“There’s no real difference. The word ‘gift’ is shorthand for a working you can do automatically, without having to actually learn how. Most of us have at least one thing we can just do, without even thinking about it. Sometimes gifted working can be fine-tuned through practice, but the basic ability is always just there from the get-go.”

“What about the things you were mentioning last night — making disguises, unlocking doors, and such?”

“Right now you can sense essence that’s been disturbed by a working. Eventually, you’ll be able to see essence in its natural state. Once that happens, you can begin to do workings aside from your gift. We called that ‘learned’ working. You can also learn to do half-workings at that point — mainly disguises and false images. Some people devote a lot of time to learned workings and become very adept.”

“Are those the third and fourth stages?”

He grinned. “Very good — yes. Sometimes you’ll hear the stages called ‘castes,’ though I don’t care for that term, myself.”

I nodding, thinking about the possibilities.

“So even if I don’t have a gift for healing, I might be able to learn to do it?”

“Definitely. People who aren’t gifted healers can still learn to do healing work. Their abilities will probably be much more limited than those of a gifted healer like Kara, but it would still be useful.”

We pulled into the parking lot at the top of the mountain. Our car was the only one there. It was too late in the year for skiing, snowshoeing, and other winter sports, and too early to do much else besides slog through cold mud.

That last seemed to be what Graham had in mind. He got a backpack out of the trunk, and we headed into the woods. I think we covered less than a mile, but it took the better part of an hour, since there was no trail to follow.

I realized at one point that Graham must’ve been telling the truth about the sound-containment thing. I could certainly hear us crashing along through the dead leaves and brush, but nothing else seemed able to — several times we startled wildlife at close range.

At least I wasn’t the only one who suffered. About half an hour into our hike, Graham tripped and fell in a pretty substantial mud puddle. He stood up, brushing pointlessly at his pant legs, which were drenched and muddy up to the knees. Then he shot an annoyed look at the snag he’d tripped over.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. Darned rock.”

We continued on. Finally, Graham motioned to stop. He stood still for about a minute with his eyes closed, concentrating on something. Then he nodded to himself and said, “This is good.”