Dave Smeds - The Sorcery Within

"Perhaps I am like you," Lonal said presently. "Perhaps God speaks to me, and tells me what to do. I only see the significance of the acts later. Perhaps He sent Yetem to me for this very purpose – to be my foil." He faced Toltac. "It is comforting, to have His presence, guiding my destiny. But is that all there is to it? Are we all merely players in God's game? Are we the dice, once thrown, that have no choice in how the roll is thrown? Sometimes it seems that God is on my side. But what should happen if I choose not to do what He asks of me?"

"Do not speak of apostasy," Toltac said firmly. "You have always been a devoted servant of God. Even the noblest have doubts. What is better than to fulfill your destiny? Especially one as glorious as yours seems it will be."

"Yetem is good company," Lonal interjected suddenly.

"You have been spending a great deal of time with him," Toltac noted. "In fact, there – "

"There is talk about it, I know. Be comforted – it has no basis in fact. Still, I enjoy the time I spend with him. It never fails to be…educational. I think this would be true in spite of his usefulness to me."

"Be careful of the urges of youth," Toltac said.

"I am not a boy. I can feel what I want."

Toltac pursed his lips. "Perhaps it is time you took another wife. A distraction would do you good."

"I don't need another wife."

Toltac frowned. "I wonder if you know yourself as well as you think," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Suppose the plan against Xurosh fails. Suppose that, in order to continue to pursue your ambition, you need a scapegoat, and Yetem is the only one available. Would you still want his company?"

"Are you saying I would betray him?"

Toltac shrugged. "You tell me."

"I would prefer to consider it when and if the situation arises," Lonal said sharply.

"That may be a luxury. God may test you. He chooses His own time."

Lonal stared at the oasis.

Toltac tried to sound sympathetic. He was not Ah-no-ken, who swallowed the word of God whole and regurgitated it, believing it inviolate; his sect of the ken knew that God's work took place through the hands and tongues of men and they believed it their task to shape that creation. He could note and accept that Lonal lusted for the westerner. It would be heresy to consummate it, and if Lonal were caught, Toltac would not hesitate to pass judgment upon him, but the opsib was not shocked. It was merely new evidence of the inscrutability of God.

"The Lonal that I have known would have only one choice," the opsib finished.

Alemar held the head of the viper still, the upper fangs draped over the rim of the urn, while Gast delicately milked the venom out. The snake slapped its tail angrily against the sand. Alemar never loosened his grip.

"How poisonous did you say these were?" Alemar asked.

"Compared to what?" the healer responded, calmly stroking the snake's gums with his wooden implement.

"The moonsnake."

"Oh, not nearly so potent as those," Gast assured him. "The bites of these, even from a big individual, would take hours to kill you."

"Wonderful."

"The problem with manhunters is that they are not so retiring as theiltrekal-hasha-sor. They bite many people every year. If they'd behave themselves, we wouldn't have so much work."

Gast and Alemar had spent the previous week boiling and distilling mixtures of various herbs and minerals. The apprentice had not precisely been pleased to learn that they had to acquire some of the poison in order to finish making the antivenin.

"There, that one's done," Gast announced, sitting back.

Alemar held the head of the manhunter so tightly the snake probably couldn't breathe, and walked several dozen yards from their work area to the cleft in the rocks where they had captured it and its companions. He let it go with a firm toss. The snake wriggled instantly into the hole. Alemar returned, gingerly avoiding any shady spots that might hide more of its kind.

Gast cautiously opened the netting where they kept the other manhunters, taken earlier in the day. He inserted the capture stick, with its tiny lasso at the end, and looped the cord around the neck of one of the occupants. He withdrew it, closed and reweighted the netting, and held out his prize so that Alemar could grab it just behind the head.

"Such a fine, fat one." The healer smiled.

Alemar could feel the snake's firm, defiant muscles struggle against his palm and fingers. "How many of these do we have to do?" Alemar asked.

"Why, all of them," Gast said, pointing at the dozen remaining in the netting.

"Good morning," Gast told the plant as he gently dug away the soil at its base, exposing a tuber of imposing size. Alemar watched in disbelief as the healer continued to murmur to it, an endless monologue of encouraging remarks, compliments, and good wishes, such as one might babble to an infant. Gast didn't stop until he had completely removed it from the earth and held it up proudly for Alemar to examine.

The tuber was gnarled and ugly, but the healer had assured his apprentice that, when dried and pulverized, it would form the most important ingredient of several medicines.

"Fine baby, healthy baby," Gast told it, and gestured at the upper plant, which was still attached. "We will let it dry on its own. The tuber will absorb the juices of the stalk and leaves and become more potent. It will be ready to use next month."

The Hab-no-ken kept his prize cradled carefully in his hands as they walked back to their camp. Ahead of them lizards scurried in fright from one long patch of shade to another. The day promised to be hot. "Always reassure thewhakeesh when you harvest it," Gast cautioned. "The feelings it absorbs as it dies are those that will be stored in its flesh. If you insult it, or treat it with indifference, the healing effects will be lessened. And always take it on a summer morning, when it is both refreshed from the cool of the night and ready for the challenge of the new day. By sunset it is tired."

They were in a bunker in the earth, a few minutes' walk from the oasis of Nher, in the northern regions of the territory of the Alyr, the only spot that Gast might be able to call home. Down in the cool underground air, Alemar and his teacher worked by the light of oil lamps. The shelves around them were filled with Gast's pharmacopoeia, both the drugs themselves and the scrolls that outlined their preparation. Alemar's head buzzed with information about the potions, powders, and ointments that he had helped prepare. Gast required that he memorize the major ingredients and their applications, although, thankfully, he was permitted to consult the scrolls for the exact procedures and proportions.

The Hab-no-ken held up a vial. It contained a thick, viscous oil, taken from the frogs who lived in and near the oasis. "A sip of this once a day for a few weeks, and a child with bent limbs will grow firm and straight." Gast shook his head in amazement. "People think we are magicians, but most of our art is recognizing the sorcery within these bits of nature. For every person I heal with my powers, there are thirty I cure with little more than a bit of knowledge." He waved at his library. "Most of the men who discovered these medicines had no trace of the power."

Alemar nodded patiently.

Gast looked at him understandingly. "I know you've been waiting a long time. But these are the real tools," he said, waving his hands around the room. "They are the basics. You have to know them first. Sooner or later, you'll be grateful." He tapped his chest seriously. "In the times when the feeling in here fails to stir, you will always have your lore."

The healer and his apprentice were leaving the oasis, on foot, leading pack animals. They had stayed seven weeks. Alemar was reciting formulas, oblivious to the moment. As they were crossing a sand dune, Gast stopped short. He seemed to be listening. Alemar heard nothing out of the ordinary – only the wind, the cry of a distant bird of prey, the scurrying of lizards in the brush. Eventually the healer said, "Sit here. There is something you must do."