I have of late been struck by a disturbing realization, and it came to me thus: there is, in this village, a man not terribly on in years but nevertheless past his prime. His intelligence is not esteemed among the villagers, but it has been my habit to employ him as something of a handy-man. Dervish is his name.
Some weeks ago I asked Dervish to try to bring the old well back to health, so full of cobwebs and refuse as it is, and this task naturally took the man a goodly amount of time to complete.
1 did not know the well was haunted. Fool, fool! I should have surveyed it, but the decrepit thing had been on my lands for so many years and I had never had cause to suspect it of any impediment other than the annoyance of its physical uselessness.
Dervish came to me where I sat—I have taken of late to spending my early evenings by the pond, where I watch my ducks—and he told me that the well had a spirit trapped in it, that had long ago stopped the well from working, to attract attention, so that perhaps some wizard would come along and free it. Again, I point in contempt at my own prodigality. But what intrigued me was that Dervish had managed to get a handle on the whole situation. He did not solve it—that took my doing, and a simple spell it was. But that evening when I paid Dervish his weekly wage, I saw a look in his eyes that told me that perhaps, with a try or two, he could have accomplished it. Somewhere, back there in the man's childhood, had things been different—and never in this journal would I so flagrantly dispute the Circle in its wisdom—had things been different...
Dervish could have been a wizard.
Not now, perhaps. We don't allow the magic that is used by all to be actually manipulated by all, and Dervish is long past his prime, too late for the Circle's training.
How many are out there, O Circle?
Do they know our crimes?
Have we known all along?
Miranda put down the volume. The passage must have been written a century ago, at least. She shuddered despite herself. Are you here, Stephen? Can you tell me about this?
It was all so familiar. The Far Corners unwizards had tried to feed her their legends: There was a time when magic was free, not controlled by a chosen few. It will be so again. It must be.
'But that way lies danger,' she said aloud, repeating Jemuel.
Does it? spoke the spirit. What kind of danger, Miranda?
'You talk a good game, you who would set the magic free,' she said. 'But consider it. Breaking the locks on spells the Circle has set, opening up the magic language, and what would you get? Marauded villages, sunken navies....'
Cured sick, fed people....
'All of which the wizards can do.'
But should they? You sound like Jemuel. I know you better than that. I brought you here for a reason.
'You brought...' Miranda stared at the wall of books. She felt silly, like a child, talking to one of her fellow castaway imaginary friends. 'No. I refuse to believe that.'
Believe what you like, Miranda. What you've always wanted. Open it. Break the chains on the magic, the chains on the spells.
'Why don't you?'
I no longer have that ability. Not like this. But you can help me, Miranda. I have made preparations. Let me show you the way.
'It can't be done. Open the magic? Even if I wanted to, even if you wanted to, that's a hell of a spell.'
I have made preparations.
'Go find someone else, Stephen.'
The wind erupted in the library, papers exploding on the desk. Something invisible hit the bookshelf and dislodged a pile of books. The spirit screamed, Find someone else! Years! Years I spent deriving the spells to be cast! Fellow wizards died to provide me with the parts I needed! In life I tied myself to the fabric that runs through the spells of the Circle. But I was not able to finish my work. There is no one else! You have the training! You have the want! You... have... the... need!
Miranda looked down at the table. 'It's too much, Stephen.'
One spell you must cast! One only! One out of two, your choice!
'I will hear no more!' Miranda cried, and with that, she stormed out of the library and out of the house. I didn't ask for this.
Miranda sat by the duck pond and watched the creatures there.
Dervish could have been a wizard. Ridiculous.
What if we're controlling the magic when we should let the magic control itself?
That way lies danger.
But at Far Corners, you felt wrong, didn't you? They'd moved in on the Circle's territory and you shut them down! That could have been you.
You would have been an unwizard, then.
When she returned to the house, she said, 'All right. Tell me more.'
