“I brought this for you, Orrec,” I said, and held out the tall book with its gold-printed red cover. He came over, slouching a bit himself and yawning, to take it. When he saw it was a book his mouth snapped shut and his face went taut. When he saw what book it was, he stood motionless, and it was a long moment before he drew breath.
“Oh, Memer,” he said. “What have you given me?”
I said, “What I have to give.”
He looked up from the book then to my face. His eyes were luminous. It gave me great joy to give him joy.
Gry came to his side and looked at the book; he showed her what it was, handling it with a lover’s care, reading the first line half aloud. “I knew,” he said, “I knew they must be here?some of the books of the great library?But this?!” He looked at me again. “Was this? Are there books here in the house, Memer?”
I hesitated. Gry, as quickly aware of feeling and intention as Shetar, laid her hand on his arm and said, “Wait, Orrec.”
I had to think, and quickly, what indeed my intention was, what right I had and what responsibility. Was this book mine to give? And if it was, what of the other books? And the other lovers of books?
What I saw was that I could not lie to Orrec. And that answered the question of my responsibility. As for the right, I had to claim it.
“Yes,” I said. “There are books here. But I don’t think I can take you to the place where they are. I’ll ask the Waylord. But I think it’s closed, except to us. To my people. I think our guardians keep it hidden. The spirits of the house, the ancestors. And the ones who were here before us. The ones who told us to stay here.”
Orrec and Gry had no trouble understanding this. They too had gifts of their lineage. They knew the burdens and chances laid on us by the shadows in our blood and bone, and by the spirits of the place we live in.
“Orrec, let me tell him I gave you the book,” I said. “I didn’t ask him if I could.” Orrec looked concerned, and I said, “It’ll be all right. But I need to talk to him.”
“Of course.”
“He never spoke of the books to you, because it was dangerous to know,” I said. I felt I must defend the Waylord’s silence. “For so long, he had to hide them all. From everybody. The Alds could never find them, here. So they were safe, and people weren’t in danger for having them. But people knew. They brought books here in secret, at night?hidden in packages of candles or old clothes?in firewood, in a haybale-they risked their lives bringing books here, where they knew we could keep them safe. Families who’d hidden their books, like the Cams and the Gelbs, and people we didn’t know, just people who’d found a book or kept it or saved it from the Alds. They knew to bring it here to Galvamand. But now, now we don’t have to hide any more?do we?… Can you?could you ever read to the people, Orrec? Instead of reciting? To let them know, to let them see that books aren’t demons, that our history, our hearts, our freedom’s written in them?”
He looked at me with a slow, joyful smile that became almost a laugh. “I think it’s you that should read to them, Memer,” he said.
Gry and I left Orrec with his treasure. We let Shetar lead us out and guide us in the twilight up to Denios’ Fountain. There she roamed about through the fallen leaves and rustling shrubbery, hunting mice, while we talked, sitting on the old marble bench by the fountain. Lights were coming on down in the houses of the city. Far out in the straits, under the last dim purple of sunset, we saw the glimmer of the boats of night fishermen. Sul was a pure cone of darkness against the dying light. An owl swooped past near us, and I said, “The good omen to you.”
“And to you,” Gry said. “You know, in Trundlede they call owls bad luck? They’re a gloomy, downhearted lot there. Too much forest, too much rain.”
“You’ve travelled all over the world,” I said dreamily.
“Oh, no, not yet. We’ve never been to Sundraman. Or the capes of Manva or Melune. And among the City States we’ve seen only Sentas and Pagadi, and we came only through a corner of Vadalva… And even if you know a land well, there’s always a town or a hill you haven’t seen. I don’t think we’ll run out of world.”
“When do you think you’ll go on?”
“Well, until just now, I’d have guessed that Orrec might be thinking of moving on to Sundraman before the winter, or in the spring. He wants to see what kind of poetry they have there, before we go back to Mesun. But now… I doubt he’ll go till he knows every book you can show him.”
“Are you sorry?”
“Sorry? Why? You’ve given him a great happiness, and I love to see him happy. It doesn’t come easy to him. Orrec has a difficult heart… You know what he can do with a crowd of people, how easy it seems to come to him and how they love him?and doing it, he’s carried away by it?but afterward, he feels cast down and false. It isn’t me at all, he says, it’s the sacred wind blows through me, and it empties me and leaves me like dry grass… But if he can write, and read, and follow his own heart in silence, he’s a happy man.”
“That’s why I love him,” I said. “I’m like that.”
“I know,” she said, and put her arm around me.
“But you yourself might want to be going on, Gry. Not just sitting here all year with a lot of books and politics.”
She laughed. “I like it here. I like Ansul. But if we stay through the winter, and I think now we will, I might find somebody who needs a hand training horses.”
“Yes. That poet got it right,” she said. “I like that.”
“Gudit is hoping to get some horses for the Waylord to use.”
“I might train a colt for him. It stands to reason… But, anyhow, we’ll go on, eventually. And sooner or later we’ll go back to Urdile, to take what Orrecs learned to the scholars in Mesun. He’ll be busy copying that book, and anything you give him, from now on.”
“I could help him copy.”
“He’ll wear you out if you offer.”
“I like doing it. I learn the book while I copy it.”
She was silent for a little while and then said, “If we did go back to Urdile, next spring or summer, whenever?would you think of coming with us?”
“Coming with you,” I repeated.
Sometimes, back in early summer, I had made a daydream of the caravan wagon which stood now in our stables: a daydream of Star and Branty pulling it across some long gold plain where the poplars cast shadows, or over a road in the hills, and Orrec driving it, and Gry and Shetar walking with me along the road behind. It had been just a fancy to cheer me, to take my mind away from anxiety, in the time of the fire and the crowds and the fear.
Now she made it real. That road lay before me.
I said, “I would go with you anywhere, Gry.”
She leaned her head against mine for a moment. “We might do that, then,” she said.
I thought, trying to see what it is that matters and what I have to do. I said finally; “I would come back here.”
She listened.
“I couldn’t leave him and not come back.”
She nodded.
“But more than that. I belong to Galvamand. I think I am the Reader. Not he. It’s passed along.” I was speaking out of my own thoughts and I realised she could hardly know what I meant. I tried to explain. “There is a voice here, and it must speak through one who can?who can ask, who can read. He taught me. He gave me that. He kept it for me and passed it to me. It’s not his to carry; but mine. And I have to come back to it. To stay here.”
Again she nodded, gravely; consenting fully.
“But Orrec could teach me, too,” I said, and then, sure I had gone too far and asked too much, I shrank into myself.
“That would complete his happiness,” Gry answered. She said it serenely and as a matter of course. “To have
