L. Modesitt: Cyador’s Heirs

“In time, Lerial. In time. What you need to learn will take time and effort, and you will have to practice what I show you, but only around me or when you are alone. Later, you’ll be able to show your mother, but not now.”

“What about Father?”

Emerya shakes her head. “Kiedron is like many of the Magi’i. He can sense and use chaos, but he is blind to order. Order-blindness is not infrequent among the Magi’i, but the great Emperors of the past, such as Alyiakal and Lorn, could sense and use both.”

“Not Kerial?”

“We don’t know about him. There were no records about him, either of his appearance or his magely talents … or if he had any.” At Lerial’s disbelieving look, she adds, “Either he destroyed such records or his nephew did. He had no children, remember?”

Lerial recalls that … but only after her reminder.

“Anyway … that’s why you can’t show your father … or Lephi. He takes after Kiedron in that respect.”

That was something Lerial does not know, and already he has a glimmering of an idea as to why Emerya may be able to help him.

“I’m going to show you something, but you’ll have to watch, with your thoughts, the way you do when you sense chaos. Look at the back of my hand.”

Lerial does so. For a moment, he can see or sense nothing. Then … there is a black fuzziness.

“That’s what gathering order looks like. Try to feel what I’m doing.”

Sensing what Emerya is doing is far harder than merely observing the result of what she has done, and in moments Lerial can feel the sweat beading on his forehead. “You see why I said this would take time and work?”

“I do.”

“You can stop now.” Emerya waits a moment, as if to allow Lerial to gather his thoughts and recover, then says, “A good healer only uses order when necessary. For small and shallow wounds that can be cleaned well and quickly, it’s better to do that. Clear strong spirits are generally best, but garlic juice will also do, but that can be painful and may require holding the injured man when you apply either spirits or garlic. Then bind the wound and watch. If there is a dull red that strengthens you can apply free order … but there is great danger in that, because trying to draw too much free order will take it from you … and can kill you. That is why healers are trained slowly and carefully, so that they have experience in knowing how much order is needed and how much they can spare. You are not to attempt any healing except with me or another trained healer watching. Do you understand?”

Lerial nods.

“For the next eightday, I want you to watch people the way you just watched me. You’re to sense what you can about the order and the chaos in them or around them. You’re to do that without actually looking at them. Most times you won’t sense more than a white fuzziness or a vague black fuzziness. If you sense more than that, don’t say anything to them, but tell me each evening. You’re to come and meet with me for a bit every night that you can for the next eightday. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.” The honorific slips out before Lerial can catch it.

Emerya does not correct him, but only says, “That’s all for tonight. Go and get some sleep. That will help all those bruises. Also, I wouldn’t spar with Lephi tomorrow.”

“I won’t.” Lerial pauses, then adds, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Emerya smiles.

As Lerial leaves and walks back toward his own small sleeping chamber, he realizes that he had sensed-or had the feeling-that Emerya has more than one reason for not wanting him to spar with Lephi on threeday.

The next morning at breakfast, Lerial concentrates on trying to see either order or chaos patterns in others, beginning with his mother, who has just enough chaos in her system that he senses her as a dark, dark gray-as opposed to his father and Lephi, who, while not a brilliant white, seem to be an off-white. Ryalah and Amaira are close to pure black, as is Emerya, although Ryalah is slightly darker than either her cousin or her aunt. In making his observations, Lerial is especially careful not to look in his aunt’s direction. For the next five days, Lerial follows his aunt’s instructions as well as he can, reporting to her every evening, when he learns a bit more at each meeting about healing.

On oneday morning, he makes his way into the study off the southern courtyard to meet with Saltaryn, the magus in charge of his instruction in not only reading, writing, mathematics, and rhetoric, but in the understanding and use of chaos and order. Saltaryn stands beside the circular table. He is sandy haired and perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven. Like all Magi’i he wears white with the crossed lightnings on the breast of his summer tunic.

“Good morning, ser,” offers Lerial, as he always does.

“Good morning, Lerial.” Saltaryn does not smile, but asks, “What have you been doing over the past eightday?”

“Ser? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I’ve done the same things every day as I always do … except I haven’t sparred with Lephi this eightday. I was too bruised to do that for several days, and he’s been riding on a patrol the past few.”

“Hmmm … Oh, well. These things happen.”

“What things, might I ask, ser?”

“You’re manifesting more order than chaos, and that’s … not … usual for one of the Magi’i … unless you’re an order magus or an iron magus. Noerant hasn’t been instructing you, has he?”

“Magus Noerant, ser? No, ser. I scarcely even ever see him.”

“Well … let’s get on with your lessons.” Saltaryn gestures toward the table, then seats himself.

Lerial sits across from the magus and waits.

Saltaryn takes the candle in the brass holder and sets it between them. “Watch the candle, and tell me what you see.” He concentrates, and the wick flares into flame.

Lerial can sense the flash of red-white chaos, as well as the thinnest edging of chaos.

“Well?” asks the white wizard.

“You lit the wick with chaos.”

“Just with chaos?”

“Almost entirely. I think … I think there was a tiny bit of order directing the chaos.”

“Of course. Without direction, chaos is formless. But the less order you can use, the stronger the chaos.”

“Doesn’t it take more order to control greater amounts of chaos?” asks Lerial.

“It does, but the way a magus handles that order makes a difference. Some require much more order.” Saltaryn concentrates, and the candle flame flares and vanishes.

Lerial manages not to frown, surprised that the white wizard has used more chaos to extinguish the flame than it took to light it.

“I want you to try to light the candle,” Saltaryn says.

“How?”

“Try to imitate what I did. Focus a tiny bit of chaos at the tip of the candlewick.”

Lerial has his doubts, but if Saltaryn can do that, it can be done … and Lephi must have done it as well, since his brother can manage some small bolts of chaos.

By the time he leaves the study, Lerial is exhausted. His entire body is covered with sweat, and his undertunic is soaked. But he has managed to light the candle, time after time.

Lighting a candle isn’t the same as throwing firebolts. But it is a start.

Since Lephi is not around, Lerial has to practice with someone else, and that ends up being Undercaptain Woelyt-and Woelyt is better than Lephi … and not at all sympathetic. By the time Lerial reaches Emerya’s quarters after dinner, his entire body aches once more.

“You’ve been sparring today?” asks Emerya when she leaves the bedchamber and closes the door.

“Not with Lephi. Undercaptain Woelyt.”