And the wound was closing, exactly as he had imagined it.
There were two—beings—of light, one to his right, and one to his left, hovering weightlessly over the water. They were vaguely human-shaped, but too bright and at the same time too diffuse to really make out anything else. They each held a hand over his head, and he knew, somehow, that this was the source of that energy that was coursing through him. Brother Mascoli and the other undine were caught fast in some sort of trance; their eyes were shut fast.
This is for your eyes only, little brother. He sensed, somehow, that the being to his right was smiling at him, that the words came from—him? Her?
Both. And neither. Meaningless, little brother. God’s spirits have no gender.
He didn’t know whether to be elated—to have at last that sign he had not dared hope for—or to be ashamed that he had doubted and had waited so long to use this thing he’d been given. He decided he had to be both.
And neither. Could the infant Tintoretto have painted a fresco? Some things must wait upon . . . maturity.
Embarrassment, the too familiar taste of humiliation at his own stupidity, his own failures; then, suddenly, the sweeter taste of something altogether different. Humility.
Of course. Sometimes, old Chiano had said, you have to wait until you’re ready. . . .
Exactly. Now—concentrate, little brother. We cannot remain much longer.
He closed his eyes again and focused his attention, until the flow of what he now knew was pure, simple power began to ebb; from a rush, to a stream, from a stream, to a rivulet, from a rivulet, to a trickle, and then it was gone.
He opened his eyes, and pulled back his hands.
The only light came, once again, from the torch in the sconce overhead. The water-chapel was utterly unchanged. But in the water, a miracle opened her eyes in wonder.
The wound was gone, exactly as he had imagined it, leaving not so much as a scar.
The newly healed undine clapped her hands with joy, and to Marco’s intense embarrassment, leapt out of the water to plant wet and strangely hard lips on his cheek, as her sister who had sat at his side did the same on his other cheek.
“Well done, Marco,” said Brother Mascoli heartily—but with overtones of weariness. A moment later, Marco had to put out a hand on the step to steady himself, for when he tried to stand, he was nearly bowled over by the same weariness.
The undines made a move in the direction of the water-entrance, and Brother Mascoli called out to them while Marco was still trying to get to his feet. “A moment, little sisters—who did this to you?”
The one who had been wounded turned back, although her three companions shook their heads in warning.
“It’s all right—I haven’t dispelled the circle,” Mascoli assured them. “It’s safe enough to use a True Name.”
“We do not know the True Name, Elder Brother,” the wounded one said solemnly. “Only that it is a thing of water or land or fire as it chooses to be, that it is a thing that is a stranger here, and that—” she hesitated. “We think that it was once a god.”
Marco looked up at Brother Mascoli to see his reaction, and a shiver of fear came over him. Brother Mascoli was as white as foam.
But within a moment he had gotten hold of himself, and made a gesture of cutting in the air. With a rapid flurry of thanks, the undines plunged under the surface, and disappeared, presumably out into the canal, and from there, into cleaner water elsewhere.
“Now,” Brother Mascoli said, putting a hand under Marco’s elbow to help him up, “You, my young mage, are not going elsewhere until you learn the right way to do what we just cobbled together.”
“Yes sir,” Marco said. He knew the look on the priest’s face. He might just as well try to argue with the Lion of Saint Mark. Brother Mascoli drew him in through the water-door and sat him down at a little work table, then pulled out a dismayingly heavy book. “First of all, you always cast a circle of protection. The only reason we got away with not doing so this time is because the church is within a permanent circle that only needs to be invoked, and . . .”