Quiet Magic

by Sharon Lee

  "There are those that serve me because they must. And when the day comes when I am too old, when my will is no longer the stronger--those will turn on me, and perhaps rend me, because I had dared enslave them in my youth and my pride." He looked hard at the boy.

  "It never does to gain power by force, my son, though all who are powerful sooner or later must do so. It is better by far to command through love. A hate-filled servant is an unsheathed sword." He tipped his head to one side. "Do you understand what I have said to you?"

  The boy nodded, placing his full glass of milk on the table with a stuttering thunk. "That the more powerful you are, the better you are able to hold strong servants."

  "Ah, did I say so?" murmured the Master, one eyebrow sliding upward toward his greying curls. A rueful smile touched a corner of his mouth. "Well, perhaps I did, at that."

  He looked at Petrie, his smile broadening, becoming less bitter. "So then, it is my understanding that the two of you would learn the ways and the whys of the winds, is that so?"

  Petrie, unable to say anything over the thudding of her heart, nodded. Of course that was what she wanted, had wanted, for all her life long. She knew it now, the truth of it glowed golden in the depth of her mind.

  "Yes!" The intensity of that one syllable was enough to cause Petrie to flinch back into the safety of her corner.

  The Master nodded. "Very well, then. Class begins tomorrow evening. I will see you here. When the sun goes down." His eyes touched them both, "Eh?"

  "Yes," the boy repeated, with much less intensity, and jumped up like an ineptly-managed marionette. He avoided Petrie's eyes altogether, executed a frail bow to the Master and was out the wagon's door in two strides of his long legs.

  Slowly, Petrie uncurled from the safety of the couch corner, all the concerns of her real--her windless--life crowding back. How will I get back into St. Dudley's? She wondered. Mother Superior'll kill --

  "Petrie."

  Startled, she looked at the Master. Seated as he still was on the floor, his eyes were level with hers. For the second time in an hour, Petrie the Silent, Petrie the Wooden, blinked back tears.

  "Sir?"

  "You hand wants attention, child. I should have seen to it before now, but -- " He gestured toward the door and Petrie nodded understanding. Best, somehow, not to display a wound when that one was about.

  The Master uncoiled himself and reached a hand down to her. Unhesitating, she slipped her own into his, slid from the bed to her feet and allowed herself to be guided to the kitchen. Seated on a high stool, she patiently waited as the torn palm was washed, dried leaves sprinkled around the wound and the whole bandaged with a clean white cloth.

  "Thank you." She slid off the stool, not daring to look up at him, for fear the tears would show for yet a third time. To have a hurt looked after with such care -- ! She took a step toward the door.

  "Petrie." Again, her name, though she had not told it to him.

  She turned. "Yes?"

  "Where will you go? The orphanage is closed to you now, is that so?" He stood where she had left him, making no move toward her. The expression of concern on his young-old face wrung her heart.

  "I don't know. I--if I go back to St. Dudley's they won't let me come here again..."

  "You must come back, Petrie. You must learn all you can learn of the ways of the winds. You must."

  She took a step back toward him, puzzled. "I must? But--there is the boy..."

  The Master smiled his bitter smile and shook his head til the reddish curls danced. "Authberk walks the left-hand pathway, Petrie. You and I walk the right. He has the Sight and he has the Talent, and so has the right to demand my teaching. And I cannot withhold it from him. But I have never trained such a one, and it is not he I would have chosen for my successor."

  "Your--but sir!" Petrie took a step and another, without realizing that she moved, laid one hand on a blue-and-white sleeve. "You're not going to--die?"

  This time he laughed and covered her hand with his. "Die? Not for some time, I think. But this is a difficult trade. Many who have the Talent, who have even the Will, fall short of completing the study. There will be much time for learning what I have learned, before the day that those I took in pride have the strength of will over me."

  Petrie frowned. "But what about--Authberk? If he has the right to demand your teaching..."

  "I must test both of you. If both pass, I have the right to choose between you and direct Authberk to a Master who walks his own road. If either fails, I must perforce take the other to train, for it is time and past time for me to have taken an apprentice."

  "Why did you wait so long, then?" The words escaped her before she knew she would speak them, but the Master seemed to take no insult.

  Instead, he shook his head again and smiled his warm smile. "I could not find any with the Sight, let alone the Talent. The Will." He laughed and began to chant, softly, "I looked for thee in far Cathay, I looked for thee in Rome. I searched for thee upon the Moon--and found thee at thy home." He smiled again. "I had forgotten that if one is searching for greatness, one needs look in small, unlikely places."

  Suddenly, he moved, putting aside the towel with which he had dried his hands. "You cannot return to St. Dudley's. You have no other place to go. Therefore, you shall stay here."

  Petrie blinked at him, feeling worthy of the stupidity the nuns claimed for her. "Here?"

  "Here," he affirmed, moving to the couch-bed, laying back covers, plumping pillows. He gestured, light gleaming off the dull silver of his ring. "You will sleep here. So." He gave one final thump to a pillow. "I," he gestured again, indicating the floor before the wagon's door, "shall sleep there."

  Petrie opened her mouth to protest. She to sleep in a bed so luxurious while the Master slept on the floor? He cut off her protest with a wave of one graceful hand. "Enough. For tonight and tomorrow, you are my honored guest. We will make more permanent arrangements later, should you prove to be acceptable as an apprentice." He bent by the couch-bed, pulled pillow, blanket and comforter from a secret drawer, and nodded at the bed. "Sleep well, child."

  Petrie moved obediently, kicked off her shoes and lay down, pulling the clean sheets over her. She heard the Master rustling linens out of her line of sight, over by the door. She was asleep by the time he had put his bed to rights and moved over to the corner to extinguish the lamp. She did not feel him lay his hand upon her head or stroke her short golden hair.

  * * *

  PETRIE WOKE to early sunshine, threading through the door curtains, touching her face. She lay quiet for a moment, as memory caught her, then she turned cautiously from her back to her side to her stomach, peering around the edge of the pillow toward the door.

  The Master was not on the rumpled pile of blankets on the floor. Instead, curled along a particularly soft mound of cloth was--a creature rather like a dog, if dogs were made of white feathers and ice. Petrie caught her breath and slid from the bed to the floor, never taking her eyes from the reclining puppybreeze. Carefully, she edged to the tumbled covers and sat on a corner of the blanket.

  The puppybreeze observed all of this with interest and made no move to leave. Or to attack. When Petrie was at last still, the feathery tail thumped once, insubstantially.

  As if it were, indeed, an earthly dog, Petrie held out her right hand, palm up, fingers slightly spread; and the breeze thrust its cold pointed nose into the center of her palm. In the depths of her mind, Petrie heard a deep, doggy sigh of satisfaction. Greatly daring, she moved her hand and rubbed the breeze behind one icicle ear.

  The door to the outside thumped open, admitting a roomful of pale sunlight and the Master himself, arms full, eyes smiling.

  "Good morning, child." He greeted her, stopping on the top step and looking down at Petrie and the puppybreeze. "Made a friend, I see. Well done. Now..."

  He look around, puzzling, and Petrie scrambled out of his way. The breeze stayed where it was, tail wagging madly, grinning in canine gle
e. The Master bestowed a smile upon it and stepped over the tumbled blankets. The door shut itself behind him.

  Moving to the couch-bed, the Master emptied his arms and began to sort through his bundles. "This is for you, child; and this, and these..."

  Petrie put out her hands to receive a shirt of pale green cloth, soft against her fingers, a pair of darker green pants. A pair of sturdy boots completed the outfit.

  "And oranges for breakfast, fresh-ground coffee, fresher rolls, sweet butter..." The Master's voice drifted to a mumble as he gathered up the foodstuffs and moved to the kitchen. Petrie stood as one bespelled, holding her fine new clothes.

  The Master came to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. "Would you care to wash yourself and dress while I brew coffee and peel oranges? There is a shower stall around the back of the wagon. Your new friend will guard you, if you like."

  Petrie shook herself and looked up into his eyes. "These things..." She stammered into silence; forced herself to begin again. "What if I don't have the Will--or the Talent? What if I'm not fit to be--your apprentice? What if -- ?"

  The kind hand on her shoulder tightened; she understood it as comfort and again fought tears.

  "Petrie. Listen to me, eh?" He waited for her nod. "Now. These things, as you call them, are free-given gifts. There is no reason why you should want for adequate clothing when I have the means to provide you with better. It has little to do with whether or not you will pass the test. They are yours, whatever happens." He paused, brows pulling slightly together. "As to whether you have the Talent--fear not. The wind that drove the crowd from the tent last evening--do you remember?" Again, he waited for her to nod.

  "Yes. That was not of my calling, Petrie, nor did it have the feel of a servant of the left-hand way. It was your wind, child, so do not fear you lack the Talent. The Will is harder to judge. That is why there must be a test."

  He moved his hand from her shoulder and reached into his pockets, producing a tortoiseshell comb, an ebony brush and a silver rectangle of mirror. "These are yours, as well. Go now and have your shower. Breakfast will be ready when you return."

  Clutching her gifts to her, Petrie nodded, then turned and followed the puppybreeze out the door and down the steps. At the bottom, she stood still, letting the thoughts race through her head until she could see the pattern they made. Then she forced her feet to move and went after the gamboling puppybreeze, around the far end of the wagon to the shower-stall on the other side.

  * * *

  SUNSET CAME QUICKLY, indeed, for one used to days filled with chores and prayer. Petrie ate two meals with the Master, did such straightening and dusting as there was, much to the man's secret amusement, and spent the rest of her time out in the sunshine, always within sight of the wagon, the puppybreeze at her side.

  "Stay close, child. They're looking for you in the town." He'd told her that at breakfast, watching as she stuffed whole segments of orange into her mouth at once. Petrie hadn't asked if the townfolk had noticed him buying clothes for a girl of about her height. He was Master of the Winds. Common blunders were beyond him.

  She echoed that thought to herself now, as she sat on a grassy rise a short distance from the wagon, the puppybreeze seemingly asleep with its head upon her knee. Master of the Winds--he would know his own servants, surely; would certainly know if he had called such a one. Would even know, through his studies, how an evil--a left-hand--wind would seem. Petrie frowned, her hand slowing in its gentle rubbing of the little breeze's ear. The pup sighed in its sleep. If it had been her wind, it did her little good. She did not know how she had called it to her. In the event of such a test as the Master spoke of, a wind she did not know how to command was as useless as no wind at all.

  The shadows were deepening; in another few minutes, the sun would be well down. The pup at her knee suddenly sprang up, flinging itself skyward. She felt a cool breeze brush her cheek, smelled vanilla and ozone--and she was alone.

  A twig cracked in the brush at her back and she jumped to her feet, turning toward the noise. The brush crackled again and Authberk stepped into the clearing.

  Petrie felt some measure of fear leave her, to be replaced by wariness, by something approaching horror.

  Authberk barely gave her a glance as he pushed by, heading for the wagon. Fighting her revulsion, Petrie followed, caught up, kept pace. They reached the bottom stair together as the door to the wagon opened. The Master was in the doorway, black cloak settling about her shoulders. He motioned them to stop.

  "The lesson this evening will be given outside." He gestured, pacing deliberately down the steps. "Over there, I think."

  Petrie and Authberk gave way, moved to the spot indicated, avoiding each other's eyes. The Master was with them in a moment, smiling at both.

  "First, you will learn the technique that enables a Master to remain centered in himself, so that he does not lose his core of identity, no matter how strong the forces he fights." He looked first at Petrie, then at Authberk, his brown eyes stern.

  "This lesson is most important of all the lessons you will learn, in this or another study. Mastery of this skill depends upon Will more than Talent. Thus you learn that, in the reckoning of mages, Will alone is counted more dangerous than Talent. Talent backed by disciplined Will is a power to give pause to any Mage or Master." He looked only at Authberk, now. "For there comes a day that even the strongest Will wavers, my son. Do you understand me?"

  Authberk nodded, the fire glittering deep in his dark eyes.

  The Master sighed, then spread his arms wide, the cloak leaping back over his shoulders. In each open palm, he held a gem, red for the left hand, blue for the right. Each gem gave off its own glittering light, scintillant in the darkening glade.

  "Boy," said the Master, "look to the red stone. Do not take your eyes from it. Child -- " But Petrie had already fixed her eyes on the blue gem, though the light from it hurt her head.

  "This, then, is how it is done, my children..." The Master's voice came from a far away, fading into the blue that was all around her, that permeated her. Floating in a warm sea of azure light, Petrie felt something enter her skull, even to the depths where the truth was always told her. She felt the something enter that deep part of her and--twist. Petrie screamed, or tried to. Within the blue there was no sound.

  Then it was gone, over. She stood on her two feet upon the grass not ten feet from the Master's wagon. She sensed the boy standing to her left. The Master himself stood before them, unsmiling, cloak concealing his hands.

  "So." He nodded, once. "Sit. There will be refreshments. Then a test." He turned to the swaying boy. "My son, you should know that this test will determine whether your studies with me can continue. There are three possible outcomes. One is that you alone will pass. In that case, you will become my apprentice and learn all that I can teach you.

  "The second possibility is that you both will pass. In this instance, I will take responsibility for seeing that you are situated with a Master of like persuasion." He paused, looking deeply into the boy's fierce eyes.

  "The third possible outcome is that you will fail, my son. If that should happen, I will send you home. Before I do, however, I will ask you once again to look into a gemstone that I have. When you do, the desire to envelop the Power will leave you. The Sight will remain, as a source of delight to you only. I have found it less cruel that way." He extended a hand. "Now, do sit down, please."

  Petrie followed the command, her legs suddenly rubbery. But the boy remained standing, hands clenched into fists as his sides. "And her? What if she fails?"

  The Master tipped his head. "Much the same. However, since she has no home to return to, I shall take responsibility for finding her one. Is this satisfactory?"

  The boy nodded jerkily, then, as if his legs would no longer hold him, he collapsed to the grass.

  The Master turned toward the wagon. Through the open door came a tray laid with cheese and bread, orbiting which was a pitcher filled with milk
and three yellow glasses. Petrie leaned forward, finding the pale outline of a wind that reminded her of the picture of Octopus in the orphanage's Bestiary.

  The tray settled between the three of them; the milk was poured and handed around. At a nod from the Master, the wind removed itself to the wagon, bearing the pitcher with it. The Master sat cross-legged upon the grass.

  "Eat."

  This evening even Petrie had no appetite and the meal was soon done. At a gesture from the Master, the octopus-wind reappeared and cleared away the tray and glasses.

  The Master stood, motioning Petrie and Authberk to do the same.

  "Now the test," he said, voice stern and not at all warm. "I will cause winds to come against you. You will not try to control them, only to withstand them." He went a long step backward, his cloak snapping back over his shoulders in a sudden gust. "It begins!"

  Petrie saw the stormwind hurtling toward her from the Master's out flung hands. A lean black cat shape it was, open mouth showing teeth like icy daggers. Petrie braced herself, felt the weight of it crash into her, rocked--and held. She barely had time to see the next one--like Elephant in the Bestiary--before it hit her. The third she never saw at all.

  In the end, all she could do under the onslaught of wind after wind after wind, was retreat to the depths of herself and chant, like no prayer the nuns had ever taught her, "I am Petrie. I am Petrie. I am Petrie. I AM -- "

  Windlessness. Petrie dared to open her eyes. The Master stood before her, cloak shrouding him, taffy brown eyes smiling. With difficulty, she turned her head. Authberk sat on the grass. There were tears on his white cheeks.

  Petrie turned back to the Master, brows pulling together in amazement. "I--did not fail?"

  "You did not," the Master said.

  "But--I did nothing. I can -- "

  He shook his head, the smile in his eyes touching his lips. "You held."

  Their eyes touched for a moment, then the Master broke contact and moved toward the boy.

  "Authberk."

  He looked up, flinched back in what might have been terror. The Master held up a restraining hand, but Authberk hurled himself to his feet.