Wellspring of Chaos

LXXXIV

Two more days passed, and Hagen remained onshore somewhere, leaving Furwyl in charge of the Seastag. After finishing the paddle wheel frame repairs, and giving the first weapons locker another coat of finish, because it looked too worn compared to the new locker, Kharl and Tarkyn retreated to the carpenter shop, where Tarkyn continued to work on his scrimshaw, and Kharl read and reread The Basis of Order.

Kharl searched the book for something that might explain what he had done by hardening the air and the water, but he could find nothing that mentioned what he had done, not in so many words. One passage offered a general thought:

Order is like glue, in that it links all together, while chaos is but the opposite. Its power lies in separating…and when even the smallest bits of that which surround us are separated, basic fire and the heat of flame are released. A chaos-wizard channels that fire and flame, and yet he must use order to do so, lest he be separated from himself by the powers of separation…

So he had been using order like glue? Kharl frowned. It made sense in a fashion, and yet, it did not, because no glue could turn air into a shield against a crossbow bolt.

He let the book drop, considering. Nowhere in the entire book, he realized, was there actually a description of how to use order or chaos to accomplish anything. There were only insights, observations, and explanations about the world or how matters worked. Had it been written that way on purpose? Or because it had been written by someone who was making discoveries as he wrote?

“Won’t learn how to be a mage from reading,” suggested Tarkyn, looking up from the scrimshaw.

“I know. But I look for hints and ideas, and then I try to see what I might be able to do.”

“Any luck?”

“I found the weak hull planks,” Kharl pointed out.

“I’m glad of that. Wouldn’t have wanted to swim my way to shore. Too much work.”

“You can swim?” asked Kharl.

“Used to be able to. Was a sawboy, and fell into the millstream. Owner’s son pulled me out, then taught me something about swimming. Claimed it was easier than training a new sawboy every few eightdays. Really not all that hard. Just keep your arms in the water and move ’em slow.”

“That’s all?”

Tarkyn laid down the scrimshaw. “Look. You’re floating in the water. You lift your arms out of the water and thrash, and two things happen. There’s more weight up over you, and that pushes you down. And…your arms aren’t doing anything to keep you afloat.” The older carpenter snorted. “Everything’s like that. Do it slow and easy, and you get in less trouble. Flap and thrash…doesn’t work. You see an eagle flying-wings move slow-like.”

Kharl nodded. “You’re right. Just hadn’t thought of it in that way.” He could swim, but no one had taught him that way.

“Most times, you discover something,” replied Tarkyn, “you haven’t found anything new at all, just looked at the same thing differently. It’s like you see it for the first time all over again.” He picked up the scrimshaw and studied it. “Then…life’s like that, if you really live it.”

Life’s like that…if you really live it-the words seemed to echo, to resonate through Kharl. Had that been his problem all along, that he’d never really looked at life? But did anyone? Really? Unless something happened and he was forced to reconsider everything that he thought he had held dear?

He looked down, blankly, at the open book.