The Other Wind (The Earthsea Cycle Series Book 6) by Ursula K. Le Guin

Author:Ursula K. Le Guin [Le Guin, Ursula K.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2001-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

AFTER THE KING WENT DRAGON hunting, Alder had no idea what to do; he felt utterly useless, unjustified in staying in the palace eating the king’s food, guilty for the trouble he had brought with him. He could not sit all day in his room, so he went out into the streets, but the splendor and activity of the city were daunting to him, and having no money or purpose all he could do was walk till he was tired. He would come back to the Palace of Maharion wondering if the stern-faced guards would readmit him. The nearest he came to peace was in the palace gardens. He hoped to meet Rody there again, but the child did not appear, and perhaps that was as well. Alder thought that he should not talk with people. The hands that reached to him from death would reach out to them.

On the third day after the king’s departure he went down to walk among the garden pools. The day had been very hot; the evening was still and sultry. He brought Tug with him and let the little cat loose to stalk insects under the bushes, while he sat on a bench near the big willow and watched the silver-green glimmer of fat carp in the water. He felt lonely and discouraged; he felt his defense against the voices and the reaching hands was breaking down. What was the good of being here, after all? Why not go into the dream once and for all, go down that hill, be done with it? Nobody in the world would grieve for him, and his death would spare them this sickness he had brought with him. Surely they had enough to do fighting dragons. Maybe if he went there he would see Lily.

If he was dead they could not touch each other. The wizards said they would not even want to. They said the dead forgot what it was to be alive. But Lily had reached to him. At first, for a little while, maybe they would remember life long enough to look at each other, to see each other, even if they did not touch.

“Alder.”

He looked up slowly at the woman who stood near him. The small grey woman, Tenar. He saw the concern in her face, but did not know why she was troubled. Then he remembered that her daughter, the burned girl, had gone with the king. Maybe there had been bad news. Maybe they were all dead.

“Are you ill, Alder?” she asked.

He shook his head. It was hard to talk. He understood now how easy it would be, in that other land, not to speak. Not to meet people’s eyes. Not to be troubled.

She sat down on the bench beside him. “You look troubled,” she said.

He made a vague gesture—it’s all right, it’s no matter.

“You were on Gont. With my husband Sparrowhawk. How was he? Was he looking after himself?”

“Yes,” Alder said. He tried to answer more adequately. “He was the kindest of hosts.

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