L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

“But…I don’t know any Hamorian.”

“You’ll learn,” the magistra said. “I’ll meet you in the eating hall after the midday meal to take you to meet Sebenet. Now…this way.”

She opened the third door on the left, motioning for Rahl to enter before her. She followed, then bowed to a magister dressed in crimson. What the magistra hadn’t said was that a number of the other students were children, some as young as eight or nine.

Rahl had no idea what she said, but when she gestured to Rahl, he bowed slightly.

The magister replied in the Hamorian Rahl didn’t know, then motioned for him to join several children seated on cushions in the corner of the chamber. One held up a book and opened it.

As he seated himself, Rahl thought she said something like, “ Sciensa livra y miendas. ”

Between the activities and trying just to hear the words, Rahl had a headache by the time the midday bell rang, and the class was over. He might have learned a few words.

He was among the later ones to arrive in the mess and found a seat at one of the unoccupied tables. He didn’t see Meryssa, or Anitra, or Khalyt, but a thin man, a good five years older than Rahl, perhaps more than that, eased over toward Rahl.

“You’re new. I’m Darrant. Would you be from Reflin?”

“No…Land’s End.”

“Oh…I was just hoping…”

Rahl shook his head. “I don’t even know anyone in Reflin.”

“Thank you.”

Wondering what Darrant had wanted, Rahl finished his meal and took care of the dishes. Almost as if she had been watching, Leyla appeared and escorted him out of the hall and even farther downhill and to the west, to yet another building set into the hillside. A muffled thumping issued from the structure.

“That’s the new printing press. We finally worked out a circular press rather than a powered letterpress.”

Once more, Rahl hadn’t the faintest idea what she meant, but from the sounds and the thin line of smoke issuing from the chimney, he had the idea that whatever was making the rhythmic thumping was powered by a steam engine. Such engines were forbidden in the rest of Recluce, except on ships porting at Land’s End.

Before long, Leyla was introducing Rahl to Magister Sebenet, a swarthy and stocky black-haired man perhaps the age of Rahl’s father. He wore an ink-stained canvas apron over a short-sleeved black shirt and trousers. He smiled broadly at Leyla. “You found me a typesetter?”

“No, Sebenet, I found you a scrivener who can read High and Low Temple. You’ll have to train him. This is Rahl.”

Rahl bowed slightly.

After Leyla had left, Sebenet turned to Rahl. “A former scrivener, is it?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You’re about to become a typesetter, young fellow, as well as handle all the dirty jobs that go with it.”

Sebenet was patient enough, taking Rahl through the shop and explaining each piece of equipment.

“…the engine’s what powers the press. Coal level should be about where it is now, but you have to sense the heat, too…Stay clear of the belts, break your arm or neck before you knew what happened…water feed’s here…

“…paper trays are here…use a web to feed into the press…

“Each box has the same letters in it. You pick the letters and put them in place. Here are the spacing bars. You lay out the text like so…”

Rahl had to concentrate. Even so, he knew there were things he would not remember.

By the time he finished his time as an apprentice typesetter and then ate supper, alone, he was exhausted. He straggled back to his room and collapsed onto his bed.

His last thought before his eyes closed was that being a scrivener looked to be less work and far easier than everything he’d tried that afternoon-and he hadn’t even gotten anywhere close to the harder work of setting type and making up the pasteboards for the press cylinders.

As he rolled out of bed, Rahl froze. He’d been so tired the night before that he’d forgotten to read the pages of The Basis of Order. He scrambled to the writing table and picked up the book, opening it to the first page, eyes scanning the words.

Order is life; chaos is death. This is fact, not belief. Each living creature consists of ordered parts that must function together. When chaos intrudes beyond its limits, its energies disrupt all, and too great a disruption can only lead to death.

Order extends down to the smallest fragments of the world…

Rahl read to the bottom of the page, then set the book on the table and put on his new gray garments. Then he sat on the stool and pulled on his boots.

He picked up the book once more. The words on the second page seemed to leap out at him, although there was no sense of power embodied in the book itself.

Learning without understanding can but increase the frustration of the impatient, for knowledge is like the hammer of a smith, useless in the hands of the unskilled and able to do nothing but injure the user who has not both knowledge and understanding. Learning is like unto chaos, a power useful only for destruction without the order imposed by understanding…

Rahl frowned. The book seemed to be suggesting that there were uses of chaos that were not all evil, and that some use of order might be evil. Was that why the magisters did not wish the book anywhere outside of Nylan?

A wry smile crossed his lips. He could certainly tell of some uses of order by the magisters of the Council that were anything but good. Perhaps he would, when the time was right. He read another page, then slipped the book inside his tunic and hurried to the mess.

All of the tables were occupied, but he found a corner of one where he could sit a bit away from two women, both older than he was, he judged, but not by more than a few years.

As he ate, he tried to read another page, but he couldn’t help but overhear some of the conversation between the two, low as their voices were.

“…say that I’ll never understand…going to send me to Suthya…position with a trader there in Armat…”

“…not bad…least you got somewhere to go and coins coming in…”

“…didn’t want to go…”

“…magisters decide, dearie. They sent Durolyt to Southport.”

“…he hates the Legend…”

“…why they sent him, if you ask me…”

Rahl felt cold all over. Was that what he had to face? Promises that could only lead to exile in a place he hated?

He still hadn’t finished eating, and his appetite had almost vanished, but he forced himself to swallow the last mouthfuls. He knew he’d be hungry before midday. Then he read the last half page of the five pages he’d been told he should read every day before tucking away The Basis of Order and heading for the rinse buckets.

Yet another magister met him outside the study where Leyla had instructed him the previous day. He was slender and wiry, more than a head shorter than Rahl, and his hair was whitish silver, yet not the color of an old man’s, and his face was unlined. Rahl had recalled the stories saying that Creslin had possessed such hair, but he’d never seen anyone with it.

The magister laughed. “Yes, it’s the silver hair like Creslin’s, and no, I’m not a direct descendant of his, not that I know of, anyway. I’m Tamryn.” He gestured toward the study. “We might as well get started.”

Rahl walked in, then waited to seat himself until Tamryn did.

“Have you read any of The Basis of Order ?” asked the magister.

“Yes, ser.”

“Do you have any questions before I start asking you about what you read?”

“Ah…” Rahl wondered whether he should ask, but suspected it would come out one way or another. “There’s a part that seems to suggest that chaos is not all evil, that if it’s used somehow within order…” He didn’t know quite what else to ask.