It took all my control to not burst out into a sudden, giddy smile. I had been wanting to bring up the subject for a long while, as we were much closer than when I’d first asked him. But I hadn’t wanted to risk offending him again.
I sat quietly for a moment, partly to maintain my composure, but also to let Tempi know I was treating this subject with respect. “The Lethani,” I repeated carefully. “You said I must not ask of it.”
“You must not then. Now perhaps. I . . .” Uncertain. “I am pulled many ways. But now asking is.”
I waited for another moment to see if he would continue on his own. When he didn’t, I asked the obvious question. “What is the Lethani?”
Serious. Tempi looked at me for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “I do not know. And I cannot tell you.” He laughed again. Understatement. “Still we must speak of it.”
I hesitated, wondering if this was one of his strange jokes that I could never seem to understand.
“Is complicated,” he said. “Hard in my own language. Yours?” Frustration. “Tell me what you know of the Lethani.”
I tried to think of how I could describe what I’d heard of the Lethani using only the words he knew. “I heard the Lethani is a secret thing that makes the Adem strong.”
Tempi nodded. “Yes. This is true.”
“They say if you know the Lethani, you cannot lose a fight.”
Another nod.
I shook my head, knowing I wasn’t getting my point across. “They say the Lethani is a secret power. Adem keep their words inside.” I made a gesture as if gathering things close to my body and hoarding them. “Then those words are like wood in a fire. This word fire makes the Adem very strong. Very fast. Skin like iron. This is why you can fight many men and win.”
Tempi looked at me intently. He made a gesture I didn’t recognize. “That is mad talking,” he said at last. “Is that the correct word? Mad?” He stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes, wiggling his fingers at the side of his head.
I couldn’t help but laugh nervously at the display. “Yes. Mad is the word. Also crazy.”
“Then what you have said is mad talking and also crazy.”
“But what I saw today,” I said. “Your nose did not break when struck with a man’s head. That is no natural thing.”
Tempi shook his head as he climbed to his feet. “Come. Stand.”
I stood, and Tempi stepped close to me. “Striking with the head is clever. It is quick. Can startle if opponent is not ready. But I am not not ready.”
He stepped closer still, until we were almost touching chests. “You are the loud man,” he said. “Your head is hard. My nose is soft.” He reached out and took hold of my head with both his hands. “You want this.” He brought my head down, slowly, until my forehead pressed his nose.
Tempi let go of my head. “Striking with the head is quick. For me, little time. Can I move?” He moved my head down as he pulled away, and this time my forehead came into contact with his mouth instead, as if he were giving me a kiss. “This is not good. The mouth is soft.”
He tipped my head back again. “If I am very fast . . .” He took a full step back and brought my head down farther, until my forehead touched his chest. He let me go and I stood back up. “This is still not good. My chest is not soft. But this man has a head harder than many.” His eyes twinkled a little, and I chuckled, realizing he had made a joke.
“So.” Tempi said, stepping back to where we were before. “What can Tempi do?” He motioned. “Strike with the head. Slow. I show.”
Vaguely nervous, I brought my head down slowly, as if trying to break his nose.
Matching my slow speed, Tempi leaned forward and tucked his chin a bit. It wasn’t much of a change, but this time as I brought my head down, my nose met the top of his head.
Tempi stepped back. “See? Cleverness. Not mad-thinking word fire.”
“It was very fast,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I could not see.”
“Yes. Fighting is fast. Train to be fast. Train, not word fire.”
He gestured earnest and met my eye, a rarity for him. “I tell this because you are the leader. You need the knowing. If you think I have secret ways and iron skin . . .” He looked away, shaking his head. Dangerous.
We both sat back down next to our packs.
“I heard it in a story,” I said by way of explanation. “A story like we tell around the fire at night.”
“But you,” he pointed to me. “You have fire in your hands. You have . . .” He snapped his fingers, then made a gesture like a fire roaring up suddenly. “You have the doing of this, and you think the Adem have word fires inside?”
I shrugged. “That is why I ask of the Lethani. It seems mad, but I have seen mad things be true, and I am curious.” I hesitated before asking my other question. “You said who knows the Lethani cannot lose a fight.”
“Yes. But not with word fires. The Lethani is a type of knowing.” Tempi paused, obviously considering his words carefully. “Lethani is most important thing. All Adem learn. Mercenary learn twice. Shehyn learn three times. Most important. But complicated. Lethani is . . . many things. But nothing touched or pointed to. Adem spend whole lives thinking on the Lethani. Very hard.
“Problem,” he said. “It is not my place to teach my leader. But you are my student in language. Women teach the Lethani. I am not such. It is part of civilization and you are a barbarian.” Gentle sorrow. “But you want to be civilization. And you have need of the Lethani.”
“Explain it,” I said. “I will try to understand.”
He nodded. “The Lethani is doing right things.”
I waited patiently for him to continue. After a minute, he gestured, frustration . “Now you ask questions.” He took a deep breath and repeated. “The Lethani is doing right things.”
I tried to think of an archetypical example of something good. “So the Lethani is giving a hungry child food to eat.”
He made the wavering motion that meant, yes and no. “The Lethani is not doing a thing. Lethani is the thing that shows us.”
“Lethani means rules? Laws?”
Tempi shook his head. “No.” He gestured to the forest around us. “Law is from outside, controlling. It is the . . . the horse mouth metal. And the head strings.” Questioning.
“Bridle and bit?” I suggested. Motioning as if pulling a horse’s head about with a pair of reins.
“Yes. Law is bridle and bit. It controls from outside. The Lethani . . .” He pointed between his eyes, then at his chest. “. . . lives inside. Lethani helps decide. Law is made because many have no understanding of Lethani.”
“So with the Lethani a person does not need to follow the law.”
Pause. “Perhaps.” Frustration. He drew out his sword and held it parallel to the ground, its edge pointing up. “If you were small, walking this sword would be like the Lethani.”
“Painful for feet?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Amusement.
Anger. Disapproval. “No. Difficult to walk. Easy to fall on one side. Difficult to stay.”
“The Lethani is very straight?”
“No.” Pause. “What is it called when there is many mountain and one place for walking?”
“A path? A pass?”
“Pass.” Tempi nodded. “The Lethani is like a pass in the mountains. Bends. Complicated. Pass is easy way through. Only way through. But not easy to see. Path that is easy much times not go through mountains. Sometimes goes nowhere. Starve. Fall onto hole.”
“So the Lethani is the right way through the mountains.”
Partial agreement. Excitement. “It is the right way through the mountains. But the Lethani is also knowing the right way. Both. And mountains are not just mountains. Mountains are everything.”
“So the Lethani is civilization.”
Pause. Yes and no. Tempi shook his head. Frustrated.
I thought back to what he had said about mercenaries having
to learn the Lethani twice. “Is the Lethani fighting?” I asked.
“No.”
He said this with such absolute certainty that I had to ask the opposite to make sure. “Is the Lethani not fighting?”
“No. One who knows the Lethani knows when to fight and not fight.” Very important.
I decided to change directions. “Was it of the Lethani for you to fight today?”
“Yes. To show Adem is not afraid. We know with barbarians, not fighting is coward. Coward is weak. Not good for them to think. So with many watching, fight. Also, to show one Adem is worth many.”
“What if they had won?”
“Then barbarians know Tempi is not worth many.” Slight amusement.
“If they had won, would today’s fight be not of the Lethani?”
“No. If you fall and break a leg in mountain pass, it is still the pass. If I fail while following the Lethani, it is still the Lethani.” Serious. “This is why we are talking now. Today. With your knife. That was not the Lethani. It was not a right thing.”
“I was afraid you would be hurt.”
“The Lethani does not put down roots in fear,” he said, sounding as if he were reciting.
“Would it be the Lethani to let you be hurt?”
A shrug. “Perhaps.”
“Would it be of the Lethani to let you be . . .” Extreme emphasis. “Hurt?”
“Perhaps no. But they did not. To be first with the knife is not of the Lethani. If you win and are first with the knife, you do not win.” Vast disapproval.
I couldn’t puzzle out what he meant by the last. “I don’t understand,” I said.
“The Lethani is right action. Right way. Right time.” Tempi’s face suddenly lit up. “The old trader man,” he said with visible enthusiasm. “In the stories with the packs. What is the word?”
“Tinker?”
“Yes. The tinker. How you must treat such men?”
I knew, but I wanted to see what the Adem thought. “How?”
He looked at me, his fingers pressing together irritation. “You must be kind, and help them. And speak well. Always polite. Always.”
I nodded. “And if they offer something, you must consider buying it.”
Tempi made a triumphant gesture. “Yes! You can do many things when meeting tinker. But there is only one right thing.” He calmed himself a little. Caution. “But only doing is not the Lethani. First knowing, then doing. That is the Lethani.”
I thought on this for a moment. “So being polite is the Lethani?”
“Not polite. Not kind. Not good. Not duty. The Lethani is none of these. Each moment. Each choice. All different.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Do you understand?”
“No.”
Happiness. Approval. Tempi got to his feet, nodding. “It is good you know you do not. Good that you say. That is also of the Lethani.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
Listening
TEMPI AND I RETURNED to find the camp surprisingly cheerful. Dedan and Hespe were smiling at each other and Marten had managed to shoot a wild turkey for dinner.
So we ate and joked. And after the washing up was done, Hespe told her story about the boy who loved the moon, starting again at the beginning. Dedan kept his mouth miraculously shut, and I dared to hope our little group was finally, finally starting to become a team.
Jax had no trouble following the moon because in those days the moon was always full. She hung in the sky, round as a cup, bright as a candle, all unchanging.
Jax walked for days and days until his feet grew sore. He walked for months and months and his back grew tired beneath his packs. He walked for years and years and grew up tall and lean and hard and hungry.
When he needed food, he traded out of the tinker’s packs. When his shoes wore thin he did the same. Jax made his own way, and he grew up clever and sly.
Through it all, Jax thought about the moon. When he began to think he couldn’t go another step, he’d put on his spectacles and look up at her, round-bellied in the sky. And when he saw her he would feel a slow stirring in his chest. And in time he came to think he was in love.
Eventually the road Jax followed passed through Tinuë, as all roads do. Still he walked, following the great stone road east toward the mountains.
The road climbed and climbed. He ate the last of his bread and the last of his cheese. He drank the last of his water and the last of his wine. He walked for days without either, the moon growing larger in the night sky above him.
Just as his strength was failing, Jax climbed over a rise and found an old man sitting in the mouth of a cave. He had a long grey beard and a long grey robe. He had no hair on the top of his head, or shoes on the bottom of his feet. His eyes were open and his mouth was closed.
His face lit up when he saw Jax. He came to his feet and smiled. “Hello, hello,” he said, his voice bright and rich. “You’re a long way from anywhere. How is the road to Tinuë?”
“It’s long,” Jax said. “And hard and weary.”
The old man invited Jax to sit. He brought him water and goat’s milk and fruit to eat. Jax ate hungrily, then offered the man a pair of shoes from his pack in trade.
“No need, no need,” the old man said happily, wiggling his toes. “But thanks for offering all the same.”
Jax shrugged. “As you will. But what are you doing here, so far from everything?”
“I found this cave when I was out chasing the wind,” the old man said. “I decided to stay because this place is perfect for what I do.”
“And what is that?” Jax asked.
“I am a listener,” the old man said. “I listen to things to see what they have to say.”
“Ah,” Jax said carefully. “And this is a good place for that?”
“Quite good. Quite excellent good,” the old man said. “You need to get a long ways away from people before you can learn to listen properly.” He smiled. “What brings you out to my little corner of the sky?”
“I am trying to find the moon.”
“That’s easy enough,” the old man said, gesturing to the sky. “We see her most every night, weather permitting.”
“No. I’m trying to catch her. If I could be with her, I think I could be happy.”
The old man looked at him seriously. “You want to catch her, do you? How long have you been chasing?”
“More years and miles than I can count.”
The old man closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded to himself. “I can hear it in your voice. This is no passing fancy.” He leaned close and pressed his ear to Jax’s chest. He closed his eyes for another long moment and was very still. “Oh,” he said softly. “How sad. Your heart is broken and you’ve never even had a chance to use it.”
Jax moved around, a little uncomfortable. “If you don’t mind my asking,” Jax said, “What’s your name?”
“I don’t mind you asking,” the old man said. “So long as you don’t mind me not telling. If you had my name, I’d be under your power, wouldn’t I?”
“Would you?” Jax asked.
“Of course.” The old man frowned. “That is the way of things. Though you don’t seem to be much for listening, it’s best to be careful. If you managed to catch hold of even just a piece of my name, you’d have all manner of power over me.”
Jax wondered if this man might be able to help him. While he didn’t seem to be terribly ordinary, Jax knew he was on no ordinary errand. If he’d been trying to catch a cow, he would ask a farmer’s help. But to catch the moon, perhaps he needed the help of an odd old man. “You said you used to chase the wind,” Jax said. “Did you ever catch it?”
“In some ways yes,” the old man said. “And in other ways, no. There are many ways of looking at that question, you see.”
“Could you help me catch the moon?”
“I might be able to give you some advice,” the old man said reluctantly. “But first you should think this over, boy. When you love something, you have to mak
e sure it loves you back, or you’ll bring about no end of trouble chasing it.”
Hespe didn’t look at Dedan as she said this. She looked everywhere in the world but at him. Because of this, she didn’t see the stricken, helpless look on his face.
“How can I find out if she loves me?” Jax asked.
“You could try listening,” the old man said, almost shyly. “It works wonders, you know. I could teach you how.”
“How long would that take?”
“A couple years,” the old man said. “Give or take. It depends on if you have a knack for it. It’s tricky, proper listening. But once you have it, you’ll know the moon down to the bottoms of her feet.”
Jax shook his head. “Too long. If I can catch her, I can talk with her. I can make—”
“Well that’s part of your problem right there,” the old man said. “You don’t really want to catch her. Not really. Will you trail her through the sky? Of course not. You want to meet her. That means you need the moon to come to you.”
“How can I do that?” he said.
The old man smiled. “Well that’s the question, isn’t it? What do you have that the moon might want? What do you have to offer the moon?”
“Only what I have in these packs.”
“That’s not quite what I meant,” the old man muttered. “But we might as well take a look at what you’ve brought, too.”
The old hermit looked through the first pack and found many practical things. The contents of the second pack were more expensive and rare, but no more useful.
Then the old man saw the third pack. “And what do you have in there?”
“I’ve never been able to get it open,” Jax said. “The knot is too much for me.”
The hermit closed his eyes for a moment, listening. Then he opened his eyes and frowned at Jax. “The knot says you tore at it. Pricked it with a knife. Bit it with your teeth.”
Jax was surprised. “I did,” he admitted. “I told you, I tried everything to get it open.”
“Hardly everything,” the hermit said scornfully. He lifted the pack until the knotted cord was in front of his face. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “But would you open up?” He paused. “Yes. I apologize. He won’t do it again.”
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