L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Kharl slipped back forward and around the paddle wheel frame before he released his smoothing of the light. He sighed-deeply.

Again, he was tired. Not so drained as when he had hardened the water, but tired.

He paused. Could he harden something like the air he breathed? Into an invisible shield before him?

Kharl stood on the deck, letting his senses try to feel the air before him. For a moment, he just stood there, almost entranced, as he could see the tiniest fragments of order and chaos hanging in the air. Slowly, he concentrated on a square section of air a cubit before his eyes, twisting the hooks of order and chaos together.

Then he reached out with his hand, gingerly. The air was hard…hard as if it were an invisible metal plate. He tried to push it, but it did not move or give way. He yawned, and his eyes blurred.

He could feel his knees turn to water, and he sat down on the deck, harder than he wanted to. Then, blackness washed over him.

“Kharl? You all right, fellow?”

The words slowly penetrated, and Kharl looked up at the shadowy figure of Rhylla. “Tired…was reading. Guess I just fell asleep.” He pulled himself to his feet.

“You look tired. Tarkyn must be working you hard.”

“Sometimes. Times, I just work myself too hard.”

The third laughed. “From anyone else but you I’d call that a load of sowshit.”

“Could be from me,” Kharl admitted. “But I am tired.”

“Best not to sleep on the deck-not in port. Never know who might slip aboard.”

“You’re right. Thank you.”

Rhylla turned away.

Kharl reached up, trying to see what had happened to the air shield. It was gone. Did that mean that it took his own concentration to maintain it…or that it would melt away in time? He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the effort to find out. Certainly not at the moment.

He slowly headed for his bunk in the forecastle. If he were going to use the air as a shield, he needed to become better at it, or the effort would likely kill him faster than whatever he was trying to protect against. More practice might help…he hoped.

He yawned again as he stepped through the hatchway. He was tired.

Fourday had come, and gone, as had most of fiveday, and still the Seastag remained tied at the Lord’s Pier. Kharl and Tarkyn had spent the majority of fiveday cleaning out and reorganizing the carpenter’s shop, in an effort to undo the effects of the thrown-together stacks and lengths of wood and the hurriedly stowed tools required by the hasty reloading that had accompanied the rush of leaving the dry dock.

Kharl slipped the black staff into the longer overhead bin, still thinking about the passage in The Basis of Order . Why was it important to cast aside such a useful tool as the staff? He did not doubt the book, but he did question his own understanding of the words. “That should do it.”

“Leastwise, gave us time to do it right ’fore we set to sea,” grumbled Tarkyn. “When we set to sea. If we set to sea.”

“You think we’re waiting for cargo?”

“At the Lord’s Pier? More likely waiting for…” Tarkyn broke off and turned in the stool.

Kawelt stood in the hatchway of the carpenter shop. “Kharl…got a visitor here.”

“Visitor?” Kharl couldn’t honestly think of anyone. Arthal? But his son wouldn’t have even known that his father served on a ship, let alone which one, and Kharl doubted that Arthal would have cared, not given the way he’d left the cooperage.

“Second from the Southshield …”

Herana?

“You’re not thinking of changing ships?” asked Tarkyn.

“No. I don’t know why she’d…”

At the word “she” Tarkyn laughed. Even Kawelt looked amused.

“Go on…We’re done for the day.”

Kharl slipped on his winter jacket and gloves and headed topside, where he made his way to the quarterdeck. Herana and Ghart stood by the railing, talking.

“…good man…carpenter and a fighter…a deck-stander…guess that’s all right…”

“…doesn’t talk much about himself…”

Both turned as Kharl neared.

“Carpenter,” said Herana, “we’re in port till tomorrow. Thought you might like to join me for an ale. Ghart says you’re not on the watch schedule until tomorrow morning.”

Kharl looked to Ghart.

“Still don’t have that cargo,” Ghart said. “Go have an ale. Just take a look at the pier now and then.”

“Yes, ser.” Kharl nodded.

“See you later, Ghart,” Herana said to the Seastag ’s second mate.

Kharl followed Herana down the gangway, then drew abreast of her on the pier. He inclined his head to her. He wasn’t quite sure what to call her, since he was neither passenger nor a crewman under her.

“I was glad to see you came back,” she said. “Somehow, I didn’t see you as the type that would have liked Vizyn.”

“You were right, but I had to see.”

“You don’t like being a ship’s carpenter?”

“I like it. I’m not certain it’s what I should be doing.”

“If you like it, and you’re good…?”

Kharl laughed. “Once I was a cooper, and I was good at it, and I liked it. But, for all that, things didn’t turn out so well.”

Herana turned toward the open doors of the Crimson Pitcher. Kharl followed her inside. The tavern was half-empty, and they found a table in the far corner of the main public room. As Kharl seated himself across from her, he couldn’t help but overhear words from a table nearby.

“…said the regulars being marched south…going to let Ilteron have Valmurl…”

“…Lord Ghrant never was a fighter…”

A server appeared.

“Dark ale,” Herana said.

“Lager. Pale ale if you don’t have it,” Kharl added.

“Three for each.”

Kharl showed his coins, as did Herana.

“Be back in a moment.”

“Ghart said you’d had to leave Brysta. Was that what you meant by things not turning out?” Herana’s voice showed interest, but was not insistent as she looked at Kharl.

“Something like that.” Kharl paused, then waited as the server set down two mugs before handing over his coins. Once the woman left, he said, “Board outside said two.”

“Everything’s getting dearer. All the taverns are asking more.”

“Because of the fighting between Ghrant and Ilteron? What’s Captain Harluk going to do with the Southshield …if Ghrant and Ilteron start a battle here in Valmurl?”

“Steam off to where they’re not fighting,” suggested Herana. “Wait until everything clears, then go back to carrying people and cargo where they want to go. What else can he do?”

“Not much,” Kharl replied. He took a swallow of the pale ale. He would have preferred lager, but he wasn’t about to complain about what he couldn’t get.

After another silence, Herana asked, “You think things will work out better for you here?”

“I don’t know. Once I thought that anywhere would be better. Now…seems like people are mostly the same everywhere. There’s always someone…” Kharl shrugged and shook his head.

“You see that on ships, too. Thought I’d get away from that by going to sea,” she said. “Don’t have as many folk, but they’re the same.”

“Why did you go to sea?” Kharl asked. “Not that many women do.”

“What was I going to do? Can’t have children-consort near-on killed me when he found out.”

Kharl winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Was a long time ago. Made it easier. My brother knew Harluk. He carries a lot of passengers, especially in the summer. Helps to have some women in the crew. Turned out I was good at it.” She looked at Kharl. “You have a consort?”