Colors of Chaos

XXI

CERRYL SAT IN his chair in his room in the warm afternoon, muggy from the brief rain that had bathed the city only long enough to steam it, looking through Colors of White.

Cerryl found himself continually returning to the Guild manual, despite the fact that the book offered but tantalizing glimpses of aspects of the world that made sense…and suggested more. Yet for every time those glimpses led to something-such as his perfection of the light lances that Myral had said no other mage had developed in generations-there were a dozen times or more that he felt he had overlooked something. He took a deep breath and returned his eyes to the page open before him.

…and all the substance of this world is nothing more and nothing less than chaos bound into fixed form by order…

Cerryl blinked, then continued onto the next page, forcing his eyes to read each word and his mind to fix each within his memory.

…Fire is a creation of chaos that in itself replicates chaos, releasing chaos as it destroys what it consumes. Yet the skeptic would say that fire and chaos are limited, in that not all substances can be consumed in fire…That skeptic would be wrong, for in the presence of enough chaos, any substance will replicate the chaos beneath the surface of the world and the points of chaos we call stars…

As in all effort, that which is easy offers little benefit. So, too, with the power of chaos, for those substances with which chaos replication is difficult paradoxically contain the greatest concentrations of chaos…could it but be released…

Thrap!

Cerryl looked up from the book, almost with relief. “Yes?”

“Might I come in?” The voice was definitely feminine.

Cerryl marked his place with the strip of leather he used for such and replaced the volume in the bookcase. He walked to the door and opened it.

Anya, wrapped in the strong scent of trilia and sandalwood, stepped into his room, her red hair flaming in the indirect light from the window. “You could close the door, Cerryl.”

“Of course.” Cerryl closed the door but did not slip the bolt shut.

She stepped over to the bed and surveyed it. “So neat. You are always neat and clean, as if you should have been born to the White.”

“I had to learn what comes naturally to others, and I fear I lack the grace you exhibit so easily.”

“You show much more grace than many born to the White.” She turned toward the window, letting the light silhouette her well-proportioned form.

“You are kind.” Cerryl inclined his head. “I would have to differ. Faltar shows far more grace than I, and you certainly know that.”

“One could underestimate you, Cerryl.” Anya smiled easily. “Almost. It is a pity you do not exhibit quite the…strength you did as a student.”

“Strength is not terribly useful if it cannot be focused, Anya. You have shown me that there are other talents besides pure strength of chaos, though you have that in ample measure.”

“Ah, Cerryl, one might almost wish you had more…innocence.”

“Anya, I have more than enough innocence to get me in trouble. More I scarcely need.” Cerryl’s tone was wry as he stood by the bookcase.

She laughed. “Will you be at the Guild meeting?”

“Since it is in the afternoon, I hope to be.”

“Jeslek will not be back, and I thought you might sit with me.” She flashed the warm and false smile he had come to recognize. “And Fydel, of course, since Faltar will be on gate duty.”

“I would certainly appreciate your tutelage, Anya. You are always so kind.”

“I do not think you said yes.” She smiled again, and the warm scent of trilia wafted around him.

“My heart would certainly say so.” Cerryl offered a smile he hoped wasn’t too false.

“Yet you have other commitments?”

“I know that I can be at the meeting.” Cerryl shrugged. “Then, I will have to see.”

Anya nodded. “I believe I understand. You know, Cerryl, that someday you will have to stand free of Myral and Kinowin. They are older, far older, than they might appear.”

“I will look to you for guidance, then.” But not in the way you think…not at all.

“I am flattered.” Anya smiled her broadest smile once more, then slipped toward the door.

“You should be. I meant to flatter you. You deserve it.” Cerryl opened the door for her.

“I do hope you will be able to join us.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

With the door shut, Cerryl walked to his chair and sank into it with a deep sigh, sitting for several moments and trying to relax. Finally, he reclaimed Colors of White and opened it.

…for those substances with which chaos replication is difficult paradoxically contain the greatest concentrations of chaos…could it but be released…Yet the unbound chaos in the world must be concentrated most greatly were this to be done…

Thrap.

Cerryl set the book down with another sigh, hoping Anya had not returned. “Yes?”

“Cerryl?”

“You can come in, Lyasa. Please.” He set the book back in its place in the bookcase and walked to the door, opening it.

The black-haired Lyasa wrinkled her nose as she entered. “I thought so.” Her eyes went to the bed. “Good.”

“What did you want?”

“Just to make sure you survived your last visitor. Leyladin is my friend, too.” Her olive-brown eyes rested on Cerryl. “I trust you more than most men, but Anya I trust not at all.”

Cerryl had to smile.

“I’m not sure I find it amusing.”

“I haven’t trusted her since she found me in the street by the scrivener’s,” Cerryl admitted. “I see no point in angering her.”

“She’ll be angry if you don’t bed her-sooner or later,” predicted the black-haired mage.

“Not if I flatter her enough.” Cerryl added, “I hope.”

Lyasa dropped onto the bed. “You don’t mind, do you? My feet hurt.”

“Darkness, no. I haven’t seen you lately. What have you been doing?” Cerryl turned the chair and sat down, leaning forward.

“After an eight-day or so, they decided my talents were better used elsewhere than on the gates-for a while. I’m working with Myral’s masons on repairs to the offal treatment fountains and basins.”

Cerryl winced. “That sounds worse than gate-guard duty.”

“It stinks more, but I don’t have to turn old ladies into ashes.”

“I didn’t want to…” And try not to think about it too much…or for too long…

“I know. Leyladin told me.”

The silence drew out for a moment, and a brief breath of hot air gusted through the open window into the room for a moment before subsiding.

“I wonder…do the Blacks on Recluce have problems like we do?”

“They have problems,” Cerryl asserted. “Everyone does. I doubt they’re the same. They just throw out people who don’t agree. Then we, or some other land, have to deal with them.”

“We don’t kill their exiles.”

“They don’t kill people who leave Fairhaven.” He laughed. “Unless they agree with the Black doctrine, they just don’t let them stay.”

“We have to kill people who make trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t do some killing, one way or another.”

“I don’t know.” Lyasa ran her hand through her short and thick black hair. “I think it’s harder for the Guild to govern Candar than for the Blacks to run their isle.”

“Even eastern Candar is bigger,” Cerryl pointed out. “I think Gallos alone is bigger than the whole isle.”

“That’s not it. You know what I think?”

“What?”

“That it’s all because Creslin was a ruthless bastard. He killed off anyone who didn’t agree right in the beginning, and they throw out dissenters, and they’re on an isle. Nobody’s left to disagree.”

“Could be.” Cerryl shrugged. “That would be Anya’s style. Jeslek’s, too, I think.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because I trust you.”

“Have you told Faltar that?”

“No.”

“He’s your friend.”

“You know why,” Cerryl said with a laugh.

“Alas…men.” Lyasa made a woeful face. “You are different. A little different.”

Cerryl made a bowing gesture with his right hand. “My deepest gratitude, lady mage. If you would but convey that to the absent lady who is your friend…”

Lyasa shook her head, then yawned and stood. “I need a nap or something.”

Cerryl rose and slipped toward the door.

“Whatever it is you do to keep her away, keep doing it.”

As if I’d ever dare to do anything else. “Your request is my command.” He put his hand on the door lever.

“Would that you had told me that before you met Leyladin.”

“That couldn’t happen. I’ve known her longer.” Cerryl smiled at Lyasa’s puzzlement as he opened the door. “Ask her.”

“I just might.”

As he closed the door, Cerryl glanced toward the bookcase, wondering if he would be able to read more than a page before being interrupted again. Finally, he sat and took out Colors of White, looking at the half-familiar words where the book opened:

…iron, being that which draws free chaos unto it, never should it be employed around those who employ chaos for good, for it will drain chaos as it can…

He smiled ruefully. There were times when he’d felt that-when he’d had to climb the iron gate in Fenard while he had been holding a light shield, but usually iron did not burn him the way he knew it would Jeslek or Anya. He flipped back to his place marker and resumed his search.