The young man did so quickly and faced the other man. The man in black studied the new wearer of the grey. “You are no longer bound to silence. Any question you may have will be answered, as well as is possible, though there are still things that will be waited upon, until you don the black. Then you will fully understand. Come.”
The young man in grey followed his guide to another room, where cushions surrounded a low table, upon which rested a pot of hot chocha, a pungent, bittersweet drink. The man in black poured two cups and handed one to the young man, indicating he should sit. They both sat, and the young man said, “Who am I?”
The man in black shrugged. “You will have to decide that, for only you can glean your true name. It is a name that must never be spoken to others, lest they gain power over you. Henceforward you will be called Milamber.”
The newly named Milamber thought for a moment, then said, “It will serve What are you called?”
“I am called Shimone.”
“Who are you?”
“Your guide, your teacher. Now you will have others, but it was given to me to be responsible for the first part of your training, the longest part.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Nearly four years.”
Milamber was surprised by this, for his memory stretched back only a little, several months at best. “When will my memories be returned to me?”
Shimone smiled, for he was pleased that Milamber had not asked if they would be returned, and said as much. “Your mind will call up your past life as you progress in the balance of your training, slowly at first, with more rapidity later. There is a reason for this. You must be able to withstand the lure of former ties, of family and nations, of friends and home. In your case that is particularly vital.”
“Why is that?”
“When your past returns to you, you will understand,” was all Shimone said, a smile on his face His hawkish features and dark eyes were set in an expression that communicated the feeling this was the end of that topic.
Milamber thought of several questions, quickly discarding them as of less immediate consequence. Finally he asked, “What would have happened if I had opened the door by hand?”
“You would have died.” Shimone said this flatly, without emotion.
Milamber was not surprised or shocked, he simply accepted it. “To what end?”
Shimone was a little surprised by the question and showed it. “We cannot rule each other, all we can do is ensure that each new magician is able to discharge the responsibility attendant upon his actions. You made the judgment that your place was no longer with those who wore the white, the novices. If that was not your place, then you would have to demonstrate your ability to deal with the responsibilities of this change. The bright but foolish ones often die at this stage.”
Milamber considered this and acknowledged the propriety of such a test. “How long will my training continue?”
Shimone made a noncommittal gesture. “As long as it takes. You rise rapidly, however, so I think it will not be too much longer in your case. You have certain natural gifts, and—you will understand this when your memory returns—a certain advantage over the other, younger, students who started with you.”
Milamber studied the contents of his cup. In the thin, dark fluid he seemed to glimpse a single word, as if seen from the corner of the eye, that vanished when he tried to focus upon it. He couldn’t hang on to it, but it had been a short name, a simple name.
That night he dreamed again.
The man in brown walked along the road, and this time Milamber could follow. “You see, there are few objective limits. What they teach you is useful, but never accept the proposition that just because a solution satisfies a problem, that it must be the only solution.”
The man in brown stopped. “Look at this,” he said, pointing to a flower beside the road Milamber leaned down to see what the man was pointing at. A small spider spun a web between two leaves. “That creature,” said the man in brown, “toils oblivious to our passing. Either of us could crush out its existence at whim. Consider this, then, if that creature could somehow apprehend our existence, our threat to its life, would the spider worship us?”
“I don’t know,” Milamber answered “I don’t know how a spider thinks.”
The man in brown leaned upon his staff. “Considering how little humans think alike, it might be that this spider would react with fear, defiance, indifference, fatalism, or incredulity. Anything’s possible.” He reached out with his staff and gently caught a piece of spider silk on the wooden pole. Lifting the tiny arachnid, he transported it over to the opposite side of the road. “Do you think the creature knows that this is a different flower?”
“I don’t know.”
The man in brown smiled. “That is perhaps the wisest of all answers.”
Returning to his walk, he said, “You will be seeing many things soon, some of which will make little sense to you. When you do, remember one thing.”