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"I'm
not a spellsinger," Jon-Tom finally told them.
"I'm
still not sure what that is." He was surprised at the humbleness in
his voice. "But I always thought I had something in me. Every
would-be musician does. There's a line that goes, 'The magic's in the
music and the music's in me.' Maybe you're right, Talea. Maybe
Clothahump was more accurate than even he knew.
"I'm
going to do what I can, though I can't imagine what that might be. So
far all I know I can do is make this duar shine purple."
"Never
mind 'ow you do it, mate." Mudge swelled with pride at his
companion's accomplishment. "Just don't forget 'ow."
"We
need to experiment." Talea's mind was working furiously. "You
need to focus your abilities, Jon-Tom. Any wizard . . ."
"Don't
. . . call me that."
"Any
spellsinger, then, has to be able to be specific with his magic.
Unspecific magic in not only useless, it's dangerous."
"I
don't know any of the right words," he protested. "I don't
know any songs with scientific words."
"You've
got the music, Jon-Tom. That's magic enough to make words work."
She looked around the forest. Dusk was settling gently over the treetops.
"What do we need?"
"Money,"
said Mudge without hesitation.
"Shut
up, Mudge. Be serious."
"I'm
always serious where money is concerned, luv."
She threw
him a sour look. "We can't buy transportation where none exists.
Money won't get us safely and quickly to Clothahump's Tree." She
looked expectantly at Jon-Tom.
"Want
to try that?"
"What?
Transportation? I don't know what kind . . ." He broke off, feeling
drunk. Drunk from the after effects of the music. Drunk from what it
seemed he'd done with it. Drunk with the knowledge of an ability he
hadn't known he'd possessed, and completely at a loss as to what to make
of it.
Make of it
some transportation, dummy. You heard the lady.
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