Tuesday 4 January 2005

Pic of the day: In the role playing game Morrowind, magic is mostly imposed by spells, either directly or through objects imbued with spells. But ironically, some of the strongest magic literally grows out of the ground in the form of plants that are harvested for alchemy. I like that. In fact, it is my favorite magic in that game. This will make sense soon, I hope.

Return to the Land

It seems my Go fad is fading, as it were. Over the last couple days it has taken less of my time, while more has gone into reading The Runes of the Earth, book 1 of the Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. Already I am starting to feel sorry about not having the next book in the series.

Yes, this means that Donaldson has managed to live up to his old standards, despite all those years. The weaknesses are still there, although some people may like those too: He still seems to delight in torturing the characters, especially main characters but sometimes entire armies, and even the Land itself. And he uses arcane synonyms that even I don't recognize from elsewhere. I would not be shocked if he is the last living person to have "inchoate" in his active vocabulary.

But the magic system of the Land is what draws me into that world. It appeals to me at a deep, primitive level. It feels right in a way that most fantasy magic does not.

***

"Earthpower", the most prevalent magic in the Land, is not really imposed on the Land by wizards or clerics, spirits or gods. It is a gift of the Land. It exists diluted in almost anything, from the bedrock to the living things. But only in a few things is it so concentrated that it can be wielded to cause sudden change ... "vulgar magic" as theorists would call it, the sort of magic that we don't see here.

To wield magic you usually need "lore". It seems to be more of a skill than pure knowledge. Perhaps it is most closely an understanding. Those who combine study and practice of the lore are those who make the most progress, and they can awaken the Earthpower in more common things, stone and wood, to some degree. The lore also keeps them young and healthy longer than common people, although not forever.

There is also magic that causes harm, called "banes". This magic is uncommon, but strong, such as the Illearth Stone or the Sunbane. It corrupts those who try to use it, even if their reasons to reach for it may seem pure.

Finally, there is the wild magic commanded by white gold. This element does not exist naturally in the land so is only brought into it by visitors from the common world. It is frightfully strong and tends by itself toward extremes, but it is neither good nor evil. Rather does it depend on the one wielding it, his or her heart rather than lore or ritual.

***

I have a tendency, when I write magic fantasy, to construct elaborate magic systems. Some of them are unique to one of my worlds, others are more common, and some are similar to those used by other writers. There are certain underlying principles that I tend to follow. Above all, everything has a price. Some sacrifice must be made, although not necessarily in proportion to what you get from it.

But the Earthpower is not like that. It does not really require a sacrifice. It is more like the good things of our own world, like the warmth of the spring sun, the freshness of a mountain stream, the softness of young springy grass, the nourishment of wild berries, only taken to a higher level. Lore is not ritual to force a human will onto the Land, but understanding of where to find its gifts and how to harvest them to the best effect. It is the same in our world: Someone grown up in the forest may be able to find food where a city man might starve, and make tools where others may be helpless, find his way where another would be lost. The magic is not in the lore, but in the Land itself, freely given to those who know how to accept.

I myself was born to a long line of farmers, and grew up in a world where we relied on the abundance of the earth and the river and the sea. Although work was certainly required, at least if you wanted more than just survival, there was always the deepfelt understanding that all our work would be for nothing if there was not a blessing already laid down on the land. The fertility of the soil could be aided but never forced. Trees could be planted but their growth was a fruit of patience rather than of exertion of will or strength. We were competent, but we were not truly masters; we were receivers of gifts.

Perhaps it is my own childhood I see reflected and magnified in the Land. Or perhaps we all have a feeling deep down that this is how it should be.