in Aba, the way his mother so effortlessly had, but he'd never been able, no matter how hard he tried.
And so he'd ended up at the Temple Aba-Nylae, enrolling as a novice, hoping that a steady diet of prayer and instruction would be enough to ignite something in his soul. It had become abundantly clear, however, that his soul had been in no way set aflame. It was clear to everyone ... including, Silverdun reluctantly admitted, himself. And Prior Tebrit was a git, pure and simple. If nothing else, Silverdun could revel in the fact that he never had to see Tebrit's smug face ever again.
And now here he was, following someone else's plan for him. And as before, he had little idea of what it was he was getting himself into.
Silverdun leaned into the wind, reached out toward it with his mild Gift of Motion. Using re felt good, especially when he was full to spilling over with it. It was a kind of warmth, not physical, but almost spiritual. He'd tried to explain it to the human Satterly, but it was like describing color to a blind man. Re was simply re. There was no describing it.
With Motion he inexpertly reached out and caught hold of the wind. He grabbed it hard with his mind and pushed. There was no binding, no words, nothing formal about this; his will against the wind and to the victor go the prize. He hurled the wind against the sails and waited for the boat to lurch forward, begin racing toward the island.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, pouring himself entirely into the task. He was strong, and it felt good to flex. With a colossal effort he flung what felt like the entire atmosphere of the world at the sails.
The ship seemed to rock slightly, although that might have been his imagination.
Silverdun looked down at the ship's deck. The captain was there, watching him, laughing.
'How goes it?' shouted Ilian.
'You whoreson!' Silverdun called back. 'I believe I've been set up!'
Ilian strolled toward him, smug laughter fading to a friendly grin. 'You university boys are all the same,' he said, gesturing up to the sails. 'You see the sail, big and white, and you assume that you've got to bridle the wind in order to get the job done.'
'And I take it this was the wrong thing to do,' said Silverdun.
'It was the obvious thing to do,' Ilian answered. 'You cannot wrestle the wind, son. The wind is connected to everything: the waves, the sun, the moon. You can blow a breeze on land by twiddling your fingers, but out here you're just pissing into it.'
'So what do you recommend I do instead?' Silverdun asked.
'Sit and wait, and let the wind do its job.' Ilian chuckled and walked away.
The sun was just touching the horizon, its light melting into the water, streaming across the sea toward them when the Splintered Driftwood touched up against the empty wooden dock at the island of Whitemount. The island was a great slab of granite thrust out from the sea, speckled with the few scrub pines in Faerie foolhardy enough to attempt to grow from it. On the island's highest point was an ungainly heap of stones in the shape of a castle. A steep trail had been cut into the rock leading up the rocky hillside toward it.
Than leapt from the ship at the bow and caught the mooring line that one of the silent crewman threw at him. He tied it with practiced grace, then walked to the stern and did the same thing. The Splintered Driftwood now nestled against the dock, its motion subdued. 'We've arrived,' called Ilian. 'Come ashore!'
A rattling noise sounded behind Silverdun, from multiple directions. He turned to see the crewmen, all five of them, coming to an awkward standstill, their limbs relaxing, bowing at the waist. The air shifted as multiple glamours faded away, and in the sailors' places stood five automatons, constructions of silver and brass in the shape of men. Silverdun was impressed.
He stepped carefully onto the dock and looked at Ilian, nodding toward the ship. 'Interesting crew,' he said.
'You like them, do you?' said Ilian. 'Master Jedron doesn't like visitors of any kind to the island. Only his students, whom he barely tolerates, and I, whom he loves dearly.'
'Shall I simply go up and announce myself, then?' said Silverdun, pointing at the castle.
'Oh, no. I'm to come and present you. I'm Master Jedron's valet, after all. It's part of my job.'
Silverdun frowned at Ilian. 'I assumed that you were only the ship's captain.'
Than waggled his fingers in Silverdun's face, his eyes wide, mocking. 'Nothing is as it seems!' he said.
