He did not doubt the gods. He doubted himself. It was some fault within him, something he was doing wrong. And so, instead of copying the spell into his primer, Raistlin was doing much the same as Jon Farnish, going over and over the words, meticulously writing down every letter until he could convince himself that he had not made a single mistake.
A shadow-a broad shadow-fell across his page.
He looked up. "Yes, Master?" he said, trying to hide his irritation at the interruption and not quite succeeding.
Raistlin had long ago realized that he was smarter than Master Theobald and more gifted in magic. He stayed in the school because there was nowhere else to go, and, as this proved, he still had much to learn. Master Theobald could cast a sleep spell.
"Do you know what time it is?" Master Theobald asked. "It is dinnertime. You should be in the common room with the other boys."
"Thank you, but I'm not hungry, Master," Raistlin said ungraciously and went back to his work.
Master Theobald frowned. A well-fed man himself, one who enjoyed his meat and ale, he could not understand someone like Raistlin, to whom food was fuel to keep his body going and nothing more.
"Nonsense, you have to eat. What are you doing that is so important it causes you to skip a meal?"
Master Theobald could see perfectly well what Raistlin was doing.
"I am working at copying this spell, Master," Raistlin said, gritting his teeth at the man's idiocy. "I do not feel ready yet to write in my primer."
Master Theobald looked down at the scraps of paper littering the desk. He picked up one, then another. "But these are adequate. Quite good, in fact."
"No, there must be something wrong!" Raistlin said impatiently. "Otherwise I could have been able to cast-"
He had not meant to say that. He bit his tongue and fell silent, glowering down at his ink-stained fingers.
"Ah," said Master Theobald, with the ghost of a smile, which, since Raistlin was not looking, he did not see. "So you have been attempting a little spellcasting, have you?"
Raistlin did not reply. If he could have cast a spell now, he would have summoned demons from the Abyss and ordered them to haul off Master Theobald.
The master leaned back and laced his fingers over his stomach, which meant that he was about to launch into one of his lectures.
"It didn't work, I take it. I'm not surprised. You are far too proud, young man. Far too self-absorbed and self-satisfied. You are a taker, not a giver. Everything flows into you. Nothing flows out. The magic is in the blood, it flows from the heart. Every time you use it, part of yourself goes with it.
Only when you are prepared to give of yourself and receive nothing back will the magic work for you."
Raistlin lifted his head, shook his long, straight brown hair out of his face. He stared straight ahead. "Yes, Master," he said coldly, impassively. "Thank you, Master."
Master Theobald's tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "You are seated on a very high horse right now, young man. Someday you will fall off. If the fall doesn't kill you, you might learn something from it." The master grunted. "I'm going to dinner now. I'm hungry."
Raistlin returned to his work, a scornful smile curling his lips.
Chapter 2
That summer, the summer of the twins' sixteenth year, life for the Majere family continued to improve. Gilon had been hired to help cut a stand of pines on the slopes of Prayer's Eye Peak. The property belonged to an absentee lord, who was having the wood hauled north to build a stockade. The job paid well and looked as if it would last a long time, for the stockade was going to be a large one.
Caramon worked full time for the prospering Farmer Sedge, who had extended his land holdings and was now shipping grain, fruits, and vegetables to the markets of Haven. Caramon worked long hours for a portion of the crops, some of which he sold, the rest he brought home.
The Widow Judith was considered a member of the family. She maintained her own small house, but for all practical purposes, she lived at the Majeres'. Rosamun could not manage without her. Rosamun herself was much improved. She had not fallen into one of her trancelike states in several years. She and the widow performed the chores around the house and spent much of their time visiting the neighbors.
Had Gilon known exactly what such visits entailed, he might have been worried about his wife. But he assumed Rosamun and the widow were doing nothing more than sharing the latest gossip. He could not know, nor would he have believed, the truth of the matter.
Gilon and Caramon both liked the Widow Judith. Raistlin grew to dislike her more than ever, perhaps because during the summer he was home with her, whereas the other two were not. He saw the influence the widow wielded over his mother, and he disliked and distrusted it. More than once, he came in on their whispered conversations, conversations that would end abruptly upon his arrival.
He tried to eavesdrop, hoping to hear what the two were saying. The Widow Judith had excellent hearing, however, and he was usually discovered. One day, however, the two women happened to be sitting at the kitchen table beneath a window where several pies were cooling. Walking up on them from outside, his footsteps lost among the rustling of the leaves of the vallenwood tree, Raistlin heard their voices. He halted in the shadows.
"The High Priest is not pleased with you, Rosamun Majere. I have had a letter from him this day. He wonders why you have not brought your husband and children into the arms of Belzor."
Rosamun's response was meek and defensive. She had tried. She had spoken to Gilon of Belzor several times, but her husband had only laughed at her. He did not need to have faith in any god. He had faith in himself and his good right arm and that was that. Caramon said he was quite willing to attend the meetings of the Belzorites, especially if they served food. As for Raistlin. Rosamun's voice trailed off.
As for Raistlin, he was eager to hear more, but at that moment the Widow Judith rose to see to the pies and saw him standing at the corner of the house. He and Judith looked intently at each other. Neither gave anything away to the other, however, except a shared enmity. The Widow Judith brought in the pies and closed the shutters. Raistlin continued on to his garden.
Who in the Abyss is this Belzor, he wondered, and why does he want to embrace us?
"It's some sort of thing of mother's," said Caramon, upon questioning. "You know. One of those woman things. They all meet together and talk about stuff. What kind of stuff? I don't know. I went once but I fell asleep."
Rosamun never said anything to Raistlin about Belzor, rather to Raistlin's disappointment. He considered bringing up the matter himself, but he feared this would involve talking to the Widow Judith, and he avoided contact with her as much as possible. The master was off on his visit to the conclave. School was out for the summer. Raistlin spent his days planting, cultivating, and adding to his collection of herbs. He was gaining some small reputation among the neighbors for his knowledge of herbs, sold what he himself did not need and thus was able to contribute to the family's income. He forgot about Belzor.
The Majere family was happy and prosperous that summer, a summer that would stand out in the twins' minds as golden, a gold that shone all the more brightly in contrast to the coming darkness.
Raistlin and Caramon were walking along the road leading to Solace, returning from Farmer Sedge's. Caramon was coming back from work. Raistlin had gone to the farmer's to deliver a bundle of dried lavender. His clothes still smelled of the fragrant flower. From that time, he would never be able to abide the scent of lavender.