Read Online The Book of Athyra by Steven Brust - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven Brust
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realized it was too cold, discovered that he still had at least another hour before he could go home, and put some more wood onto the fire. It crackled pleasantly. He walked aroundthe room, looking over the Master’s collection of books, including
On the Number of the Parts of the Body, Knitting of Bones, The Sorcerer’s Art and the Healing of the Self, The Remembered Tales of Calduh
, and the others which the Master had consulted from time to time in healing patients or instructing Savn. One book that he had never seen the Master consult was called
The Book of the Seven Wizards
, a thick, leather-bound volume with the title in gold lettering on the spine. He took it down, went over by the fire, and let it fall open.
It had been written in a neat, even hand, as if the scribe, probably a Lyorn, had attempted to remove all traces of his own personality. The pages were rather thicker than the leaves of many books, and in good condition. It occurred to Savn that Master Wag probably knew a spell to preserve books, so this one could be of any age. At the top of the page, he read: “On the Nature of Secrets.”
He wondered if it were some sort of sign that it had fallen open in that spot—if, in fact, there were some sort of secret to be discovered. Probably not, he decided.
The book told him:
Be aware of power in hidden places, and be aware of that which is apparent, for secrets may lie open to view and yet be concealed. All of the Seven Wizards know of secrets, and each, in his own way, speaks of them, calls to them, and reveals them to those who search diligently and honestly.
Diligently and honestly?
he thought. Well, that could be said of everything. What about thoroughly? He turned his eyes back to the book and read:
She Who Is Small finds the secrets of the present in the past; that when the past is known, it is the power of the mage to find Truth in Mystery; that thus is the latter transformed into the former.
It seemed to Savn that he knew very little of the past, and that there must be many secrets indeed that he could discover if he turned to history. He wondered how Master Wag would feel if he asked for a history book. Not today, in any case.
He turned back to the book and read:
She Who Is Tall says that the secret is in the song, and opens only to one who dares to sing. It is said that when she sings, the secret is plain to all who listen, but that it is hidden again when the song is past, and few are those who are blessed to hear the echoes of Truth in the Silence that follows.
Well, he liked music well enough, and he liked singing, but there was probably some sort of mystical and powerful meaning in the passage, which he didn’t understand. He shrugged.
The next paragraph read:
She Whose Hair Is Red wraps the secret ever tighter in skeins of words, so that it vanishes as if it never were, and in these layers of words the secret emerges, shining, so that it is hidden to those who look, yet revealed to those who take joy in the unfolding patterns and sounds of words.
There was certainly some mystical and powerful significance to this, and he certainly didn’t understand it. He tried to visualize something being wrapped up in words, but all he got was an image of the black lettering from the book, removed from the page, attaching itself to some undefined thing and smothering it.
He read:
He Whose Eyes Are Green knows where the secret lies, for his eyes pierce every shadowy place; yet he no sooner finds the secret than he buries it anew. But it is said that in the burying the secret has changed, while that which was hidden walks the land ever after, waiting but for one to recognize it, and offer it refuge.
That didn’t make any sense at all. If he knew where the secrets were, why did he want to hide them? And who were these wizards, anyway?
The book went on:
He Whose Hair Is Dark laughs at secrets, for his pleasure is in the search, not the discovery—and the paths he follows in this search stem
On the Number of the Parts of the Body, Knitting of Bones, The Sorcerer’s Art and the Healing of the Self, The Remembered Tales of Calduh
, and the others which the Master had consulted from time to time in healing patients or instructing Savn. One book that he had never seen the Master consult was called
The Book of the Seven Wizards
, a thick, leather-bound volume with the title in gold lettering on the spine. He took it down, went over by the fire, and let it fall open.
It had been written in a neat, even hand, as if the scribe, probably a Lyorn, had attempted to remove all traces of his own personality. The pages were rather thicker than the leaves of many books, and in good condition. It occurred to Savn that Master Wag probably knew a spell to preserve books, so this one could be of any age. At the top of the page, he read: “On the Nature of Secrets.”
He wondered if it were some sort of sign that it had fallen open in that spot—if, in fact, there were some sort of secret to be discovered. Probably not, he decided.
The book told him:
Be aware of power in hidden places, and be aware of that which is apparent, for secrets may lie open to view and yet be concealed. All of the Seven Wizards know of secrets, and each, in his own way, speaks of them, calls to them, and reveals them to those who search diligently and honestly.
Diligently and honestly?
he thought. Well, that could be said of everything. What about thoroughly? He turned his eyes back to the book and read:
She Who Is Small finds the secrets of the present in the past; that when the past is known, it is the power of the mage to find Truth in Mystery; that thus is the latter transformed into the former.
It seemed to Savn that he knew very little of the past, and that there must be many secrets indeed that he could discover if he turned to history. He wondered how Master Wag would feel if he asked for a history book. Not today, in any case.
He turned back to the book and read:
She Who Is Tall says that the secret is in the song, and opens only to one who dares to sing. It is said that when she sings, the secret is plain to all who listen, but that it is hidden again when the song is past, and few are those who are blessed to hear the echoes of Truth in the Silence that follows.
Well, he liked music well enough, and he liked singing, but there was probably some sort of mystical and powerful meaning in the passage, which he didn’t understand. He shrugged.
The next paragraph read:
She Whose Hair Is Red wraps the secret ever tighter in skeins of words, so that it vanishes as if it never were, and in these layers of words the secret emerges, shining, so that it is hidden to those who look, yet revealed to those who take joy in the unfolding patterns and sounds of words.
There was certainly some mystical and powerful significance to this, and he certainly didn’t understand it. He tried to visualize something being wrapped up in words, but all he got was an image of the black lettering from the book, removed from the page, attaching itself to some undefined thing and smothering it.
He read:
He Whose Eyes Are Green knows where the secret lies, for his eyes pierce every shadowy place; yet he no sooner finds the secret than he buries it anew. But it is said that in the burying the secret has changed, while that which was hidden walks the land ever after, waiting but for one to recognize it, and offer it refuge.
That didn’t make any sense at all. If he knew where the secrets were, why did he want to hide them? And who were these wizards, anyway?
The book went on:
He Whose Hair Is Dark laughs at secrets, for his pleasure is in the search, not the discovery—and the paths he follows in this search stem
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