Voices by Ursula K. Le Guin Read Free Book Online

she had when I said his title to her.
    “Caspro is here?” he said—“Orrec Caspro?” He took a deep breath. He gathered himself and spoke in his stiffest, most formal tone: “The fame of the poet runs before him. He honors our city with his presence. Memer told me that a maker is to speak in the marketplace, but I did not know who it was.”
    “He will recite for the Gand of the Alds too,” said Gry. “The Gand sent for my husband. But that’s not why we came to Ansul.”
    The pause was a heavy one.
    “We sought this house,” Gry said. “And to this house your daughter brought me—though I didn’t know she was it’s daughter, and she didn’t know I sought it.”
    He looked at me.
    “Truth,” I said. And because he still looked at me, distrustful, I said, “The gods have been with me all day. It is a day of Lero.”
    That carried weight with him. He rubbed his upper lip with the first knuckle of his left hand the way he does when he’s thinking hard. Then suddenly he came to a decision, and the distrust was gone. “As you are brought in Lero’s hands, the blessing of the house is yours,” he said. “And all in it is yours. Will you sit down, Gry Barre?”
    I saw that she watched the way he moved as he showed her to the claw-foot chair, that she saw his crippled hands as he lowered himself into the armchair. I perched on the high stool by the table.
    “As Caspro’s fame has come to you,” she said, “so the fame of the libraries of Ansul has come to us.”
    “And your husband came here to see those libraries?”
    “He seeks the nourishment of his art and his soul in books,” she said.
    At that I wanted to give all my heart to her, to him.
    “He must know,” the Waylord said without emotion, “that the books of Ansul were destroyed, with many of those who read them. No libraries are permitted in the city. The written word is forbidden. The word is the breath of Atth, the only god, and only by the breath may it be spoken. To entrap it in writing is blasphemy, abominable.”
    I flinched, hating to hear him speak those words. He sounded as if he believed them, as if they were his own words.
    Gry was silent.
    He said, “I hope Orrec Caspro brought no books with him.”
    “No,” she said, “he came to seek them.”
    “‘As well seek bonfires in the sea,’” he said.
    She came right back, “‘Or milk a desert stone.’”
    I saw the flicker in his eyes, that almost hidden glint, when she answered with the rest of Denios’ line.
    “May he come here.?” she asked, quite humbly.
    I wanted to shout Yes! Yes! I was shocked, ashamed, when the Waylord did not at once answer inviting him warmly to come, to be welcome. He hesitated, and then all he said was, “He is the guest of the Gand Ioratth?”
    “A message came to us when we were in Urdile, saying that Ioratth, the Gand of the Alds of Ansul, would make welcome Orrec Caspro, the Gand of All Makers, if he would come and display his art. We are told that the Gand Ioratth is very fond of hearing tales and poems. As are his people. So we came. But not as his guests. He offered stabling for our horses, but not for us. His god would be offended if unbelievers came under his roof. When Orrec goes to perform for the Gand it will be outdoors, under the open sky.”
    The Waylord said something in Aritan; I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was about the sky having room enough for all the stars and gods. He looked at her to see if she understood the line.
    She cocked her head. “I am an ignorant woman,” she said in her mild way.
    He laughed. “Hardly!”
    “No, truly. My husband has taught me a little, but my own knowledge is not in words at all. My gift is to listen to those who don’t talk.”
    “You walk with a lion, Memer said.”
    “I do. We travel a lot, and travellers are vulnerable. After our good dog died, I looked for another guardian companion. We met with a company of nomads, tellers and musicians, who’d trapped a halflion and her