The Beginning Place by Ursula K. Le Guin Read Free Book Online Page B

gently.
    “When I came through the gateway. It had been so long. And there, at the beginning place, beside the river, there was—”
    He said a word, almost in a whisper. It was the word little Virti had shouted when he was playing monster and she would not fall down, and Aduvan had scolded him, Shut up, don’t say that, both children over-excited, near tears. A huge, pale, deformed arm groping out across the grass—
    “A man,” she said. “A stranger.”
    The Master listened, intent, alert.
    “A stranger, like me. Not like me, but—” She knew no other way to say it. The Master, evidently understanding, nodded once.
    “Did you speak with him?”
    “No. He was asleep. I came on. I didn’t want—I was afraid—” She stuck again. She could not explain her first panic. Surely he would see why a woman alone might have reason to be afraid of a strange man. But she could not express
the rage she felt now recalling her fear and recalling the stranger, the gross sleeper, the litter of plastic trash: the sense of desecration and of danger. She clasped her hands hard in her lap and struggled again for the words she wanted, forcing herself to speak. “If he found the gateway, maybe others will find it. There are—there are so many, many people there—”
    If the Master understood what she meant by “there,” his only response was a black frown.
    “You must guard your walls, Master!” she said desperately. She would have said “borders” but knew no such word in his language, nor any word for boundary or fence but the word that meant a wall of wood or stone.
    He nodded. But he said, “There are no walls, Irena. And now, for us, no ways.”
    The tone of his voice held her silent. He turned to his desk and went on presently with the same forced quietness, “We can’t go on the roads. They are closed. You know that some have been closed to us for a long time. The south road, your road—you know that we don’t use that.” She had not known it, and stared uncomprehending. “But we had the summer pastures and the High Step, and all the eastern ways, and the north road. Now we have none of them. Nobody comes from Three Fountains, or the foothill villages. No traders or merchants. Nothing from the plains. No news from the City of the King. For a while we could go westward, up the mountain, on the paths; but not now. All the gates of Tembreabrezi are locked.”
    There were no gates to lock. Only the street that led out to the south road and the north road, and the paths up and down the mountain west and east, all open, without gate or barrier.
    “Is it the King that says you cannot use the roads?” Irene asked, in frustration at not understanding, and then was alarmed at her rashness in questioning the Master. Learning his language had not, after all, been like learning Spanish in high school, la casa the house, el rey the king … . The word rediai , which she thought meant king, did not necessarily mean king, or what she meant by king; she had no way to know what it meant except by hearing it used, and it was not used often, except when they spoke of the City of the King. Perhaps it was her year of Spanish and the beginning syllable “re” that had made her decide that the word meant king. She had no way to be sure. She was afraid she had said something stupid, sacrilegious. The Master’s dark face was turned away from her. She saw that his hands were clenched before him on the desk.
    He had perhaps not even heard her question. “This stranger,” he said, turning but not looking at her, his voice very low but harsh. And he too hesitated.
    “It could be—a mistake—he mistook the way—” A tramp, she wanted to say, a wanderer, a blunderer, camping there overnight without noticing anything about the place, maybe for him there was nothing special about the place, maybe he had crossed no threshold, and he would go on the next day, hitchhiking on into the city probably, he was gone
already, he did not