more, fulfilling your role in prophecy or removing your cacography?”
Nicodemus shook his head. “If a demon-worshiper stole my ability to spell, they must be connected. Magister, don’t you see? Perhaps I am not a true cacographer.”
“A true cacographer?” Shannon asked, eyebrows rising. “Nicodemus, even if we erased your disability completely, it wouldn’t undo what has already happened to you. Regarding who you truly are, regarding what truly matters, ending your cacography wouldn’t change anything.”
Nicodemus could barely believe what he was hearing. “It would change everything!”
Shannon started walking again. “Perhaps this is not the time.”
Nicodemus rushed after the old man. “Magister, would it upset you if I learned to spell?”
Shannon kept walking. “Why would you ask such a question?”
“You squash any hope I might have of completing myself.”
“There is no such thing as completing yourself. You have always been complete, and you won’t—”
For the first time he could remember, Nicodemus deliberately interrupted his teacher. “If I am already complete, if all I will ever be is your pet cripple, then I don’t know why we’re bothering to keep me alive!”
Both men stopped.
Suddenly Nicodemus realized that he had nearly shouted his last two words. He turned away.
The bridge’s railing stood before him. He put both hands on it and tried to catch his breath.
Far below them, a falcon circled above the scattered pines and boulders. Some of the trees had died and withered into wooden skeletons.
“Pet cripple,” Shannon said slowly. “I see.”
“I know how you pick a retarded boy out of every generation,” Nicodemus answered. “Devin knows too. Fiery heaven, the whole academy knows!”
A silence grew until the breeze picked up enough to make their robes luff.
Finally Shannon spoke in a low, rough tone. “Exile from Astrophell nearly crushed me. I lost everything—my wife, my son, my sight, my research. I could have let the loss rot me from the heart to the skin.”
Nicodemus looked back toward his mentor.
Azure had laid her head down near Shannon’s chin so the old man could scratch her neck.
“My research became futile,” the wizard said solemnly. “I had discovered such wonderful things in Astrophell. But in this academic backwater, I couldn’t accomplish a quarter of what I did before. In Astrophell, I had a cadre of brilliant apprentices working to advance my studies. Here I taught cacographic neophytes how to avoid hurting themselves. Politics became a constant reminder of my sins.”
The old wizard sniffed in annoyance. “I wasted years longing for what I had lost. Until, one day, a cacographic boy came to me in tears to thank me for all I had done. In truth, I had done little more than what was required. But I saw how moved the child was, how badly he needed kindness. I saw in him a way to live again. His name was Allen, a Lornish boy. He’s in Astrophell now. The Northerners don’t have the slightest suspicion that he, now a hooded librarian, is a cacographer.”
Shannon paused. “You think I made you my apprentice because I pity you? Because I keep a cacographer around to lord my ability over him? To feel as grand as I did when speaking before the Long Council? Well, if you think so, Nicodemus Weal, you’re a fool.”
The younger man was silent for a long moment. “But why then did you choose me for an apprentice?”
Shannon pointed to his milky-white eyes. “I chose you because in the past I have understood cacographers and they have understood me. I chose you because I thought I could help you the most. Besides, you are a useful apprentice. When you cast wordweave, I can complete spells in a quarter of the usual drafting time.” The old man grunted. “Have we talked about this enough for you?”
When Nicodemus did not answer, the old man started off toward the mountainside. “Come then. The sentinels will catch up with us soon.”
They walked most of the distance to the rock face without talking. Their footfalls echoed loudly, almost unnaturally so. Nicodemus had totake a deep breath before he could break the silence: “I’m sorry, Magister. It’s just…with the possibility of ending my cacography—”
“I quite understand,” Shannon said curtly as they stopped before the mountain’s sheer rock face. “Now let us move on. Do you know why we’re walking the Spindle Bridge?”
“Because Magistra Finn was murdered here?” Nicodemus stared at the carved outlines of giant ivy leaves.
“Exactly. I wondered if there was a reason she died on this bridge. I wanted to look at the mountainside with my blind eyes. I