“My skin cracks.”
“You never tried using sheep oil.”
Shaunyce almost said what she’d always said—“it smells.” For some reason, she didn’t. “I didn’t.”
“You are thinking deep thoughts.”
“Why don’t you let Brauk sell your pieces?”
“Because everyone would say that you were sleeping with him.”
“You didn’t let him sell them before. Why not then?”
Nynca frowned. “You never asked.”
“I didn’t think about it. Now that I’ve worked there, I can see that what you do is better than most of what he sells.” The thought struck her again that Brauk sold all manner of goods, except fine pottery and earthenware. “Even if he took a fifth part of what you could sell your best vases and platters for, you’d make more.”
“I likely could.”
“Then … why didn’t you?”
“You know … I’ve always told you that telling the truth is best.”
“You have.” Shaunyce wondered what lay behind her mother’s words.
“And that lying can come back to haunt you?”
Shaunyce nodded.
Nynca did not speak.
Shaunyce waited.
“You can lie without saying a word, by letting others think what they will.”
“I know.” Shaunyce paused. “That’s what … happened with Talysen. I let him think I felt more than I did. When he found out…”
“I wondered about that. But I didn’t ask.”
“I appreciated that.” And Shaunyce did, although she’d never said so.
“I lied to you, too, without saying a word. And that lie has come back to haunt me.”
Shaunyce had no idea what lie her mother had told her through omission.
“I didn’t know that you had asked Brauk for a job. I wished that you hadn’t, but if I’d told you why, then that would have revealed that I’d lied, after a fashion. Several years after your father died, I got so lonely … and he was having a hard time, too. We … kept company … for a time. No one knew. But if suddenly, he started selling my pottery … his consort and others might well ask questions. It didn’t last long. We knew it was wrong. I also didn’t tell you … because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
Shaunyce just stood there for several moments. Then her eyes burned, and she could not see. “Oh … Mother.”
For the first time in seasons, she wrapped her arms around her mother.
VI
On fiveday morning, Shaunyce made certain that she was at the shop earlier than her usual eighth glass, early enough that Brauk had to unbolt the door to let her in.
“You’re here early,” he said as he re-bolted the front door behind her.
Shaunyce didn’t want to say what she knew she had to. So she said the words immediately, keeping her voice firm. “I appreciate all your letting me work here, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to keep working here, ser.”
“You didn’t think that yesterday,” he said mildly.
“When I asked you for a job, I hadn’t even told my mother that I was going to ask you. She never said anything. I noticed that you never carried any pottery or earthenware, but you carry everything else. I never asked about that, but all the pieces came together last night, and I asked my mother why you hadn’t carried anything of hers. She told me.”
“Do you mind telling me why that made a difference?” A faint smile crossed Brauk’s lips. It could have meant anything.
“You showed me—with the box—about unspoken deception. You were right. That’s why I can’t work here any longer. And I’m very sorry if you thought I was taking advantage of … what happened between you and my mother. I didn’t know. Now that I do … I just can’t stay. If you think I was … I’ll pay back my wages as I can.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, ser.”
“You don’t owe me anything. First, you’ve been the best shopgirl I’ve had in years. You more than earned what I paid you. Second, I could tell that you didn’t know. I could also tell you hadn’t told your mother before you asked me for the position. In that, I deceived you by not saying anything, but I did think it might be better for you to work here … at least for a while.”
“You got upset by my deceiving Talysen, didn’t you?”
“I did.” Brauk paused. “What happened between your mother and me … it wasn’t right … but we both needed something. In that, we didn’t deceive each other, but we deceived others.”
Shaunyce realized something else at that moment. “You’ve both paid for it, haven’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Again, Brauk’s voice was mild, as if he knew what she meant, but wanted her to go on.
“Because you both like each other still, and you don’t dare to see each other, and you can’t sell her pottery and she can’t ask, and she doesn’t make as much … nor do you.”
“You’ve learned a great deal this season, Shaunyce.”
“You knew what the box would do, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “I knew it would be painful for you.”
“You didn’t … with my mother … the box?”
“No … not with her.”
Shaunyce tried not to swallow.
“It’s not really my box. It’s my consort’s. It’s been in her family for years. She let me borrow it. That’s why it was priced as it was. What I told you about it was true, though.” He smiled softly. “You can recover from deception … if you’re honest about it.” After a moment, he added, “You could still work here, if you wanted.”
“Thank you, ser. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”
“I still owe you your pay for the last two eightdays … and you earned every copper.”
She thought for several moments, then nodded. “But nothing more.”
VII
Late in the afternoon on sixday, with mist descending on Nylan, Shaunyce stood waiting outside the black stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the engineering buildings on the slope just above that walled section of the harbor of Nylan that held the black ships. Several student engineers—apprentice engineers, she corrected herself—walked past without even looking in her direction. The air was cool, but not cold, as the mist and fog thickened and more apprentices, and then some masters in black, made their way out of the gates and toward their quarters or their homes.
Shaunyce looked down at her fingers, and their short-cut nails. The skin on her hands wasn’t cracked, at least, and her mother had been right. After a bit, the sheep oil smell went away. Almost another full glass passed before she saw the stocky blond figure she recognized from his slightly forward posture.
She moved away from the gateposts and waited.
As he approached he did not seem to notice her, perhaps because of the fog, although she had her doubts, not until she said, “Talysen.”
He turned slightly and took several more steps, stopping perhaps a yard from her. He just looked at her, not speaking.
“Talysen…” She concentrated on trying not to sound pleading. “Could I … might I … have a word? I know you don’t think much of me…”
“How long have you been waiting here?” His voice was even.
“I … don’t know. A glass…”
“It’s well past suppertime. I was working late.”
“I … I had…” She shook her head. “I need to be honest … and fair.”
“You weren’t before.”
“I wasn’t. I liked you. I still like you. I think you’re a good person. I think you’re one of the best people I know. You thought more of me than I am. That made me feel special. I wanted to keep that.” She swallowed. “I pushed you about wanting to see the black ships … because … not because I wanted you to do what I wanted … but because that would show just how much you thought I was special. After you touched the box … and saw…” She paused. “I sti
ll want to be friends. And, even if you don’t, if you can’t, I’d like to say that I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t deceived you. I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”
“You think things could be like they were?”
“No. I wouldn’t ever want that. I’d want to be able to tell you what I felt, honestly felt. I’d want you to tell me the same. Even if we’re only friends.” She looked down, then back at him. “Gently, maybe.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
“We … we could touch the box together … again…”
“It’s not on display, and you don’t work there anymore.”
“You know?”
“I know more than you think.”
“You need to know how I feel. I asked Merchanter Brauk if he’d let us … if you … if you…”
“Stop.” His voice was firm, but not harsh.
“I can’t. Ever since I saw how you saw me … except it wasn’t ever since. It took a few days for me to realize … ever since then … No, that’s not quite true, either. It took me almost a season to work things out. I’m sorry about that, too. You deserve better.”
Talysen smiled. “Don’t I get a say about what I deserve?”
“I can’t ask for more than friendship.…” She paused. “What did you say?”
“I said that I get a say in what I deserve.”
For a moment, Shaunyce didn’t know what to say. “Yes, you do. If you don’t want even to be friends…”
“Stop,” he said again. “We’re friends. On the terms you suggested.” He smiled.
So did she, knowing that, whatever happened, it wouldn’t be deceptive.
He reached out and took her hand, and they walked away from the black gateposts, and the black ships that lay well behind them.
This one I wrote, just because …
ICE AND FIRE
The first snowflakes of winter, except that it was still fall, even in the far north of Austra, drifted lazily out of the gray sky. Faryl shivered and hurried up the wide path from the narrow road. His arms ached with the weight of the old basket. He glanced up as he saw the stocky gray-haired man on the front porch of the cottage, a modest stone-walled structure with a gray slate roof, the only slate roof in all of Cresylet, except for one other, not that there were more than a few score dwellings clustered on the north side of the river. “Grandda … what are you doing here?”
“Your da’s taken the mule to Vizyn. Your ma’s helping her sister…” He looked down at Faryl. “Where’s your coat?”
“Inside.”
“Inside won’t do you much good when it’s cold outside. In with you.” The older man gestured. “There’s a fire in the hearth.” He paused as he saw the basket. “What do you have there?”
“Acorns … for the old sow. Father asked me to gather some on the way back from my lessons.”
“Why didn’t you wear your jacket when you left?”
“The sun was out, and it wasn’t that cold.”
The older man waited until Faryl was through the door, then closed it.
“How did your lessons go?”
“Fine.” The words were flat.
“What happened?” The older man walked to the hearth, where he bent and added another log to the fire.
“Nothing.”
“Then perhaps you’d better spread the acorns on the hearth to dry before you put them in the feed barrel.”
“It wasn’t raining.”
“Faryl.”
“Yes, ser.” Faryl set the basket by the hearth and began to scoop out the acorns with his hands. Finally, he said, “Grandda … Sammel was saying that he’d never be my friend. He said I was like a black and he was a white.” Faryl didn’t want to say more. He especially didn’t want to tell his grandfather about what had happened at the pond. Not when he wasn’t even certain it had. But it had. He knew it had.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I told you what he said.”
“You want to know what he meant?”
Faryl nodded.
“They’re like ice and fire, boy. Ice and Fire.” He looked at his grandson and the puzzled look there, and added, “The whites are like chaos, like the fire there. See how the flames dance. No matter how long you look at them, they’re never quite the same, and they’re hot. Chaos is like that. Black is order, firm and solid, like deep winter ice. What happens when fire and ice meet, boy?”
Faryl shrugged.
“The same thing as when a drop of water hits a small flame. Psssst! The water’s gone, and so is the flame. That’s why it’s best not to have much to do with either pure order or chaos. Little bits of each are fine, because we need ice or water and we need fire.”
“But too much fire can burn down a house?”
“And too much ice and winter can freeze you solid,” added his grandfather. “Just stay away from both, boy. Mages, white or black, order or chaos, just lead to trouble.”
“Why?” asked Faryl.
“The black ones want everything just so. Why … you can’t have the slightest thing out of place if you live in Recluce. They say that’s a sign of chaos. And the white ones … they’re just plain dangerous, burn you up soon as look at you if you cross them.”
“Sammel’s not like that.”
“Thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t. Not now, but he’s not a white mage.”
“That’s good. I brought a bit of meat pie for your supper…”
Even cool, the meat pie was good. After eating and sitting a time by the fire, Faryl climbed under the old stiff blanket on his pallet not that far from the hearth. He remembered what he had done at the pond, when he’d somehow kept the water Sammel splashed from getting him wet and Sammel had said that he was just like a black, taking everything. But Sammel hadn’t seen that the water had sprayed away from Faryl, and Faryl knew he couldn’t say anything.
Was he really a black, like Sammel had said? Even if Sammel hadn’t seen and hadn’t really meant it?
Faryl thought about what his grandfather had said. Then he looked at one of the small red embers that had broken off the log and rolled onto the hearthstones.
Could he just … sort of … calm the little ember, the way he’d calmed and moved the spray Sammel had made?
He looked again and scrunched up his forehead. Ever so slowly, the ember faded.
Did it just fade by itself? How would he know? He concentrated on a little spot on the side of the big log that was red-hot. It turned gray … but just for a bit. He tried to smooth out things around the spot, but the fire kept coming back.
So he tried a great big smoothing—all at once.
The side of the log exploded, and embers showered everywhere. One landed on his shirt, and he jumped up quick-like and shook himself. The ember dropped on the hearthstones, but then he saw wisps of smoke coming from his blanket, and he had to pick it up and shake it out over the hearthstones. He had to keep shaking it to make sure all the embers were gone.
He was shivering all over when his grandfather strode back into the room, a worried look on his face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, ser.”
“What happened, boy?”
“The side of the log … it crackled … and … there were sparks going everywhere. One hit my shirt, and some got on my blanket.” Faryl looked around. He didn’t see any wisps of smoke, and there was only one new brown spot on his blanket.
“You didn’t throw anything into the fire, did you?”
“No, ser.” Faryl wasn’t lying, not exactly. He hadn’t put anything into the fire. He’d just tried to calm a big spot on the log.
“Maybe there was a chunk of ice under the bark. That can happen. The fire heats it to steam, and it explodes. Maybe you need to move back a bit from the hearth.”
“Yes, ser.” Faryl dragged his pallet back and checked his blanket before lying down again. His shivering stopped after a while, and he tried smoothing and calming one little ember. It did t
urn gray, and he realized that he was very tired.
He’d hoped that his father would be back soon, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
When he woke in the morning, his father was already up, because Faryl could hear the sound of the grindstone from the shop at the back of the house. He dressed quickly, although the cottage was not chill, just uncomfortably cool, since the fire in the hearth had long since died away. A bowl of porridge sat on the kitchen table. A portion of a loaf of bread was beside it. The porridge was cold, but there was nothing new about that. The bread was stale. Faryl finished both, then washed the bowls, using the water in the kitchen bucket sparingly.
Dreading what chores his father might have for him, he made his way to the workshop, where his father set aside the heavy chisel and let the grindstone slow to a halt.
“You need to go spend the day with your mother at your aunt’s. She could use your help.”
“Why can’t I stay here?”
“I won’t be home today, and your grandfather Eirl has his own work to do.”
“He doesn’t work. He writes things people want him to write.”
“That’s work. He’s a scrivener.”
Faryl said nothing.
“Don’t set your jaw like that, Faryl. What if it froze in place? No one would want to look at you, not even your friend Sammel.”
“He’s not my friend. He said I was a black.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes, there is. Whites can do things. Blacks just keep things the way they are.”
“Whites do things, all right, and most of them aren’t good. And if you don’t have whites around you don’t need blacks, and that’s just fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. Settled is just fine.” His father shook his head. “That’s why we’re better off without either blacks or whites. One’s as much trouble as the other. Especially when they do more than they should.”
“Settled … what good is that?” countered Faryl.
“Someday, you’ll understand. Now … off to your aunt’s unless you want to walk to Vizyn and carry slates all day.”
“Yes, ser.” Faryl tried to sound pleasant.
Even so, his father looked hard at him.
“I’m sorry, ser … it’s just…”
Recluce Tales Page 32