The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [6]
I shook my head, put down the staff, and examined the pack, realizing my time was short. Inside were another set of clothes and a pair of light shoes, almost court slippers.
Stripping to the waist, I headed down to the wash trough to clean up before putting on the new clothes. Uncle Sardit was humming as he buffed the desk he was finishing, but did not look up. Koldar was down at the sawmill, trying to find enough matched red oak to repair the fire-damaged tables at Polank’s Inn.
I’d overheard my aunt and uncle discussing the fire, acting as if it had been totally expected, ever since young Nir Polank had taken over from his ailing father.
“Some have to learn the hard way.”
“Some don’t…” my aunt had answered, but she hadn’t said anything more once I had entered the house for dinner.
On the washstones was a fresh towel, which, after the chill of the water, I gratefully used. At least I hadn’t needed to take a shower. Standing under even partly-warmed water in the outside stone stall wasn’t exactly warm. Cleaning that stall was even less enjoyable, but Aunt Elisabet, like my father, insisted on absolute cleanliness. We didn’t eat unless we were washed up, and more than once as a child I’d gone without dinner for refusing to wash.
They both took a shower every day, even in winter. So did my mother and Uncle Sardit, although my uncle occasionally skipped the shower on the days that Aunt Elisabet was out visiting friends.
I folded the towel, and put it back on the rack.
“Getting ready to go?”
Uncle Sardit stood in the shop door, finishing cloth in his left hand.
“Yes, sir.” I swallowed. “Appreciate everything…sorry I just don’t seem to have the concentration to be a master woodworker…”
“Lerris…you stayed longer than most…and you could be a journeyman for some. But it wouldn’t be right…would it?”
Since he was standing three steps above me, I looked up. He didn’t seem happy about my leaving.
“No…probably get more bored with each day. And I don’t know why.”
“Because you’re like your dad…or your aunt. In the blood…”
“But…they seem so happy here…”
“Now…”
I couldn’t seem to find anything to say.
“Be on your way, boy. Just remember, you can always come back, once you discover who you are.” He turned back into the shop and returned to buffing the already shining wood of the desk, without humming.
All of a sudden, there seemed to be so many things unsaid, so many things that had been hidden. But no one was saying anything.
It seemed so unfair. As if I couldn’t possibly understand anything until I’d gone off and risked my life in the Dark Marches of Candar or the Empire of Hamor. Then everything would be fine…just fine.
And my parents—they never came by to see me. Only if I went to see them, or on High Holidays, or if they came to visit my aunt and uncle.
Up in the apprentice quarters, no longer mine really, I pulled on the clothes, ignoring their comfort and fit, and the boots. Then I picked up the cloak and folded it into the pack, and strapped the old clothes to the outside. Those I could leave at home, if it were truly home. Besides the new clothes and the pack, the staff was the only thing that felt right.
As I looked around the quarters, I wondered about my armchair…and my tools. What about my tools? Uncle Sardit had said something about taking care of them, but hadn’t said how.
I found Uncle Sardit in the shop. He was looking at a chest, one I hadn’t seen before.
“I thought I’d store your tools in this, Lerris, until…whatever…”
“That would be fine, Uncle Sardit…and could you find some place for the armchair?”
“I was going to keep it here, but I could take it back to your parents.”
For some reason, I’d never considered the chair as belonging where I’d grown up.
“Whatever you think best.” One way or another, I wouldn’t be needing it for a while.
“We’ll take good care of it…just take care of yourself so you can come back for it.”
We stood there for a moment, with everything and nothing to say.
Finally, I coughed. “I’m not a woodworker, Uncle, but I learned a lot.