Dubaku was already installed when I arrived, and eating like he had been fasting. I gave a greeting, and took the spare seat around the small fire that served mainly as centerpiece.
“What do the spirits tell you?” Abrat said.
I raised an eyebrow, but assumed that this was half way through a conversation I'd missed. The question seemed a bit pointed to me.
“I cannot understand them.”
“They don't speak your language?!”
Dubaku looked at him, and Abrat seemed to quail slightly.
“They use the words we have but mean different things. They do not see the world as we see it.”
“Without eyes, I'm not surprised!”
I expected Dubaku to be sharp and was wrong.
“Exactly.”
Larner leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Their understanding of the world is not ours. They are looking at it from a different place. What they know they cannot tell.”
“Why not?”
Dubaku was silent for a moment. “The world is made up of small things, smaller than the smallest thing you can image, so many that even in a grain of sand there are more parts than there are grains of sand on a beach.”
Larner and Hettar exchanged a significant glance and I was suddenly attentive.
“Even water is made up of these things. Now imagine you stand on such a small thing. It is on a ripple in a puddle of rainwater and it is the world. And you ask an ancient spirit, 'What is the universe?' How would the spirit answer?”
“It is a puddle of water?” I asked
Dubaku was no longer looking at Abrat. “It is a ripple on a puddle of water. And you would ask?”
I answered. “What is a puddle, what is a ripple, what is water?”
“And the spirit might say water is made up of the world you stand on, many the same and a ripple is caused by rain falling into the puddle and a puddle is where water collects in a depression.”
“And I would say, what is rain, what is a depression?”
Dubaku nodded. “Just so, and be none the wiser when he answered.”
“That's just a metaphor,” Abrat scorned.
“A metaphor may be a lie,” Larner said thoughtfully, “but it can also be a useful lie.”
“One day we will see things as they see them and know what they know. Until then there is nothing to be learned from spirits.”
“Life is for the living,” Larner said.
It was a city saying.
I doubted Dubaku told the whole truth. Surely a spirit must have memory of life? There would be things to learn from them. Perhaps much more than Dubaku was intimating. Perhaps he wanted to disarm these sorcerers, make himself seem nonthreatening.
“How do spirits do what they do? Affect the world.” Larner sounded genuinely interested, and for that reason so was I.
“They say the universe is empty. I do not know what that means.”
Unfortunately neither did I.
Larner also looked a little disappointed. “Empty? But they also say that everything is made up of particles?”
“Yes. You see? They contradict each other and themselves. I long since gave up trying to understand the how and contented myself that they could come to my aid if they chose.”
Particles. I kept my face absolutely neutral and reached casually for a drink. Larner had used the word naturally. He had already known about the 'small things that everything was made up of' and he called them particles. That mattered. Sorcerers manipulated particles. I sipped my drink and leaned back, focusing my memory on what small magics I knew and how they worked. Shapes and movements were what a spell most resembled when you thought of it, or shapes in movement overlaying the place you wanted the thing to happen. If I could see particles would I recognize something of those shapes and movements? The patterns are non-intuitive. Were the patterns and movements so non-intuitive because we couldn't see what they related to? Because the things they related to were very small?
I resolved to find a lens maker as soon as I had enough money and the time.
“You are thoughtful, Sumto. What are you thinking about?”
“I was wondering if what we do as sorcerers, pardon the presumption, might be similar in any way to what spirits do to perform their effects.”
All four sorcerers laughed. But I noticed that Dubaku did not.
18
When I got back to my tent from the morning staff meeting (Geranium) it was to find Pakat and Geheran either side of a somewhat smaller man, each holding one arm. Kerral stood to one side in conversation with Rastrian. Nobody looked happy, least of all the guy under guard. He looked sullen and angry, maybe it was a talent.
“Report!”
Kerral turned to me and saluted. “One of the men caught pilfering, sir.”
The standard punishment is ten lashes for a first offense. “Witnesses?”
Kerral indicated the two men who held the prisoner.
“Muster the men to parade. Ten lashes. Rastrian, choose a man to administer the punishment.” I stepped into my tent. There was nothing else to say and no one I cared to say it to. Everything I'd read made it clear. Discipline means just that. No exceptions, no arguments. Men under arms have to be in a certain frame of mind; they expect rewards, and they have to hate the enemy to some extent. The opposite of a reward is a punishment and all punishments have to come from the commander. And all rewards. They must see you like a father. Well, not my father obviously. I hadn't seen him for years.
Meran was inside my tent, packing for the day's march. He'd got it off to a fine art, learning from a standing start.
Rastrian was right behind me. “I'd rather make the decisions concerning my own men.”
He hadn't saluted, addressed me by title, or even been civil.
“You and your men are under discipline, there is nothing to discuss. I admit a degree of culpability as I should have addressed the men as soon as they came under my command and made things clear to them.”
“Ten lashes is excessive.”
“Your man will be laying them on, don't let him pull the blows too much or I'll have the man he tried to steal from do it again.”
“Alleged to have tried to steal from.”
“This isn't up for discussion. I know my men. They caught him red handed. Let it go. As I said, your man is laying on the strokes. Don't let him pull them much. And remember, you and your men are under discipline and under my authority. I could have had him strangled.”
He didn't like it but it was true. After a moment he nodded acceptance. He had no choice, really.
After he had left I turned back, trying to remember what I had come in here for, then realized that it was instinct. Give the order and go away. No conversation. Not quite like a father, then. I must have sighed out loud.
“Well done,” Meran muttered.
“You think?”
“Spank them then give them a hug. Fighting men are like children.”
