Earthsea 2 - The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin

Author:Ursula K. Le Guin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780553273311
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1970-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

In that gray hour of her life, Kossil came to her, entering the treasury room with heavy step, bulky in black winter robes.

“Is the man dead yet?”

Arha raised her head. There were no tears in her eyes, nothing to hide.

“I think so,” she said, getting up and dusting her skirts. “His light has gone out.”

“He may be tricking. The soulless ones are very cunning.”

“I shall wait a day to be sure.”

“Yes, or two days. Then Duby can go down and bring it out. He is stronger than old Manan.”

“But Manan is in the service of the Nameless Ones, and Duby is not. There are places within the Labyrinth where Duby should not go, and the thief is in one of these.”

“Why, then it is defiled already-”

“It will be made clean by his death there,” Arha said. She could see by Kossil's expression that there must be something strange about her own face. “This is my domain, priestess. I must care for it as my Masters bid me. I do not need more lessons in death.”

Kossil's face seemed to withdraw into the black hood, like a desert tortoise's into its shell, sour and slow and cold. “Very well, mistress.”

They parted before the altar of the God-Brothers. Arha went, without haste now, to the Small House, and called Manan to accompany her. Since she had spoken to Kossil she knew what must be done.

She and Manan went together up the hill, into the Hall, down into the Undertomb. Straining together at the long handle, they opened the iron door of the Labyrinth. They lit their lanterns there, and entered. Arha led the way to the Painted Room, and from it started on the way to the Great Treasury.

The thief had not got very far. She and Manan had not walked five hundred paces on their tortuous course when they came upon him, crumpled up in the narrow corridor like a heap of rags thrown down. He had dropped his staff before he fell; it lay some distance from him. His mouth was bloody, his eyes half shut.

“He's alive,” said Manan, kneeling, his great yellow hand on the dark throat, feeling the pulse. “Shall I strangle him, mistress?”

“No. I want him alive. Pick him up and bring him after me.”

“Alive?” said Manan, disturbed. “What for, little mistress?”

“To be a slave of the Tombs! Be still with your talk and do as I say.”

His face more melancholy than ever, Manan obeyed, hoisting the young man effortfully up onto his shoulders like a long sack. He staggered along after Arha thus laden. He could not go far at a time under that load. They stopped a dozen times on the return journey for Manan to catch his breath. At each halt the corridor was the same: the grayish-yellow, close-set stones rising to a vault, the uneven rocky floor, the dead air; Manan groaning and panting, the stranger lying still, the two lanterns burning dull in a dome of light that narrowed away into darkness down the corridor in both directions.

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