Justarius arched a brow. "Should I expect your brother to pay me similarly?"
It was Guerrand's turn to laugh. Realizing it might sound disrespectful, he stopped, though with great difficulty. "No, sir. If my brother learned I had apprenticed myself to a mage, he'd, well… I don't know what he'd do, but it wouldn't be pleasant for me." Guerrand's mind flashed to a campfire in the foothills north of Palanthas, where he and Lyim had been attacked by the invisible creature. "He'd be more inclined to pay someone to kill me than anything else."
"That bad, eh?" Justarius gave Guerrand a sympathetic look and shook his head. "Who would have thought that such prejudice against magic would still exist so long after the persecution by the kingpriest? Well," he sighed, "I suppose there will always be ignorance. It's as important to maintaining the balance between Good and Evil as anything else."
Justarius looked to the star pattern on the tile before Guerrand. "How is your counting coming?"
The apprentice bit his lip and screwed up his courage. "Sir," he began, "I know an apprentice is not supposed to question his master's instructions, but I've counted these tiles for three days now, and I always come up with the same number of blue, red, and yellow pieces. I'm not sure what answer I'm expected to arrive at."
"And you can't see how any of this has anything to do with learning new spells, am I right?"
Guerrand's face brightened. Justarius did understand how he felt!
"I will tell you what my master told me when I did the tile exercise and asked the same question."
"Your master gave you this same exercise during your apprenticeship?"
"Of course. As Merick had been subjected to it by his master, and so on. In a proper apprenticeship you inherit long-held traditions, as in any family. This particular tradition is always held in this very room." Seeing Guerrand's confusion, Justarius briefly explained, "I inherited Villa Rosad upon my master's untimely death some years ago, but that's another story." He looked frustrated at having strayed from the topic. "Would you like to hear the explanation or not?"
Guerrand nodded eagerly and leaned forward.
"You will know the answer to the latter when you understand the former."
Guerrand could not keep his expression from deflating.
"How many green tiles are there?"
The question startled Guerrand. "One hundred thirty-three."
"Red?"
"Two hundred ten."
"Yellow?"
"Thirty-five, if you count the ones that have faded or worn down to beige."
Justarius nodded his approval, which sent a wave of happiness fluttering in Guerrand's chest.
"Now, close your eyes."
Guerrand slammed his eyes shut before thinking.
"Now, tell me how many of the two hundred ten red pieces are triangular-shaped? Keep your eyes closed!" Justarius barked, seeing Guerrand's lids flutter in confusion.
Not knowing what else to do, Guerrand squeezed his eyes tighter, leaned forward again, and pressed the tips of his fingers to the mosaic. How could he possibly tell the difference between colors with his eyes shut? Think, he prompted himself. Red formed the center of the star, before the points jutted out. Using the tips of his fingers to find cracks, he tried to determine the outline of the star. He even managed to find some triangular pieces, but he gave it up before long, unable to remember which tiles he'd already counted. Guerrand's fingers curled into a frustrated fist.
"Have you determined yet what relevance this exercise has for spellcasting?"
Guerrand chanced opening his eyes to met Justarius's. His master's were dark, patient, nonjudgmental. "I presume you're trying to teach me to memorize."
Justarius wagged a finger and shook his head. "Unh-unh, but you're close. I'm trying to get you to visualize."
Guerrand's expression told Justarius that the apprentice saw little distinction between the two.
"Guerrand," he murmured, "the difference is as wide as an ocean! Your understanding of it will determine whether you'll progress beyond the simple spells that can be cast by anyone who can read, like the ones you knew when you came here."
Justarius thrust the tip of his walking stick to the center of the star. "Most masters will tell you that memorization is everything-Belize would say that. They're all wrong. Or at least only partially right. It is true that anyone who is able to memorize the right combination of words, gestures, and materials can cast a spell. Your brother who loathes magic could do it, if he chose to."
The archmage used both hands to shift his crippled leg. "But if you wish to rise above those who practice magic by rote, you must have more than a cursory understanding of how magic works. Let me give you an example: You can mindlessly repeat the words of a ballad, or you can truly hear their meaning. You must have a passion for that understanding, not just for the power such magic can provide. Only then can you tap into the extradimensional source of energy from which true magic springs."
Guerrand's head was starting to reel, yet he was fascinated. Justarius looked into his eyes and judged that he could take still more.
"The proper performance of magic-even one spell-is as taxing to the mind as rowing a longship alone would be to the body. Illogical mathematics, alchemical chemistry, structured linguistics… The mage must use these disciplines to shape specific, twisted mental patterns that are so complicated and alien to normal thought that they defy the conventional process of memorization. Confounding this further, he must account for subtle changes like seasons, time of day, planetary motions, position of the moons, that sort of thing. Rote memorization cannot accommodate these changes. But a passionate understanding of the workings of magic, achieved through the use of visualization, can. The reward after years of study-the advantage of this discipline-is the ability to combine disparate elements to create new spells."
"I had no idea it was so complicated," said Guerrand faintly.
Standing with difficulty, Justarius scratched his head. "I must be slipping in my advancing age," he said, backing away one faltering step. "I can see I've given you almost too much to think about."
"I will think about it-all of it," Guerrand promised. "Passion for the magic, not the power," he repeated solemnly.
"That's the key," nodded Justarius. "And now I've turned you all somber again. Think about it for a while if you must, then go row a longship or something to balance out your mind and body." With that, Justarius limped toward the archway of the summer dining room. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, stopped, and turned.
"One last thing, Guerrand," said the mage. "Please instruct your familiar to not treat the villa like the bottom of a bird cage. Denbigh has been complaining."
Guerrand's eyes went wide. How did Justarius know about Zagarus? Sea gulls circled and strutted about the villa constantly, and he'd been extremely careful not to single Zagarus out in any way. In fact, Zag spent most of his time in the mirror, except when Guerrand let him out in the confines of his room. Zagarus would then fly out the window to feed.
"How did you know?"
Justarius had been watching with amusement as Guerrand deliberated. "If a mage wishes for a long life, there is very little that happens in his home about which he is unaware," he said, idly twisting the plain gold band around his right index finger. "You would be wise to remember that."
Noting Guerrand's expression of shame, the mage added, "Buck up, lad. I'm not criticizing. You were right to not tell me about your bird. A mage should protect the identity of his familiar, since it makes him vulnerable. Frankly, I was impressed that you were able to master the spell that summons a familiar in the first place. It reaffirms my initial opinion of you."
Justarius turned again to the archway, dragging his left leg behind him. "Before you get too full of yourself, just remember the droppings, or Denbigh will have both our heads."