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Following an excerpt from an in-milieu herbal, “Elfbark” begins with Fitz walking Withywoods again, now aware of the Skilled nature of the ensorcellment that has afflicted it. Steeled against it, he surveys the damage and loss again, and how he addresses the feelings that survey occasions is noted. He and Chade brew elfbark and other herbal concoctions, purposing first to dose Perseverance against the ongoing pain of his injuries and then to administer elfbark to those at Withywods who have been affected by the ensorcellment. Lant is the first of the latter, and the memories breaking upon him once the compulsion to forget is blocked stun him, though Chade questions him despite the shocks.

Lant reports events leading up to the raid on Withywoods and of the event itself. Chade continues to prod, and Fitz quashes bitterness within himself. As Lant completes his report, Fitz and Chade confer together about the implications thereof, determining the power involved in enacting such work. Others are summoned and dosed with elfbark, and more reports are made, clarifying events surrounding Bee’s abduction. Fitz continues to puzzle over the idea of the Unexpected Son, and Perseverance lets out that Fitz is himself. How to proceed thence is discussed.

The present chapter is not the first one to bear the title, of course; one such prior chapter is here, with another here. Both such chapters focus on the deleterious effects of the drug, something the preface to the present chapter reinforces. And some of the negative effects of elfbark, particularly for those being introduced to it for the first time, do show up in the present chapter, although how much of the despair evidenced by characters in the text is a result of the drug and how much is a result of being forced to confront their trauma and victimization is not entirely clear; what the text presents could easily be taken either way. So much said, having the consistency in depiction across the milieu and across decades of writing is a good thing to see; while there may be some argument made against the insistence of late twentieth and early twenty-first century fan communities on internal alignment, such insistence does inform the context in which Hobb writes and in which I read and reread the work, so it is something worth pointing out, at least for now.

With the contexts of composition and initial reception in mind, I suppose some note about the moralizing in the prefatory materials is in order. It is, as I believe I’ve noted and as I know no few people have remarked, not the case that an author of fiction will believe everything that is presented in a text; the perspectives of characters, even unnamed ones not appearing directly, may reflect the author’s informed understanding, but they do not necessarily reflect the author’s opinions or beliefs. As such, I do not think it is the case that Hobb opposes recreational use of mild intoxicants; I think it would be too much of a stretch to read the text in such a way. I do think it would also be too much of a stretch to read the text as a full-throated endorsement of such use, however; as with many things in Hobb’s work, there’s more nuance than that–and, frankly, even the worst drugs used in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus seem to have a time and a place. So maybe that’s the “message” to take from this, if there is one.

It is, after all, “just a story.”

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Following an excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “Chade’s Secret” opens with Fitz waking suddenly from his earlier exertions. After briefly wrestling with his conscience, he reads Bee’s journal and begins to slide toward despair. Fitz presses along despite its weight, attempting to move toward some sense of normalcy and finding that the ensorcellment hanging over Withywoods remains firmly in place. The wrack occasioned by the raid is described in some detail as Fitz looks at it in the daytime, and he sees to Perseverance and Lant.

As Fitz confers with him, Lant reports having gaps in his memories and unaccountable shame in his heart. Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of troops from Buckkeep whose livery Fitz recognizes as belonging to a rough unit assigned to accompany Slidwell. After a pointed exchange, they are joined by Chade and Thick, and Chade asks after Shun and Lant. Fitz finds himself upbuoyed by Thick, whose Skill manages to pierce the fog in which Fitz has been wandering and awakens the deep anger in him at the theft of his daughter.

At Thick’s frightened outburst, Fitz remasters himself, and he and Chade give orders to see about billeting and restoration. Chade and Fitz step aside to confer, and Fitz finds himself startled at Chade’s reaction to events. Chade reveals that Shun is his daughter and begins to turn his ire towards her family, railing at them for past wrongs. Fitz manages to redirect Chade’s anger alongside his own, and Lant enters to find himself included as another of Chade’s children. Perseverance, answering a summons, also joins the talk and is questioned by Chade.

Thick then joins the throng, escorted by Lant, making comments about the oddity of his surroundings, and Fitz and Chade reach out with the Skill to verify his words and cement their own understandings. The pair of them determine to use elfbark to confound the ensorcellment under which Withywoods has fallen. Lant volunteers to be a test subject, and preparations for dosing are made under some concern. More of Lant’s parentage is revealed, as is Shun’s. Amid the revelations, the pair of bastard assassins purpose to enact revenge.

The present chapter touches, but not much more, on the kinds of things that move Hobb’s principal protagonist away from the bright image of warrior-hero more common to the Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature in which she partly, but not wholly, participates. I have, in the past and less than gracefully, discussed such things (witness this), but the present chapter is more open in presenting them than is typical of the earlier components of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus. (I say typical largely because of events near the end of Fool’s Errand, here; I am aware of the exceptions, thank you.) Where they appear before, they are in report of actions ordered and seemingly necessary; here, they are, if not more detailed, presented more coldly and with greater ruthlessness, more personal effect. It is the kind of thing that prompts wonderings about Chade’s earlier exploits and, at least for me, some relief that they are not so fully on display as other authors might make them be.

I will leave aside the specter of elfbark for now; the coming chapter addresses it more fully, so I expect to write more on the subject then. What I will discuss is the way in which the present chapter addresses one of the more prominent themes in the Realm of the Elderlings novels: secrecy. Throughout the corpus, characters fail to confide in one another, fail to disclose to one another information that would be useful, helpful, or even outright necessary. Reasons vary, of course, with some of them being unavoidable (Fitz’s lack of knowledge about his father preventing him from saying much of Chivalry to Dutiful–here and elsewhere) or excusable (how much is not told to children because they are children and not yet equipped to handle the information well?) to the “obligatory” (compartmentalization of information to protect operational security / state interests) and the selfish–such as in the present chapter. Much of what Chade could have said to Fitz about his children when he sent them to him for protection was hidden out of vain concern regarding his image. While Chade does occupy something of a paternal position towards Fitz–the avuncular relationship is clear, certainly, and professional mentorship is its own kind of thing–and it is understandable that elders wish to retain the regard of their juniors, not having the information gave Fitz the cognitive space to do as he did. (Lant’s infatuation with Shun takes on additional meaning in the event, as well.) This does not mean Fitz was not in error in his actions–he clearly was–but perhaps they might have been avoided.

Then again, where would the narrative go without such things?

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Following a passage from the Servants’ histories that articulates a change in terminologies, “The Shaysim” returns to Bee as she recounts the party, led by Dwalia, making off with her and Shun, tracking their progress away from Withywoods to the extent she is able. Bee notes her situation and Shun’s, remarking on the depressed state of the latter, and she notes particular unease with one of the members of the group: Odessa. Regular patterns of her moving captivity are related, as well.

At one point along the journey, Shun breaks her silence to Bee, cautioning her to conceal her physicality from their captors. She relates her suffering and rebukes Bee sharply for her interference, and she notes that they are both being drugged by their captors. Bee accedes to Shun’s directions about deception, and the captivity presses ahead.

Dwalia makes to tend Bee, and Bee reflects on her apprehensions regarding the woman. She also further considers Shun and her situation, finding some sympathy for the woman and attempting to identify avenues through which she can act against her captors. The ensorcellment maintained by those captors continues to work on Bee, however, and something of their rhetoric receives attention, reinforcing to Bee the peril Dwalia represents. When Bee asks about that rhetoric, she is reminded of some of her earlier visions and how she acted upon them, and she considers further her own place in the world. The revelations dizzy her to the point of illness, and Dwalia’s companions find themselves stymied.

As is often the case, I find the chapter-prefatory materials of interest. As I believe I have noted and as I know at least two other scholars have mentioned, the inclusion of such materials works in part to present the narrative as existing within a larger world, something that allows it to deploy a Tolkienian “inner consistency of reality” and facilitate a Coleridgean “willing suspension of disbelief.” That is, having excerpts, often from “outside” sources, at the heads of chapters helps to create the impression that the world in which the Realm of the Elderlings corpus occurs is a “real” one. In the present chapter, the “historian voice” at work comes across, at least to my reading, as a particularly pointed example of doing that; there’s something about it that seems authentically academic as I reread it. The snarky comment in the second paragraph, for example, brings to mind the kind of sniping I have seen–and, if I am honest, participated in–in conference papers and the occasional journal article. The plea to recognize agency also brings to mind a lot of academic discourse with which I am familiar. While Hobb is, avowedly, not an academic, she manages to get right enough of it that the present chapter’s preface “rings true.” It’s not the first time, of course, but it does stand out for me, reading from where I do.

Another note of interest, if a little thing: I’ve commented on several occasions about the use of emblematic names in Hobb’s work, usually but not always among the nobility of the Six Duchies. I find the focus on Odessa in the present chapter to be of interest in that light. The name is one linked to two cities, one in Ukraine and one in Texas. Not being Ukrainian, I am not entirely up on what associates with that city; being Texan, I can note that Odessa, Texas, does loom large in the area’s consciousness. I find, too, that there is an Odessa, Washington, that might well be of interest to the Pacific Northwesterner Hobb. Whether or not there is something being said about any or all of them, I am not sure, but I think it might well be worth looking at. Sometime.

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After a letter to Fitz from Civil Bresinga, “Withywoods” begins with Fitz hastening to his home, using the Witness Stones to do so, despite the peril and cost. Fitz finds himself praying as he proceeds in as much haste as he can reasonably make, and he rehearses nightmarish scenarios as he does so. He also notes feeling more and more reluctant to go forward as he does proceed, and when he arrives at Withywoods and begins Skilling to Chade and others to report, he finds his magics stymied. Encountering other residents, he asks after Bee and those to whom he has entrusted her care, receiving disjointed and confused answers. The lack of clarity frustrates and confuses Fitz, and those he questions begin to suffer under his questioning.

Fitz happens to notice Perseverance, who pleads with him for recognition. Dismissing the others, Fitz confers with the boy, learning what has befallen his family and its estate. Lant brings medicine and, when he challenges Fitz about his regard for Perseverance, Fitz upbraids him, revealing his true identity, at which Perseverance is reverent. Under further questioning, Perseverance unfolds information about the raiders on Withywoods to Fitz, who arrives at ideas for the raiders’ motivations.

Fitz then turns his attention to Lant, puzzling out from what he learns from the man that some kind of ensorcellment is at work. The arrival of a royal messenger known to Fitz, Slidwell, confirms as much, as well as establishing the physical limits of the ensorcellment and its effects. Slidwell notes, too, that Chade and Thick are on their way, but Nettle is not because of potential harm to the child she carries. FItz dismisses Lant, who leaves in anger, as well as Slidwell, who takes brandy with him.

So much done, Fitz walks the halls and searches the rooms for clues. Few present themselves until he encounters the cat with whom Bee had conferred. From the cat, Fitz learns more of the raid, that Bee and Shun had been taken and that some of the raiders had no smell of their own–something that puts Fitz in mind of the Fool. Fitz considers matters in sorrow.

The present chapter is not the first in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus to carry the title “Withywoods.” Indeed, the first chapter of the Fitz and the Fool Trilogy does so, so the present chapter is necessarily calling back to that beginning in some way. As in that chapter, the present chapter happens amid winter with people making their way towards the estate bequeathed upon Molly Chandler, enwrapped in concerns of the Wit and of the maintenance of that household, so there are some textual resonances, although I readily admit they are not exact correspondences or parallels. The present chapter is much heavier and darker in tone than the first one in the present series–although it is to be expected of the second book in a trilogy that it will be in such a place, the typical sequence for such things being introduction, complication, and resolution.

I note that the present chapter touches on Fitz’s religiosity. I’ve written on the matter of religion in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, although I do not make much in that paper of Fitz’s own practice. Rereading the present chapter, I remember why: “I had never had a deep faith” (199) does not suggest that there is much depth to that well. I do have an opinion about such things, as might be expected; there’s a little about it here, and it may be that I revisit that project as one of my many scholarly somedays. For the moment, the note that there is a note to add is worth making.

Affectively, I found the present chapter somewhat hard to read. I followed the action easily enough, unlike some parts of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus; despite the depiction of being fogged at work in the present chapter, the plot was plain enough. (So much has not been the case for all such parts of the corpus, as a recent comment reminded me.) For me, the difficulty was in the text awakening fears that already slumber uneasily in me. I’ve mentioned–once or twice–that I am a father of a daughter whom I love very much. While I know that much is sensationalized and overblown, I know there are risks to her, even absent bad actors in the world, and I do not think I am wrong to act with some eye toward them. As I write this, my daughter is well cared for and safe, but it does not take much for me to imagine that she might not be so, and the present chapter does some prompting that way. I find no fault with the writing that it does so, but it does so so.

Then again, maybe the fact that the book does command emotional responses from me is part of why I keep reading, that I have done so for some years, now, and that I am like to keep doing so for more years yet.

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