L. Modesitt - Imager

“At least you have no grandiose delusions about your ability.” Master Dichartyn laughed again, not totally unkindly, I thought. “It’s very good that you did. Before long, you would find yourself imaging in ways that could be most destructive. Perhaps you already have and do not even know it. Sooner or later, that imaging would have been noticed by others.”

“Not know it, sir?” I had an idea of what he meant, but I wasn’t about to say so.

He smiled, knowingly. “You know more than you reveal, Rhenn, but I will explain, because you don’t know as much as you think.”

I accepted the rebuke silently.

“All people have daydreams, or dreams or nightmares, or wishes. We wish that things would appear or disappear, but what happens if the person who wishes that is an imager?”

The lit lamp! I swallowed.

“Did that recall something, Rhenn?”

“Ah, yes, sir. Sometime after the first time I imaged the oils, I had a dream, and I dreamed that it was so dark that I could see nothing, and I wanted light. The lamp on the chest woke me, because it was lit, and I thought I’d wicked it off. I never believed that I’d imaged the light. I’d just thought I’d been so tired . . .”

“You are very fortunate you came here before any of the imaging you did came to light.” Master Dichartyn’s voice was stern. “You have quarters to yourself. Do you know why?”

“No, sir.”

“Every set of quarters in the Collegium is not only stone-walled but has a layer of very thin lead plate between the two courses of stone and under the floor tiles. The windows are all glazed with leaded glass, and those windows which open are designed with louvers so that there is no direct passage of air-or thought-in and out. Do you think that the Collegium went to that expense merely for your comfort?”

“No, sir.” I had a very uncomfortable feeling about where his words were leading.

“No imager ever sleeps with another person, even his wife, and I mean sleep, not lovemaking. The Collegium is here not only to educate and improve imagers, but to protect others from those very same imagers. Yes, we have privileges, and those who become masters can live quite comfortably, and those who do marry can live in pleasant dwellings on the north end of the isle, but never think that we do not pay a high price for those abilities and services that we provide. Imagers who must travel are accompanied by obdurates, and, if they cannot sleep within iron or lead, must take strong drugs of the type that do not permit dreaming when they sleep. Those who serve in the Navy have lead-lined cabins, very small cabins, because lead is heavy, and weight is critical on many vessels. Those who marry and live here have special separate sleeping chambers in their dwellings, and must indeed live here unless they have the wealth to build similar quarters elsewhere in L’Excelsis. You can never spend an entire night with a woman you love, or any lover, for that matter, not unless you remain totally awake, and when you are tired, even that could present a danger to her, especially if she has malleable tendencies.”

Master Dichartyn paused, letting me take in his words.

“One of the reasons for the initial restriction to Imagisle is so that you come to understand what damage even the least able of imagers can inflict upon others. A second reason is that you need to understand that we are so few that we could be wiped out to the last person. Yes, some of us do have the ability to kill or change others, and you are one of those who already possess that ability, whether you know it or not. But while we are individually powerful, for the most part, no one of us could face even a moderately large group of armed men and survive. We therefore do our best to show the Council our goodwill, our self-discipline, and our indispensability to Solidar. No imager can be allowed to jeopardize the others. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” It was more than clear; it was frightening. I wanted to ask about the imager who had lived in my quarters before me, but decided it would be best to wait on that.

“Good.” The smile returned. “I’m going over to the laboratories this morning. I’d like you to accompany me. Then, this afternoon, I will give you a short talk on the introductory aspects of chemistry, and you will begin to read that volume. Tonight, after dinner, you are to read the first section of the book on the government and history of Solidar. You will find it is not like any history book you have read before, and I will be asking you questions about what you have read in both volumes when we meet tomorrow morning.” He bounded out of his chair. “Now . . . let us go to the laboratories. . . .”

Already, I was beginning to wonder about the two sides to Master Dichartyn’s being-the stern and the cheerful. He seemed to switch from one to the other both quickly and comfortably, but the change was more than a little disconcerting to me.

On Meredi morning, right after breakfast, I picked up a newsheet and checked my letter box, not expecting to see anything, and found an envelope there. I recognized my mother’s handwriting. I opened it quickly and began to read.

Dear Rhennthyl,

Your father and I were most relieved to know that you are safe at Imagisle. While your father had hoped that you would see your way to following his example in the wool trade, he accepts the fact that you must follow your own destiny. We both wish you the best in becoming an accomplished imager. In the note that Master Dichartyn sent accompanying your letter, he said that you had great promise. He also said it could be several months before your initial training would allow you to leave Imagisle, but that, beginning in Avryl, you could have visitors on Solayi. I look forward to that.

I swallowed as I finished the note. The way I read it, Mother was relieved for me, and, since I wouldn’t be a wool factor, Father was glad to get me out of his hair.

At the thought that Master Dichartyn had sent his own note, I gathered the three books- Natural Science, History and Politics of Solidar , and Imagers’Manual -under my arm and hurried down the walk of the quadrangle toward Master Dichartyn’s study through a blustery wind, barely arriving before the seventh glass began to ring out from the tower of the Anomen D’Imagisle, located at the south end of Imagisle.

As on Mardi morning, I had to wait, but I immediately began to read more in the Manual, the part dealing with the responsibilities of an individual imager. I’d only read another page when Master Dichartyn opened the door and motioned me into his study and into the chair across from his writing desk. He remained standing.

“You’ve read the second section of the Manual, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t quite finished it, sir.”

That got a slight nod, but whether it was of acknowledgment or disapproval I couldn’t tell. “What is the first responsibility of an imager?”

“To follow the Imagers’ Code under all circumstances.”

“What does it mean by ‘all,’ Rhennthyl?”

The manual hadn’t gotten into definitions. “At all times and places, sir?”

“What if you can’t?”

“It’s a responsibility, sir.”

“You aren’t answering the question.” His voice remained patient.

“I’m only guessing, sir, because the Manual doesn’t say, but I would think that it means whenever and wherever it is physically and mentally possible.”

“A definition such as yours stands at the edge of a very deep precipice.”

“Yes, sir. People like to say that they can’t do something because they’re too tired or that they can’t think clearly. I don’t think the Code accepts those kinds of excuses. I was thinking more about broken bones or mortal injuries.”