Wellspring of Chaos

XXXVI

On sixday, Kharl was awake with the sun, bright and clear as on the day before, and cool, but without frost. He could see clouds forming out to the west over the open ocean, and there was a brisk wind off the water, promising rain sometime in the afternoon. He thought about reading more from The Basis of Order. He’d had to stop the day before when his mind had finally quit grasping the words, as if there had just been too many new ideas banging around inside his skull-ideas he couldn’t yet connect to each other. There was so much he didn’t know.

What could he do about the wizard? Should he even try? How could he not, when Jeka had been the only one to offer him help and a place to hide? He glanced at his pack, debating whether to take out the book and start once more.

With a sound between a grunt and a groan, Jeka rolled out of her hidey-hole and looked at Kharl. “Need to get us something to eat.”

“You don’t feel the wizard?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll go to the lower market.”

“I can go.”

Jeka shook her head. “No one’d sell cheap or fair to you. No one looks at me. Some folk still watch you. They might tell Egen. You never know.”

She was probably right about that, Kharl thought. “But…if you see or feel the wizard, you stop and come back here. Quick as you can.”

“I can do that. Got some coppers?” The gaminelike urchin grinned.

“Just a few.” Kharl grinned back as he handed her three.

He watched her scramble over the wall, gracefully, wondering if he should have insisted on going himself, but he wanted to try to read more in the book, because he still didn’t know what he could or should do about the white wizard.

After a moment, Kharl took The Basis of Order out from his pack and opened it once more, hoping that the words would make more sense. The first words he read seemed so obvious that he wondered why they were there.

…there is more that lies beneath the surface of anything, whether it be the ocean or the mountains…Do not assume that what lies beneath is the same as what lies above, nor that it is different…

The next words were far from obvious, and meant nothing to him, nothing at all.

In substance, there is no difference between chaos and order, for neither has substance in and of itself…

Nor did many of the pages that followed help much, either. His head began to ache, but he kept reading, doggedly.

Sometime in early afternoon, Jeka climbed back over the wall and dropped down before Kharl. Her face was contorted.

“Hurts…he’s after me…”

“Who? The wizard?”

Jeka nodded. Then she pulled out half a loaf of bread and a small wedge of hard cheese. “I got you this.”

“Have you eaten?” Kharl took the bread and cheese.

“Yes.”

“As much as this?”

“About the same.”

The words rang true, and Kharl began to eat. The headache he had not thought had come from reading began to subside, if slowly. When he had finished, he made his way along the walls and past the crude latrine to retrieve the black staff.

Jeka looked at him as he brought it back. “You want me to touch it?” She shivered.

“It might help.”

Jeka edged forward, then grabbed the staff, suddenly, before Kharl could reach out. Without even a cry or a murmur, her eyes closed; her knees buckled, and she dropped in a heap.

Alarmed, Kharl bent forward, but he could see that she was breathing. He half dragged, half carried her into her sleeping space. When he was certain she was still breathing, and seemed to be sleeping, he eased back away and sat down against the wall.

The staff had some power. That was certain. It could break whatever spell the white wizard laid on Jeka, but the effect didn’t last.

Kharl tried to read more of The Basis of Order, but the words flowed by him without making much sense. Then he stood and stretched, and tried to figure out how he could deal with the wizard-or if he should even try. Then he just sat against the wall.

A good glass passed before Jeka moaned.

Kharl lifted the canvas and peered into the hidey-hole. “You all right?”

“No…my head still hurts.”

He waited for a time, and finally Jeka eased out into the indirect light of a cloudy afternoon, although the only place where rain looked to be falling was offshore.

“Wizard…he’s…bastard like Egen,” she muttered.

Kharl agreed silently. “Do you feel any better?”

“The cord thing is gone. My head hurts.”

Kharl looked at her. “Do you know someone who could tell you where the wizard lives?”

Jeka dropped her eyes.

Kharl waited, but she did not reply.

“You already know? Because that’s where you stole the silver from him?”

“He was kicking a peddler woman…pushing her…she said he hadn’t paid…He was awful mad…served him right.”

“But stealing from a wizard?”

“Told you…didn’t know he was a wizard then. Just thought he was a dandy. Never miss a silver. He was stealin’ from her…didn’t think it was so bad to steal from him…”

“I need to know where he lives.”

“Not all that far from the White Pony, ’cept it’s up the hill and north.”

Kharl glanced to the west. The afternoon rain that was so common in mid-and late fall looked to be moving inshore. He hoped that the coming storm would help conceal Jeka from the wizard. “You’ll have to take me there.”

Jeka looked down. “I’m tired again…don’t know why.”

Kharl gestured in the direction of the wall and the serviceway beyond. “Let’s go. You climb over first.”

Jeka dragged herself to the wall and over it, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. She just stood and watched as Kharl climbed, then descended into the shadowed serviceway.

“You bringing that staff?”

“It might help.”

“Long as no one looks too close,” she replied.

Kharl stayed almost abreast of Jeka as she wound her way through alleys, serviceways, and, occasionally, streets, but they did not stay on the streets long, and only on those streets that seemed crowded. The general direction was eastward. They did stop by a fountain, one that Kharl had not visited before, and drank. The water helped Kharl some, but Jeka looked pale and drawn, more so than earlier.

As they paused in an alley entrance, Kharl glanced at the cross street. Jeka was turning onto one of the older streets in upper Brysta, where large houses had been set within twenty cubits of the street itself, with ancient brick sidewalks, The yellow bricks were worn and, in some places, had been replaced with more reddish bricks. In other spots, there were just muddy gaps. The dwellings remained imposing two- and three-story edifices, but Kharl could sense the feeling of time and wear.

“Not far…” she said in a low voice. “Past the next street, on the right side.”

The next block had slightly larger dwellings, but they seemed less well kept-and older-and several had iron fences, and a few had iron-banded doors and shutters.

Jeka suddenly stiffened, then sprinted away from Kharl, moving faster than he’d ever seen her move. She dashed down the street, then turned in at a high wooden gate in the middle of a short stone wall. The gate opened as she neared. A guard in burgundy stepped outside and closed the gate, stationing himself directly in front of the closed gate.

Stunned into momentary stiffness and silence, Kharl drew back into the shaded part of the alley. Trying to grasp what had happened, he stood close to the brick wall that enclosed either a courtyard or a garden. Where he was would have been in the shadow cast by the wall and the dwelling to the left of where he stood, except that the western sky was now completely cloud-covered. After a moment, Kharl shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Then, he bent forward and peered around the corner.

The guard did not even look in Kharl’s direction.

The cooper straightened. Now what? What could he do?

He had to do something. For eightday after eightday, he’d just tried to survive, and one of the few who had helped was Jeka. Knowing what he knew about the wizard, he just couldn’t walk away. And he couldn’t wait. Not with what had happened to the other girls.

Taking a firmer grip on the staff, he edged out of the alley and began to hobble down the irregular stone walk flanking the narrow street. The wind had picked up, out of the west, and the clouds had thickened, but no rain was falling.

As he made his way in the direction of the guard, Kharl was glad he had brought the staff.

The guard watched, bored, but cautious, as Kharl hobbled toward him.

Kharl halted, a good four cubits back from the man. “A copper, ser…a copper for a poor man…just a copper.” He leaned on the staff and took a step sideways, a step that brought him nearer to the brawny guard.

“Be on your way, fellow.” The guard turned, catlike.

“A copper…? Surely, you can spare a copper?” Kharl asked, as he took a step forward and paused. He could sense some of the white fog around the guard.

“Out of here!” The guard reached for his blade.

Kharl brought the staff up from below, a lesson he’d learned years before, and never forgotten.

The blade went flying. The guard gaped, but only for an instant before the iron-banded end of the staff slammed into his gut. As the man doubled over, Kharl used his two-handed grip to bring the other end into the man’s temple. The unseen whiteness around the guard vanished.

A rasping sound followed the collapse of the first guard. Then the gate burst open, and a second guard came charging out, his blade out, glistening in the flat light. Kharl brought the staff into his ready position, noting that the guard’s blade was more of a bronzed white than the silver gray he’d expected and seen on occasion when bravos had flashed theirs on the streets of Brysta.

As he struck with the longer staff, Kharl also wondered how the wizard’s guards could carry blades, since the wizard wasn’t a lord or a merchant. He supposed Lord West would either make an exception for a wizard or just look the other way.

The second guard parried Kharl’s first thrust, but had to back up from the force of the blow, dealt by a staff that felt more solid than mere wood. There was little enough space between the open gate and the wall, and Kharl slammed the staff into the guard’s knee. The man staggered, but tried to bring his blade around.

The move was too late, and Kharl hit hard enough that he could feel something snap in the man’s shoulder area. He didn’t wait, but struck again…and again.

Then he stood there, dumbly, for a moment, trying to catch his breath, as he looked at the two immobile forms on the stones.

After another series of gasping breaths, he lurched through the open gate and up the three steps onto a small porch just large enough to shelter three or four people from the rain while waiting for entry. He turned the antique brass lever handle, and the door opened.

Kharl was only halfway through the doorway when he heard hurried steps and saw a tall figure stop at the back of the wide, deep, and dim foyer. The ragged cooper could sense the cloud of that same unseen whiteness, and threw the staff up in front of him, even before the wizard flung a burst of whitish red fire at him.

The fire cascaded away from the staff-mostly. Some flame flared against Kharl’s left leg, but he kept the staff up as he took two steps forward, ignoring the searing pain.

Another firebolt flashed toward Kharl, running up his left arm, hotter than the coals of the forge, hot enough to bring up patches of flame on the ragged cloak.

Charging forward through the pain and the heat, and the smell of burned hair, Kharl thrust the ironbound staff right into the wizard’s midsection. For an instant, flame flew in all directions, but not at Kharl. The wizard’s mouth dropped open.

Before the wizard could recover, Kharl reversed the staff and tried to bring the other end against the other’s jaw and neck. While the blow was not terribly strong, it was enough to jar the wizard and allow Kharl to advance with another blow.

In moments, the wizard collapsed.

Kharl drove one end of the staff straight down into the center of his chest. Ribs and bones cracked, and the wizard went limp, lifeless.

Kharl stood there, stupidly, looking at the figure on the floor. The dark hair turned white. The smooth skin wrinkled, then turned whitish yellow, tightening around the skull. The hair became more wispy, then vanished, as a skull replaced the face that had been there moments before. Before Kharl could even swallow more than once, all that remained of the wizard were his garments and a pile of whitish dust that, in turn, began to vanish.

Kharl stepped past the clothes and to the first door on the left, polished oak that had aged into a deep gold, with dark grain lines. He opened the door gingerly. The chamber beyond, some sort of sitting room, was empty. Kharl closed the door and stepped past the archway to the dining area, also empty.

He hurried through the entire first level, but it was uninhabited, and he struggled up the stairs all too conscious of the growing pain in his arm and leg. Outside, thunder rumbled, and he could hear the patter of raindrops. He just wished that it had started to rain earlier.

In the first small bedchamber at the top of the wide and ancient oak stairs, Jeka lay on the bed, her eyes wide. One wrist was tied to the bedpost on the left side, and a coil of rope lay on a coverlet that was a dull green and so old that Kharl could not make out the pattern on the fabric. He moved around the bed, toward the side where Jeka’s hand was tied. Her eyes did not follow him, nor did she offer any sound or movement, still staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

He fumbled with the rope, trying to hurry, but finding the knot difficult with only one hand. Jeka did not move when he untied the one bound wrist.

Kharl doubted that he could carry Jeka and the staff, and he feared that if he touched her with it, she would collapse again.

“Stand up,” he ordered her quietly.

Jeka stood.

“Follow me.”

He hobbled down the stairs. Jeka followed, woodenly. Kharl didn’t even try to find a rear door. He just wanted them out of the dwelling as quickly as possible.

Outside, the wind was gusting, and scattered sheets of rain swept around them as they stepped out of the gate. Unlike the wizard’s, the bodies of the guards remained right where they had fallen.

“Murder! Someone’s murdered!” came a call from somewhere.

Kharl ignored that, too, and half trotted, half hobbled, not a counterfeited hobble, but one from the pain in his leg, toward the alley. Each step also stabbed through his left arm. There was no one in the alley, and another gust of wind blasted over them, rustling the graying leaves of the trees surrounding the ancient dwellings on both sides of the alley.

Kharl and Jeka managed three blocks before Kharl slowed to a true hobble, finally turning out of the last alley and onto Gemstone Road. Just after they turned the corner, they found themselves less than a rod from a Watchman on patrol.

“You!” snapped the Watchman. “What are you doing here?”

“Just a poor man, ser…a poor man…my boy, ser, he’s not right…ran off he did, and I’ve just gotten him…”

Truncheon in hand, the Watchman looked at Kharl, then at Jeka.

Jeka did not look at the Watchman, but remained standing beside Kharl.

“Does he speak, fellow?”

“Sometimes, ser…” Kharl looked at Jekat. “Can you tell the man your name, Jekat?”

“Jekat.” The two syllables were uninflected, dull, and she continued to look straight ahead.

The Watchman studied Jeka and then Kharl. He shook his head. “On your way! Away from decent folk. And make it quick!”

“Yes, ser…yes, ser…thank you, ser…” Kharl whined.

He just hoped that they didn’t run into more Watchmen or, worse, Egen, although he suspected the lord’s son might not even recognize him any longer. Not unless they held him and stripped him and found the scars on his back.

The rain began to fall more heavily, and by the time they were back in the serviceway beside the rendering wall, both Kharl and Jeka were soaked through. The rain had come too late to help Kharl with the wizard, but it might have helped them escape.

Kharl took a deep breath. Despite the chill of the rain, the staff continued to feel warm to Kharl’s hands. He looked at Jeka.

“Climb over the wall and wait.”

She did, and he followed, laboriously, and with inadvertent tears streaming down his face. Every movement sent stabs of pain through his injured arm and leg.

Only when they were under the roof, such as it was, did he touch the staff to Jeka.

She collapsed.

Then he eased her into her hidey-hole, pulling off her wet cloak, but not more, and wrapping her in drier woolen rags. Then, in turn, he collapsed against the stone wall, just sitting there, breathing deeply, and wondering what he had done.

He knew why-but not how.