The Other Wind (17 page)

“When Orm Embar died on Selidor, destroying the mortal body of the wizard Cob, Kalessin came from beyond the west and brought the king and the great mage to Roke. Then returning to the Dragons’ Run, the Eldest called the people of the west, whose speech had been taken from them by Cob, and who were still bewildered. Kalessin said to them, ‘You let evil turn you into evil. You have been mad. You are sane again, but so long as the winds blow from the east you can never be what you were, free of both good and evil.’

“Kalessin said: ‘Long ago we chose. We chose freedom. Men chose the yoke. We chose fire and the wind. They chose water and the earth. We chose the west, and they the east.’

“And Kalessin said: ‘But always among us some envy them their wealth, and always among them some envy us our liberty. So it was that evil came into us and will come into us again, until we choose again, and forever, to be free. Soon I am going beyond the west to fly on the other wind. I will lead you there, or wait for you, if you will come.’

“Then some of the dragons said to Kalessin, ‘Men in their envy of us long ago stole half our realm beyond the west from us and made walls of spells to keep us out of it. So now let us drive them into the farthest east, and take back the islands! Men and dragons cannot share the wind.’

“Then Kalessin said, ‘Once we were one people. And in sign of that, in every generation of men, one or two are born who are dragons also. And in every generation of our people, longer than the quick lives of men, one of us is born who is also human. Of these one is now living in the Inner Isles. And there is one of them living there now who is a dragon. These two are the messengers, the bringers of choice. There will be no more such born to us or to them. For the balance changes.’

“And Kalessin said to them: ‘Choose. Come with me to fly on the far side of the world, on the other wind. Or stay and put on the yoke of good and evil. Or dwindle into dumb beasts.’ And at the last Kalessin said: ‘The last to make the choice will be Tehanu. After her there will be no choosing. There will be no way west. Only the forest will be, as it is always, at the center.’”

The people of the King’s Council were still as stones, listening. Irian stood moveless, gazing as if through them, as she spoke.

“After some years had passed, Kalessin flew beyond the west. Some followed, some did not. When I came to join my people, I followed Kalessin. But I go there and come back, so long as the winds will bear me.

“The disposition of my people is jealous and irate. Those who stayed here on the winds of the world began to fly in bands or singly to the isles of men, saying again, ‘They stole half our realm. Now we will take all the west of their realm, and drive them out of it, so they cannot bring their good and evil to us any more. We will not put our necks into their yoke.’

“But they did not try to kill the islanders, because they remembered being mad, when dragon killed dragon. They hate you, but they will not kill you unless you try to kill them.

“So one of these bands has come now to this island, Havnor, that we call the Cold Hill. The dragon who came before them and spoke to Tehanu is my brother Ammaud. They seek to drive you into the east, but Ammaud, like me, enacts the will of Kalessin, seeking to free my people from the yoke you wear. If he and I and the children of Kalessin can prevent harm to your people and ours, we will do so. But dragons have no king, and obey no one, and will fly where they will. For a while they will do as my brother and I ask in Kalessin’s name. But not for long. And they fear nothing in the world, except your wizardries of death.”

That last word rang heavily in the great hall in the silence that followed Irian’s voice.

The king spoke, thanking Irian. He said, “You honor us with your truth-speaking. By my name, we will speak truth to you. I beg you to tell me, daughter of Kalessin who bore me to my kingdom, what it is you say the dragons fear? I thought they feared nothing in the world or out of it.”

“We fear your spells of immortality,” she said bluntly.

“Of immortality?” Lebannen hesitated. “I am no wizard. Master Onyx, speak for me, if the daughter of Kalessin will permit.”

Onyx stood up. Irian looked at him with cold, impartial eyes, and nodded.

“Lady Irian,” the wizard said, “we make no spells of immortality. Only the wizard Cob sought to make himself immortal, perverting our art to do so.” He spoke slowly and with evident care, searching his mind as he spoke. “Our Archmage, with my lord the king, and with the aid of Orm Embar, destroyed Cob and the evil he had done. And the Archmage gave all his power up to heal the world, restoring the Equilibrium. No other wizard in our lifetime has sought to—” He stopped short.

Irian looked straight at him. He looked down.

“The wizard I destroyed,” she said, “the Summoner of Roke, Thorion—what was it he sought?”

Onyx, stricken, said nothing.

“He came back from death,” she said. “But not living, as the Archmage and the king did. He was dead, but he came back across the wall by his arts—by your arts—you men of Roke! How are we to trust anything you say? You have unmade the balance of the world. Can you restore it?”

Onyx looked at the king. He was openly distressed. “My lord, I cannot think that this is the place to discuss such matters—before all men—until we know what we are talking about, and what we must do . . .”

“Roke keeps its secrets,” Irian said with calm scorn.

“But on Roke—” Tehanu said, not standing; her weak voice died away. Prince Sege and the king both looked at her and motioned her to speak.

She stood up. At first she kept the left side of her face to the councillors, all sitting motionless on their benches, like stones with eyes.

“On Roke is the Immanent Grove,” she said. “Isn’t that what Kalessin meant, sister, speaking of the forest that is at the center?” Turning to Irian, she showed the people watching her the whole ruin of her face; but she had forgotten them. “Maybe we need to go there,” she said. “To the center of things.”

Irian smiled. “I’ll go there,” she said.

They both looked at the king.

“Before I send you to Roke, or go with you,” he said slowly, “I must know what is at stake. Master Onyx, I’m sorry that matters so grave and chancy force us to debate our course so openly. But I trust my councillors to support me as I find and hold the course. What the council needs to know is that our islands need not fear attack from the People of the West—that the truce, at least, holds.”

“It holds,” Irian said.

“Can you say how long?”

“A half year?” she offered, carelessly, as if she had said, “A day or two.”

“We will hold the truce a half year, in hope of peace to follow. Am I right to say, Lady Irian, that to have peace with us, your people want to know that our wizards’ meddling with the . . . laws of life and death will not endanger them?”

“Endanger all of us,” Irian said. “Yes.”

Lebannen considered this and then said, in his most royal, affable, urbane manner, “Then I believe I should come to Roke with you.” He turned to the benches. “Councillors, with the truce declared, we must seek the peace. I’ll go wherever I must on that quest, ruling as I do in the Sign of Elfarran’s Ring. If you see any hindrance to this journey, speak here and now. For it may be that the balance of power within the Archipelago, as well as the Equilibrium of the whole, is in question. And if I go, I must go now. Autumn is near, and it’s not a short voyage to Roke Island.”

The stones with eyes sat there for a long minute, all staring, none speaking. Then Prince Sege said, “Go, my lord king, go with our hope and trust, and the magewind in your sails.” There was a little murmur of assent from the councillors: Yes, yes, hear him.

Sege asked for further questions or debate; nobody spoke. He closed the session.

Leaving the throne room with him, Lebannen said, “Thank you, Sege,” and the old prince said, “Between you and the dragon, Lebannen, what could the poor souls say?”

M
ANY MATTERS HAD TO BE
settled and arrangements made before the king could leave his capital; there was also the question of who should go with him to Roke. Irian and Tehanu, of course, and Tehanu wanted her mother with her. Onyx said that Alder should by all means go with them, and also the Pelnish wizard Seppel, for the Lore of Paln had much to do with these matters of crossing between life and death. The king chose Tosla to captain the
Dolphin,
as he had done before. Prince Sege would look after affairs of state in the king’s absence, with a selected group of councillors, as he also had done before.

So it was all settled, or so Lebannen thought, until Tenar came to him two days before they were to sail and said, “You’ll be talking of war and peace with the dragons, and of matters even beyond that, Irian says, matters that concern the balance of all things in Earthsea. The people of the Kargad Lands should hear these discussions and have a voice in them.”

“You will be their representative.”

“Not I. I am not a subject of the High King. The only person here who can represent his people is his daughter.”

Lebannen took a step away from her, turned partly from her, and at last said in a voice stifled by the effort to speak without anger, “You know that she is completely unfitted for such a journey.”

“I know nothing of the kind.”

“She has no education.”

“She’s intelligent, practical, and courageous. She’s aware of what her station requires of her. She hasn’t been trained to rule, but then what can she learn boxed up there in the River House with her servants and some court ladies?”

“To speak the language, in the first place!”

“She’s doing that. I’ll interpret for her when she needs it.”

After a brief pause Lebannen spoke carefully: “I understand your concern for her people. I will consider what can be done. But the princess has no place on this voyage.”

“Tehanu and Irian both say she should come with us. Master Onyx says that, like Alder of Taon, her being sent here at this time cannot be an accident.”

Lebannen walked farther away. His tone remained stiffly patient and polite: “I cannot permit it. Her ignorance and inexperience would make her a serious burden. And I can’t put her at risk. Relationships with her father—”

“In her ignorance, as you call it, she showed us how to answer Ged’s questions. You are as disrespectful of her as her father is. You speak of her as of a mindless thing.” Tenar’s face was pale with anger. “If you’re afraid to put her at risk, ask her to take it herself.”

Again there was a silence. Lebannen spoke with the same wooden calmness, not looking directly at her. “If you and Tehanu and Orm Irian believe this woman should come with us to Roke, and Onyx agrees with you, I accept your judgment, though I believe it is mistaken. Please tell her that if she wishes to come, she may do so.”

“It is you who should tell her that.”

He stood silent. Then he walked out of the room without a word.

He passed close by Tenar, and though he did not look at her he saw her clearly. She looked old and strained, and her hands trembled. He was sorry for her, ashamed of his rudeness to her, relieved that no one else had witnessed the scene; but these feelings were mere sparks in the huge darkness of his anger at her, at the princess, at everyone and everything that laid this false obligation, this grotesque duty on him. As he went out of the room he tugged open the collar of his shirt as if it were choking him.

His majordomo, a slow and steady man called Thoroughgood, was not expecting him to return so soon or through that door and jumped up, staring and startled. Lebannen returned his stare icily and said, “Send for the High Princess to attend me here in the afternoon.”

“The High Princess?”

“Is there more than one of them? Are you unaware that the High King’s daughter is our guest?”

Amazed, Thoroughgood stammered an apology, which Lebannen interrupted: “I shall go to the River House myself.” And he strode on out, pursued, impeded, and gradually controlled by the majordomo’s attempts to slow him down long enough for a suitable retinue to be gathered, horses to be brought from the stables, the petitioners waiting for audience in the Long Room to be put off till afternoon, and so on. All his obligations, all his duties, all the trappery and trammel, rites and hypocrisies that made him king pulled at him, sucking and tugging him down like quicksand into suffocation.

When his horse was brought across the stable yard to him, he swung up into the saddle so abruptly that the horse caught his mood and backed and reared, driving back the hostlers and attendants. To see the circle widen out around him gave Lebannen a harsh satisfaction. He set the horse straight for the gateway without waiting for the men in his retinue to mount. He led them at a sharp trot through the streets of the city, far ahead of them, aware of the dilemma of the young officer who was supposed to precede him calling, “Way for the king!” but who had been left behind him and now did not dare ride past him.

It was near noon; the streets and squares of Havnor were hot and bright and mostly deserted. Hearing the clatter of hooves, people hurried to the doorways of little dark shops to stare and recognise and salute the king. Women sitting in their windows fanning themselves and gossiping across the way looked down and waved, and one of them threw a flower down at him. His horse’s hooves rang on the bricks of a broad, sunbaked square that lay empty except for a curly tailed dog trotting away on three legs, unconcerned with royalty. Out of the square the king took a narrow passage that led to the paved way beside the Serrenen, and followed it in the shadow of the willows under the old city wall to River House.

The ride had changed his temper somewhat. The heat and silence and beauty of the city, the sense of multitudinous life behind walls and shutters, the smile of the woman who had tossed a flower, the petty satisfaction of keeping ahead of all his guardians and pomp makers, then finally the scent and coolness of the river ride and the shady courtyard of the house where he had known days and nights of peace and pleasure, all took him a little distance from his anger. He felt estranged from himself, no longer possessed but emptied.