Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

Tags: #Mercenary troops, #Magicians, #Magic, #Attempted assassination, #Fairies, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Heroes, #Epic

The Wise Man's Fear (110 page)

Partial agreement. Excitement
. “It is the right way through the mountains. But the Lethani is also knowing the right way. Both. And mountains are not just mountains. Mountains are everything.”

“So the Lethani is civilization.”

Pause.
Yes and no
. Tempi shook his head.
Frustrated
.

I thought back to what he had said about mercenaries having to learn the Lethani twice. “Is the Lethani fighting?” I asked.

“No.”

He said this with such absolute certainty that I had to ask the opposite to make sure. “Is the Lethani
not
fighting?”

“No. One who knows the Lethani knows when to fight and not fight.”
Very important
.

I decided to change directions. “Was it of the Lethani for you to fight today?”

“Yes. To show Adem is not afraid. We know with barbarians, not fighting is coward. Coward is weak. Not good for them to think. So with many watching, fight. Also, to show one Adem is worth many.”

“What if they had won?”

“Then barbarians know Tempi is not worth many.”
Slight amusement
.

“If they had won, would today’s fight be not of the Lethani?”

“No. If you fall and break a leg in mountain pass, it is still the pass. If I fail while following the Lethani, it is still the Lethani.”
Serious
. “This is why we are talking now. Today. With your knife. That was not the Lethani. It was not a right thing.”

“I was afraid you would be hurt.”

“The Lethani does not put down roots in fear,” he said, sounding as if he were reciting.

“Would it be the Lethani to let you be hurt?”

A shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Would it be of the Lethani to let you be . . .”
Extreme emphasis
. “Hurt?”

“Perhaps no. But they did not. To be first with the knife is not of the Lethani. If you win and are first with the knife, you do not win.”
Vast disapproval
.

I couldn’t puzzle out what he meant by the last. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“The Lethani is right action. Right way. Right time.” Tempi’s face suddenly lit up. “The old trader man,” he said with visible enthusiasm. “In the stories with the packs. What is the word?”

“Tinker?”

“Yes. The tinker. How you must treat such men?”

I knew, but I wanted to see what the Adem thought. “How?”

He looked at me, his fingers pressing together
irritation
. “You must be kind, and help them. And speak well. Always polite.
Always
.”

I nodded. “And if they offer something, you must consider buying it.”

Tempi made a triumphant gesture. “Yes! You can do many things when meeting tinker. But there is only one right thing.” He calmed himself a little.
Caution
. “But only doing is not the Lethani. First knowing, then doing. That is the Lethani.”

I thought on this for a moment. “So being polite is the Lethani?”

“Not polite. Not kind. Not good. Not duty. The Lethani is none of these. Each moment. Each choice. All different.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Do you understand?”

“No.”

Happiness. Approval
. Tempi got to his feet, nodding. “It is good you know you do not. Good that you say. That is also of the Lethani.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

Listening

T
EMPI AND I RETURNED to find the camp surprisingly cheerful. Dedan and Hespe were smiling at each other and Marten had managed to shoot a wild turkey for dinner.

So we ate and joked. And after the washing up was done, Hespe told her story about the boy who loved the moon, starting again at the beginning. Dedan kept his mouth miraculously shut, and I dared to hope our little group was finally, finally starting to become a team.

Jax had no trouble following the moon because in those days the moon was always full. She hung in the sky, round as a cup, bright as a candle, all unchanging.

Jax walked for days and days until his feet grew sore. He walked for months and months and his back grew tired beneath his packs. He walked for years and years and grew up tall and lean and hard and hungry.

When he needed food, he traded out of the tinker’s packs. When his shoes wore thin he did the same. Jax made his own way, and he grew up clever and sly.

Through it all, Jax thought about the moon. When he began to think he couldn’t go another step, he’d put on his spectacles and look up at her, round-bellied in the sky. And when he saw her he would feel a slow stirring in his chest. And in time he came to think he was in love.

Eventually the road Jax followed passed through Tinuë, as all roads do. Still he walked, following the great stone road east toward the mountains.

The road climbed and climbed. He ate the last of his bread and the last of his cheese. He drank the last of his water and the last of his wine. He walked for days without either, the moon growing larger in the night sky above him.

Just as his strength was failing, Jax climbed over a rise and found an old man sitting in the mouth of a cave. He had a long grey beard and a long grey robe. He had no hair on the top of his head, or shoes on the bottom of his feet. His eyes were open and his mouth was closed.

His face lit up when he saw Jax. He came to his feet and smiled. “Hello, hello,” he said, his voice bright and rich. “You’re a long way from anywhere. How is the road to Tinuë?”

“It’s long,” Jax said. “And hard and weary.”

The old man invited Jax to sit. He brought him water and goat’s milk and fruit to eat. Jax ate hungrily, then offered the man a pair of shoes from his pack in trade.

“No need, no need,” the old man said happily, wiggling his toes. “But thanks for offering all the same.”

Jax shrugged. “As you will. But what are you doing here, so far from everything?”

“I found this cave when I was out chasing the wind,” the old man said. “I decided to stay because this place is perfect for what I do.”

“And what is that?” Jax asked.

“I am a listener,” the old man said. “I listen to things to see what they have to say.”

“Ah,” Jax said carefully. “And this is a good place for that?”

“Quite good. Quite excellent good,” the old man said. “You need to get a long ways away from people before you can learn to listen properly.” He smiled. “What brings you out to my little corner of the sky?”

“I am trying to find the moon.”

“That’s easy enough,” the old man said, gesturing to the sky. “We see her most every night, weather permitting.”

“No. I’m trying to catch her. If I could be with her, I think I could be happy.”

The old man looked at him seriously. “You want to catch her, do you? How long have you been chasing?”

“More years and miles than I can count.”

The old man closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded to himself. “I can hear it in your voice. This is no passing fancy.” He leaned close and pressed his ear to Jax’s chest. He closed his eyes for another long moment and was very still. “Oh,” he said softly. “How sad. Your heart is broken and you’ve never even had a chance to use it.”

Jax moved around, a little uncomfortable. “If you don’t mind my asking,” Jax said, “What’s your name?”

“I don’t mind you asking,” the old man said. “So long as you don’t mind me not telling. If you had my name, I’d be under your power, wouldn’t I?”

“Would you?” Jax asked.

“Of course.” The old man frowned. “That is the way of things. Though you don’t seem to be much for listening, it’s best to be careful. If you managed to catch hold of even just a piece of my name, you’d have all manner of power over me.”

Jax wondered if this man might be able to help him. While he didn’t seem to be terribly ordinary, Jax knew he was on no ordinary errand. If he’d been trying to catch a cow, he would ask a farmer’s help. But to catch the moon, perhaps he needed the help of an odd old man. “You said you used to chase the wind,” Jax said. “Did you ever catch it?”

“In some ways yes,” the old man said. “And in other ways, no. There are many ways of looking at that question, you see.”

“Could you help me catch the moon?”

“I might be able to give you some advice,” the old man said reluctantly. “But first you should think this over, boy. When you love something, you have to make sure it loves you back, or you’ll bring about no end of trouble chasing it.”

Hespe didn’t look at Dedan as she said this. She looked everywhere in the world but at him. Because of this, she didn’t see the stricken, helpless look on his face.

“How can I find out if she loves me?” Jax asked.

“You could try listening,” the old man said, almost shyly. “It works wonders, you know. I could teach you how.”

“How long would that take?”

“A couple years,” the old man said. “Give or take. It depends on if you have a knack for it. It’s tricky, proper listening. But once you have it, you’ll know the moon down to the bottoms of her feet.”

Jax shook his head. “Too long. If I can catch her, I can talk with her. I can make—”

“Well that’s part of your problem right there,” the old man said. “You don’t really want to catch her. Not really. Will you trail her through the sky? Of course not. You want to
meet
her. That means you need the moon to come to you.”

“How can I do that?” he said.

The old man smiled. “Well that’s the question, isn’t it? What do you have that the moon might want? What do you have to offer the moon?”

“Only what I have in these packs.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” the old man muttered. “But we might as well take a look at what you’ve brought, too.”

The old hermit looked through the first pack and found many practical things. The contents of the second pack were more expensive and rare, but no more useful.

Then the old man saw the third pack. “And what do you have in there?”

“I’ve never been able to get it open,” Jax said. “The knot is too much for me.”

The hermit closed his eyes for a moment, listening. Then he opened his eyes and frowned at Jax. “The knot says you tore at it. Pricked it with a knife. Bit it with your teeth.”

Jax was surprised. “I did,” he admitted. “I told you, I tried everything to get it open.”

“Hardly everything,” the hermit said scornfully. He lifted the pack until the knotted cord was in front of his face. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “But would you open up?” He paused. “Yes. I apologize. He won’t do it again.”

The knot unraveled and the hermit opened the pack. Looking inside, his eyes widened and he let out a low whistle.

But when the old man spread the pack open on the ground, Jax’s shoulders slumped. He had been hoping for money, or gems, some treasure he could give the moon as a gift. But all the pack held was a bent piece of wood, a stone flute, and a small iron box.

Of these, only the flute caught Jax’s attention. It was made of a pale green stone. “I had a flute when I was younger,” Jax said. “But it broke and I could never make it right again.”

“They’re all quite impressive,” the hermit said.

“The flute is nice enough,” Jax said with a shrug. “But what use is a piece of wood and a box too small for anything practical?”

The hermit shook his head. “Can’t you hear them? Most things whisper. These things shout.” He pointed at the piece of crooked wood. “That is a folding house unless I miss my guess. Quite a nice one too.”

“What’s a folding house?”

“You know how you can fold a piece of paper on itself, and each time it gets smaller?” the old man gestured at the piece of crooked wood. “A folding house is like that. Except it’s a house, of course.”

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