Black Magician-01-The_Magicians' Guild

by Trudi Canavan

  "I was just visiting the library." Rothen's gaze remained on Fergun's back. "It amazes me how long you two have kept this grudge going. Are you ever going to leave the past behind you?"

  "It's not a grudge to him," Dannyl growled. "It's sport and he enjoys it too much to stop."

  Rothen raised his brows. "Well, if he behaves like a spiteful novice, people will treat his words accordingly." He smiled as three novices hurried along the corridor and darted through the classroom door. "How are my novices doing?"

  Dannyl grimaced. "I don't know how you cope, Rothen. You're not going to abandon me to them for long, are you?"

  "I don't know. Weeks. Months, maybe."

  Dannyl groaned. "Do you think Sonea is ready to begin Control lessons yet?"

  Rothen shook his head. "No."

  "But it's been a week already."

  "Only a week." Rothen sighed. "I doubt she'd trust us if we gave her six months to settle in." He frowned. "It's not that she dislikes us as individuals, but that she doesn't believe the Guild means well—and she won't until she sees proof. We don't have time for that. When Lorlen visits, he'll expect us to have begun lessons already."

  Dannyl grasped his friend's arm. "For now all you have to do is teach her Control, and for that she only has to trust you, Rothen. You're a likeable sort. You've got her best interests at heart." He hesitated. "If you can't tell her, then show her."

  Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened in understanding. "Let her see into my mind?"

  "Yes. She will know you've been telling her the truth."

  "It's . . . it's not necessary when teaching Control, but the circumstances are hardly usual." Rothen frowned.

  "There are some things I'll have to keep her from learning, though. .."

  "Hide them." Dannyl smiled. "Now, I have a classroom of your novices waiting, all eager to try out their latest pranks and teacher-torturing antics on me. Lorlen is nothing, I expect to hear you've made considerable progress when we meet tonight."

  Rothen chuckled. "Be reasonable to them, and they'll be reasonable to you, Dannyl."

  As his friend turned away, Dannyl uttered a short, humorless laugh. Somewhere above them, a striker rang the University gong. Sighing, Dannyl straightened his shoulders and entered the classroom.

  Leaning on the window sill, Sonea watched the last of the magicians and novices hurry out of sight. Not all had responded to the University gong, however. Two distant figures remained standing at the other side of the gardens.

  One was a woman in green robes with a black sash—the Head of Healers. So women did have some influence in the Guild, she mused.

  The other was a male dressed in blue robes. Thinking back to Rothen's explanation of the robe colors, she could not recall him mentioning blue. The color was uncommon, so perhaps he, too, was a magician of influence.

  Rothen had explained how the magicians in high positions were selected by a vote among Guild members. This method of choosing leaders by the agreement of the majority was intriguing. She had expected that the strongest magicians would rule the others.

  According to Rothen, the rest of the magicians spent their time teaching, experimenting, or working on public projects. This included work that ranged from the impressive to the ridiculous. She had been surprised to learn that the magicians had built the Marina, and amused to hear how one magician had spent much of his life trying to make stronger and stronger glues.

  Drumming her fingers, she looked around the room again. In the last week she had found opportunities to examine everything, even the room Rothen slept in. A careful search of all cupboards, chests, and drawers had revealed clothes and everyday items. The few locks she had encountered succumbed easily to her picking skills, but old documents had been her only reward.

  Catching a movement at the edge of her vision, she turned back to the window. The two magicians had parted, and the blue-robed man was now walking along the edge of the garden toward the two-story residence of the High Lord.

  Remembering the night she had peeked into that building, she shivered. Rothen had mentioned nothing of assassin magicians, but that was hardly surprising. He was trying to convince her that the Guild was friendly and useful. If the black-robed magician wasn't an assassin, then what else could he be?

  A memory of a man in bloodstained clothes flashed into her mind.

  "It is done," the man had said. "Did you bring my robes?"

  She jumped as the main door clicked open behind her. Turning, she let out a breath as Rothen strode into the room in a swirl of purple robes.

  "Sorry I took so long."

  He was a magician, and yet he was apologizing to her. Amused, she shrugged in reply.

  "I've brought some books from the library." He straightened and regarded her earnestly. "But I thought we might start working on some mind exercises. What do you think?"

  "Mind exercises?" She frowned, then felt herself go cold as she realized what he was suggesting. Did he think she trusted him after only a week?

  Do I?

  He was watching her closely. "We probably won't start Control lessons," he told her. "But you should gain a familiarity with mental communication in preparation for the lessons."

  Thinking about the past week, she considered what she had learned of him.

  He had spent most of the time teaching her to read. At first she had been suspicious, and had expected to find something in the content of the books that he might use as a lure or bribe. She had been almost disappointed to find herself reading simple adventure stories, with little reference to magic at all.

  Unlike Serin, who had been anxious to avoid angering her, Rothen did not hesitate to correct her when she made a mistake. He could be quite stern, but she had found, to her surprise, that he was not at all frightening. She had even caught herself wanting to tease him a little when he was being so serious.

  When he was not teaching her, he tried to chat. She knew she wasn't making this easy for him when there were so many subjects she refused to discuss. Though he was always willing to answer her questions, he hadn't tried to trick or force her into revealing anything about herself in return.

  Would mental communication be like this? Would she still be able to hide parts of herself?

  The only way to find out is to try it, she told herself. Swallowing, she nodded quickly. "How do we start?"

  He gave her a searching look. "If you don't want to, we can wait a few more days."

  "No." She shook her head. "Now is fine."

  He nodded, then gestured to the chairs. "Sit down. Make sure you're comfortable."

  She lowered herself into a chair, then watched as he pushed the low table aside and moved a chair forward to face hers. He would be sitting close, she noted with dismay.

  "I'm going to tell you to close your eyes," he said. "Then I'm going to take your hands. While it's not necessary for us to touch when we speak to each other, it helps to focus the mind. Are you ready?"

  She nodded.

  "Close your eyes," he instructed, "and relax. Breathe deeply and slowly. Listen to the sound of your breathing."

  She did as he said. For a long time he was silent. After a while, she realized that the rhythm of their breathing was the same, and she wondered if he had changed his breath to follow hers.

  "Imagine that, with every breath, a part of you relaxes. Your toes first, then feet, then ankles. Calves, knees, upper legs. Rest your fingers, hands, wrists, arms, your back. Let your shoulders drop. Let your head hang forward a little."

  Though she felt his instructions were a little peculiar, she did as he said. As she felt the tension leave her limbs, she grew aware of a fluttering in her stomach.

  "Now I'm going to take your hands," he told her.

  The hands that enclosed hers seemed much larger. She resisted the urge to open her eyes to check.

  "Listen. Think about what you can hear."

  Sonea was suddenly aware that she was surrounded by constant small noises. Each noise leapt out at her a
nd demanded to be identified: the sound of footsteps outside, the distant voices of magicians and servants coming from both inside and outside the building . . .

  "Now let the sounds outside the room fade away. Instead, concentrate on the sounds within this room."

  It was quieter inside. The only sound was their breathing, now at different rhythms.

  "Let those sounds fade away, too. Now listen to the sounds within your own body. The slow pounding of your heart. .."

  She frowned. Aside from her breathing, she could hear no sounds in her body.

  "... The rush of blood circulating through your body."

  Though she was concentrating hard, she could not hear ...

  "... The sound of your stomach .. ."

  ... or could she? There was something . ..

  "... The vibration within your ears . . ."

  Then she realized that the noises he described were not heard so much as felt.

  ". .. and now listen to the sound of your thoughts."

  For a moment Sonea was puzzled by his instruction, then she sensed a presence at the edge of her mind.

  —Hello, Sonea.

  —Rothen?

  —That's right.

  The presence grew more tangible. The personality she could sense was surprisingly familiar. It was like recognizing a voice, a voice so individual that it could never be confused with another.

  —So this is mind communication, she mused.

  —Yes. Using it, we can speak to each other from great distances.

  She realized that she was not hearing words, but sensing the meaning of thoughts that he had projected toward her. They flashed into her mind, and were understood so quickly and completely that she knew with certainty exactly what he wanted her to know.

  —It's so much faster than talking!

  —Yes, and there's less chance of a misunderstanding.

  —Could I talk like this to my aunt? I could let her know I'm still alive.

  —Yes and no. Only magicians can communicate mind to mind without physical contact. You could speak to your aunt, but you'd need to be touching her. There is no reason why you can't send your aunt an ordinary message, however...

  Which would reveal their location, she realized. Sonea felt her enthusiasm for mind communication waver. She must be careful.

  —So . . . do magicians talk like this all the time?

  —Not often.

  —Why not?

  —There are limitations to this form of communication. You sense the emotions behind the thoughts others send you. It's easy to detect when someone is lying, for example.

  —That is a bad thing?

  —Not in itself, but imagine if you had noticed that your friend was going bald. He would sense your amusement behind your thoughts and, while not knowing what you found so funny, he would know it was at his expense. Now imagine it was not your forgiving friend, but somebody you respected and wanted to impress.

  —I see what you mean.

  —Good. Now for the next part of your lesson, I want you to imagine your mind is a room— a space with walls, a floor and a ceiling.

  At once she found herself standing in the center of a room. There was something familiar about it, though she could not remember seeing one like it before. It was empty, and had no doors or windows and the walls were bare wood.

  —What do you see?

  —The walls are wooden, and it's empty, she replied.

  —Ah, I see it. This room is the conscious part of your mind.

  —So . . . you can see into my mind?

  —No, you just projected an image at me. Look, I'll send it back.

  An image of the room flashed through her mind. It was indistinct and hazy, the details no longer visible.

  —It's. .. different, and kind of fuzzy, she told him.

  —That is because a little time had passed, and my memory of it had faded. The difference you sense is from my mind filling in details that were missing from my memory, such as color and texture. Now, your room needs a door.

  At once a door blinked into existence before her.

  —Go to the door. Do you remember what your power looked like?

  —Yes, a glowing ball of light.

  —That is a common way to visualize it. I want you to think of how it looked both when it was strong and dangerous, and after it had faded. Can you remember?

  —Yes...

  —Now open the door.

  As the door swung open she found herself standing on the threshold of darkness. A white sphere hung before her, glowing brightly. It was impossible to judge how far away it was. One moment it seemed to hover just beyond arm's reach, the next she was sure it was a colossal size, and hung an inconceivable distance away.

  —How big is it compared to what you remember?

  —Not as big as it was when it was dangerous. She sent him an image of it.

  —Good. It is growing faster than I expected, but we have some time before your magic begins to surface unasked for. Close the door and return to the room.

  The door closed and vanished, and she found that she was standing in the center of the room again.

  —I want you to imagine another door. This time it's the door to the outside, so make it larger.

  Double doors appeared in her room, and she recognized them as the main doors of the stayhouse she had been living in before the Purge.

  —When you open the doors, you'll see a house. It should look something like this.

  An image of a white house, not unlike the large merchant homes in the West Quarter, flashed through her mind. As she pushed open the double doors in her mind, she found herself facing the building. Between her room and this house was a narrow street.

  —Cross to the building.

  The house had a single red door. The scene shifted and she found herself standing in front of it. As she touched the handle, it swung inward and she stepped into a large white room.

  Paintings hung from the walls and cushioned chairs were arranged neatly in the room's corners. It reminded her a little of Rothen's guestroom, but grander. The sense of his personality was strong, like a powerful perfume or the warmth of sunlight.

  —Welcome, Sonea. You are in what you might call the first room of my mind. I can show you images here. Look at the paintings.

  She approached the closest picture. In it she saw herself in magicians' robes, talking earnestly with other magicians. Disturbed, she backed away.

  —Wait, Sonea. Consider the next painting.

  Reluctantly, she moved along the wall. The next picture showed her in green robes, healing a man with an injured leg. She turned away quickly.

  —Why does this future repel you?

  —It is not who I am.

  —But it could be, Sonea. Do you see now that I have told you the truth?

  Looking back at the paintings, she suddenly understood that he was speaking the truth. He could not he to her here. He was showing her real possibilities. The Guild truly wanted her to join them ...

  Then she found a black door that she had not seen before. As she looked at it, she knew that it was locked and she felt her suspicions return. He might not be able to lie, but perhaps he could conceal some truths.

  —You are hiding things from me! she accused.

  —Yes, he told her. We all have the ability to hide those parts, of ourselves we wish to keep private. Otherwise, none of us would ever permit another into our minds. I will teach you to do this, for your need for privacy is stronger than most. Watch, and I will give you a glimpse of what is behind that door.

  The door swung inward. Through it Sonea saw a woman lying on a bed, her face deathly pale. A feeling of intense grief spilled out. Without warning, the door slammed shut again.

  —My wife.

  —She died...?

  —Yes. Do you understand, now, why I hide that part of me?

  —Yes. I am . . . sorry.

  —It was a long time ago, and I understand that you must see that I speak the truth.r />
  Sonea turned from the black door. A gust of perfumed air had entered the room, a mix of flowers and something crisp and unpleasant. The paintings of her in robes had swelled to fill the walls, but the colors were muted.

  —We have achieved much. Shall we return to your mind?

  At once the room began to slide under her feet, propelling her to the red door. Stepping outside, she looked up. The face of her house rose before her. It was a plain wooden building, a bit worn, but still sturdy—typical of the better areas of the slums. Crossing the road, she re-entered the first room of her mind. The doors swung shut behind her.

  —Now turn back and look outside.

  As she pushed the doors open again she was surprised to find Rothen standing in front of her. He looked a little younger, and perhaps shorter, too.

  "Are you going to invite me in?" he asked, smiling.

  Stepping back, she gestured for him to enter. As he stepped over the threshold, the sense of his presence filled the room. He looked around, and she suddenly realized that it was no longer empty.

  She felt a flush of guilt as she saw that, on a table nearby, was a box. It was one that she had broken into. The lid hung open and the documents inside were clearly visible.

  Then she saw that Cery was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding three familiar books.

  And in another corner stood Jonna and Ranel. . .

  "Sonea."

  She turned to find that Rothen had placed his hands over his eyes.

  "Put anything you don't want me to see behind doors."

  Glancing around the room, she concentrated on pushing everything away. They slid backward through the walls and disappeared.

  —Sonea?

  Turning around, she realized that Rothen had disappeared.

  —Did I push you out too?

  —Yes. Let's try that again.

  Once more she opened the door and backed away to allow Rothen into the room. Catching a movement in the corner of her eye, she looked away, but whatever she had seen sank back into the walls. Turning back, she discovered that a new room had appeared beyond the door. A door stood open on the far side of this room and Rothen now stood in the doorway.

  He stepped through the door and everything shifted. There were two rooms between them, then three.