The Years of Longdirk by Dave Duncan

Author:Dave Duncan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2017-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

5

As they were walking past the remains of an orchard, the friar began to talk again, gazing at the road ahead and speaking so softly that he seemed to be musing aloud.

“Like you, Tobias, I can see elementals. That is not a birthright but a knack one gains from dealing with them. You were a witchwife’s child, and I have studied the spirits all my life. I don’t know how old I am—ninety, perhaps more. It is too long to remain ignorant, but that is what I am. Spirits are still mysteries to me, and especially I do not know where they come from. They do not procreate as mortals do, but they must be replenished somehow, else the hexers would have stripped the world clean of them long ago. I like to think they are spontaneous manifestations of nature, outpourings of the power of life and beauty. Anywhere I have ever encountered a sprite was a place of beauty—a grove of willows, a grotto, a bend in a stream. But I don’t know if the elemental is attracted to the beauty, or creates it, or is created by it.”

He smiled his patient, gentle smile, which Toby now thought was more effective than a castle wall at preserving secrets.

“I have gathered a little lore in my time, though, and I shall share it with you if you promise not to ask any questions until I am done.”

“I should gladly promise more than that, Brother.”

“That will suffice. Most people know of only three types of spirit, although they are all varieties of the same, of course—the wild elementals, the benevolent tutelaries, and demons. It does seem unfair, doesn’t it, that the evil ones are able to move around while the tutelaries remain always in their own domains? Their mobility is bought at a terrible price. Whatever the Inquisition did to you, Tobias, or would have done to you, could be nothing compared to the tortures an adept applies to a spirit to make a demon of it. And the spirit cannot even hope to die, as I am sure you did … would, I mean. Small wonder they are so malevolent!

“Your hob, though, or imp as we call them, is not bound as a demon is. It has free will, and undoubtedly it is responsible for your visions. Those are very unusual and very dangerous. Think of them not as prophecies but as warnings. No hob nor spirit can foretell the future, not in any detail. A great tutelary may recognize a sickness in a man and know that he will die soon. It may have knowledge beyond mortals’ ken and be privy to great secrets, but it cannot write a history of the future. The hob knows less of what is going to happen to you than you do, because it lives only for the moment.”

The pause seemed to invite comment, so Toby said, “Yes, Brother.” Whatever this long introduction was leading up to must obviously be bad news.

“You, for

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