The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (6 page)

 
And
mathematics is a core knowledge that feeds into many other fields, a way to
introduce physics, more astronomy, and God knows what else
.

“The
third area would be the study of other realms on Anyar—their history, customs,
languages, and how they are ruled.”

The
abbot raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin. “This ‘biology’ I realize the
value of, and perhaps the mathematics. Certainly, Cadwulf pestered Diera and me
enough over the years about how mathematics relates to so much of the world and
our lives, but the third one I’m not sure I understand why it’s important
enough to emphasize.”

“It’s
because of the Narthani,” said Yozef. “Caedellium’s isolation from the rest of
Anyar is over. Oh, there was trade before the Narthani came and some travel,
such as Diera’s studying in Landolin. However, for most of the people of
Caedellium, it’s as if the rest of Anyar doesn’t exist. I’m sure you know this
has changed forever. The Narthani aren’t going away, not on their own. How they
took over Preddi and got Selfcell and Eywell to ally with them is partly due to
your clans not knowing about the rest of the world and how the Narthani have
probably done the same with other peoples. The more that’s understood about
them, the better Caedellium’s chances to resist.”

A
grimmer-faced abbot grunted. “I grasp your point. We’ve considered the Preddi
stupid for allowing the Narthani in, but you suggest ignorance is an equally
plausible excuse.  And as for knowing more about the Narthani . . .”

“My
people would say to ‘know your enemy.’”

And
a nucleus of intelligence on the Narthani, if what I fear happens. We’ll need
to know everything possible about them
.

“St.
Sidryn’s has two scholastics who study the history of Caedellium,” said
Sistian.

“Yes,”
said Yozef. “They’ll form part of a group of scholastics to study and compare
all the peoples of Anyar, including those of Caedellium and Narthon.”

A
thought came unbidden into Sistian’s mind.
Maera. By God’s creative finger,
she would be a perfect scholastic for such a study! She knows
as much about the
history of the clans as anyone, plus
she’s
studied several of the mainland
languages and histories, including Narthon and Fuomon. Of course,
she’s
the hetman’s eldest
daughter, which complicates matters, unless this university was in Caernford.
She’ll
be visiting soon,
and
I
can
discuss it with her
,
then.

The
abbot decided. “You’ve convinced me, Yozef, to give all of this some serious
thought about the possibility and implications. Also, I may be the abbot, but I
need to speak with the other brothers and sisters for their opinions. I already
know Diera’s.”

Thus
was born, in principle, the University of Abersford.

Jacarandas

The
hills west of Abersford sheltered diverse valleys and dells that almost could have
evolved in isolation. Yozef knew it was simply the jumble of Earth and Anyar
plants intermixing or dominating, depending on happenchance, but he fantasized
each landscape a different world. The ground was a jumble of rock, sand, and loam.
Although Yozef wondered what geological history had created this terrain, he
knew why it was unpopulated. More fertile and convenient land still existed on
Caedellium to attract farmers and herders.

When
occasionally a solitary mood ensued, walking or riding the hills proved
meditative. Today he walked in a new area for the first time. He had just
climbed a hill and started down a grass-covered slope when, before him, in a
small dale, towered a single mighty oak, or a tree he imagined to be an oak,
alone in the middle of the grass, with no other tree in view. Where had this
single tree come from? Did a bird drop a seed, an acorn, or whatever
propagation mechanism it used here, and it sprouted and took root? Its massive
trunk had to be eight feet in diameter, with a broad canopy of leaves nearly reaching
to the slopes on all sides.

Why
had it not seeded offspring trees around it? Was it lonely? Although it was
magnificent in its stature, Yozef felt sad for it. He paused next to the trunk,
leaning on it with one hand, as if to feel a heartbeat. The thought flashed
through his mind, as if he were whispering to the tree,
I am here . . . you
are not alone
.
I will remember you and the route here. I will visit you
again.
Yozef laughed at himself.
Maybe the tree’ll talk to me next time
.

He
left the shade of the oak and worked his way up the next slope to strewn rocks
at the crest of the next hill. Boulders taller than himself coated the top, and
as he came around one cluster, he stopped in his tracks. He expected each
valley or dale to reveal novelty, but this time he was thunderstruck.

Jacaranda
trees! As I live and breathe, jacaranda trees!

Yozef
stood next to a boulder, amazed at the spectacle. As far as the eye could see,
starting from the valley floor and rising to the tops of the surrounding hills,
a forest of blue-flowered jacaranda trees was coming into bloom. He had never
seen so many, and why here?

At
the bottom of the valley, California poppies covered scattered patches of open
ground, their golden flowers just emerging. An artist or a landscape architect
couldn’t have designed a more perfect setting.

He
soaked in the scene for ten minutes, before slowly walking down the slope,
wondering, as he often did, at the haphazard distribution of Earth and Anyar life
forms. Why jacarandas and not dogwoods? Dogs and not cats? Horses and cattle
but not sheep or goats or camels? California poppies and not bluebells? Orioles
and not robins? Butterflies and not moths? Dragonflies, but no mosquitoes? Not
that he complained about the latter option.

Whoever
or whatever had transplanted Earth’s organisms, did they have a plan, a
rationale, or was it random? Would the distribution elsewhere on Anyar be the
same as on Caedellium or different? Maybe the Melosia continent had dogwoods
and cats, but not jacarandas or dogs?

He
sat on the ground, his back against an isolated jacaranda trunk, feet amid poppies
growing in the sandy soil and reaching for the sun through the characteristic
sparse foliage of the tree. Full bloom would be in another sixday or two and
likely last a month. He hadn’t brought a lunch, and the first hunger pangs growled.
He sat under the tree for a few more minutes.

Tomorrow.
I have to come back tomorrow. Or soon. Full-bloom won’t be for a month or more.
I’ll bring a lunch and spend a whole day here before the bloom fades.

Reluctantly,
he headed back to Abersford, carefully noticing landmarks. He was nearing his
shops when he spied a carriage and accompanying riders turn off the main road
and continue to the abbey. He watched them until they passed through the
abbey’s main gate. The carriage looked fancier than most, with a symbol on the
doors that reminded him of ones he had seen around the abbey and the village.
Some
kind of higher muckety-muck,
he thought. Four outriders preceded the carriage
and appeared more military than the men hereabout, with similar clothing that
might pass as house livery—blue jackets and pants, brimmed hats held on by chin
straps. He thought he could make out short muskets and swords attached to their
saddles.

Over
beers that evening at the Snarling Graeko, he learned from Carnigan that the
symbol he saw was for the Keelan Clan and the hetman’s family. The big man
didn’t know who occupied the carriage, but another patron said the hetman’s
daughter had come to visit St. Sidryn’s.

Beynom’s
House, Yozef meets Maera Keelan

Two
days later, Cadwulf passed on to Yozef an invitation to mid-day meal at the
Beynoms’ the following Godsday after services. The house lay outside the
abbey’s main walls and atop a nearby low hill. Although spartan, the house was
tastefully furnished, and what it lacked in size, it made up for with a view. A
wide veranda faced downhill toward the abbey complex and the shore and the ocean
beyond. The day was perfect: a blue sky with isolated clouds moving in off the
ocean, carried on what on Earth would have been called a trade wind.

The
two Beynom children still living at home were not in attendance, and four
people sat around a table. Diera introduced Yozef to the other guest, a slender
young woman with brown hair and penetrating green eyes. They ate under
overhanging vines with red-and-yellow-striped flowers that reminded Yozef of trumpet
vines. Culich and Diera sat opposite each other, as did Yozef and Maera Keelan.
The meal was typical: fresh rolls, butter and preserves, several cheeses, a
greenish-fleshed melon, tangerines, candied figs, a fruit juice mixture of
unknown composition, and kava.

They
passed the meal talking of trivial matters, including the weather, the prospects
for crops that year, stories from the history of the Beynoms and the Keelans,
and probes by Maera Keelan to Yozef, trying to tweeze tidbits of information
about his past. He had gotten so used to deflecting or misdirecting that he
hardly noticed her questions, which was worrisome, because inconsistencies could
be picked up.

Of
the four, the Keelan daughter’s dress was more formal. The Beynoms wore light
robes and sandals, while Yozef had not even considered appropriate dress. He
was wearing an everyday outfit, though freshly cleaned, and the plain leather footwear
he wore daily. Maera wore a white embroidered pull-over blouse with a low neck
that ended just where her chest rose. Below was a green skirt of shiny material
that changed colors, depending on the angle of the sun and the folds in the
cloth.

Something
like silk
,
Yozef thought. Not everyday attire for Caedellium.

He
answered Maera’s questions about his family. As usual, he stuck to basics
without giving details that might raise suspicions. He described his siblings,
parents, and studies in general terms. He didn’t elaborate on details, such as although
his younger brother played an instrument, it was in an amateur heavy metal
band.

Yozef
deflected more detailed questions about his family by asking Maera about her
siblings. She described three sisters, with obvious love. Yozef thought he
detected special warmth for the youngest of the three, a hint of exasperation
about the next youngest, and a touch of . . . something . . . when she mentioned
the oldest sister being courted by suitors.

When
the meal started, the Beynoms facilitated the conversation, though by the end
they quieted while Yozef and Maera interacted more and more. The hosts finally
excused themselves with calls of duty: Diera, to check on patients at the
hospital, and Sistian, to prepare for a ride to a neighboring village, where
the village chief had asked him to preside at a wedding that afternoon.

Rising,
Sistian said, “Please. It’s a beautiful day. The two of you continue to enjoy
it and regale each other with family stories. Also, Yozef, Maera is interested
in learning more about your various shops and enterprises.”

Somehow
finding themselves without the older couple’s presence changed the atmosphere, as
if they had served as a buffer or a framework for the two guests.

Maera
played with her napkin, as the silence extended. Then . . . “As Sistian said,
Ser Kolsko, I would like to see your projects and have them explained.”

“Anytime
you wish, Sen Keelan. I’m afraid I have meetings this afternoon, but we could
begin tomorrow morning, starting with the distillation facility, if you’d like
to accompany me.”

The
plan settled, Yozef excused himself.

Maera
returned to the abbey and her quarters to write her initial impressions. She
stared at the paper as she gathered her thoughts.

Something
of a disappointment. With all the stories and reports I was expecting . . . what?
An impressive intelligence or a warrior figure with a dominant presence
? 

She
tried to be wary of preconceptions, but his average size and mild manner didn’t
fit her expectations.

Not
a handsome man or a masculine one, I guess would describe it.

The
brown hair and beard were nondescript, except for odd highlights she first
thought reflections of light until she recognized a few lighter hair strands.
Not gray, which would be early for someone his age, but a lighter brown, beige
even. Then there were the eyes. Brown and green were the most common, and
occasionally blue, though a darker blue than Yozef’s.

His
eyes are lightest blue I’ve ever seen. More like a light gray. They’re his most
distinguishing feature, and when they turned at me was the only time I sensed
there was something more than common there.

She
returned again to the paper and willed herself to write her first impressions.

The
sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds the next morning when Maera met Yozef
in front of the cathedral. She wore an ankle-length yellow dress of fine linen,
covered by a light green–colored smock. She’d replaced the slippers at the
Beynoms’ lunch with leather shoes, and her brown hair was nestled in a bun
behind a wide-brimmed straw hat. Yozef noticed that although the dress and the shoes
displayed workmanship beyond the means of most Keelanders, the smock was
utilitarian and showed unsuccessful attempts to remove ink spots.

The
Beynoms had assigned their son Cadwulf as her local guide. He excused himself when
assured that Yozef would shepherd her.

“Remember,”
Cadwulf murmured into Yozef’s ear, “she’s the hetman’s daughter. You can’t just
leave her on her own. If you and she finish touring the shops, bring her to the
bank, and I’ll look after her from there on.”

How
they would travel between the abbey and the workshops never entered Yozef’s
mind. Cadwulf rescued him with a ready one-horse dray with two passenger seats
and a driver. Silence ruled the six-minute ride, while Maera sat primly,
looking around and occasionally nodding to citizens they passed. A few women curtsied,
and one man awkwardly bowed.

Only
when they entered the distillation building did Maera first sense something
truly new was ongoing in Abersford. Five workers were diligently working on apparatuses
whose purposes she had no clue. What struck her immediately were the level of
activity and the mood of the workers. All were engaged in tasks she didn’t
recognize, and from their voices, there was a sense of “play,” instead of
“work.”

Yozef
called out to a worker, who waved. “Hey, Yozef. About time you showed up for
work. Who’s the young woman? Have you been holding out on us?” The man said
something to the other workers and walked over to clasp forearms with Yozef.

“Filtin,
this is Maera Keelan. She’s here visiting the Beynoms and is interested in
seeing what we’re doing.”

Filtin
stiffened and made a short bow. An expression of respect and reservation
replaced his previous good humor. Maera wasn’t surprised. Being a member of the
hetman’s immediate family accustomed her to such responses.

“Sen
Keelan, pardon my comment. An honor to meet you and show you our work.”

Maera
accepted the distance her position placed between her and most clanspeople and
regretted it, when she noticed. However, today, curiosity ruled her attention.
Yozef explained the basics of distillation and the equipment Filtin and his
crew worked on. The next hour served as a crash course in distillation and an occasion
for Maera to demonstrate her quick grasp of new concepts. She stopped the
explainer, be it Yozef or Filtin, whenever she didn’t fully grasp any aspect.
It made for a slow beginning, though progress accelerated as her understanding
grew.

Once
the explanations and her questions slackened, they went into an adjacent room
to witness a production run of ether. Now that she had heard the principles of
distillation and seen the ether condense on top of the glass column, then the rivulets
as they ran down and dripped into the collection receptacle, she smiled and
clapped her hands in appreciation. By this time, Filtin’s manner had relaxed in
his eagerness to explain to an interested outsider what to him was obviously a
work of love, and the banter she’d witnessed when they first arrived gradually returned.
Maera had not been around many common workers, except at Keelan Manor, and she
remained surprised at the workers’ level of enthusiasm and their casual
camaraderie with their employer.