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.
Then there was the continued reference to light. Even in the scary dream he had had at Tellis's where Anya, the red-haired mage, had been invisible, she had mentioned the power of light. But what was the power of light? How could he find out? So far, Colors of White hadn't said much directly, and he was almost through the second half-the first time.
He thought about Jeslek's questions. No... he definitely wasn't through studying the book-not if he wanted to survive. His stomach gurgled and growled, probably because he'd not been able to eat that much in the morning, knowing that he was to be examined by Jeslek, and also because he'd had a headache from the heavy rain.
He decided to go by the meal hall. There might be something left.
“You look famished, young mage,” called one of the serving boys, looking up from a broom and dust holder. The blond youth in the red tunic of the creche flashed a smile. “There's still some bread there, and I'll just have to throw it out.”
“Thank you.” With a grateful smile, Cerryl took the crusty end section left in the basket, letting his senses check it quickly before picking it up. It held no chaos he could detect, and he broke off a piece and chewed carefully, his thoughts still on light. He couldn't do anything with chaos, but that didn't mean he couldn't think about it.
After finishing the bread and quieting the growling in his stomach, Cerryl walked down the corridor to his cell, where he paused to reclaim Colors of White. He paused a moment longer, certain that someone else had been in the room, although none of his meager possessions-or his books-were missing.
He smiled. Nothing would be missing, not that he would miss the loss of most of what he had-except for the difficulty it would cause. With his abrupt removal from Tellis's house, he had lost the only possession he really missed having-the old amulet that Syodor had said was his father's.
Theft wasn't tolerated in the Halls of the Mages, and the higher mages could tell when someone lied. So if Cerryl said something had been stolen, and told the truth, someone else would be in great difficulty. Cerryl didn't even want to consider the situation he'd be in if he lied.
He tucked the ancient tome under his arm and continued on down the corridor to the study.
Faltar and Lyasa were the only students there. Lyasa was buried in a huge volume Cerryl had never seen, though he couldn't make out the title. He slid onto the stool at one of the empty tables and opened Colors of White. The study wasn't that warm, perhaps because of the earlier rain, and the late summer sky was still cloudy. But the study chamber was close, almost warmly clammy, and Cerryl could feel the dampness gathered in his tunic.
“Cerryl?” Faltar had moved to the stool opposite him. “How did it go?”
“He asked me a lot of questions. The worst was the one about chaos being all-powerful, yet being limited by order.” Cerryl opened Colors but did not look down, his eyes still on the slender Faltar.
“He asked you that?” Faltar shook his head. “I've been studying Colors for over half a year, and Derka hasn't been that hard on me. The High Wizard must want you to suffer.”
Did Sterol? Or was he after something else?
“I don't know.” Cerryl smiled faintly. “It doesn't matter. I still have to know what he wants me to learn. There's no choice, is there, really?”
“Sometimes ... sometimes, Cerryl, you're scarier than the High Wizard.”
“Me?”
“The way you accept things. I'd have trouble.”
“No. You wouldn't. Because you wouldn't, they don't try.” That was clear enough to Cerryl. He was being tested in more ways than one, and he had no choices. None at all.