Bast frowned. “That’s what I said. You’re his blood. So it will push him away more strongly than anything else. You’ll probably want to hang it around your neck so—”
“What about a bear?” Rike asked, looking at the stone thoughtfully. “Would it make a bear leave me alone?”
Bast made a back-and-forth motion with his hand. “Wild things are different,” he said. “They’re possessed of pure desire. They don’t want to hurt you. They usually want food or safety. A bear would—”
“Can I give it to my mum?” Rike interrupted again, looking up at Bast. His dark eyes serious.
“… want to protect its terr … What?” Bast stumbled to a halt.
“My mum should have it,” Rike said. “What if I was off away with the charm and my da came back?”
“He’s going farther away than that,” Bast said, his voice thick with certainty. “It’s not like he’ll be hiding around the corner at the smithy …”
Rike’s face was set now, his pug nose making him seem all the more stubborn. He shook his head. “She should have it. She’s important. She has to take care of Tess and little Bip.”
“It will work just fine—”
“It’s got to be for HER!” Rike shouted, his hand making a fist around the stone. “You said it could be for one person, so you make it be for her!”
Bast scowled at the boy darkly. “I don’t like your tone,” he said grimly. “You asked me to make your da go away. And that’s what I’m doing …”
“But what if it’s not enough?” Rike’s face was red.
“It will be,” Bast said, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb across the knuckles of his hand. “He’ll go far away. You have my word—”
“NO!” Rike said, his face flushed and angry. “What if sending him isn’t enough? What if I grow up like my da? I get so …” His voice choked off, and his eyes started to leak tears. “I’m not good. I know it. I know better than anyone. Like you said. I got his blood in me. She needs to be safe from me. If I grow up twisted up and bad, she needs the charm to … she needs something to make me go a—”
Rike clenched his teeth, unable to continue.
Bast reached out and took hold of the boy’s shoulder. He was stiff and rigid as a plank of wood, but Bast gathered him in and put his arms around his shoulders. Gently, because he had seen the boy’s back. They stood there for a long moment, Rike stiff and tight as a bowstring, trembling like a sail tight against the wind.
“Rike,” Bast said softly. “You’re a good boy. Do you know that?”
The boy bent then, sagged against Bast and seemed like he would break himself apart with sobbing. His face was pressed into Bast’s stomach and he said something, but it was muffled and disjointed. Bast made a soft crooning sound of the sort you’d use to calm a horse or soothe a hive of restless bees.
The storm passed, and Rike stepped quickly away and scrubbed at his face roughly with his sleeve. The sky was just starting to tinge red with sunset.
“Right,” Bast said. “It’s time. We’ll make it for your mother. You’ll have to give it to her. River stone works best if it’s given as a gift.”
Rike nodded, not looking up. “What if she won’t wear it?” he asked quietly.
Bast blinked, confused. “She’ll wear it because you gave it to her,” he said.
“What if she doesn’t?” he asked.
Bast opened his mouth, then hesitated and closed it again. He looked up and saw the first of twilight’s stars emerge. He looked down at the boy. He sighed. He wasn’t good at this.
So much was so easy. Glamour was second nature. It was just making folk see what they wanted to see. Fooling folk was simple as singing. Tricking folk and telling lies, it was like breathing.
But this? Convincing someone of the truth that they were too twisted to see? How could you even begin?
It was baffling. These creatures. They were fraught and frayed in their desire. A snake would never poison itself, but these folk made an art of it. They wrapped themselves in fears and wept at being blind. It was infuriating. It was enough to break a heart.
So Bast took the easy way. “It’s part of the magic,” he lied. “When you give it to her, you have to tell her that you made it for her because you love her.”
The boy looked uncomfortable, as if he were trying to swallow a stone.
“It’s essential for the magic,” Bast said firmly. “And then, if you want to make the magic stronger, you need to tell her every day. Once in the morning and once at night.”
The boy nodded, a determined look on his face. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Right, then,” Bast said. “Sit down here. Prick your finger.”
Rike did just that. He jabbed his stubby finger and let a bead of blood well up then fall onto the stone.
“Good,” Bast said, sitting down across from the boy. “Now give me the needle.”
Rike handed over the needle. “But you said it just needed—”
“Don’t tell me what I said,” Bast groused. “Hold the stone flat so that the hole faces up.”
Rike did.
“Hold it steady,” Bast said, and pricked his own finger. A slow bead of blood grew. “Don’t move.”
Rike braced the stone with his other hand.
Bast turned his finger, and the drop of blood hung in the air for a moment before falling straight through the hole to strike the greystone underneath.
There was no sound. No stirring in the air. No distant thunder. If anything, it seemed there was a half second of perfect brick-heavy silence in the air. But it was probably nothing more than a brief pause in the wind.
“Is that it?” Rike asked after a moment, clearly expecting something more.
“Yup,” Bast said, licking the blood from his finger with a red, red tongue. Then he worked his mouth a little and spat out the wax he had been chewing. He rolled it between his fingers and handed it to the boy. “Rub this into the stone, then take it to the top of the highest hill you can find. Stay there until the last of the sunset fades, and then give it to her tonight.”
Rike’s eyes darted around the horizon, looking for a good hill. Then he leapt from the stone and sprinted off.
Bast was halfway back to the Waystone Inn when he realized he had no idea where his carrots were.
When Bast came in the back door, he could smell bread and beer and simmering stew. Looking around the kitchen he saw crumbs on the breadboard and the lid was off the kettle. Dinner had already been served.
Stepping softly, he peered through the door into the common room. The usual folk sat hunched at the bar, there was Old Cob and Graham, scraping their bowls. The smith’s prentice was running bread along the inside of his bowl, then stuffing it into his mouth a piece at time. Jake spread butter on the last slice of bread, and Shep knocked his empty mug politely against the bar, the hollow sound a question in itself.
Bast bustled through the doorway with a fresh bowl of stew for the smith’s prentice as the innkeeper poured Shep more beer. Collecting the empty bowl, Bast disappeared back into the kitchen, then he came back with another loaf of bread half-sliced and steaming.
“Guess what I caught wind of today?” Old Cob said with the grin of a man who knew he had the freshest news at the table.
“What’s that?” the boy asked around half a mouthful of stew.
Cob reached out and took the heel of the bread, a right he claimed as the oldest person there, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually the oldest, and the fact that nobody else much cared for the heel. Bast suspected he took it because he was proud he still had so many teeth left.
Cob grinned. “Guess,” he said to the boy, then slowly slathered his bread with butter and took a big bite.
“I reckon it’s something about Jessom Williams,” Jake said blithely.
Old Cob glared at him, his mouth full of bread and butter.