. We’ll need our rest tonight, I think.”
“Good advice,” I said, and got to my feet too, as much to expedite his departure as to turn Mother aside from more of her limp pleasantries. “Until the morning!” My brightness was forced, and I was afraid he’d see the falseness in it.
If he did, he showed no sign of it. “New friends! And new adventures!”
Mother reached for the door, and, mercifully, Godiar stepped through it and down the steps to the courtyard, from where he turned back and waved jovially.
Mother and I stood at the door until we were sure he was out of earshot, smiling and trying to exude friendliness while he was still in sight and might still turn to look at us.
When he was finally gone our pretense vanished.
“I don’t trust him,” said Mother.
“Neither do I.”
“There are a few things we should work on this evening to prepare for his return.”
“Agreed.”
I had an idea already, but Mother’s was better.