“Well, that makes perfect sense,” Ryana said. “Water would naturally be the most important element on a dry world such as ours.”
“But he does not say ‘the latter is;’ he says ‘the latter are,’ ” said Sorak. “That means the latter two he mentions, water and fire.”
Ryana frowned. “So? Fire is important, too.”
“But why?” asked Sorak. “Aside from the obvious reasons, of course, that it provides heat and light, and energy to cook with. We can readily perceive how water might be more important than air and earth, but why fire? Besides, he does not really say that fire and water are more important. He says they are more influential.”
“I still do not understand,” Ryana said, looking perplexed. “What is it you see in those words that f do not?”
“Perhaps I am merely reading something into them that is not really there,” Sorak replied. “However, I suspect that is not the case. Consider: he addresses himself here to the subject of clerical magic. He also mentions druids. Well, we are both trained in the Druid Way, and we both know that in terms of clerical magic the elements of air and earth are much more significant than fire. Plants require air and earth to grow—and water, of course—but they do not require fire. Quite the opposite. Fire is the enemy of growing things. And clerical magic, especially druid magic, is not chiefly obtained from fire. It draws more on the earth.”
“That is true,” Ryana said.
“So why, in a section of the journal devoted to describing clerical magic, would he say that fire was more influential than both earth and air? It may be more influential in the lives of people, certainly, but not in clerical magic. There are far more clerics who pay homage to the elemental forces of air and earth than to fire.”
“Yet there are some who do,” Ryana said. “Especially among the dwarves.”
“But do they devote themselves to fire, or to the sun?” asked Sorak.
“Well, to the sun,” Ryana said with a shrug. “But that is the same thing, is it not?”
“Is it?” Sorak said. “Then why does he not say so? Even if it were, there are far fewer sun clerics than there are those who devote themselves to air and earth. The greatest number devote themselves to earth, and then to air. But in this section about magic, where he speaks of druids in particular, he also speaks of fire as being more influential than either earth or air. Or, at least, that is what he seems to say here. And no druid devotes himself to fire.”
“No druid devotes himself to any one elemental force,” Ryana said. “He says as much.”
“Yes, he does, indeed,” said Sorak. “So why, then, does he seem to say that fire and water are more influential than earth and air in terms of clerical magic?”
Ryana shook her head. “I do not know.”
“Consider this, too,” Sorak said. “He goes on to say that sorcerer-kings are glorified as if they were immortal beings.”
“Well, they are immortal,” said Ryana. “Their defiler magic makes them so, especially once they have begun the dragon metamorphosis.”
“But he does not say they are immortal,” Sorak insisted. “He says that they are glorified as if they were immortal. He is telling us that they are not immortal, that while they may live forever through the power of their magic, they can still be killed.
“And then consider carefully the words he chooses when he writes the following: “‘... many such rulers are actually able to bestow spellcasting abilities upon the templars who serve them. Are they truly on a par with the elemental forces worshipped by the clerics? I think not.’ On the surface, it seems as if the Wanderer is saying here that sorcerer-kings are not as powerful as the elemental forces worshipped by the clerics. Or perhaps he means that their templars are not as powerful. But, of course, everyone knows that. Whether templar or sorcerer-king, no one is more powerful than an elemental force. So why bother to say it?”
“But you think that is not what he is saying?” asked Ryana.
Sorak passed the journal to her. “Read it carefully,” he said.
She strained her eyes to see the pages in the firelight. She read the passage once, then twice, then a third time. The fourth time, she slowly read it aloud. “‘In fact, many such rulers are actually able to bestow spellcasting abilities upon the templars who serve them. Are they truly on a par with the elemental forces worshipped by the clerics?’ ”
“Stop there,” said Sorak. “Now look at that last sentence once again. When he uses the word ‘they,’ to whom does he refer? Or, more specifically, to what?”
“To what?” she repeated with a frown. And then comprehension dawned. “Ahh! To what, not to whom! It refers not to the templars, but to the spellcasting abilities bestowed upon them!”
“Exactly,” said Sorak. “The way it is written, the meaning could be taken either way, but if he means the rulers are not on a par with the elemental forces, then he merely states the obvious, for the sorcerer-kings use those elemental forces for their power, as does any other adept. Read the other way, however, it appears to suggest that elemental forces may be used to defeat the powers bestowed upon the templars, and in particular, the Wanderer is drawing our attention to the element of fire. He cites the influence of water on our thirsty world merely to help conceal his meaning.”
“But are you certain that is what he means?” Ryana asked.
“The more I think about it, the more certain of it I become,” said Sorak. “Think back to our weapons training at the convent. Do you recall how tiresome it seemed in the beginning and how pointless to practice the forms over and over and over again, to constantly go through the same series of movements?”
Ryana grinned. “Yes, we were all so very eager to actually fight with one another.”
“But now we know that ceaseless practice of the forms ingrained those movements in our minds and bodies so that when it came to fighting, they were done by reflex and executed perfectly, with no thought to the execution. When Sister Dyona gave me this journal, she inscribed it with the words, ‘A more subtle weapon than your sword, but no less powerful, in its own way’ And now I think I finally understand. The Wanderer’s journal is, in its own way, much like a weapons form. To simply read it through once or twice is to become familiar with the basic movements. But to read it through continually, over and over again, is to achieve refinement and perceive its structure, to realize its true content. It is a guide, Ryana, and a most subversive one. On its surface, it is a guide to Athas, but in its deeper meaning, it is a guide to the struggle against the defilers. Small wonder its distribution has been banned, and the sorcerer-kings have placed a bounty on the Wanderer’s head, whoever he may be.”
“Do you think he is still alive?” Ryana asked.
“Perhaps not. The journal first appeared many years ago; no one seems to be sure exactly when or how. It is painstakingly copied and secretly distributed by the Veiled Alliance. The Wanderer was clearly a preserver, perhaps a high-ranking member of the Alliance.”
“I wonder if we shall ever know,” Ryana said, feeding more wood into the fire. The pagafa wood burned slowly and gave a welcome warmth against the night chill. In the distance, some creature howled. The sound sent a shiver down Ryana’s spine.
“You look tired,” Sorak said. “You should eat something. You will need your strength tomorrow. We still have a long way to go.”
She opened her rucksack and took out her pouch of rations: pine nuts from the forests of the Ringing Mountains, kory seeds, the chewy and succulent leaves from the lotus mint, and sweet, dried fruit from the jumbala tree. She offered him the pouch, but he shook his head.
“You eat,” he said. “I am not hungry now.”