The Other Wind by Ursula K. Le Guin Read Free Book Online

who took his eggs and fruit tallied the count on his wooden tablet without a word, his face sullen and his eyes lowered. Sparrowhawk spoke to him pleasantly, “A good day to you then, Iddi,” but got no answer.
    “My lord,” Alder asked as they walked home, “do they know who you are?”
    “No,” said the ex-Archmage, with a dry sidelong look. “And yes.”
    “But—” Alder did not know how to speak his indignation.
    “They know I have no power of sorcery, but there’s something uncanny about me. They know I live with a foreigner, a Kargish woman. They know the girl we call our daughter is something like a witch, but worse, because her face and hand were burnt away by fire, and because she herself burnt up the Lord of Re Albi, or pushed him off the cliff, or killed him with the evil eye—their stories vary. They honor the house we live in, though, because it was Aihal’s and Heleth’s house, and dead wizards are good wizards . . . You’re a townsman, Alder, of an isle of Morred’s kingdom. A village on Gont is another matter.”
    “But why do you stay here, lord? Surely the king would do you proper honor—”
    “I want no honor,” the old man said, with a violence that silenced Alder entirely.
    They walked on. As they came to the house built at the cliff’s edge he spoke again. “This is my eyrie,” he said.
    They had a glass of the red wine with supper, and another sitting out to watch the sun set. They did not talk much. Fear of the night, of the dream, was coming into Alder.
    “I’m no healer,” his host said, “but perhaps I can do what the Master Herbal did to let you sleep.”
    Alder looked his question.
    “I’ve been thinking about it, and it seems to me maybe it was no spell at all that kept you away from that hillside, but just the touch of a living hand. If you like, we can try it.”
    Alder protested, but Sparrowhawk said, “I’m awake half most nights anyway.” So the guest lay that night in the low bed in the back corner of the big room, and the host sat up beside him, watching the fire and dozing.
    He watched Alder, too, and saw him fall asleep at last; and not long after that saw him start and shudder in his sleep. He put out his hand and laid it on Alder’s shoulder as he lay half turned away. The sleeping man stirred a little, sighed, relaxed, and slept on.
    It pleased Sparrowhawk that he could do this much. As good as a wizard, he told himself with mild sarcasm.
    He was not sleepy; the tension was still in him. He thought about all Alder had told him, and what they had talked about in the afternoon. He saw Alder stand in the path by the cabbage patch saying the spell to call the goats, and the goats’ haughty indifference to the powerless words. He remembered how he had used to speak the name of the sparrowhawk, the marsh hawk, the grey eagle, calling them down from the sky to him in a rush of wings to grasp his arm with iron talons and glare at him, eye to wrathful, golden eye . . . None of that any more. He could boast, calling this house his eyrie, but he had no wings.
    But Tehanu did. The dragon’s wings were hers to fly on.
    The fire had burned out. He pulled his sheepskin over him more closely, leaning his head back against the wall, still keeping his hand on Alder’s inert, warm shoulder. He liked the man and was sorry for him.
    He must remember to ask him to mend the green pitcher, tomorrow.
    The grass next to the wall was short, dry, dead. No wind blew to make it move or rustle.
    He roused up with a start, half rising from the chair, and after a moment of bewilderment put his hand back on Alder’s shoulder, grasping it a little, and whispered, “Hara! Come away, Hara.” Alder shuddered, then relaxed. He sighed again, turned more onto his face and lay still.
    Sparrowhawk sat with his hand on the sleeper’s arm. How had he himself come there, to the wall of stones? He no longer had the power to go there. He had no way to find the way. As in the night