Excerpt: The Donkey Wizard

Chapter 1

The lens glittered as Gevan held it up to the sunlight. Much better than the last one. Only a few tiny bubbles, and just the faintest tinge of green. Arlen had outdone himself. Gevan lowered the lens and nodded at the spectacle maker. “Wonderful, Arlen. Wherever did you find glass so clear?”

“I have my sources.” Arlen grinned at him. “I take it you find it suitable?”

“Oh, yes.” Gevan tilted the lens so the morning light slanting through the window passed straight into the curved surface of the glass. He adjusted it until the small yellow circle cast on the spectacle shop counter shrank to a single point. Within seconds a wisp of smoke curled up. Gevan quickly moved the lens, lest he burn too much of a mark on the counter, though it was marred by many similar black dots where customers had tested the wares. If it was only a common burning glass he sought, he could have spared a great deal of effort and expense. This lens must serve a far more exacting and significant purpose. “It’s just as I asked.”

He wouldn’t really be able to tell if the clarity was sufficient and the shape true to his precise specifications until he got back to his workshop and made measurements. But it wouldn’t hurt to flatter Arlen. If Gevan’s theories proved correct, Arlen might find his work in great demand.

“Good, good.” Arlen accepted the lens back and slipped it into a small velvet pouch. “And the other?”

The smaller lens could tolerate greater imperfections, according to what Gevan’s experiments had shown so far. But he dutifully examined the disk. This one was concave, its thick rim scooping in to a beautifully thin center. If anything, it was clearer than the other.

“Well worth the exorbitant prices you charge.”

“A poor man must stay in business.” Arlen tucked the small lens into its own pouch, and accepted the coins Gevan passed him.

Now that he had his prize, Gevan was eager to be off. He watched impatiently as Arlen rummaged through his moneybox for the correct amount of change. “I expect you do well enough, with all the squint-eyed old men at the University. Which is where I must be headed.”

But Arlen was in a talkative mood. “Truth to tell, I’m surprised to see you this morning. I thought you’d be down at the docks with everyone else in Ramunna, seeing the expedition off.”

Gevan bit back an angry reply. If the Matriarch would see fit to devote one one hundredth of the gold she had devoted to this ridiculous expedition to his research, he would be able to accomplish so much more than he could with the pittance the University alloted him. And she would see real results, not more wasted treasure thrown away chasing a fantasy. “I’ve more important things to do than cheer on fools sailing to their deaths.”

“What? Do you not think they are well provisioned for their journey? It is a long way, true, but not much farther than the trade route to Giroda.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are. I just think there is nothing there for them to find.”

“But there must be. Didn’t you hear about the bizarre creatures the Yodarre expedition brought back?”

Gevan had seen them, in fact, when the stuffed remains had been brought to the University. The trading vessel’s captain claimed a storm had come up when they were in in the midst of the wide detour necessary around hostile Marvanna waters, and blown them far into the Eastern Ocean. That was believable enough. A number of vessels were lost every year to the unpredictable eastern storms. But Yodarre had maintained that his ship had been cast ashore on a remote island, far beyond where folk of Ravanetha had ever roamed before, save in legend.

He had brought back the alien creatures as proof. True, they were unlike any animals found in Ravanetha. The turtle-like thing was at least as big as an ale cask. The bird sported feathers that trailed a full arms length from its tail and shone a brilliant green. Debate had raged for weeks among the natural philosophers of the University as to whether they were genuine or merely elaborate hoaxes. They looked real enough to Gevan, but taxonomy was far removed from his specialty. “I will concede that they will most likely find an island or two. Perhaps even enough to consider the venture a success. But the idea that there is a lost paradise of wizards somewhere out there in the Eastern Sea is ridiculous. The Matriarch is misled by fools and charlatans of councilors who prey upon her desperation. She should be wiser than to pin all her hopes on fables of a power that no longer exists, if it ever did at all.”

Gevan stopped and drew a deep breath. He’d better stop, before his rash words got him in trouble. It wouldn’t do to draw the attention of the Purifiers. If his experiments bore fruit, he would have to face their enmity soon enough, but not until he was well prepared, with firm evidence to show, instead of only unproven speculation.

“I wouldn’t know about that.” Arlen shifted his eyes warily toward the window, but the street outside was nearly deserted, and the few passers-by hurried on without pausing. “I just think it would be quite something if they did bring back a wizard or two. To think, the Mother’s power, just like the ancients had.”

Gevan clenched his jaw and turned away. It infuriated him, how the Matriarch’s obsession had fueled the ignorance and stupidity of Ramunna’s people. Not much longer, he swore to himself. Soon he would be able to show them the truth behind the myths.

Everything the ancient wizards did had been accomplished, not by some mystical, vanished magic, but in accordance with the laws of nature. Even the most remarkable of their feats could be duplicated here and now, not by a special few with the Mother’s favor, but by anyone with understanding enough to discover the workings of the world, and ingenuity enough to devise ways to manipulate them.

He was so close. Before the day was out, if the new lenses proved adequate to the task, he would duplicate the first of the wizard’s feats.

Arlen frowned at him. Gevan forced his features into a semblance of unconcern. “It would indeed be something. But I’m a historian. I dare say I’m more familiar with the writings of the ancient wizards than any other scholar in Ramunna. And I’ve never seen credible evidence in all my studies to indicate that wizards ever left Ravanetha, into the Eastern Sea or anywhere else. The stories that they did are folk tales and legends, no more.”

“I’m sure you’re far wiser in such matters than I.” Arlen bobbed his head, before finally handing over the change.

Gevan tucked the coins into his purse and gathered up the precious lenses in their bags. “I don’t like seeing people agitated by empty promises and false hopes. New discoveries are being made every day at the University, and no one notices because they’re all too busy chasing after myths. If you’re a betting man, wager on the greatest wonders coming from our workshops, not from the explorer’s ships.” He really must stop talking. Even Arlen might talk to the Purifiers if they questioned him forcefully enough. Gevan backed toward the door. “Good day.”

“Good day, then.” Arlen moved behind his workbench and took up his grinding stones. The racks of finished spectacles that lined the walls stared at Gevan with sharp, accusing glares as he exited.

The walk to his quarters at the University wasn’t long, but it was enough for Gevan to regain his composure. He breathed deep of the last cool air in the thick shade of the palms that lined the road. The full heat of summer was almost here; it would be many long months before Ramunna again enjoyed the pleasant weather that characterized her brief spring.

Gevan passed beneath the arbor of brilliant orange coral vines and entered the long brick building. He climbed the steep, worn stairs to his suite of rooms on the third floor. Most of the University’s scholars lived in homes in the surrounding city, but a few like him preferred the convenience afforded by remaining close to their work. He passed through the little bare sitting room and into his spacious, cluttered workshop.

The workbench beneath the largest window held the scattered pieces of his last abortive attempt to construct a window-glass. Gevan picked up the two nested lengths of rolled tin he’d had a metalworker make for him. They slid smoothly together and apart, just as he had envisioned, allowing fine adjustments to the distance between the lenses so that the focused image could be moved to the perfect spot. But the last set of lenses Arlen had sold him were worthless. No matter how he had tweaked the length of the device, the image had remained nothing more than a tantalizing blur. It had taken him weeks to locate the error in his calculations that had led to him specifying the wrong shape for the lens, and rework the equations to give him the proper dimensions.

Gevan removed the unsatisfactory lenses from the tubes and set them aside. He resisted an impulse to immediately fit the new lenses in place and try them out. If this worked, his invention would be acclaimed by historians for ages to come. Best to take the time to do this right, one step at a time, documenting everything so that nothing could later be questioned.

He slid the larger disk from its pouch and set it in the wooden holder he had devised. Going around the room, he swung the heavy shutters in place over each of the wide windows until the room was deeply shadowed. He lit the oil lantern on the workbench with the flint, and adjusted the flame until it burned clear and steady. Tin shades slid into place, allowing only a narrow beam of light to fall onto the lens.

Gevan fitted sheets of paper into the wooden lens holder, one flat along the bottom so he could see the long triangle path the light traced after it was bent by the lens, and another clipped to the vertical sliding piece. He turned the screw until it was in nearly the right place, then twitched it one painstaking hairsbreadth at a time until the light came to a perfect pinpoint. Humming to himself, he measured the distance and noted it down. He traced the lines of light on the bottom paper, measured the angles, and wrote them down also. Then he repeated the process with the smaller lens. This sort of meticulous attention to detail was tedious, but it was the sort of work he excelled at. Not nearly as difficult as copying and translating a half-deteriorated papyrus scroll from ancient Marvanna.

At last, all the preliminaries were completed. The lens was indeed everything he had hoped. None of his previous attempts had produced anything close to the marvelous sharpness of the lines of light. All the measurements had come out just as he had predicted. Now all that remained was the final test.

His hands shook as he unfastened the shutters and swung them open. The wash of bright morning sunlight blinded him for a moment, and he blinked until the glare faded. The view looked out over the rooftops of Ramunna, all the way down to the sea. He could just make out the docks, and the miniature ships harbored there.

He removed the smaller lens from the holder and inserted it into the smaller tube, tightening the fasteners into place. The larger lens almost did not fit; he had to loosen the screws to their fullest before he could slide it in. But at last it was securely in place. Gevan fitted the smaller tube inside the larger, and slid them as close as he could approximate to the proper position.

He stopped, and took a deep breath, staring at the device in his hands. The Purifiers would consider what he was about to attempt foulest heresy. How dare he seek to regain powers the Mother had forbidden to mankind? Even the most open-minded of the Keepers of Ramunna’s Temple might hesitate. When the ancient wizards had possessed those powers, they had used them to work terrible evil. Surely the Mother had been right to take them forever from the world.

All nonsense, of course. Gevan was far too sophisticated to believe in the sort of literal personification of the Mother the peasants revered. Whatever vast power had brought the universe into being could not possibly be reduced to a simple anthropomorphic caricature. Everything he had learned in his twenty years of study at the University, both from his colleagues and his own studies, pointed to a single conclusion. The world was endlessly fascinating, filled with marvels almost beyond imagining, but it was as cold and impersonal as the gears of a clock, which once wound played out their purpose without interference or alteration. If there was any reality to the idea of the Mother, beyond a child’s wishful imaginings, surely she could be no more than the craftsman that built the clock, and wound it, and left it run as it was designed.

If what he attempted was possible, than it was permissible. He need have no fear of a cosmic nanny slapping his hand like a child who played with fire.

Gevan lifted the tube to his eye and aimed the larger end out the window. He fixed his gaze on the bright circle of blurry color, and slid the pieces a bit further together. For an instant the image came clear, but was lost again to fuzziness as he pushed the tube too short. He caught his breath, steadied his hands, and tried once more. Bit by miniscule bit, he lengthened the tube.

Clear and beautiful, the picture bloomed to life before his eye. As close as if he could reach out and touch them, the curved orange tiles of a roof appeared within the circle. He could see the green of moss on the shadowed side, and the individual grains of dirt in the crevasses. A bird strutted into view; he could see the toes on its feet gripping the tiles, and watch its beak open to emit a cry he was much too far away to hear.

His arm trembled, and the view within the tube swooped wildly, provoking a queasy feeling in his stomach. He steadied himself, and looked again. This time he found the topmost fronds of a palm, swaying in the breeze from the sea. He could have counted each individual leaflet, had he wished.

Even the tiniest movement of his hands sent his view sweeping in great dramatic jerks, but Gevan persevered until he gained some measure of control. He located a street, and traced it until he recognized the sign of a particular shop at one intersection. From there he followed the familiar pattern of streets down to the docks.

People crowded the streets near the docks, and lined the harbor walls. Banners flew from every building. Beyond the rows of other ships, Gevan caught a glimpse of the one that drew everyone’s interest. It was a large trading vessel with a high square stern and a three tall masts. On its side, traced in bright gold paint, was its name. Gevan could read the letters: Verinna.

A brief wave of disgust penetrated his excitement. Did they think the Matriarch was susceptible to that sort of flattery? Wasn’t it enough that she was financing the whole benighted expedition?

But even that could not dim his exultation for long. He swept the circle of his vision across the waterfront and up to the high point where the Matriarch’s palace stood. The flags at the peak of its highest tower snapped in the brisk sea breeze. The seagull and star emblem of Ramunna was clear and sharp.

Gevan lowered the tube. He clenched his hands around it, his heart pounding. He had done it. He had opened a window to a distant place, cupped in a bright circle of light in his hands, just as the chronicles described the ancient wizards doing. He had proved that no magic was necessary for the feat, only a careful application of natural principles. He had rediscovered a power that had not after all been taken from the world. Just lost for a time.

If he could discover the secret of one of the wizards’ powers, he could find them all. It was only a matter of time before his calculations revealed the proper shape to make a lens that could bend light from a previous time into the present. He could learn the secrets of the human body, and how to wake its healing powers. He could tap into the forces that would allow him to reach out across space and manipulate objects without a touch.

Almost dizzy with the prospect, Gevan sat down and set the window-glass reverently on the workbench. He took out a fresh sheet of paper and picked up his pen. He must record every detail of what he had done in his notes. When the time came to make his invention public, he would face enormous opposition. From the Purifiers, yes, but potentially from many other quarters also. He must be prepared to meet every objection, and to defend himself with the power of reason and truth against all those who feared what the return of the wizards’ powers to the world might mean.

Some of his colleagues at the University already shared many of his beliefs, and would be open to accepting what he had done. He would start with them. They would demand full documentation, with all the information they would need to duplicate his work. As soon as he had that ready, he would present it to them.

And then, after enough people knew of the window-glass and understood its principles, so that the knowledge would not be lost even if he were silenced, he would go to the Matriarch. She would listen. Were not her dearest hopes pinned on finding some way to revive the lost power of the wizards? Even if he could not yet offer her the healing power that might give her the daughter she so desperately desired, she would see the potential the window-glass offered.

Gevan’s hand paused from its writing. Perhaps the window-glass itself could be of some immediate use to her. The peace with Marvanna was fragile. There was always the threat that their larger, stronger neighbors to the north might attack again. How much of an advantage would accrue to a commander who could spy upon enemy troops without ever going near them? Or to a naval captain who could identify a hostile ship from leagues away?

He smiled. Yes, that was the way to gain the Matriarch’s support. Once he convinced her, he would not need to fear the Purifiers. They did not yet have such power in Ramunna as they did in Marvanna. The Matriarch had little use for their fanaticism. Her favor would shield him. Her patronage would allow him to go forward with his research at a greatly increased pace. Perhaps, in time, he would even learn how to grant her desire. If so, the rewards she would shower upon him would far surpass even the wealth and privilege the ancient wizards had enjoyed.

Gevan reached out and stroked the cold metal of the window-glass in wonder. Then he bent with renewed industry to his notes.