“Probably true.”
I pulled off my jerkin. The room was suddenly chilly. Morgan and Aliera looked away from my bare chest, which seemed a bit funny. I took a knife from my belt, and began cutting strips of leather from what had been a shirt only seconds before, but now merely a supply of fabric. Funny how quickly things can change, isn’t it?
“What are you doing, Vlad?” asked Aliera.
I didn’t answer. Not answering Aliera when she asks questions like that is one of the pleasures that I had missed since I’d been away.
When I had four strips cut off, I worked them around Aliera’s and Morrolan’s wrists, between manacle and skin. Aliera was easy; Morrolan had thicker wrists and it took me a while, but I managed. I probably hurt him a little while I was doing it, but, of course, he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of letting me know if I had.
When I was done, there turned out to be enough of a jerkin left to do some good, so I put the remainder back on; it made my stomach seem even colder than it had been.
I sat down cross-legged in front of and between Morrolan and Aliera. I really wanted this to work. Not only was it necessary to accomplish my mission and save the world or whatever the hell I was trying to save, and very possibly the only way for me to get out of this alive, but, more important, if I managed to rescue Aliera and Morrolan it would be something I would never let them forget; the pleasure would be almost too sweet. On the other hand, if I accidentally amputated both of their hands, I’d feel bad. And that was, in fact, a possibility, even though the Goddess hadn’t seemed to doubt that I could pull it off; hence the addition of the strips of leather; for one thing, they were symbolically important as barriers, and symbols are very important in witchcraft. And for another, well, maybe, if all else failed, the leather would give their wrists some protection from what I was about to do to them.
“Morrolan,” I said, “give me your right hand. Aliera, your left.” They did so, clanking. Crazily, it entered my head to wonder what my friend Aibynn, who was a musician, would have said about the note the chains gave off—I mention this as an example of how one’s mind works at such moments. Or maybe as an example of how whacked my friend Aibynn is, I don’t know.
Teldra said, “Is there anything useful I can do?”
“No, but thanks for asking. Just stay out of my line of vision so you don’t distract me.” She obligingly backed up a couple of steps.
“Okay, Loiosh. Help me out.”
“Sure you know what you’re doing, Boss?”
“Of course not. Now help me out.”
“Okay.”
I started to get light-headed again, and reminded myself to take shallow breaths; that actually had seemed to help, now that I thought about it. Getting dizzy in the middle of this spell would not be in any of our best interest.
“I’ll keep track of your breathing, Boss.”
“Good. Let’s start, then.”
Connecting to them came easily; I knew them well by now “Energy” is a term that I can’t define, at least as I’m using it now: it is uncomfortably vague, and can be twisted into all sorts of bizarre meanings. I’ve heard it used by sorcerers in a very precise, no-nonsense way, as something they could measure and portion out in precise increments; they even have a word for an increment, though I can’t recall it at the moment. I’ve also heard “energy” used in casual conversation as a way of making something vague and meaningless sound precise and full of significance: “I knew she was mine when I felt the energy pass between us.” I’ve heard natural philosophers use the word much the way sorcerers do, and fools of various flavors use it the way lovers do.
But, whatever it means, energy lies at the heart of witchcraft.
When you have understood the piece of the world you want to change, and aligned your will with the world as it actually is, then and only then can you begin to change it; not to hit the point too hard, but I suppose this is true even in what one does with one’s more mundane abilities. The difference is that, when practicing the art of the witch, one can actually feel the alignment, feel the changes taking place. I call this feeling energy, because I can’t think of a better term for it; inside of myself, it comes with a quickening of the heartbeat, a sense of being, for a while, a little more alive, and a sureness of one’s convictions. Outside of myself, well, stuff starts happening.
So, yes, connecting to Morrolan and Aliera came easily, and the energy began to build.
Every skill—certainly every physical skill—really consists of learning which muscles ought to be tense, and which relaxed, and when. Increased skill comes with strengthening certain muscles, and, even more, with achieving finer control of the particular muscles used. In the Eastern science of defense, for example, one must learn to keep the proper amount of tension in the thumb, fingers, and wrist, so that the point of the weapon stays in line: too little tension and the weapon can be knocked out of your hand, which is embarrassing; too much and one responds too slowly, which is equally embarrassing. In fact, to show you how picky it can be, your first step in actually mastering the art is when you get control of your ring finger. Later, one learns the proper amount of tension for the forward knee and the rear foot, and so on. It is a training of mind and of muscle, which in the novice are constantly at odds with each other, and in the expert are so strongly united that it is impossible to separate conscious decisions from those made by trained muscles. This state is what we talk about when we refer to “reflexes,” which can tell you a lot about yourself.
I say this to make the obvious point that the art of the witch is very similar, except that the “muscles” in question all exist within the mind of the witch. With the simplest spells, all that is needed is the concentration of power; with the more complex spells, a subtlety and flexibility of mind is required. Typically, a witch will use all sort of tools, herbs, and amulets, because these help to focus the mind onto the required path; but when necessary, the swordsman forgets about proper form and technique and takes the opening that desperation requires and opportunity presents.
Now that I think about it, most of my life has consisted of taking the opening that desperation required and opportunity presented.
I did without tools, herbs, and amulets; instead I built them as metaphors in my mind. I imagined the manacles as four burning pyres, with visible heat patterns emerging from them that I then turned into strips of cloth—not to be confused with the actual strips of leather, which were metaphorically walls keeping the heat from their arms, which were, oh, never mind. I took hold of the metaphorical cloth, not the real leather, and I pulled, throwing it carelessly to my metaphorical side. Fortunately, there was no one in the metaphorical way.
“Loiosh, look to their wrists; make sure I don’t hurt them.”
“Got it, Boss.”
I pulled, and pulled, and it seemed as if I were pulling fabric from an endless spool. Somewhere far, far away, there was conversation; I imagine Morrolan or Aliera or both were making comments or asking questions, but none of it registered—fortunately for all of us. Morrolan, at least, ought to have understood that conversation was a bad idea; that I needed to concentrate or Bad Things would happen. This was a thought I had later; at the time, I was, well, concentrating.
Eventually it became harder to pull, and the flames from the pyres were almost extinguished. I continued because I didn’t know just how far I’d have to go.
“Boss, I can’t keep it all away from them.”