The Wise Man's Fear

deeper into the stone of the cliff.

A woman sat at a low table, copying something from one book into another. Her hair was white, her face wrinkled as an old apple. It occurred to me then that this was the first person I’d seen reading or writing in all my time in Haert.

The old woman nodded a greeting at Shehyn, then turned to Vashet and her eyes crinkled around the edges. Gladness. “Vashet,” she said. “I did not know you were returned.”

“We are come for a name, Magwyn,” Shehyn said. Polite formal entreaty.

“A name?” Magwyn asked, puzzled. She looked from Shehyn to Vashet, then her eyes moved to where I stood behind them. To my bright red hair and my bandaged hand. “Ah,” she said, growing suddenly somber.

Magwyn closed her books and came to her feet. Her back was bent, and she took small, shuffling steps. She motioned me forward and walked a slow circle around me, looking me carefully up and down. She avoided looking at my face, but took hold of my unbandaged hand, turning it over to look at the palm and the fingertips.

“I would hear you say something,” she said, still looking intently at my hand.

“As you will, honored shaper of names,” I said.

Magwyn looked up at Shehyn. “Does he mock me?”

“I think not.”

Magwyn made another circle of me, running her hands over my shoulders, my arms, the back of my neck. She moved her fingers through my hair, then stopped in front of me and looked me fully in the eye.

Her eyes were like Elodin’s. Not in any of the details. Elodin’s eyes were green, sharp, and mocking. Magwyn’s were the familiar Adem grey, slightly watery and red around the edges. No, the similarity was in how she looked at me. Elodin was the only other person I had met who could look at you like that, as if you were a book he was idly thumbing through.

When Magwyn met my eyes for the first time, I felt like all the air had been sucked out of me. For the barest of moments I thought she might be startled by what she saw, but that was probably just my anxiety. I had come to the edge of disaster too often lately, and despite how well my recent test had gone, part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Maedre,” she said, her eyes still fixed on mine. She looked down and made her way back to her book.

“Maedre?” Vashet said, a hint of dismay in her voice. She might have said more, but Shehyn reached out and cuffed her sharply on the side of the head.

It was exactly the same motion Vashet had used to chastise me a thousand times in the last month. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

Vashet and Shehyn glared at me. Actually glared.

Magwyn turned to look at me. She didn’t seem upset. “Do you laugh at the name I have given you?”

“Never, Magwyn,” I said trying my best to gesture respect with my bandaged hand. “Names are important things.”

She continued to eye me. “And what would a barbarian know of names?”

“Some,” I said, fumbling with my bandaged hand again. I couldn’t add fine shades of meaning to my words without it. “Far away, I have made a study of such things. I know more than many, but still only just a little.”

Magwyn looked at me for a long time. “Then you will know you should not speak of your new name to anyone,” she said. “It is a private thing, and dangerous to share.”

I nodded.

Magwyn looked satisfied at this, and settled back onto her chair, opening a book. “Vashet, my little rabbit, you should come and visit me soon.” Gentle chiding fondness.

“I will, grandmother,” Vashet said.

“Thank you, Magwyn,” Shehyn said. Deferential gratitude.

The old woman nodded a distracted dismissal, and Shehyn led us from the cave.

Later that evening, I walked back to Vashet’s house. She was sitting on the bench out front, watching the sky as the sun began to set.

She tapped the bench beside her, and I took a seat. “How does it feel to no longer be a barbarian?” she asked.

“Mostly the same,” I said. “Slightly drunker.”

After dinner Penthe had pulled me away to her house, where there was a party of sorts. Call it a gathering, rather, as there was no music or dancing. Still, I was flattered that Penthe had gone to the effort of finding five other Adem who were willing to celebrate my admittance to the school.

I was pleased to learn the Adem impassivity dissolved quite easily after a few drinks, and we were all grinning like barbarians in no time. It relaxed me, especially as much of my own clumsiness with the language could now be blamed on my bandaged hand.

“Earlier today,” I said carefully, “Shehyn said she knew a story about the Rhinta.”

Vashet turned to look at me, her face expressionless. Hesitant.

“I have searched all over the world for such a thing,” I said. “There are few things I would value more.” Utter sincerity. “And I worry that I did a poor job of letting Shehyn know this.” Questioning. Intense entreaty.

Vashet looked at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to continue. Then she gestured reluctance. “I will mention it to her,” she said. Reassurance. Finished.

I nodded and let the subject drop.

Vashet and I sat for a while in companionable silence as the sun slowly sank into the horizon. She drew a deep breath and sighed expansively. I realized that, with the exception of waiting for me to catch my breath or recover from a fall, we had never done anything like this before. Up until this point, every moment we had spent together had been focused on my training.

“Tonight,” I said at last. “Penthe told me she thought I had a fine anger, and that she’d like to share it with me.”

Vashet chuckled. “That didn’t take very long.” She gave me a knowing look. “What happened?”

I blushed a bit. “Ah. She . . . reminded me the Adem do not consider physical contact particularly intimate.”

Vashet’s smile grew practically lecherous. “Grabbed hold of you, did she?”

“Almost,” I said. “I move more quickly than I did a month ago.”

“I doubt you move quickly enough to keep away from Penthe,” Vashet said. “All she is looking for is sexplay. There is no harm in it.”

“That is why I was asking you,” I said slowly. “To see if there was any harm in it.”

Vashet she raised an eyebrow, at the same time gesturing vague puzzlement.

“Penthe is quite lovely,” I said carefully. “However, you and I have . . .” I looked for an appropriate term. “Been intimate.”

Realization washed over Vashet’s face and she laughed again. “What you mean is that we have been sexual. The intimacy between a teacher and student is greater by far than that.”

“Ah,” I said, relaxing. “I’d suspected something of the sort. But it is nice to know for certain.”

Vashet shook her head. “I had forgotten what it is like with you barbarians,” she said, her voice heavy with fond indulgence. “It has been so many years since I had to explain such things to my poet king.”

“So you would not be offended if I were to . . .” I made an inarticulate gesture with my bandaged hand.

“You are young and energetic,” she said. “It is a healthy thing for you to do. Why would I be offended? Do I suddenly own your sex, that I should be worried about you giving it away?”

Vashet stopped as if something had just occurred to her. She turned to look at me. “Are you offended that I have been having sex with others all this while?” She watched my face intently. “I see you are startled by it.”

“I am startled,” I admitted. Then I did a mental inventory and was surprised to discover I wasn’t sure how I felt. “I feel I ought to be offended,” I said at last. “But I don’t think I am.”

Vashet nodded approvingly. “That is a good sign. It shows you are becoming civilized. The other feeling is what you were brought up to think. It is like an old shirt that no longer fits you. And now, when you look at it