Read Online Voices by Ursula K. Le Guin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ursula K. Le Guin
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diligent."
We were all silent for a while.
"How are you governed?" Gry asked.
There was something in her voice; it wasn't as beautiful as her husband's voice, but there was something in it that relieved me, quieted me, the way touching the lion's fur did. When the Waylord answered her he sounded a little less strained.
"We're enslaved, not governed. The Gand Ioratth and his officers are all the law. For the most part, we of Ansul hold the city together by doing things as we used to do them, as best we can, while the Alds exact tribute, and punish blasphemy, and hold aloof. They've lived here as soldiers in a garrison ever since they took the city. They sent no colonists. They brought no women. They don't want to live here. They hate it, land and city and sea. The earth itself is a place of exile to them, and this is the worst of it."
In the silence that followed, Shetar raised her head from her paws, said, "Rrrawow!" in a deep, throaty voice, and yawned mightily.
"You're right," Gry said to her. She and Caspro rose to say good night, thanking the Waylord for his hospitality, and thanking me too.
I gave her an oil lamp with a mica shade to light their way to their room. I saw that both she and her husband touched the god-niche by the door as they left the room. I watched them go down the corridor side by side, his hand on her shoulder, the lion pacing softly after them and the glimmer of the lamp running along the bare stone walls.
I turned back to see the Waylord gazing at the candle, his face very weary. I thought how alone he was. His friends came and went again, and here he must stay. I had thought of his solitude as his choice, his nature, maybe because it came so natural to me. But he had no choice.
He looked up at me. "What have you brought to Galvamand?" he said.
I was frightened by his tone. I said at last, "Friends, I think."
"Oh yes. Powerful friends, Memer."
"Waylord—"
"Well?"
"This Night Mouth, this Obatth. Did they come here to the house, to Galvamand—the redhats, the soldiers—did they take you to prison, because they thought—?"
He didn't answer for a while. He sat stiffly, his shoulders hunched, as he did when in pain. "Yes," he said.
"But is it—is there anything here—?"
I didn't know what I was asking, but he did. He looked up at me, a fierce look. "What they seek is theirs. It's in their hearts, not ours. This house hides no evil. They bring their darkness with them. They will never know what is in the heart of this house. They will not look, they will not see. That door will never open to them. You needn't fear, Memer. You can't betray it. I tried. I tried to betray it. Over and over. But the gods of my house and the shadows of my dead forgave me before I could do it. They wouldn't let me do it. All the hands of all the givers of dreams were on my mouth."
I was very frightened now. He had never spoken of the torture. He was clenched and hunched and trembling. I wanted to go to him but did not dare.
He made a slight gesture and whispered, "Go on. Go to bed, child."
I went forward and put my hand on his.
"I'm all right," he said. "Listen. You did right to bring them here. You brought blessing. Always, Memer. Now go on."
I had to leave him sitting there, shaking, alone.
I was tired, it had been a long day, an immense day, but I could not go to bed. I went to the wall under the hill and opened the door in it with the words written in air and went into the secret room.
As I went into it, all at once I was afraid. My heart went cold, my hair stirred on my neck.
That horrible image of a black sun that sucked out warmth and light from the world—it was like a hole in my mind, now, sucking meaning out, leaving nothing but cold and emptiness.
I had always been afraid of the far end of this long, strange room stretching off into darkness. I had kept
away from the shadow end, turned my back on it, not thought about it, told myself, "That's something I'll understand later." Now it
We were all silent for a while.
"How are you governed?" Gry asked.
There was something in her voice; it wasn't as beautiful as her husband's voice, but there was something in it that relieved me, quieted me, the way touching the lion's fur did. When the Waylord answered her he sounded a little less strained.
"We're enslaved, not governed. The Gand Ioratth and his officers are all the law. For the most part, we of Ansul hold the city together by doing things as we used to do them, as best we can, while the Alds exact tribute, and punish blasphemy, and hold aloof. They've lived here as soldiers in a garrison ever since they took the city. They sent no colonists. They brought no women. They don't want to live here. They hate it, land and city and sea. The earth itself is a place of exile to them, and this is the worst of it."
In the silence that followed, Shetar raised her head from her paws, said, "Rrrawow!" in a deep, throaty voice, and yawned mightily.
"You're right," Gry said to her. She and Caspro rose to say good night, thanking the Waylord for his hospitality, and thanking me too.
I gave her an oil lamp with a mica shade to light their way to their room. I saw that both she and her husband touched the god-niche by the door as they left the room. I watched them go down the corridor side by side, his hand on her shoulder, the lion pacing softly after them and the glimmer of the lamp running along the bare stone walls.
I turned back to see the Waylord gazing at the candle, his face very weary. I thought how alone he was. His friends came and went again, and here he must stay. I had thought of his solitude as his choice, his nature, maybe because it came so natural to me. But he had no choice.
He looked up at me. "What have you brought to Galvamand?" he said.
I was frightened by his tone. I said at last, "Friends, I think."
"Oh yes. Powerful friends, Memer."
"Waylord—"
"Well?"
"This Night Mouth, this Obatth. Did they come here to the house, to Galvamand—the redhats, the soldiers—did they take you to prison, because they thought—?"
He didn't answer for a while. He sat stiffly, his shoulders hunched, as he did when in pain. "Yes," he said.
"But is it—is there anything here—?"
I didn't know what I was asking, but he did. He looked up at me, a fierce look. "What they seek is theirs. It's in their hearts, not ours. This house hides no evil. They bring their darkness with them. They will never know what is in the heart of this house. They will not look, they will not see. That door will never open to them. You needn't fear, Memer. You can't betray it. I tried. I tried to betray it. Over and over. But the gods of my house and the shadows of my dead forgave me before I could do it. They wouldn't let me do it. All the hands of all the givers of dreams were on my mouth."
I was very frightened now. He had never spoken of the torture. He was clenched and hunched and trembling. I wanted to go to him but did not dare.
He made a slight gesture and whispered, "Go on. Go to bed, child."
I went forward and put my hand on his.
"I'm all right," he said. "Listen. You did right to bring them here. You brought blessing. Always, Memer. Now go on."
I had to leave him sitting there, shaking, alone.
I was tired, it had been a long day, an immense day, but I could not go to bed. I went to the wall under the hill and opened the door in it with the words written in air and went into the secret room.
As I went into it, all at once I was afraid. My heart went cold, my hair stirred on my neck.
That horrible image of a black sun that sucked out warmth and light from the world—it was like a hole in my mind, now, sucking meaning out, leaving nothing but cold and emptiness.
I had always been afraid of the far end of this long, strange room stretching off into darkness. I had kept
away from the shadow end, turned my back on it, not thought about it, told myself, "That's something I'll understand later." Now it
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