The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(75)

Cerryl rose and walked gingerly toward the skeleton, trying to position himself so that the array of bones stood between him and Broka.

“All bones are of one of four types-lengthy bones, short bones plank or flat bones, and irregular bones.” Broka pointed to one of the arm bones. “Feel that.”

Cerryl complied, letting his fingers trace the length of the off-white member, feeling white dust slip away under his fingertips.

“Real living bones are not so smooth, not so cool and inviting, but this will start you on learning.”

In the oppressive warmth of the small chamber, Cerryl wanted to yawn and step back from Broka simultaneously.

“Prestad's will give you all the details. That's the book I will give you. Jeslek says you can read, and read you will.” Broke pushed a lock of long graying sandy hair back off his forehead, offering another broad smile.

“Yes, ser,” answered Cerryl, uncertain what to say or do.

“Why should you study anatomic? There are two reasons. You should learn anatomie so that you can use chaos to heal effectively or kill effectively. The other reason is that the Guild says you should learn anatomie.” Broka shrugged. “If I do not think you have learned your anatomie, then you will not become a full mage.” He looked at the skeleton. “You may indeed serve the Guild in other ways.” Yet another smile followed. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good.” Broka thrust forward a book Cerryl had not seen him pick up. “This is Prestad's Anatomical Explications. You will read section one until you think you understand it. We will meet in an eight-day.”

Cerryl took the book.

Broka glided toward the door, toothy smile in place, opening it and stepping back, his smile almost mocking.





White Order





LI




Jeslek's quarters were warm-as were all the quarters in the late summer days before harvest. The mage turned from the glass, a glass that had momentarily filled with white mists before returning to being a simple mirror once more. He glanced at Kesrik, then studied Cerryl before resuming the examination.

Cerryl remained perfectly still, his back to the stone wall.

“You have read all of the first half of Colors of White?” Jeslek glanced from Cerryl to Kesrik.

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl had read every page of the first part at least twice in the eight-days since he had been accepted as a student mage, and more than that before, not that he would ever admit such.

“I see.” Jeslek frowned. “Explain this. 'Even the wisest of mages cannot perceive any portion of all that exists on and under the earth itself except through the operation of chaos.'” He looked at Cerryl. “You recognize that?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Tell me what you think it means.”

Cerryl ignored Kesrik's barely concealed smirk and began to speak slowly but deliberately. “Light is formed of chaos by the sun, and we see through light. Without light, without chaos, we cannot see. The book also says that a trained mage can use that part of chaos light that the eyes cannot see to sense even more.”

“You have read that part. What about this? 'Order is limited, and chaos without bounds. Yet the use of chaos is bounded by order.'” Jeslek offered another hard smile.

Cerryl swallowed. While he recognized the words, he'd never thought about exactly what they meant. Still, he had to try. “Chaos has no bounds, but for a mage to make use of its power requires that it be bent to the mage's will. Will is a form of order.”

Jeslek's sun-gold eyes glittered. “Are you saying that a white mage must soil himself with black order?”

“No, ser. As I understand it, a mage uses his will to harness the power of chaos. If his will is attuned to chaos, then order serves chaos.”

Cerryl could sense disappointment in Kesrik and a glittering sort of Nation in Jeslek, an elation that bothered him.

“'Although chaos itself is all-powerful and knows neither rules no bounds, the world obeys rules that do not change.' How does Colors explain that?”

Cerryl couldn't stop his puzzled expression. “Ser... I must have missed something. I am sorry. I do not recall any words like that.”

“I am glad you do not. Those words are not in the Colors of White.” Jeslek nodded. “Until tomorrow. You may go. I will expect you to know the entire book in another pair of eight-days.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Then we will begin your practical training.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You won't like it. None of the students do. I didn't. Go.”

Cerryl bowed, then turned, catching a few words before the guard shut the door behind him.

“Kesrik ... where did young Cerryl make things too simple?”

Too simple? Where had he made things too simple? Cerryl walked down the corridor to the steps and down toward the meal hall, where he hoped he might find some leftover bread-or something.

Jeslek had not changed expression when he had spoken the last phrase. Where had that come from? Some forbidden book? Or had Jeslek just invented the words? Either way, it had been some sort of trap.

The student mage forced a long and slow breath. How many other traps lay before him? Had the poison been a trap? He still didn't know. The bottle and mug had vanished, but whether one of the skulls or cleaners had merely taken it or someone else, he couldn't have said.