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there-Olma s Copybook, The Naturale Historic of Candar, and the battered one
on the end, Colors of White. If he understood the few pages of Colors of White
he had puzzled and labored through, the book had two parts, but the second
part had been ripped off. The first part told how the white mages had come to
build Fairhaven, and the second part was supposed to be about how chaos and
order worked, and that was the part he needed to have and to learn about.
What good was history? Some parts of history might be interesting-like the
fall of Lornth and the rise of Sarronnyn or the stories about ancient
Cyador-but most of it seemed useless for what Cerryl needed-an understanding
of what a white mage was, what skills and talents were needed, and how to
train and develop those talents.
Besides, the history book was hard to read, even slowly, with so many words
he could not recognize. He took a deep breath, and his eyes turned back to the
middle book, the one Erhana had lent him-
Olma s Copybook. It was a little child s book of letters, but Cerryl had
forced himself to work his way through the pages, struggling with and learning
everything on each page before going to the next.
With a sigh of resignation, he opened the copybook.
At least in the summer, there was some light after he finished at the mill
and supper, although even without lighting his stub of a candle, he could see
perfectly well. As he d gotten older his night vision, or sense of things, had
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continued to sharpen. In pitch darkness, he had trouble reading, but it would
be a while before that occurred, and long before that he would be too tired to
continue his self-taught lessons in letters.
XVIII
Cerryl stepped out of the warmth of the kitchen into the comparative cool of
the porch, his stomach almost feeling distended from the amount of mutton stew
he had eaten. His arms and legs and back all ached. He d spent most of the
past eight-day up in the higher woods with Viental and Brental, learning how
to judge when a tree could be felled and whether it should be. That part had
come easily. Not so easy had been working with the ax and the two-man saw.
The ax bothered him, in the same way the mill blade did-the darkness of the
honed iron feeling both like fire and ice at the same time. The oiled and
honest iron of the ax even felt hot to his touch, nearly hot enough to burn
his fingers, calloused or not.
Perhaps Erhana would come out on the porch after she helped her mother
clean up after dinner. Cerryl hoped so. He walked to the north end of the
porch and looked toward the higher hills, where he d spent most of his time
lately. The low buzz of insects and the scattered chirps of crickets rose out
of the growing dusk.
 Dylert s got lots of woods up there, said Rinfur from behind him.  They
say the family patent goes back to his great-grandsire.
 Too many woods, puffed Viental, standing on the top porch step.  Too long
a day. Too much logging. I need to lie down.
 That s not because of your logging, laughed Rinfur.  It s your earing.
You swallowed enough stew for three of you. And one of you is more than
enough.
 Most funny, said Viental.  We should make you saw the trees. Your horses
do all the hard work.
Rinfur laughed, a good-natured tone in the sound.  That s  cause I m
smarter than they are.
 Not much, answered the stocky laborer as he started down the Porch steps.
 Just enough, admitted Rinfur, stepping up beside Cerryl and standing
there silently for a time. Behind them, in the kitchen, the sounds of voices
and crockery and pans continued.
To the north, the sun that had dropped behind the hills backlit a low cloud
into a line of fiery pink.
 Like this time of day, said Rinfur.  Quiet& not too hot, not too cold,
and the work s done, the belly full. Cerryl nodded.
 Think I ll walk over to the stable, see how the gray is doing. Worry about
that hoof still. With a nod, Rinfur turned and crossed the porch, leaving
Cerryl alone at the railing.
The youth ran his hand through hair still slightly damp from a quick rinse
before dinner. He watched as the cloud slowly faded into gray. The door from
the kitchen opened, and he turned.  Oh& I didn t know you were out here,
Cerryl, blurted Erhana, her hands around a book.
 I was waiting for my lesson, he answered with a careful smile.  This is
the more advanced grammar.
 I can try.
Erhana shrugged and sat on the bench. Cerryl sat beside her, careful not to
let his leg touch hers. She opened the book, and Cerryl followed her as she
slowly read aloud.
 & the cooper fashions barrels from staves of wood. Barrels are used to
store flour and grains. Some barrels hold water and wine&  Cerryl wondered if
all grammar books said things that people already knew, but he said nothing
and tried to match what Erhana read with the letters on the page.
 It s getting dark, Erhana said after a while.  Can you even see the
book?
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 I can still see it, answered Cerryl.  What s an  acolyte ?
 That s not in the copybook.
 I know, but I wondered.
 I can t help you if you ask me about things that aren t in the books.
 I m sorry.
 Why do you want to learn your letters? Erhana asked abruptly, closing the
grammar book and letting it rest on her trousered legs.
 I need to learn things, Cerryl answered, shifting his weight on the hard
surface of the bench.
 They don t write about sawmills in books, silly boy. Erhana laughed.  Not
about how the mill works, anyway.
 They should, Cerryl offered.  Everyone knows about coopers and fullers
and smiths.
 Of course. You begin to read by learning how the words you know are
written.
Cerryl refrained from wincing at Erhana s self-satisfied tone.
 Isn t there a book that has all the words you don t know?
 That s a dictionary. Siglinda has one. They have lots and lots of words
and how to spell them and what they mean.
Cerryl fingered his chin. Where could he find one?  A dictionary?
 That s right. Erhana sighed.
In the momentary silence, Cerryl could hear voices in the kitchen. He
strained to pick out the words.
 & no sense in telling him now& good thing he was up in the woods when
Wreasohn came& 
 Have to tell him sooner or later, Dylert& 
 Can t stay here, not forever& 
 Hush& he s still on the porch. We ll talk about it later.
 Best let Erhana help him with his letters, then. Poor lad.
In the growing darkness, Cerryl swallowed. Something awful had happened to
Syodor and Nail& but what? And why? Who would harm a partly crippled old miner
and his consort who were helping a cousin raise sheep?
 You re quiet, Cerryl, ventured Erhana.
 Oh, I was still thinking about dictionaries, he lied quietly.  They must
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