[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (58 page)

“I am here, Hadreshikrar, but I am not
trapped. Though the world is so huge!” I could bear it
no longer, I
laughed for heart’s ease. “It is like being a youngling again, looking up
at the trees
and
being so close to the ground! I am alive, Shikrar, beyond hope, and the
ferrinshadik
is
silent at last! Behold these hands,
so dextrous, so gentle, and this supple body!” I tried to bow
in the
fashion of the Gedri, and only Lanen’s strong arm held me up. She laughed as
she
caught
me, helped me to balance, delighting in me.

I reached out my hand, so soft, so useless in the
eyes of the Kantri, and touched her cheek.

The tips of my fingers (though I did not know the
word then) were sensitive beyond belief. I
shivered again with the sensation,
not only on my hands but all over this new vessel of mine.

Lanen’s smooth skin beneath my hand was like
nothing I had ever known.

Now it was my turn to swear. “Name of the
Winds, Lanen! I feel every breath of air on these
hands. How could you bear to burn
yours so terribly, no matter whose life you might save?” I
wondered at
my new body, for suddenly it was hard to speak past a thickening in my throat. “Dear
one, oh, forgive me, I never knew it was such agony for you.”

She smiled and took my hands in hers. “Akor,
dear heart, I grew up on a farm. My hands were
covered with calluses— places where
the skin had grown hard. It happens naturally, for
protection, and it helped a little at
first. You’ll get them, too, given time.” She blinked,
surprised at
her own words, and laughed. I rejoiced when I recognised it as the laugh of
delight I had
heard when first she set foot on the island of the Kantri. “Your outer
form may
have
changed,” she said, “but I would know you for Akor in ten thousand.
Who else is so full
of
questions?”

“At least now I do not have to contort my
tongue to speak them. The sounds make sense with
a mouth like this.”

Lanen

I am afraid that my first thought was that a lot
of other things did, too, but I managed not to
say anything. ”I notice you can say
my name now.” I grinned. “I miss that little hiss you
added—but
what’s done is done.”

With that I turned to face Idai, who was still
standing well away from Akor. “That’s a human
saying, lady, that you would do well
to listen to. This thing has happened whether we like it or
not, and
denying your old friend will not unmake it.” I did not want to be harsh,
but why
should
this all be so much harder for her to believe?

And with the thought itself came the answer.
Lanen, Lanen, she has loved him for a
thousand
years,
and now he is gone from her people forever.
I spoke more
gently, ashamed of my show
of temper.
“Lady Idai, your pardon, but this is the word of the Wind of Change, here
as we
stand. For good or ill the
world will never be the same for any of us. At the least, let we who
are at the heart of the change keep friends for the
sake of one another.”

“Step back, child of the Gedri,” she
said to me. Akor seemed steady enough on his feet now,
so I stood away.

She leaned down until her head was at his level,
her eyes locked on his. “I once told Akhor
my name, when I was young and foolish
and hoped that he might one day come to love me.”

Her voice shook me—she was speaking in the same
tones she had used the night before,
calling to Akor in his Weh sleep. The voice of a
mourning lover.

“Do you know my true name, youngling, and
where and when I told it to Akhor? For only he
and I in all the world know
that.”

For the first time sadness appeared on that face.
“Idai, Idai, of course I know your name. But
how should I speak it before Shikrar
and Lanen? I would not so betray your trust. In eight
hundred years I have never breathed
it to any but you, and then only twice. I do not have
truespeech, Lady. What would
you?”

“Tell me,” she said, and I sensed a
kind of reckless madness
rising in her. “Speak it aloud, Gedri. Shikrar is Keeper of Souls,
he will know it in time.

And surely you will not hesitate to speak it
before your dear one.”

I bowed. “He might not, lady, but I will not
put you in such peril.” I bowed to her. “I was
promised by
my father to demons ere ever I was born. If they ever catch up with me—I was in
the power of
one for a brief moment, and I had no strength to resist. If I don’t know your
true
name,
I can’t tell it.”

I turned and walked away, as far on the other
side of the clearing as I could get, and stuffed
my fingers in my ears like a child.

Akhor

Shikrar, I was glad to see, was also quietly
moving away.

“Very well, Iderrikanterrisai,” I said,
as softly as I might, “you told me your true name at
moonrise on
Midwinter’s night the year I was come to my prime, the year I had seen my full
two centuries
and a half.” I could not keep old sternness out of my voice when I added,
“You said you had waited for me to achieve my majority, that you longed
for me, and that now
you
might speak of it without rebuke. When I protested that I did not know you
well enough,
that
I was still young and had given no thought to a mate, you gave me your name. I
do not
know
why, though I have wondered about it often enough. Perhaps you meant to shame
me
into
giving mine.”

I bowed my head, thinking (irrelevantly) as I did
so that the gesture had not the power it had
in my former body. “Several
times since then, for your constant friendship, I would have
given you my
true name in return,” I said sorrowfully, “but I never have, for I
would not
encourage
you falsely nor build hope where there could be none.”

She stood in Shame and Sorrow, and all the years
of goodwill between us rose up clear
before me. ”I would give it to you now, if you will
receive it,” I said, reaching out slowly to
touch her. “Or would that be
injury added to insult?”

She did not speak. I lowered my voice.
“Iderrikanterrisai,
I am—I was—Khordeshkhistriakhor. I can think of no truer way to speak
long friendship’s
love.”

“Khordeshkhistriakhor, you honour me,”
she said at last, adding with the ghost of a hiss,
“though a little late for my
taste. But I cannot deny. You are Akhor.”

The truth, though, was that I was not. When the
true name is spoken, especially by one who
has never said it before, there is a
reaction in the hearer. I felt nothing.

“Lanen,” I called. She strode quickly
up to where we stood. “Call me by name.”

She looked startled. “Do not fear,” I
said, “both Shikrar and Idai know now. But I must hear
you speak
it.”

“Very well. Kordeshkistriakor,” she
said, and without thinking added in truespeech,
”dear
one.”

I jumped. “I heard you!” I whirled to
face Shikrar, very nearly falling over in the process. (I
think Lanen
was getting used to catching me.) “Shikrar, bespeak me I pray you!”

“Akhorishaan,
what is it? Can you hear me?”

“Yes!” I cried, and felt for the first
time the tears of joy I had seen Lanen shed. “Ahhh! My
soul to the
Winds, Shikrar, I hear you! I had feared it gone forever!”

Shikrar’s mindvoice was full of quiet delight.
“As did I, old friend. Perhaps in time
you will
be
able to speak again. After all, Akhorishaan, you have not had much practice
being
human.
”
I laughed again. ”But why did you have Lanen speak
your name just now?” he
continued aloud. “True, we here all know it, but
surely there is still danger for you if—”

“No, my friend,” I replied solemnly.
“That was why I asked her to make the trial. It is no
longer my
name. I must find another.”

There was a pause, then Shikrar said, too
casually, “Perhaps Deshkantriakor?”

I stared at him. It took me a moment to react,
then I started to laugh. He was hissing loudly,
and behind him Idai, who obviously
thought we were being far too irreverent, finally let go
and sent a
cloud of steam into the clearing as the laughter burst from her also.

Lanen turned to me. “What in the—?”

“Forgive me, dearling, but it seems my old
friend Shikrar has recovered, and his jests, as
always, are terrible. He says I
should be named Deshkantriakor, the Strange King of the Kantri.”

She glanced at Idai and Shikrar as they recovered
their bearing. “Very funny,” she said
dryly. “I wouldn’t recommend it,
myself.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I said, with
no little reluctance. “It was worth it for heart’s ease, in
any
case.” I had been turning over elements of the Old Speech in my mind,
though, even as
we
laughed, and I knew what my name must be.

“My name is chosen, Hadreshikrar, Iderrisai,
Lanen Maransdatter, I pray you attend.”

In the silence that followed, in the clear
morning, I stood before those I loved best and spoke
the words of the Naming.

”I reveal my name unto you, dear love and oldest
friends, that you alone may know the truth
of me, may with my consent call me by
name and speak as friends of my soul. My usename
shall be Varien, the Changed One, and
so I shall commonly be called. But my true name is
Varien Kantriakor rash-Gedri,
Kadreshi naLanen: He who is Changed from the Lord of the
Kantri to a
Man, Beloved of Lanen. It is the truth of who and what I have become. If it
seems
overlong,
I beg your indulgence, for my heart tells me I shall require the safety of such
a
name.
I charge you, my dear ones, guard it well among you.”

They all three repeated my name aloud. I had
chosen well, for the words rang in my heart
with the truth of the naming, tied
now to my soul. For years afterwards, though, when
anyone asked my name I could hear the
laughter of Dragons.

Lanen

In the silence after the Naming (which was not so
different from the human ceremony), I was
ashamed to notice so minor a thing as
the weather, but it could not be ignored much longer.

So far we had been fortunate. Winter had backed
down for the moment, leaving behind a
clear, cloudless morning; but the air was still cold,
and I saw goosefiesh on Akor—on Varien’s
skin where my cloak did not cover it.

Varien. The Changed One.

”We must go back inside, or find another place
where there is warmth,” I told Shikrar and
Idai. “I think we should return
to Akor’s cave near the Council chamber. From there Rella
might be able
to help us, or I could go to the ship myself and get clothing for him.” I
wondered as I
spoke whether the ship would have left already. Suddenly it was important. “We
will also need food, both of us,” I added, for I was hungry again.
“Will you two do us the
honour of bearing us thence?”

Without hesitation they agreed. I cut off a great
slab of the meat Shikrar had brought for me
the night before, knowing I— we—would
want it when we arrived at Akor’s chambers. As
there was nothing else to be done
where we were, Shikrar and Idai picked us up gently in their
great hands
and we left the ground.

I thought it would be the last time I ever flew.
I watched the ground pass beneath me in the
sunlight, a wondrous and varied green
carpet of forests and fields, and tried to enjoy the mere
sensation of
flying in daylight when I could enjoy it, but my body’s demands were too
strong.

Held close to Idai’s warmth, her strong hands
safe about me, knowing at least for the moment
that all was safe, I closed my
exhausted eyes and slept.

Idai woke me as we came near Akor’s chambers to
tell me that the Council was meeting again
as we returned. I could not spare a
thought for such matters. My body was importunate in its
demands.
Warmth, food and sleep were all I could think of. Indeed, my memory of that
journey is in
great part lost, for on the heels of grief, joy and wonder I had no strength
left.