The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [96]
Justen caught my glance, reached down, and eased the book out. “Here. You can read it if you want.”
“What is it?”
“The Basis of Order is what it’s called. All of the black magicians use it.”
I tried not to swallow. “Is it that important?”
Justen smiled. “Only if you intend to become an order-master.”
“Is that an old book?” I was trying to recover.
“My father gave it to me when I left home.”
“Where are you from, Justen?”
He waved me off. “No place I really want to discuss. Do you want to borrow the book?”
“No…not right at the moment…I don’t think…”
“Any time…” He lay back, letting his eyes close, appearing, again, far older than the mid-thirties I had first supposed.
I looked at the ashes in the not-quite-ruined fireplace. The age of his book and the white hair after fighting off the demons of Frven showed Justen was more than he appeared, and far older.
The Basis of Order? Just what had my father given me? Was Justen from Recluce, or from a Candarian family of order-masters?
Still tossing the questions around in my mind, I re-rolled my bedroll and tied it tightly into its cover, setting it beside my pack before heading into the morning to check on Gairloch and Rosefoot.
Outside the air was chill, the dark featureless clouds high overhead, and the wind out of the north. The sparse fragments of brown grass crunched underfoot.
The two pomes had clipped the grass by the greaseberry bush, as well as chewed some of the less-dried leaves from the bush itself. Then they had moved toward some higher grass in a depression closer to the brook, where they continued to browse.
After watching the two munch, and Gairloch toss his head and amble to the brook for a drink before returning to eat more of the long brownish grass, I finally walked back into the hut.
Justen’s eyes opened. “Are you ready?”
“To leave?”
“No. I’m not ready for that. I meant ready to learn how to protect yourself from wizards like Antonin or demons like Perditis.”
“Fine with me.” I just hoped it wasn’t too boring. Even if it were deadly dull, the alternative was worse.
Justen sat up, leaning his back against the wall and ignoring the grime that touched his fine gray linen tunic. “All it takes is practice. What you have to do is concentrate on being yourself. Say something like, ‘I am me; I am me,’ over and over if necessary.”
“Why?”
Justen sighed. “When someone wants to invade your mind, they want to take away your ego, your sense of being a unique individual. You have to fight that. And there are two steps to fighting. First is to recognize that you are being tempted, and second is to assert yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll just have to show you.” His voice tightened as he looked at me. “Don’t you really want to know the real answers to things, Lerris? Why the masters forced you out without explaining? Aren’t you more than a little bit tired of being put off and told to find things out for yourself?”
“Of course! Haven’t I said so often enough?”
“Then look at me. Look for the answers.” His voice shook, but he was offering what no one else wanted to offer.
So I looked at Justen, watching as the distance between us seemed somehow to decrease.
Now…just think about the answers you deserve…
The words were gentle, and I did, wondering why I had been thrown out before I even knew what I was.
Justen stood next to me. What wouldn’t you give to know the answers? Just reach out with your thoughts, not your hands, and I will show you the answers…
My thoughts? Why not? Thoughts were just thoughts, and I might