The Magic of Recluce

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Wrynn looked at the polished black-oak floor planks, then at Krystal, and finally in the general direction of Myrten, who seemed to shrink further into the corner. Myrten always seemed to put himself in a corner when he could, a corner from where he could watch everything.

  The room grew silent.

  “You know what I mean. You just play with words.” Wrynn’s voice was harsh.

  I agreed with her assessment of Cassius, of all the magisters and masters. All of them played with words, twisting their meanings, hiding more than they revealed.

  “Come, now,” Cassius’s voice soothed. “You feel that strength is important. What kind of strength? Is a bully to be admired? Would you despise a small woman who required aid to stop a thief?”

  “I don’t admire bullies. I don’t think much of people who invite theft or attacks. And I don’t like thieves.” Each word came forth filled with grit. Wrynn glared at Myrten, who for some reason looked away.

  “So you feel order should rest solely upon strength and self-discipline?”

  “I know what I feel.” Wrynn glared this time at the magis-ter.

  “Fair enough.” Cassius actually chuckled before wiping the smile from his face and turning toward Krystal. “And you, laughing lady? Why do you fail to pay much attention to order? Or to anything?”

  Krystal didn’t even look up at Cassius. She giggled and played with her long black hair.

  “Krystal…” The booming voice turned cold. Even I shivered.

  Krystal looked at the floor planks. “It… doesn’t help to pay attention. Things happen anyway. Thinking doesn’t stop them.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Wrynn sniffed loudly.

  “Then you agree with Wrynn? That violence is the only way in which evil can be stopped?”

  “Sometimes.” She shifted her weight and looked at me. “What do you think, Lerris?”

  I wished she hadn’t made that unspoken request, and especially that Cassius hadn’t caught it. I coughed, trying to figure out what Krystal had really meant. “… ummm… at least sometimes it seems like perfectly good people can’t do anything against evil or against accidents… and sometimes”-I recalled the baker-“people seem to be punished or exiled from Recluce just because they don’t meet some unseen or unspoken standard. I guess I see that as unfair, that because they can’t understand or aren’t strong enough, they get punished.”

  “Do you think life is basically fair? Or that the Brotherhood has the obligation to be fair to an individual, when that fairness could threaten the safety of all Recluce?”

  “I haven’t seen that happen, I haven’t seen any threat of that nature, but I have seen people who were not bad people exiled or punished.”

  Cassius smiled sadly, glancing from Krystal, who refused to look up, to Wrynn, who glared at him, and back to me. In the corner, Myrten licked his lips.

  “Is living in Recluce a right or a privilege?” Cassius’s question hung in the air like a spell.

  “You’re saying it’s a privilege, that we have to meet certain conditions,” I snapped. “That’s fine, except no one ever explains the reasons behind the conditions. Just mind the rules; maintain order and banish chaos; and don’t ask questions that we don’t want to answer.”

  “I take it that you don’t find the explanations satisfactory.”

  “You’re right. I don’t, and I don’t think most of the people in this room do, either.”

  “So… the emperor has no clothes.” Cassius’s voice was lower and softer.

  No clothes? What emperor? What clothes?

  “This… philosophy… is all very inspiring. But how does this prepare us for dangergeld?” Tamra’s voice was cutting, and she had stood up.

  “Sit down, and I’ll tell you. None of you are likely to believe me. But I’ll tell you.”

  I shrugged. So did Wrynn. Tamra glared, but she sat back down.

  Cassius waited until the murmurs died away.

  “It’s really quite simple. Against perfect order, it is almost impossible for chaos-magic to prevail. Recluce is based on maintaining that order. Some people are order-sources; some people are chaos-generators; and some people can be either.

  “Most people selected for dangergeld are either uncontrolled order-sources, or could generate either order or chaos without knowing it. The first step in dangergeld is to recognize that all of you have the ability to either allow chaos a foothold in Recluce or to help keep it from Recluce. You have to choose which, and the Brotherhood is not about to let you make that decision unless you’re being watched and checked or unless you’re outside Recluce.

  “Since Recluce is not a police state, the best option is to let you see the rest of the world, or some of it, while you learn and decide.”

  Police state? That was an odd way of putting it. Only Hamor had police. For a moment, the room was still.

  “So… you just throw us out for Hamor or Candar to murder, and everything stays fine with the sheep who remain?” Wrynn’s voice was tight.

  “Hardly. The current Emperor of Hamor is the grandson of a dangergelder who preferred the Southern Reaches and who was quite successful in taking over the Province of Merowey. The head assassin for one major power came from Sigil, not all that far from here.” Cassius shook his head. “Believe me, the rest of the world will reward many talents. You’re in the greatest danger if you believe in order and reject the Brotherhood.” His eyes flashed toward me. “That’s because you become a walking order-source in the realms of chaos and a threat to the chaos-masters.”

  “You’re saying that because we have talent we have to leave Recluce until we master that talent?” asked Sammel.

  “Not until you master it. That could take years. Until you decide within yourself your own course of action.”

  I almost bit my tongue. It was even worse than I thought. If I didn’t accept the Brotherhood’s stiff-necked order and rules, then I’d be thrown to the wolves, and, somehow, I didn’t exactly see myself as a chaos-master. Why couldn’t an ethical person use both order and chaos? Life consists of both.

  “What about…”

  The questions went on, but I didn’t pay much attention. Everyone was just asking the same things with different words. So I was an uncontrolled order-source? Or worse. And no one still was describing what that meant, except that it was dangerous to Recluce.

  My stomach growled, but no one heard as they argued with Cassius.

  Krystal and I sat there in a quiet island. She looked at the floor, and I looked at everything and saw nothing.

  X

  THE SUN HUNG like a golden platter over the black stone wall that separated the Brotherhood’s enclave from the seaport- that wall that seemed so low from the Brotherhood side, and so imposing from the market square below.

  Even though it was but a few days past midsummer, the grass remained crisp and green, the air clean, and the nights cool-the result of the Eastern Current, according to Sammel.

  I hadn’t thought much about it, not until Magistra Trehonna started in with her maps and lectures on geography, and how the placement of mountains and currents affected weather. Then she got into how geography determined where cities and towns were, and why places like Fenard, the capital of Gallos, sat on the edge of the hills leading to Westhorns because the higher elevation made the city more defensible and the two small rivers provided power for the mills. The only interesting bit was how the imposition of order and chaos at what she called critical nodes could change whole weather patterns.

  That partly explained why some of the Brotherhood ships patrolled certain segments of the northern waters. But her lectures were like everything else-a piece of knowledge here, another one there, and a whole lot of boring repetition in the middle.

  So I sat with my back against a small red oak and watched the puffy clouds in the eastern skies begin to darken from white into a pinkish-gray. Just because, I tried to see if I could discover the patterns behind the clouds, trying to look beyond their surfaces.r />
  Again, I could see the faint heat-shadow-like images I had seen around the strange Brotherhood ships, but the ones in the clouds were natural. How I could tell the difference, I didn’t know. But I did. After a while, my eyes began to ache. So I closed them and began to listen.

  There were other dangergeld groups around. We met in the quarters and sometimes talked over dinner. They weren’t much different, except they looked to be in better shape, and they all seemed distant. Friendly, understanding, but distant.

  Two of them were seated on a bench on the other side of the hedge. Their voices carried.

  “… Brysta, that’s what they say…”

  “At least it’s not Hamor…”

  “Take Hamor over Candar… home of the chaos-masters… Emperor of Hamor likes some order…”

  Cassius had mentioned that Candar was the most chaotic of the major continents. Tamra said that was because it was closest to Recluce, and there had to be balance. Cassius frowned, but hadn’t corrected her. That meant she’d been right.

  So what else was new. From Frven in Candar, the chaos-wizards had ruled most of the world-until they’d created a new sun in the sky and melted most of the capital’s buildings and people like wax. Although that had been generations ago, the people probably hadn’t changed that much.

  “Could I join you?”

  I almost jumped, opening my eyes with a start.

  The musical voice belonged to Krystal.

  “Sure… I’m not certain I’m much company.”

  “That makes two of us.” She tucked her feet under her and settled down with a cubit of grass between us, shrugging her shoulders as if to loosen her faded blue tunic. The long hair was bound up with silvered cords. When she wasn’t giggling or fiddling with her hair I enjoyed watching her. She was as graceful as Tamra, but without the arrogance, and behind the giggles I suspected there was more strength than either of us knew.

  Thimmmmm… The chime from the temple echoed once, calling those of the Brotherhood who wished to join the evening meditation. I wasn’t about to, and I’d noticed that Magister Cassius never did either.

  Krystal did not move, but the two men on the bench on the far side of the hedge left.

  “They’re probably going to give thanks for being sent to Brysta, instead of Candar.” The words popped out of my mouth.

  “Where do you think we’ll be sent?”

  “Candar,” I opined.

  “You’re usually right… I mean, about facts…” She looked down at the grass.

  I straightened into a sitting position and stopped leaning against the oak. Both tree and ground were hard. The clouds above the eastern horizon showed gray, and the breeze from the west picked up, ruffling my hair. A hint of trilia tickled my nose, bittersweet orange.

  “What will happen to us?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like we’re a strange lot, but I suppose all dangergelders are. Myrten’s a thief, but how he lasted so long… Wrynn’s really a soldier, probably belongs in the border guard. Sammel’s a missionary in a land that already has a faith that doesn’t place compassion above order. Tamra hates men, and half the world is male. Dorthae… I just don’t know…”

  “And you?”

  “Me?” I shrugged again. I didn’t want to talk about me. “Like Cassius says, I’m easily bored. What about you?”

  “I think you’re bored because you want to know everything and you don’t want to admit it.”

  Thimmmmm… The second chime from the temple rang, indicating the evening meditation had begun.

  “What about you?” I asked again.

  “Me?” Krystal giggled just slightly.

  I frowned.

  “You don’t like it when I giggle.”

  “No.” I looked over her shoulder and down the grassy stretch toward the small garden just before the wall. Dorthae and Myrten were seated on opposite ends of the bench, playing some sort of card game. That figured. Myrten would find something with odds in it anywhere.

  “I was contracted, you know. He didn’t mind the giggling too much.”

  “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t thought about that. I was young. What if Koldar or Corso had been picked for dangergeld? Krystal was announcing that the Brothers had pulled her away from her husband/lover, just like that. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was a good excuse to leave. He’ll be happier. I already am.”

  “Just leaving?” I couldn’t imagine my mother walking away from my father.

  “You look at my hair. You see my breasts. So do all the men. Your looks are honest, at least.” Her voice was low, almost whispery, yet still musical.

  “True,” I admitted.

  She readjusted her position on the grass. Somehow the readjustment got her almost next to me. “Do you think about what I feel?”

  Actually, I was wondering how she would feel to hold and touch, but that wasn’t what she meant. “Not at first.”

  “Oh, Lerris…” her voice died off.

  We sat there as the darkness drifted down upon Nylan.

  “Would you just hold me?” Her voice was like a child’s.

  I did, and that was all I did. Not that I didn’t think about more, especially later that night, alone in my bed.

  XI

  AFTER WE WERE well into the lectures from Talryn, Magister Cassius, and Magistra Trehonna-the lady with the glare that even quieted me-one morning Talryn marched us down another long but well-lit tunnel and out into a wide room, sunken partly into the ground.

  Underground or not, the overhead and upper side windows admitted more than enough light. Unlike the teaching rooms, the stone walls were plastered over with an almond-shaded white finish. The flooring was the strange part, neither wood nor stone, but a greenish and springy substance that gave slightly underfoot.

  The same substance was used for flooring in the exercise rooms where Dilton tried to force us all into a better physical condition. I had tried, but hadn’t been able to break even the slightest fragment from it, even though I could squeeze it enough to press a thumb’s width of it up between my fingers, and the woodworking with Uncle Sardit had left them strong. -The muscles in my legs were what suffered under Dilton, especially from the running and stretching.

  The best part of the conditioning was watching Tamra and Krystal. I didn’t really dare to do more than watch with either one. Sometimes, as with the time on the lawn, Krystal would sit next to me or ask for a hug, but she clearly wanted it as a brotherly gesture, or even as a fatherly one. And that was the way it stayed, no matter what my body said.

  Why? Because deep inside the lady, I could feel, not knowing how, something that I wasn’t about to tamper with. What? Like a lot of things, I couldn’t say what, only recognize its danger. Like Tamra, like Candar. When I even saw maps of Candar, I wanted to shiver.

  My musings stopped when I saw Tamra was smiling. She still wore the dark gray, this time with a blue scarf. No one had said a word about her clothing. Then, Talryn hadn’t said a word about my dark-brown garments either.

  Against the wall opposite the door we had entered were racks of objects, some clearly swords or knives. Half a dozen of each were racked next to each other, and there were five large racks.

  “Candidates…” Talryn cleared his throat. He always cleared his throat after he got our attention. “This is Gilberto.”

  Gilberto wasn’t tall. I’m taller than average, almost four cubits, but not that much taller than average. Gilberto stood nearly a head below me-more like Tamra’s size. Wearing black trousers and black leathers over a black shirt and black boots, with his black hair and pale white skin, he looked like an executioner.

  “This is Gilberto,” repeated Talryn. “The world outside Recluce boasts an array of weapons. Gilberto will attempt to give you some familiarity with the most common and some minimal ability with one or two, assuming you are willing to learn.”

  Gilberto smiled crookedly, as if offering an apology. The expression turned
him from a colorless executioner into a sad-faced clown.

  Tamra studied him from one side. I just smiled back at the man. He looked funny. Boring or strange as some of the Brotherhood could be, I never doubted their abilities. Krystal pursed her too-red lips, trying not to giggle. Wrynn scowled. Myrten licked his lips. Dorthae looked at Talryn, then at Gilberto, without saying a word.

  Gilberto acknowledged us, bending forward at the waist. The gesture was formal. “There are weapons on the racks. Please look them over. Pick them up. Handle them -touch at least one of each kind. Whichever one of them feels most comfortable to you, please take that one and sit down on one of the pillows at the end of the room.”

  The weapons-master’s eyes turned cold. “Do not pick a weapon with your head. Do not pick whatever seems the easiest, or the most destructive. The weapons you use must reflect you.” He paused. “Later, I will teach you about other weapons.” He bowed again and gestured toward the racks.

  Gilberto was serious. I knew that. So I edged toward the nearest rack, on which I could see swords-long ones, short ones, and some no bigger than long daggers. I looked at a narrow-bladed sword with a business-like handle, finally nerved myself to pick it up-and damned near dropped it. The chill and almost forbidding feel of the weapon nauseated me. As quickly as possible I set it down, wiping my forehead.

  “Heee…”

  Krystal and her damned giggles. “Go ahead. You pick one up.”

  She twisted her hair back over her shoulder and reached past me for the sword, easily holding it, turning it in her hands. “It feels fine, but not quite right.” She set it down and reached for a slighter, shorter sword, although it had the same narrow blade.

  I reached for the sword she had tried, the one I had let go of so quickly. The jolt and chill weren’t quite as strong, but my stomach still twisted.

  Looking for. Talryn, I wondered what trickery he and Gilberto were up to. But Talryn had disappeared so silently no one noticed his departure, and Gilberto stood at the end of one of the racks, a thoroughly impassive, even bored, look on his face.