“The Council of Warlocks isn’t really a guild. It doesn’t set standards for taking apprentices.”
“Ah.”
Emmis pretended to study the tree again as he listened.
This was educational, he thought. He hadn’t known whether the Council set standards or not.
“We do have several questions,” Lar said, after a moment of awkward silence.
“Of course,” Ishta said. “Feel free to ask. There will be an initiation fee, but no other charges. If the boy proves completely unsuitable the fee will be refunded, but that’s quite rare; perhaps one applicant in a hundred, if that, is unable to become a warlock. If our personalities prove incompatible after initiation, I will arrange for another warlock to take him on in my stead — he can’t be sent home or put to another trade, as the process of becoming a warlock is irreversible.* You understand that?”
“I do now,” Lar said.
“You may have heard that among wizards, apprentices who are found unfit by the Wizards’ Guild are killed. I don’t know whether that’s true for wizards, or for any of the other magicians, but rest assured, warlocks don’t do that. Warlockry has its dangers, certainly, but we don’t intentionally kill even the most incompetent apprentice.”
“How... how reasonable,” Lar said, clearly dismayed by the turn the conversation had taken. Emmis didn’t think he was faking this time.
“You said you had questions?”
“Yes! We live in Semma, as I said, and there are no warlocks there...”
“You said that.”
“Yes. Well, that’s my question — why are there no warlocks in Semma?”
Ishta blinked at him.
“I mean, is there a reason there are no warlocks there? Would Kelder not be able to come home?”
“I don’t see why not,” Ishta said. “That is, I don’t know what your local laws are, but there’s no reason I know that a warlock couldn’t live there.”
“But then why aren’t there any?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Ishta admitted. “You must understand, I was only six on the Night of Madness, and only became a warlock when I was twelve, years afterward, but I’ve heard stories. I don’t know whether they’re true.”
“What sort of stories?”
“What I heard was that after the Night of Madness, before things settled down again, all the warlocks in the Small Kingdom were killed or exiled. The kings and lords thought they were too dangerous, too unpredictable, so they killed any they could catch and drove the rest away.”
“Some places, yes,” Lar said. “I remember some of that. I don’t think it happened in Semma.”
Ishta turned up an empty palm. “If Semma is far enough to the south, perhaps there were simply no warlocks there to begin with.”
“But wouldn’t some have moved there?”
Ishta frowned. “Why?”
Lar was visibly discomfited. “The thing — the Calling. I have heard about that, and isn’t it worse farther north?”
Ishta sighed. “You know about the Calling?”
“Yes. I’ve heard that it draws warlocks to the north, and is weaker the farther south one goes.”
She shook her head. “It’s not north or south,” she said. “It depends entirely on how far you are from a certain spot in Aldagmor. You’re right that it would be weaker in the southern Small Kingdoms, but the stories haven’t made us feel welcome there. When warlocks flee the Calling we usually go west to Ethshar of the Rocks, or Tintallion of the Isle, not south. And most of us don’t flee. There is no safe place anywhere in the World, and most of us prefer to stay in our homes and fight it there, with our friends around, not go running off into the wild somewhere to live among strangers.”
“The Calling can be fought?”
“To a point.” The warlock appeared uncomfortable saying this. “I’m told it can help to have other warlocks around, which is another reason not to flee to your Semma. You understand, though, this isn’t something we discuss freely with outsiders.”
“Of course, but if my grandson is going to hear this Calling someday, I want to know about it.”
“He may never hear it, if he’s careful. I have been a warlock for sixteen years, and haven’t heard it at all yet. I use my magic to do delicate, small-scale work precisely because it’s sheer magical power that attracts the Calling; the things I do require intense concentration, but very little raw energy. You won’t see me flying about the streets, flinging magic around.”
Emmis remembered how she had glided across the room without touching the floor, but said nothing, and tried to let his face show nothing. She might not even know she had done it, and he had no idea how she would react if he mentioned it.
She was not yet thirty, and she was using magic without realizing it. She might not have heard the Calling yet, but Emmis would not have wagered a copper bit on her chances of reaching sixty.
“I see,” Lar said, with a quick glance at Emmis. “Let us suppose, though, that we were to apprentice him to a less cautious warlock; what would happen if his master was Called before he turned fifteen?”
“Oh, another warlock would take him on to complete his training. It’s happened, I won’t deny it. But I’m safe enough.”
“And if he made journeyman, and then came home to Semma, he would be less... I don’t know the Ethsharitic. The danger would be less?”
“A little, yes. And his magic would be weaker, as well, though it would strengthen with use.”
“Would it?”
“Oh, yes. The more magic a warlock uses, the more power he has available. It’s very tempting — but yielding to temptation means the Calling, so we resist.”
“Your magic — what does it do, exactly?”
“Oh, at the most basic level, warlockry is just the ability to move things without touching them. But it can be used in thousands of ways, because we also have the additional senses to let us perceive what things really are. Everything around us is made up of smaller things, of tiny particles, and we warlocks can sense where they all are, and we can see how to move some of those particles and not others. We can create heat by moving anything, even the air, against itself; we can make light by... by pushing the air inward; we don’t really have the words to explain it. I can heal wounds by making the edges flow and grow back together; I can repair broken things by making the space between the pieces go away. I can cure some diseases by killing the tiny little creatures in the blood that cause them, or by drawing out poisons. But really, it’s all just seeing what’s there and moving it into the places and shapes I want it in.”
“You can teach my grandson how to do this?”
“I can change something in his head so that he will be able to do it, yes. That only takes a moment, and then, once he can hear the power and draw upon it, I will train him to use it safely and effectively. That training will last the three years of his apprenticeship.”
“And after that, he can come home to Semma?”
“Or he can stay here in Ethshar, as he pleases, yes.”
“There’s no reason he couldn’t come home? The Council of Warlocks wouldn’t object?”
“They wouldn’t object. Why should they?”
“I don’t know. It just seems odd that there are no warlocks in Semma.”
Ishta turned up an empty palm. “It just happened that way.”
“I see.” Lar pushed his chair back and rose; Emmis hastily followed suit. “Thank you,” Lar said, bowing.
“You’re quite welcome. Will your grandson be coming to see me, then?”
“We’ll need to discuss it amongst the family.”
“Of course.” Ishta got to her feet as well.
“Thank you again. We’ll be going.”
