Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Pale ale, ser?” asked Ryntaar.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Where’s your consort?” asked Jorhan.

  “On her way from the healing house.” I hope.

  “You’re both healers, I’ve heard,” said Eshult pleasantly. “Isn’t that unusual for a mage?”

  “I suspect a number of blacks have the talent, but don’t choose to develop it. I made the mistake of trying to save people, especially during the invasion, and then realized I might harm someone if I didn’t learn more. That’s one reason why I’ve been working at the healing house.”

  Ryntaar handed Beltur a beaker of pale ale. “Here you are.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur sensed a certain blackness and turned to see Jessyla step into the parlor, wearing her best greens and the green shimmersilk scarf. “I see you managed to escape the healing house.”

  “I did. I was afraid I’d have to go back for part of the afternoon, but Herrara told me not to.”

  “Good for her,” said Jorhan.

  Frankyr appeared behind Jessyla.

  “I need to get you both a drink for the toasts,” said Ryntaar, looking to Jessyla.

  “Do you have the mulled wine?”

  “We do … and you want lager, Frankyr?”

  The younger son nodded.

  After Ryntaar served the two their drinks, he walked to the center of the parlor. “Now that everyone’s here, we should move to the formal parlor. Mother … if you would?”

  As Johlana led the group from one parlor to the other, Beltur and Jessyla let the others precede them.

  Farewells were simple, at least from what Beltur had heard. First was a toast, followed by the sharing of memories, followed by a second toast, after which the departed was borne to the pyre, where the pyre was lit, and farewell verses were offered, and family members and close friends tended the fire until all was ashes. The memory sharing began with a memory from the person closest to the one being sent off, followed by a single memory from each other person, and a second and final memory from the one who offered the first memory. The last part of the sharing was a second toast.

  Barrynt, wearing a brown tunic trimmed with a gold fabric, lay on a simple wooden bier, positioned on an oblong table against the back wall of the parlor. The farewellers formed an arc facing the bier. In the center of the arc were Johlana and Ryntaar.

  Ryntaar raised his beaker. “To Father, for whom family meant everything, to the very end, and for whom he always did his honest best, honoring us, and those around him.”

  “To Father,” came the reply, and all lifted their beakers or glasses.

  “The first time I saw your father,” began Johlana, “he was standing in Jorhan’s smithy outside Elparta telling Jorhan that he’d never make a living as a coppersmith because what he made was too fine to be sold at the price it would bear. Jorhan told him that there had to be people in the world who would buy fine copperware, and that he should take some of what Jorhan had forged and see if it weren’t so.” Johlana smiled softly. “Barrynt turned to me and asked me what I thought. I told him he sounded too sour for a man so young and handsome. He said I hadn’t answered his question. I told him that he shouldn’t take Jorhan’s work if he felt that way because he wouldn’t do it justice, and he said that we were both impossible, but he did smile. He didn’t take any of it. Not then, but he came back three days later and bought two pieces and promised me that he wouldn’t be sour when he showed them to others. He must not have been, because he came back in the fall and bought even more.”

  Beltur saw a trace of a smile on Halhana’s face as her mother finished.

  Ryntaar cleared his throat, then said, “What I remember most isn’t one single memory, but how often he insisted on my doing my best, and how he smiled when he knew I’d done it … and he could definitely tell when I hadn’t. I can remember that, too, like the time when I only unrolled a bolt of wool halfway … and the inside wasn’t the same quality…”

  Beltur listened intently as each offered a memory of the merchant, all touching, some amusing, some inspiring, trying to think what he’d say when his turn came.

  The one before Beltur was Eshult, who looked slightly uneasy when Halhana looked to him and who took several moments to speak. “I think … the memory … that I recall … I felt a little like I do now … It was when I came into this very parlor to ask Barrynt for Halhana’s hand. I knew I was too young to ask, and that Halhana was too young to accept. I also knew that, if I waited, my mother would throw obstacles in our way, and that we would lose our chance at happiness together. So … I came here. He was sitting in his chair, and there were just the two of us in the room. I swallowed. I had trouble speaking. He smiled. It was a warm smile, and he had the warmest smile. He asked me, ‘Don’t you think you two are a bit too young to consort?’ I told him that we were, but that sometimes it was better to dare than to wait and lose the best life had to offer. He laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh. It was cheerful. He said that he’d felt the same way when he asked for Johlana’s hand. It wasn’t that he was too young. He just hadn’t known her long enough or well enough, but he knew that he also might lose the joy of his life. Then he said Halhana and I could consort … and that Halhana’s joy was in my hands.” Eshult swallowed. “That’s all.”

  Beltur could see the tears oozing from the corners of Eshult’s eyes. Honest tears.

  For a long moment, no one said anything, except that was because, Beltur realized, he was supposed to speak next.

  “Jessyla and I are here, safe in Axalt, because of Barrynt’s kindness to a mage he did not know struggling to make his way in a strange land. When it became clear that the traders of Elparta were going to make it impossible for Jorhan and me to forge cupridium, Barrynt suggested to Jorhan, and he’d done that previously, I understand, that Jorhan would be happier in Axalt, and that Johlana certainly would be happy to have her brother close. Without hesitation, he turned to me and said that I would be welcome, too. As a mage, I can tell when someone says something out of politeness. Barrynt wasn’t being kind or polite. He meant it from the first and from the heart. And when Jessyla and I arrived—he knew nothing of her at all—he and Johlana put us up, and then found us a cot … and provided most of the furnishings. He was pleased that we were safe … and happy. To me … there are many people who say good things, and do little. He was one of a handful who did not dwell on words, but on making good his word.” Beltur didn’t know what else to say. So he turned to Jessyla.

  “I never met Barrynt until the day we arrived in his drive. We’d traveled an eightday in winter. We’d been attacked by brigands. We were near frozen from a northeaster. Beltur had told me of Barrynt’s offer. He didn’t mention that Barrynt didn’t even know I existed. But the moment we arrived, he smiled. It was the smile of a man who loved life and people. I knew at that moment that we were more than welcome. He and Johlana took us in, fed us, and then made sure we had a place here … and in Axalt.” Jessyla looked to Johlana.

  “There’s one last memory I’d like to share.” Johlana paused. “It’s not a great or grand memory. It was when Barrynt and I first rode up to this house. He turned and looked to me, and he said, ‘You’re home now.’ I was, but what made it home was Barrynt.” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

  After another silence, Ryntaar raised his beaker. “To Father. In farewell.”

  The others raised their glasses or beakers, then said quietly, “In farewell,” and drank.

  Then, within moments, after setting aside their beakers, Ryntaar, Frankyr, Jorhan, and, surprisingly to Beltur, Eshult lifted the bier on which Barrynt rested, and carried it from the formal parlor out to the pyre that had been built on the drive between the house and the stable.

  When the bier had been placed in the center of the pyre, and everyone was gathered there, Ryntaar stepped forward with the torch and lit the dishes of oil placed at the north, south, east, and west sides, then returned to stand beside his mother.

 
; Johlana began with the first line of the farewell, and Ryntaar spoke the second, Halhana, the third, and Frankyr the fourth, the family alternating, until they came to the last two lines, which they all spoke together.

  “Farewell to this house, and the shelter of each wall,

  Farewell to this hearth, and the warmth you shared,

  Farewell to the blooms of spring, and leaves of fall,

  And to the seasons and the hearts for whom you cared.

  “Farewell to the sorrows that weighed upon you,

  And to the joys that carried you the seasons through.

  Farewell to the cares you bore through each and every day

  To purposes both large and small, to words you could not say.

  Farewell to dawns and sunsets, rains and snows,

  To days so still the wind of time never blows.

  “In chaos and in order, we say this last farewell and bid you go

  To the skies and to the stars that in life we never know.”

  For several moments, they all stood, just watching, as the flames rose.

  Then Halhana turned, putting her arms around Eshult, sobbing silently, but almost uncontrollably.

  Even from a few yards away, Beltur could sense the grief consuming the young woman. He could also sense something similar from Eshult.

  “I was surprised to see him here,” murmured Jessyla.

  “Me, too. He’s upset as well.”

  “He doesn’t want to lose her.”

  That seemed so to Beltur, but he wondered why Eshult felt that way … possibly because he’d lost both parents so suddenly? Or was there more?

  He was still mulling that over when Johlana eased over to him and Jessyla.

  “I’m glad that you came and spoke. We all, Eshult especially, needed to hear what you remembered.” Johlana paused. “I wanted to tell you that. I need to go inside for a little.”

  Left unsaid was a request not to leave, not yet, anyway.

  Then Johlana turned and walked toward the steps. Ryntaar joined her, and the two climbed the steps together.

  “I don’t know how she did it,” said Jessyla. “If anything happened to you…”

  “You’d manage … just as she has.” You’re both stronger than you know. Beltur was beginning to wonder if he could have been that strong.

  Again, for a time, they stood there, until Beltur realized that he was shivering. He was about to head up the steps to reclaim their coats, when Ryntaar reappeared, along with Frankyr, each carrying armloads of coats and scarves, for which Beltur was definitely glad.

  He helped Jessyla into her coat, then donned his own. They both moved a bit closer to the fire, and Beltur wondered when he should offer to add more wood.

  “Ser?”

  As Ryntaar returned, Beltur almost jumped, preoccupied as he’d been with his own thoughts.

  “Yes? I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Most of us are, likely,” replied Ryntaar. “I just wanted to thank you. If we’d only been a little sooner…”

  Beltur shook his head. “You and Frankyr hurried as fast as you could. We couldn’t have gotten there that much sooner. That’s not something that you could have done anything about. It really isn’t.” Perhaps I could have, if I’d told Barrynt what I heard, but you couldn’t.

  “You’re kind—”

  “I’m not kind. Your father had been dead for a considerable fraction of a quint when we arrived. Remember, I’m a healer, and that’s something I can tell.”

  Ryntaar said nothing for a moment. “I hadn’t … thought about that.”

  “It’s true. You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t have changed.” That was certainly true, Beltur knew. But the danger was in knowing what could have been changed and what could not. What if you had told Barrynt? What if you and Jorhan hadn’t forged the mirror? Could that have been changed? But that would have meant refusing Johlana’s request. Beltur wanted to shake his head, even as he realized that, at times, events combined into results that couldn’t be foreseen until it was too late to change. And that means trying to think about the consequences well before acting. And that was anything but easy.

  “Thank you, ser.”

  After Ryntaar went to stand by his brother, Jessyla said, “That was kind.”

  “It was also mostly true.”

  “That helps.”

  Jessyla looked at Beltur. “I’m going inside.”

  “To see to Johlana?”

  “To see if I need to, at least.”

  Beltur nodded, then watched as she walked toward the house, followed by Halhana.

  A while later, how long Beltur wasn’t certain, Eshult approached Beltur.

  “Might I have a word with you, ser?”

  While he wondered at the young man’s formality, Beltur immediately replied, “Of course.”

  “You were really the only one there when my father died, except Mother, and I didn’t get to talk to her before she died. Halhana said I should talk to you.”

  “Mhorgaan and Ryntaar were there,” Beltur pointed out.

  “They’re both good people, but … you’re likely to be more impartial. Halhana pointed that out.”

  Beltur smiled sadly. “No one is truly impartial, Eshult. Both Barrynt and Johlana helped Jessyla and me a great deal when we arrived in Axalt. Barrynt was the one who offered the possibility of our finding our way in Axalt even before we left Elparta.”

  “I think you’ve just proved that you’re more impartial … or less partial, if you will.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why Barrynt killed Father. Why he truly did … what drove him to that.”

  “I can’t tell you that. I can only tell you what I saw and what I heard. That might help you draw your own conclusions. It also might make matters more confusing.”

  “Then tell me what you have reason to believe that might give me a better understanding.”

  “While I am no connoisseur of sculpture or art, the mirror that Jorhan forged was a very good mirror and piece of art. It was also made with love and great affection, and it was gifted to Halhana with love by her mother.” Beltur looked to Eshult. “Do you wish me to continue?”

  “Please do.”

  “It was returned to Johlana, as I understand it, by your mother as not being in accord with the décor in your dwelling. Shortly after that, again, as I understand matters, Halhana told her mother that the two of you could not come to eightday dinner because of arrangements made by your mother. Had this not occurred several times previously?”

  “Twice, I believe.” Eshult’s words were clipped.

  “I am not judging, Eshult. I am telling you what I know.”

  “This is difficult.”

  Especially since you’re not sure whether you really want to know what you’ve asked. “Barrynt was upset by the return of the mirror. I saw indirect evidence of that. Now … consider that the mirror was forged by Johlana’s brother. Consider that he is not just a smith, but a craftsman whose work has been bought by traders from throughout the east of Candar. Then, when Halhana stated, again, that you two could not have dinner with her family, consider how that might have affected Johlana.”

  “She would be upset.”

  “Do you love Halhana? Deeply? Deeply enough that it would torment you if someone did things that continued to hurt her?”

  “Why do you … you’re saying that Barrynt was so angry because of how Johlana was hurt…”

  “I can think of no other reason. Can you? Your father and Barrynt were not on unfriendly terms as merchants, were they?”

  “No, ser.”

  “Your father did not express hatred of Barrynt, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Also, I never heard Barrynt say hateful things about your father.” Slightly unkind, but not hateful. What Barrynt had said or implied about Sarysta had been far more than slightly unkind. “Your mother did not like Johlana, it seemed to me. Am I mistaken?”

&
nbsp; “No, ser.”

  “Do you know why that might be?”

  Eshult was silent.

  Beltur waited.

  The young man took a deep breath. “It makes little difference now. They’re all dead except Johlana.” His laugh was short and bitter. “My late aunt, my mother’s sister, thought she would be Barrynt’s consort. Whether there was any formal arrangement I do not know. When Barrynt consorted Johlana … Then my aunt died shortly thereafter…”

  “Your mother was displeased?”

  “That would be too mild, I fear. What does this have to do—?”

  “I do not believe Barrynt ever intended to hurt your father. Your mother said that your father told her to stay out of the study. Then Barrynt hurled him away. I don’t think a man who is trying to murder another man would throw him away. I believe, and it is only my belief, that your father was trying to protect your mother, and Barrynt was so enraged that he didn’t know how much force he’d used. Barrynt’s last words, according to your mother, and she was telling the truth, was that your mother was a bitch worse than any in Westwind and that she’d destroyed a good man. I don’t say that to hurt you, but to show you what Barrynt felt at that moment.”

  “Oh…” Eshult stood there, trembling. “No wonder she died that very night. Father died trying to protect her … from something she’d caused…”

  “I’m sorry,” said Beltur gently.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about, ser. Like all of us here today, you were caught in a net not of your making.” Eshult smiled sadly. “I need to talk to Halhana. If you will excuse me…”

  As Eshult walked away, Beltur felt the taste of ashes in his mouth … and not from the pyre, even though he’d allowed Eshult a better last view of his mother than she deserved. But isn’t that better for him and Halhana?

  His mouth still tasted of ashes.

  LXX