The Magic of Recluce (2 page)

“L
ERRIS
!” T
HE TONE
in Uncle Sardit's voice told me enough. Whatever I had done—I did not wish to know.

I finished washing the sawdust from my face. As usual, I got water all over the stone, but the sun had already warmed the slate facing, and the water would dry soon enough, even if my aunt would be down with a frayed towel to polish the stone within moments of my return to the shop.

“Lerris!”

Aunt Elisabet always kept the washstones polished, the kettles sparkling, and the graystone floors spotless. Why it should have surprised me I do not know, since my father and, indeed, every other holder in my home town of Wandernaught, exhibited the same fastidiousness. My father and his sister were both the householders, while Mother and Uncle Sardit were the artisans. That was common enough, or so I thought.

“
Lerris!
Young…man,…get…yourself…back…here…
now!
”

I definitely did not want to return to the carpentry, but there was no escape.

“Coming, Uncle Sardit.”

He stood at the doorway, a frown on his face. The frown was common, but the yelling had not been. My guts twisted. What could I have done?

“Come here.”

He thrust a wide-fingered hand at the inlaid tabletop on the workbench.

“Look at that. Closely.” His voice was so low it rumbled.

I looked, but obviously did not see what he wanted me to see.

“Do you see that?”

I shook my head. “See what?”

“Look at the clamps.”

Bending over, I followed his finger. The clamps were as I had placed them earlier, the smooth side, as he had taught me, matching the grain of the dark lorken wood.

“With the grain of the wood…”

“Lerris…can't you see? This end is biting into the wood. And here…the pressure has moved the border out of position…”

Perhaps the tiniest fraction of a span, if at all, but all I had to do to correct that would be to sand the other end a bit more, and no one, except Uncle Sardit, and perhaps the furniture buyer for the Emperor of Hamor, would have ever noticed the discrepancy.

“First, you don't force wood, Lerris. You know that. You just aren't paying attention any more. Woodworking means working with the wood, not forcing it, not working against it.”

I stood there. What could I say?

Uncle Sardit sighed.

“Let's go into the house, Lerris. We have some talking to do.”

I liked the sound of that even less, but I followed his example and unstrapped my leather apron and racked my tools.

We walked out the door and across the smooth pavement of the courtyard and into the room Aunt Elisabet called the parlor. I never knew why she called it the parlor. I'd asked once, but she had just smiled and said it had been a name she had picked up along the way.

A tray sat on the table. On it were two icy glasses, some slabs of fresh-baked bread, cheese, and several sliced apples. The bread was still steaming, and the aroma filled the small room.

Uncle Sardit eased himself into the chair nearest the kitchen. I took the other one. Something about the tray being ready bothered me. It bothered me a whole lot.

The soft sound of steps caused me to look up from the tabletop. Uncle Sardit put down his glass—iced fruit punch—and nodded at Aunt Elisabet. She, like father, was fair-skinned, sandy-haired, slender, and tall. Uncle Sardit was smaller and wiry, with salt-and-pepper hair and a short-cropped beard. Both of them looked guilty.

“You're right, Lerris. We do feel guilty, perhaps because you're Gunnar's son.” That was Aunt Elisabet.

“But that doesn't change anything,” added Uncle Sardit. “You still have to face the same decisions whether you're our nephew or not.”

I took a gulp of the fruit punch to avoid answering, though I knew Aunt Elisabet would know that. She always knew. So did my father.

“Have something to eat. I'll do some of the talking. Elisabet will fill in anything I miss.” He took a wedge of cheese and a slab of bread and chewed several bits slowly, swallowed, and finished up with another gulp of fruit punch.

“Magister Kerwin should have taught you, as he taught me, that a master or journeyman who instructs an apprentice is also responsible for determining the apprentice's fitness for practicing the craft.”

I took some bread and cheese. Obviously, the master was responsible for the apprentice.

“What he did not tell you, or me, is that the craft-master must also determine whether the apprentice will
ever
be ready for practicing a craft, or whether the apprentice should be considered for dangergeld or exile.”

“Exile…”

“You see, Lerris, there is no place in Recluce for unfocused dissatisfaction,” added Aunt Elisabet. “Boredom, inability to concentrate, unwillingness to apply yourself to the fullest of your ability—these can all allow chaos a foothold in Recluce.”

“So the real question facing you, Lerris, is whether you want to take the dangergeld training, or whether you would rather just leave Recluce. Forever.”

“Just because I'm bored? Just because I put a little too much pressure on a wood clamp? For that I have to choose between exile and dangergeld?”

“No. Because your boredom reflects a deeper lack of commitment. Sloppy work on the part of someone who is doing his best is not a danger. Nor is sloppy work when the honest intent is perfection, provided, of course, that no one has to rely on the sloppy work for anything that could threaten their life if it failed.” Aunt Elisabet looked somehow taller, and there was a fire behind her eyes.

I looked away.

“Are you saying that you have honestly been happy trying to achieve perfection in woodwork?” asked Uncle Sardit.

“No.” I couldn't very well lie. Aunt Elisabet would catch it.

“Do you think that it would become easier if you continued to work with me?”

“No.”

I took another slice of bread and a second wedge of cheese. I didn't remember eating the first, but I must have. I sipped the fruit punch only enough to moisten my mouth, since I was cold enough inside already.

“Now what?” I asked before taking another bite.

“If you decide to take the dangergeld training, the masters will work with you for as long as necessary, in their judgment, to prepare you for your dangergeld. After training, you cannot return until you have completed the charge laid upon you.

“If you choose exile, you will leave. You cannot return except with the permission of the masters. While not unheard-of, such permission is rarely given.”

“Just because I'm bored? Just because I'm young and haven't settled down? Just because my woodwork isn't perfect?”

“No. It has nothing to do with youth.” Aunt Elisabet sighed. “Last year, the masters exiled five crafters twice your age, and close to a dozen people in their third and fourth decade undertook the dangergeld.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

I could tell she was. Uncle Sardit, for all his statements about doing the talking, hadn't said a word in explanation. I was getting a very strange feeling about Aunt Elisabet, that she was a great deal more than a holder.

“So where do I go?”

“You're sure?” asked Uncle Sardit, his mouth full.

“What choice is there? I either get plunked down on a boat to somewhere as an exile, knowing nothing, or I try to learn as much as I can before doing something that at least gives me some chance of making a decision.”

“I think that's the right choice for you,” said Aunt Elisabet, “but it's not quite that simple.”

After finishing my bread and cheese in the strained atmosphere of the house, I went back to my quarters over the shop and began to pack. Uncle Sardit said he would keep the chair and the few other pieces until I returned.

He didn't mention the fact that few dangergelders returned. Neither did I.

L
IKE 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.