THE BLISTERED LANDSCAPE STRETCHEDfrom horizon to horizon, bereft of movement, greenery, or human construction. They saw eroded hills, deep gorges, cliff walls of yellow, brown, and orange strata. The sky was clear, the air hot and dry as it flowed past their faces. Alemar was awed. How could so much land be so empty?
He hung hundreds of feet above the world, dangling, with nothing between himself and the uncompromising badlands below. All his instincts told him he should be falling, but he wasn't. In fact, he and Gast were rising, carried by a thermal that seemed to grow stronger as they sailed higher. Gast laughed, his peals only half bridging the broad gap between his glider and that of Alemar. The rest of his mirth was stolen by the sky.
They didn't talk. Even on earlier flights, the only words spoken in the air had been Gast's instructions or Alemar's questions, but now the younger man had mastered the art of the glider well enough that they had no need to converse. They paid silent obeisance to the wind.
Now I'm a dragon, Alemar thought, not missing the irony.
Alemar stared wistfully at their campfire, watching scarlet cinders rise into the night sky. Their gliders lay at the edge of the shadows. They themselves had to maintain a substantial distance from the flame; the dry brush burned fiercely and quickly. Strangely, they had had no trouble finding the fuel. Desolate as the land seemed, it supported a wide variety of life. They knew where to obtain what they needed.
"What do you see in the sparks?" Gast asked.
Alemar shrugged. Gast had a blunt way of asking questions, though he rarely asked. Alemar wasn't sure he was prepared to analyze his state of mind.
"She's been in your thoughts a great deal."
"I miss her. Is there something wrong with that?"
Gast didn't say it, but Alemar could tell that the answer was partly yes. It made him angry.
"Master – we've been out here for months, and all we've done is wander about, or fly, or eat and sleep. I came with you to learn to heal."
"The first step is to heal yourself."
The answer puzzled Alemar. "I'm healthy," he protested.
"Are you?" the Hab-no-ken answered, a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, of course."
"Is there nothing that troubles you?"
Their campfire popped. Alemar stared back at Gast, unable to read the healer's expression. The latter wore his straw hat, though it was night, and the shadow concealed his face.
"Naturally, I'm troubled, now and then. Does that mean I'm not healthy?"
"Exactly."
Alemar frowned. "Then how is any man healthy? Name someone who is perfectly content."
The glitter of teeth from Gast's smile was visible within the shadow. "I am not talking about any man. I am talking about Hab-no-ken. You may be a vigorous individual with no sign of infirmity. That is fine if you are to be a warrior, a shepherd, a merchant. To be a healer you must rethink your concept of health. You cannot give to another what you do not have yourself."
Gast threw a chip of dung on the fire. "The power to heal is like fire. When it is blazing, it is awesome. But when nothing is left but embers, it must be banked and nurtured, or it will expire. Think of the wounded you have healed – could you have helped them if you had been injured at the same time?
"Do you imagine that magic falls out of the sky for us to toy with? That is a myth. The only magic is the sorcery within. For example, consider this trinket." Gast lifted the chain of Alemar's amulet. "You think it gives you strange abilities. That is not accurate. The wizard who made it created it as a means of focusing powers he had within himself. Around another man's throat, it is only a necklace. It works for you because you have the same abilities as the maker, and because the pattern of your energies matches his closely enough to trigger the device. I might suspect he was your ancestor."
Alemar said nothing.
"Men like to wrap their magic in talismans. It saves them from searching within themselves each time they weave a spell. But the sorcery itself does not come from the object. Once the creator has died, the device loses its power. Ultimately, an adept needs only inspiration and practice to allow him to focus his gift. Dragons are said to know this – they use no talismans. Neither do Hab-no-ken.
"Your talent can be affected by what would otherwise be minor factors. Right now, one of the things standing in your way is your guilt at having abandoned your sibling."
"Isn't a certain amount of that natural?" Alemar asked defensively.
"Of course. But nevertheless, your ability is going to be affected by it, and by anything else that causes you stress. You have to be able to measure the degree to which you are hindered and take that into account. You've seen for yourself what may happen if a Hab-no-ken tries to stretch himself too far. I let my curiosity get the better of me when you arrived. I nearly killed your son because I ignored the fatigue that sent me into Retreat.
"Your talent has been allowed to stagnate. The sorcery within you has been directed in other ways for most of your life. In time there would have been no chance to awaken the Greater Art. The energies would have been sapped to other purposes. You must realize how fragile your internal magic is, and give it succor.
"There are good reasons why Hab-no-ken observe the ritual of Retreat. It may seem that I am teaching you in reverse, but you need to understand how vital this time of recuperation is. Before you come into your power, you must know how to preserve it. If you can't cope with the concerns you have now, then you will be lost, because they are nothing compared to those you'll have after you become Hab-no-ken. What will happen when you face a situation when you have three people badly in need of healing, and you have only the strength to save one of them? You can try to help them all, and fail – perhaps at the cost of your own life. Or you can help the one you can and leave the others to fate, and be grateful that you made a difference. In the end, you must still be able to live with yourself.
"This is why Hab-no-ken have the authority to refuse to heal. If they exhaust themselves, they may never aid anyone again. The power needs a clear, unworried mind. If need be, we go on Retreat every year, sometimes for two months, sometimes as much as five, and during that time we forget the world and its tensions.
"This is your first step. We will stay here in the badlands for as long as necessary. We will fly, we will sleep, we will stare at rocks. There is plenty of time. Once you realize that, you will be ready to start learning."
It bothered Alemar to realize how hard a labor it would be, simply to do nothing at all.