Spellwright (21 page)

Nicodemus nodded mutely.

The old man continued. “My enemies discovered my pregnant wife and used her to create scandal. It became a rallying point for the malcontent factions—mostly those that wanted the Order to exert more influence over the kingdoms. Hoping to hide the scandal, the provost announced his plan to send my wife and child away to different clandestine locations where neither I nor the malcontents could find them. I was terrified. I had to act before my wife gave birth, before the Provost could separate them. And so…I sought divine intervention.”

“You found our god? You spoke to Hakeem?”

Shannon nodded.

“But no one…you…” Nicodemus stammered. “How?”

A slight smile stole across the wizard’s lips. “It’s something of a legend among those that seek to break into literary strongholds. My research into textual intelligence gave me an advantage. I wrote a quaternary cognition spell that allowed me to think as the stronghold.”

“As the stronghold?”

The old man tapped his forehead. “Impossible, I know, but remember quaternary cognition allows one to think the unthinkable. I couldn’t explain it to you better without casting the spell on you. But regardless, the important part was that armed with this text, I snuck into the stronghold and fought its defensive language. For half a mile, I cut and slashed and edited to reach our god’s temple.”

Shannon’s smile grew. “Hakeem was reading at a desk when I reached him. He manifests himself as a thin, tawny-skinned man with silver hair and a long beard. It was the most mundane scene imaginable, and there Iwas stumbling into his temple, bristling with attack spells and soaked in my own blood. Without even looking up, Hakeem raises a hand and says, ‘A moment, my son, I’m near the end of a chapter.’”

Nicodemus’s eyes widened. “And then?”

“Then he finished the chapter, of course.” Shannon laughed. “And I threw myself at his feet and begged for mercy. I told him I would do anything for my family—I’d undertake any task, perform any labor; I’d die for them…and Hakeem did indeed have a task for me.”

The wizard’s smile fell into a grim line. “A malicious godspell from one of Hakeem’s enemies had penetrated his defenses and burrowed into his ark, the physical seat of his soul. All attempts to disspell this traplike curse had failed. So, because the trap could not be disarmed, it had to be sprung.”

“Hakeem made you take on the curse?”

“Made me? I embraced it. It was written to destroy a god, not a man. There was a chance it would do nothing at all to me; there was a chance it would kill me outright. I didn’t care. Without my wife or son, I couldn’t live.”

“And the curse was written in Language Prime? Is that how you know it exists?”

The old wizard grimaced. “The divine curse imbued knowledge into its victim’s mind and then tried to use that knowledge to harm the victim. Hakeem told me plainly that if I survived, he would use his godspell to remove all my memories of the text.”

Shannon narrowed his white eyes. “I remember walking into a small, dark room. I remember Hakeem’s ark—a tall crystal obelisk covered with moving runes. Then the world became a blur; I was moving at a tremendous speed but not moving at all. Two sentences appeared. Each one twisted around the other, like two snakes mating. The runes exploded and pain lanced through my eyes. Then, nothing. No image, no vision, only…blindness.”

Nicodemus held his breath.

Shannon sighed. “I woke in a caravan wagon headed for Besh-Lo. Hakeem had caused every Astrophell wizard to become terrified by the idea of harming my wife and son. He even compelled the merchants employed by the Order to give my wife a comfortable position in one of their trading houses. However, perhaps threatened by my infiltration of his temple, he did not extend such protection to me. He had allowed the provost to seize my research texts and exile me to Starhaven.”

Nicodemus paused for what he hoped was a sympathetic moment before pushing on. “But the divine curse, Magister, it taught you Language Prime?”

“It did, and Hakeem erased all my memories of it, except for the image of the two sentences. Until now, I’ve never told a single soul, living or textual, about that memory. I was always too afraid of what Hakeem might have to do to remove it.”

Nicodemus felt his heart begin to kick. “So it’s true then: Language Prime is real. Then there might be some connection between me and it. The monster must be after me because of that. Magister, don’t you see? I’m not supposed to be a cacographer.”

Shannon held up a hand. “Nicodemus, you’re jumping to conclusions. The creature said he needed you to replenish an emerald. He did not connect you to Language Prime. You must understand that no human could comprehend Language Prime.”

“But how do you know that?”

“Because,” Shannon said, “Language Prime has only four runes.”

A
GUST OF
wind swept across the bridge. It sent Nicodemus’s long black hair flying and blew Azure from Shannon’s shoulder. The poor bird had to flap hard just to stay over the bridge.

“Four runes!” Nicodemus said while struggling to tame his hair. “The language from which all other languages come has only four runes?”

Shannon held his arm up as a perch for Azure. “Strange but simple geometric runes. Two were hexagons with a few radial strokes; the other two were pentagons attached to similar hexagons.”

“But, Magister, that can’t be right.”

“It’s difficult to believe,” Shannon said as Azure landed on his arm. “The simplest common language possesses twenty-two runes. And the most complex, the shaman’s high language, has over sixty thousand runes.”

As the wind relented, Nicodemus tucked his hair into his robes. “But a language with only four runes could have only four single-rune words, sixteen two-rune words, sixty-four three-rune words, and so on.”

“Exactly,” Shannon said, helping Azure climb back onto his shoulder. “Primal words must be very long. Consider that a common language possesses a hundred thousand words, Numinous three times that. So, assuming Language Prime has a vocabulary of at least three hundred thousand, it would need words up to…” He paused to calculate. “Nine runes long to create all those words. But if it had twenty runes, it would need words only…” Another pause. “Only five runes long.”

Nicodemus closed his eyes and tried to figure out what calculations his teacher had used to discern that.

Shannon let out a long sigh. “And with only four runes, those long words would be nearly indistinguishable. Think of trying to memorize athousand nine-digit numbers consisting of the numerals one through four. Impossible. And the sentences would be hundreds, maybe thousands of runes long. Utter gibberish.”

Nicodemus stopped calculating and laughed. “Imagine trying to spell in that language. Everyone would be a cacographer.”

Shannon started to say something and then paused. He frowned. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Nicodemus…that is a profound idea.”

“It is?”

A contrary breeze, this one blowing from Starhaven, flowed over the bridge. It brought with it the autumnal scents of moldy leaves and wood smoke.

Shannon was nodding. “What if cacography is simply a mismatch between a mind and a language? Our languages express meaning in a way your mind has trouble reproducing consistently. But you do not structure them illogically. When I edit your texts, they work without error.”

Nicodemus nodded, his ears hot with embarrassment.

“But could we compose a language your mind could easily process? If so, then the reverse should be true: we should also be able to create a language so complex that not even the most powerful mind could spell it consistently.”

“Oh,” Nicodemus said, realizing what Shannon meant. “And maybe that’s what the Creator did when making Language Prime. It could be a language so complex that any human attempting to read or write it would be cacographic.”

“More than cacographic, completely incompetent.”

Nicodemus’s hands again began to tremble with excitement. “Magister, there might be a connection between Language Prime and my cacography. Maybe the druid is right. Maybe the monster stole part of me and put it into the emerald. Maybe I’m not supposed to be cacographic!”

Rather than reply, Shannon began to walk toward the Spindle’s end. Before them loomed the mountain’s rock face and the Chthonic engravings—ivy leaves to the left and the geometric design to the right.

The old man spoke. “My boy, we may be witnessing the first days of prophecy. This morning’s dragon attack on Trillinon could mark the beginning of a conflict that will engulf all kingdoms and threaten human language itself. But what frightens me just now is the change I hear in your voice.”

He stopped and turned to Nicodemus. “Do you believe that you are the Halcyon?”

“I—” Nicodemus stammered. “You think I’m being foolish to believe that the druid might be right about prophecy?”

The old wizard shook his head. “Not in the least. Besides the present circumstances linking you to prophecy, I have noted the strange effect you have had on some texts. Just last night when you misspelled a gargoyle, you elevated her freedom of thought. Such a phenomenon is unheard of. Perhaps this happened because you are the Halcyon, perhaps because of another reason tied to prophecy. But you didn’t answer my question: Do you believe you are the Halcyon?”

“I haven’t…I don’t know if I am or not. I suppose you’re right, we can’t jump to conclusions. But my point is about cacography. If the murderer magically stole my ability to spell, perhaps I can magically get it back!”

Shannon folded his arms. “Which matters more, fulfilling your role in prophecy or removing your cacography?”

Nicodemus shook his head. “If a demon-worshiper stole my ability to spell, they must be connected. Magister, don’t you see? Perhaps I am not a true cacographer.”

“A true cacographer?” Shannon asked, eyebrows rising. “Nicodemus, even if we erased your disability completely, it wouldn’t undo what has already happened to you. Regarding who you truly are, regarding what truly matters, ending your cacography wouldn’t change anything.”

Nicodemus could barely believe what he was hearing. “It would change everything!”

Shannon started walking again. “Perhaps this is not the time.”

Nicodemus rushed after the old man. “Magister, would it upset you if I learned to spell?”

Shannon kept walking. “Why would you ask such a question?”

“You squash any hope I might have of completing myself.”

“There is no such thing as completing yourself. You have always been complete, and you won’t—”

For the first time he could remember, Nicodemus deliberately interrupted his teacher. “If I am already complete, if all I will ever be is your pet cripple, then I don’t know why we’re bothering to keep me alive!”

Both men stopped.

Suddenly Nicodemus realized that he had nearly shouted his last two words. He turned away.

The bridge’s railing stood before him. He put both hands on it and tried to catch his breath.

Far below them, a falcon circled above the scattered pines and boulders. Some of the trees had died and withered into wooden skeletons.

“Pet cripple,” Shannon said slowly. “I see.”

“I know how you pick a retarded boy out of every generation,” Nicodemus answered. “Devin knows too. Fiery heaven, the whole academy knows!”

A silence grew until the breeze picked up enough to make their robes luff.

Finally Shannon spoke in a low, rough tone. “Exile from Astrophell nearly crushed me. I lost everything—my wife, my son, my sight, my research. I could have let the loss rot me from the heart to the skin.”

Nicodemus looked back toward his mentor.

Azure had laid her head down near Shannon’s chin so the old man could scratch her neck.

“My research became futile,” the wizard said solemnly. “I had discovered such wonderful things in Astrophell. But in this academic backwater, I couldn’t accomplish a quarter of what I did before. In Astrophell, I had a cadre of brilliant apprentices working to advance my studies. Here I taught cacographic neophytes how to avoid hurting themselves. Politics became a constant reminder of my sins.”

The old wizard sniffed in annoyance. “I wasted years longing for what I had lost. Until, one day, a cacographic boy came to me in tears to thank me for all I had done. In truth, I had done little more than what was required. But I saw how moved the child was, how badly he needed kindness. I saw in him a way to live again. His name was Allen, a Lornish boy. He’s in Astrophell now. The Northerners don’t have the slightest suspicion that he, now a hooded librarian, is a cacographer.”

Shannon paused. “You think I made you my apprentice because I pity you? Because I keep a cacographer around to lord my ability over him? To feel as grand as I did when speaking before the Long Council? Well, if you think so, Nicodemus Weal, you’re a fool.”

The younger man was silent for a long moment. “But why then did you choose me for an apprentice?”

Shannon pointed to his milky-white eyes. “I chose you because in the past I have understood cacographers and they have understood me. I chose you because I thought I could help you the most. Besides, you are a useful apprentice. When you cast wordweave, I can complete spells in a quarter of the usual drafting time.” The old man grunted. “Have we talked about this enough for you?”

When Nicodemus did not answer, the old man started off toward the mountainside. “Come then. The sentinels will catch up with us soon.”

They walked most of the distance to the rock face without talking. Their footfalls echoed loudly, almost unnaturally so. Nicodemus had totake a deep breath before he could break the silence: “I’m sorry, Magister. It’s just…with the possibility of ending my cacography—”

“I quite understand,” Shannon said curtly as they stopped before the mountain’s sheer rock face. “Now let us move on. Do you know why we’re walking the Spindle Bridge?”

“Because Magistra Finn was murdered here?” Nicodemus stared at the carved outlines of giant ivy leaves.

“Exactly. I wondered if there was a reason she died on this bridge. I wanted to look at the mountainside with my blind eyes. I thought maybe I could see through the stone to some hidden spell, some clue.” He sighed. “And my vision pierces the stone but sees nothing beyond.”