“Of course,” Matt agreed. He had no desire to turn himself into a statistic, if such a thing existed for wizards who’d accidentally killed themselves. He wondered if a census bureau existed for that.
“I will explain the fundamentals of magic before you attempt to summon power from your staff.”
“I thought magic items had the magic, not the person using it, so all you need to know is how to turn it on.” He hadn’t gotten any of his items to do anything yet, though he hadn’t tried much, afraid to learn what they did the hard way and become that statistic. They hadn’t come with owner’s manuals.
Lorian nodded as they turned into another wing. “That is generally true, but wizards often make their own items more powerful, and if one fell into an untrained person’s hands, it would be more dangerous, so for a staff like Soliander’s, you must be able to summon the magic within or nothing will happen. This is true of most of his items, save those your friends have.”
That surprised Matt. “They have magic items with them? Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Hadn’t thought of that. I wonder if there’s a way to tell what the items are and what each does. But you say they can’t use my staff?”
“Generally, no. However, it possesses simple spells anyone can access, such as casting light.”
That made sense. The others hadn’t been tested and Matt wondered if they’d show any promise, especially Anna, though Eriana’s healing wasn’t magic but a matter of faith and allowing the gods to use oneself as a vessel. She probably hated the idea.
“If work with the staff goes well,” continued Lorian, “I’ll teach you simple spells.”
“Does that require me to read them?” Matt wondered. “I can’t read elven or magic.”
“When we reach that point, I’ll cast spells to grant reading, writing, and speaking skill of those. The spell to do so for magic is very rarely cast because those who have earned the knowledge do not generally give it to those who have not.”
“I bet,” mused Matt, eager to reach that point. This was going to be cool.
While the boys received lessons, Anna contemplated their situation from a comfortable wooden chair in the ever-present garden. Today was training day and yet no one had plans for her. She wasn’t expected to fight, thankfully, but healing hadn’t come up either. Her friends not mentioning it didn’t bother her, since they knew her inclinations, but the elves hadn’t either. Had Eric told Lorian she was an atheist and not to bother with training her to channel gods she didn’t believe in? She didn’t want to be considered just baggage and unable to help. Worse, she’d be a distraction if they had to protect her all the time. Maybe she should just stay behind.
She sat biting her lip when the dwarf Rognir noisily approached, stomping on the loose gravel, metal items hanging from his belt clinking together. Judging from this dwarf, the race seemed as surly and grumpy as legend allowed. She’d picked up on an idea that elves and dwarves from different planets weren’t the same, so she’d asked a few questions and learned that they preferred living underground beneath mountains, tunneling deep into them for pleasure and treasure, neither shared with outsiders. Humans often relied on the legendary stonecutting skills when building castles like Olliana.
“Mind if I join you, lass?” Rognir gruffly asked, voice so loud that he disturbed a flock of birds that took off en masse. He looked almost offended.
“Not at all,” Anna replied, stifling a smile. Rognir hadn’t been here long enough to know of her disposition on gods and healing, so she asked, “Do you know how people do healing here?”
Rognir pulled a pipe from a pouch. “The usual way, my dear. Pray to the gods and lay your hands on the person needing healing.”
“Why does it work?”
He looked sideways at her. “Pardon me for asking, but shouldn’t you know these things?”
“No, not really,” she started, smoothing her priestess’ robe and wishing once again she didn’t have to wear it. “That sort of healing doesn’t exist on Earth. We do it with medicine or surgery.” He looked dubious.
“Why doesn’t such healing work there?” Rognir asked. “Are your gods so displeased with your people that they do not answer?”
“No,” Anna answered. “God doesn’t exist.”
He frowned. “Your gods don’t exist? Why do people talk of them?”
She shrugged. “Mostly to make themselves feel better. People like to believe a divine being has a plan for them and that the bad things in their lives are not random, but will ultimately bear positive fruit. The idea gives them hope, but they’re just reading what they want to believe into things and telling themselves it’s God’s will.”
He nodded, the long beard rubbing across his plump belly. “Yes, humans are especially prone to interpreting everything. Sometimes a misfortune is just a misfortune, like a tree falling to block a road because it’s old, not to thwart your travel plans.”
“Exactly,” she agreed emphatically, hazel eyes bright. It was always a relief to talk with someone rational about these things.
“But other times it is the will of a god,” continued the dwarf. “It can be hard to tell when they act through intermediaries. How many gods are believed to exist on your world?”
“Just the one,” she replied. “It wasn’t always that way, though. The Greeks and Romans believed in many gods, but those religions have long since passed. What always strikes me is that once people stopped talking of them, the belief slowly died. Now most believe in one god, and talk about Him constantly, but if they stopped, down the road it would be accepted as fact that He never existed either. It’s weird to me that more people don’t see that.”
He nodded sagely. “People often see what they want to see. Since these
