Steven Brust - Athyra

“The other day, you started to ask me about witchcraft.”

“Well, yes,” said Savn. “Why—”

“How would you like to learn?”

“Learn? You mean, how to, uh-—”

“We call it casting spells, just like sorcerers do. Are you interested?”

“I’d never thought about it before.”

“Well, think about it.”

“Why would you want to teach me?”

“There are reasons.”

“I don’t know.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised at your hesitation. It would be useful to me if someone knew certain spells. It doesn’t have to be you; I just thought you’d want to. I could find someone else. Perhaps one of those young men—”

“All right.”

Vlad didn’t smile; he just nodded slightly and said, “Good.”

“When should we begin?”

“Now would be fine,” said the Easterner, and rose to his feet. “Come with me.”

She flew above and ahead of her mate, in long, wide, overlapping circles just below the overcast. He was content to follow, because her eyesight was keener.

In fact, she knew exactly what she was looking for, and could have gone directly there, but it was a fine, warm day for this late in the year, and she was in no hurry to carry out the Provider’s wishes. There was time for that; there had been no sense of urgency in the dim echo she had picked up, so why not enjoy the day?

Above her, a lazy falcon broke through the overcast, saw her, and haughtily ignored her. She didn’t mind; they had nothing to argue about until the falcon made a strike; then they could play the old game of You’re-quicker-going-down-but-I’m-faster-going-up. She’d played that game several times, and usually won. She had lost once to a cagey old goshawk, and she still carried the scar above her right wing, but it no longer bothered her.

She came into sight of a large structure of man, and her mate, who saw it at the same time, joined her, and they circled it once together. She thought that, in perhaps a few days, she’d be ready to mate again, but it was so hard to find a nest while traveling all the time.

Her mate sent her messages of impatience. She gave the psychic equivalent of a sigh and circled down to attend to business.

I will not marry a magic seer,

I will not marry a magic seer.

know how to keep me here.

Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

Step on out ...

Savn had thought they would be going into Vlad’s room, but instead the Easterner led them out onto the street. There was still some light, but it was gradually fading, the overcast becoming more red than orange, and accenting the scarlet highlights on the bricks of Shoe’s old house across the way. There were a few people walking past, but they seemed intent on business of their own; the excitement of a few short hours before had evaporated like a puddle of water on a dry day. And those who were out seemed, as far as Savn could tell, intent on ignoring the Easterner.

Savn wondered why he wasn’t more excited about the idea of learning Eastern magic, and came to the conclusion that it was because he didn’t really believe it would happen. Well, then, he asked himself, why not? Because, came the answer, I don’t know this Easterner, and I don’t understand why he would wish to teach me’ anything.

“Where are we going?” he said aloud.

“To a place of power.”

“What’s that?”

“A location where it is easier to stand outside and inside of yourself and the other.”

Savn tried to figure out which question to ask first. At last he said, “The other?”

“The person or thing you wish to change. Witchcraft—magic—is a way of changing things. To change you must understand, and the best way to understand is to attempt change.”

“I don’t—”

“The illusion of understanding is a product of distance and perspective. True understanding requires involvement.”

“Oh,” said Savn, putting it away for a later time to either think about or not.

They were walking slowly toward the few remaining buildings on the west side of the village; Savn consciously held back the urge to run. Now they were entirely alone, save for voices from the livery stable, where Feeder was saying, “So I told him I’d never seen a kethna with a wooden leg, and how did it happen that ...” Savn wondered who he was talking to. Soon they were walking along the Manor Road west of town. Savn said, “What makes a place of power?”

“Any number of things. Sometimes it has to do with the terrain, sometimes with things that have happened there or people who have lived there; sometimes you don’t know why it is, you just feel it.”

“So we’re going to keep walking until you feel it?” Savn discovered that he didn’t really like the idea of walking all night until they came to a place that “felt right” to the Easterner.

“Unless you know a place that is likely to be a place of power.”

“How would I know that?”

“Do you know of any place where people were sacrificed?”

Savn shuddered. “No, there isn’t anything like that.”

“Good. I’m not certain we want to face that in any event. Well, is there any powerful sorcerer who lives nearby?”

“No. Well, you said that Lord Smallcliff is.”

“Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I? But it would be difficult to reach the place where he works, which I assume to be on the other side of the river, at his keep.”

“Not at his manor?”

“Probably not. Of course, that’s only a guess; but we can hardly go to his manor either, can we?”

“I guess not. But someplace he worked would be a place of power?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Well, but what about the water he used?”

“The water? Oh, yes, the Dark Water. What about it?”

“Well, if he found water in the caves—”

“The caves? Of course, the caves! Where are they?”

“Not far. It’s about half a league to Bigcliff, and then halfway down the slip and along the path.”

“Can you find it in this light?”

“Of course.”

“Then lead the way.”

Savn at once abandoned the road in order to cut directly toward the hills above Bigcliff, finding his way by memory and feel in the growing darkness. “Be careful along here,” he said as they negotiated the slip that cut through the hill. “The gravel is loose, and if you fall you can hurt yourself.”

“Yes.”

They came to the narrow but level path toward the caves, and the going became easier. Savn said, “Remember when you told me about how you encourage bandits to attack you?”

“Yes.”

“Were you, uh, were you jesting with me?”

“Not entirely,” said Vlad. “In point of fact, I’ve only done that once or twice, so I suppose I was exaggerating a bit.”

“Oh.”

“What makes you ask?”

“I was just wondering if that was why you carry a sword.”

“I carry a sword in case someone tries to hurt me.”

“Yes, but I mean, was that the idea? Is that why you do it, so these bandits—”

“No, I carried it long before that.”

“But then why—”

“As I said, in case someone tries to hurt me.”

“Did that ever happen? I mean, before?”

“Someone trying to hurt me? Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“Sometimes I fought. Sometimes I ran.”

“Have you ever ... I mean—”

“I’m still alive; that ought to tell you something.”

“Oh. Is that how—I mean, your hand ...”

Vlad glanced down at his left hand, as if he’d forgotten he had one. “Oh, yes. If someone is swinging a sword at you, and you are unarmed, it is possible to deflect the blade with your hand by keeping your palm exactly parallel with the flat of the blade. Your timing has to be perfect. Also, you ought to remember to keep your pinkie out of the way.”