"That is the dilemma," Spyder smiled. "It is nothing that I can easily answer. You remember what it was like the very first time you touched the Weave? How it seemed impossible, and yet there it was, responding to you?" They both nodded. "This is much the same. Any da'shar or sui'kun can weave spells by force, as you two do, but a true Weavespinner knows that the secret to gaining the power is to give back to the Goddess. What you give back is what you must learn. When you understand, it will come to you as easily as breathing."
Tarrin didn't find that to be a very straightforward answer. He looked at the ground and mulled it over. Give back. Give back what? He couldn't expend power into the Weave, since that's where he drew it in the first place. One couldn't give back more than what was taken; it was one of the fundamental rules of magic. But if he didn't give back energy or power, what did he have to surrender to the Goddess in order to secure the unmitigated cooperation of the Weave?
She called it an art. When artists made something-true artists, anyway, like how his father made bows and arrows-they poured themselves into their creation. The best of them could breathe that spark into them that made those items and objects truly remarkable. That breath, that spark, came from the artist, a piece of their inspiration and vision that was transferred into the object upon which they labored to transform into that special work. Maybe it was a piece of themselves, maybe it was the inspiration or the touch, but something definitely passed from the artist to the object of his creation during that process.
But Weaves weren't works of art. They were patterns of energy, arranged so that when they were released to interact with the physical world, their arrangement and cascading effect and counter-effect with the physical world and with one another produced a repeatable, consistent effect. Weaves couldn't be seen or sensed except by other Sorcerers, and when the spell was released, the weave literally destroyed itself. How could that be art? And how did giving something back raise simple weaving into art?
What to give back? What did he have? He had only himself. He had his strength, his motivation, his devotion, his sense of duty, his love for-
Love. That was what he had to give. The Weave was the Goddess, and the Goddess was the Weave. Working Sorcery was a demonstration of his connection to the Goddess, the granted ability with which he was blessed when he was born. Sorcerers were the priests of the Goddess, and she had once told him that they praised her with every spell they wove. When he was touching the Weave, he was touching the Goddess. When he was weaving spells, he was beseeching his Goddess to grant him her power. She had once told him that the love and devotion of a mortal made a god stronger, even the Elder Gods. Weavespinners had to be filled with power when they entered the Heart and looked into her eyes, and when that happened, the love the Sorcerer held for the Goddess was unbound, and bound him to her heart and soul.
Artists loved their work. Part of what they gave to their creations was that love of art, that love of creation, that spark that made the object truly remarkable. If he was to be an artist of the Weave, he had to give his love to the Weave every time he touched it.
He closed his eyes and aligned his mind to wrap it around that idea, and then he pushed his will against the Weave, with the intent to weave together a simple two-flow spell that would cause a small bluish light to appear before him. As he made his connection to the Weave, he brought his love for the Goddess into the forefront of his mind, and then he offered it to her in a silent surrendering to his deity, knowing he was leaving himself open to her utterly. What he got in response was an absolute torrent of power, pulling from the strands with such shocking speed that it startled him, and behind it he could feel the Goddess herself, her presence loving, almost whimsical, and he could almost hear her voice as she chided him. Long ago I told you that the relationship between us was give and take. Give me your love, and my power is yours to command, my sweet kitten. The sense of her, the closeness he felt to her was very nearly what he felt of her when he was in the Heart, and he had to remind himself to stop revelling in it and attend to the task at hand. He was so caught up in the sense of it that he forgot that the flows weren't going to actively weave themselves together by themselves. He took hold of the flows in a gentle touch, and then urged them into the proper weave-to force them or exert will against them seemed… churlish. He was taking hold of the power of the Goddess herself, and that required reverence and respect. Once it was in place, the weave released on its own, without any urging from him, and the blue ball of light appeared just in front of him and over his head.
"Was that so hard?" Spyder asked with that same disarming smile. "Did you see how he did that, Jenna?"
"I think so," she replied immediately.
"It was… beautiful," he said reverently. "I never understood before. Not like that." He wiped at a single tear forming in the corner of his eye, fully aware he had just experienced a religious revelation.
"Our Mistress is a gentle one, brother," Spyder told him with a nod. "All she asks of us is our love. Give her that, and what she returns to you is tenfold."
Tarrin watched as Jenna seemed to pick up the trick of it. He could sense her push her will against the strand, and then he felt her offer of herself the same way that Tarrin had done, giving her love to the Goddess, surrendering to her Mistress in an act of faith and supplication. Flows of Air, Water, and Divine power pulled from the strand, and then Jenna deftly wove them together and released it as an Illusion with only a sound component, that sound being a rolling crescendo of triumphantly blaring trumpets. Spyder actually laughed at Jenna's choice of weaves, a sound that Tarrin found to be very appealing. She seemed hard and aloof, but he was warming to the ancient Urzani woman. "You're right, Tarrin, it's like the Goddess is holding you when you-it's just wonderful!" she said, with a bright smile and arms hugging herself.
"Now, practice," she commanded. "It's much like learning to touch the Weave the first time. You can always do it again, but you need to get accustomed to it."
Until well past sunrise, the two of them practiced under Spyder's watchful eye. She critiqued them on their styles of handling flows, correcting little things that made them faster and more efficient. Tarrin especially had a bad habit of trying to draw out more power than he needed for his spells, and Spyder rode him hard over that the entire time he practiced. "You are not trying to break an eggshell with a hammer!" she reprimanded sharply after the fifth time he overdrew, despite her warning him about what he was doing. "Pull only what you need, no more, no less! Drawing more than is needful will tire you prematurely!"
"I'm trying," he said with a fret. "I'm not used to delicacy in spells."
"Then you must retrain yourself," she said sharply. "Sorcery is an art, not a display of naked force! Painters do not ram their brushes through the canvas!"
Tarrin's good feelings about her began to evaporate as she harangued him several more times, as he drew out the flows again and again and again. He became so annoyed with her that he lost track of what he was doing, until she suddenly pulled back from him and smiled warmly. "There, see?" she asked. "I knew that if I gave you something else to worry about, you'd stop concentrating so much on what I wanted you to learn."
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"Weave this spell," she said, and he felt her draw out flows of all six Spheres, then tie them in an intricate knot as she pulled an ordinary pebble from the black depths of her cloak, barely larger than a pearl. When she released the spell, it caused the stone to shimmer suddenly, then flare with a bright light. When the light faded, the small stone was gone, in its place was a sapphire the same size and shape as the pebble. She had Transmuted the stone, one of the most intricate and demanding tricks of Sorcery that could be performed.