The Other Wind (26 page)

A tremor ran through the ground under their feet then. Small chinking stones in the wall rattled. And with a long sigh, the multitudes of the dead came closer to the wall.

***

T
HE
P
ATTERNER STOOD UP SUDDENLY
and stood listening. Leaves stormed all about the glade, the trees of the Grove bowed and trembled as if under a great wind, but there was no wind.

“Now it changes,” he said, and he walked away from them, into the darkness under the trees.

The Summoner, the Doorkeeper, and Seppel rose and followed him, quick and silent. Gamble and Onyx followed more slowly after them.

Lebannen stood up; he took a few steps after the others, hesitated, and hurried across the glade to the low house of stone and sod. “Irian,” he said, stooping to the dark doorway. “Irian, will you take me with you?”

She came out of the house; she was smiling, and there was a kind of fiery brightness all about her. “Come then, come quick,” she said, and took his hand. Her hand burned like a coal of fire as she lifted him into the other wind.

After a little time Seserakh came out of the house into the starlight, and after her came Tenar. They stood and looked about them. Nothing moved; the trees were still again.

“They are all gone,” Seserakh whispered. “On the Dragons’ Way.”

She took a step forward, gazing into the dark.

“What are we to do, Tenar?”

“We are to keep the house,” Tenar said.

“Oh!” Seserakh whispered, dropping to her knees. She had seen Lebannen lying near the doorway, stretched facedown in the grass. “He isn’t dead—I think—Oh, my dear Lord King, don’t go, don’t die!”

“He’s with them. Stay with him. Keep him warm. Keep the house, Seserakh,” Tenar said. She went to where Alder lay, his unseeing eyes turned to the stars. She sat down by him, her hand on his. She waited.

***

A
LDER COULD SCARCELY MOVE THE
great stone his hands were on, but the Summoner was beside him, stooping with his shoulder against it, and said, “Now!” Together they pushed it till it overbalanced and dropped down with that same heavy, final thump on the far side of the wall.

Others were there now with him and Tehanu, wrenching at the stones, casting them down beside the wall. Alder saw his own hands cast shadows for an instant from a red gleam. Orm Irian, as he had seen her first, a great dragon shape, had let out her fiery breath as she struggled to move a boulder from the lowest rank of stones, deepset in the earth. Her talons struck sparks and her thorned back arched, and the rock rolled ponderously free, breaching the wall entirely in that place.

There was a vast, soft cry among the shadows on the other side, like the sound of the sea on a hollow shore. Their darkness surged up against the wall. But Alder looked up and saw that it was no longer dark. Light moved in that sky where the stars had never moved, quick sparks of fire far in the dark west.

“Kalessin!”

That was Tehanu’s voice. He looked at her. She was gazing upward, westward. She had no eye for earth.

She reached up her arms. Fire ran along her hands, her arms, into her hair, into her face and body, flamed up into great wings above her head, and lifted her into the air, a creature all fire, blazing, beautiful.

She cried out aloud, a clear, wordless cry. She flew high, headlong, fast, up into the sky where the light was growing and a white wind had erased the unmeaning stars.

From among the hosts of the dead a few here and there, like her, rose up flickering into dragons, and mounted on the wind.

Most came forward afoot. They were not pressing, not crying out now, but walking with unhurried certainty towards the fallen places in the wall: great multitudes of men and women, who as they came to the broken wall did not hesitate but stepped across it and were gone: a wisp of dust, a breath that shone an instant in the ever-brightening light.

Alder watched them. He still held in his hands, forgotten, a chinking stone he had wrenched from the wall to loosen a larger rock. He watched the dead go free. At last he saw her among them. He tossed the stone aside then and stepped forward. “Lily,” he said. She saw him and smiled and held out her hand to him. He took her hand, and they crossed together into the sunlight.

***

L
EBANNEN STOOD BY THE RUINED
wall and watched the dawn brighten in the east. There was an east now, where there had been no direction, no way to go. There was east and west, and light and motion. The very ground moved, shook, shivering like a great animal, so that the wall of stones beyond where they had broken it shuddered and slid into rubble. Fire broke from the far, black peaks of the mountains called Pain, the fire that burns in the heart of the world, the fire that feeds dragons.

He looked into the sky over those mountains and saw, as he and Ged had seen them once above the western sea, the dragons flying on the wind of morning.

Three came wheeling towards him where he stood among the others near the crest of the hill, above the ruined wall. Two he knew, Orm Irian and Kalessin. The third had bright mail, gold, with wings of gold. That one flew highest and did not stoop down to them. Orm Irian played about her in the air and they flew together, one chasing the other higher and higher, till all at once the highest rays of the rising sun struck Tehanu and she burned like her name, a great bright star.

Kalessin circled again, flew low, and alighted hugely amid the ruins of the wall.

“Agni Lebannen,”
said the dragon to the king.

“Eldest,” the king said to the dragon.

“Aissadan verw nadannan,”
said the vast, hissing voice, like a sea of cymbals.

Beside Lebannen, Brand the Summoner of Roke stood planted solidly. He repeated the dragon’s words in the Speech of the Making, and then said them in Hardic: “What was divided is divided.”

The Patterner stood near them, his hair bright in the brightening light. He said, “What was built is broken. What was broken is made whole.”

Then he looked up yearning into the sky, at the gold dragon and the red-bronze one; but they had flown almost out of sight, wheeling now in vast gyres over the long, falling land, where empty shadow cities faded to nothing in the light of day.

“Eldest,” he said, and the long head swung slowly back to him.

“Will she follow the way back through the forest, sometimes?” Azver asked in the speech of dragons.

Kalessin’s long, fathomless, yellow eye regarded him. The enormous mouth seemed, like the mouths of lizards, closed upon a smile. It did not speak.

Then ponderously dragging its length along the wall so that stones still standing slid and fell grating beneath its iron belly, Kalessin writhed away from them, and with a rush and rattle of upraised wings pushed off from the hillside and flew low over the land towards the mountains, whose peaks now were bright with smoke and white steam, fire and sunlight.

“Come, friends,” said Seppel in his soft voice. “It’s not yet our time to go free.”

***

S
UNLIGHT WAS IN THE SKY
above the crowns of the highest trees, but the glade still held the chill grey of dawn. Tenar sat with her hand on Alder’s hand, her face bowed down. She looked at the cold dew beading a grass blade, how it hung in tiny, delicate drops along the blade, each drop reflecting all the world.

Someone spoke her name. She did not look up.

“He’s gone,” she said.

The Patterner knelt by her. He touched Alder’s face with a gentle hand.

He knelt there silent a while. Then he said to Tenar in her language, “My lady, I saw Tehanu. She flies golden on the other wind.”

Tenar glanced up at him. His face was white and worn, but there was a shadow of glory in his eyes.

She struggled and then said, speaking roughly and almost inaudibly, “Whole?”

He nodded.

She stroked Alder’s hand, the mender’s hand, fine, skillful. Tears came into her eyes.

“Let me be with him a while,” she said, and she began to cry. She put her hands to her face and cried hard, bitterly, silently.

***

A
ZVER WENT TO THE LITTLE
group by the door of the house. Onyx and Gamble were near the Summoner, who stood, heavy and anxious, near the princess. She crouched beside Lebannen, her arms across him, protecting him, daring any wizard to touch him. Her eyes flashed. She held Lebannen’s short steel dagger naked in her hand.

“I came back with him,” Brand said to Azver. “I tried to stay with him. I wasn’t sure of the way. She won’t let me near him.”

“Ganaí,”
Azver said, her title in Kargish, princess.

Her eyes flashed up to him. “Oh may Atwah-Wuluah be thanked and the Mother praised for ever!” she cried. “Lord Azver! Make these accursed-sorcerers go away. Kill them! They have killed my king.” She held out the dagger to him by its slender steel blade.

“No, princess. He went with the dragon Irian. But this sorcerer brought him back to us. Let me see him,” and he knelt and turned Lebannen’s face a little to see it better, and laid his hands on his chest. “He’s cold,” he said. “It was a hard way back. Take him in your arms, princess. Keep him warm.”

“I have tried to,” she said, biting her lip. She flung down the dagger and bent to the unconscious man. “O poor king!” she said softly in Hardic, “dear king, poor king!”

Azver got up and said to the Summoner, “I think he will be all right, Brand. She is much more use than we are, now.”

The Summoner put out his big hand and took hold of Azver’s arm. “Steady now,” he said.

“The Doorkeeper,” Azver said, going whiter than before and looking around the glade.

“He came back with the Pelnishman,” Brand said. “Sit down, Azver.”

Azver obeyed him, sitting down on the log seat the old Changer had sat on in their circle the afternoon before. A thousand years ago it seemed. The old men had gone back to the School in the evening . . . And then the long night had begun, the night that brought the wall of stones so close that to sleep was to be there, and to be there was terror, so no one had slept. No one, maybe, in all Roke, in all the isles . . . Only Alder, who went to guide them . . . Azver found he was dozing and shivering.

Gamble tried to make him go inside the winter house, but Azver insisted that he should be near the princess to interpret for her. And near Tenar, he thought without saying it, to protect her. To let her grieve. But Alder was done with grieving. He had passed his grief to her. To them all. His joy . . .

The Herbal came from the School and fussed about Azver, put a winter cloak over his shoulders. He sat on in a weary, feverish half doze, not heeding the others, dimly irritated by the presence of so many people in his sweet silent glade, watching the sunlight creep down among the leaves. His vigil was rewarded when the princess came to him, knelt before him looking with solicitous respect into his face, and said, “Lord Azver, the king would speak with you.”

She helped him stand up, as if he were an old man. He did not mind. “Thank you,
gaínha,
” he said.

“I am not queen,” she said with a laugh.

“You will be,” said the Patterner.

I
T WAS THE STRONG TIDE
of the full moon, and
Dolphin
had to wait for the slack to run between the Armed Cliffs. Tenar did not disembark in Gont Port till midmorning, and then there was the long walk uphill. It was near sunset when she came through Re Albi and took the cliff path to the house.

Ged was watering the cabbages, well grown by now.

He straightened up and looked at her coming to him, that hawk look, frowning. “Ah,” he said.

“Oh my dear,” she said. She hurried, the last few steps, as he came to her.

***

S
HE WAS TIRED
. S
HE WAS
very glad to sit with him with a glass of Spark’s good red wine and watch the evening of early autumn flare into gold over all the western sea.

“How can I tell you everything?” she said.

“Tell it backward,” he said.

“All right. I will. They wanted me to stay, but I said I wanted to go home. But there was a council meeting, the King’s Council, you know, for the betrothal. There’ll be a grand wedding and all, of course, but I don’t think I have to go. Because that was truly when they married. With Elfarran’s Ring. Our ring.”

He looked at her and smiled, the broad, sweet smile that she thought, perhaps wrongly, perhaps rightly, nobody but her had ever seen on his face.

“Yes?” he said.

“Lebannen came and stood here, see, on my left, and then Seserakh came and stood here on my right. In front of Morred’s throne. And I held up the Ring. The way I did when we brought it to Havnor, remember? in
Lookfar,
in the sunlight? Lebannen took it in his hands and kissed it and gave it back to me. And I put it on her arm, it just went over her hand—she’s not a little woman, Seserakh—Oh, you should see her, Ged! What a beauty she is, what a lion! He’s met his match.—And everybody shouted. And there were festivals and so on. And so I could get away.”

“Go on.”

“Backward?”

“Backward.”

“Well. Before that was Roke.”

“Roke’s never simple.”

“No.”

They drank their red wine in silence.

“Tell me of the Patterner.”

She smiled. “Seserakh calls him the Warrior. She says only a warrior would fall in love with a dragon.”

“Who followed him to the dry land—that night?”

“He followed Alder.”

“Ah,” Ged said, with surprise and a certain satisfaction.

“So did others of the masters. And Lebannen, and Irian . . .”

“And Tehanu.”

A silence.

“She went out of the house. When I came out she was gone.” A long silence. “Azver saw her. In the sunrise. On the other wind.”

A silence.

“They’re all gone. There are no dragons left in Havnor or the western islands. Onyx said: as that shadow place and all the shadows in it rejoined the world of light, so they regained their true realm.”

“We broke the world to make it whole,” Ged said.

After a long time Tenar said in a soft, thin voice, “The Patterner believes Irian will come to the Grove if he calls to her.”