The Wise Man's Fear Part 96

"Why?"

Tempi thought for a moment. "When you speak of Lethani, it should not come from here," he tapped on my head. "Or here." He tapped on my chest over my heart and ran his fingers down to my left hand. "True knowing of the Lethani lives deeper. Lives here." He prodded me in the stomach, below my navel. "You must speak from here, without thinking."

As we continued, I slowly came to understand the unspoken rules to our discussions. Not only was it intended to teach me the Lethani, it was supposed to reveal how deeply rooted understanding of the Lethani had become within me.

That meant questions were to be answered quickly, with none of the deliberate pauses that usually marked Ademic conversation. You were not supposed to give a thoughtful answer, you were supposed to give an earnest one. If you truly understood the Lethani, that knowledge would become obvious in your answers.

Run. Ketan. Walk. Discuss. We completed the cycle three times before our midday break. Six hours. I was covered in sweat and half-convinced I would die. After an hour to rest and eat, we were off again. We finished another three cycles before we stopped for the night.

We made camp by the side of the road. I chewed my supper half-asleep, spread my blanket, and wrapped myself in my shaed. In my exhausted state it seemed soft and warm as a down eider.

In the middle of the night, Tempi shook me awake. Though some deep animal part of me hated him, I knew it was necessary as soon as I stirred. My body was stiff and aching, but the slow, familiar movements of the Ketan helped loosen my tight muscles. He made me stretch and drink water, then I slept like a stone for the remainder of the night.

The second day was worse. Even strapped tightly to my back, my lute became a miserable burden. The sword I couldn't even use dragged at my hip. My travelsack felt heavy as a millstone, and I regretted not letting Dedan take the Maer's box. My muscles were rubbery and disloyal, and when we ran my breath burned in my throat.

The moments when Tempi and I spoke of Lethani were the only real rest, but they were disappointingly brief. My mind spun with exhaustion, and it took all my concentration to pull my thoughts into order, trying to give proper answers. Even so, my responses only irritated him. Time after time he shook his head, explaining how I was wrong.

Eventually I gave up trying to be right. Too weary to care, I quit pulling my exhausted thoughts into order, and simply enjoyed sitting down for a few minutes. I was too weary to remember what I said half the time, but, surprisingly, Tempi found those answers more to his liking. That was a blessing. When my answers pleased him, our discussions lasted longer, and I could spend more time resting.

I felt considerably better the third day. My muscles no longer ached as badly. My breath came easier. My head felt clear and light, like a leaf floating on the wind. In this frame of mind, answers to Tempi's questions tripped easily off the tip of my tongue, simple as singing.

Run. Ketan. Walk. Discuss. Three cycles. Then, as we moved through the Ketan on the side of the road, I collapsed.

Tempi had been watching closely and caught me before I hit the ground. My world spun dizzily for a few minutes before I realized I was in the shade of a tree at the side of the road. Tempi must have carried me there.

He held out my waterskin. "Drink."

The thought of water was not appealing, but I took a mouthful anyway. "I am sorry, Tempi."

He shook his head. "You came far before falling. You did not complain. You showed your mind is stronger than your body. That is good. When the mind controls the body, that is of the Lethani. But knowing your limit is also of the Lethani. It is better to stop when you must than run until you fall."

"Unless falling is what the Lethani requires," I said without thinking. My head still felt light as a windblown leaf.

He gave me a rare smile. "Yes. You are beginning to see."

I returned his smile. "Your Aturan is coming very well, Tempi."

Tempi blinked. Worry Worry. "We are speaking my language, not yours."

"I'm not speaking ..." I started to protest, but as I did I listened to the words I was using. Sceopa teyas Sceopa teyas. My head reeled for a moment.

"Drink again," Tempi said, and though his face and voice were carefully controlled, I could tell he was concerned.

I took another sip to pacify him. Then, as if my body suddenly realized it needed the water, I became very thirsty and took several large swallows. I stopped before I drank too much and cramped my stomach. Tempi nodded, approval approval.

"Am I speaking well then?" I said to distract myself from my thirst.

"You are speaking well for a child. Very well for a barbarian."

"Only well? Am I making the words wrong?"

"You touch eyes too much." He widened his eyes and stared pointedly into my own, unblinking. "Also, your words are good, but simple."

"You must teach me more words then."

He shook his head. Serious Serious. "You already know too many words."

"Too many? Tempi, I know very few."

"It is not the words, it is their use. In Adem there is an art to speaking. There are those who can say many things in one thing. My Shehyn is such. They say a thing in one breath and others will find meaning in it for a year." Gentle reproach Gentle reproach. "Too often you say more than you need. You should not speak in Ademic as you sing in Aturan. A hundred words to praise a woman. Too many. Our talk is smaller."

"So when I meet a woman, I should simply say, 'You are beautiful?' "

Tempi shook his head. "No. You would say simply 'beautiful,' and let the woman decide the rest of what you mean."

"Isn't that ..." I didn't know the words for "vague" or "unspecific" and had to start again to get my point across. "Doesn't that lead to confusion?"

"It leads to thoughtfulness," he said firmly. "It is delicate. That should always be the concern when one is speaking. To be too much talking." He shook his head. Disapproval Disapproval. "It is ..." He stalled, searching for a word.

"Rude?"

Negation. Frustration. "I go to Severen, and there are people who stink. There are people who do not. Both are people, but those who do not stink are people of quality." He tapped my chest firmly with two fingers. "You are not a goatherd. You are a student of the Lethani. My student. You should speak as a person of quality."

"But what about clarity? What if you were building a bridge? There are many pieces to that. All of them must be said clearly."

"Of course," Tempi said. Agreement Agreement. "Sometimes. But in most things, important things, delicate is better. Small is better."

Tempi reached out and gripped my shoulder firmly. Then he looked up, met my eye and held it for a brief moment. Such a rarity for him. He gave a small, quiet smile.

"Proud," he said.

The remainder of the day was spent in recovery. We would walk a few miles, perform the Ketan, discuss the Lethani, then walk again. We stopped at a roadside inn that evening where I ate enough for three men and fell into bed before the sun had left the sky.

The next day we went back to the cycles, but only two before midday and two after. My body burned and ached, but I was no longer delirious with exhaustion. Fortunately, with a little mental effort, I could slide back into that strange antic.i.p.atory clear-headedness I'd used to answer Tempi's questions the day before.

Over the next couple of days I came to think of that odd mental state as Spinning Leaf.

It seemed like a distant cousin to Heart of Stone, the mental exercise I'd learned so long ago. That said, there was little similarity between the two. Heart of Stone was practical: it stripped away emotion and focused my mind. It made it easier to break my mind into separate pieces or maintain the all-important Alar.

On the other hand, Spinning Leaf seemed largely useless. It was relaxing to let my mind grow clear and empty, then float and tumble lightly from one thing to the next. But aside from helping me draw answers to Tempi's questions out of thin air, it seemed to have no practical value. It was the mental equivalent of a card trick.

By the eighth day on the road, my body no longer ached constantly. That was when Tempi added something new. After performing the Ketan the two of us would fight. It was hard, as that was when I was the most weary. But after the fighting we would always sit, rest, and discuss the Lethani.

"Why did you smile as we fought today?" Tempi would say.

"Because I was happy."

"Did you enjoy the fighting?"

"Yes."

Tempi radiated displeasure. "That is not of the Lethani."

I thought a moment on my next question. "Should a man take pleasure in the fight?"

"No. You take pleasure in acting rightly and following the Lethani."

"What if following the Lethani requires me to fight? Should I not take pleasure in it?"

"No. You should take pleasure in following the Lethani. If you fight well, you should take pride in doing a thing well. For the fighting itself you should feel only duty and sorrow. Only barbarians and madmen take pleasure in combat. Whoever loves the fight itself has left the Lethani behind."

On the eleventh day, Tempi showed me how to incorporate my sword into the Ketan. The first thing I learned was how quickly a sword becomes lead-heavy when held at arm's length.

With our sparring and the addition of the sword, each cycle took nearly two and a half hours. Still we kept to our schedule every day. Three cycles before noon, three cycles after. Fifteen hours in all. I could feel my body hardening, becoming quick and lean like Tempi's.

So we ran, and I learned, and Haert drew ever closer.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN.

Beauty and Branch AS WE TRAVELED, WE moved quickly through towns, stopping only for food and water. The countryside was a blur. My mind was focused on the Ketan, the Lethani, and the language I was learning.

The road became narrower as we made our way into the foothills of the Stormwal. The land grew rocky and jagged and the road began to snake back and forth as it avoided box valleys, bluffs, and jumbles of broken rock. The air changed, growing cooler than I expected in summer.

We finished the trip in fifteen days. At my best guess, we covered almost three hundred miles in that time.

Haert was the first Adem town I'd ever seen, and to my inexperienced eye it hardly seemed a town at all. There was no central street lined with houses and shops. What buildings I did see were widely s.p.a.ced, oddly shaped, and built to fit closely with the natural shape of the land, as if they were trying to keep out of sight.

I didn't know that the powerful storms that gave the mountain range its name were common here. Their sudden, changing winds would tear apart anything so upthrust and angular as the square timber houses common in the lands below.

Instead the Adem built sensibly, hiding their buildings from the weather. Homes were built into the sides of hills, or outward from the leeward walls of sheltering cliffs. Some were dug downward. Others were carved into the stony sides of bluffs. Some you could hardly see unless you were standing next to them.

The exception was a group of low stone buildings cl.u.s.tered close together some distance from the road.

We stopped outside the largest of these. Tempi turned to face me, tugging nervously at the leather straps holding his mercenary reds tight to his arms. "I must go and make my introductions to Shehyn. It may be some time." Anxiety. Regret Anxiety. Regret. "You must wait here. Perhaps long." His body language told me more than his words. I cannot take you inside, as you are a barbarian. I cannot take you inside, as you are a barbarian.

"I will wait," I rea.s.sured him.

He nodded and went inside, glancing back at me before closing the door behind himself.

I looked around, watching a few people quietly going about their business: a woman carrying a basket, a young boy leading a goat by a piece of rope. The buildings were made of the same rough stone as the landscape, blending into their surroundings. The sky was overcast, adding another shade of grey.

The wind blew over everything, snapping around corners and making patterns in the gra.s.s. I thought briefly of pulling on my shaed, but decided against it. The air was thinner here, and cooler. But it was still summer, and the sun was warm.

It felt oddly peaceful here, with none of the clamor and stink of a larger town. No clatter of hooves on cobblestones. No cart vendors singing out their wares. I could imagine someone like Tempi growing up in a place like this, soaking in the quiet until he was full of it, then taking it with him when he left.

With little else to look at, I turned to the nearby building. It was made from uneven pieces of stone pieced together like a jigsaw. Looking closer, I was puzzled by the lack of mortar. I tapped it with a knuckle, wondering briefly if it might be a single piece of stone carved to look like many stones fit together.

Behind me, I heard a voice say in Ademic, "What do you think of our wall?"

I turned to see an older woman with the characteristic pale grey eyes of the Adem. Her face was impa.s.sive, but her features were kind and motherly. She wore a yellow woolen cap pulled down over her ears. It was roughly knitted, and the sandy hair that stuck out from underneath was starting to go white. After all this time traveling with Tempi, it was odd to see an Adem who wasn't strapped into tight mercenary reds and wearing a sword. This woman wore a loose-fitting white shirt and linen pants.

"Is it fascinating, our wall?" she asked, gesturing gentle amus.e.m.e.nt, curiosity gentle amus.e.m.e.nt, curiosity with one hand. "What do you think of it?" with one hand. "What do you think of it?"

"I think it is beautiful," I responded in Ademic, careful to make only brief eye contact.

Her hand tilted in an unfamiliar gesture. "Beautiful?"

I gave the barest of shrugs. "There is beauty that belongs to simple things of function."

"Perhaps you are mistaking a word," she said. Gentle apology Gentle apology. "Beauty is a flower or a woman or a gem. Perhaps you mean to say 'utility.' A wall is useful."

"Useful, but beautiful as well."

"Perhaps a thing gains beauty being used."

"Perhaps a thing is used according to its beauty," I countered, wondering if this was the Adem equivalent of small talk. If it was, I preferred it to the insipid gossip of the Maer's court.

"What of my hat?" she asked, touching it with a hand. "Is it beautiful because it is used?"

It was knitted from a thick homespun wool and dyed a bright cornsilk yellow. It was slightly lopsided, and its st.i.tching was uneven in places. "It seems very warm," I said carefully.

She gestured small amus.e.m.e.nt small amus.e.m.e.nt, and her eyes twinkled ever so slightly. "It is that," she said. "And to me it is beautiful, as it was made for me by my daughter's daughter."

"Then it is beautiful as well." Agreement Agreement.

The woman hand-smiled at me. Her hand tilted differently than Tempi's when she made the gesture, and I decided to take it as a fond, motherly smile. Keeping my face blank, I gestured a smile in return, doing my best to make it both warm and polite.

"You speak well for a barbarian," she said and reached out to grip my arms in a friendly gesture. "Visitors are rare, especially those so courteous. Come with me and I will show you beauty, and you will speak to me of what its use might be."

I looked down. Regret Regret. "I cannot. I am waiting."

"For one inside?"

I nodded.

"If they have gone inside, I suspect you will be waiting some time. Certainly they would be pleased if you came with me. I may prove more entertaining than a wall." The old woman lifted her arm and caught the attention of a young boy. He trotted over and looked up at her expectantly, his eyes darting briefly to my hair.

She made several gestures to the boy, but I only understood quietly quietly. "Tell those inside I am taking this man for a walk so he need not stand alone in the wind. I will return him shortly."