The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [99]
I shivered, seeing for the first time, really, what he had meant. And all that because of not understanding?
For the first time, then, I got angry, really angry, so angry that my jaw clenched, and my eyes burned. So angry that I felt the chill air around me as a relief from my own heat.
To avoid some minor chaos in Recluce, to avoid a little unpleasantness, they shipped off me, and Tamra, and Krystal, and all the others, without even spelling out the temptation problem, knowing that all dangergelders were flawed, seeking answers or power or something. And that thirst would leave us all potential victims of the Antonins of the world.
Justen watched, an amused smile upon his face.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You’ve read a few pages, and you’re ready to tear apart all of Recluce.” He kept smiling.
“How do you know?”
“I felt that way once, too.”
“You’re from Recluce.”
“I didn’t say that. I said that I felt that way,” he corrected me gently.
Wheeee…eeee…Gairloch jabbed his nose into my shoulder.
I reached for Justen’s brush—another item I really needed if I were going to take care of a horse. Then I thought about my dwindling funds and almost groaned. Everything seemed to cost something…and far more than I had thought possible.
XXX
ABSENTLY FINGERING THE green scarf at her neck before letting her left hand drop, the redhead looks at the hearth where no fire burns.
Her thoughts turn, as they have so often, to the unanswered questions. Why has the white wizard been so willing to share his knowledge, to accept her as an equal, when the Masters of Recluce had so grudged every speck of knowledge?
The staff warms under her palm as she ponders, not really watching the white mage as he sits in the chair that is not quite drawn up to the inlaid table. He frowns with perhaps the first frown she has seen.
“Why frown?” she asks. “These are certainly better quarters than the inn at Hydolar. It appears that the viscount does provide for those who do good.”
“You are still skeptical,” comments Antonin, his mellow voice conversational. “What would it take to convince you? Perhaps another technique you can use to improve your understanding?”
Her lips quirk in an expression that is neither smile nor irritation, but some of each.
“This one is simple enough to show you, just as I showed you how to cloak yourself from the sight of those who do not need to see.” His voice assumed the tone of a patient master. “I promised you that I would teach you how to reach your full abilities. Have I not kept my promise?”
The redhead nods grudgingly.
Antonin sighs softly. “Then, perhaps I should provide another lesson—one that will improve your understanding as well. I assume that you would like to know why the Masters of Recluce hide such simple techniques, and why the Brotherhood forced you out without even bothering to acknowledge your abilities?”
The woman in the green scarf nods again. “Haven’t I said so?”
“You have. But you have also said that mere words are not enough, that words conceal as much as they reveal, and that you are more than a little bit tired of being put off.” He sighs, again softly. “You will have to concentrate. Put both hands on your staff, and look down at the mirror here.”
She frowns, for she had not seen the mirror appear on the table, but she looks into the misty swirls that resemble white clouds blocking the images that must exist behind the mists.
“Look deeply into the glass. Look for the answers.” His voice resonates slightly. “The mirror represents the barriers in your thoughts, the barriers to full understanding. Think of nothing at all,