The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [8]
“Oh, I forgot. The top package is for you—Aunt Elisabet’s flake rolls, I think.”
They both laughed.
“Good thing we don’t live closer, not the way she bakes…”
My mother just shook her head, still smiling.
For some reason, they both looked older. My father’s hair was no thinner, and it still looked sandy-blond, but I could see the lines running from the corners of his eyes. His face was still smooth, with a slight cut on his chin from shaving. Unlike most of the men in Recluce, he had neither beard nor mustache. I could sympathize. Although I could have worn a beard, I followed his example, not blindly, but because whenever I worked hard I sweated buckets, and I found even a short and scraggly beard more of a bother than shaving—cuts and all.
He was wearing a short-sleeved open-necked shirt, and the muscles in his arms looked as strong as ever. The woodpile behind the house was probably three times the size it needed to be. Dad always claimed that handling an axe was not only necessary, but good exercise.
My mother’s angular face seemed even more angular, and her hair was too short. But she had always worn it too short, and I doubted that she would ever change that. Short was convenient and took less time. She also wore a short-sleeved faded blue blouse and winter-blue trousers, both more feminine, but essentially mirroring what my father wore—not because she cared, but because she didn’t. Clothes were a convenience. That’s why Dad did all the tailoring—except for holiday clothes—for Mother and me.
He was funny about that. He refused to let anyone see him work. He’d take measurements, fit partially-sewn garments, and adjust until they fit perfectly, but not with anyone around. When I was little, I thought he must have had someone come in. But as time went by, I realized that he understood clothes, understood too much not to have done the work. Besides, it’s pretty difficult not to believe, when your father disappears into his workrooms with cut leathers and fabrics and returns with the products—especially when there’s only one door and when you’re an exceedingly curious boy trying to find a nonexistent secret passage. There wasn’t one, of course.
While I was remembering, my mother had poured a large tumbler full of redberry, and Dad, after setting the pack down and recovering the flake rolls, had disappeared. To the kitchen, presumably.
“It’s too bad you have to be in Nylan tomorrow,” offered my mother, as I eased into one of the strap chairs across from her. My feet hurt, as I knew they would with the new boots, but I’d wanted feet and boots worked together as soon as possible.
“I didn’t realize it would happen so quickly.”
“Sometimes it does. Other times it takes weeks,” added my father. As usual, I had not heard him return. He was always so silent when he moved, like a shadow.
“How many…will there be?”
“It depends. There could be as few as four dangergeld candidates. Never more than a dozen. And you’ll lose two before the masters are through.”
“Lose?” I didn’t like the sound of that.
He shrugged. “Some people decide they’d rather accept exile than listen to the masters. Others decide they’d like to go home.”
“Can they?”
“If they can convince the masters…it happens every so often.”
Not very often, I could tell from his tone. “If they can’t?”
“They can continue with their training or go into exile.”
I got the feeling that you didn’t just go wandering out of Recluce on any old quest without the approval of the masters.
Before I asked another question, I took several healthy swigs from the tumbler, then ate some of the plain flake rolls Dad had cut into bite-sized pieces. Mother had one or two, which was more than she usually had before dinner.
“What are the masters?” I finally asked, not that I hadn’t asked the question several dozen times before of several dozen people. Usually the answer amounted to: “The masters are the masters, entrusted with the guardianship of the Isle of Recluce and the Domain of Order.”
This time, though, my father looked at my mother. She looked back at him. Then they