Akhor
When I stepped out into the morning I was dazzled by the light. My new senses were assailed from all sides, I did not know which way to look. First and strongest, though, was the feeling of air on my skin. Never, even when my new armour was still damp and weak, had I known anything like it. The feel of Lanen’s rough cloak on my skin, the ground beneath my feet, the strength of her beneath my arm on her shoulder, even the touch of her hand on mine to steady me—small wonder I could hardly walk. The sun was brighter than I had ever seen it, the very air bore upon it a glorious scent like nothing I had ever dreamed.
I turned to my dear one, now grown to a giant as tall as I and able to help me walk. “What is that smell?” I asked. I delighted in the strange movement of my new mouth, so different, so similar.
She sniffed once and smiled. “Lansip. Can’t you tell? Or does it smell different now?”
That was hlansif? Now I understood. “Dear heart, it was nothing like this to me before. This is the very smell of paradise. I know now why your people seek it out.”
Her smile broadened. “Wait until you taste it.”
Her joy had nothing to do with hlansif and all to do with me. I gazed at her until I could bear the brightness of her face no longer. I turned instead to face my old friends, come now out of my chamber and blinking in the sunlight.
When I looked at them, really looked for the first time, I knew fully how much smaller I was grown. They had not changed, they still had all the stature of our people. I barely came to Shikrar’s elbow.
I tried to bespeak Shikrar again, soulfriend for almost a thousand years, but even I could not hear my own truespeech. “Forgive me, Shikrar, Idai. The Language of Truth has deserted me for the moment,” I said. They could not answer; they were robbed yet of speech by wonder.
I had to speak, if only to touch reality thus. Holding fast to Lanen—for balancing on two legs was proving most difficult—I faced them and tried to speak in the tongue of the Kantri, but my new mouth would not make the sounds. No truespeech, no Kantriasarikh? Was I to have nothing left of who I was?
I spoke again in the language of the Gedri. ”It is I, Shikrar. Truly,” I said. “Do you know me for myself, my friend? Lady Idai, do you know me for Akor?” When they did not reply, I added, “I am glad you have tended to your own wounds, Shikrar. I thank you from my heart for bringing me here after the battle. I would have died there.”
“Akhor did die there!” cried a high voice. We all three turned to look to Idai. Her eyes were wide and her Attitude spoke violent Denial. She was backing away from me, flapping her wings as if to take to the skies. “This is not Akhor! It cannot be. Akhor is dead!”
I opened my mouth to object, but in that moment I knew she spoke truth. I waited for the echo of her words to die to silence, then said gently, softly, trying to make my voice sound as normal as I could, ”Idai, Iderrisai, come, come, my friend, be calm, you are right. But for all that I am not to be feared. I am no wandering soul, no creation of the Rakshasa, though my bones—” I shivered. “—Akhor’s bones—lie yonder. You are right. That name is a part of me, and all my life before I remember in the way of our Kindred, but I am made new, and I will need a new name.”
“Name of the Winds,” swore Shikrar softly, as Idai fought to control herself. He gazed full at me, and his Attitude swung bewilderingly between Fear, Denial, Friendship, Wonder and (I was amused to see) Protection of a Youngling. “I hear you and in your words and your voice I hear my soulfriend, but I cannot believe my ears or my eyes. Akhor, Akhorishaan, is it, can it be that you are trapped inside that body?”
“I am here, Hadreshikrar, but I am not trapped. Though the world is so huge!” I could bear it no longer, I laughed for heart’s ease. “It is like being a youngling again, looking up at the trees and being so close to the ground! I am alive, Shikrar, beyond hope, and the ferrinshadik is silent at last! Behold these hands, so dextrous, so gentle, and this supple body!” I tried to bow in the fashion of the Gedri, and only Lanen’s strong arm held me up. She laughed as she caught me, helped me to balance, delighting in me.
I reached out my hand, so soft, so useless in the eyes of the Kantri, and touched her cheek.
The tips of my fingers (though I did not know the word then) were sensitive beyond belief. I shivered again with the sensation, not only on my hands but all over this new vessel of mine.
Lanen’s smooth skin beneath my hand was like nothing I had ever known.
Now it was my turn to swear. “Name of the Winds, Lanen! I feel every breath of air on these hands. How could you bear to burn yours so terribly, no matter whose life you might save?” I wondered at my new body, for suddenly it was hard to speak past a thickening in my throat. “Dear one, oh, forgive me, I never knew it was such agony for you.”
She smiled and took my hands in hers. “Akor, dear heart, I grew up on a farm. My hands were covered with calluses— places where the skin had grown hard. It happens naturally, for protection, and it helped a little at first. You’ll get them, too, given time.” She blinked, surprised at her own words, and laughed. I rejoiced when I recognised it as the laugh of delight I had heard when first she set foot on the island of the Kantri. “Your outer form may have changed,” she said, “but I would know you for Akor in ten thousand. Who else is so full of questions?”
“At least now I do not have to contort my tongue to speak them. The sounds make sense with a mouth like this.”
Lanen
I am afraid that my first thought was that a lot of other things did, too, but I managed not to say anything. ”I notice you can say my name now.” I grinned. “I miss that little hiss you added—but what’s done is done.”
With that I turned to face Idai, who was still standing well away from Akor. “That’s a human saying, lady, that you would do well to listen to. This thing has happened whether we like it or not, and denying your old friend will not unmake it.” I did not want to be harsh, but why should this all be so much harder for her to believe?
And with the thought itself came the answer. Lanen, Lanen, she has loved him for a thousand years, and now he is gone from her people forever. I spoke more gently, ashamed of my show of temper. “Lady Idai, your pardon, but this is the word of the Wind of Change, here as we stand. For good or ill the world will never be the same for any of us. At the least, let we who are at the heart of the change keep friends for the sake of one another.”
“Step back, child of the Gedri,” she said to me. Akor seemed steady enough on his feet now, so I stood away.
She leaned down until her head was at his level, her eyes locked on his. “I once told Akhor my name, when I was young and foolish and hoped that he might one day come to love me.”
Her voice shook me—she was speaking in the same tones she had used the night before, calling to Akor in his Weh sleep. The voice of a mourning lover.
“Do you know my true name, youngling, and where and when I told it to Akhor? For only he and I in all the world know that.”
For the first time sadness appeared on that face. “Idai, Idai, of course I know your name. But how should I speak it before Shikrar and Lanen? I would not so betray your trust. In eight hundred years I have never breathed it to any but you, and then only twice. I do not have truespeech, Lady. What would you?”
“Tell me,” she said, and I sensed a kind of reckless madness rising in her. “Speak it aloud, Gedri. Shikrar is Keeper of Souls, he will know it in time.
And surely you will not hesitate to speak it before your dear one.”
I bowed. “He might not, lady, but I will not put you in such peril.” I bowed to her. “I was promised by my father to demons ere ever I was born. If they ever catch up with me—I was in the power of one for a brief moment, and I had no strength to resist. If I don’t know your true name, I can’t tell it.”
I turned and walked away, as far on the other side of the clearing as I could get, and stuffed my fingers in my ears like a child.
Akhor
br /> Shikrar, I was glad to see, was also quietly moving away.
“Very well, Iderrikanterrisai,” I said, as softly as I might, “you told me your true name at moonrise on Midwinter’s night the year I was come to my prime, the year I had seen my full two centuries and a half.” I could not keep old sternness out of my voice when I added, “You said you had waited for me to achieve my majority, that you longed for me, and that now you might speak of it without rebuke. When I protested that I did not know you well enough, that I was still young and had given no thought to a mate, you gave me your name. I do not know why, though I have wondered about it often enough. Perhaps you meant to shame me into giving mine.”
I bowed my head, thinking (irrelevantly) as I did so that the gesture had not the power it had in my former body. “Several times since then, for your constant friendship, I would have given you my true name in return,” I said sorrowfully, “but I never have, for I would not encourage you falsely nor build hope where there could be none.”
She stood in Shame and Sorrow, and all the years of goodwill between us rose up clear before me. ”I would give it to you now, if you will receive it,” I said, reaching out slowly to touch her. “Or would that be injury added to insult?”
She did not speak. I lowered my voice. “Iderrikanterrisai, I am—I was—Khordeshkhistriakhor. I can think of no truer way to speak long friendship’s love.”
“Khordeshkhistriakhor, you honour me,” she said at last, adding with the ghost of a hiss, “though a little late for my taste. But I cannot deny. You are Akhor.”
The truth, though, was that I was not. When the true name is spoken, especially by one who has never said it before, there is a reaction in the hearer. I felt nothing.
“Lanen,” I called. She strode quickly up to where we stood. “Call me by name.”
She looked startled. “Do not fear,” I said, “both Shikrar and Idai know now. But I must hear you speak it.”
“Very well. Kordeshkistriakor,” she said, and without thinking added in truespeech, ”dear one.”
I jumped. “I heard you!” I whirled to face Shikrar, very nearly falling over in the process. (I think Lanen was getting used to catching me.) “Shikrar, bespeak me I pray you!”
“Akhorishaan, what is it? Can you hear me?”
“Yes!” I cried, and felt for the first time the tears of joy I had seen Lanen shed. “Ahhh! My soul to the Winds, Shikrar, I hear you! I had feared it gone forever!”
Shikrar’s mindvoice was full of quiet delight. “As did I, old friend. Perhaps in time you will be able to speak again. After all, Akhorishaan, you have not had much practice being human. ” I laughed again. ”But why did you have Lanen speak your name just now?” he continued aloud. “True, we here all know it, but surely there is still danger for you if—”
“No, my friend,” I replied solemnly. “That was why I asked her to make the trial. It is no longer my name. I must find another.”
There was a pause, then Shikrar said, too casually, “Perhaps Deshkantriakor?”
I stared at him. It took me a moment to react, then I started to laugh. He was hissing loudly, and behind him Idai, who obviously thought we were being far too irreverent, finally let go and sent a cloud of steam into the clearing as the laughter burst from her also.
Lanen turned to me. “What in the—?”
“Forgive me, dearling, but it seems my old friend Shikrar has recovered, and his jests, as always, are terrible. He says I should be named Deshkantriakor, the Strange King of the Kantri.”
She glanced at Idai and Shikrar as they recovered their bearing. “Very funny,” she said dryly. “I wouldn’t recommend it, myself.”
“Perhaps you are right,” I said, with no little reluctance. “It was worth it for heart’s ease, in any case.” I had been turning over elements of the Old Speech in my mind, though, even as we laughed, and I knew what my name must be.
“My name is chosen, Hadreshikrar, Iderrisai, Lanen Maransdatter, I pray you attend.”
In the silence that followed, in the clear morning, I stood before those I loved best and spoke the words of the Naming.
”I reveal my name unto you, dear love and oldest friends, that you alone may know the truth of me, may with my consent call me by name and speak as friends of my soul. My usename shall be Varien, the Changed One, and so I shall commonly be called. But my true name is Varien Kantriakor rash-Gedri, Kadreshi naLanen: He who is Changed from the Lord of the Kantri to a Man, Beloved of Lanen. It is the truth of who and what I have become. If it seems overlong, I beg your indulgence, for my heart tells me I shall require the safety of such a name. I charge you, my dear ones, guard it well among you.”
They all three repeated my name aloud. I had chosen well, for the words rang in my heart with the truth of the naming, tied now to my soul. For years afterwards, though, when anyone asked my name I could hear the laughter of Dragons.
Lanen
In the silence after the Naming (which was not so different from the human ceremony), I was ashamed to notice so minor a thing as the weather, but it could not be ignored much longer.
So far we had been fortunate. Winter had backed down for the moment, leaving behind a clear, cloudless morning; but the air was still cold, and I saw goosefiesh on Akor—on Varien’s skin where my cloak did not cover it.
Varien. The Changed One.
”We must go back inside, or find another place where there is warmth,” I told Shikrar and Idai. “I think we should return to Akor’s cave near the Council chamber. From there Rella might be able to help us, or I could go to the ship myself and get clothing for him.” I wondered as I spoke whether the ship would have left already. Suddenly it was important. “We will also need food, both of us,” I added, for I was hungry again. “Will you two do us the honour of bearing us thence?”
Without hesitation they agreed. I cut off a great slab of the meat Shikrar had brought for me the night before, knowing I— we—would want it when we arrived at Akor’s chambers. As there was nothing else to be done where we were, Shikrar and Idai picked us up gently in their great hands and we left the ground.
I thought it would be the last time I ever flew. I watched the ground pass beneath me in the sunlight, a wondrous and varied green carpet of forests and fields, and tried to enjoy the mere sensation of flying in daylight when I could enjoy it, but my body’s demands were too strong.
Held close to Idai’s warmth, her strong hands safe about me, knowing at least for the moment that all was safe, I closed my exhausted eyes and slept.
Idai woke me as we came near Akor’s chambers to tell me that the Council was meeting again as we returned. I could not spare a thought for such matters. My body was importunate in its demands. Warmth, food and sleep were all I could think of. Indeed, my memory of that journey is in great part lost, for on the heels of grief, joy and wonder I had no strength left.
I know Shikrar brought wood and started a roaring fire in Akor’s chambers for Varien and me.
I cut the meat I had brought with me into smaller pieces and roasted it on a stick over the fire.
It seemed to take forever but it tasted like very heaven when it was finally done. It was Varien’s first meal; I wondered what he made of it all, but I was too weary to ask and he was no better. As soon as we were finished we lay down as near the flames as we dared and slept, facing each other across the fire.
I remember nothing after that until Shikrar woke us hours later.
XIX
THE WORD OF THE WINDS
Lanen
When Shikrar woke us it was late afternoon. Idai had kept watch over us and kept the fire warm and bright, while he and Kédra had taken Rishkaan’s soulgem and the soulgems of the Lost to the Chamber of Souls and reverently restored them to their rightful place. He apologised now for disturbing us, but we had been summoned by the Council, and there was news from Rella that he had forgotten to tell us. (I only learned later from Akor how extraordinary it was for one of the Kantri to for
get anything, no matter how slight.)
I dragged myself upright and found that I could not turn away from Akor—no, no, he was Varien now—still unable to believe it, still not knowing why we had been granted such a grace. It was long and long before I could look at him without a measure of awe.
I put the rest of the meat on a spit and began to cook it as Idai left to attend the Council and tell them our tale in her words. We ate as quickly as we might. Our drink was spring water, but I had to smile—we drank it from rough, heavy vessels of gold that Idai had fashioned for us, remembering how I had needed to kneel to drink from the pool. Kings would envy such vessels.
Shikrar told us that Rella had spoken with Kédra that very morning. It seems the Master wanted to start as swiftly as possible on the journey back. Kédra had asked her to request a delay of but one more day, and she had promised to try. I found myself wishing that she had truespeech, and began to discover some of the frustration the Kantri must always have felt around my people.
Finally Varien stood. “Very well. It is time. Let us go before the Council that they might see what I have become,” he said. “I am yet unsure on these two legs, Lanen. You must be my strength.”
“I thought we had already agreed on that,” I said, smiling. “But first give me a moment to make you more presentable.” Two quick knife slashes for armholes and my belt around all and Varien stood clad in a makeshift tunic rather than wrapped in a cloak. “Now, my dear one,” I said as I put his arm about my shoulder and mine around his waist, “let us beard the Council once more.” I turned to him, to that wondrous face mere inches from mine, and grinned. “I can’t think of a thing to say to them, dear heart, but perhaps they won’t need many words.”
“Before you go, I too have a gift for you … Varien,” said Shikrar shyly. He handed Varien a rough circlet of khaadish, with a gap at one end. “I made it while you slept. I thought— your soulgem—perhaps if you are seen thus, it might lessen the shock.”