Tag: The Magic of Recluce

III

LIKE A LOT of things in Recluce, my transition from apprentice to student dangergelder just happened. Or that’s the way it seemed.

For the next few days after my rather ponderous and serious conversation with Aunt Elisabet and Uncle Sardit, I continued to help out around the carpentry shop. Uncle Sardit now asked me to rough-shape cornices, or rough-cut panels, rather than telling me to. And Koldar just shook his head, as if I were truly crazy.

He shook it so convincingly that I began to wonder myself.

Then I’d hear Uncle Sardit muttering about the inexact fit of two mitered corners, or the failure of two grains to match perfectly. Or I’d watch him redo a small decoration that no one would see on the underside of a table because of a minute imperfection.

Those brought back the real reason why I couldn’t stay as his apprentice—the boring requirement for absolute perfection. I had better things to do with my life than worry about whether the grain patterns on two sides of a table or panel matched perfectly. Or whether a corner miter was a precise forty-five degrees.

Perhaps it suited Koldar, and perhaps it kept the incursions of chaos at bay, but it was boring.

Woodworking might have been better than pottery, but when you came right down to it, both were pretty dull.

So I didn’t mind at all when, several days later, Aunt Elisabet announced that I had better get my things together.

“For what?”

“Your training as a dangergelder, of course. Do you think that the masters just hand you a staff, a map, and some provisions, and hustle you aboard a ship to nowhere?”

That thought had crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it in the face of my aunt’s insistence.

“What about saying good-bye to my family?”

“Of course, of course. We’re not exactly barbarians, Lerris. They’ve been expecting you for some time, but you’re not an apprentice any longer. So what you do is strictly up to you. The masters at Nylan are expecting you, and several others, the day after tomorrow.”

“That’s a good distance…” I hinted, hoping that Aunt Elisabet would indicate that the masters would provide a carriage, or a wagon. While I had a few silver pence, I certainly had no desire to spend them on riding the High Road. Nylan was a full day’s walk, and then some.

“That it is, Lerris. But did you expect the masters to come to you?”

I hadn’t thought about that one way or another.

Aunt Elisabet cocked her head, smiling, as if to indicate that the sunny morning was passing quickly. It was, and, if I had to be in Nylan by the following evening…

Another thought crossed my mind. “When on the day after tomorrow?”

“No later than noon, although I suppose no one would mind if you were a trifle later than that.” Her smile was kindly, as it usually was, and the sun behind her still-sandy hair gave her the look of…well, I wasn’t sure, but Aunt Elisabet seemed to be more than I had thought. Why, I couldn’t say, just as I couldn’t explain why woodworking seemed so incredibly boring.

I swallowed. “I’d better get going. That’s an early rising tomorrow, and time to make on the road.”

She nodded. “I have some flake rolls for your parents, if you’re going that way. And you’ll find a set of boots, with the right trousers and cloak, laid out on your bed.”

I swallowed again. I hadn’t thought about the boots, although my heavy apprentice clothes would have been adequate for most hard travel.

“Thank you…” I looked down. “Need to say good-bye to Uncle Sardit.”

“He’s in the shop.”

After going back to my room, I found my clothes had been wrapped in one bundle, and that someone had laid out not only boots and clothes, but a walking staff of the heaviest, smoothest, and blackest lorken. The staff was almost unadorned, not at all flashy, but it was obviously Uncle Sardit’s work, probably months in preparation as he had cut, seasoned, and shaped the wood, and soaked it in ironbath. The ends were bound in black steel, with the bands recessed so precisely they were scarcely visible against the darkness of the wood.

I held it and it seemed to fit my hand. It was exactly my own height.

Finally I shrugged, and looked around for the old canvas bag in which I had brought my old clothes. Not that there were many left after nearly two years of growing and discovering muscles in the process of woodworking. Don’t let anyone tell you that precision woodwork isn’t as hard as heavy carpentry. It isn’t. It’s harder, and since you can’t make mistakes, not for someone like Uncle Sardit, it requires more thinking.

The last thing laid out was a pack. Not flashy, not even tooled leather, but made out of the tightest-woven and heaviest cloth I’d ever seen. Dull brown, but dipped in something that had to be waterproof. I wondered if Aunt Elisabet and Uncle Sardit felt guilty for deciding that I didn’t fit in. Certainly the staff and the pack alone were magnificent gifts, and the clothes, although a dark brown, were of equal quality and durability.

That wasn’t all. Inside the pack was a small purse. Attached was a note.

“Here are your apprentice wages. Try not to spend them until you leave Recluce.” I counted twenty copper pennies, twenty silver pence, and ten gold pence. Again, a near-incredible amount. But I wasn’t about to turn it down, not when I couldn’t tell what might lie ahead.

I picked up the staff again, running my fingers over the grain, examining it once more, trying to see how the ends were mated so closely to the wood that the caps were scarcely obvious.

At least they, or my parents, whoever had supplied me, wanted to send me off as well-prepared as they could. I remembered from Magister Kerwin’s dry lectures that dangergelders were only allowed whatever coins they could carry comfortably, two sets of clothes, boots, a staff, a pack, and a few days’ provisions.

If you decided to return, of course, after your year or more away, and the masters approved, you could bring back an entire ship, provided it wasn’t stolen or unfairly acquired. But then, the masters weren’t too likely to let you return if you’d turned to thievery.

I shook my head, put down the staff, and examined the pack, realizing my time was short. Inside were another set of clothes and a pair of light shoes, almost court slippers.

Stripping to the waist, I headed down to the wash trough to clean up before putting on the new clothes. Uncle Sardit was humming as he buffed the desk he was finishing, but did not look up. Koldar was down at the sawmill, trying to find enough matched red oak to repair the fire-damaged tables at Polank’s Inn.

I’d overheard my aunt and uncle discussing the fire, acting as if it had been totally expected, ever since young Nir Polank had taken over from his ailing father.

“Some have to learn the hard way.”

“Some don’t…” my aunt had answered, but she hadn’t said anything more once I had entered the house for dinner.

On the washstones was a fresh towel, which, after the chill of the water, I gratefully used. At least I hadn’t needed to take a shower. Standing under even partly-warmed water in the outside stone stall wasn’t exactly warm. Cleaning that stall was even less enjoyable, but Aunt Elisabet, like my father, insisted on absolute cleanliness. We didn’t eat unless we were washed up, and more than once as a child I’d gone without dinner for refusing to wash.

They both took a shower every day, even in winter. So did my mother and Uncle Sardit, although my uncle occasionally skipped the shower on the days that Aunt Elisabet was out visiting friends.

I folded the towel, and put it back on the rack.

“Getting ready to go?”

Uncle Sardit stood in the shop door, finishing cloth in his left hand.

“Yes, sir.” I swallowed. “Appreciate everything…sorry I just don’t seem to have the concentration to be a master woodworker…”

“Lerris…you stayed longer than most…and you could be a journeyman for some. But it wouldn’t be right…would it?”

Since he was standing three steps above me, I looked up. He didn’t seem happy about my leaving.

“No…probably get more bored with each day. And I don’t know why.”

“Because you’re like your dad…or your aunt. In the blood…”

“But…they seem so happy here…”

“Now…”

I couldn’t seem to find anything to say.

“Be on your way, boy. Just remember, you can always come back, once you discover who you are.” He turned back into the shop and returned to buffing the already shining wood of the desk, without humming.

All of a sudden, there seemed to be so many things unsaid, so many things that had been hidden. But no one was saying anything.

It seemed so unfair. As if I couldn’t possibly understand anything until I’d gone off and risked my life in the Dark Marches of Candar or the Empire of Hamor. Then everything would be fine…just fine.

And my parents—they never came by to see me. Only if I went to see them, or on High Holidays, or if they came to visit my aunt and uncle.

Up in the apprentice quarters, no longer mine really, I pulled on the clothes, ignoring their comfort and fit, and the boots. Then I picked up the cloak and folded it into the pack, and strapped the old clothes to the outside. Those I could leave at home, if it were truly home. Besides the new clothes and the pack, the staff was the only thing that felt right.

As I looked around the quarters, I wondered about my armchair…and my tools. What about my tools? Uncle Sardit had said something about taking care of them, but hadn’t said how.

I found Uncle Sardit in the shop. He was looking at a chest, one I hadn’t seen before.

“I thought I’d store your tools in this, Lerris, until…whatever…”

“That would be fine, Uncle Sardit…and could you find some place for the armchair?”

“I was going to keep it here, but I could take it back to your parents.”

For some reason, I’d never considered the chair as belonging where I’d grown up.

“Whatever you think best.” One way or another, I wouldn’t be needing it for a while.

“We’ll take good care of it…just take care of yourself so you can come back for it.”

We stood there for a moment, with everything and nothing to say.

Finally, I coughed. “I’m not a woodworker, Uncle, but I learned a lot.”

“Hope so, boy. Hope it helps you.”

I left him standing there, turning to rack my tools in the chest he had made for them.

Aunt Elisabet was waiting at the kitchen doorway with a wrapped package. Two of them.

“The bigger one has the flake rolls. The other one has some travel food for you.”

I took off the pack and put the travel food inside, but just strapped the rolls to the top. They weren’t heavy, and while it was cloudy, the clouds were the high hazy kind that kept the temperature down but almost never led to rain. That early in the summer the farmers would have liked more moisture, but I was just as glad I wouldn’t have to trudge to Nylan through a downpour. I had a feeling I’d be traveling in enough wet weather.

“And here are some for you.”

On a plate she had produced from nowhere were two enormous rolls, one filled with chicken and the other with berries that dripped from one end.

“If you want to get home by dinner, you’ll need to start now.”

“Dinner?”

“I’m sure your father will have something special.”

I did not answer, nor ask how she would know that my father would have a special dinner, because, first, she would know, and, second, I was wolfing down the chicken-filled flake roll. In all the hurry to get ready for Nylan, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. When you chose dangergeld, you obeyed the rules of the masters, including their schedule.

After washing down the last of the first roll with a tumbler of ice-cold water, I took the second.

“You have enough time not to eat them whole, Lerris.”

I slowed down and finished the dessert roll in four distinct bites. Then I took another deep swallow from the tumbler.

“Do you have your staff? Your uncle wanted you to have the best…”

I lifted the staff. “Seems to belong to me already.”

My aunt only smiled. “You should find it helpful, especially if you listen to the masters and follow your feelings…your true feelings.”

“Well…time for me to go…”

“Take care, Lerris.”

She didn’t give me any special advice, and since I wasn’t exactly in the mood for it, that was probably for the best.

As I walked down the lane with its precisely placed and leveled gray paving-stones, I felt both my aunt and uncle were watching every step, but when I turned around to look I could see nothing, no one in the windows or at the doors. I didn’t look around the rest of Mattra, not at the inn where Koldar was laying out the timbers from the sawmill, not at the market square where I had sold my breadboards—one had actually fetched four copper pennies.

And the road—the perfect stone-paved highway—was still as hard on my booted feet as it had been on my sandaled feet when I had first walked to Mattra.

I made it home, if Wandernaught could still be called home, well before dinner. But Aunt Elisabet had been right. I could smell the roast duck even before my feet touched the stone lane that was nearly identical to the lane that led from the street to Uncle Sardit’s. Mattra and Wandernaught were not all that different. Some of the crafts were different, and Wandernaught had two inns and the Institute where my father occasionally discussed his philosophies with other holders or—very occasionally—masters from elsewhere in Recluce. But nothing very interesting ever happened in Wandernaught. At least, not that I remembered.

My parents were seated on the wide and open porch on the east side of the house, always cool in the summer afternoons. The stones of the steps were as gently rounded as I recalled, without either the crisp edges of new-cut granite nor the depressions of ancient buildings like the temple.

“Thought you’d be here about now, Lerris.” My father’s voice carried, although it had no great or booming tone.

“It’s good to see you.” My mother smiled, and this time she meant it.

“Good to be here, if only for a night.” I was surprised to find I meant what I was saying.

“Let me take the pack and the staff—Sardit’s work, it looks like—and have a seat. You still like the redberry?”

I nodded as I slipped out of the pack straps. My father laid the pack carefully next to the low table.

“Oh, I forgot. The top package is for you—Aunt Elisabet’s flake rolls, I think.”

They both laughed.

“Good thing we don’t live closer, not the way she bakes…”

My mother just shook her head, still smiling.

For some reason, they both looked older. My father’s hair was no thinner, and it still looked sandy-blond, but I could see the lines running from the corners of his eyes. His face was still smooth, with a slight cut on his chin from shaving. Unlike most of the men in Recluce, he had neither beard nor mustache. I could sympathize. Although I could have worn a beard, I followed his example, not blindly, but because whenever I worked hard I sweated buckets, and I found even a short and scraggly beard more of a bother than shaving—cuts and all.

He was wearing a short-sleeved open-necked shirt, and the muscles in his arms looked as strong as ever. The woodpile behind the house was probably three times the size it needed to be. Dad always claimed that handling an axe was not only necessary, but good exercise.

My mother’s angular face seemed even more angular, and her hair was too short. But she had always worn it too short, and I doubted that she would ever change that. Short was convenient and took less time. She also wore a short-sleeved faded blue blouse and winter-blue trousers, both more feminine, but essentially mirroring what my father wore—not because she cared, but because she didn’t. Clothes were a convenience. That’s why Dad did all the tailoring—except for holiday clothes—for Mother and me.

He was funny about that. He refused to let anyone see him work. He’d take measurements, fit partially-sewn garments, and adjust until they fit perfectly, but not with anyone around. When I was little, I thought he must have had someone come in. But as time went by, I realized that he understood clothes, understood too much not to have done the work. Besides, it’s pretty difficult not to believe, when your father disappears into his workrooms with cut leathers and fabrics and returns with the products—especially when there’s only one door and when you’re an exceedingly curious boy trying to find a nonexistent secret passage. There wasn’t one, of course.

While I was remembering, my mother had poured a large tumbler full of redberry, and Dad, after setting the pack down and recovering the flake rolls, had disappeared. To the kitchen, presumably.

“It’s too bad you have to be in Nylan tomorrow,” offered my mother, as I eased into one of the strap chairs across from her. My feet hurt, as I knew they would with the new boots, but I’d wanted feet and boots worked together as soon as possible.

“I didn’t realize it would happen so quickly.”

“Sometimes it does. Other times it takes weeks,” added my father. As usual, I had not heard him return. He was always so silent when he moved, like a shadow.

“How many…will there be?”

“It depends. There could be as few as four dangergeld candidates. Never more than a dozen. And you’ll lose two before the masters are through.”

“Lose?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

He shrugged. “Some people decide they’d rather accept exile than listen to the masters. Others decide they’d like to go home.”

“Can they?”

“If they can convince the masters…it happens every so often.”

Not very often, I could tell from his tone. “If they can’t?”

“They can continue with their training or go into exile.”

I got the feeling that you didn’t just go wandering out of Recluce on any old quest without the approval of the masters.

Before I asked another question, I took several healthy swigs from the tumbler, then ate some of the plain flake rolls Dad had cut into bite-sized pieces. Mother had one or two, which was more than she usually had before dinner.

“What are the masters?” I finally asked, not that I hadn’t asked the question several dozen times before of several dozen people. Usually the answer amounted to: “The masters are the masters, entrusted with the guardianship of the Isle of Recluce and the Domain of Order.”

This time, though, my father looked at my mother. She looked back at him. Then they both looked at me.

“The answer isn’t likely to mean what it should…”

“In other words, you aren’t going to tell me?”

“No. I will tell you, as far as I am able. But I’m not sure that you will either like or appreciate the answer.” He pulled at his chin, as he did when he was trying to find the best words to express something unpleasant.

“Try anyway.”

He ignored my comment, and, for a moment, his eyes almost misted over, as if he were looking a world away.

I took the opportunity to drain the rest of the redberry.

My mother refilled my tumbler, and Dad still hadn’t said a word.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “…Uuuhhmmm…you recall…Magister Kerwin…when he told you that the masters stood between Recluce and chaos because they were the defenders of order?”

I found my fingers tapping on the edge of my refilled tumbler.

“Bear with me…this is difficult…”

How difficult could it be? Everybody had a role in life, including the masters. Either they controlled Recluce or they didn’t.

“Perhaps I should go back to the beginning. It might be simpler…”

I managed to keep from grinding my teeth, only because I somehow could tell that he was not trying to put me off. But I still couldn’t see why an explanation of who controlled what had to be so difficult.

“…fundamental conflict between order and chaos, or, simplistically speaking, between good and evil. Though that’s not exactly correct, because chaos and order do not by themselves have a moral component. More important, while certain components of order may be used for evil, and certain components of chaos for good, almost never can anyone devoted to chaos remain committed to good. Someone committed to good finds anything other than the most minor uses of chaos repulsive. That distinction is important, because someone committed to order itself, rather than good, can be corrupted, while seeming orderly in all he or she does…”

Curiosity was fighting boredom in my case, and rapidly losing.

“No…I can see you’re bored already, Lerris…that explanation is too long. Try and remember the beginning, though.”

My mother was slowly shaking her head. Finally, she interrupted. “Think of it this way, Lerris. It takes skill to be a potter. A potter may use his skill for producing containers. Those containers may be used for good or evil purposes. Most are used for purposes without much real good or evil. And most people find a truly beautiful and orderly vase hard to use for evil things. In the same way, it is much easier to use a chaotic or disorderly creation for evil.”

That made sense, so far. “What does that have to do with the masters?”

“That’s the hard part,” said my father slowly. “And we may have to continue the discussion over dinner, because the duck is almost ready.

“The masters are responsible for ensuring that things in Recluce are what they seem to be, for rooting out self-deception, and for maintaining our physical defenses against the Outer Kingdoms.”

“Physical defenses? Magister Kerwin said that Recluce had no armies and no fleets, only the Brotherhood of the Masters.”

“As you will learn, Lerris, words can conceal as much as they reveal.” He stood. “Wash up, and we’ll try and answer the rest of this question over dinner. A good dinner shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

Since I didn’t know when I’d get that good a duck feast again, I went down to the washstones to rinse the dust from my face and the grime from my hands, and tried to figure out a better set of questions.

The duck smelled as good as I remembered, and I put the questions aside until I had finished my first helping, which included another flake roll warmed in the oven, sliced and spiced sourpears, and some tart greens. The duck was tangy, moist, and not at all oily. Dad was one of the few cooks I knew who could manage the moistness without an oily taste—though I’d tasted few enough foods from other cooks.

I decided to slow my headlong pursuit of various foods and took a sip of water, cold from the deep well.

“About the masters…was Magister Kerwin misleading us? Do the masters act like the armies of the Outer Kingdoms? Isn’t that a form of chaos?”

My father chuckled. “Yes, and no, to the first. No to the second, and, if true, yes to the third, although it probably wasn’t intentional, which would mitigate the impact.”

“But—”

“Kerwin let you think what you wished, which is a form of deception, particularly to an agile mind such as yours.” He held up his left hand and took a brief sip of his wine.

I’d never liked the wine and still preferred cold water.

Mother continued to pick at her meal.

“Some of the masters deal extensively with the Outer Kingdoms, and counter chaos on a daily basis. We seldom see them, but they’re properly called the Brotherhood. They wear scarlet and black. Then there are the masters, who wear black when undertaking their official duties, and whatever they please at other times. There are others as well, whom you will come to recognize in the days ahead.

“While each group has specific duties, all their duties revolve about maximizing reasonable order in Recluce. You remember the baker—Oldham?”

I nodded wearily.

“Who took him away?”

“The masters.”

“What did they do with him?”

“Dumped him somewhere in the Outer Marches, I suppose. Or killed him.”

“Do you know what he did?”

I drained the rest of the water from the tumbler before answering. “What difference does it make? The masters are powerful, especially the hidden ones.”

“Hidden ones?” asked my mother.

“The ones no one knows about. How else would they know about people like the baker?”

“I take it you do not believe in magic, then, Lerris?” asked my father.

“How can I believe or disbelieve? The practice of chaos-magic is prohibited, and I’ve never seen anything that would be called good magic that could not be explained by either chance or hard work.”

My mother smiled, a rather strange smile, almost lopsided.

“What point were you trying to make? What about the baker? Why was that important? Or was it just to show that the masters control Recluce?” By now I was as impatient as I had been when I had left for my apprenticeship.

“I’m not sure, Lerris, except to show that the masters affect everything in Recluce. By the way, the baker is still living, and doing fairly well in Hamor. That might indicate the masters are neither cruel nor vindictive, but only protective of us.”

“Then why are they so secretive?” I was beginning to regret even getting into the argument. My parents hadn’t changed at all, still talking around things, hinting, but never saying anything outright.

My father sighed. “I’m not sure I can answer that.”

He hadn’t been able to answer that question before I had left, either.

“Dear,” added my mother, “right now we can’t tell you everything, and you want explanations that require experience you don’t have.”

“That means you aren’t going to explain anything.”

“Hold it. You asked about defenses. I can answer that.” My father practically glared at me.

I ignored him and speared another slice of duck.

“The Brotherhood does act as our army, and as a navy, too. As part of the dangergeld choice, you could choose to serve as a border guard with the Brotherhood, assuming the masters agreed. The masters themselves maintain a sort of watch against chaos-magic, even in its subtler forms, such as shown in the case of the baker.

“The coasters belong to the Brotherhood, although they fish as well as watch the offshore waters, and each ship that flies the flag of Recluce carries a member of the Brotherhood as well as a junior master.”

“How many are there?”

“Enough,” answered my father. “Enough.”

I could tell that was all I was going to get, just from his tone, and, on my last night, it seemed stupid to refight a battle that would only end up frustrating us all. So I had some more duck, and slathered another slab of the dark bread with the cherry conserve.

“Any new neighbors?”

“There’s a young couple building a place on the empty lane, the one that overlooks Lerwin’s orchards.” My mother was more than glad to lapse into small talk.

My father shrugged and reached for the cherry conserve.

Maybe we were too dissimilar. Or too much alike.

I had a third helping of the duck, as good as my first slices. I also enjoyed the lime tarts.

And, for the most part, that was dinner before I went off to Nylan.