Odd pieces of thought rose in his mind: the plain he had looked at, Xel's face, the skins he had hung to dry. Morgon felt an odd shifting in the room, as if another vision of the same room had superimposed itself over his own, and refocused slightly. Astrin, standing across from him, grew still, a dark shape in the flickering light. They spent the day indoors, Astrin prowling through wizards' books like an animal scenting, and Morgon trying to wash and mend Astrin's robe while questions he could not ask struggled like trapped birds in the back of his throat. He moved stiffly, with a tight, sour expression that eased only when his eyes fell on Morgon's mute, worried face. He drove me out of Caerweddin five years ago for speaking the truth why should I go back?"Īstrin said little of the incident the next day. He closed a book with a sigh, its iron bonds locking automatically, and said, staring out at the plain, "I should tell Heureu." Then his hand snapped down flat on the book and closed. Sometimes they hunted with Xel in the wild oak forest just south of them, which stretched from the sea far west beyond the limits of Ymris.Īstrin came out of his grim thoughts, finally, near sunset. Morgon worked at his side during the days, digging in the city in the long, quiet evenings he would try to piece together shards of pottery, of glass, while Astrin searched through his books. He did not go out again at night for a while. The first step is to become as the stone."
He nodded, his eyes holding Astrin's, and Astrin drew a breath. Morgon, some rough paste Astrin had made in front of him, began to fit together, piece by piece, the shards of glass. Xel prowled restlessly, wailing complaints every now and then to Astrin, who sat murmuring over a spell-book he could not open. The small house smelled damp, and the fire smoked. It rained heavily the next day they could not go out. He took the fragments to Astrin's house, brushed off the dirt and puzzled over them. Morgon found a few days later a cache of lovely red and purple glass in a corner of the chamber they were working in. He heated wine Astrin drank it and his shivering stopped. Then he was silent, his teeth locked, his eyes closed, while Morgon washed the shallow wound gently, closed it and bound it with strips from his dry robe. If I hadn't turned." He flinched as Morgon touched his side with a wet cloth. If Xel hadn't warned me, I would be dead. He was shaped out of seaweed and foam and wet pearl, and the sword was of darkness and silver water. Then he fell in the sea, and I had to dive for him among the rocks and tide, or they would have found him. He whispered as Morgon ripped a seam open, "Don't. Astrin's head dropped back on the pallet his hand slid down. He held his right hand against his side and would not move it, until Morgon, watching the dark stain bloom under his fingers, made a harsh noise of protest. His hands were scratched raw his hair was tangled with sea spray. He said, as Morgon put out his torch underfoot and went to help him, "I'm all right." His face was mist-colored in the light from the window he flung an arm around Morgon heavily, and together they stumbled across the threshold, Astrin sat down on the pallet. It must be the essence of peace, having no name, no memory. But I've never met a man so hidden from himself.
His hands closed tight on Astrin's arms he shook Astrin a little, imperatively, and Astrin said, "I'll try. It's deep, deep." He stopped as Morgon rose. I couldn't reach the place where you have your name and your past hidden from yourself. He turned away after a moment, went to find Astrin.Īstrin moved, the fire reflected strangely in his eyes. The gold steps curved away from him the winds pushed at him like children, tumbled past him. Morgon, following them, drawn to the huge, bright structure, put one hand flat on its blue-black wall, one foot on its first step. The winds sped past like wild horses, pouring through empty rooms, thundering down the street to spiral the tower and moan through its secret chamber. Morgon, left to his own in the hollow, singing city, wandered through the roofless halls and wall-less chambers, between piles of broken stones rooted deep to the earth by long grass. Perhaps someone knows you there." But Morgon only looked at him blankly, as if Caithnard lay in some strange land at the bottom of the sea, and Astrin did not mention it again. It's just a day's journey south of these woods. Once Astrin said, as they walked through the gentle, constant fall of dead oak leaves, "I should take you to Caithnard.
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