Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (132 page)

Barbarians and Madmen

T
RUTHFULLY, I WANTED NOTHING more than to make my way back to Severen. I wanted to sleep in a bed again and take advantage of the Maer’s favor while it was still fresh in his mind. I wanted to find Denna and make things right between us.

But Tempi was in trouble for teaching me. I couldn’t simply run off and leave him to face that by himself. What’s more, the Cthaeh had told me Denna had already left Severen behind. Though I hardly needed a prophetic faerie to tell me that. I’d been gone for a month, and Denna was never the sort to let grass grow under her feet.

So the next morning our group parted ways. Dedan, Hespe, and Marten were going south to Severen to report to the Maer and collect their pay. Tempi and I were heading northeast toward the Stormwal and Ademre.

“You sure you don’t want me to take him the box?” Dedan asked for the fifth time.

“I promised the Maer I’d return any monies to him personally,” I lied. “But I do need you to give him this.” I handed the big mercenary the letter I’d written the night before. “It explains why I had to make you the leader of the group.” I grinned. “You might get a bonus out of it.”

Dedan puffed up importantly as he took hold of the letter.

Standing nearby, Marten made a noise that could have been a cough.

As Tempi and I traveled, I managed to coax a few details from the mercenary. Eventually I learned it was customary for someone of his social standing to gain permission before he took a student of his own.

Complicating matters was the fact that I was an outsider. A barbarian. In teaching a person like me, it seems like Tempi had done more than violate a custom. He had broken a trust with his teacher and his people.

“Will there be a trial of some sort?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No trial. Shehyn will ask me questions. I will say, ‘I saw in Kvothe good iron waiting. He is of Lethani. He needs Lethani to guide him.’ ”

Tempi nodded at me. “Shehyn will ask you of the Lethani to see if I were right in my seeing. Shehyn will decide if you are iron worth striking.” His hand circled, making the gesture for
uneasy.

“And what will happen if I am not?” I asked.

“For you?”
Uncertainty
. “For me? I will be cut away.”

“Cut away?” I asked, hoping I misunderstood.

He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Adem.” He made a tight fist and shook it. “Ademre.” Then he opened his hand and touched his little finger. “Tempi.” He touched the other fingers. “Friend. Brother. Mother.” He touched the thumb. “Shehyn.” Then he made a gesture as if paring off his little finger and throwing it away. “Cut away,” he said.

Not killed then, but exiled. I started to breathe easier until I looked in Tempi’s pale eyes. For just a moment there was a crack in his perfect, placid mask, and behind it I saw the truth. Death would be a kinder punishment than being cut away. He was terrified, as frightened as anyone I had ever seen.

We agreed our best hope was for me to put myself entirely in Tempi’s hands during the trip to Haert. I had approximately fifteen days to polish what I knew to a bright shine. The hope being that when I met Tempi’s superiors, I could make a good impression.

Before we began that first day, Tempi instructed me to put my shaed away. Reluctantly, I did so. It folded down into a surprisingly small bundle that stowed easily into my travelsack.

The pace Tempi set was grueling. First the two of us moved through the dancer’s stretch I had watched many times before. Then, instead of our usual brisk walk, we ran for an hour. Then we performed the Ketan with Tempi correcting my endless mistakes. Then we walked a mile.

Finally, we sat and discussed the Lethani. The fact that these discussions were in Ademic did not make matters easier, but we agreed I should immerse myself in the language so when I reached Haert I could speak as a civilized person.

“What is the purpose of the Lethani?” Tempi asked.

“To give us a path to follow?” I replied.

“No,” Tempi said sternly. “The Lethani is not a path.”

“What is the purpose of the Lethani, Tempi?”

“To guide us in our actions. By following the Lethani, you act rightly.”

“Is this not a path?”

“No. The Lethani is what helps us choose a path.”

Then we would begin the cycle again. Run an hour, perform the Ketan, walk a mile, discuss the Lethani. It took about two hours, and after our brief discussion was finished, we began again.

At one point in our discussion of the Lethani I began to make the gesture for
understatement
. But Tempi lay his hand on top of mine, stopping me.

“When we are having talk about the Lethani, you are to make none of this.” His left hand moved quickly through
excitement, negation
, and several others gestures I didn’t recognize.

“Why?”

Tempi thought for a moment. “When you speak of Lethani, it should not come from here,” he tapped on my head. “Or here.” He tapped on my chest over my heart and ran his fingers down to my left hand. “True knowing of the Lethani lives deeper. Lives here.” He prodded me in the stomach, below my navel. “You must speak from here, without thinking.”

As we continued, I slowly came to understand the unspoken rules to our discussions. Not only was it intended to teach me the Lethani, it was supposed to reveal how deeply rooted understanding of the Lethani had become within me.

That meant questions were to be answered quickly, with none of the deliberate pauses that usually marked Ademic conversation. You were not supposed to give a thoughtful answer, you were supposed to give an earnest one. If you truly understood the Lethani, that knowledge would become obvious in your answers.

Run. Ketan. Walk. Discuss. We completed the cycle three times before our midday break. Six hours. I was covered in sweat and half-convinced I would die. After an hour to rest and eat, we were off again. We finished another three cycles before we stopped for the night.

We made camp by the side of the road. I chewed my supper half-asleep, spread my blanket, and wrapped myself in my shaed. In my exhausted state it seemed soft and warm as a down eider.

In the middle of the night, Tempi shook me awake. Though some deep animal part of me hated him, I knew it was necessary as soon as I stirred. My body was stiff and aching, but the slow, familiar movements of the Ketan helped loosen my tight muscles. He made me stretch and drink water, then I slept like a stone for the remainder of the night.

The second day was worse. Even strapped tightly to my back, my lute became a miserable burden. The sword I couldn’t even use dragged at my hip. My travelsack felt heavy as a millstone, and I regretted not letting Dedan take the Maer’s box. My muscles were rubbery and disloyal, and when we ran my breath burned in my throat.

The moments when Tempi and I spoke of Lethani were the only real rest, but they were disappointingly brief. My mind spun with exhaustion, and it took all my concentration to pull my thoughts into order, trying to give proper answers. Even so, my responses only irritated him. Time after time he shook his head, explaining how I was wrong.

Eventually I gave up trying to be right. Too weary to care, I quit pulling my exhausted thoughts into order, and simply enjoyed sitting down for a few minutes. I was too weary to remember what I said half the time, but, surprisingly, Tempi found those answers more to his liking. That was a blessing. When my answers pleased him, our discussions lasted longer, and I could spend more time resting.

I felt considerably better the third day. My muscles no longer ached as badly. My breath came easier. My head felt clear and light, like a leaf floating on the wind. In this frame of mind, answers to Tempi’s questions tripped easily off the tip of my tongue, simple as singing.

Run. Ketan. Walk. Discuss. Three cycles. Then, as we moved through the Ketan on the side of the road, I collapsed.

Tempi had been watching closely and caught me before I hit the ground. My world spun dizzily for a few minutes before I realized I was in the shade of a tree at the side of the road. Tempi must have carried me there.

He held out my waterskin. “Drink.”

The thought of water was not appealing, but I took a mouthful anyway. “I am sorry, Tempi.”

He shook his head. “You came far before falling. You did not complain. You showed your mind is stronger than your body. That is good. When the mind controls the body, that is of the Lethani. But knowing your limit is also of the Lethani. It is better to stop when you must than run until you fall.”

“Unless falling is what the Lethani requires,” I said without thinking. My head still felt light as a windblown leaf.

He gave me a rare smile. “Yes. You are beginning to see.”

I returned his smile. “Your Aturan is coming very well, Tempi.”

Tempi blinked.
Worry
. “We are speaking my language, not yours.”

“I’m not speaking ...” I started to protest, but as I did I listened to the words I was using.
Sceopa teyas
. My head reeled for a moment.

“Drink again,” Tempi said, and though his face and voice were carefully controlled, I could tell he was concerned.

I took another sip to pacify him. Then, as if my body suddenly realized it needed the water, I became very thirsty and took several large swallows. I stopped before I drank too much and cramped my stomach. Tempi nodded,
approval
.

“Am I speaking well then?” I said to distract myself from my thirst.

“You are speaking well for a child. Very well for a barbarian.”

“Only well? Am I making the words wrong?”

“You touch eyes too much.” He widened his eyes and stared pointedly into my own, unblinking. “Also, your words are good, but simple.”

“You must teach me more words then.”

He shook his head.
Serious
. “You already know too many words.”

“Too many? Tempi, I know very few.”

“It is not the words, it is their use. In Adem there is an art to speaking. There are those who can say many things in one thing. My Shehyn is such. They say a thing in one breath and others will find meaning in it for a year.”
Gentle reproach
. “Too often you say more than you need. You should not speak in Ademic as you sing in Aturan. A hundred words to praise a woman. Too many. Our talk is smaller.”

“So when I meet a woman, I should simply say, ‘You are beautiful?’ ”

Tempi shook his head. “No. You would say simply ‘beautiful,’ and let the woman decide the rest of what you mean.”

“Isn’t that . . .” I didn’t know the words for “vague” or “unspecific” and had to start again to get my point across. “Doesn’t that lead to confusion?”

“It leads to thoughtfulness,” he said firmly. “It is delicate. That should always be the concern when one is speaking. To be too much talking.” He shook his head.
Disapproval
. “It is . . .” He stalled, searching for a word.

“Rude?”

Negation. Frustration
. “I go to Severen, and there are people who stink. There are people who do not. Both are people, but those who do not stink are people of quality.” He tapped my chest firmly with two fingers. “You are not a goatherd. You are a student of the Lethani. My student. You should speak as a person of quality.”

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