C. Brittain - The Witch, the Cathedral

I shook my head. “I appreciate the offer, but I really can’t. I’ve been away from Yurt much too much this year anyway. Paul’s just become king, and he needs his Royal Wizard with him as he adjusts to his new responsibilities.”

“Maybe you don’t understand what we’re saying,” said Zahlfast. “We’re not asking you to stay at the school for a series of lectures. We’re asking you to join the permanent faculty.”

This was certainly not what I expected. I looked from one to the other, my mouth doubtless gaping. “But-” Out of several things I might have said I chose, “But I thought the two of you were going to punish me for being implicated in the death of another wizard.”

Zahlfast started to chuckle. “So you told us the whole story, expecting at any moment that we would accuse you of being a traitor to organized wizardry?”

“And you’re not going to?” I said cautiously.

“Haven’t you been listening?” asked the Master, the twinkle in his frost-blue eyes pronounced. “The school certainly doesn’t want its graduates killing each other, but the first oath you all take is to serve humanity. Very few wizards are ever asked to join the permanent faculty. We very much want you.”

I had again the feeling that I had irretrievably lost my way, but now it was worse. Not only had I become lost wandering in a wood, but the forest floor itself had been whipped out from under me. “But I had just been talking to the queen about my position,” I said. This point at least was firm. “She and King Paul very much want me to continue as Royal Wizard of Yurt.”

Zahlfast waved away this objection with a hand.

“I have to warn you,” I went on, “I’m as interested in establishing cordial relations with the bishop of the twin kingdoms of Yurt and Caelrhon as he is with wizardry.”

“That is in fact part of it,” said Zahlfast. “Maybe we’ve been too dismissive in the past. Even though religion is inferior to magic, priests are still part of the humanity we serve. I can’t abide the bishop of the City myself, but he won’t be bishop there indefinitely. We’ll be in the City far longer than he is, and when his successor takes over it might be a good time to start establishing better relations. You’d be the perfect person to do it.”

“So, what do you say, Daimbert?” said the Master cheerfully. “We want you to join us permanently at the school, not because you’re good at certain spells, but because you’re a good wizard. You’re not like most wizards, but more and more we’ve come to realize that that can be an advantage. We’ll even let you have a hand in choosing an appropriate young wizard to succeed you in Yurt. Will you do it?”

“No.”

Not an explanation, not an excuse, just a straight negative. The monosyllable hung in the air, out before I even had a chance to consider. But I had no intention of calling it back.

Zahlfast looked both startled and disturbed. “Maybe we haven’t explained it clearly enough.”

“You’ve made yourself very clear,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be a good teacher.” This wasn’t the only reason, but it would do for a start. “If I were going to train young wizards, I’d have to know five times the magic I do. The only way I got through the lectures this spring was by emphasizing ways of thinking rather than content. Even after close to twenty years past my own graduation, there are probably major areas where the average new graduate knows more than I do-and I don’t just mean in the technical division.”

Zahlfast looked at me thoughtfully. “Encyclopedic knowledge of spells isn’t what makes someone a good teacher of magic. If that was all that was required, we wouldn’t even bother teaching-we’d just make the students memorize Thaumaturgy A to Z. It’s only the bad teachers who think they know everything. Every good teacher has stood in front of a class one time or another and felt like a fraud trying to explain something.”

This did not at all accord with my memories of the enormously knowledgeable teachers at the school. It slowly sank in that I really was being asked, and by people who recognized a major proportion of my shortcomings, to come back and be their colleague.

“We can start you off easily,” said the Master, “just give you classes where you feel comfortable already. You will, after all, be the most junior wizard on the faculty by a considerable margin, and we don’t want to overburden you. What do you say?”

“It’s still no.”

I wondered if I had looked as distressed to Theodora when she kept refusing my proposals as the two older wizards now did. “I recognize the honor,” I said. “In fact, I’m almost overwhelmed by the honor. And I recognize that every wizard has a duty to institutionalized wizardry to serve it as best he can. But I can’t leave Yurt.”

“Why not?”

“I love the people there.”

They looked at each other as though hoping the other would understand. “Maybe there’s something you haven’t thought about,” said Zahlfast slowly. “Wizards live far longer than ordinary humans. If you become too close to the people there, you’ll just be hurt when you have to leave them behind.”

“Fine,” I said. “Invite me to the school in fifty years.” In fifty years, Joachim and the queen would be dead, and Theodora and Paul, assuming they were still alive, would be happily watching their grandchildren grow up and would no longer need me. In Theodora’s case, I reminded myself, they would also be my grandchildren. I had a sudden doubt whether fifty years would be long enough.

Zahlfast thought the same thing. “If you decide to stay in Yurt became of the people, Daimbert, you do have to realize that new people are going to appear, and they may engage your affections as well. Now you say you want to stay in part because of your king-King Paul, isn’t that right? — and yet I don’t think he was even born when you first went to Yurt.”

“We’re asking you,” said the Master slowly, “because we think you have unique abilities that ought to be put to the use of wider wizardry.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t work. You’re hoping that I’d be able to open communications with the bishop of the City. But I have no inherent ability to make priests give up their suspicions of wizards. All I have is my friendship with Joachim, the new bishop of Caelrhon. If the church and wizardry are going to start working together, you’ll have to start with him and me, not with the bishop of the City and a representative of the school.”

I could have added that the reason I had, even if highly reluctantly, let Theodora refuse to marry me was because she thought I would be more happy and comfortable as royal wizard of Yurt. I had not given up life with her and our daughter to go live in the City.

“You sound quite definite,” said the Master.

“I am quite definite. You seem to think I’d be good for the school because I’m different from most wizards. Maybe I’m also different in that I don’t consider a post here the most desirable thing in the world.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t what we expected,” said the Master.

“That’s all right,” I said, forcing a smile. “It wasn’t what I expected either.”

“You seem fairly firm about this,” said Zahlfast, “but give it some thought. It will be fine if you want to change your mind.”

“I will indeed give it some thought,” I answered. This was an understatement. “Don’t forget to ask me again in fifty years.”

“Then let me ask you something else in the meantime,” said the Master. “Is there something we could do for you or give you? You may not appreciate this properly, but you did save the school from tremendous peril by your warning.”