"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 10 - The Magic of Recluce" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

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The Magic of Recluce
by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Recluse Book One
Copyright 1991


Exile-or a quest that might take his life . . .
"So where do I go?"
"You're sure?" asked Uncle Sardit, his mouth full.
"What choice is there? I either get plunked down on a boat to somewhere as an exile, knowing
nothing, or I try to learn as much as I can before doing something that at least gives me some
chance of making a decision."
"I think that's the right choice for you," said Aunt Elisabet, "but it's not quite that
simple."
After finishing my bread and cheese in the strained atmosphere of the house, I went back to my
quarters over the shop and began to pack. Uncle Sardit said he would keep the chair and the few
other pieces until I returned.
He didn't mention the fact that few dangergelders returned. Neither did I.


For Bob Muir, Clay Hunt, and Walter Rosenberry.
Too belated an appreciation, but real for all the delay.


I

GROWING UP, I always wondered why everything in Wander-naught seemed so dull. Not that I minded
the perfectly baked bread routinely produced by my father or by Aunt Elisabet, and I certainly
enjoyed the intricately carved toys and other gifts that Uncle Sardit miraculously presented on my
birthday or on the High Holidays.
Perfection, especially for a youngster learning about it from cheerfully sober adults, has a
price. Mine was boredom, scarcely novel for a young man in the middle of his second decade. But
boredom leads to trouble, even when things are designed to be as perfect as possible. Of course,
the perfection and striving for perfection that marked the island, though some would term Recluce
a smallish continent, had a reason. A good reason, but one hardly acceptable to a restless young
man.
"Perfection, Lerris," my father repeated time after time, "is the price we pay for the good
life. Perfection keeps destruction away and provides a safe harbor for the good."
"But why? And how?" Those were always my questions.
Finally, shortly after I finished the minimum formal schooling, in my case at fifteen, my
mother entered the discussion.
"Lerris, there are two fundamental forces in life, and in nature. Creation and destruction.
Creation is order. We attempt to maintain it-"
"You sound just like Magister Kerwin . . . 'Order is all that keeps chaos at bay . . . because
evil and chaos are so closely linked, one should avoid all but the most necessary acts of
destruction . . .' I know perfection is important. I know it. I know it! And I know it! But why
does it have to be so flaming boring?"
She shrugged. "Order is not boring. You are bored with order." She looked at my father. "Since