Yet even before the glider was close to Mettersfel, I was worrying about his disappointment. For the son of a merchant, the only mastership was one in a prestigious location. Dzin for the sake of Dzin was not enough.
Then, had it been so for me in the beginning? I forced a deep and contemplative breath.
4
Explanation is not an escape from suffering.
Some nightmares don't end. I woke on a pallet not of snow, nor stone nor dirt nor leaves, but of some unyielding substance harder than steel or stone, and every muscle twitched. Yet I could control none of them.
Days earlier I had outrun gliders, and even heaved massive stones, but I could not move as I lay under a curtain of light that pulsed into my eyes, right through the lids even when I shut them. An odor of machines and power burned through my nostrils.
'Our boy here - he's got one of the really bad old versions - probably from the old Eibran massacre. We get one from there every few years, some form of ethical punishment or something.' The man's voice, if demons were men, if demons had captured me, was deep, almost bass.
'Careful... he can still hear,' cautioned a higher voice - a woman?
'It won't register. Never does. See ... there's no violent feedback, and he's wearing aquacyan.'
'A real hardcase for Jost or Cerrelle, if he makes it.'
I understood the meaning of every word that penetrated the light curtain, and yet the sentences made no sense at all, except for the words about what I was wearing and about ethical punishment, which seemed like a redundant phrase to me.
How could any punishment in Dorcha not be ethical? How could those who truly followed Dzin not be ethical? How could following Dzin have led me to this? I would have cried out if I could.
My eyes blinked, and again I could see the arcs of golden red fire that seemed to web a black star-pointed sky. The curtain of light vanished, as did the words of the unseen speakers, and for a time I beheld bright stars in a sky blacker than any I had ever seen.
That image faded, and I was back under the light curtain.
Another pulse from the En-field. Really dragged him down. There has to be an affinity there. He doesn't have that high a nanite concentration yet.' The woman's voice was dispassionate, like that of a Dzin master, except that Harleya had been the only woman among the eight Dzin masters in recent generations.
'Old Engee must be having difficulties getting recruits these days. Or worshippers.'
'We don't know that. It's a misnomer to call something like that a deity, anyway. You should know better.'
'Whatever, Seana, whatever. If our boy makes it, he'll give Engee fits.'
'If ... if ... if ... Stop talking and help me with the reformulation insertion. He'll need the heavy-duty series ... and that's more than iffy.'
The light curtain flared, and I saw darkness... and nothing - again.
5
Better to see the face than hear the name.
Lessons had gone well. Even young Sergol had nodded his understanding of the parables of San-Merto, and I almost skipped, undignified as that would have been for a young Dzin master, as I headed home from the school. In the lane, well before the boxwood, the deep blue lilacs were about to bud. My nose twitched, anticipating their fragrance, a fragrance that I linked to Foerga, though her eyes were deeper than the lilacs.
'Strive not for beauty of raiment, nor for stately dwellings ... behold the lilac' I laughed gently at my own attempts at a Dzin saying. The feeling was there, just not the conciseness and depth. With time, and more study, perhaps both would come. Manwarr had been right; Hybra had been good for me ... good for both of us.
'... the sun is in the sky; the water in the river ...' And Foerga is here, creating beauty. What more could any Dzin master ask?
When I opened the door to the house, I could tell Foerga was not there, but I could smell hot glass. Rather than call to her and possibly disturb whatever crystal she might be working, I slipped out toward her workshop, the small high-roofed and rectangular outbuilding we had added when Foerga had first joined me in Hybra. In the sunlit coolness of early spring, the door was open, and I stepped inside as noiselessly as I could.
Her back to me, Foerga drew the glass-bearing blowpipe out of the furnace.
Holding my own breath, I watched as she blew, as the blue-tinged glass expanded evenly, and then as she deftly took the rod and twirled and shaped, in ways I could but watch and understand but not duplicate, until suddenly there was a long-stemmed, delicately fluted goblet, shimmering, standing where none had stood before. Truly, Foerga exemplified the Dzin ideal of perfection of the art, yet as an artist and a person, she also neared perfection.
When she eased back from the goblet, I did step forward. 'It's beautiful. So are you, and I'm always amazed.'
My words brought a shy smile, as though, even after seven years, acknowledgment of her beauty of soul and body yet astounded her. 'They're for Elyancar. He has a customer in Leboath.' She smiled more broadly. 'He won't say who it is. So I told him he'd have to pay what she would, and he agreed.'
'Who would not agree for your work?' And about that, I was right. Her crystal would be prized generations after my strivings with Dzin had vanished or, if I were fortunate, merged into the words taught to another generation.
'You praise me too much.' She checked the furnace, then looked back at me. 'I'd best do the last one.'
'I don't praise you enough.' For a moment, I saw the depth and the blue fire behind her eyes, those warm blue depths wherein I often looked and marveled. 'After that, are you finished for this afternoon? Would you like some tea, then?'
She nodded, holding the glass pipe in one hand. 'I very-much would, especially the way you fix the Arleen.'
'Good.' I eased toward her, avoiding the pipe. She smelled of glass, and warmth, and fire, and I held her tightly. She returned the embrace, one-armed, and for precious long moments we remained an isle in a river. The sun is in the sky, the water in the river...
We kissed, then released each other slowly ... eyes meeting for another timeless moment. After another brief kiss, I stepped back and went to prepare the Arleen.
6
Where are you between two thoughts?
When I finally woke up, I lay on what seemed a normal bed with polished spindle posts on each corner. A wooden rocking chair sat in one corner with a table beside it, and a small glow lamp rested on the golden oak of the table. There were two other tables, one on each side of the bed, each also with a glow lamp, and a window that looked out over a rain-dampened and browning lawn and up at a slope thickly forested in evergreens.
I sat up slowly, swinging my feet to the side of the high bed and letting them dangle. I discovered I wore a green sleeping gown or the equivalent, silken against my skin. My face felt bare. As my eyes went to the mirror on the white wall, my fingers went to my chin - smooth as it had been back when
I had been a scholar candidate. The brown hair on my head was also short.
A humming overhead, being paralyzed, lying under a canopy of light, and hearing voices ... and now I was in a luxurious bedroom, with sheets and clothes as tightly woven as the finest silk.
The door opened, and a redheaded woman, as tall as I was, if not taller, stepped inside, closing it behind her. She wore a pale green shirt and trousers and brown boots. Her hair was short, for a woman, and her features sharp.