Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  Finally, he stepped back and nodded to Herrara.

  She moved to the second occupied bed, which held a much younger man whose eyes were open but who did not seem to see either figure. He gave several low moans as they approached, but barely moved, almost as if any motion might hurt.

  “Stullak?” said Herrara. “How do you feel today?”

  “My leg…” His face contorted. “It’s like fire. Why have you brought a mage? I’m not dead yet.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Beltur could tell that wasn’t the total truth, but he concentrated on Stullak, a man he realized wasn’t that much older than he was. Nearly instantly, he could sense knots and patches of a different kind of wound chaos everywhere within Stullak’s body—a whitish-yellow red—but especially along his left thigh, which felt like there was little but chaos there. Overall order and chaos levels were almost as low as those in the first man, and Beltur couldn’t see how the man could even speak, given the amount of chaos in his body, far more than Beltur could possibly have dealt with. He gave a slight nod to Herrara.

  “We just wanted to stop in and see you for a moment. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Stullak’s face contorted in clear agony. Beltur couldn’t help himself and reached out, touching the suffering man on the forehead and offering a slight balm of order.

  The man’s eyes opened wider for a moment. “What…?”

  “Just rest,” replied Beltur softly, aware that Herrara’s attention was totally on him. Offering Stullak a warm smile, he turned and followed Herrara out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  She looked at him. “You’re not as cold as I thought. How did you do that, get him to relax?”

  “It’s just a little bit of free order, but if you spread it thinly, it helps, just for a little while.”

  “How did you learn that?”

  “I don’t know. It was just something I tried when troopers were badly wounded, sometimes when no one could save them. It’s not the same as personal order in healing, but it does help sometimes, and it doesn’t exhaust me.”

  Herrara pursed her lips, then moistened them. “Tell me what you could determine about the first man.”

  “His levels of natural order and chaos are low. He’s likely dying. He’s had some sort of damage in his skull on the right side. It’s got the dull redness that usually comes when a wound is between healing and festering, but there’s no sign of a wound. It’s as if that part of his brain was bleeding. It could be that it still is. I don’t know of any way to heal that.”

  “And Stullak?”

  “His entire body is filled with a white-yellow red chaos. That’s the way it feels to me. It’s the worst along his left thigh. I could remove some of that, but there’s far too much of it.”

  “Have you removed chaos from a body before?”

  “Once.” Beltur went on to tell the story of the boy he’d healed when he’d first come to Elparta, then added, “He didn’t get over the limp, but he was still well when I left Elparta.”

  “I see.” Herrara frowned again. “We’ll see what you know and can do for the rest of the day. Come along.”

  As he followed Herrara, Beltur understood that those words were as much of an approval as he was likely to get.

  For the next six glasses Beltur did whatever was asked of him, beginning with cleaning out the wound and burns suffered by a serving girl who had “accidentally” tripped and fallen against a hot andiron in a hearth and ground ash and coals into the wound and along her forearm. Then came helping Herrara set the broken arm of a stableboy who’d slipped on ice around an outside trough. At least that was the story, and Beltur sensed most of that was true.

  By third glass, Beltur was somewhat tired, more in feelings than in body, because what he had sensed was about the same as what he’d experienced at the Council Healing House in Elparta and because he’d been also aware of Herrara’s constant study of him.

  Abruptly, the chief healer turned to him. “We’ve done all we can today. Let’s go back to the study.”

  Beltur nodded and followed her.

  This time, Herrara closed the door and sat down behind the table desk, gesturing for Beltur to take the single straight-backed chair. For several moments, she said nothing. Then she looked at Beltur, her brown eyes almost flat. “I’d be a fool to reject your help. Despite your lack of knowledge in certain areas, you can obviously do more than any healer I have ever known, and your consort is at least as good as any young healer I have encountered. Both of you have much to learn, but what you do not know can be learned. What you can do that others cannot are skills few ever possess. You are aware of that, I can tell. What I doubt that you know is that such skills are as much curse as blessing, and the greater the gifts, the more that they will weigh on you in time.”

  As if you haven’t already begun to discover that. Beltur just nodded.

  “You likely have an inkling of that, or you wouldn’t be here in Axalt,” Herrara went on. “I was impressed by your feelings for Stullak, but more by your understanding of what you know you cannot do.”

  “I’ve come close to killing myself more than once by trying to do too much with magery,” Beltur admitted.

  The faint trace of a smile crossed Herrara’s lips and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I should have guessed that, given your comparative youth.” Another pause followed.

  “Despite a few shortcomings, you are a qualified healer, and you and your consort will be listed as such. Both of you will require a season serving here before you can be approved to heal without supervision elsewhere. To avoid any questions of fairness, except in times when absolutely necessary, you and your consort will have to alternate days working here. Do you have any preference about who will be here tomorrow?”

  “I’d prefer that we talk it over, and that what we decide will determine which of us shows up here in the morning.”

  “That’s fair enough, provided that you keep to that schedule, unless one of you is ill—and that can happen, working in a healing house.”

  “One of us will be here,” Beltur said, hoping he wasn’t promising too much.

  “You both get paid on oneday afternoon, or twoday if you don’t work on oneday.”

  “We appreciate that.”

  “I’ll see one of you tomorrow.”

  Taking that as a dismissal, Beltur nodded and left the study, leaving the door open behind him, since he gathered it was usually open.

  He only had to wait about a fifth of a glass in the cloak or coat room before Jessyla appeared.

  When she saw him, she smiled. “You’re still here. That has to be good.” After a hesitation, she added, “It is, isn’t it?”

  “I must have done something right,” said Beltur. “She said that I was a qualified healer, and that we’d both be listed as such. She told me the same thing she told you, that I couldn’t practice as a healer until working here for a full season.”

  “What else?”

  “We have to work alternate days.”

  “I can see that. She gets another healer every day, and that avoids any suggestion of favoritism. Who gets which day?”

  “We can choose. We can talk about it on the walk home, or later. One of us has to show up tomorrow morning.”

  “Now,” said Jessyla lightly, “you have to start teaching me how to be a mage.”

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” said Beltur. Very good, indeed.

  “You mean that, don’t you?”

  “I do. You can sense and feel enough that you should be able to do some magery. We just need to find out how to make it possible.”

  “It might take a while.”

  Beltur could detect a worried tone in her voice. He smiled as he lifted her coat off the peg and handed it to her. “We have time. We’re likely not going anywhere soon.”

  XXXVI

  On threeday, Jessyla went to the healing house, while Beltur accompanied Jorhan on a tour of the south t
own area of Axalt, just so that the two of them could become more familiar with the area. The day was slightly warmer than twoday had been, and, again, there was little wind, although the sun shining through the clear sky offered scant warmth. In midafternoon, once they had finished and noted several buildings that seemed vacant, they walked back along the stone-paved road connecting south town to the main part of Axalt in midafternoon.

  “Every building there appeared to be in good repair,” Beltur observed, “even the empty ones.”

  “That’s something the Council here insists on, especially the roofs,” replied Jorhan. “They’ll close a shop if it needs repairs and they aren’t made.”

  “How do they know?”

  “They inspect buildings. Sometimes it’s a councilor, sometimes a builder who works for the Council. Barrynt told me that yesterday. Any building that is built or empty has to be inspected before people live in it or a crafter can begin work in it.”

  “Even the Council in Elparta doesn’t do that.”

  “No … they just tell you what you can make and who gets to sell it,” said Jorhan dryly.

  Beltur immediately changed the subject. “All the ways are stone-paved, and they keep them clear.”

  “That’s because the Council levies a fee on anyone who doesn’t,” replied Jorhan. “The fees pay for workmen to do it.”

  “Is that true of the streets in front of houses, too?”

  The smith shook his head. “Everyone pays a yearly fee for that. There is also a fee for each time you don’t clear your sidewalks.”

  “What happens if you don’t pay?”

  “If someone is old, and there is no one in the house able-bodied enough to shovel, then the Council pays. If there is someone able-bodied, they have to do work for the Council.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Then they get escorted to whichever border they choose and sent on their way. It almost never comes to that. That’s what Johlana told me.”

  As the two neared the edge of the part of Axalt that held houses and those shops that did not require location in south town, Beltur realized something else. He’d never seen a single beggar or someone who lived in alleys, even around the small market square that he and Jessyla had visited on oneday. There hadn’t been all that many in Elparta, but they had been there. But then, you saw them on patrol duty and at the healing house, and you’ve only been at the healing house here one day.

  When they neared Barrynt’s house, Jorhan cleared his throat. “I’m going to Barrynt’s factorage. Let him know about the buildings we saw. It’s better if he approaches the owners.”

  “Should I come?”

  The smith shook his head and smiled. “He’ll feel more obligated if it’s just me.”

  Beltur laughed. “Are you sure you don’t have some trader blood?”

  “If I do, I never heard about it.”

  At the walk to the house, the two parted, and Beltur walked up the lane to the side entrance.

  Once he was back inside, after hanging up his scarf and coat and then seeing that the family parlor was empty, he sat down and took The Wisdom of Relyn from the bookcase and began to read once more.

  … the angels are not gods or great forces. They are people. Some of them were foolish, and some were arrogant and reckless, and they died that first winter on the Roof of the World. Those who were wise survived. Ryba of the Swift Ships of Heaven was not only wise. She was ruthless. At times she could see what would be, and what she foretold has thus far come to pass …

  After reading that paragraph, Beltur stopped. The Book of Ayrlyn had said much the same thing, but had not mentioned Relyn at all. So far, Beltur had not seen any mentions of Ayrlyn, but then, he might have skipped over such a mention, particularly if Relyn had written about Ayrlyn just in passing.

  Almost two quints passed before he finally came to something about Ayrlyn.

  … Ryba would tell the flame-haired healer to make a song, and the healer would. She wrote songs about the Guards of Westwind, about Nylan the mighty smith, and about the deadly blades of the guards. All those have come to pass as Ayrlyn sang that they would, long before it was so. That, too, came from the power and understanding of order …

  Belatedly, Beltur realized something else. Never had Relyn mentioned the Rational Stars. He leafed back to the beginning and reread the first few pages. He only said that the angels came from beyond the stars in the sky. Beyond? What did that mean?

  He was still pondering that when he heard the side door open and sensed quickly a presence that could only be that of Jessyla. Closing the worn leather-bound volume, he stood and replaced it in the bookcase.

  “Beltur?”

  “I’m in the parlor.”

  Jessyla hurried in, her cheeks red from the cold. “Did you find a place for a smithy?”

  “Not exactly. We just walked over to south town and walked every street and lane, I think, just so that we’d have a better idea. There looked to be several buildings that weren’t being used. When we got back, Jorhan went to talk to Barrynt about them.” Beltur gestured to the bookcase. “I was reading The Wisdom of Relyn.”

  She frowned. “Why? Is it interesting?”

  “It is, but I was reading it because I thought it might be useful.” He hesitated. “It’s been very well-read.”

  Jessyla’s eyes widened. “Oh…”

  “It couldn’t hurt, I thought. How was your day?”

  “Mostly quiet. Except for Stullak and one girl.”

  “Stullak? He died, didn’t he?”

  “You’re not surprised.”

  Beltur shook his head. “There was so much wound chaos all through his body.” He took a deep breath. “What about the girl? What was the problem?”

  “She wasn’t the problem. Her mother was. She didn’t want to believe her daughter was pregnant. So she beat her. The girl lost the child. She almost died.”

  “Will she be all right?”

  “Herrara and I think so.”

  “What about the mother?”

  “The city patrollers couldn’t find her. They think she fled into the mountains. Herrara doubted they tried very hard.”

  “Why would her mother do that?” Beltur could unfortunately see some men he’d known doing that, but a mother?

  “She wasn’t consorted, and that wasn’t according to order. Acts not in accord with order had to be punished. That was what the girl said her mother told her. She was telling the truth.”

  Beltur didn’t know quite what to say. So he asked, “Did Herrara say if that sort of thing happened often?”

  “She didn’t say. She was upset. Really upset.”

  “Then it’s likely something that happens often.”

  “Having a child without being consorted or being beaten for it? Or a mother doing the beating?” asked Jessyla almost sardonically.

  “The mother … that seems…” Beltur didn’t have the words for what he wanted to express.

  “Women aren’t always as good as you seem to think, dear.”

  “No, they’re not,” interjected Johlana as she walked into the parlor. “Sometimes, they’re worse than men. Not often, but when they are…” She shook her head, then looked quizzically at Beltur. “Jorhan didn’t come back with you?”

  “He went to see Barrynt about some empty buildings in south town.”

  “That’s good. Barrynt knows everyone, and he’ll make sure Jorhan comes back with him, and doesn’t stop by the inn. We’ve got better lager and ale here anyway. As soon as Barrynt and Jorhan and the boys arrive, we’ll have something to drink before dinner. In the meantime, you two just sit down and enjoy yourselves.” Then Johlana turned and headed toward the kitchen.

  “I need to wash up,” said Jessyla. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

  Then she too was gone.

  Beltur looked at the bookcase, wondering if he should try to read more about Relyn.

  He shook his head and sat down, waiting for whoever might first joi
n him. He’d been waiting long enough that he regretted not having spent the time reading, and was about to get up to retrieve the book, when he sensed someone entering the room—except it was no one he knew.

  He immediately stood to greet the petite young blond woman who walked into the family parlor, a puzzled look on her face.

  “I was looking for … Jorhan.”

  “He’ll be back before long. He’s with Barrynt.” For a moment, Beltur wondered who she might be, but then realized there was only one possibility. “Are you Halhana, by any chance?”

  “Why, yes … Oh, you must be Beltur.”

  Beltur nodded.

  “Uncle Jorhan was telling me about you earlier.” She smiled.

  “I’m afraid I know nothing about you, except your name and that you’re consorted.” Somewhat younger than your mother would have preferred.

  “There’s not much to know. I’m the oldest and the shortest and talk the most, even when I don’t have much to say.”

  “We’ve all been guilty of that, I fear,” replied Beltur.

  “You less than many, dear,” said Jessyla as she returned to the parlor.

  “This is Halhana,” said Beltur.

  Jessyla stepped closer to the smaller blond woman. “Everyone’s mentioned you. I’m glad to meet you.”

  Halhana looked up at Jessyla. “I’ve never seen a healer as tall as you … or as beautiful.”

  Seeing the two women facing each other, for some reason, Beltur was struck by what Halhana had said. He’d always known Jessyla was taller than most women and very good-looking, but he wasn’t sure he’d realized just how beautiful she was. Or has she become more beautiful?

  “Thank you.”

  Beltur could tell that the compliment had flustered Jessyla. At least, something had.

  At that moment, Johlana entered the parlor. “Will you be staying for dinner, dear?”

  “Oh, no. We’re going to his parents’ tonight. It’s his sister’s birthday. Emlyn and Sarysta made it clear that everyone should be there. She’s Eshult’s youngest sister.”