The Order War (61 page)

Justen waited on the beach nearly a kay south of the main piers of Lydiar, watching the midday sun—the first in nearly an eight-day—play on the waters of the Great Bay.

Gunnar walked down from the road. “The smugglers will take me into Land’s End. They say that half of the port at Nylan is gone, washed out by the sea.” He shook his head. “You don’t do things by halves, Brother.”

“Some things can’t be done partway.” Justen smiled sadly.

“You still believe that this is all a part of the Legend? Is the Legend even true?”

“Oh, the Legend’s true enough. Remember, I did meet an Angel.”

“I think you overlooked mentioning that.”

“I have overlooked a few things,” admitted Justen. “Still…in the purest sense, the Naclans believe that everything is connected to everything else. That’s why there are almost no edged implements of any sort in Naclos. Separation is a denial of reality, and even when necessary, it occasions pain. Order in the extreme is sterility and death, while chaos in the extreme is fire, anarchy, disruption…and death. In short,” Justen said, glancing back at the calm waters of the bay, “everyone was wrong, including me. And that’s the reason for that obscure quote from that antique healer—Lydya, I think, was her name. She told the Marshall of Westwind—she was Creslin’s mother, you’ll recall—”

“I recall. Could you come to the point before my ship sails without me?”

“It won’t. They need your coins. You also need to lighten up, Gunnar. If you don’t, I’ll come back to Recluce. I might anyway. In any case, I was going to tell you the obscure quote, the one about Dylyss and Ryessa creating the greatest good and the greatest evil Candar ever knew. No one really understood that. It wasn’t the triumph of Fairhaven and Recluce, but the idea that order and chaos could be separated. It was good because it finally gave a voice to the need for order, but evil because it separated the two—and the Naclans were right. Look at all the pain that separation caused.”

“I think you helped there.”

Justen’s eyes and senses finally found what he was seeking. He darted along the sand and reached under a bush. He picked up the moss-colored turtle and carried it back to Gunnar.

“Let it go…” suggested Gunnar.

“I will—in a moment.” Justen carried the turtle, withdrawn into its shell, to the rock Gunnar leaned against.

“Watch what I’m doing. Not with your eyes, but with your senses.”

“Is this some trick, younger brother?”

“Of sorts.” Justen forced a wry grin, even though his words were literally true. “Just watch.” He cleared his mind of stray thoughts and began to adjust the flow of order around the small green turtle, trying to soothe the creature as he did so. “Easy, little one…easy. Justen’s not going to hurt you.”

Gunnar’s eyes widened. “How…”

“Just feel it…”

Gunnar continued to watch, his eyes wide.

“Do you have the pattern?”

“I think…yes…”

“Good.” Justen set the turtle on the sand, and after some time, its head and legs appeared and it scuttled into the bay.

“Wait a moment. Is that wise? Didn’t you just make that turtle immortal?”

“Nothing’s wise.” Justen laughed. “Not in the long run, anyway. Besides, just because its system is ordered without chaos, that doesn’t make it immortal. A ray or a shark could eat it before lunch. It’s easier with water creatures like turtles, though.”

“Why did you show me that?”

Justen shrugged. “You could do it to yourself, you know. Then you’d never grow old. You could still get killed, but your body wouldn’t fall apart.”

“Where did you learn that?”

Justen’s eyes clouded for a moment, recalling the glade, the stream, Dayala. He swallowed. “In Naclos. From the druids.”

Gunnar looked out at the sea. “It’s no trick.”

“No…it’s a curse, and it’s my curse on you, older brother, my curse because I love you.” Justen turned and looked up into Gunnar’s eyes. “You won’t be able to forget the skill, and you won’t dare to let anyone know, or they’ll demand you do it to everyone, or they’ll exile you—if you’re lucky. But it’s true order. The true balance of order and chaos.”

Gunnar shivered. “I could refuse to use it.”

Justen laughed. “Perhaps you will, at least until your bones start to creak or your teeth start rotting. Toothaches
are very painful.” He shrugged. “Then you can reflect on the pain, knowing that you could cure it.” A dark ale would have helped, but instead, he licked his lips. His tongue still felt swollen.

Gunnar swallowed. “And if I use this…skill…then in a few years, I’ll have to leave Recluce.”

“Not necessarily. What if you—the great Gunnar—point out that living an orderly life prolongs life and health, and thus you prolong life for a few others.” Justen grinned. “And by the way, dealing with chaos unravels the effect rather quickly.”

“How quickly?”

“Unless you rebuild the order image of your body within a few days, death is not far away. Something about the body knowing how old it really is.”

“You clearly have something in mind, dearest younger brother.”

“Of course.” Justen smiled faintly. “This time, I thought it out beforehand. We destroyed a good chunk of the massed order and chaos. One of the problems was that no one understood that excessively massed order is just as bad as chaos, maybe worse. You are going to be the advocate of the Balance, including restoring a lot of the old customs that worked, like exile, and the use of herbs before applying order, and the responsibility of crafters for the orderliness of their apprentices…”

“Why would I do this for you?” snorted Gunnar.

“You won’t. You’ll do it for you. It’s the only way you can stay on Recluce. Who knows? You might even last for a century or two if you work it right.”

“Then…no one who exhibits chaos tendencies will ever stay on Recluce again, no matter who,” declared Gunnar. “That ought to include you, by rights.”

“What about your own child?” asked Justen, a glint in his eyes.

“I don’t have one.”

“You will. What then? What if he questions? Or she? What if he or she is intrigued with the power of chaos, like Ryltar was? Will you send him or her to the chaos-tinged mess that we’ve made of Candar?”

“Yes.”

“Best you remember that, Brother, in the centuries that come.”

“Centuries?”

“Centuries,” confirmed Justen. “I am frozen in order, like it or not, dear older brother, and you’ll be the same, rather than rot from old age.”

“Sometimes, Justen, you’re insufferable.” Gunnar fingered his pack.

“No, I’m just Gray. Very Gray.”

“And you’ll follow me to look over my shoulder all the time? No, thank you.”

“I’m staying here.”

“To be with your druid lady?”

“That…and to just wander around, fiddling enough to keep some sort of balance between chaos and order.” Justen swallowed.
Dayala, will I always be torn between repairing what I did…and you?

“But…why?”

“Let’s just say that I have to.” Justen grinned. “Just like you have to shape up Recluce.”

“The druids?”

Justen walked down to where the water of the bay lapped up to the sand, letting his senses follow a struggling turtle seaward. “I am one, in a way.” He turned. “You need to catch a ship.”

“And you?”

“I have a long ride ahead. But there’s time.”

The two brothers hugged a last time. Then one walked northward toward a black-hulled ship. The other climbed onto a mountain pony and rode southwest.

The silver-haired and green-eyed druid scooped the soil away and eased the black acorn into the hole, then replaced the soil.

She stood, smiled, and looked eastward, at the house behind her that would be grown larger by the time Justen arrived from the east. She, and he, would have time.