To resolve the dilemma the goddess has given me, I must understand the nature of Minho's spell. I have always assumed that it is a special application of the principal I know as Mondradd in Mon, because genuine sorcery is only possible in the Otherworld, and even small magics part the veil between worlds to some elemental degree. Thus an essential, often silent, postulate of all spells is that Mondradd in Mon is always valid: that the Otherworld exists and can be entered.
Principles like the Conservation of Good and Evil denote a perpetual balance of underlying forces yet undefined, perhaps undefinable, and lesser ones like the Law of Locks suggest that the imposition of rational human design upon the natural world thickens the veil or obscures it.
However—by the very nature of the quest Ma has laid upon me—I must assume that the Fortunate Isles exist not in the Otherworld, but in this one. How can that be, if they are not subject to the rules of mundane existence? Immortality is not a natural state nor, if I read history aright, is the persistence of a nation, tribe, or way of life in perpetuity.
If I were to experiment with my master Anselm's lesser application of Minho's spell, the solution would surely surface, but I dare not risk it. Anselm's existence—like Yan Oors's, Guihen's, and that of every nameless and shadowy spirit of rock, forest, and watercourse—depends upon people's belief in it. That is also a premise, an underlying axiom that I dare not tinker with.
If I had an eon for study, I would know what I had to do, but even here, within Anselm's ensorcelled walls, the pressure upon me to act does not abate, as Yan Oors and the lines drawn by the pendulum have demonstrated. I can only hope that as I get nearer the focus of Minho's magic—that is to say, the great intersection of lines drawn in Anselm's sandbox—the relationship between all the spells and principles will become evident, and I will not be forced to choose between my lifelong mistress and my lifelong dreams.