Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [15]
“Very proper and correct,” remarked the Druid.
“Ah, but that’s not it, you see!” Saryon said, his gaze going to the Theldara, his smile twisting. “I wanted to change the wood, Healer! Change it with my bare hands! I wanted to join one piece of wood with another and make something new of it!” Sitting back, he regarded the Druid smugly, expecting a shocked, horrified reaction.
In a world where the joining together of anything—lifeless or living—is considered to be the most unforgivable of sins, this admission of Saryon’s was a dreadful one, bordering on the Dark Arts. It is only the Sorcerers, those who practice the Ninth Mystery, who would think of such a thing. The Pron-alban, for example, does not build a chair, he shapes it. Taking the wood—a solid, living tree trunk—he uses his magic to lovingly shape that wood into the beautiful image he sees in his mind. Thus the chair is just another stage of Life for the wood. Were the magi to cut and mutilate the wood, bend it with his bare hands, and force those mutilated, misshapen pieces together into the semblance of a chair—the very wood itself would cry out in agony and it must certainly soon die. Yet Saryon had confessed he wanted to perform this heinous act. The young man expected the Druid to turn pale with horror, perhaps even order him out of his home.
The Theldara, however, simply regarded the catalyst placidly, as if Saryon had stated he had a fondness for eating apples. “We all have a very natural curiosity about such things,” he said calmly. “What else did you dream about in your youth? Joining wood? Is that all?”
Saryon swallowed. Looking down at the cushion, he jammed his finger through the fabric. “No.” Sweating, he put his hands over his face. “The Almin help me!” he cried brokenly.
“My dear young man, the Almin is trying to help, but first you must help yourself,” the Druid said earnestly. “You dreamed of joining with women, did you not?”
Saryon raised his head, his face feverish. “How—how did you know? Did you see my mind—”
“No, no.” The Theldara raised his hands, smiling. “I do not have the mind-draining skills of the Enforcers. These dreams are quite natural, Brother. Left over from the dark days of our existence, they serve to remind us of our animal natures and how we are bound up in the world. Didn’t anyone ever discuss this with you?”
The look on Saryon’s face was so comical, being one of mingled relief, shock, and naïveté, that the Druid was hard-pressed to keep a serious aspect, even as he inwardly cursed the cold, sterile, loveless environment that must have fostered such guilt within the young man. In a very few words, the Theldara set about explaining the matter.
“It is speculated that in the dark, shadowy land of our past, we magi were forced to join the flesh together to produce issue as do animals. This gave us no control over the reproduction of our kind, and caused our blood to mingle with that of the Dead. Even years after we came to this world, so it is believed, we still mated that way. But then we learned that we had the power to take the seed of the man and transfer it—using the Life force—to woman. Through this, we could control the numbers of our population as well as raising the people above the bestial desires of the flesh. But that is not as easy as it sounds, the flesh being weak. I take it you outgrew these dreams,” the Theldara continued, “or perhaps you are still bothered—”
“No,” said Saryon hurriedly, in some confusion. “No, not bothered by them—I didn’t outgrow, I don’t think. That is … Mathematics,” he said finally. “I—I discovered that what had once been … a game was my … salvation!” Sitting up, he looked at the Druid, his face brightening. “When I am in the world of my studies, I forget all about everything! Don’t you see, Healer? That is why I miss Evening Prayers. I forget all about eating, the exercise period; it’s all a waste of time! Knowledge! To study and learn and create—new theories, new calculations. I’ve cut the magical force needed to form glass from rock in