Read Online The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One by Karen Miller - Free Book Online Page A

who should be strong, he shook his head.
    “No, Rafe. But there’s nowt to fret on, I promise. I ain’t goin’ nowhere for years and years and years.”
    “Morg lived forever,” Rafe said, his voice still broken and soft. “Nearly. He would’ve, ’cept you killed him. Can’t you…” He sniffed. “You know.”
    Stricken, Asher stared through the open foyer doors. Dathne and Pother Kerril still stood on the Tower steps, gossiping like women did, praise Barl. For if Dath were here, and caught Rafel in such a question…
    He tightened his arm hard around his son’s slight frame. “No, Rafe.
No
.” Fear had him by the throat, squeezing it almost closed. “We talked on this before, remember? That kind of magic is
wrong
. And it don’t exist any road. Not any more.”
    “Maybe. But Da, you’re a great mage,” said Rafe. He was stubborn, so stubborn, he never knew when to leave well enough alone. “You could find it. You could never die.”
    Swamped, Asher hauled his son closer still, wrapped both arms around him and hung on for grim life. “I told you, sprat, I ain’t dyin’,” he said, muffled against Rafel’s dusty, disordered hair. “I know you’re fratched ’cause of Darran, but that’s
him
. That ain’t
me
. Now, you put that kind of magic out of your head, you hear? It ain’t never to be spoke of again. Not to me, not to your mother, not to a living soul. Understand?”
    Rafel nodded. “Yes, Da.”
    Leaning back, Asher stared into his son’s vivid face. “You just sayin’ that, Rafel? Or are you hearin’ me? Do you promise? Is this your proper word, given man to man, and no breakin’ of it for nowt?”
    The tears Rafe had held back were sprung free now, and sluicing his cheeks. “Promise,” he said, choking. “My word, Da. Man to man.”
    “All right then,” he said, still terrified because Nix, who knew such things, had told him and Dath seven years ago that Rafel, their precious son, had magic in him like his father. No tame Olken mage, this boy, but a child of both worlds who could scorch as well as soothe. “All right. So that’s your word sworn to me, and we’ll not speak on this again.”
    “No, Da,” Rafel whispered. “Da, I was just asking. I didn’t mean to do wrong.”
    And there was another wave crashing over him, stealing his breath again. “I know. I know. You’re a good sprat. I know.”
    He felt Rafel’s arms curl round his neck. Felt his son’s wet, grimy cheek press against him. His own da had been a good man, a kind man, a man to love with all his heart. But fishing were a hard life; he never was one for hugs and kisses. Love was food on the table, a bed to sleep in, and no leaky roof.
    Ma had hugged him, but Ma died young. He’d had to wait until Dathne to feel that loved again. And as he’d stood by her bedside ten years ago, as he’d watched her hold their squalling newborn son, indignant and outraged, still sticky with birthing blood, he’d promised himself:
He won’t doubt me. He won’t wonder. He’ll have hugs and kisses every day
.
    “I got to go, Rafe,” he murmured, holding on tight. “I got to see that ole fart up there, that ole man what’s dyin’.”
    “Can I come too?” said Rafel. “Darran and me, we never finished our game. We couldn’t find a good book to buy so we were playing hop-poddle and I was winning, for real.”
    “Mayhap you can see him later,” he said. “For now there’s words as need sayin’ between him and me and no-one else.”
    Sniffing, Rafe wriggled free. “What if there ain’t a later, Da?” he said, and dragged a grubby sleeve across his woeful face. “He might die of a sudden. Goose’s ma went like that.”
    “If I reckon he’s goin’, I’ll say somethin’ for you,” he promised. “What should I say?”
    Standing on a lower step, head down so his eyes and his slow tears were hidden, Rafel shrugged. Then he looked up. “Tell the ole fool I love him, Da. Tell him thank you for his