The Name of the Wind (36 page)

“Even so,” I said. “You have to admit he's a little odd to be Chancellor.”

“Not back then,” Simmon said soberly. “That was before it happened.”

When nothing more was forthcoming I prompted, “It?”

Wil shrugged. “Something. They do not speak on it. They locked him in the Crockery until he got most of his marbles back.”

“I don't like thinking about it,” Simmon said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I mean, a couple students go crazy every term, right?” He looked at Wilem. “Remember Slyhth?” Wil nodded somberly. “It might happen to any of us.”

There was a moment of silence as the two of them sipped their drinks, not looking at anything in particular. I wanted to ask for specifics, but I could tell that it was a touchy subject.

“Anyway,” Sim said in a low voice. “I heard they didn't let him out of the Crockery. I heard he escaped.”

“No arcanist worth his salt can be kept in a cell,” I said. “That's not surprising.”

“Have you ever been there?” Simmon asked. “It's built to keep arcanists locked up. All meshed stone. Wards on the doors and windows.” He shook his head. “I can't imagine how someone could get out, even one of the masters.”

“All this is beside the path,” Wilem said firmly, bringing us back to task. “Kilvin has welcomed you to the Fishery. Impressing him will be your best chance at making Re'lar.” He looked back and forth between us. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Simmon said.

I nodded, but the wheels in my head were spinning. I was thinking about Taborlin the Great, who knew the names of all things. I thought about the stories Skarpi had told back in Tarbean. He hadn't mentioned arcanists, only namers.

And I thought of Elodin, Master Namer, and how I might approach him.

A
T A GESTURE FROM Kvothe, Chronicler wiped off the nib of his pen and shook out his hand. Bast gave a great, seated stretch, his arms arching over the back of the chair.

“I'd almost forgotten how quickly it all happened,” Kvothe mused. “Those were probably the first stories anyone ever told about me.”

“They're still telling them at the University,” Chronicler said. “I've heard three different versions of the class you taught. Your whipping, too. Is that when they started calling you Kvothe the Bloodless?”

Kvothe nodded. “Possibly.”

“If we're asking questions, Reshi,” Bast said sheepishly, “I was wondering why you didn't go looking for Skarpi?”

“What could I have done, Bast? Smeared my face with lampblack and staged a daring midnight rescue?” Kvothe gave a brief humorless laugh. “They'd taken him in on
heresy.
All I could do was hope he truly had friends in the church.”

Kvothe drew a deep breath and sighed. “But the simplest reason is the least satisfying one, I suppose. The truth is this: I wasn't living in a story.”

“I don't think I'm understanding you, Reshi,” Bast said, puzzled.

“Think of all the stories you've heard, Bast. You have a young boy, the hero. His parents are killed. He sets out for vengeance. What happens next?”

Bast hesitated, his expression puzzled. Chronicler answered the question instead. “He finds help. A clever talking squirrel. An old drunken swordsman. A mad hermit in the woods. That sort of thing.”

Kvothe nodded. “Exactly! He finds the mad hermit in the woods, proves himself worthy, and learns the names of all things, just like Taborlin the Great. Then with these powerful magics at his beck and call, what does he do?”

Chronicler shrugged. “He finds the villains and kills them.”

“Of course,” Kvothe said grandly. “Clean, quick, and easy as lying. We know how it ends practically before it starts. That's why stories appeal to us. They give us the clarity and simplicity our real lives lack.”

Kvothe leaned forward. “If this were some tavern tale, all half-truth and senseless adventure, I would tell you how my time at the University was spent with a purity of dedication. I would learn the ever-changing name of the wind, ride out, and gain my revenge against the Chandrian.” Kvothe snapped his fingers sharply. “Simple as that.

“But while that might make for an entertaining story, it would not be the truth. The truth is this. I had mourned my parent's death for three years, and the pain of it had faded to a dull ache.”

Kvothe made a conciliatory gesture with one hand, and smiled a tight smile. “I won't lie to you. There were times late at night when I lay sleepless and desperately alone in my narrow bunk in the Mews, times when I was choked with a sorrow so endless and empty that I thought it would smother me.

“There were times when I would see a mother holding her child, or a father laughing with his son, and anger would flare up in me, hot and furious with the memory of blood and the smell of burning hair.”

Kvothe shrugged. “But there was more to my life than revenge. I had very real obstacles to overcome close at hand. My poverty. My low birth. The enemies I made at the University were more dangerous to me than any of the Chandrian.”

He gestured for Chronicler to pick up his pen. “But for all that, we still see that even the most fanciful of stories hold a shred of truth, because I did find something very near to the mad hermit in the woods.” Kvothe smiled. “And I
was
determined to learn the name of the wind.”

E
LODIN PROVED A DIFFICULT man to find. He had an office in Hollows, but never seemed to use it. When I visited Ledgers and Lists, I discovered he only taught one class: Unlikely Maths. However, this was less than helpful in tracking him down, as according to the ledger, the time of the class was “now” and the location was “everywhere.”

In the end, I spotted him through sheer luck across a crowded courtyard. He was wearing his black master's robes, which was something of a rarity. I was on my way to the Medica for observation but decided I'd rather be late for my class than miss the opportunity to speak with him.

By the time I struggled through the midday crowd and caught up with him, we were on the northern edge of the University, following a wide dirt road that led into the forest. “Master Elodin,” I said, pelting up to him. “I was hoping I could talk with you.”

“A sad little hope,” he said without breaking stride or looking in my direction. “You should aim higher. A young man ought to be afire with high ambitions.”

“I hope to study naming then,” I said, falling into step beside him.

“Too high,” he said matter-of-factly. “Try again. Somewhere in-between.” The dirt road curved, and trees blocked the sight of the University's buildings behind us.

“I hope you'll accept me as a student?” I tried again. “And teach me whatever you think best?”

Elodin stopped walking abruptly and turned to face me. “Fine,” he said. “Go find me three pinecones.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger. “This big, without any of the little bits broken off.” He sat down right in the middle of the road and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on. Hurry.”

I darted off into the surrounding trees. It took me about five minutes to find three pinecones of the appropriate type. By the time I got back to the road I was disheveled and bramble-scratched. Elodin was nowhere to be seen.

I looked around stupidly, then cursed, dropped the pinecones, and took off running, following the road north. I caught up with him fairly quickly, as he was just idling along, looking at the trees.

“So what did you learn?” Elodin asked.

“That you want to be left alone?”

“You
are
quick.” He spread his arms dramatically and intoned. “Here endeth the lesson! Here endeth my profound tutelage of E'lir Kvothe!”

I sighed. If I left now, I could still catch my class in the Medica, but part of me suspected that this might be a test of some sort. Perhaps Elodin was simply making sure that I was genuinely interested before he accepted me as a student. That is the way it usually goes in stories: the young man has to prove his dedication to the old hermit in the woods before he's taken under his wing.

“Will you answer a few questions?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said, holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger curled in. “Three questions. If you agree to leave me be afterward.”

I thought for a moment. “Why don't you want to teach me?”

“Because the Edema Ruh make exceptionally poor students,” he said brusquely. “They are fine for rote learning, but the study of naming requires a level of dedication that ravel such as yourself rarely possess.”

My temper flared so hot and quick that I actually felt my skin flush. It started at my face and burned down my chest and arms. It made the hair on my arms prickle.

I took a deep breath. “I'm sorry that your experience with the Ruh has left something to be desired,” I said carefully. “Let me assure you that—”

“Ye Gods,” Elodin sighed, disgusted. “A bootlicker too. You lack the requisite spine and testicular fortitude to study under me.”

Hot words boiled up inside me. I fought them down. He was trying to bait me.

“You aren't telling me the truth,” I said. “Why don't you want to teach me?”

“For the same reason I don't want a puppy!” Elodin shouted, waving his arms in the air like a farmer trying to startle crows out of a field. “Because you're too short to be a namer. Your eyes are too green. You have the wrong number of fingers. Come back when you're taller and you've found a decent pair of eyes.”

We stared at each other for a long while. Finally he shrugged and started walking again. “Fine. I'll show you why.”

We followed the road north. Elodin strolled along, picking up stones and tossing them into the trees. He jumped to snatch leaves from low-hanging branches, his master's robes billowing ridiculously. At one point he stopped and stood motionless and intent for nearly half an hour, staring at a fern swaying slowly in the wind.

But I kept the tip of my tongue firmly between my teeth. I didn't ask, “Where are we going?” or “What are you looking at?” I knew a hundred stories about young boys who squandered questions or wishes by chatting them away. I had two questions left, and I was going to make them count.

Eventually we emerged from the forest, and the road became a path leading up a vast lawn to a huge manor house. Bigger than the Artificery, it had elegant lines, a red tile roof, high windows, arched doorways and pillars. There were fountains, flowers, hedges….

But something wasn't quite right. The closer we got to the gates, the more I doubted this was some nobleman's estate. Maybe it was something about the design of the gardens, or the fact that the wrought-iron fence surrounding the lawns was nearly ten feet tall and unclimbable to my well-trained thief's eye.

Two serious-eyed men opened the gate, and we continued up the path toward the front doors. Elodin looked at me. “Have you heard of Haven yet?”

I shook my head.

“It has other names: the Rookery, the Crockery….”

The University asylum. “It's huge. How…” I stopped before asking the question.

Elodin grinned, knowing he'd almost caught me. “Jeremy,” he called out to the large man who stood at the front door. “How many guests do we have today?”

“The desk could give you a count, sir,” he said uncomfortably.

“Take a wild guess,” Elodin said. “We're all friends here.”

“Three-twenty?” the man said with a shrug. “Three-fifty?”

Elodin rapped on the thick timber door with a knuckle, and the man scrambled to unlock it. “How many more could we fit if we needed?” Elodin asked him.

“Another hundred-fifty easy.” Jeremy said, tugging the huge door open. “More in a pinch, I suppose.”

“See, Kvothe?” Elodin winked at me. “We're ready.”

The entryway was huge, with stained glass windows and vaulted ceilings. The floor was marble polished to a mirror sheen.

The place was eerily silent. I couldn't understand it. The Reftview Asylum in Tarbean was only a fraction the size of this place, and it sounded like a brothel full of angry cats. You could hear it from a mile away over the din of the city.

Elodin strolled up to a large desk where a young woman stood. “Why isn't anyone outside, Emmie?”

She gave him an uneasy smile. “They're too wild today, sir. We think there's a storm coming in.” She pulled a ledger book off the shelf. “The moon's getting full, too. You know how it gets.”

“Sure do.” Elodin crouched down and began to unlace his shoes. “Where did they stash Whin this time?”

She flipped a few pages in the ledger. “Second floor east. 247.”

Elodin stood back up and set his shoes on the desk. “Keep an eye on these, would you?” She gave him an uncertain smile and nodded.

I choked down another mouthful of questions. “It seems like the University goes to an awful lot of expense here,” I commented.

Elodin ignored me and turned to climb a wide marble staircase in his stocking feet. Then we entered a long, white hallway lined with wooden doors. For the first time I could hear the sounds I had expected in a place like this. Moans, weeping, incessant chattering, screaming, all very faint.

Elodin ran for a few steps, then stopped, his stocking feet gliding across the smooth marble floor, his master's robes streaming out behind him. He repeated this: a few quick steps, then a long slide with his arms held out to the sides for balance.

I continued to pace along beside him. “I'd think the masters would find other, more academic uses for the University's funds.”

Elodin didn't look at me.
Step. Step step step.
“You're trying to get me to answer questions you're not asking.”
Slide.
“It's not going to work.”

“You're trying to trick me into asking questions,” I pointed out. “It seems only fair.”

Step step step. Slide.
“So why the hell are you bothering with me, anyway?” Elodin asked. “Kilvin likes you well enough. Why not hitch your star to his wagon?”

“I think you know things I can't learn anywhere else.”

“Things like what?”

“Things I've wanted to know since I first saw someone call the wind.”

“Name of the wind, was it?” Elodin raised his eyebrows.
Step. Step. Step-step-step.
“That's tricky.”
Sliiiiiide.
“What makes you think I know anything about calling the wind?”

“Process of elimination,” I said. “None of the other masters do that sort of thing, so it must be your bailiwick.”

“By your logic I should also be in charge of Solinade dances, needlework, and horse thieving.”

We came to the end of the hall. Midslide, Elodin nearly bowled over a huge, broad-shouldered man carrying a hardback. “Beg your pardon, sir,” he said, though it obviously wasn't his fault.

“Timothy,” Elodin pointed a long finger at him. “Come with us.”

Elodin led the way through several shorter hallways, eventually coming to a heavy wooden door with a sliding panel at eye level. Elodin opened it and peered through. “How's he been?”

“Quiet,” the hulking man said. “I don't think he's slept much.”

Elodin tried the latch, then turned to the broad-shouldered man, his face going grim. “You locked him in?”

The man stood a full head taller than Elodin and probably weighed twice as much, but the blood drained from his face as the shoeless master glared at him. “Not me, Master Elodin. It's…”

Elodin cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Unlock it.”

Timothy fumbled with a ring of keys.

Elodin continued to stare him down. “Alder Whin is not to be confined. He may come and go as he pleases. Nothing is to be put in his food unless he specifically asks for it. I am holding you responsible for this, Timothy Generoy.” Elodin poked him in the chest with a long finger. “If I find out that Whin has been sedated or restrained I'll ride you naked through the streets of Imre like a little pink pony.” He glared. “Go.”

The fellow left as quickly as he could manage without actually breaking into a run.

Elodin turned to me. “You can come in, but don't make any noises or sudden movements. Don't talk unless he talks to you. If you do talk, keep your voice low. Understand?”

I nodded and he opened the door.

The room wasn't what I'd expected. Tall windows let the daylight in, revealing a sizable bed and a table with chairs. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all padded with thick white cloth, muffling even the faint noises from the hallway. The blankets had been pulled off the bed and a thin man of about thirty was bundled up in them, huddled against the wall.

Elodin closed the door and the mousy man flinched a little. “Whin?” he said softly, moving closer. “What happened?”

Alder Whin looked up owlishly. A thin stick of a man, he was bare-chested under the blanket, his hair in wild disarray, his eyes round and wide. He spoke softly, his voice cracking a little. “I was fine. I was doing fine. But all the people talking, dogs, cobblestones…I just can't be around that right now.”

Whin pressed himself against the wall and the blanket fell off his bony shoulder. I was startled to see a lead guilder around his neck. This man was a full-fledged arcanist.

Elodin nodded. “Why are you on the floor?”

Whin looked over at the bed, panic in his eyes. “I'll fall,” he said softly, his voice somewhere between horror and embarrassment. “And there are springs and slats. Nails.”

“How are you now?” Elodin asked gently. “Would you like to come back with me?”

“Nooooo.”
Whin gave a hopeless, despairing cry, screwing his eyes closed and pulling the blanket closer around himself. His thin, reedy voice made his plea more heart-wrenching than if he'd howled it.

“It's fine. You can stay,” Elodin said softly. “I'll be back to visit.”

Whin opened his eyes at this, looking agitated. “Don't bring thunder,” he said urgently. He reached one thin hand out of his blanket and clutched at Elodin's shirt. “But I do need a catwhistle and bluedown, and bones too.” His tone was urgent. “Tentbones.”

“I'll bring them,” Elodin reassured him, gesturing for me to back out of the room. I did.

Elodin closed the door behind us, his expression grim. “Whin knew what he was getting into when he became my giller.” He turned and began to walk down the hall. “You don't. You don't know anything about the University. About the risks involved. You think this place is a faerie land, a playground. It's not.”

“That's right,” I snapped. “It's a playground and all the other children are jealous because I got to play ‘get whipped bloody and banned from the Archives' and they didn't.”

Elodin stopped walking and turned to look at me. “Fine. Prove me wrong. Prove that you've thought this through. Why does a University with under fifteen hundred students need an asylum the size of the royal palace?”

My mind raced. “Most students are from well-to-do families,” I said. “They've led easy lives. When forced to…”

“Wrong,” Elodin said dismissively, turning to walk down the hall. “It is because of what we study. Because of the way we train our minds to move.”