Gevan glowered at the dead man. His voice was hoarse at first, but steadied into anger. “He was a Purifier. They believe your animals are demons and your powers are evil. Yoran Lirolla himself told me so. He let himself die rather than abandon his fanaticism.”
Elkan sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
Kevessa stepped forward. She was obviously shaken, too, but kept her poise far better than Josiah was managing. “Father, don’t the Dualists also consider the Mother’s power evil?”
Gevan frowned at her. “Why would the Dualists want to prevent the Matriarch from receiving a wizard’s aid? They’ll suffer more than any if the Purifiers come to power.”
“I don’t know.” Kevessa stroked Nina with a trembling hand. “It’s just what he said about corruption, and cleansing…”
Elkan climbed slowly to his feet. “Once we reach Ramunna, Tobi and I can investigate. We’ll be able to see who sent him, and why.”
Gevan straightened his shoulders. “That’s right. You will.” He turned to Hanion. “Won’t he?”
Hanion looked at Elkan for a long time. Finally, he sighed. “Be careful, Elkan. Any wrong move, any misstep, could be disastrous. They know how to reach us now. We’re so vulnerable…”
Elkan laid a hand on Hanion’s arm. “I’ll do everything in my power to follow the Mother’s will.”
“I know.” Hanion chucked wanly. “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.”
Elkan laughed in response, although he, too, sounded strained to Josiah.
Hanion sobered. “Would you like me to take Josiah as my apprentice while you’re gone? I think you’re right about Kevessa needing a master.” He shot Josiah a wry look. “I promise I’ll do right by him.”
Josiah caught his breath. Now that their secrecy was lost and Elkan had won Hanion’s approval for his journey, there was no reason for him to take Josiah along. He swallowed regret and concentrated on composure. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself by getting upset.
But Elkan gave him a crooked grin and put an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you for the offer, Hanion, but no. Josiah’s coming with me. From what I understand, he and Sar just saved my life. And not for the first time. I think I’ll feel safer with them by my side.”
Josiah blinked. Elkan’s arm briefly tightened around his shoulders. Happiness bubbled up in Josiah. He kept his mouth shut, but couldn’t stop it from widening into a grin.
Hanion surveyed them both. “Very well, then.”
Elkan nodded and released Josiah with a pat on the back. “You and Sar go aboard. Have Captain Yosiv show you where you’ll be sleeping. Go by the galley and get a big serving of porridge or whatever they have available while Sar takes advantage of the hay they managed to get aboard. Then I want the two of you to lie down and sleep for as long as necessary to recover your strength.”
“Yes, sir.” Josiah hated the idea of sleeping through the moment when they left the dock and set out into the unknown, but he didn’t think he’d have much choice. Already he could barely keep his eyes open.
“I’ll speak to Master Zonon about replacing the hay that burned.” Elkan studied the ruins of the wagon. He sighed. “And about Mathir.”
Hanion nodded grimly. “I’ll come with you.”
They set out together down the dock. Josiah leaned on Sar and turned toward the ship. Someone had retrieved the plank Tharan had used for a weapon and set it back in place bridging the gap between dock and deck. He hoped he was steady enough on his feet not to topple off into the water.
Kevessa came up beside him. Gevan frowned, but Josiah thought his glower wasn’t as hostile as it had been. She put a hand on his arm. “Let me introduce you to the cook. If I ask, he’ll let you have some of the food he sets aside for special occasions.”
“Thanks.” Josiah let her precede him across the plank, then followed. Sar clopped across behind him.
The cook melted before Kevessa’s pretty entreaties and served Josiah a generous portion of porridge and dried meat. Josiah gulped it down. He settled Sar into the corner of deck set aside for him, with several sheaves of hay. By the time he finished he was shaking. He followed a sailor to his tiny quarters on the lower deck.
As he set his foot on the ladder, he looked across the rooftops of Elathir to where the Mother’s Hall rose at the top of its hill. In the half year since he’d first arrived there, it had become his home. He wondered how long it would be and what adventures he might have before he saw it again. He grinned. The important thing was that he wouldn’t be up on the roof, watching the ship sail away. Whatever might come on the journey, he was glad to be a part of it.
Twenty-Five
Gevan scanned the shore through the window-glass, the bright circle before his eye revealing Tevenar’s coastline in endlessly fascinating detail. Occasionally he paused to jot down notes. But other times he just watched the trees and rivers and rock formations roll past, both like and unlike the familiar landscapes of Ramunna.
After a while he noticed Elkan leaning on the rail next to him. The wizard had come up to the bow of the ship so quietly Gevan hadn’t heard his arrival. He lowered the window-glass and nodded.
“May I have a look?” Elkan indicated the glass.
Even though none of the wizards had ever displayed anything but admiration for his invention, Gevan still couldn’t shake the feeling that secretly they disdained its feeble fakery of their powers. He tried to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “Of course.” He handed the long metal tube to Elkan.
The wizard lifted it to his eye and adjusted the length. For a long time he was quiet, sweeping the glass in a slow arc to survey the whole shoreline. At length he fixed his view on the portion of coast rolling into sight before them as wind drove the ship south.
Gevan glanced over his shoulder at the billowing sails. The faint gold shimmer behind them was barely visible in the brilliant sunshine. The three wizards and their familiars took turns each day augmenting the wind. It was a small effect—Elkan had been apologetic about the limits of their ability when he offered—but Captain Yosiv was ecstatic with the results. According to his calculations, the added speed might cut as much as two weeks off their voyage. More if they encountered any of the patches of still air that were common at this time of year.
Right now Kevessa was taking her turn. He’d left her perched on one of the stools that had been placed in the stern for the wizards’ convenience, with Nina sprawled in her lap. One of Kevessa’s hands rested on the squirrel, while the other emitted a diffuse cloud of golden light that swelled to enormous proportions. Josiah had been beside her, as he usually was, leaning back with his elbows braced on the stern rail and his feet propped on a convenient coil of rope. Sometimes it seemed the two of them only broke off their chatter long enough to eat and sleep.
Gevan grimaced at the thought, but it was more a matter of habit than anything. The boy wasn’t that bad. Gevan hadn’t yet caught him doing anything inappropriate with his daughter. And he couldn’t deny he’d acted with admirable fortitude during the contretemps with Tharan and that Mathir fellow. He scowled. Now there was someone he was glad they’d left behind. Elkan had assured him the boy would be suitably disciplined, although Gevan doubted the Tevenarans would employ any methods as effective as the flogging his conduct would have earned him in Ramunna. Imagine, threatening Kevessa just because the squirrel had once been his pet.
He shivered and looked around for Elkan’s huge cat. He was glad she wasn’t in evidence. There was something profoundly strange about those animals. Most of the time they seemed perfectly docile and obedient. Occasionally, though… He’d been too distracted during the fight at the dock to pay as much attention as he should have, but there had been moments when he’d gotten the distinct impression that the wizards answered to their familiars, instead of the other way around. It came uncomfortably close to matching Yoran Lirolla’s characterization of the wizards as slaves to demon masters. He couldn’t give that idea any credence, b
ut still… One day soon he would have to sit down with Kevessa and question her in depth, pushing past her evasions until he understood the full truth of the matter.
Elkan drew in his breath. “There it is.” He gazed through the window-glass at a point ahead. Gevan followed his line of sight, but whatever Elkan had spotted was still too far away to see unaided.
After a few minutes he lowered the window-glass and handed it to Gevan. “See for yourself. Follow the shore to where it curves out. It’s right at the end of the point.”
Gevan raised it and followed his instructions. Bright white sand skirted a rocky promontory that thrust into the waves. At its highest point stood a tall conical pile of stones. They were far too regular to be a natural phenomenon, but whatever hands had set them in place had taken pains to harmonize the tower with its surroundings.
“The southern boundary stone,” Elkan said, his voice hushed. “Gurion Thricebound built it a thousand years ago to mark the border of Tevenar.”
Gevan nodded and lowered the glass. “Captain Yosiv will be pleased we’re making such good time.” When they’d left that morning from Ziat, Tevenar’s southernmost settlement, the locals had said it would take most of a day of sailing to reach the landmark. It was still early afternoon. “After we round the point, we’ll change course and head east.” He held the window-glass out to Elkan.
“Yes.” Elkan accepted it and put it again to his eye. After a while he gave a little laugh before falling silent again.
“What’s so funny?” Gevan asked.
Elkan shook his head, not taking his attention off the horizon. “Nothing, really. It’s just that I’ve been taught since I first became an apprentice that the Law forbids wizards to ever pass that marker. Even though the Law is changed now, I can’t help but feel like I’m about to do something wrong. Foolish, I know.”
Gevan frowned. The last thing he needed was for the wizard to get cold feet and back out. “We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t sure that going to Ramunna was what the Mother wanted you to do.”
“I am. Never fear. It’s just hard to change a lifetime of thought in such a short time.” He sighed and lowered the glass. “Josiah and Kevessa should see this. It’s a historic occasion.”
His eyes looked briefly distant as he gave the window-glass back to Gevan. A few minutes later Tobi bounded up to him. Josiah dashed up in his wake, panting. “Tobi, slow down. Here I am, master. What do you want?”
“There’s something I thought you’d like to see. Gevan?”
Gevan reluctantly handed the window-glass over. He still hadn’t forgiven Josiah for absconding with the glass and treating it in such a reckless manner. He’d taken the delicate instrument up a tree! But honesty forced him to admit that Kevessa had been largely responsible for that incident. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off Josiah as the boy raised it to his eye and followed Elkan’s instruction on where to look. He had to bite back an admonition when Josiah leaned against the rail, suspending the glass over the long drop to the water below.
“That’s really the boundary stone? We’re about to cross out of Tevenar?”
“That’s right.”
“Cool.” He turned as Kevessa arrived, at a much more sedate pace than Josiah had used, with Sar clopping beside her and Nina frisking around her feet. “Hey, Kevessa, you’ve got to see this.”
He passed the glass to Kevessa, and she looked for a long time. Her hands shook a little when at last she lowered it. She turned to give the glass back to Gevan. “Here, Father,” she said in Ramunnan, with a wan smile. “We’re well on our way home, now.”
He put an arm around her shoulders. “I expect you’ll be glad to get back.”
“Yes.” She looked up at him, her expression more vulnerable than he was used to seeing it. “I’m eager to see Mama and Papa again. It’s just… things will be very different, won’t they?”
He tightened his embrace, trying to transmit reassurance that he didn’t fully feel. He was aware of Nina scampering about underfoot, but he didn’t look at her. “They’ll have to be. But know that whatever happens, I will take care of you.”
“I know you will, Father.” She pressed against him for a moment before pulling away and leaning on the rail next to Josiah.
They all took turns looking through the glass as the ship drew closer to the stone tower. After a while they could make it out without the aid of the glass, first as a tiny bump on the horizon, later as a clear silhouette against the bright sky. Josiah kept opening windows to try to get a better look, without much luck.
He screwed up his face, staring at the sparkling golden circle over his hand and breathing hard. Gevan looked at the shore, then into the window. The glowing ring framed a nearly identical view, just from a perspective a mile or so further down the coast. He found it disorienting how the sphere always showed exactly the same image no matter which angle you viewed it from, or how many different people were looking at it from different directions. But he felt a bit smug that his glass could show the tower from so much farther away.
“Sar, can’t you—” Josiah broke off as the view within the sphere dissolved into a shimmering haze. “All right, I guess it’s still too far.” He scowled as the image cleared again.
Gevan tilted his head and studied the window. “So you reach a certain point and can’t move your viewpoint any closer?”
“Kind of. It’s not like there’s a sharp line. It just gets harder and harder the farther away you go. Up close it’s gradual, but out at the edge of our range it gets very difficult very fast. Eventually, no matter how hard we push we can’t force it any farther.”
“Hmm.” Josiah’s description hinted at something Gevan had begun to suspect about the way the wizards’ powers worked. If only he could take measurements and write down his observations in a way that would allow him to quantify the effect.
He realized, watching the shore slide away behind them, that he might be able to do just that. “Josiah, would you mind helping me with an experiment?”
“Sure.” Josiah’s expression gave every indication of real interest.
Gevan hoped he could get in enough observations before the boy’s excitement faded to boredom and he abandoned the task. “See that fallen tree?” He pointed to the most notable feature of the portion of shore they were passing. “Could you open a window on it? And tell me how difficult it is?”
“All right.” Josiah scratched Sar’s ears and held out his hand. A point of light sprang into existence over his palm and ballooned to the size of Gevan’s head. Clear and sharp, a close-up view of the dead pine splayed across the sand appeared. “This is easy.”
“Keep the viewpoint fixed in that spot. Call this level of effort ‘one,’ and call the hardest work you’re capable of ‘ten.’ Tell me when your level of effort rises to two.”
He was prepared to explain again, in more detail, but Josiah nodded, appearing to grasp the concept easily. Gevan began to count out seconds in his mind, tapping his foot to keep a steady rhythm. He sketched a rough graph in his notebook, using the time passed and what Captain Yosiv had told him of the ship’s speed to estimate the distance they traveled.
“I guess it’s about a two now.” Josiah leaned over and peered at Gevan’s notes as he jotted down the time and marked a dot on the graph. “So the harder it is, the higher the mark goes?”
“Yes, and the longer it’s been, the farther to the right. Now hush and let me count.”
Josiah was obediently quiet, watching Gevan’s lips move silently, until he reported, “Three.”
Gevan wrote it down. Josiah waited until he was finished. Then he offered, “I made a shadow-clock, once, when I used to have to count the strokes of the fulling mill.”
“I don’t think that will work, since we’re moving.” Gevan silently cursed as he momentarily lost track of the numbers. He resumed as best he could, hoping he wasn’t too far off. It didn’t really matter; this was just a preliminary trial to see if his idea had any merit. H
is methods would have to be much more precise and accurate later if he hoped to solidly support his theory.
“I guess not.” Josiah was silent for a few minutes. “Um, four. Hey, Kevessa, maybe you can count for us while your father writes stuff down, so he doesn’t have to do both.”
“I’ll be glad to, if that’s what you wish, Father.” Kevessa came to stand beside him.
He nodded and counted aloud until she picked it up, bobbing her head in time with the numbers. He kept his mental count going, but it was a relief not to have to worry about getting distracted. He knew Kevessa would take the responsibility seriously.
The three of them settled into a routine. Josiah called out his number, Kevessa responded with hers, and Gevan jotted them both down. The graph developed under his pen in just the fashion he’d anticipated.
“Seven,” Josiah said. “It’s getting faster now.” Gevan barely had time to get the time from Kevessa and write it down before Josiah reported, “Eight. Um, nine, ten—” His face screwed up as the view within the window shimmered and dissolved in a wash of gold. “Sorry. We couldn’t hold it any longer.”
“No, that’s fine.” Gevan traced a line through the dots on the graph. He felt a warm flush of pleasure to see his suspicion confirmed. “Look. See this curve? It’s a geometric progression. The effort increases in proportion to the square of the distance. Just as light diminishes with the square of the distance from its source. There’s a mathematical function underlying your powers. They really are natural phenomena. They’re governed by predictable rules. They can be described using the same sort of methods as the rest of creation.”
“That’s what we told you.” Josiah turned back to the shore. “Let’s try it again. I think can do better with my estimates; I was way off at first. See that rock just ahead?” He called a new window into existence. “Kevessa, get ready to start when we pass it.”
The ran the experiment again, getting much the same results. Next, Gevan had Josiah observe times in the past. A day and even a month earlier had only small effects on the distance they could view, but by six months their range was noticeably affected, and at a year Josiah couldn’t even force the window to reach the shore before it dissolved into sparkles.
The Law of Isolation Page 48
