L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“He’s petty, and meaner than a mountain cat in heat, but he’s cunning. Never says anything where anyone can hear, and always has some reason in the law for what he does. You know that they gave Mallamet just ten lashes for false witness. The lashes barely broke the skin.”

“So they can say they treated everything fair.” Kharl snorted.

Tyrbel cleared his throat. “I know some scriveners in Hemmen and Vizyn. I wrote them to see if there might be a need for coopers there.”

“You think I should leave Brysta?”

Tyrbel shrugged. “I don’t know. But best you keep both eyes open. You end up in gaol again, for whatever reason, and you won’t walk out, except to the gallows.”

Kharl nodded slowly.

“You’ve got some time. Egen’s cunning. Anything happens to you soon, and people will talk, especially the crafters, and that would upset Lord West.” Tyrbel looked to the door. “I have to go.”

“Thank you. You have been a friend. A true friend.”

“You told me that was what neighbors were for.” The scrivener smiled. “Take your time in healing. You’ll need your strength.”

“I can pay Sanyle some,” Kharl said.

“She would like that, but you don’t have to.”

Kharl felt he did, but he only smiled. “You’ve both been good to us.”

After Tyrbel left, as Kharl walked back to the planer, he saw the leather-bound book on the edge of the finishing bench. Perhaps he should look at it in the evening. He couldn’t afford enough ale to take his mind off Charee, and he still needed to write Merayni…if he could only find the words.

Maybe puzzling through the book would help, one way or another. He needed something.

Because he knew how Warrl felt, Kharl did not press the boy to speak, except for his work, or request that his son stay too close to the cooperage for the next several days. He did insist on Warrl doing his chores, and his lessons, and on eating with Kharl and Sanyle.

On fiveday evening, as they were finishing supper, Kharl looked at Warrl. “How are your lessons going?”

“I’m going every day. You know that. Master Fonwyl says I’ll never pass the craftmaster examination.”

“He said that?”

“Yes, ser,” Warrl averred.

“Did he say why?”

Warrl did not meet Kharl’s eyes. Kharl waited.

“He said…all order would turn to chaos before a son of yours was allowed to be a craftmaster in Brysta.” Warrl looked up at Kharl. “Why do they all hate you? What did you do to make them hate me?”

“They don’t all hate me. Tyrbel doesn’t. Gharan doesn’t. Hyesal doesn’t.”

“They don’t matter. Lord West and the justicers matter. The craftmasters matter. And they all hate you.”

“Everyone matters,” Kharl offered, not sure what he could say.

“It’s not right. They shouldn’t hate me. Not because of what you did. Not because I’m your son.”

“They shouldn’t. People don’t always do what’s right. You know that…don’t you?”

“Why…” Warrl looked up. “I’m sorry, Da…”

“Your father did the best he could,” Sanyle said. “There are evil people in Brysta. Some of them are powerful. Do you think he should not do good because of them?”

“What good does it do?” Warrl asked. “The blackstaffer died, and Ma died, and Da, he almost died.”

Kharl looked at Sanyle and gave the slightest of headshakes. He did not want her to mention what he had done for her. That would just give Warrl a chance to direct his anger at her. The young woman waited for a moment before she answered Warrl. “My father always has said that if you do good because you expect to be rewarded, it is not good at all, but greed.”

“Then I’ll be greedy when I get older,” Warrl said. “What good is it if you can’t live to enjoy it?”

Kharl cleared his throat. “Did Master Fonwyl say if you had learned enough to pass the mastercrafter examination if you weren’t my son?”

Warrl looked up, surprised. After a moment, he replied. “He said I know enough.”

“Are you telling me what he said or what you think?”

“No, Da. He said I knew as much as most craftmasters.”

“Then, there’s no reason for you to keep taking lessons, is there?”

“You mean that, Da?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Of course, that means you’ll be able to help in the shop more.”

“That’s more interesting than Master Fonwyl.” Warrl paused. “Can I go over to Hergan’s now?”

“If you’re careful and back before full dark.”

“Thank you, Da…” Warrl looked at Sanyle. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome, Warrl.”

Neither Sanyle nor Kharl spoke until Warrl had closed the door and headed down the stairs and through the cooperage. Kharl heard the front door shut.

“You don’t want him to know that some of what you did saved others?” asked Sanyle.

“That would make him angry at you. It wouldn’t make him less angry at me.” The cooper shrugged. “Not much I can do about that.” He rose and carried his bowl and Warrl’s to the wash table.

After a moment, Sanyle followed his example. “I’ll do the dishes.” She smiled briefly. “You are paying me.”

“Not enough,” Kharl said. “I appreciate the cooking. Not something I’d do well. Not well enough to eat what I fixed.”

He did let Sanyle do the dishes, although he put them away in the single cupboard, another piece of furniture he had made years before. Thinking of that time, his eyes misted for a moment, and he shook his head. What had happened? Did it happen to others?

He could not answer his own questions. So he put the last bowl away.

After Sanyle had left, and he was alone in the main room, he adjusted the wick in the lamp on the table by the one easy chair and picked up the black leather book he had brought up from the shop. He had to lean back into the chair very gingerly.

Slowly, he studied the slender tome, noting the fineness of the binding. There were no words on the cover or on the spine, just smooth black leather. He opened the front cover to the title page and read the words: The Basis of Order . That was all. There was no explanation, and no name for an author. He turned another page. The text began abruptly, under a simple numeral “1.” He began to read.

Order is life; chaos is death. This is fact, not belief. Each living creature consists of ordered parts that must function together…

Order extends down to the smallest fragments of the world. By influencing the smallest ordered segments to create a new and ordered form, an order-master may change where land exists and where it does not, where rain will fall and where it will not…In contrast, control of chaos is simply the ability to sever one ordered segment of the world from another…without the use of order, focused destruction is the highest level of control to which a chaos-master can aspire…

Simple as these words are, learning about what order and chaos truly are is far from simple. One might say that order is like water, that it can change forms, and that it is vital to life, and that without it nothing lives…That is less than the beginning…

Kharl skipped to the next page.

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…All things are not possible, even to the greatest, and even to those with understanding…

Kharl lowered the book, frowning, but not closing it, thinking.

On sixday, Kharl was feeling stronger, but not strong enough to use the forge to finish the hoops for the slack barrels. Instead, he contented himself with working on the red oak shooks, first with the planer, then spending time with the hollowing knife, including some time working with Warrl, showing him some of the finer points of using the knife.