about it, and you haven’t, either.”
He sighed softly. “You deduce too much without knowing enough to understand the implications. Think about this. While at Imagisle or the few other imager enclaves across Solidar and while in L’Excelsis, we all wear the uniform of the Collegium. Without those uniforms, what would distinguish us from anyone else? We don’t look different; we don’t have a way of speaking that would distinguish us from others of Solidar.”
“So . . . some of us are spies? For the Collegium or the Council?”
He stiffened. “Where did you come up with that?”
“I’ve been thinking, sir. A master can kill someone in a way that doesn’t look to be tied to anyone. If Floryn had been walking down the street who would have known how he died? You said that I would have been found dead on the street had I not come here. You said I could develop shields against a bullet, but not against cannon. Those suggest that an imager can do things others can’t, but not things that would help much in any sort of battle. You also said that imagers provided value to the Council, and it has to be more than aluminum ingots.”
A wry smile appeared on his face. “I knew you were going to be difficult.”
I could feel a chill, and I was the one to freeze.
“Oh . . . you don’t have to worry, not yet. That will come later, after you finish your training, and that will take a while.”
That I would finish my training was a relief . . . in a way.
“I do think that you need to work on your shields, starting now. Try imaging something like an invisible fog between you and me.”
I tried, and I felt an unseen pressure on my chest.
“That’s not working. Try a curtain, a black curtain that stops all light, except that the curtain is one that you can’t see . . .”
We had to work up to an actual visual wall, and then work back down to an invisible muslin screen before I managed to figure it out. By that time, almost a glass later, I was sweating all over. Master Dichartyn could have pointed out that imaging was sometimes far more work than anyone thought. He didn’t have to. The effort spoke more eloquently than he could have.
He did raise his eyebrows. “Now . . . let’s see your logical proof, Rhennthyl. I assume you did the assignment.”
I handed him the single sheet with the few carefully written lines on it.
“Not very long for a proof.” His voice was noncommittal.
What I had written was simple, but I hadn’t been able to think of anything better.
If there is an all-powerful god, nothing is beyond that god’s power. If that god is beneficent, then there will be no evil in the world. If that god is just, the god will not allow injustice to befall the good and the innocent. Yet there is great evil in the world, and much of it falls upon the just and the innocent. A just god would prohibit or limit injustice, at least against the innocent, but injustice continues, so that if such a god is omnipotent, that god cannot be just. Therefore, if there is a god, that god cannot be omnipotent, beneficent, and just.
Master Dichartyn looked up from the paper. “This could be worded better.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you believe what you wrote?”
I hadn’t liked writing the proof, and I’d liked the conclusion less, but I had to believe that there was some truth in the matter. “Mostly . . . sir.”
“Mostly?”
“Well . . . if people aren’t marionettes, pulled by strings held by the Nameless, they have to be able to make some decisions. That includes bad decisions. Bad decisions can cause evil.”
“Then you’re arguing that your proof is incorrect because a good and beneficent god has to allow free will.”
I didn’t like that any better. “I don’t like the idea that so many people can be hurt by those bad decisions and that sometimes bad people are rewarded for their cruelty and evil.”
“What do your feelings tell you about your logical proof?”
“It isn’t logical? That I made a mistake?”
He laughed. “No. Your reaction was that you weren’t logical or that you made a mistake in logic. Behind your reaction is a feeling that whatever is ‘true’ must be able to be expressed logically. Men, in particular, have a tendency to confuse correct logic with an accurate assessment of a situation. Be careful of any situation that you have to reason through logically, because if you have to work to reason it out, you’re probably missing something.”
Again . . . I had to think about that for a moment.
“Another problem is that we want the world to be logical and understandable, and we want people to act in a way that feels right and makes sense to us. That’s true of most people in most countries. There are difficulties in that, though. Can you tell me what they are?”
“What makes sense to us doesn’t make sense to them?”
“Precisely. We have different beliefs about what we feel is right and makes sense. We take for granted certain beliefs or truths. Other cultures take for granted other truths. According to our truths, their behavior is not right, and according to their truths, our behavior is not right.”
That certainly made sense.
“So which is right?” he asked. “In the absolute sense, that is?”
“I can’t say, sir. I don’t know their truths.”
“That’s the logical answer, Rhennthyl. It’s also an answer you will need to keep to yourself. Why?”
“Because everyone around me believes our truths are right?”
He nodded. “People do not like their beliefs challenged. They want certainty, and they want everyone to follow their way, because they are convinced that their way is the only right way. Oh, there are a few open- minded people about, but far fewer than claim they are.”
I could see that as well, perhaps because I could recall all too well my father’s belief in the superiority of a life spent as a factor.
“Let me ask you another question. We are always cautioned not to attach too much weight or significance to a name. But isn’t calling the one who cannot be named ‘the Nameless’ just a convenient way of saying we’re following the rule of not emphasizing names while doing just that?”
“Sir?”
“Isn’t ‘the Nameless’ as much a name as ‘Dichartyn’ or ‘Rhennthyl’?”
Once again, I had to think about that. He was certainly right and yet . . .
“Rhenn?”
“Sir . . . how can we talk about anything without names? We name metals, the colors of the rainbow, the objects in everyday life.”
“Why are those different from the one who cannot be named? Or from you . . . or me?”
I finally grasped at an answer. “They’re not alive.”
“What about animals? We often name them. They’re alive. What does being alive have to do with names?”
I could feel that there was a difference, but I couldn’t find any words to express what I felt, and I finally shrugged, helplessly.
“Metals, objects, minerals . . . they cannot change what they are. All fundamental substances can only exist in three forms, like water, which we can see as steam, a vapor or gas, or as a liquid, or as a solid, as ice. The nature of most objects is limited, whereas we exist as solids, except we breathe air, which is a combination of gases, and blood and other liquids run through us. We are less fixed than the hard physical world in which we live, and yet naming suggests a fixity which is not true . . .”
But was it untrue? I doubted some people could ever change.
“. . . Names are a necessary convenience, but they represent only a small proportion of what anyone is, and the more alive, the more powerful, the more talented anyone may be, regardless of whether they are good or evil, the less their name tells of them.”
I understood everything Master Dichartyn had said, but the more questions he asked, the more I wondered
