L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

The two walked slowly through the deserted front Hall, the sound of their boots echoing in the gloom barely relieved by the handful of scattered wall lamps, burning low and providing but a dim glow. The slight bite of the water-cooled air in the fountain courtyard was welcome and fleeting as they entered the second Hall.

“This way.” Anya turned down a side Hall past the commons, one Cerryl had walked occasionally but seldom, since it led nowhere except to the next courtyard and since other routes were more direct. “We do have quarters in our own wing. Our own wing. It makes the bathing and the jakes more convenient.”

Suddenly Anya stopped in front of a door. The bronze door plaque read: “Anya.”

“Good night, Cerryl.”

Anya slipped inside, and the bolt clicked shut.

Cerryl stood there for a moment. Had he heard a soft cry-or a laugh? He wasn’t sure. He turned.

What had Anya wanted? To upset him? To find out more about him so that she or Sterol or Jeslek could manipulate him? She hadn’t wanted him in bed. That was the only thing he was sure about-the only thing.

He walked slowly through the rear courtyard and into the farthest Hall, then up the stairs and along the corridor. He closed the door to his room slowly, wishing Leyladin were still in Fairhaven. He would have liked to talk to the blonde healer. Some things Anya had said about him had bothered him, accurate as they were, because they had been accurate and he wasn’t sure why they had upset him.

Lyasa might help, but he’d have to be careful how much he said to the black-haired mage.

He yawned as he slowly began to disrobe. The predawn bell would ring soon-too soon.

HAVE YOU GRANTED any more medallions to farmers?” From where he stood with his back to the window Kinowin half-grinned at the younger mage.

“Yes, ser. Another six…so far. Only one of them had ever had one before. At least on the carts they presented.”

“Any more incidents like that farm woman?” The blonde mage touched his chin, then rubbed his jaw, his fingers remaining below the purplish blotch on his left cheek.

Cerryl shook his head, still wishing he hadn’t had to flame the old woman, yet he doubted he could have done otherwise.

Kinowin stepped toward the table at which Cerryl sat, then turned and looked at the blue and purple hanging. After a moment, he added, “How was your late supper with Anya?”

“Disturbing, in a way.”

“Why did you go with her?”

“I didn’t think it wise to upset her too much.”

A wry smile crossed Kinowin’s face. “Anything you do that crosses her will upset her. You know that, don’t you?”

“That’s why I went. I’m sure to upset her sooner or later. I’d prefer later.”

“Since you didn’t fall into bed with her, did she talk to you about her paradox? It’s not hers, really; it actually belongs to the first Black angel-Ryba. I find that rather symbolic…”

Cerryl swallowed. Was Kinowin saying that Anya was using the words of the first Black angel-the founder of Westwind and all its depredations? “About when Myral sees the future…is that…?”

Kinowin nodded, then quoted, almost in falsetto, “‘Perhaps our actions in trying to avoid his visions are what will make them happen.’”

Cerryl winced.

“It’s very effective,” Kinowin mused. “I even fell for it…for a bit.”

Cerryl couldn’t imagine Kinowin falling for anything.

“It’s very seductive. How can you know whether a vision is true? If it is not, and you oppose it, then do you bring it into being? Or…if it is true, and you oppose it, do you do the same? Because…if you can change things, how could the vision exist?”

The younger mage shivered. “Did Ryba…?”

“Oh, yes. At least, if you can believe the Book of Ayrlyn . Some call it Ryba’s curse.”

“I thought that was a forbidden book.”

“It is…until you’re a Guild member. In a season or so I’ll have you read it. You’re not quite ready.”

“Is it filled with lies, and I don’t have enough knowledge to understand which are lies?”

“No. It’s filled with truths, and you’ll have a great deal of trouble understanding how truths can be lies.” Kinowin snorted gently. “That’s always been the problem we’ve had in the Guild.” He eased away from the hanging and toward the single bookcase, stepping through the shaft of golden light wherein swirled white-golden specks of chaos dust. “A fact is. A stone exists.” The overmage walked over to the bookcase and lifted a volume, then replaced it. “You see this book. It is.” He laughed. “Sterol and Jeslek would die of mirth at rough-born and plainspoken Kinowin discussing truth. I have to laugh, too. What is truth? Oh, the philosophers will give you answers and words. But what no one-especially Myral-wants to admit is that there is no such thing as truth. That’s where Anya is right. We take a belief that what we do is the good thing to do, and we call it the true way. The Blacks do the same.”

Cerryl’s eyes widened.

“I’m not saying that I believe the Blacks. They’ve created more bloodshed indirectly than Fairhaven has with all its lancers. They talk of peace and order, but Recluce was founded on the blade of the greatest swordsman and weather wizard of all time, and to this day no other ruler has slaughtered so many in the name of peace and order.”

Cerryl waited.

“Men and women are not perfect. You have seen that. I’m certain Anya has told you about how all that most people want from life are coins or power or bodies in bed.” Kinowin shook his head. “She’s right. Those are what most people want. Where I differ from Anya is that I don’t think the members of the Guild are or should be ‘most people.’ That is what the Guild was founded on.” The overmage cleared his throat. “Did you know that in ancient Cyador, the first White land, west of the Westhorns, they had highways grander than ours, firewagons that sped tirelessly across them, and fireships that ruled the seas? Even the poorest of farmers had houses with stoves and water pumped from the ground. And the Blacks unleashed chaos and destroyed Cyador. They claim to be the supporters of order, yet they used chaos to destroy the greatest land Candar has ever known.”