Morghien, unaware of Isak's mental discussion, carried on, 'Part of a spirit's power derives from how it is perceived. The myths you learn, the fear and awe you experience when you encounter them – magic is a force in itself, and though different in every way to nature, it can still create a form of life… perhaps existence is a better word.
‘So in the fashion that you and I are created from the same matter
as the earth and trees, so Gods and daemons have a common source in magic.'
‘How is this helping?' The mages from the College of Magic, in their attempts to educate the Krann, had not found fertile ground. They had made the mistake of telling him that theoretical understanding of magic would be of small use to a white-eye. Isak had taken that as a reason to pay no further attention.
Morghien's look of irritation faded quickly as he remembered his ultimate goal. His brow furrowed as he sought a more appropriate explanation. 'When you fight, there is more to know than stabbing a
man, no?'
Isak shrugged and Morghien continued, 'Of course there is – not only must you know your strokes, your stances and your weapons, you must also know your enemy and the land around you. Now think of
magic as this battle.
'Your weapons and strokes might be spells or curses. They must be practised and refined so your crude swipes become deft cuts and concealed moves. Knowing your enemy – how his armour slows him or how great his reach is – is as important as knowing how the mud underfoot will slow you, whether you will slip on a particular stone, or can kick him off balance after he has struck.
'You are aware of the slope of the Land, the rain coming down, his relative size and strength. These things you understand as naturally as you know how to chew and swallow, and as you must with magic. Magic has rules that follow their own sense – those that might ignore the warmth of the sun, but could be affected by moonlight-'
Isak held up a hand. 'I've had these lessons already, I remember enough on the nature of magic. You're starting to sound like those
excitable lecturers.'
Morghien stared at him curiously. 'You don't find the nature of
magic interesting at all?'
Isak shrugged again. Magic was intoxicating, exhilarating, to such a degree the rest of the Land faded away. Talking about it was less so. It was like discussing sex. Some people got excited enough about it to talk for hours on the subject. Isak could find no enthusiasm for just
talking.
'Well, I shall say no more then, other than you must remember they grow strong from illogical sources, that their image is often greater than their strength. There are some that are very powerful, but that is the same with men. You would not notice a man if he were not remarkable in size or strength or skill. But if that same man went berserk, he could cause a shocking amount of damage, and if he attacked a race that had never seen a man, he would terrify them.'
'I think I understand what you mean. When I feel the presence
of Nartis I'm paralysed…' Isak trailed off, unable to describe the
sensation.
'And that gives him strength over you. It is intentional – the Gods reject a shining image because it inspires wonder. And the more you are awed, the more powerful they grow; not only over you, but part of what sustains them is belief and praise. Gods are made stronger by belief: that you see them as greater, and worship them accordingly, that is one of the things that separates Gods from daemons.'
'One of the things?'
‘That is not an encouraged topic of conversation. The state of my eternal soul is debatable in any case when much of my time is spent hunting down followers of Azaer; I have no desire to be actively impious on top of anything else. King Emin will know men who will be happy to have those discussions. For now, you should accept that a daemon or ghost will try to terrify you, because then you open yourself to it and lend it strength.'
He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his palms over his cheeks, the rough skin rasping against his stubbled face. 'I think it's time for a practical demonstration.'
Isak stared in fascination, reaching out with his senses to feel the shape of what was happening to Morghien. The man started to hold up a hand to halt the Krann's efforts, but it was not necessary: one look at Morghien's features had been enough for Isak to draw back hurriedly and grasp the ghost of Eolis at his hilt.
The man had changed. Subtle weaves of magic had smoothed out the lines of his face, softening the ruddy colour of his cheeks and reducing the size of his nose. It was still Morghien, but Isak could see the features were now almost those of a woman's.
His voice had altered too. 'Keep your defences strong, don't leave yourself open,' Morghien said, but a musical note had entered his previously rough voice.
Isak felt his mouth dry as he tried to respond, but then he remembered Morghien's words. With an effort he could see past the glamour to the man's true features: and he was right, nothing had changed except for Isak's perception. With a smile he dismissed the weaves of the projected image.
Morghien shrieked in pain. His hands flew to his face as though Isak had just slashed him with a knife. He threw himself off the log and crashed face-down on to the ground. Isak jumped to his feet in alarm and Mihn rushed over with Vesna and Carel close behind. He held up a hand to them.
'No, get back – keep away from him. He didn't attack me.'
They did not look impressed with the order, but they complied sullenly. Morghien remained on the ground as they moved away.
A tense silence fell. Isak could hear the keening of a hawk in the distance, and the skitter of dead leaves as a gust swept them up and settled a few on Morghien's back, like the first effort to bury a man who was lying as still as a corpse.
At last he breathed out, sending a single leaf tumbling end over end. He took his hands away from his face with careful, deliberate movements and pushed himself up from the ground. His face was disturbingly pale and calm, all trace of the Aspect gone, though his cheek and eyebrow seemed to be trembling very slightly. Then he breathed again and the calm was abruptly broken as he gulped down air, his shoulders shaking with the effort.
'I'm sorry,' Isak began, 'truly. What did I do?'
Morghien felt his way back to the fallen log again and pulled himself on to it. After half a minute, some colour returned to his face and he began to explain. 'The fault was mine. I should have explained more of the nature of glamour. But there is no serious damage done.'
'Are you sure?'
'I am. Seliasei was hurt rather, but I think it's shock more than any-thing else. The glamour is part of what she is; a local Aspect is still a God. It is not vanity, but part of her very essence. When you cut through those weaves it was like slapping my face to distort my fea-tures – except I have a shape to revert to. Seliasei has only the image of herself to define her. Without the strength to extend it to a physical form, any distortion of that image makes her forget who she is.'
Isak looked stricken. 'I think I understand. I'm- Er, could you apologise to her for me?' He would have felt stupid saying that, but for the glimpse of fear and pain on Morghien's face. One thing he did remember was that death for a God was the loss of identity. A divine force could not be truly killed, but as Aryn Bwr had shown with the Crystal Skulls, it could be reduced to a voice on the wind, weakened to the point of non-existence and capable only of remembering that once it had been so much more. Isak had shivered at the prospect of eternity like that: a sense of loss the only sliver of self left.
'She will recover, but she will not come out in your presence again.