David Farland - Wizardborn

“What did you do?” Averan asked.

“The land is sorely cursed,” Binnesman said, “with plagues and sickness, rot and despair. It needed a blessing.”

“Did you fail?”

“Fail? Not at all!” Binnesman said. “Some magic works slowly. The effects of this spell may not be fully seen for a century or more.”

He patted her head.

“Binnesman,” Averan said. “Can your wylde dream?”

The wizard frowned. “Dream? No, I think not. Perhaps she’ll dream of feeding, or of hunting. But nothing more.”

“Oh,” Averan said, disappointed.

“You mustn’t think of her as a person.”

“I was hoping we could be friends.”

“That...would be dangerous.”

“You mean she’d hurt me?”

“No,” the wizard said. “Not on purpose. But she’s not human. She’ll protect you, but she has no emotions—Oh, look what you’ve done. You’ve got me calling ‘it’ a ‘she.’ The wylde could have taken any form. It could have looked like a walking tree, or taken the shape of a snake.

But I was called to protect mankind, and so I guess it is only fitting that my wylde take the shape of a human.”

“So she can’t feel anything?” Averan asked.

“Pain, hunger,” Binnesman said. “Perhaps some other simple things. But the creature will never be your friend. It’s like a salmon, swimming upriver. It will serve its purpose—if we are lucky—and then it will expire. You must get used to that notion. She won’t be having you over for tea.”

“Oh,” Averan said. She didn’t tell him that she thought that Spring was being cheated, that it wasn’t fair.

They mounted their horses, joined Gaborn’s retinue, and soon were off.

“No more spells today,” Binnesman said as they rode. “I’ll talk instead. The path to wizardry,” he offered in a lecturing tone, “is a path to Power. But it is not an easy path. Do you truly wish to walk it?”

Averan asked, “How should I know?”

“Spoken without guile,” Binnesman said. “I should have expected as much from a silly child.” He thought for a moment. Averan could tell that he’d never really considered how to teach this subject. “Let me put it another way: your path, I suspect, will be hard, full of perils. Will you undertake the journey?”

“Are you talking about the Underworld?” Averan asked. “Do you want me to go with you and Gaborn?” Averan didn’t want to go there, to that darkest of dark places.

“Perhaps,” Binnesman said. “My wylde will need to feed, and that’s where her food is.”

“I know,” Averan replied. “I can feel the hunger for blood too. I was full last night, but I’m already craving it again. I feel...no food that I eat satisfies. I mean, I can eat meat, I can eat grass, and nothing fills me. It’s like I’m just eating air. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go on this way for very long.”

Spring was riding a gray stallion nearby, lounging in the saddle as if she’d been born on one. She heard Averan talking about food, and she said, “Blood, yes!”

Binnesman listened thoughtfully. She liked that about him. “It’s very strange that among your powers, you should hunger for reavers. You can resist the cravings, you know. You do not have to eat reavers or anything else. The Earth will not force you into service. If you resist the cravings, they will go away. But of course, you will lose the power that comes from obeying that urge.”

“Like Gaborn?”

“Like Gaborn.”

“And the cravings will never bother me again?” Averan asked. Binnesman shook his head, and his beard brushed her neck. “I...can’t say. They’ll diminish certainly, but they’ll bother you from time to time. They will bother you till the day you die, I think. You may always crave reaver blood a little, and you’ll try to imagine how it would have been to walk that path to power. And you’ll perhaps wonder what could have been. But then that is the way with life. In choosing one path, we must ignore others.”

“Brand used to say that life should be a journey, not a destination,” Averan said. “And you should take joy in the journey.”

“Hmmm...” Binnesman said, “many among the wise would agree with that, but I don’t think that we have to settle for one or the other, a journey or a destination. Life can be both.”

“So what do I have to do to be a wizard?” Averan asked.

“It’s simple, really,” Binnesman said, “though we tend to make it seem more complex than it needs to be: we gain power through service. I serve the Earth, and it serves me in return.”

“That sounds easy,” Averan said.

“Does it?” Binnesman asked. “It’s impossible for most, and extremely difficult for the those who can manage it at all. That’s why there are so few wizards of any merit. However, it may very well be easy for you. That’s why you’ve got green oak leaves appearing on your palms, and roots sprouting in your cloak, and you’re already gaining powers that others will never master.”

“But what have I done for the Earth?” Averan asked.

“I have no idea,” Binnesman said. “You took care of graaks. Could that be a service? And you tried to save my wylde as it fell from the sky.”

Averan didn’t think either of those sounded very important.

“Let me ask, have you ever seen wrongs in the Earth, and sought to make them right?”

Averan’s head bobbed up and down.

“Tell me about the first time,” Binnesman said.

“I was little—”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, maybe two or three?”

“Go on.”

“My mother had taken me down to the river to help with her washing, and I saw a bush. I don’t know what kind it is. I’ve never seen another like it, either before or since. But there were these icky fat green caterpillars all over, eating it. So I killed them.”

“All of them?”

“Every one I could find. I got most of them the first day. My mother caught me, and made me go home. But I snuck back later and got every one.”

“And how did your bush do?”

“Very well, thank you,” Averan said. “It got big, and when the red berries came out, I planted some. Now there are more like it growing all around Keep Haberd.”

“I suspect that in doing this,” Binnesman said, “you performed a great service for the Earth. Now, tell me about the reavers. What do you see when you see them?”

“I see...that same wrongness,” Averan said. “When they came boiling over the hills toward Keep Haberd, and the skies were filled with gree, and their feet made the earth thunder—it was wrong. They were out of place.”

“Did you want to kill them?” Binnesman asked.

“I knew that they’d kill Brand, and my friend Heather, and everyone else that I knew. I didn’t want to kill them really. I just wanted them to go back where they belong.”

“I think,” Binnesman said, “that that could be your destiny, if you choose it—to help drive them back. Perhaps it already is your destiny and there is no avoiding it.”

Averan felt nervous. “But I’m just a little girl.”

“With an unnatural taste for reaver brains,” Binnesman argued, “and the potential to become an Earth Warden.”

“And what does that mean, to be an Earth Warden?”

“You can become the Earth’s protector. Life will become your occupation, to protect and nurture the small and helpless things of the world.”

“Like mice and plants?” Averan asked.

“Or humans,” Binnesman said.

“I never thought of humans as being small and helpless,” Averan said.

“Children seldom see them so,” Binnesman answered. “But now that you’ve seen a reaver, you know better. There was a time, ages and ages ago, when men lived in packs, and ran about to and fro, hiding from the reavers. We lived in the forests like deer, always terrified, always huddled and shaking. Even now, terror comes easily to us, and men still know better how to flee than to fight.