The White Order

XV

CERRYL LOOKED AT the handcart, upside down on the flooring stones just inside the mill door, then at the dark-stained and battered half bucket filled with grease.

With a slow and silent deep breath, Cerryl reached into the bucket and dipped out a globule of the dark substance with his right hand and methodically began to grease the cart wheels and axle, using a thin stripped fir branch, barely more than a twig, to push the grease where his fingers couldn’t reach.

Behind him, at the other side of the mill, Dylert directed Brental and Viental as the three continued cutting a half-dozen oak logs from the upper woods, logs that Dylert had marked and felled a season before. Cerryl’s eyes went to the saw platform, but his senses only saw the normal whitish red of the cutting, not the angry red of a stressed or cracked blade. He nodded and looked back down at the dark gray grease.

After another repressed sigh, he dipped out more grease.

“Some folk here to see you, Cerryl.” Erhana stood in the door to the mill, her voice barely audible over the whine of the big blade and the thump, thump of the wheels.

“Me?” Cerryl finished daubing grease on the top exposed part of the cart’s axle. “To see me?”

Erhana smiled, then added, “Your aunt and uncle, I think.”

Cerryl looked around for the grease rag, then saw it under the side of the upended left cart wheel, where he’d placed it to keep any extra grease from falling on the floor stones. He picked it up and wiped his hand as clean as he could, then straightened, and walked out the door into the sunlight.

Overhead, the summer sky was filled with white puffy clouds scudding westward, clouds that cast fast-moving shadows across the hills of western Lydiar and the forests to the north of the mill.

Cerryl glanced from Erhana to his aunt and uncle and then back to the brown-haired girl. “Thank you.”

Erhana nodded and slipped uphill toward the house where Dyella was carding wool in the shade of the porch.

“How are you?” Cerryl asked after a moment.

Syodor carried a small pack. Nall stood beside him, empty-handed. Both looked downcast, somehow smaller than Cerryl recalled them.

“You’ve grown.” Nall licked her lips nervously.

“My feet have, anyway.” Cerryl offered a smile.

Neither Syodor nor Nall returned the smile.

“What. . what is the matter?” Cerryl felt uncomfortable with the proper use of “is,” at least in speaking to his aunt and uncle, but he remained determined to speak properly. He looked steadily at his uncle.

“Things have been better, lad. Aye, they have been.” Syodor looked at the ground, not speaking for a time. “The duke. . my patent. . said no longer could grub the mines.”

“I’m sorry.” Cerryl nodded gravely, feeling that his words offered little comfort. “I really am. I wish I could do something.” Even as he spoke, sensing the discomfort of his aunt and uncle, he found himself wondering why Syodor’s words felt so wrong, even though his uncle had often worried about the patent.

“Best you can do, child,” said Nall, “be to take care of yourself.”

“You got a place, Cerryl. Better than we could give you now.” Syodor again looked down at the stones of the causeway. “Dylert be a good man.”

“I know, uncle. . but what about you? Where will you go?” Cerryl swallowed. He’d never expected Syodor or Nall to be anywhere but at the house by the ancient mines.

“Don’t you be worrying about us,” admonished Nall. “Not like as we got that much longer to worry, child. ’Sides, we got a place.”

Cerryl looked back at his uncle.

“Got a cousin in Vergren,” said Syodor, his voice flat. “Sheep country there. He’s got an extra cot. Small, and it needs some work. Even managed to borrow his mule cart. Take most of our things.”

“Isn’t there anything. . any place else?”

“What else we need, lad? The mines are over for me. Have been for a long time. Just didn’t want to admit it.”

Syodor’s voice was rough, Cerryl realized belatedly. “I’m sorry. Can you tell me where you’ll be?”

“Tomorrow we set out,” said Nall. “Like as dawn. Gerhar be Syodor’s cousin. His place be on the old north road, past the second hill. In Vergren, that be.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The Duke’s man gave us but four eight-days, and it was most of that finding Gerhar.” Syodor forced a wry smile, one that did not touch his remaining good eye. “Lucky we be that Gerhar has but one young daughter and can use the extra hands.”

Cerryl shook his head. “Perhaps I should come. .”

“No.” Syodor’s voice was as firm as Cerryl had ever heard it. “Better you remain here with Dylert. Leastwise you have a trade. If anyone asks, best you tell them you be an orphan, but that your folk come from Montgren, Vergren way.” He laughed once. “That be true enough, now.”

Cerryl moistened his lips.

“Brought you some things,” said Nall, after another moment of silence.

Syodor opened the pack. “Pack be yours, too, Cerryl. Sooner or later, like as you be needing it.” He took out something, something that glowed white beneath his hand with the light that was like that of the sun, and yet not. “This, it be your da’s,” the miner added gruffly, extending a small knife in a sheath. The knife and sheath were nearly toy-sized, small enough to fit within Cerryl’s palm. “This, too,” Syodor added, placing a silver-framed mirror-a screeing glass-beside the knife.

Cerryl glanced down at the items in his hands, then at Nall.

She met his glance. “There be no denying what a man be. Your da, he couldn’t ha’ been other than he was. Nor you, Cerryl. He was a-fiddling with the light afore he could talk, or so your mother said. Too young, she said.” Nall shrugged. “You be a mite older. I seen you with the glasses and the white fire. Tried to keep you from a-burnin’ yourself too young.”

Syodor nodded. “Anyways, we thought. . we wanted you to have them, not when you be too young, though. I kept them away from the house,” the miner added. “Knew as you’d feel them somehow.”

“There be a warm winter coat there. You da’s. . saved it for you, and a scarf, your ma’s best scarf. .” Nall sniffed. “Know as you can’t use a scarf. . but felt you ought to have something that was hers.” She stepped forward and abruptly hugged Cerryl. “Did the best we could for you. . and for your ma.” Tears streaked her face.

Cerryl could sense the absolute certainty of her words, and, swallowing hard, he had to fight to keep his own eyes from watering. “I know you did. Always be thankful. . always.” He swallowed again and hugged her back, realizing how thin and frail she had become.

As suddenly as she had hugged him, Nall backed away in two swift steps, sniffed, and blotted her eyes. “Had to come with Syodor. Wouldn’t ha’ been right, otherwise.”

Syodor grasped Cerryl’s forearm with both hands and squeezed, and gnarled and bent as the one-eyed miner was, Cerryl could still feel the strength. “You be not a burly man, young Cerryl, but strong you be in ways not of the eye. If you be careful, you be doing well for yourself.” Syodor released the grip and stepped back quickly. “We be right proud of you.” After a moment, he added, “Best we be going, now. A long trip tomorrow.”

“Take care. . please. .” Cerryl stammered, feeling somehow numb, as though he should say more, do more, but not knowing what else he could say or do.

“Best as we can, lad,” said Syodor, “and you the same.”

Nall sniffed again and nodded. The two turned and began to walk down the lane.

Cerryl wanted to run after them. Instead, still holding the canvas pack, in which he had carefully replaced the mirror and the knife, Cerryl watched as his aunt and uncle walked slowly down the lane, back to the main road, and the mines-and Vergren.

“Cerryl? What you doing-” Dylert stopped talking as he saw the two figures walking quickly toward the main road. “That Syodor?”

“They came to say good-bye,” Cerryl said slowly. “The duke canceled his patent, and they have to leave the mines. After all those years. .”

“Where are they going?” Dylert’s voice was softer.

“Uncle has a cousin in Vergren. He’s going to tend sheep, he said.”

“Sad thing it be,” offered Dylert. “The masterminer of Lydiar, and a shepherd he must end his days.”

“I offered to help them.” Cerryl looked down at the causeway. “Uncle Syodor-he insisted I stay here.” He looked at the millmaster. “That’s all right?”

Dylert laughed sadly and shook his head. “Cerryl, you be worth more than I pay you. Would that I could pay more, but stay you can, young fellow.” His gaze went to the distant figures. “Darkness if I can figure the ways of the world. Older I get, the stranger it seems. Masterminer, best there ever was, and a shepherd he must be.” The millmaster shook his head again.

Cerryl swallowed and continued to watch, long after Dylert had left, until Syodor and Nall vanished on the dusty road, amid the fast-moving shadows of the clouds.