A Wizard In The Way

by Christopher Stasheff

  "But it would produce the same ecological niches," Alea said, "and similar creatures to fill them." She turned back to Mira. "You really should develop that gift."

  "Yes, you should," Blaize said, with heartfelt emotion, "for all our sakes."

  Mira turned to stare at him, feeling flattered and amazed. "I-I'll try."

  "So should you," Gar said to Alea. "I thought you had some ability for telekinesis."

  "But it didn't work with their weapons!" Alea objected.

  "Just a matter of practice," Gar said airily. "You were able to control the smoke because its particles have so much less mass. Start making breezes, then ripples in ponds."

  "I think we've been making enough ripples as it is! Did you see the look on Pilochin's face when that tornado of ghosts hit him?"

  "Yes, and I was wondering about that." Gar frowned. "If he's the man who defeated Blaize's master, he should certainly know what ghosts can and can't do."

  "Oh, he knows all right," Blaize said darkly, "knows that ghosts can scare you and read your mind and make you feel emotions you've never felt, but he didn't know they could knock him down."

  He swallowed heavily. "Neither did I."

  "Yes, you did say they couldn't do physical harm," Alea mused. "They were awfully angry, though."

  "And there were a great many of them," Mira reminded. Gar nodded. "That much emotion coming from that many ghosts-no wonder it seemed to have a physical impact."

  "And if those specters could strike him down," Alea asked softly, "what else could they do?"

  They looked at one another in silence for a moment, letting the question sink in. Then Gar said, "Probably not much, or they would have done it before this. But it was a very useful surprise."

  "Once," Alea pointed out. "Next time, they'll be braced for it."

  "Yes, but they'll also be a great deal more cautious."

  "More circumspect even than these?" Gar nodded toward a handful of villagers who were coming toward them, hats in their hands.

  Alea turned to them with a smile. "Come closer, friends. We are only the neighbors who have been talking with you these past weeks, nothing more."

  "A great deal more," said an older woman as she stepped up. "Either that, or this Tao you speak of has much greater power than we realized."

  "It has immense power," Alea said carefully, "because it is all around you and within you. Knowing how to let your enemies turn that power against themselves, though, is another matter altogether."

  "Then teach it to us!" said a middle-aged man. "That could take years," Gar cautioned.

  "We can't stay among you that long," Alea added. "We have other villages to visit."

  "But we can teach you how to build the foundation," Gar said, "show you ways in which you can become a stumbling block to your enemies."

  "We will learn!" the woman avowed. "Only show us!"

  "Then you must remember that you are all parts of one whole," Alea told her, "and treat one another as parts of yourselves." The villagers frowned, nodding, struggling to understand. "Come, then!" Gar turned and started back up the hillside. "Those who want to learn, come and listen!"

  Half the village followed him and Alea as they climbed. Mira and Blaize waited until the villagers had passed, then brought up the rear. They climbed beside each other in an awkward silence.

  Finally Mira broke it. "I-I was amazed that you were so very angry with that tyrant Pilochin."

  "He slew my master, and that not in fair combat but by an underhanded trick." Blaize's face set in hard lines. "That outraged me."

  "But you seemed enraged by all of them."

  "Why not? They're all just as bad as Pilochin. Any magician is who uses his powers to grind down his peasants and make them give him every luxury they can."

  Mira stared at him in wonder. "You mean it!"

  "Of course I mean it," Blaize said bitterly. "I am the son of serfs and would have been a serf myself if Arnogle hadn't taken me for his apprentice. He taught me more than his magic-he taught me compassion and respect for the poor. He taught me to help them make their lives as comfortable as lord and serf together could manage. He taught me to live modestly myself so that there would be more left for my people."

  Mira didn't dare say it aloud, but she found herself wondering if he might be honestly dedicated to the welfare of the poor. "If you truly think that," she said, "why have you worked to master such weak creatures as ghosts, when you might have managed such mighty beings as wyverns?"

  Blaize looked up in surprise. "Because I have no gift with wyverns, and I have with ghosts. It is not a matter of knowledge alone, but of talent."

  "If you have talent with the one, you have talent with the other!"

  "No wyvern has yet come to my call," Blaize said dubiously, "though I will admit I have only shouted at them to be gone, never to come. Still, I think this night has proved that ghosts can be as mighty as beasts."

  "Only by frightening people, and soldiers grow harder and harder to frighten!"

  "They grow harder and harder armor, too." Blaize was beginning to be irritated; he had done nothing to deserve this attack.

  Mira, on the other hand, was surprised to discover that she no longer feared him well, not much, anyway. "They have not yet armored their faces and would be nearly blinded if they wore iron masks to protect them from wyverns' claws!"

  "There is small reason," Blaize countered, "when they can shoot down wyverns with their arrows. You cannot shoot down a ghost"

  "Oh, so now you would shoot down my poor little dragonlings, would you?"

  "Not I," Blaize said, totally taken aback. "But ghosts need not fear arrows."

  "Then your ghosts will shoot my wyverns?"

  Blaize wondered when they had become "her" wyverns. "Ghosts have nothing against the little dragons-well, I suppose there might be one or two who suffered at their claws when alive. Most phantoms are more likely to attack soldiers than wyverns."

  "Maybe you should have your ghosts protect my fliers, then," Mira said with full sarcasm.

  "What a splendid idea!" Blaize turned away to gaze off into the distance. "They have a common enemy, after all: magicians. How could I fashion that alliance?"

  Mira stared at him, astounded. He seemed to have totally forgotten her, to become immersed in a new problem. She turned away, fuming, and hurried on uphill away from Blaize.

  He came back out of the clouds to stare at her back, feeling sadness settle upon him. For a moment, he had thought she had forgiven him for being a magician, or for wanting to be one. Now, though, the anger and disgust seemed to be back. Certainly she couldn't have argued so hotly against his ghost leading if she didn't have even more contempt for him than for other magicians-no doubt because she knew him personally.

  He sighed and plowed on up the hill, trying to find refuge in the new problem of a wyvern-ghost alliance, but failing. Mira's face kept coming into his mind no matter how he tried to banish it-her lip twisted with scorn, her eyes flashing anger. She was the loveliest creature he had ever met, but he would have to give up all hope of winning her. She clearly didn't even like him, let alone love him.

  It was definitely better to pledge his life to his art. With an immense effort, he began to contemplate the natures of ghosts and wyverns. For one thing, they had both been here on this world before his ancestors had come from the stars-or at least the wild ghosts had, though not their Terran forms. Could that be bond enough?

  He felt the fascination of the problem dosing over him like a shield and strode uphill, following his teachers.

  The subject came up again that evening, when the villagers had gone home to prepare their evening meal. Alea said, "You know, we might have lost that battle if Mira hadn't been able to turn the wyverns away."

  "We might indeed." Gar didn't seem completely confident in his own ability to have dealt with the reptiles. He turned to Mira. "You really must develop that talent."

  "Become a magician?" Mira said, horrified.

>   "For your own defense, and to protect these villagers? Yes, I think you should," Alea said.

  "But I don't want to become a tyrant!"

  "Then don't," Gar said simply. "Having power doesn't mean you absolutely must abuse it, after all."

  "I suppose there is truth in that." Mira tried to ignore the gleam in Blaize's eyes. "But how could I go about learning?"

  "I would say trial and error," Gar said, "but the errors could prove very painful. The wyverns' teeth looked sharp and their claws rather strong."

  "They say a flock of them can tear apart an armed soldier," Mira said, and shuddered.

  Blaize nodded gravely. "I saw it happen once, before Arnogle's ghosts put the creatures to flight."

  Mira turned to him in surprise. "Ghosts can banish wyverns?" Blaize spread his hands. "It must be as you said-both are native to this world, and like listens to like, even if the ghosts' guise is human."

  "Ghosts..." Alea said thoughtfully. "What if we could bring the ghost of a wyvern-handler here?" She turned to Mira. "Would you be willing to learn from such a one?"

  Mira shrank back, then mustered her courage, tilted her chin up, and said, "I would, if you could find such a ghost who had a good heart."

  "It's worth trying," Gar said slowly. "Blaize, see if any of our friendly neighborhood ghosts are hanging around, would you?" Blaize's eyes lost focus as his mind called, Corn --Ranulf--if you are near, please appear.

  "Should we let them know we were listening?" Conn's voice asked out of the dusk.

  "No. Let them think we only come if they ask." Ranulf's form began to coalesce against the darkness of the cliff face.

  "Let me guess." Conn appeared near the fire. "You wondered if we knew any wyvern-handlers who happened to be conveniently dead."

  "I wouldn't think death could be convenient," Gar said, "but other than that, yes. You're very skilled eavesdroppers."

  "It comes naturally, when you can be invisible," Conn said airily. He turned to his friend. "What do you say, Ranulf--Goedelic? That little old outlaw who haunts the diff face in the Brogenstern Mountains?"

  "He's crusty but kind." Ranulf nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, no one ever called him a magician. You don't, generally, when it's an outlaw who has discovered he can work magic."

  "Yes, but there was Lord Starchum," Conn reminded. "He took over the whole forest, then used the outlaw army to overthrow Lord Imbroglio."

  "Well, Yes," Ranulf conceded, "but he was a fire-caster. Outlaws in the greenwood pay attention to that kind of thing. Still, are you sure Goedelic is the best teacher for the lass? That middle-aged woman's ghost by the River Ripar-wouldn't she be a better teacher in this case?"

  "Well, she's honest and no tyrant," Conn said thoughtfully, "but she's not very pleasant. Abrupt, too. I don't think she'd be very patient with a beginner's first fumbling steps. No, I'll go find Goedelic." He started to fade.

  "No, please!" Gar held up a hand. "Just connect with another ghost who can connect with a third ghost to whom he can pass the message. Then the third can add a fourth and so on, until Goedelic hears and answers."

  "Ah! Your ghost-to-ghost network!" Conn said brightly. "Yes, why not put it to the test?" He gazed off into space for a moment, then smiled. "Roigel answered. The message is on its way."

  Suddenly the fire belched a massive cloud of smoke, which thickened as it drifted aside and took on the contours of a human form and face. "Why would you be wanting to contact Goedelic?" a booming voice asked.

  12

  Gar blinked. "Am I talking to an Irish ghost?"

  "I wouldn't be knowing. Are you?"The cloud rotated toward him, rapidly solidifying into the face and form of a middle-aged warrior with a huge tear over the chest of his tunic. His nose was a bulb, his hair a fringe around a bald head, his chin a knob. His chubby face seemed made for smiling. At the moment, though, it was set in stern lines.

  "I would say I am," Gar said, "by your accent."

  "Accent? What accent would that be? Everybody talks like this in my parish!" the ghost said. "Faith, it's yourself that has an accent!"

  "Him, and all the rest of the world," Conn grunted, and Ranulf laughed.

  The Irish ghost turned toward them, raising a knobbed stick. "Be showing some respect, or you'll have a taste of my shillelagh!"

  "It looks like licorice," Ranulf said.

  "No, chocolate." Conn grinned. "Come on, old fellow! You know we can't hurt one another after we're dead. Who are you and why did you answer a call for Goedelic? For that matter, what are you-outlaw or soldier?"

  "It's all of us were warriors in my day," the Irishman answered. "There was none of this business of outlaws or soldiers, for we were all free! If any magician tried to set himself up as a lord, we taught him the right of it, and quickly, too!"

  Conn and Ranulf lost their smiles. "How old an ancestor are you?"

  "Four centuries it is that I've been dead," the Irishman said, "or what passes for death here. As to my name, it's Corley, and Goedelic's my great-great-grandson! Degenerate times, when the people let magicians scare them into obeying! But Goedelic fought against them to the last, he with his wyverns, and I'll not have you tormenting his rest!"

  "I don't think the ghost-to-ghost hookup worked," Alea said. Gar shrugged. "There's always interference."

  Corley turned toward him with a menacing glare. "What were you calling me?"

  "We didn't-we called for Goedelic," Gar answered.

  "But now that we have a ghost from such an early time," Alea said, "maybe you can explain something that's been troubling me."

  "Now, why should I be doing that?"

  "Only out of kindness to a damsel."

  Corley fixed her with a glittering eye. His mouth began to curve in an appreciative smile. "Well, could be I would at that, for one so comely as yourself."

  "Why, thank you," Alea said, blushing. Gar glanced from her to Corley, frowning.

  Surely he couldn't be jealous of a ghost! But the thought gave Alea a bit of a glow as she said, "This world of Oldeira seems to have had a very promising beginning-"

  "Aye, but the promise was broken in my grandfather's time."

  "I was wondering how that happened," Alea said. "All your people seemed to be born with the same chances at the start of their lives, or as close to that as any society can manage. Even when they were grown up they treated each other as equals and fellows. Everyone seemed to have been tolerant of everyone else's views and respected each other's religions."

  "What would religion be?" asked the Irishman.

  Alea stared, then recovered. "The ... the worship of a supreme being, and living in accord with the principles that Being revealed."

  "Oh." Corley rolled his eyes up, rubbing his chin. "No, I don't think you could say we had religions as such. Philosophies, now, that would be another matter, an understanding of how everything fitted together into a grand whole that might and might not be a Being. Mind you, there were some that worshipped their ancestors-but you can understand that, when those ancestors were apt to come calling any night."

  "Uh, yes, I suppose so," Alea said, feeling rather numb. "But how could such a free and earnest society have broken down into this patchwork of tyrannies enforced by the 'magic' of trickery and a few psi powers?"

  "Ah, how does the old saying go?" Corley mused. "'There's a sucker born every minute.'"

  "'And two to take him,'" Conn and Ranulf chorused. "You wouldn't be those two, would you?"

  The ghostly duo only grinned in response.

  "Don't overreach yourselves, lads," Corley warned. "That saying is far older than any of us, and you'd have to be rapscallions indeed to be deserving of it." He turned back to Alea. "I only know what my old grandad told me-that the people lost the habit of skepticism. When you stop testing claims by reason and evidence, you're apt to believe anything that sounds impressive, and when it's something you see, well! You're going to believe it, bad or good."

  "But you had schools, educated people.
.." Alea's voice trailed off.

  Corley wagged a finger at her. "Don't confuse education with sound judgment, colleen. Maybe the two should go together, but they don't when the teacher stops showing proof and the students stop thinking ideas through."

  "Surely that's too simple an explanation," Gar objected. "You were cut off from the mother planet, thrown back on your own resources. Didn't that have anything to do with it?"

  "Ah, well, of course it did!" Corley said. "Desperate people will seize hold of anything that promises them a full belly and a safe house-and what are they to do when the man to whom they give power doesn't keep those promises? But I'm only guessing, you see -I wasn't there."

  "I ... don't suppose there's any chance that ... you could arrange it so that we could talk to ghosts who lived through it, is there?" Alea asked. She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

  Corley gave her a knowing grin. "For so pretty a colleen as yourself? Sure and I will! But be wary-what you get may not be what you think you've wished for!" He disappeared suddenly and completely.

  Alea stared. "Where has he gone?"

  "To find a friend who was alive when things fell apart, I expect," Conn said.

  Ranulf said to Gar, "You may have hooked up your ghosts more thoroughly than you knew."

  Corley burst upon the scene like an exploding firecracker, arm in arm with the ghost of an old woman wearing a long skirt and a voluminous shawl over a blouse. Her hair was wrapped in a kerchief, her lean and lined old face was wrinkled and, even in the colorless glow of her spectral form, seemed leathery. "Is this the lass, then?" she demanded in a voice like the cry of a jay.

  "I-I am the young woman who asked to speak with one of the oldest ghosts, yes," Alea said, taken aback by the old woman's energy. "My name is Alea."

  "Odd name." The crone sniffed. "Still, mine is Lodicia, so who am I to talk? Corley tells me you wondered how our wonderful world fell apart."

  "I'm curious, yes. So many things about the way you lived seem so very right. Did you live through the collapse?"

  "No, but I saw it as a ghost, and disgusting it was, I can tell you!" the old woman said. "Mind you, we had gurus and chelasteachers and students, to you-even when we came here, but there were philosophers, too, and they had great and wonderful debates, teaching us all to think through the issues for ourselves!"