Salamander (5 page)

She interrupted. "The people you pull in; must they give their consent to lend you their magery?"

"How could they? We are not talking about a group of four or five mages but about hundreds or thousands or tens of thousands of people, most not mages, and the mages among them would be mostly half-trained. Not one mage in ten is a graduate of the College. How could I ask all of them, and, if I could, how could they understand what I was asking them to do?"

"I thank you for the offer, Magister Coelus. If you wish to instruct me in theory, I will be happy to learn. But I will not aid you to take what is not freely given."

"You will not … ."

"I will not help you to take from mages their power, or from common people the magery that aids them in growing their crops, hunting their game, without their consent, whatever purpose you propose to use it for."

He looked at the girl in astonishment, felt for words to explain. "You don't understand. There is so much to be done, so little power to do it with. A river floods.
With enough magery in the hands of a water mage with proper skills, we could divert the water to where it would be harmless. A plague kills hundreds, mothers and fathers"—his voice faltered—"leaving behind orphaned children. Enough power in the hands of a healer could see the plague when it first struck, cure everyone before the sickness spread farther. So much to do, and we are so weak.

"You are young, sheltered. If you had seen … . I cannot make you aid me. But consider the needless deaths and misery that might happen if you do not."

She shook her head. "My mother is a healer; I have seen sickness enough. Men with gaping wounds that she has closed. When you have seized her power to shift a flood, on whose hands will be the blood of those she cannot heal?"

There was a long silence. Ellen nodded to Magister Coelus, turned, left the room.

* * *

"She won't help."

Maridon looked up from his desk. "Come in, sit down, tell me about it. Was she
afraid she might get hurt if something went wrong?" Coelus sat down, shook his head slowly.

"That wasn't it. She thought what we wanted to do was wrong."

Maridon looked puzzled. "How can it be wrong to gather the power needed to make the world a better place?"

"She was unhappy over using power without the mages' consent, even though I explained why we couldn't possibly ask everyone. She ..."

Maridon cut in before Coelus could finish. "Some youngsters are like that, especially
girls. They worry too much about following rules, not enough about what it takes in the real world to get anything done. High and noble principles sound very well, but they do not count much in the balance against what we can accomplish once we have the Cascade working.

"It is something we will have to watch out for; youngsters are not the only ones who miss the bigger picture. I would not be in the least surprised if Dag reacted the same way; you know what an icicle he is about keeping to the bounds. Good thing he is off looking for more talent.

"In fact, it might be better if you leave out the Cascade when talking to the others. Just describe what we want to do as a pooling of four mages to span all of magery and make possible all combinations. That is impressive enough to get their attention, but not enough to start the more rigid of our colleagues nattering at us."

Coelus still looked worried. "You don't think she's right? She is worried about what might go wrong while we were draining off mages' power into the Cascade."

"So they stop killing off bedbugs for rich innkeepers, or healing sick cattle. You know as well as I do that most mages outside the College aren’t doing anything that really matters—not to mention those inside. With this pooled power, we can do things that do matter. There is always something that could go wrong in whatever you do. Every hunter knows his arrow might miss the deer and hit a man who happens to be on the far side. That doesn’t stop him from hunting. Healing someone today may mean he might kill someone else tomorrow. That’s no reason not to heal people.

"Your Cascade is the biggest breakthrough in generations. It will make you famous and make it possible to do things no mage could ever do before."

Maridon paused a moment, then continued speaking. "Is the girl a gossip? Will she be telling everyone in the college about your project and how wicked it is? If so …"

Coelus thought a moment. "She doesn't talk much with the others and veils her power all the time. As far as I know you and I are the only ones who see her as anything more than ordinary. Hal didn't at the interview. Considering what I went through as a student, I can see why she keeps her head down. At least she won't have half the class looking for ways to make her life miserable."

"Would it help if you spoke to her, just to make sure, told her it would be breaking a confidence to babble about your work? Suggest that you will be happy to teach her, but only if her confidentiality can be trusted? It is not every student who has the chance of personal lessons from a mage of your ability."

Coelus looked doubtful. "Let me think about it."

"You think. I will listen for rumors, and consider what to do if need be. Both of us can think about where to find two more mages for the real experiment, once you finish the preliminary series. But this time, before you ask anyone else, talk to me first."

"I will. I suppose I should have earlier. But she was the obvious choice, once I thought of it, and it never occurred to me that she might object."

* * *

As the notes of the evening bell died away, Ellen looked around the small orchard, then down at the message in her hand. Coelus wanted to speak with her again. The orchard had a pleasant smell to it that she did not remember from earlier visits, green mixed with the rich odor of the earth. It was getting late; another hour or two and she would be in bed. Already she felt sleepy, sleepy enough to lie down on the grass by one of the trees, nestle her head on the warm earth, and close her eyes.

A searing pain on her right hand woke her, as if someone had blown a flame across it. She opened her eyes and tried to lift her hand to look at it. It was almost dark. Something, cold and strong, was holding her arm, keeping it from moving. Her body, lying flat when she fell asleep, was now almost vertical.

She bent her head, looked down, and saw grass just below her chin. Somehow she had sunk into the earth. Her head, neck, right hand and part of the arm were still above ground and she could move her toes, but not her legs. She felt herself being sucked down, farther.

She drew in a deep breath. Fighting the pressure of the earth against her chest, she looked up. Just above was the apple tree she had fallen asleep against, its thick old trunk motionless, branches moving slowly in the wind, one low one almost within reach if only her arm were free.

What else could she use? The grass around her was long. With a thought she bent it down and wove it into a thick mat just below her right hand. Pushing down as hard as she could, she levered her arm up. The ground was soft, but the mat of woven grass held firm. Her right arm pulled free. Straining upward, she grasped a twig on the branch above her and held it.

Just above that branch was another; under her stern gaze the two began to twist together, pulled in a third, forming a thick triple braid of woven branches that dipped to twist around her wrist. More and more branches bent down and added themselves. The mat of grass became a green sleeve, cradling her arm, its ends weaving in and out of the braid.

She pulled down with her right arm against the woven branches, up with her left, trying to break it free. Not enough. She stopped, breathed deeply against the pressure of the earth, and thought her way back into the pattern of the tree, downwards. A root moved against her foot, another. She felt something move against her imprisoned left arm. Again she pulled down with her right arm on the braided branches, straining to lift herself.

Her left arm broke free; the hollow where it had been was so thick with woven rootlets she could see only a bit of earth beneath. She reached her freed arm up, caught the branches, and pulled, now with both arms.

Eyes closed that she might better see, she looked down her body, still buried in the ground. Small roots were running up her legs, sending out rootlets, weaving together a loose fabric which guarded her from the earth that had tried to swallow her. But most of her body was still trapped. Against the pressure of the earth even to breathe was hard.

There was only so much one tree could do for her.

The edge of the containment dome flared, more brilliant than she had ever seen it. There might be an answer; she felt her way into its woven fire. Power, more than a dozen trees, a hundred. With the fingers of her mind she teased out one strand, two, three, more, wove a garment of flame about her body.

She felt the ground shudder, release her. Letting go of the branches, she put her hands against now solid ground, heaved herself out of her half formed grave, and stumbled over to the apple tree. She leaned against it gasping for breath. A few minutes were enough to unweave branches and grass. The gaping hole in the earth was no work of hers.
She would leave closing it, or not, to whomever had made it.

Ellen looked down for the note she had been holding when she fell asleep. Hard to see in the faint moonlight, but it seemed to be gone. She brought a tiny flame from one finger tip; still nothing.

In its faint light she could see the sorry state of her over robe and the tunic beneath, both filthy and torn. The rips she could fix, but … . She let the flame go out, reached into the dark, and wove a thick cloak of shadow about herself.

Back in her room she closed and barred the door and set the small oil lamp aflame, then stripped out of her robe. Her right hand hurt. The palm was red and a few small blisters had begun to form. Something had burned it. Something had awoken her just before she was fully buried.

Two puzzles then, perhaps two mages, if this had not been merely a bizarre accident. She would think about them tomorrow. For tonight, she reached into the lamp flame, pulled out a thin strand of fire, and formed about her wrist, arm, and body a pale garment, an armor of woven flame. Paler and still paler, until it vanished to a ghost even she could barely see. She put out the lamp, went to bed, closed her eyes and, in time, slept.

The next day Ellen awoke to the pleasant sound of rain on the slate roof above her bed. Judging by the amount of water on the paving stones, it had been raining for some time. She lay in bed, stiff and sore from the previous evening's struggle, wondering what condition the orchard was in. The rain should be good for the apple tree; she thought briefly about what if anything she could do to compensate for diverting so much of the tree's stored resources to her use.

Last night’s clothing she could wash in her wash basin, then repair the damage. No need to start talk by involving the College servants, or anyone else. Best to take her own precautions, keep her eyes open, and wait for her hidden enemy to make his next move.

The breakfast bell broke into her thoughts, and brought her out of bed.

By lunch time the rain had gotten harder, the first real storm that fall. Mari met Ellen at the entrance to the refectory. "The orchard will be a swamp by now, and the cloister damp. The dining hall is packed. I've been telling the others to get their food then head to my rooms for an indoor picnic."

Ellen fetched a plate and bowl, filled them, and followed her friend. The desk in Mari's sitting room had been pulled out, the three chairs around it occupied by Mari, Alys, and Edwin, who offered his to Ellen. She declined in favor of the floor, back against the door to Mari's bedroom. Jon joined her there and put the first question:

"Magister Simon has had us memorizing names
,
true speech
,
for a month now
;
still don't understand what it's all about. Nobody speaks it, not even Doray, so why learn it for spells?"

Ellen, as usual, thought a moment before answering. "What's special about the true speech is that spells done in it work. Lots of people say they know why, but most disagree with each other. The Dorayans claimed that our world was a story told by the creator God, and the speech was the language that story was told in; the surviving Doray sects, here and in what's left of the League, still believe that. The orthodox sects, or at least some of their mages, say names in the true speech are those the first man gave everything on the day of creation."

"What do you believe?" That was Mari.

"That spells done in the true speech work. I don't know why, but it might be because the names aren't arbitrary, the way names are in other languages."

Edwin looked up, spoke. "You mean that confusing business about the component syllables from the first lecture that Simon has hardly mentioned since?"

Ellen nodded. "Yes. A name in the speech isn't just a name, it's a definition. If you break up the word for "horse," the pieces come out as "hornless quadruped with mane." And of course "mane" itself isn't a single syllable; it means "neck hair." And there are long forms for both "neck" and "hair" that get squished down to single syllables for building other words out of."

Alys put down her piece of bread, joined the conversation. "But none of that really matters, does it? We're learning the names; there's no need to make it even harder by learning why they are the names. I don't have to know the word for 'mane;' I'm not enchanting horses' manes."