Fool's Quest

Which was worse? Bare feet or feet in wet socks in snow? Per had decided on bare feet and I marveled at his toughness. He was working over the fire. Embers from the fire-pot and the last coals from our fire combined to become flames. “Build it up large,” I told him, for if the old bear came back, flaming branches might be our best weapon.

Lant and I worked quickly. We shook out the bright fabric of the Elderling tent, and I was astonished to find it intact. Not all of the supports had survived, but we salvaged what we could. We left our swords thrust upright in the earth beside the fire yet we all knew how puny they would be against a bear’s attack. We spread the tent out near the fire and began to gather anything useful that remained to us. Pots and cups, clothing, coin-pouches, and knives. As soon as we found our boots and dry socks, we had them on, then our cloaks and gloves.

“What is our plan?” Lant asked at one point, and I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud since I’d given them their tasks.

“Gather anything useful. Follow the Fool and Spark as quickly as possible.”

“They said there was a red dragon there. And a bowman.”

“They did. So we will try to emerge from the pillar prepared to be attacked.”

Lant opened his mouth and shut it again.

“Somewhere in this wreckage, there’s a bit of leather with a needle thrust through it and some stout thread wrapped round it. As soon as you find it, let me know. Make three piles of whatever we can still use.”

“Do we take Gray’s things? And Ash’s?”

“We salvage all and then choose. We carry as much as we can, for I want to assume we will be reunited and that there was some sane reason for them packing so many garments.”

“Even the beads and string? All those gloves?”

I followed Per’s gesture. The Fool’s spilled baggage included a veritable rainbow of gloves, in all fabrics and weights. My heart listed a bit toward sadness. He’d always intended to silver his hand. He hadn’t lied to me. The Fool and I seldom lied to each other. Except when we did. “As much as we can carry of anything that might be useful. We don’t know what we are going into.”

We worked as fast as we could but it was not an easy task. Some of Per’s grain had been caught in a corner of the bag, and he cooked it for us as we shook snow from clothing and pawed through snow to find our scattered gear. Under Burrich’s tutelage, I had learned to mend harness as a lad, and the sewing skill had served me well all my life. Perseverance’s pack was mendable. Mine was shredded and Lant’s was worse. The torn canvas of my tent became two rough sacks, hastily stitched. Despite our need for haste, I spent time to make a smaller bag to hold Bee’s book and Molly’s candles and stowed them securely. I looked up from securing the flap to find Per watching me intently. Bee’s dream journal was in his hands. He offered it to me uncertainly. “I think I recognize her hand. Such pictures as she drew! Is this truly her work?”

“That’s mine!” I said, my declaration harsher than I intended. The hurt in his eyes rebuked me as I took it from his hands. It was all I could do not to snatch it from him.

“Sir, if it’s not too late … I’d still like to learn my letters. Perhaps someday I could read what she wrote.”

“It’s private,” I said. “But yes, I will teach you to read. And to write.”

He looked at me with dumb dog’s eyes. My scowl sent him back to work immediately.

We hurried and yet time seemed to slip away from us. The early Mountain shadows of evening had begun to creep across the land when we were finished. The Fool’s tent made a surprisingly small bundle. I could not say the same for the warm winter garments the Fool and Spark had packed. Woolen skirts and shawls were far heavier than I would have expected them to be.

“The packs are too heavy and awkward,” Lant observed. He’d kept his voice neutral; it wasn’t a complaint. “If we have to be ready for anything as we emerge from the pillar, carrying these is not a good plan.”

He was right. “We won’t carry them. We’ll grip them as we go through, to be sure they travel with us. We’ve no idea what we’ll find. They may be there and safe, or injured. Or captured.” In a quieter voice I added, “Or not there at all.”

“Like Bee,” Per said in a small voice. He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “Could that happen to us? That we go into the pillar and never come out?”

“It could,” I admitted.

“Where would we be then? What would happen to us?”