"So they stop killing off bedbugs for rich innkeepers, or healing sick cattle. You know as well as I do that most mages outside the College aren’t doing anything that really matters—not to mention those inside. With this pooled power, we can do things that do matter. There is always something that could go wrong in whatever you do. Every hunter knows his arrow might miss the deer and hit a man who happens to be on the far side. That doesn’t stop him from hunting. Healing someone today may mean he might kill someone else tomorrow. That’s no reason not to heal people.
"Your Cascade is the biggest breakthrough in generations. It will make you famous and make it possible to do things no mage could ever do before."
Maridon paused a moment, then continued speaking. "Is the girl a gossip? Will she be telling everyone in the college about your project and how wicked it is? If so …"
Coelus thought a moment. "She doesn't talk much with the others and veils her power all the time. As far as I know you and I are the only ones who see her as anything more than ordinary. Hal didn't at the interview. Considering what I went through as a student, I can see why she keeps her head down. At least she won't have half the class looking for ways to make her life miserable."
"Would it help if you spoke to her, just to make sure, told her it would be breaking a confidence to babble about your work? Suggest that you will be happy to teach her, but only if her confidentiality can be trusted? It is not every student who has the chance of personal lessons from a mage of your ability."
Coelus looked doubtful. "Let me think about it."
"You think. I will listen for rumors, and consider what to do if need be. Both of us can think about where to find two more mages for the real experiment, once you finish the preliminary series. But this time, before you ask anyone else, talk to me first."
"I will. I suppose I should have earlier. But she was the obvious choice, once I thought of it, and it never occurred to me that she might object."
* * *
As the notes of the evening bell died away, Ellen looked around the small orchard, then down at the message in her hand. Coelus wanted to speak with her again. The orchard had a pleasant smell to it that she did not remember from earlier visits, green mixed with the rich odor of the earth. It was getting late; another hour or two and she would be in bed. Already she felt sleepy, sleepy enough to lie down on the grass by one of the trees, nestle her head on the warm earth, and close her eyes.
A searing pain on her right hand woke her, as if someone had blown a flame across it. She opened her eyes and tried to lift her hand to look at it. It was almost dark. Something, cold and strong, was holding her arm, keeping it from moving. Her body, lying flat when she fell asleep, was now almost vertical.
She bent her head, looked down, and saw grass just below her chin. Somehow she had sunk into the earth. Her head, neck, right hand and part of the arm were still above ground and she could move her toes, but not her legs. She felt herself being sucked down, farther.
She drew in a deep breath. Fighting the pressure of the earth against her chest, she looked up. Just above was the apple tree she had fallen asleep against, its thick old trunk motionless, branches moving slowly in the wind, one low one almost within reach if only her arm were free.
What else could she use? The grass around her was long. With a thought she bent it down and wove it into a thick mat just below her right hand. Pushing down as hard as she could, she levered her arm up. The ground was soft, but the mat of woven grass held firm. Her right arm pulled free. Straining upward, she grasped a twig on the branch above her and held it.
Just above that branch was another; under her stern gaze the two began to twist together, pulled in a third, forming a thick triple braid of woven branches that dipped to twist around her wrist. More and more branches bent down and added themselves. The mat of grass became a green sleeve, cradling her arm, its ends weaving in and out of the braid.
She pulled down with her right arm against the woven branches, up with her left, trying to break it free. Not enough. She stopped, breathed deeply against the pressure of the earth, and thought her way back into the pattern of the tree, downwards. A root moved against her foot, another. She felt something move against her imprisoned left arm. Again she pulled down with her right arm on the braided branches, straining to lift herself.
Her left arm broke free; the hollow where it had been was so thick with woven rootlets she could see only a bit of earth beneath. She reached her freed arm up, caught the branches, and pulled, now with both arms.
Eyes closed that she might better see, she looked down her body, still buried in the ground. Small roots were running up her legs, sending out rootlets, weaving together a loose fabric which guarded her from the earth that had tried to swallow her. But most of her body was still trapped. Against the pressure of the earth even to breathe was hard.
There was only so much one tree could do for her.
The edge of the containment dome flared, more brilliant than she had ever seen it. There might be an answer; she felt her way into its woven fire. Power, more than a dozen trees, a hundred. With the fingers of her mind she teased out one strand, two, three, more, wove a garment of flame about her body.
She felt the ground shudder, release her. Letting go of the branches, she put her hands against now solid ground, heaved herself out of her half formed grave, and stumbled over to the apple tree. She leaned against it gasping for breath. A few minutes were enough to unweave branches and grass. The gaping hole in the earth was no work of hers. She would leave closing it, or not, to whomever had made it.
Ellen looked down for the note she had been holding when she fell asleep. Hard to see in the faint moonlight, but it seemed to be gone. She brought a tiny flame from one finger tip; still nothing.
In its faint light she could see the sorry state of her over robe and the tunic beneath, both filthy and torn. The rips she could fix, but … . She let the flame go out, reached into the dark, and wove a thick cloak of shadow about herself.
Back in her room she closed and barred the door and set the small oil lamp aflame, then stripped out of her robe. Her right hand hurt. The palm was red and a few small blisters had begun to form. Something had burned it. Something had awoken her just before she was fully buried.
Two puzzles then, perhaps two mages, if this had not been merely a bizarre accident. She would think about them tomorrow. For tonight, she reached into the lamp flame, pulled out a thin strand of fire, and formed about her wrist, arm, and body a pale garment, an armor of woven flame. Paler and still paler, until it vanished to a ghost even she could barely see. She put out the lamp, went to bed, closed her eyes and, in time, slept.
Chapter 5
The next day Ellen awoke to the pleasant sound of rain on the slate roof above her bed. Judging by the amount of water on the paving stones, it had been raining for some time. She lay in bed, stiff and sore from the previous evening's struggle, wondering what condition the orchard was in. The rain should be good for the apple tree; she thought briefly about what if anything she could do to compensate for diverting so much of the tree's stored resources to her use.
Last night’s clothing she could wash in her wash basin, then repair the damage. No need to start talk by involving the College servants, or anyone else. Best to take her own precautions, keep her eyes open, and wait for her hidden enemy to make his next move.
The breakfast bell broke into her thoughts, and brought her out of bed.
By lunch time the rain had gotten harder, the first real storm that fall. Mari met Ellen at the entrance to the refectory. "The orchard will be a swamp by now, and the cloister damp. The dining hall is packed. I've been telling the others to get their food then head to my rooms for an indoor picnic."
Ellen fetched a plate and bowl, filled them, and followed her friend. The desk in Mari's sitting room had been pulled out, the three chairs around it occupied by Mari, Alys, and Edwin, who offered his to Ellen. She declined in favor of the floor, back agai
nst the door to Mari's bedroom. Jon joined her there and put the first question:
"Magister Simon has had us memorizing names, true speech, for a month now; still don't understand what it's all about. Nobody speaks it, not even Doray, so why learn it for spells?"
Ellen, as usual, thought a moment before answering. "What's special about the true speech is that spells done in it work. Lots of people say they know why, but most disagree with each other. The Dorayans claimed that our world was a story told by the creator God, and the speech was the language that story was told in; the surviving Doray sects, here and in what's left of the League, still believe that. The orthodox sects, or at least some of their mages, say names in the true speech are those the first man gave everything on the day of creation."
"What do you believe?" That was Mari.
"That spells done in the true speech work. I don't know why, but it might be because the names aren't arbitrary, the way names are in other languages."
Edwin looked up, spoke. "You mean that confusing business about the component syllables from the first lecture that Simon has hardly mentioned since?"
Ellen nodded. "Yes. A name in the speech isn't just a name, it's a definition. If you break up the word for "horse," the pieces come out as "hornless quadruped with mane." And of course "mane" itself isn't a single syllable; it means "neck hair." And there are long forms for both "neck" and "hair" that get squished down to single syllables for building other words out of."
Alys put down her piece of bread, joined the conversation. "But none of that really matters, does it? We're learning the names; there's no need to make it even harder by learning why they are the names. I don't have to know the word for 'mane;' I'm not enchanting horses' manes."
Ellen shook her head. "It matters for two reasons. The first is that the definition tells you what the name you are memorizing means. If you do a spell on horses, you only expect it to affect horses. But if you are using the true name for "horse"—and you will be if you want the spell to work—it will affect any other hornless quadruped with a mane that happens to be in the area. The true name for "horse" doesn't really mean "horse," it means …"
Jon cut in. "Hornless quadruped with mane. Could be a mule, even a donkey."
"Yes. And the same is true of every name you use in a spell. If you want to affect only the horses, you have to say something that amounts to 'horse but not mule.' It's really very much like mathematics, especially mathematical logic." Ellen stopped a moment to take a bite of bread.
Mari reached over for the wine bottle. "Which explains why I don't understand it. I'm with Alys this time. Word for word translation may not get it exactly right, but if the alternative is mathematical logic I will have to be content with almost." She half filled her glass, put the bottle back.
Ellen looked up at Mari. "I said there were two reasons. The other is that if you understand how true names are built you can build one. You don't have to say 'horse but not mule'—which expands into a lot more than that in the speech. You can say ‘fertile hornless quadruped with mane’ instead."
Jon grinned: "Not if you want your spell to work on geldings."
"I hadn't thought of that. But it shows why you have to understand how names are built. Someone might construct the name I just offered and teach it to you as an improved version of 'horse' and if you didn't understand the pieces of it you would never figure out why some of the horses were still coming down with worms after you had spelled all of them not to."
Alys wrinkled up her nose. "Do you think you could keep worms out of it until I’m finished eating? Jon's account of sausage last month was bad enough."
Ellen looked at her, puzzled. "I thought it was very interesting. If you don't like worms, make it something else."
"Cracked hooves and splints. That is what our horses are always coming down with. If Alys doesn't like worms and sausages, she can always eat bread and cheese." Mari passed what was left of the small wheel of cheese across the desk.
"Haven't told you about making cheese?" Jon was grinning.
Mari gave him a stern look. "And you shan’t. Not today, at least, or poor Alys may starve to death. Anyway, I have another question for Ellen. About names."
She paused, turned to look at her friend. "Why do mages never change their names, even when pretending to be someone else? Why do they avoid giving their names, and use nicknames, and confuse people in other ways? Why not just take a different name? Is it only in the stories, or is it real?"
"It's real."
Edwin looked up from his plate. "Do people have names in the true speech? Do you have a name? 'Short dark haired lady who knows everything about magic?'"
Ellen shook her head. "That's not how it works. The Speech has a word for 'person,' and 'woman,' but not for particular people. Though I am sure you and Mari can have fun making them up. My name is 'Ellen'—'Elinor' in long form. It is what I’ve always been called. Spells cast on me are anchored to that name. If I didn’t want to be spelled I could change my name to weaken the connection.
"But a spell is anchored at both ends, and a mage cares more about casting spells than about stopping others from casting spells on him. If I changed my name, my spells would stop working, or at least working as well. The more and the longer people called me by the new name, the weaker the old name would get, the less it would be me, and the weaker any spells I tried to anchor to it.
"I could have changed my name when I was two, I suppose. But if I changed my name now and tried to shift everything to it, I would never be as strong as I am now. That's why mages in the stories keep their own names, even if they are doing their best to hide who they are.
"The only words you can read in written spells and amulets are people's names. The rest are in glyphs, the written form of the true speech. Each word is a symbol, almost a little drawing, not a drawing of the thing but a graphic definition, made up of little bits each of which corresponds to an element in the definition. I expect Simon will get to that next semester."
"After he gives up on teaching us the spoken version?" Mari ate her last bit of cheese, pushed back the plate. "He will teach us to try to draw words?” She stood up, opened the window looking out over the College’s kitchen garden, looked out. It was still raining.
“Isn't it wonderful to have something to look forward to."
The others snickered; Ellen stared at them, head to one side, perplexed.
Chapter 6
A room, scantily furnished. At the end by the door a desk, an untidy pile of codices, a few scrolls. Along one long side a work table, its wooden top scarred and scorched. Two mages, earth and air.
Coelus carefully arranged the small brazier on the table over the chalk mark for fire. Over the other mark, part way down the table, a glass goblet, clear as water, beside it the sealed flask. He motioned Maridon over to the fourth mark.
A knock on the door.
"Come in."
"Am I late? Magister Maridon said at the sixth bell." The student looked a little uncertain.
"No. Just in time. Sit over there, facing the wall. This should not take very long."
Joshua took his seat. Coelus went to the far end of the table, opened the clay fire box, used a small pair of silver tongs to remove one glowing coal. Into the brazier. He blew gently on it, was rewarded with a trickle of smoke, a pale flame.
Next the flask, unstoppered, a thin stream of water into the goblet.
"Galfred sent it; with luck there's enough …"
A wide silver spoon filled with grey powder; he sprinkled it onto the brazier. The charcoal burst into brilliant flame. Back to his own place, the fourth point of the star.
Coelus spoke a Word. For a moment nothing happened. He raised his hand, spoke again. From his hand to Maridon, a faint white line. Maridon raised his hand, spoke a Word; their two hands were linked by a double thread, white and black. Coelus lifted his left hand; as he let it fall the two spoke the third Word together.
From Coelus the double thread l
eaped to the brazier. Triple now, the black and white lines clear, the red line barely a thread. To the goblet.
The four—two mages, the brazier, the goblet—were the corners of a square, its edges traced in four-fold lines, the mage's colors bright, the other two, blue and red, spiderweb thin. Coelus spoke a final Word.
From Joshua to Coelus' hand another thread of light; to Coelus it seemed a turning twist of white and blue. For a moment everything froze, the square outlined in fourfold light, the fifth line.
With a sharp crack the flask broke, spilling steaming water and fragments of glass onto the table. The threads of light vanished, the blue an instant before the others. Joshua cried out, stood, tried to turn, and fell face forward onto the floor.
"Did it work?" That was Maridon. Coelus, bent over the fallen student, took a moment to answer.
"I think so. The elemental water must have run out. The boy is still breathing; I think he'll be all right. If it hadn't worked, how could he have reacted as he did; that's the clearest evidence. I can hardly perceive any magery at all in him now. Besides, I saw the fifth line, even if only for a second.
"But I have the geometry wrong; it's unbalanced, with me as both starpoint and focus. It needs five mages, four for the basis star, one for the focus. I suppose four mages might work, but not as well, and it might be dangerous. I think the other part of what unbalanced it was using substitutes, elemental reagents to stand in for their mages. But five would be better."
Maridon gave him a skeptical look. "So it works in theory, but not yet in practice."
"It worked in practice, just not for very long. I could feel power coming in from the boy. Just a trickle, but more than we were getting from the workbench alone and it felt different from ours. With five mages, maybe even with four, we could do it."
Maridon had another question. "The boy we pulled from is a mage, even if he is not trained. What about the rest of the Cascade?"
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