"I have never as much as kissed another woman. Not even when they ask me outright!"
"Good!" the friar said. "Then there is hope that I may be able to help you." He looked around to see where Pepita had gone, but she was out of earshot, stalking a squirrel. "And even if you did suspect that there might be trouble that night in Mezquiriz, no one could condemn you for what happened. You carry more remorse than you need. Tobias, I am truly sorry, believe me. I can teach you how to tame the hob, within limits. I can show you how to make it behave itself, so you will not go crazy and it will not thrash around damaging other people as it has done in the past. Do you want this?"
"Very much, Brother. More, I think, than anything in the world."
"There is a price to pay, though. Two prices. One is that you will no longer be able to count on the hob to defend you. Basically, I will show you how to lull it to sleep, and a sleeping watchdog does not bark."
"I would rather die than go crazy. If I do go crazy, then I will run wild like a demon, won't I? Killing, destroying?"
Brother Bernat nodded. "It is probable. The other price is that I cannot give you back what you lost that night in Mezquiriz. I know of no way to make the hob proof against ecstasy. You will remain condemned to a life of celibacy."
Toby rubbed his eyes with a knuckle. He realized that he felt bitter, which was absurd, for none of his troubles were the old friar's fault. "I am twenty-one. How old will I be when that stops worrying me?"
"About a hundred."
"I see." No, the smile was not mockery, it was sympathy. He returned it as well as he could. "Half a life is better than none. I shall be very grateful for whatever assistance you can give me, Brother. It is wonderful news that you can help me at all!" It was also very surprising. Where did such a technique come from? What was it used for? He had promised not to ask questions.
Brother Bernat studied him solemnly for a moment. "It will not be easy. You are old to start learning. Fortunately, you are a very brave young man. Nerves like granite, I said, didn't I? All you have to do is slow down your heartbeat."
Toby stared at him blankly until the old man chuckled.
"Pepita can do it! Shall I call her over to demonstrate?"
"Why should Pepita...?" Now he knew why he was not to ask questions. Brother Bernat himself must know the same trick and for the same reason, whatever that might be. "No, Brother, I believe you."
"The slower the beat, the quieter the hob, like a hibernating hedgehog. It lives in your heart, remember, so when you get excited and the house gets noisy, then the hob is alarmed. You probably have a naturally slow beat, which has helped preserve you from it. The secret is calmness, serenity of mind, and you do not lose your head. Most people would have been howling maniacs this morning after what you had been through, but you recovered almost immediately."
"I am flattered that you thought so," Toby said grimly. Somewhere deep inside he was still screaming. How many days until he was back on the rope? How many nights until he could sleep without dreaming of it?
The friar's fond little smile returned. "You underestimate yourself, Tobias. It is part of your charm, if you will forgive me for insulting a virile young man by telling him he has charm. You do, though. It is emotion in you that speeds your heart and rouses the hob." He waited as if inviting comment.
"Suppose I want to run, or work hard?"
"Exercise does not matter, only emotion. I don't know why."
"Gunfire rouses it, Brother. Or thunder. Or loud music."
"Do they? Those things might annoy an elemental, but your hob should be used to them by now. Are you sure it is not you who is alarmed? If you are frightened that the hob may be frightened, then it may be your fear that rouses it. Fear, anger—those you will have to learn to control even better than you control them now, which is much better than most men do. You understand now why the passions of love must be avoided. I shall teach you the methods and leave you to practice them. You will have to devote every spare minute to it."
"Will this get me past the Inquisition?"
Brother Bernat shook his head. "I think the poster will be their real reason for detaining you. Even if I am wrong, they will detect the hob in you. Pepita did. I confess that I did, also. You may never be skilled enough to hide it completely, and you certainly cannot hope to learn the knack in a couple of days. To become even reasonably proficient will take you months."
"Then I had better begin, just in case I live that long."
"Very well. First, you must learn how to breathe. Can you breathe without moving your shoulders, only your abdomen?"
Apparently he was serious.
"I have been doing so all morning! Like this?"
"It would help if you were to remove your upper garments again," Brother Bernat said apologetically. "I shall perform another healing on you after this, which should remove the rest of your pain. You are still in pain?"
"A little," Toby admitted, easing out of his jerkin.
"More than a little, I suspect." The friar waited until the shirt came off. "Stand. Now show me. Here." He poked a finger at Toby's solar plexus. "Out. In. Out. In. Good. Now, can you do the reverse—breathe in just using the upper part of your chest?"
At the moment that hurt, of course, but it would have been difficult at any time.
"Very good! Now, start a very long breath, very slowly, beginning down here at the base of your lungs and filling them all the way to the top. Good. Hold that. Now let it out from the top down..." He chuckled as he watched Toby's contortions. "Wait a moment. Now do it again. Good! Very good indeed! Let me give you the timing. Too fast and you will make yourself giddy."
In a few moments the old man nodded, looking pleased. "That is the first part. You may sit down again." He stood up. "Sit on this, and I shall work on your shoulders. Make yourself as comfortable as you can." He began to soothe more of the fire from Toby's injuries with his mysterious gramarye.
All gramarye was evil by definition, because it was wrested from demons by torture—so Toby had always believed. But this wondrous healing could never be evil. His definitions would have to be revised.
"The second part," the friar said, "is to clear your mind, and that is best done by thinking of some very peaceful scene you know well. Something from your childhood may be best. What shall it be?"
Toby pondered, calling up memories of the glen. "There is a little lake called Lochan na Bi. I remember watching a swan swimming on it." White plumage, dark peaty water, the hills with rain drifting down them. Reflections.
"Very good, let it be that. Some find it helpful to have a mantra also, a phrase to repeat in your mind. 'Lochan na Bi' itself would do very well, it has a gentle sound. So think of the swan and say, 'Lochan na Bi,' to yourself."
Swan. Lochan na Bi. Swan. Lochan na Bi. Swan. Lochan na Bi.
"That's all?"
Brother Bernat laughed. "That is the beginning. Repeat it about a million times! Yes, that is all. If you can breathe as I showed you, very slowly, see the swan, repeat the mantra—this is called dejamiento, Tobias. Done properly, it produces a very deep serenity. Your heart will stay at a slow, steady beat, and the hob will remain serene also. Eventually you could hope to deceive even the Inquisition."
It seemed too simple, far too simple. "If they tie weights to my feet and haul me up again?"
The friar shrugged. "I have known men who remained serene when the tormentors got to the red-hot pincers. You will not achieve that level of control for many years and perhaps never."
"I shall try, Brother."
Try he did. Tricky! The breathing alone seemed to take all his attention, leaving none for mental pictures. Swan... Lochan na Bi... He was also distracted by the cool touch of the friar's hands. After a few moments, he peered around at the old man and saw in his face the same weariness that it had shown before. Healing was obviously a strain.