Denna flicked the switch and dull red light shone out in a narrow arc. “I can see how heat and light are related,” she said thoughtfully. “The sun is bright and warm. Same with a candle.” She frowned. “But motion doesn’t fit into it. A fire can’t push something.”
“Think about friction,” Sim chimed in. “When you rub something it gets hot.” He demonstrated by running his hand back and forth vigorously across the fabric of his pants. “Like this.”
He continued rubbing his thigh enthusiastically, unaware of the fact that, since it was happening below the level of the table, it looked more than slightly obscene. “It’s all just energy. If you keep doing it, you’ll feel it get hot.”
Denna somehow kept a straight face. But Wilem started to laugh, covering his face with one hand, as if embarrassed to be sitting at the same table with Sim.
Simmon froze and flushed red with embarrassment.
I came to his rescue. “It’s a good example. The hub of a wagon wheel will be warm to the touch. That heat comes from the motion of the wheel. A sympathist can make the energy go the other way, from heat into motion.” I pointed to the lamp. “Or from heat into light.”
“Fine,” she said. “You’re energy moneychangers. But how do you make it happen?”
“There’s a special way of thinking called Alar,” Wilem said. “You believe something so strongly that it becomes so.” He lifted up one drab and the other followed it. “I believe these two drabs are connected, so they are.” Suddenly the other drab clattered to the tabletop. “If I stop believing, it stops being so.”
Denna picked up the drab. “So it’s like faith?” she said skeptically.
“More like strength of will,” Sim said.
She cocked her head. “Why don’t you call it strength of will, then?”
“Alar sounds better,” Wilem said.
I nodded. “If we didn’t have impressive sounding names for things, no one would take us seriously.”
Denna nodded appreciatively, a smile tugging at the corners of her lovely mouth. “And that’s it then? Energy and strength of will?”
“And the sympathetic link,” I said. “Wil’s waterwheel analogy is a good one. The link is like a pipe leading to the waterwheel. A bad link is like a pipe full of holes.”
“What makes a good link?” Denna asked.
“The more similar two objects are, the better the link. Like this.” I poured an inch of the pale wine into my cup and dipped my finger into it. “Here is a perfect link to the wine,” I said. “A drop of the wine itself.”
I stood and walked to the nearby hearth. I murmured a binding and let a drop fall from my finger onto the hot metal andiron holding the burning logs.
I sat back down just as the wine in my glass started to steam, then boil.
“And that,” Wilem said grimly, “is why you never want a sympathist to get a drop of your blood.”
Denna looked at Wilem, then back to the glass, her face going pale.
“Black hands, Wil,” Simmon said with a horrified look. “What a thing to say.” He looked at Denna. “No sympathist would ever do something like that,” he said earnestly. “It’s called malfeasance, and we don’t do it. Ever.”
Denna managed a smile, though it was a bit strained. “If no one ever does it, why is there a name for it?”
“They used to,” I said. “But not anymore. Not for a hundred years.”
I let the binding go and the wine stopped boiling. Denna reached out and touched the nearby bottle. “Why doesn’t this wine boil too?” she asked, puzzled. “It’s the same wine.”
I tapped my temple. “The Alar. My mind provides the focus and direction.”
“If that’s a good link,” she asked, “what’s a bad one?”
“Here, let me show you.” I pulled out my purse, guessing coins would seem less alarming after Wilem’s comment. “Sim, do you have a hard penny?”
He did, and I arranged two lines of coins on the table in front of Denna. I pointed to a pair of iron drabs and murmured a binding. “Lift it up,” I said.
She picked up one drab and the other followed it.
I pointed to the second pair: a drab and my single remaining silver talent. “Now that one.”
Denna picked up the second drab and the talent followed it into the air. She moved both hands up and down like the arms of a scale. “This second one’s heavier.”
I nodded. “Different metals. They’re less similar, so you have to put more energy into it.” I pointed to the drab and the silver penny and muttered a third binding.
Denna put the first two drabs into her left hand, and picked up the third in her right. The silver penny followed it into the air. She nodded to herself. “And this one’s heavier still because it’s a different shape and a different metal.”
“Exactly,” I said. I pointed to the fourth and final pair: a drab and a piece of chalk.
Denna almost couldn’t get her fingers underneath the drab to pick it up. “It’s heavier than all the others together,” she said. “It’s got to be three pounds!”
“Iron to chalk is a lousy link,” Wilem said. “Bad transference.”
“But you said energy couldn’t be created or destroyed,” Denna said. “If I have to struggle to lift this tiny piece of chalk, where does the extra energy go?”
“Clever,” Wilem chuckled. “So clever. I went a year before I thought to ask that.” He eyed her in admiration. “Some energy is lost into the air.” He waved one hand. “Some goes into the objects themselves, and some goes into the body of the sympathist who is controlling the link.” He frowned. “That can get dangerful.”
“Dangerous,” Simmon corrected gently.
Denna looked at me. “So right now you’re believing each of these drabs is connected to each of these other things?”
I nodded.
She moved her hands around. The coins and chalk bobbed in the air. “Isn’t that . . . hard?”
“It is,” Wilem said. “But our Kvothe is a bit of a showoff.”
“That’s why I’ve been so quiet,” Sim said. “I didn’t know you could hold four bindings at once. That’s impressive as hell.”
“I can do five if I need to,” I said. “But that’s pretty much my limit.”
Sim smiled at Denna. “One more thing. Watch this!” He pointed at the floating piece of chalk.
Nothing happened.
“Come on,” Sim said plaintively. “I’m trying to show her something.”
“Then show her,” I said smugly, leaning back in my chair.
Sim took a deep breath and stared hard at the piece of chalk. It trembled.
Wil leaned close to Denna and explained. “One sympathist can oppose another’s Alar,” he said. “It is just a matter of firmly believing that a drab is not the same as a silver penny at all.”
Wil pointed, and the penny clattered to the tabletop.
“Foul,” I protested, laughing. “Two on one isn’t fair.”
“It is in this case,” Simmon said, and the chalk trembled again.
“Fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Do your worst.”
The chalk dropped to the table quickly, followed by the drab. But the silver talent stayed where it was.
Sim sat back in his chair. “You’re creepy,” he said, shaking his head. “Fine, you win.” Wilem nodded and relaxed as well.
Denna looked at me. “So your Alar is stronger than theirs put together?”
“Probably not,” I said graciously. “If they had practice working together they could probably beat me.”
Her eyes ranged over the scattered coins. “So that’s it?” she asked, sounding slightly disappointed. “It’s all just energy moneychanging?”
“There are other arts,” I said. “Sim does alchemy, for example.”
“While I,” Wilem said, “focus on being pretty.”
Denna looked us over again, her eyes serious. “Is there a type of magic that’s just . . .” She wiggled her fingers vaguely. “Just sort of writing things down?”
“There’s sygaldry,” I said. “Like that bell in your room. It’s like permanent sympathy.”
“But it’s still moneychanging, right?” she asked. “Just energy?”