Golden Fool

“Who does?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, then shook his head stubbornly. “Someone. You don’t know. I didn’t tell no one. Hit Thick, take the coins.” He swung again, obviously caught up in remembered anger. His breath was beginning to come more quickly.

I tried to cut through it. “Thick. Who hits you?”

“Hit Thick, take the coins.” He swung again, tongue and lower lip out now, eyes squinted nearly shut. I let the punch spend itself on the empty air, then stepped in. I set my hands on his shoulders, intending to calm him so I could speak to him. Instead he yelled loud, a wild wordless cry and sprang back from me. At the same moment, DON’T SEE ME! DON’T HURT ME!

I winced from the impact and recoiled. “Thick. Don’t hurt me!” I retorted. Then, catching my breath, I added, “That doesn’t always work, does it? Some people don’t feel you push them away with that. But there are other ways, ways that I could stop them.”

So. Some of his fellow servants were either completely immune to his Skill touch, or sensed it only enough to be angered by it. Interesting. As strongly Skilled as he was, I would have thought he could impose his will on almost anyone. I should tell Chade about this. I set the thought aside for later. His blow atop the Skill headache from earlier made me feel as if blood were running down the backs of my eyes. I forced my words past a slamming red pain in my skull. “I can make them stop, Thick. I will make them stop.”

“What? Stop what?” he demanded suspiciously. “Stop Thick?”

“No. The others. I will make them stop hitting Thick and taking his coins.”

“Humph.” He blew out his breath in a disbelieving snort. “He said, ‘Get a sweet.’ But then he took the coins. Hit Thick, take the coin.”

“Thick.” It was hard to break in past his fixation. “Listen to me. If I make them stop hitting you, if I make them not take your sweets, will you stop hating me?”

He stood, saying nothing, but scowling. I decided that the two ideas were not connecting. I made it simpler. “Thick. I can make them stop bothering you.”

He made his “humph” again. Then, “You don’t know. I didn’t tell you.” He dumped the rest of the firewood from his hod willy-nilly into the box and stumped off. When he was gone, I sank down for a time, clutching my head. It was all I could do to stagger over to the abandoned scrolls and put them on the bedside table. I sat down on the edge of the bed, and then lay down just for a moment. My head sank into the cool pillow. I fell asleep.

Chapter VIII

AMBITIONS

Thus every magic has its space in the spectrum of magic, and together they make up the great circle of power. All magical lore is encompassed in the circle, from the skills of the humble hedge-wizard with his charms, the scryer with his bowl or crystal, the bestial magic of the Wit and the celestial magic of the Skill, and all the homely magics of hearth and heart. All can be placed as I have shown them, in a great spectrum, and it must be clear to any eye that a common thread runs through all of them.

But that is not to say that any user can or should attempt to master the full circle of magic. Such a wide sweep of the art is not given to any mortal, and with good reason. No one is meant to be master of all powers. A Skill-user may expand his expertise to scrying, and there have been tales of beast-magickers who had mastered some of the fire magic and water-finding skills of the hedge-wizards. As illustrated by the chart, each of these lesser arcs of magic are adjacent to the greater magics, and thus a mage can expand his powers to include these minor skills as well. But to have larger ambitions than these is a great error. For one who augurs through a crystal to attempt to master the bringing of fire is a mistake. These magics are not neighboring magics, and the strains of supporting their differences may bring discord to his mind. For a Skill-user to demean himself with the Beast Magic of the Wit is to invite the decay and debasement of his higher magic. Such a vile ambition should be condemned.

— TREEKNEE’S TRANSLATION OF “THE CIRCLE OF MAGIC” BY SKILLMASTER OKLEF

Looking back, I suspect that I learned more at Dutiful’s first Skill lesson than he did. Fear and respect were what I learned. I had dared to set myself up as a teacher of something that I barely grasped myself. And so my days and nights became fuller than I had ever expected, for I must be both student and teacher, yet could not surrender my other roles as Lord Golden’s servant or Hap’s father or the Farseers’ spy.

As winter shortened the days, my lessons with Dutiful began in the black of the morning. Usually we left Verity’s tower before the true dawn lightened the sky. Both the boy and Chade were eager for us to press on, but I was determined to err on the side of caution after our near disaster.