A Wizard in the Way

6

Well asked,” Gar said. “Her lord and his enemy have probably both sent hunters after them. It doesn’t help that they’re both sure of defeat.”

“Yes, they seem to be convinced they’re only postponing the inevitable,” Alea said with a wry smile. “Mira is quite sure that some magician somewhere will claim her for his plaything. Probably right, too—she is a beautiful creature, and every inch of this land seems to belong to one magician or another.”

“True so Blaize is convinced his master’s enemy will find him sooner or later, and even if he doesn’t, the boy will have no future but that of an outlaw.” Gar sighed and shook his head. “They’ve both lost their battles already, and for no better reason than being convinced they can’t win.”

“They might at least try,” Alea grumbled, “but it looks as though we’ll have to do their trying for them.”

“I don’t think they’re all that rare, either,” Gar said. “I think we can assume that if they’re so thoroughly cowed, all the people are—or most of them, at least.”

“Yes, we do seem to have stumbled across two of the more spirited ones,” Alea admitted. “They both had the nerve to try to escape-but where to? There doesn’t really seem to be any safe place for them, unless you count the greenwood.”

“The bandits there will probably be just as cruel as the lords.” Gar looked up, frowning around at the trees. “I could have sworn I heard somebody clear his throat.”

“Probably just some animal with an odd kind of cry,” Alea said. “Of course, you never know. The bandits might be sympathetic.”

“Even if they are, it’s a dangerous life,” Gar said. “No, if there isn’t any kind of refuge for these two, we’ll have to make one.”

Alea eyed him askance. “You’re not thinking of building another resistance movement, are you?”

“Of course,” Gar said in surprise.

“I was afraid of that,” Alea sighed. “It was too much to hope you’d find a rebellion already simmering. Well, if you’re going to start a revolution, you’d better sleep while you can. Good night.”

“Good night?” Gar stared. “I always take first watch!”

“Yes, but it’s the middle of the night, and that’s when the second watch always starts.” Alea grinned. “Too bad, soldier boy. My turn to stay awake.”

Gar argued for only a few minutes before he gave in with a sigh and said, “Mind you wake me in four hours.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll wake myself, of course.” Gar lay down and wrapped himself in his cloak. “Good night, Alea.”

“Good night.” She watched as he rolled over in his pine nest, broad shoulders rising up like a hill, and wondered when she had become so certain that her life was wrapped up in this reserved, distant man. Perhaps it was the stream of verbal assaults she had heaped on him in the year she had known him, and his never responding with anger, but only a deeper and deeper concern.

Concern for what? For her? Why should he be concerned for her instead of for himself? She felt a fluttering within her at the thought and tried to force it back. Surely it was the martial arts practice sessions that made him endure her, or the shared danger on the planet Brigante, her guarding his back, helping to achieve his goal—never mind that she had burned to overthrow the warlord as hotly as he.

She shook off the mood irritably and turned back to the fire. It was burning low; she added some more wood, then frowned at it, watching fairy castles build and transform into cities of crystal until, with a start, she jerked her gaze to the dark woods about her, wondering how much time had passed while she rested in trance—minutes or hours?

A huge round silhouette bulked out of the night. Alea rose clutching her quarterstaff, heart in her throat, ready to scream for Gar, but the huge form drifted into the firelight and with a sigh of relief she recognized Evanescent.

With recognition came memory—and the realization of its loss. “You made me forget you again,” she accused.

“Of course,” the alien said, sitting its stunted body down with feline grace. “What would your male think if you’d told him you had long cozy chats with a huge-headed catlike telepathic alien?”

“He’d believe me in an instant,” Alea snapped, “and they’re not cozy chats, more like prickly inquisitions. Besides, he’s not my male.”

“Never mind, dear, you’ll admit it some day,” Evanescent said. “You might offer a body a dish of tea, you know.”

Alea stared. “When did you begin drinking tea?” She frowned. “Come to that, what are you doing here? You’re one of Brigante’s natives, and this is the planet Oldeira.”

“I decided to see the new worlds you planned to visit,” Evanescent said. “Life has become dull this last century or two, but you and your … Gar livened it up immensely. I came along to see if you were as much fun on somebody else’s planet as on my own.”

Alea knew that Brigante rightly belonged to Evanescent and her kind, and that they tolerated the Terran colonists for amusement. “I’m glad to know we’re so interesting,” she said with irony she hoped Evanescent would detect. “Really, though, I was asking how you had traveled ten light-years.”

“I stowed away in the cargo hold of your spaceship, of course, and tried brewing some of the tea I found there—while the robot wasn’t looking, that is.”

“Herkimer is always looking—everywhere on his ship and around it!”

“Not when I encourage him not to.” Evanescent gave her a toothy smile. “Of course, I had to search your male’s mind to learn what to do with those funny little leaves. I quite liked the flavor.”

“I told you, he’s not mine.” Alea held on to her patience only by great effort. “Call him Gar, at least. You might give me bad ideas.”

“Or good ones, but you’re not recovered enough for those yet.” Evanescent stared at the bark kettle.

Alea sighed, taking the hint and swinging it over the fire again. She poured in more water from her canteen. “This will take a while to boil, you know.”

“I can wait,” the alien said equably.

She could indeed, as Alea well knew. “We might wake Gar and the youngsters with our talking.”

“No need for concern there,” Evanescent assured her. “I’ve seen to it they’ll sleep soundly till we’re done—and you don’t need to worry about predators, human or animal.”

“No, I don’t think any will come near while you’re around.”

Alea eyed Evanescent’s double row of shark’s teeth. Curiously, she herself wasn’t at all afraid, even though she had some idea of Evanescent’s powers. As soon as she saw the alien, of course, Alea remembered all their earlier conversations—and remembered also that as soon as those chats had ended, she had forgotten about them completely. No doubt she would forget this one, too, though she would act on the ideas Evanescent gave her, thinking them her own. The thought of such power should have been daunting, but perversely Alea only felt indignation. She wondered if she were really that brave or if it were only more of the alien’s manipulation.

The thought made her wonder about her own strength of mind. “It wasn’t me alone who banished those ghosts, was it?”

“I did give you a bit of help,” Evanescent admitted, “though only by strengthening your mental thrust a bit. The anger was yours.”

“I suppose that’s reassuring,” Alea said, then frowned. “My waking mind may have forgotten, but there was some memory you buried in me that made me certain I would be able to command those specters, wasn’t there?”

“Was, and is,” Evanescent assured her. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll always be confident of your ability to deal with any situation I can handle.”

Alea wasn’t certain she liked that idea, but since she couldn’t do much about it, she decided to enjoy the advantages. “The situations I’m likely to encounter are difficulties with local magicians. Can you deal with them?”

“One or two at a time,” Evanescent said judiciously. “Of course, with your friend Gar helping out, the three of us together should be able to cope with five or six of the locals. Their psi power isn’t really all that strong, you know.”

“Strong enough to tyrannize their serfs!” Alea snapped. “That takes cleverness and ruthlessness, not telepathy,”

Evanescent told her. “I’ve surveyed three kinds of magicians so far, and the fire-casters don’t have any psi power at all.”

Alea stared. “Then how—?”

“They kept alive one element of Terran technology,” Evanescent explained, “and guard its secret closely. They teach their apprentices how to work the flamethrowers, but even if those apprentices are their sons, they don’t teach them how to make the fuel, or where to find the rock-oil from which they make it. That secret they pass on only when they’re dying.”

“Untrusting and manipulative,” Alea interpreted. “Greedy, too, if the look of their serfs is anything to go by. Their clothes are patched and worn and the few new garments they have are very obviously homemade.”

“They’re barely getting by,” Evanescent said, “and don’t have much time to spare for spinning fine thread or weaving soft cloth. But you have to admit the lords clothe their soldiers well.”

“Yes, and give them very shiny weapons, too! They’re unfeeling and insensitive, though, if Mira’s predicament is at all common.”

“The magicians are greedy for things other than money,” Evanescent agreed. “All in all, I would have to say that if you and Gar wish to devote a year or so to destroying their power, you would be spending the time well.”

“I’ve seen people in worse straits,” Alea said, “but these are surely bad enough to justify our butting in.” She frowned. “How, though? We’ve dealt with a warlord before, and Herkimer has told me how Gar and his friend Dirk overthrew several tyrants, but none of them were magical! How do you fight a force you can’t see?”

“Why, with belief in other powers you can’t see.” Evanescent smiled, a disconcerting sight in itself. “Do you remember Brigante’s sages?”

“Why, yes,” Alea said slowly. “They led the people in harmony and cooperation, healing minds and hearts.”

“These magicians are just as much warlords as the bandit chieftain on Brigante wished to become,” Evanescent pointed out, “though considering their mode of fighting, perhaps we should say ‘magic-lords’ instead of ‘warlords.’ Anything that makes people of different estates join together in anyway should trouble the lords of those estates considerably.”

“Especially if that thing is a way of thinking that isn’t really a religion,” Alea said, smiling, “but is so peaceable that it gives them no excuse for oppressing it.”

“I don’t think these magic-lords are the sort to require an excuse,” Evanescent said thoughtfully, “but I do think even they would have trouble finding grounds to fight a philosophy until it had become too widespread to be exterminated.”

“A notion definitely worth considering,” Alea said with a smile, “especially if that religion had some physical disciplines that could very easily be turned into a system of fighting.”

“I would be careful to hide the implications,” Evanescent warned, “especially if you were tempted to make that philosophy prove itself by making things happen magically.”

“Yes, any kind of magic would be grounds for local lords to stamp it out,” Alea agreed. “I’ve learned that all governments depend on a monopoly of violence, but this is the first one I’ve ever heard of that depends on a monopoly of magic.”

“Major magics, at least,” Evanescent qualified. “Little tricks would pass unnoticed, but you never know which minor illusion will prove its power.”

Alea heard an owl hoot behind her, then come rushing in a flutter of feathers. She turned to look just as the bird tilted its path to climb over her head. Its wings spanned four feet and its body had to be eighteen inches long at least. She turned frontward again to watch it climb, using the rising air from her fire as a spiral ladder. When it had disappeared into the night, she lowered her gaze, looking at the empty woods about her as a good sentry should, but the clearing was empty except for herself, her three companions, and their fire. Nothing else stirred, and she admitted to herself that she had become very sleepy.

Still, that was a good idea that had come to her in midnight musings. Second watch was lonely, but it was good for meditation. When nothing happened, though, it did make you feel like sleeping, and surely she had watched for four hours at least. She rose and went to wake Gar, looking forward to taking his place on the pine-bough pallet. The big lug would have warmed it well for her, if he had done nothing else this night.

He came awake instantly, starting up from sleep. “Trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Alea told him. “Nothing moved except an owl that dive-bombed my head. Boring night. It’s all yours.”

She woke at first light while the younger people still slept. Over the first cup of tea she told Gar her idea, keeping her voice low. “The sages of Brigante showed us that philosophy and good example could work in place of a government, after all.”

“Yes, when combined with village councils and enforced by a secret society.” Gar’s smile was tight with irony. “Still, it’s a good idea—in a society like this one, it could be just the rallying point the people need.”

“And by the time the movement is big enough to worry the magicians, it will be too big for them to stop,” Alea said triumphantly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Gar said. “Never underestimate the power of old-fashioned violence. But we might be able to mix in some self-defense lessons.”

“You mean by teaching martial arts as part of the philosophy?”

“Why not? Some teachers say Tae Kwon Do is philosophy in action, after all. More to the point, Kung Fu came out of the Taoist monasteries, and that’s the kind of thought system we’d be using here.”

“Why Taoism?” Alea asked with a frown. “And how will we learn about it?”

“We’ll tell Herkimer to print out copies of the books and drop them to us at night. As to why, it’s because the Taoist sages are the ones who came up with the idea of a benign anarchy, one that would work by the peasants wanting to imitate the sage, who lived high on his mountain in the wilderness. Watching him, they would naturally want to live in harmony with their neighbors and their environment.”

Alea gave a short laugh. “They forgot about human greed and lust for power.”

“We all have our blind spots,” Gar said, “but it was a noble ideal.”

“What noble ideal? What could wash away human greed?” They looked up to see Mira rising from her pine boughs and Blaize levering himself up on an elbow, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“A philosophy,” Alea answered, “a set of ideas that all fit together. If enough people believe in them, they can shape a whole society.”

“Can they really?” Mira asked doubtfully.

“Somewhat,” Gar said. “Monks and priests in all cultures have made them less violent than they might have been. The Greek philosophers invented a system of logic that grew into modern science and changed the world into a place of marvels. Confucian scholars invented a civil service system that made Chinese civilization last more than two thousand years… The list goes on. The way we think can help change the way we live, yes.”

Mira frowned. “Who were the Greeks? And the Confucians? What is Chinese? What is a civil service?”

“One question at a time,” Gar said with a smile that would have been a laugh in another man. He began to explain. When he ran out of breath, Alea took over, then Gar again, then Alea.

Blaize listened, dazed, as Mira asked question after question. He was amazed at the panorama of marvels that Gar and Alea opened before him, but amazed even more by the quickness of Mira’s intelligence. Strangely, it made her seem even more attractive. That’s wrong, he thought. Only people’s hearts and looks should make them attractive. Nonetheless, he couldn’t deny that his pulse beat faster with each question Mira asked, each incisive comment she made.

At last Alea turned to him and asked, “Don’t you have any questions, Blaize?”

“Well, yes,” he said, still feeling dazed. “What is this Dowism you mentioned?”

“Taoism,” Gar corrected, softening the dental sound and emphasizing the dipthong. Blaize frowned, noticing the subtle difference in the sound of the word. Gar explained, “The Tao is the harmony and unity of everything that exists. If we can understand how it all fits together and find our places in that great grand Unity, we’ll be happier in this life and become even more a part of it after we die.”

Blaize frowned. “Is that like Heaven?”

“In a way,” Gar said, “a way of living forever. You might not be aware of it as yourself, though.”

“Then again, you might,” Alea said, “but you’d realize that what you’d thought of as ‘Blaize’ was really just a small part of everything you really are.”

“So it’s a matter of trying to discover everything you can become?” Mira asked.

“That’s part of it,” Alea said warily.

A thrill passed through Blaize’s whole body. She understood so quickly! Too quickly, more quickly than he—he wasn’t good enough for her. Of course, that didn’t matter, since she had come to hate him as soon as she’d learned he was an apprentice magician.

Still, it wasn’t long before Gar threw up his hands in surrender and Alea said, “You’ve come to the limit of what we know, Mira. We’ll quickly learn more though, I promise you. I think that before we start studying, you’d better find us a mountaintop where we can be sure of some peace.”

The mountains weren’t hard to find—they towered in the distance. The companions spent the day hiking toward them, sometimes in silence, sometimes with Alea talking to Mira or Gar. Blaize felt rather left out but reminded himself how lucky he was to have any company at all. Now and again, though, Gar and Alea would teach them a song, and they would all march singing, “I’ll build me a desrick on Yandro…” though Blaize had no idea what a desrick was or where Yandro might be. From the look on Mira’s face, he doubted that she did, either.

The next morning, he woke to find Gar and Alea taking turns reading passages from a book while the tea water heated and the journeybread fried. The book, as it turned out, was the Tao Te Ching, which Gar told him meant The Book of the Way of Virtue. After breakfast they hiked up into the foothills. Over the midday meal they read more of the book, then discussed it as they climbed into the mountains. Soon the way grew too steep for talking, but when they pitched camp, Alea sat reading the book while Gar showed the younger folk how to pitch camp, light a campfire, and prepare a meal. The next morning, Alea supervised the camp while Gar read—a different book this time, by someone named Chang Tzu.

After four days, they had finally come near enough to the mountaintop so that Gar and Alea were willing to make a more or less permanent camp—but by this time, they were so deeply involved in discussing the ideas in the books that they left pitching camp to Blaize and Mira. That meant the two of them had to talk to each other, at least to the extent of “Fetch a bucket of water, will you?” or “Do you think these pine boughs are thick enough for a bed?” or even, “Here, let me try—I’ve always been good with flint and steel.”

“Of course,” Mira said with scorn, “you’re a magician, aren’t you?”

Blaize looked up in surprise, trying to conceal his hurt—he’d had a good deal of practice at that lately. “I’m not that kind of magician.” He turned back to the pile of kindling and struck a spark into the dried moss. “Not apt to become any kind of magician now.”

“Oh, you seem to deal well enough with ghosts.”

“Well enough for what?” Blaize watched the moss catch and breathed on it until a little flame licked upward; then he dropped on some wood shavings and watched the flame grow until he could add kindling. As the little fire blossomed, he said, “I’ll be able to call for help, yes, if the nearby ghosts are kind, but if we run into anything mean, I doubt I’ll be able to talk it into leaving us alone.”

“Don’t worry, Alea can.” Mira watched him wince with a certain satisfaction. “Maybe she can teach you how to drive away spirits.”

“I’ve asked,” Blaize said glumly. “All she could tell me was that she let them feel the force of her anger.”

“Well, it worked. What’s the matter? Can’t you get angry?”

“Of course,” Blaize said, surprised. “I just don’t seem to be able to aim it the way she does.”

“Well, maybe thinking of them as parts of the Tao will help,” Mira said with a touch of sarcasm.

Blaize’s gaze leaped up to hers. “Why, what a marvelous idea! Perhaps I can learn to be a magician, after all.”

He turned back to the fire and the glow in his face wasn’t just the reflection of the flames. With a sinking heart, Mira wondered what she had started.

She told herself she didn’t need to worry, that Gar and Alea weren’t really magicians, or at least, not the same kind as the lords, nowhere nearly as powerful. She managed to keep believing that until dinner was done, the plates and pot scrubbed and packed, and Gar sat down cross-legged some distance from the fire, back ramrod straight, though his whole body seemed relaxed. He set his hands on his knees and tilted his head up slightly, staring at the profusion of stars. This high on the mountain, what few trees there were, were low and scrawny, so the sky spread above them in a vast panorama, stars strewn across it like powder. Mira sneaked peeks at Gar watching the heavens as she lay down to sleep, but there was something about him that set her on edge, even though at last he closed his eyes. She nudged Alea and asked, “Does he sleep sitting up?”

“No,” Alea told her. “He is trying to read his brother’s mind.” Mira looked up at her, suddenly wary. “Where is his brother?” Alea turned and pointed up into the northwest sky. “There.”