Rough Magic by Caryl Cude Mullin Read Free Book Online Page A

bed and lay on the ground. Caliban knew better than to bother her when she was like that. He crept about quietly, making his food for the day. But she began to whimper, in the manner of all small, sick things, which she’d never done before. “Never show pain, Caliban,” she always said. “Never let anyone think that you’re weak.” Her mewling cries frightened him, but he did not run away like he usually did when she scared him. Instead, he sat down beside her and stroked her hair, kicking the staff away as he did so.
    He didn’t like it. “Mean stick,” he called it. But not in front of his mother. Once he’d asked her why she didn’t throw it into the waves, throw it where it couldn’t hurt her anymore. “I can’t,” she said. And then she laughed in such a horrible way, for such a long time. It was worse than crying, that laughter. He never spoke about the mean stick again.
    His patting didn’t help her. He felt her skin beneath his hand, but he couldn’t seem to touch her. She was leaving him. He tried to sing her the songs she once sang to him. Only he couldn’t remember all the words, and his voice was rough, not smooth and gentle like hers could be. If his voice was sweeter, maybe he could have saved her. But she did not want to be saved.
    He knew the instant she died. She’d been quiet for a while, so it wasn’t her silence that told him. She was there with him one moment, and gone the next. Her body did not droop. He stayed beside her, uncertain what to do. He wondered if she’d come back. She was so powerful. He could not imagine her dead the way fish were dead. He wondered if he should eat her. He did not want to. He was not a crow.
    Finally she grew hard and stiff, like wood. Caliban did not like to see her face. Her eyes were empty. He dragged her body out into the open, down to the shore, hoping she would not snap like kindling. He was strong. She always told him he was strong. He knew that she wouldn’t want to be left there, in the dark. She never liked the cave, not the way he did. She called it shelter. He called it home.
    He watched from his rock as the tide came up and the waves gently slipped around her. Soon they pulled her out and carried her away. It had grown gray and cold, but Caliban did not leave. He stayed until he could no longer see the dark ring of withered flesh that was all the magic had left of his mother. Rain began to fall. He supposed that Setebos was hiding his face now. He must be sad, too.
    But no matter how long Caliban sat with his arms wrapped around his chest, the aching would not go away. His throat was tight and air didn’t seem to fit into his lungs any more. He gasped a bit, like a fish floundering out of water. He stood on the rock and called to his mother. “Come back!” he said. “Come back! You’ve gone too far!”
    But she didn’t come back. He knew she wouldn’t. And he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was used to spending his days alone, but she’d always been somewhere nearby. He’d see her on the beach, dancing and yelling. Or he’d find her in the woods, arguing with some unlucky tree. She’d wake him up at night, when she came in after one of her moonlit walks, to give his back a quick rub before lying down beside him to sleep. Now she was gone, and his island suddenly felt very big. He felt hollow inside.
    After a while he left and went back home, where he sat and ate the fish stew he had made earlier. He would only eat the food that came from the island. He had never liked the magical food his mother had her servants bring them. She would smile as she ate it. It made her happy. She’d tell stories of life in her royal court. It was her pretending, he guessed, just as he would pretend to be a shark when he splashed in the shallows. Caliban couldn’t understand why she liked her imaginary place so much. She never