Who is hurt? Not Thick! Chade was with me abruptly, full of panic.
No, I am fine. He wants to heal someone who isn't there.
He is here. I've found the Fool's body, Chade. Please. You all brought me back. Please. Help me heal him, help me bring him back!
Dutiful spoke, calmingly. Fitz, we are all here, and you know we will do this for you. It may be harder, as we are separated, but we will try. Show him to us.
He is here! Right here, I'm touching him. I was suddenly furiously impatient with them. Why were they being so stupid? Why wouldn't they help me?
I don't sense him, Dutiful said after a long pause. Touch him.
But I am! I bent over him and put my arms around his curled body. I'm holding him. Please. Help me heal him.
That? That isn't a person. Thick was obviously puzzled. You can't heal dirt!
Rage filled me. He isn't dirt!
Dutiful spoke gently. It's all right, Thick. Don't be upset. You said nothing wrong. I know you didn't mean it that way. Then, to me, Oh, Fitz, I am so sorry. But he's dead. And Thick is right, in his own blunt way. His body is becoming . . . something else. I cannot sense it as a body. Only as . . . He halted, unable to say the words. Carrion. Rot. Degenerating meat. Dirt.
Chade spoke as calmly as if he were reminding me of an obvious lesson. Healing is a function of the living body, Fitz. The Skill can urge it, but the body does it. When it is alive. That is not the Fool you hold, Fitz. It is his empty shell. You cannot make it live any more than you could make a rock live. There is no calling him back into it.
Thick spoke pragmatically. Even if you made it work again, there's no one to put in it.
I think it finally became real then. The corpse that was no longer his body. The absence of his spirit.
A long, long time seemed to pass. Then Chade spoke again softly. Fitz. What are you doing now?
Nothing. Just sitting here. Failing. Again. Just as I did with Burrich. He died, didn't he?
I could almost see the resignation on the old man's face. I knew how he would draw a breath and sigh that I insisted on stacking all my pain in one pile, facing it all at once. Yes. He did. With his son beside him. And Web. All of us honored him. We halted the ships, to be together when they slid him over the side and let him go. Just as you must let the Fool go.
I did not want to agree with that or to answer it at all. The habits of a lifetime are strong. I diverted Chade's attention. I found the Skill scrolls. The stolen library. It is here, in the Pale Woman's stronghold. Only I do not think this place was truly hers. I have seen things here that make me think it was a place where Elderlings abided.
Chade surprised me. Later, Fitz. Later is plenty of time to consider recovering the scrolls. For now, listen to me. Honor your friend's body, however you see fit. Release it. Then both you and Thick hurry back to the beach. I will come back on the ship that I send for you. I misjudged what you intended to do. I do not think you should be alone with this sort of grief.
But he was wrong. Grief makes its own solitude, and I knew that I must endure it. I compromised, knowing it was the only way to make him leave me alone. Thick and I will be on the beach when the ship arrives. You don't need to come back for us. I won't let any harm come to us. But for now, I would be alone. If you don't mind.
No boats! Thick said decisively. Not ever. No. I'll stay right here where I am before I go on a boat. Forever.
Thick isn't with you now? Chade sounded anxious.
No. He will explain. I still have a task to do, Chade. Thank you. All of you. Thank you for trying. I pulled up my walls, closing myself off from them. I felt Dutiful try to reach for me, but I could not tolerate even his gentle touch right then. I walled them out, even as Thick sleepily told them that the Black Man made wonderful food. Before my walls closed, I felt a tenuous touch that might have been Nettle, trying to send me comfort.
There was no comfort for me and I would not expose her to my pain. She would have enough of her own, soon enough. I closed my walls. It was time to deal with death.
I peeled the Fool's corpse from the floor, leaving an outline of his coiled body and a handful of golden strands of his hair to mark where he had died. He was a solid, cold weight in my arms. In death, he seemed to weigh less than he had in life, as if the departure of his spirit had taken most of him with it.
I held him curled against my chest, the soiled mat of his golden hair under my chin, the coarse sacking against my fingers. I walked empty through the ice halls. We passed the chamber where Hest still burned. The smoke of his flesh crawled along the ceiling above us, tainting the still air with the aroma of cooking meat. I could have put the Fool's body with his, but it did not feel right. My friend should burn alone, in a private farewell between us. I walked on, past the other cell doors.
