Issola by Steven Brust Page B

also heard "energy" used in casual conversation as a way of making something vague and meaningless sound precise and full of significance: "I knew she was mine when I felt the energy pass between us." I've heard natural philosophers use the word much the way sorcerers do, and fools of various flavors use it the way lovers do. But, whatever it means, energy lies at the heart of witchcraft.
    When you have understood the piece of the world you want to change, and aligned your will with the world as it actually is, then and only then can you begin to change it; not to hit the point too hard, but I suppose this is true even in what one does with one's more mundane abilities. The difference is that, when practicing the art of the witch, one can actually feel the alignment, feel the changes taking place. I call this feeling energy, because I can't think of a better term for it; inside of myself, it comes with a quickening of the heartbeat, a sense of being, for a while, a little more alive, and a sureness of one's convictions. Outside of myself, well, stuff starts happening. So, yes, connecting to Morrolan and Aliera came easily, and the energy began to build. Every skill - certainly every physical skill - really consists of learning which muscles ought to be tense, and which relaxed, and when. Increased skill comes with strengthening certain muscles, and, even more, with achieving finer control of the particular muscles used. In the Eastern science of defense, for example, one must learn to keep the proper amount of tension in the thumb, fingers, and wrist, so that the point of the weapon stays in line: too little tension and the weapon can be knocked out of your hand, which is embarrassing; too much and one responds too slowly, which is equally embarrassing. In fact, to show you how picky it can be, your first step in actually mastering the art is when you get control of your ring finger. Later, one learns the proper amount of tension for the forward knee and the rear foot, and so on. It is a training of mind and of muscle, which in the novice are constantly at odds with each other, and in the expert are so strongly united that it is impossible to separate conscious decisions from those made by trained muscles. This state is what we talk about when we refer to "reflexes," which can tell you a lot about yourself.
    I say this to make the obvious point that the art of the witch is very similar, except that the "muscles" in question all exist within the mind of the witch. With the simplest spells, all that is needed is the concentration of power; with the more complex spells, a subtlety and flexibility of mind is required. Typically, a witch will use all sort of tools, herbs, and amulets, because these help to focus the mind onto the required path; but when necessary, the swordsman forgets about proper form and technique and takes the opening that desperation requires and opportunity presents. Now that I think about it, most of my life has consisted of taking the opening that desperation required and opportunity presented.
    I did without tools, herbs, and amulets; instead I built them as metaphors in my mind. I imagined the manacles as four burning pyres, with visible heat patterns emerging from them that I then turned into strips of cloth - not to be confused with the actual strips of leather, which were metaphorically walls keeping the heat from their arms, which were, oh, never mind. I took hold of the metaphorical cloth, not the real leather, and I pulled, throwing it carelessly to my metaphorical side. Fortunately, there was no one in the metaphorical way.
    "Loiosh, look to their wrists; make sure 1 don't hurt them."
    "Got it, Boss."
    I pulled, and pulled, and it seemed as if I were pulling fabric from an endless spool. Somewhere far, far away, there was conversation; I imagine Morrolan or Aliera or both were making comments or asking questions, but none of it registered - fortunately for all of us. Morrolan, at least, ought to