Voyage of the Fox Rider (31 page)

“Oh, Jinnarin, the words themselves are nothing but keys to unlock the ingrained casting rituals. Depending on their nature, the castings themselves well from the heart, or the mind, or spirit, or soul. In our training we begin with very small castings, quickly discovering that different castings require different applications of for different effects. In order to master a given effect, we ritualize the specific application of the leverage fire, so that each new time is identical to the previous. Part of that ritual is to give it a key word, something that will recreate the proper conditions in the Mage’s heart,
mind, spirit, or soul to reproduce the effect without undue time being spent to rediscover how it is done—rather like learning to do something without having to actually think about it. Take for example, walking, running, throwing, catching, swimming, and the like…when we first begin, these things are difficult, but with practice they become second nature. The same is true of learning how to apply in such a way as to produce a desired effect, and the resulting method is ritualized and triggered by a word—different words for different rituals, which produce different states of being, which shapes the astral fire differently, which leads to different effects. And as it is with any training, Mages start small and work their way up.

“And that, my curious Pysk, is why I do not cast seer’s spells. I have not the training. But likewise, most seers do not cast elemental spells, for their training has taken them down a different path from mine.”

Jinnarin slowly nodded. “I think I understand, Alamar. But tell me: how many different kinds of Mages are there?”

Alamar pondered a bit, finally saying, “As I said, we are all different, but I suppose you could say that there are perhaps a dozen different kinds of—”

“A
dozen?
”blurted out Jinnarin, her eyes wide.

Alamar nodded. “Elementalists, seers, sorcerers, mystics, illusionists, mentalists, healers, alchemists, artifactors, and—and— Look, Pysk, just take my word for it. There are many different kinds of Mages—those who shape the elements or thoughts or emotions or vitality or growth, or those who peer into the past or future, or those who do any other number of things—all of whom manipulate the , all of whom are trained in their own, special rituals.”

Jinnarin gestured toward the island of Rwn. “At the college in Kairn?”

“Mostly.”

“Why Kairn, Alamar? Why do Mages train there and not on Vadaria?”

“Because, Pysk, the burns brighter in Mithgar than it does in Vadaria. Hence, castings come easier here, and so training is conducted here rather than on the home world.”

“Oh. So all the Mages get their training in Kairn, eh?”

“All but the Black Ones.”

Jinnarin looked up in surprise. “Black Ones? You mean black like Jatu?”

Alamar snorted. “Bah. No, Miss Nosy Pysk, I mean the Black Mages—those who practice the forbidden ways.” Alamar held up a hand, stopping Jinnarin’s question. “Before you ask, I’ll tell you. Mages have certain powers and talents that others do not. It would be rather easy for a Mage to dominate, to subjugate, those who are without the ability to control the . Hence we have adopted a code of conduct, an ethic to prevent such domination. But some Mages do not adhere to this ethic. Do you recall our discussion about the great debate between Gyphon and Adon?”

Jinnarin nodded. “Yes. Adon was for free will; Gyphon for domination and control.”

Alamar smiled. “You have the pith of it, Pysk. And that is what separates most of Magekind from the Black Mages: we follow the precepts of Adon, while they follow the teachings of Gyphon. They seek dominion, control, power over others; we do not.”

Jinnarin looked down at her hands. “Well then, Alamar, it seems that they fit my definition of evil.”

Alamar sighed. “Yes, Jinnarin, they do. They fit my definition of evil, as well.”

“In that case, Alamar, I hope there aren’t too many of them about.”

Alamar canted his head in agreement then looked up at the darkening sky, stars now appearing in the firmament. “I’m off to get my rest, Pysk. There might be an aurora tonight.”

“Yes, there might,” replied Jinnarin. “How about a game of tokko before you go?”

Alamar glared down at the Pysk. “A challenge, eh? Well, Miss Lucky Beginner, I pick up your flung gauntlet. But no rats, you hear, no rats allowed!”

There was no aurora that night.

And the game ended with Jinnarin kicking the pieces off the board.

Aravan lay in bed with his arm about Aylis. “This eve
I heard thy father and Jinnarin speaking of Kairn and of Mage training. Is that where thou learned thy craft,
chieran?
”

By the starlight shining in through the porthole, Aylis raised up on an elbow and peered at her Elven lover. “Yes. Kairn, the City of Bells.”

“Is it difficult to learn to be a seer?”

Aylis shrugged. “Not for me. Of course, each person has a natural bent. Mine was to be a seer. Perhaps just as yours was to be the captain of a fleet ship and ply the waters of the world.”

“I had never seen an ocean until I came to Mithgar.”

“Tell me of it, love.”

Aravan’s thoughts returned to a day long past. “When I rode out of the dawn and into Mithgar, I came into the youth and wildness of this new world, leaving behind the stately grace and beauty of ancient Adonar. I found myself in a misty swale, the grassy crowns of mounded hills all about. I was not surprised by the cast of the terrain, for as thou knowest, crossings between are fair matched to one another. Unexpectedly, though, there came unto mine ears the distant sound of
shssh
ing booms. Curious, I turned my horse toward the rolling roar, riding southerly among the diminishing downs. Upward my path took me, up a long, shallow slope, the sounds increasing, the wind in my face, a salt tang on the air. I found myself on a high, chalk cliff, the white bluff falling sheer. Out before me, as far as mine eye could see, stretched deep blue waters, reaching to the horizon and beyond. It was an ocean, the Avagon Sea, its azure waves booming below, high-tossed spray glittering like diamonds cast upward in the morning Sun. My heart sang at such a sight and mine eyes brimmed with tears, and in that moment something slipped comfortably into my soul. And although I had not before come unto this world, I felt as if I were home at last.”

Aravan fell silent, and after a moment Aylis bent down and kissed him.

Aravan looked up at her. “It was the same when I first saw, thee,
chieran
. When thou clambered up out of thy gig and over the side of the
Eroean
, my heart sang with the wonder of thee. It does each time I see thy face and form, it does each time I drown in thy gold-flecked
green gaze. I am drunk with thee, Aylis, and always will I be so.”

Aravan pulled Aylis to him, their kiss long and lingering, passion kindling. “No, wait,” whispered Aylis, “I have something to show you.”

She scrambled over the top of him, and padded across the floor, her flesh glowing ivory in the shining starlight. Rummaging through a drawer where she had stowed some of her things—“Aha”—she came back to the bed, once again climbing over Aravan and settling at his side.

“I was just a girl among many when I first entered the college at Kairn. Almost as soon as they are able, many who are seers do a casting upon a silver mirror, a casting to see their true love. In public I scoffed at those who had done so, thereby demonstrating my superiority over those who practiced such childish rituals. But in private, when I had the ability, I did my own casting upon my own silver mirror.”

“And what didst thou see?”

Aylis held up a small disk of polished silver. “Look deep within and tell me what you see.”

Aravan steadied the mirror in the starlight and peered within. “I see nought but mine own face,” he said at last.

Aylis looked down into his deep blue eyes and said, “Exactly so.”

Two more days and nights passed, and still the northern lights did not shine. But against the stars of the third clear night the spectral flare of the aurora shimmered, the eerie display writhing high in the winter sky, pastel hues shifting among the colors of the spectrum.

Jinnarin and Alamar, Aravan and Aylis, Jatu and Frizian and Bokar, and nearly all the crew—Men and Dwarves alike—stood watch upon the decks…but no plumes did they see.

“Storm takes eagle,” crowed Alamar, snapping up the piece.

Jinnarin looked up. “Oh,” she said, her attention once again on the board. “I didn’t see it coming.”

Alamar glowered at her. “I don’t even know why we are playing, Pysk. You haven’t been here all evening.”

Jinnarin reached out and turned her throne on its side,
signifying resignation. “You’re right, Alamar. My mind isn’t on the game.”

“What then?”

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about Gyphon and Black Mages and the nature of evil.”

“Back on that, eh? Well, have you come to any conclusions?”

Jinnarin leaned against the book she used as a backrest. “Not much more than before. Just a few observations, that’s all.”

“Such as…?”

Jinnarin took a deep breath. “Such as, well, I started with the premise of someone trying to control, to dominate another. That led me to thinking about acts of evil.” Jinnarin looked up at the Mage. “You know, I don’t even like to think about this, Alamar. It does nothing but drag my spirit down.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because I can’t get it out of my mind!” snapped Jinnarin, leaping to her feet. “You started it, Alamar, and I can’t seem to stop it.”

“Oh no, Pysk. It was your curiosity that—”

“Oh, stop it,” demanded Jinnarin. “It really doesn’t matter who started it. It’s just that I can’t seem to turn loose of it. And it makes me feel bad.”

Alamar stroked his white beard. “What that usually means, Pysk, is that you’re still working on a problem. In this case, you are still trying to understand the nature of evil. Look, sometimes talking to others helps clarify the thoughts and clear the mind. So I suggest that you sit down and tell me what you’ve come up with.”

With a sigh, Jinnarin resumed her seat. Alamar got the teakettle from the stove and replenished their cups. As the Mage settled down again, Jinnarin began: