"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 07 - The magic Engineer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

believe. Seldom are they exactly the same. Why not?" This time the magistra's eyes fix on Tyren,
the shaggy and brown-haired young poet who had attempted to charm Jyll the night before after
dinner.
"Is it . . . because . . . people find what is ... real... I mean, what is ... I mean, is it
too hard for them to believe in it?"
"That is correct." Lortren's voice softens. "All of us find some aspect of reality too hard to
see as it is-even when we know better. That usually isn't a problem when it remains personal, but
it can be a problem when a village or a duchy all accepts unreality."
Dorrin's eyes flicker to the window and to the deep green-blue and fast-moving white clouds.
His thoughts move to the question of machines and the unthinking belief by his father and Lortren
that such devices are of chaos.
"You do not agree, Dorrin?"
"No ... I mean, yes. I agree, but I was thinking that even people on Recluce might have beliefs
like that."
"I just gave you some, didn't I? About the Founders?"
Dorrin nods.
"You look doubtful. Did you have something else in mind?"
"That's different," Dorrin stumbles, realizing he does not want to state the machine argument,
but he is unable to find another.
"What about the rest of you?" Lortren's eyes sweep the others.
Finally, the tall dark-haired girl-Lisabet-clears her throat, then begins in a voice so quiet
that Dorrin leans toward her. "Maybe Dorrin is saying that what we believe about the past and what
we believe about today are two different kinds of beliefs."
"Huhhh ..." The involuntary grunt comes from Shendr.
"I'm not sure it matters," answers Lortren. "Whatever the cause, people have trouble accepting
certain actions, events, or behaviors. Part of what I hope to teach you is to learn your own
weaknesses and to guard against them."
Dorrin tries not to frown. He is more interested in learning how to get other people to change
their minds about their weaknesses than in learning about any more of his own weaknesses.
"Now," continues Lortren, "why is the difference between what we have heard about the Founders
and the sort of people they actually were important?"
Dorrin isn't sure he cares. People are people, and others believe what they want to. Still, he
watches the magistra and listens.


XI

"WHAT is THE social basis for the Legend?"
The social basis for the Legend? What does the Legend have to do with understanding anything?
Dorrin looks around the small room. The Academy of Useless Knowledge and Unnecessary Violence


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indeed-but it is better than the alternative of immediate exile.
Kadara twirls a short strand of red hair around the index finger of her right hand, her
forehead faintly creased. Brede shifts his weight on the battered leather cushion that serves as
his seat. Arcol swallows and glances toward the half-open window and the morning fog outside.
"Come now, Mergan." Lortren's low voice carries an edge. "What is the Legend?"