The Magic of Recluce

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “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 smelted 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 m
asters 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.

  IV

  SUNRISE FOUND ME awake and washing up, not that early rising was ever a problem.

  As I splashed the cold water over my face to wash away the soap and scattered whiskers not already carried away by the razor, I could sense someone watching-obviously my father. My mother generally rose later than he did, although neither one would have been considered a night dweller.

  I said nothing as I toweled myself dry, and made sure the razor was also dry and packed into my wash bag. Neither did he.

  Without looking, I could tell he was smiling, and I refused to acknowledge his presence.

  “I hope you have a good journey, Lerris. So does your mother.” His voice was calm, as usual, and that irritated me even more. Here he was, seeing me off to dangergeld and all the dangers it entailed, as if I were headed back to Uncle Sardit’s on a trivial errand.

  “So do I. But I’d settle for survival.”

  “Don’t ever settle for just survival, son. Survival isn’t life… but I didn’t come down to preach. Do you want something to eat before you leave?”

  “Rather not leave on an empty stomach,” I admitted, following him to the kitchen where he had laid out an assortment of fruits, two heavy rolls, and some cheese and sausage. The square, perfectly-fitted red-oak table was bare except for the woven straw mats and the food.

  He nodded toward the tiled counter under the open window, where a brown cloth bag rested. “The bag has some additional provisions for eating along the way.”

  The cloth sack was already bound, but looked as though it contained at least as much as had been set on the table.

  He set down a full mug of freshly-drawn water, knowing I preferred that to tea or wine, especially in the morning.

  I ate, and he sat on one of the kitchen stools, saying nothing, for which I was grateful. What was there to say? I was required to undertake the dangergeld, not him, on pain of exile.

  Eating what I could didn’t take that long.

  “Thank you.” I gathered the sack under my arm and headed down to pick up my pack and staff.

  To make Nylan by midday meant moving out without wasting more time. And what else could I say?

  As I stood there on the stones, ready to walk away from my parents, and my mother who hadn’t even gotten up to say good-bye, I wondered if this would be a final farewell, or what.

  “She’s awake, Lerris. But she will not let you see her cry.”

  Flame! I hadn’t asked that. Why not?

  “Because she is your mother. You ask us to accept you as you are. Cannot she be what she is?”

  There it was again-that gulf that we never seemed to cross.

  “Whether we do cross it, Lerris… that depends on you. We both wish you well, son. And we hope…”

  I ignored the break in his voice as I turned away. Why in hell was he upset? Why didn’t he understand?

  I didn’t look back, nor did I wave. My first steps were fast as I marched down the lane, but my legs let me know quickly that I was pushing, and I eased up before my strides took me clear of Wandernaught. I ignored the low hill and the black-columned temple upon it. What had listening to all the talks on order done for me?

  For some reason, the staff felt even heavier in my hands than the pack did upon my back. As my thoughts seethed, something occurred to me. My father had responded to my feelings, but had I actually spoken them? Or did he know me that well?

  I forced a shrug. Where I was going that didn’t exactly matter. Not at all.

  The morning was warm, warmer than I would have liked, and I opened my shirt almost to my belt, but the pack weight on my back left my shirt damp. The cloak I would need in the months and years ahead, assuming I lasted that long, was folded and rolled inside.

  As early as I had left, there was no one else on the High Road, although in the orchards to the south of Wandernaught the growers were already among their trees, going about their business.

  The High Road is just that-a solid, stone road, wide enough for four wagons abreast. It provides the central thoroughfare for Recluce, the one to which all major local roads can link, and all communities are responsible for its upkeep. When I was with Uncle Sardit, I spent a few days helping to replace and reposition several of the granite blocks, but the stones are so solid and massive that they don’t need to be replaced often. The biggest problem is keeping the drains clear so that the rains don’t erode the roadway on which the capstones are placed. Even that would be hard, because the entire roadbed is solidly constructed and faced with heavy riprap.

  The next town toward Nylan from Wandernaught is Enstronn, more of a crossroads than a town, where the East-West Highway, almost as grand as the High Road itself, crosses the High Road.

  Outside Enstronn, on the west side, I caught up with a low wagon carrying a load of early melons. The driver was walking beside her horse, singing softly.

  “… as if I cared, as if I dared, And the stars are ice, while the High Road’s run, and the winter reigns for the summer’s sun.“

  The song was unfamiliar, and I dragged my feet a bit as I neared her. For some reason, I wished I could put away the staff, but it was too long to carry easily while bound to my pack.

  Her voice was pleasant enough, although from behind she seemed older than me. But she heard me and stopped singing, looking back at me from under a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with a wide band of blue-and-white fabric.

  I slowed my pace to match her steps.

  Dark hair, narrow face, and she looked about the age of Corso, mid-twenties.

  “Up early. Must be important.” Her smile was nice, too.

  “Dangergeld,” I admitted.

  “You’re a bit young for that.”

&nb
sp; “Not totally my idea.” I swallowed as I answered. What right did she have to judge me?

  Her eyes widened as they focused on the staff I still held loosely in my left hand. “And the staff, that is yours?”

  “Yes.” I wondered why it mattered at all whether a black lorken staff was mine. A staff was a staff. Right now it was a bother, though I knew I would need it once I actually left Recluce.

  Her smile turned sad, somehow. “You’d best be going, then… and… if I could ask a favor… ?”

  That stopped me. Ask me, not much more than a youngster, for a favor?

  “If it’s something I can do…”

  “So cautious… yes… it’s not much… I’m sure you can. Should you ever run across a red-haired man from Enstronn-he went by the name of Leith-just tell him that Shrezsan wishes him well.”

  “Shrezsan… ?”

  “That’s all. Perhaps too much.” Her voice was businesslike. “Now, best be on your way to Nylan.”

  “You sing nicely.”

  “Perhaps another time…” She turned to look at the horse, flicking the reins.

  Clearly dismissed, I shrugged.

  “Perhaps another time, Shrezsan…”

  She avoided meeting my eyes. So I picked up my stride to a traveling pace and passed through Enstronn without saying a word. That was easy enough, because no buildings may be closer to the highways or the high roads than six hundred cubits.

  I spoke to no one else on the High Road for some time, instead turning over thoughts in my mind and finding no answers. No one seemed to like the dangergeld. But everyone accepted it as necessary. And no one could or would explain why-just great windy platitudes about the necessity of order in the continuing fight against chaos. So who was against order? Who in his right mind wanted total chaos? And what did the dangergeld have to do with any of it?

  I walked and asked questions that had no answers. Finally, I just walked.

  V

  JUST BEFORE MID-MORNING, when it became clear that I was going to be arriving in Nylan at least close to on time, my stomach began to protest.