She did not know what they made of Sparrowhawk, of his presence and nonpresence, in the village. Ogion, aloof and silent and in some ways feared, had been their own mage and their fellow-villager. Sparrowhawk they might be proud of as a name, the archmage who had lived awhile in Re Albi and done wonderful things, fooling a dragon in the Ninety Isles, bringing the Ring of Erreth-Akbe back from somewhere or other; but they did not know him. Nor did he know them. He had not gone into the village since he came, only to the forest, the wilderness. She had not thought about
As for herself, that she should have stayed on to nurse and serve such a man of power would not seem a questionable matter to them; again
She met the Archmage of Earthsea as he came past the garden fence. She said, “They say there’s a ship in from the City of Havnor. “
He stopped. He made a movement, quickly controlled, but
His terror was so urgent and undefended that she thought only how to spare him. “You needn’t see them. If anybody comes I’ll send them away. Come back to the house now. You haven’t eaten all day.”
“There was a man there,” he said.
“Townsend, pricing goats. I sent
He put his hands across his face, rubbing his temples and forehead, looking down. “I was--” he said. “I’m not- It was all he could say.
She stopped him, saying, “All right, it’s all right.” She dared not touch him lest she worsen his humiliation by any semblance of pity. She was angry at him, and for him. “It’s none of their business,’ ‘ she said, “where you are, or who you are, or what you choose to do or not to do! If they come prying they can leave curious.” That was Lark’s saying. She had a pang of longing for the company of an ordinary, sensible woman. “Anyhow, the ship may have nothing at all to do with you. They may be chasing pirates home. It ll be a good thing, too, when the king gets around to doing that.. . . I found some wine in the back of the cupboard, a couple of bottles, I wonder how long Ogion had
it
“Wandering-like Ogion?’ ‘ She looked at him. She remembered walking with him on the roads of Atuan, deriding him: “Do wizards often beg?” And he had answered, “Yes, but they try to give something in exchange. “ ‘
She asked cautiously, “Could you get on for a while as a weatherworker, or a finder?” She filled his glass full.
He shook his head. He drank wine, and looked away. “No,” he said. “None of that. Nothing of that.”
She did not believe him. She wanted to rebel, to deny, to say to him, How can
“A cup of water,” he said, tipping his glass a little as if to pour
It was dark in the house with the door closed and only the small western window letting in the late-afternoon light. She could not make out his expression; but presently he raised his glass to her with a shadowy smile, and drank.
“This wine,” he said. “Some great merchant or pirate must have brought
it
“Not in Ogion’s house.” The first place they’ll come. “Well, what if they do come? What will they want of you?”
“To be what I was.
The desolation of his voice chilled her.
She was silent, trying to remember what
it was to have been a woman in the prime of life, with children and a man, and then to lose all that, becoming old and a widow, powerless.” But even so she did not feel she understood his shame, his agony of humiliation. Perhaps only a man could feel so. A woman got used to shame.
Or maybe Aunty Moss was right, and when the meat was out the shell was empty.”
Witch-thoughts, she thought. And to turn his mind and her own, and because the soft, fiery wine made her wits and tongue quick, she said, “Do you know, I’ve thought-about Ogion teaching me, and I wouldn’t go on, but went and found myself my farmer and married him-I thought, when I did that, I thought on my wedding day, Ged will be angry when he hears of this!” She laughed as she spoke.”
“I was, “ he said.” She waited. He said, “I was disappointed.” “Angry,” she said.” “Angry,” he said. He poured her glass full.
“I had the power to know power, then,’ ‘ he said. “And you-you shone, in that terrible place, the Labyrinth, that darkness
“Well, then, tell me: what should I have done with my power, and the knowledge Ogion tried to teach me?’ ‘
“Use it.”
“How?”
“As the Art Magic is used.””
“By whom?”
“Wizards,” he said, a little painfully.”
“Magic means the skills, the arts of wizards, of mages?”” “What else would
it
“So I took it all off,” she said, “and put on my own clothes.”
“What did Ogion say when you left him?’ ‘
“What did Ogion usually say?”
That roused the shadowy smile again.” He said nothing.
She nodded.
After a while, she went on more softly, “He took me because you brought me to him. He wanted no prentice after you, and he never would have taken a girl but from you, at your asking. But he loved me. He did me honor. And I loved and honored him.” But he couldn’t give me what I wanted, and I couldn’t take what he had to give me. He knew that.” But, Ged,
Ged waited.”
“He said, ‘They will fear her.”’ And he said, ‘Teach her
He drank off his wine.”
“I have nothing to give her,” he said.
There was a little scraping knock at the door.” He started up instantly with that same helpless turn of the body, looking for a place to hide.
Tenar went to the door, opened
“He doesn’t want to see them,’ ‘ Tenar said weakly. She had no idea what to do.
“I dare say not,” said the witch.” And after an expectant pause, “Where is he, then?”
“Here,” said Sparrowhawk, coming to the door and opening
“They won’t come to
“Come in!” she said.”
They came in: five men, seeming twice as many in the low-ceilinged room, and tall, and grand. They looked about them, and she saw what they saw.
They saw a woman standing at a table, holding a long, sharp knife. On the table was a chopping board and on that, to one side, a little heap of naked greenish-white legs; to the other, a heap of fat, bloody, dead frogs. In the shadow behind the door something lurked-a child, but a child deformed, mismade, half-faced, claw-handed.” On a bed in an alcove beneath the single window sat a big, bony young woman, staring at them with her mouth wide open. Her hands were bloody and muddy and her dank skirt smelled of marsh-water. When she saw them look at her, she tried to hide her face with her skirt, baring her legs to the thigh.
They looked away from her, and from the child, and there was no one else to look at but the woman with the dead frogs.
“Mistress Goha,” one of them repeated.”
“So I’m called,” she said.
“We come from Havnor, from the King,” said the civil voice.” She could not see his face clearly against the light. “We seek the Archmage, Sparrowhawk of Gont.” King Lebannen is to be crowned at the turn of autumn, and he seeks to have the Archmage, his lord and friend, with him to make ready for the coronation, and to crown him, if he will.””
The man spoke steadily and formally, as to a lady in a palace.” He wore sober breeches of leather and a linen shirt dusty from the climb up from Gont Port, but
“Maybe you can tell us where he is, Mistress Goha,” said the man.
“I cannot.”
She looked at them all. The fear of them she had felt at first-caught from Sparrowhawk’s panic, perhaps, or mere foolish fluster at seeing strangers-was subsiding. Here she stood in Ogion’s house; and she knew well enough why Ogion had never been afraid of great people.”
“You must be tired after that long road,’ ‘ she said. “Will you sit down? There’s wine.” Here, I must wash the glasses.”
She carried the chopping board over to the sideboard, put the frogs’ legs in the larder, scraped the rest into the swill-pail that Heather would carry to Weaver Fan’s pigs, washed her hands and arms and the knife at the basin, poured fresh water, and rinsed out the two glasses she and Sparrowhawk had drunk from.” There was one other glass in the cabinet, and two clay cups without handles. She set these on the table, and poured wine for the visitors; there was just enough left in the bottle to go round. They had exchanged glances, and had not sat down.” The shortage of chairs excused that. The rules of hospitality, however, bound them to accept what she offered. Each man took glass or cup from her with a polite murmur.” Saluting her, they drank.
“My word!” said one of them.
“Andrades-the Late Harvest, said another, with round eyes.”
A third shook his head.” “Andrades-the Dragon Year,” he said solemnly.”
The fourth nodded and sipped again, reverent.” The fifth, who was the first to have spoken, lifted his clay cup to Tenar again and said, “You honor us with a king’s wine, mistress.””