The Name of the Wind tkc-1

by Patrick Rothfuss

  “Do you know what Re’lar means?” he asked me conversationally.

  “It translates as ‘speaker,’ ” I said.

  “Do you know what it means?” he stressed the word.

  “Not really,” I admitted.

  Elodin drew a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a University. It was built in the dead ruins of an older University. It wasn’t very big, perhaps fifty people in all. But it was the best University for miles and miles, so people came and learned and left. There was a small group of people who gathered there. People whose knowledge went beyond mathematics and grammar and rhetoric.

  “They started a smaller group inside the University. They called it the Arcanum and it was a very small, very secret thing. They had a ranking system among themselves, and your rise through those ranks was due to prowess and nothing else. One entered this group by proving they could see things for what they really were. They became E’lir, which means see-er. How do you think they became Re’lar?” He looked at me expectantly.

  “By speaking.”

  He laughed. “Right!” He stopped and turned to face me. “But speaking what?” His eyes were bright and sharp.

  “Words?”

  “Names,” he said excitedly. “Names are the shape of the world, and a man who can speak them is on the road to power. Back in the beginning, the Arcanum was a small collection of men who understood things. Men who knew powerful names. They taught a few students, slowly, carefully encouraging them toward power and wisdom. And magic. Real magic.” He looked around at the buildings and milling students. “In those days the Arcanum was a strong brandy. Now it is well-watered wine.”

  I waited until I was sure he was finished. “Master Elodin, what happened yesterday?” I held my breath and hoped beyond hope for an intelligible answer.

  He gave me a quizzical look. “You called the name of the wind,” he said as if the answer were obvious.

  “But what does that mean? And what do you mean by name? Is it just a name like ‘Kvothe’ or ‘Elodin’? Or is it more like ‘Taborlin knew the names of many things.’ ”

  “Like both,” he said, waving to a pretty girl leaning out a second-story window.

  “But how can a name do something like that? ‘Kvothe’ and ‘Elodin’ are just sounds we make, they don’t have any power by themselves.”

  Elodin raised his eyebrows at this. “Really? Watch.” He looked down the street. “Nathan!” he shouted. A boy turned to look in our direction. I recognized him as one of Jamison’s errand boys. “Nathan, come here!”

  The boy trotted over and looked up at Elodin. “Yes, sir?”

  Elodin handed the boy his master’s robe. “Nathan, would you take this to my rooms for me?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the boy took the robe and hurried away.

  Elodin looked at me. “Do you see? The names we call each other are not Names. But they have some power nonetheless.”

  “That’s not magic,” I protested. “He had to listen to you. You’re a master.”

  “And you’re a Re’lar,” he said implacably. “You called the wind and the wind listened.”

  I struggled with the concept. “You’re saying the wind is alive?”

  He made a vague gesture. “In a way. Most things are alive in one way or another.”

  I decided to take a different tack. “How did I call the wind if I didn’t know how?”

  Elodin clapped his hands together, sharply. “That is an excellent question! The answer is that each of us has two minds: a waking mind and a sleeping mind. Our waking mind is what thinks and talks and reasons. But the sleeping mind is more powerful. It sees deeply to the heart of things. It is the part of us that dreams. It remembers everything. It gives us intuition. Your waking mind does not understand the nature of names. Your sleeping mind does. It already knows many things that your waking mind does not.”

  Elodin looked at me. “Remember how you felt after you called the name of the wind?”

  I nodded, not enjoying the memory.

  “When Ambrose broke your lute, it roused your sleeping mind. Like a great hibernating bear jabbed with a burning stick, it reared up and roared the name of the wind.” He swung his arms around wildly, attracting odd looks from passing students. “Afterward your waking mind did not know what to do. It was left with an angry bear.”

  “What did you do? I can’t remember what you whispered to me.”

  “It was a name. It was a name that settled the angry bear, eased it back to sleep. But it is not sleeping so soundly now. We need to rouse it slowly and bring it under your control.”

  “Is that why you moved to suspend my expulsion?”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “You were in no real danger of being expelled. You are not the first student to call the name of the wind in anger, though you are the first in several years. Some strong emotion usually wakes the sleeping mind for the first time.” He smiled. “The name of the wind came to me when I was arguing with Elxa Dal. When I shouted it his braziers exploded in a cloud of burning ash and cinder,” he chuckled.

  “What did he do to make you so angry?”

  “He refused to teach me the advanced bindings. I was only fourteen and an E’lir. He told me I would have to wait until I was a Re’lar.”

  “There are advanced bindings?”

  He grinned at me. “Secrets, Re’lar Kvothe. That is what being an arcanist is all about. Now that you are a Re’lar you are entitled to certain things that were withheld before. The advanced sympathetic bindings, the nature of names. Some smattering of dubious runes, if Kilvin thinks you’re ready.”

  Hope rose in my chest. “Does this mean I’m allowed access to the Archives now?”

  “Ah,” Elodin said. “No. Not in the least. You see, the Archives are Lorren’s domain, his kingdom. Those secrets are not mine to give away.”

  At his mention of secrets my mind settled on one that had been bothering me for months. The secret at the heart of the Archives. “What about the stone door in the Archives?” I asked. “The four-plate door. Now that I’m a Re’lar can you tell me what’s behind it?”

  Elodin laughed. “Oh no. No no. You don’t aim for small secrets, do you?” He clapped me on the back as if I’d just made an especially good joke. “Valaritas. God. I can still remember what it was like, standing down there looking at the door, wondering.”

  He laughed again. “Merciful Tehlu, it almost killed me.” He shook his head. “No. You don’t get to go behind the four-plate door. But,” he gave me a conspiratorial look. “Since you are a Re’lar …” He looked from side to side as if afraid that someone might overhear us. I leaned closer. “Since you are a Re’lar, I will admit that it exists.” He gave me a solemn wink.

  Disappointed as I was, I couldn’t help but smile. We walked for a while in silence past Mains, past Anker’s. “Master Elodin?”

  “Yes?” His eyes followed a squirrel across the road and up a tree.

  “I still don’t understand about names.”

  “I will teach you to understand,” he said easily. “The nature of names cannot be described, only experienced and understood.”

  “Why can’t it be described?” I asked. “If you understand a thing, you can describe it.”

  “Can you describe all the things you understand?” he looked sideways at me.

  “Of course.”

  Elodin pointed down the street. “What color is that boy’s shirt?”

  “Blue.”

  “What do you mean by blue? Describe it.”

  I struggled for a moment, failed. “So blue is a name?”

  “It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man’s will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself.”

  My head was swimming by thi
s point. “I still don’t understand.”

  He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating.” He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. “But there are other ways to understanding!” he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still laughing. “Look!” he shouted tilting his head back. “Blue! Blue! Blue!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Winter

  “He’s quite, quite mad,” I said to Simmon and Wilem later that afternoon at Anker’s.

  “He’s a master,” Sim responded tactfully. “And your sponsor. And from what you’ve told us he’s the reason you weren’t expelled.”

  “I’m not saying that he isn’t intelligent, and I’ve seen him do things that I can’t begin to explain. But the fact remains that he is completely off his nut. He talks in circles about names and words and power. It sounds good while he’s saying it. But it doesn’t really mean anything.”

  “Quit complaining,” Simmon said. “You beat both of us to Re’lar, even if your sponsor is cracked. And you got paid two span of silver for breaking Ambrose’s arm. You got away free as a bird. I wish I had half your luck.”

  “Not quite free as a bird,” I said. “I’m still going to be whipped.”

  “What?” Sim said. “I thought you said that they suspended it?”

  “They suspended my expulsion,” I said. “Not the whipping.”

  Simmon gaped. “My God, why not?”

  “Malfeasance,” Wilem said in a low voice. “They can’t let a student get off bird-free after they’ve voted him guilty of malfeasance.”

  “That’s what Elodin said.” I took a drink. Took another.

  “I don’t care,” Simmon said hotly. “It’s barbaric.” He hammered out his last word on the table with his fist, upsetting his glass and spilling a dark pool of scutten across the table. “Shit.” He scrambled to his feet and tried to keep it from spilling on the floor with his hands.

  I laughed helplessly until there was water in my eyes and my stomach ached. I felt a weight lift off my chest as I finally regained my breath. “I love you, Sim,” I said earnestly. “Sometimes I think you’re the only honest person I know.”

  He looked me over. “You’re drunk.”

  “No, it’s the truth. You’re a good person. Better than I’ll ever be.” He gave me a look that said he couldn’t tell if he was being made fun of or not. A serving girl came over with wet rags, wiped the table clean, and made a few barbed comments. Sim had the decency to look embarrassed enough for all of us.

  By the time I made it back to the University, it was fully dark. I stopped briefly at Anker’s to pick up a few things, then made my way onto the roof of Mains.

  I was surprised to find Auri waiting for me on the roof despite the clear sky. She sat on a short brick chimney, swinging her bare feet idly. Her hair made a gauzy cloud around her tiny form.

  She hopped down when I came closer and gave a little half step sideways that was almost like a curtsey. “Good evening, Kvothe.”

  “Good evening, Auri,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I am lovely,” she said firmly, “and it is a lovely night.” She held both her hands behind her back and shifted from foot to foot.

  “What have you brought me tonight?” I asked.

  She gave her sunny smile. “What have you brought me?”

  I pulled a narrow bottle from underneath my cloak. “I brought you some honey wine.”

  She took hold of it with both hands. “Why, this is a princely gift.” She peered down at it wonderingly. “Think of all the tipsy bees.” She pulled the cork and sniffed it. “What’s in it?”

  “Sunlight,” I said. “And a smile, and a question.”

  She held the mouth of the bottle up to her ear and grinned at me.

  “The question’s at the bottom,” I said.

  “A heavy question,” she said, then held her hand out to me. “I brought you a ring.”

  It was made of warm, smooth wood. “What does it do?” I asked.

  “It keeps secrets,” she said.

  I held it to my ear.

  Auri shook her head seriously, her hair swirling around her. “It doesn’t tell them, it keeps them.” She stepped close to me and took the ring, sliding it onto my finger. “It’s quite enough to have a secret,” she chided me gently. “Anything more would be greedy.”

  “It fits,” I said, somewhat surprised.

  “They’re your secrets,” she said, as if explaining something to a child. “Who else would it fit?”

  Auri brushed her hair away behind her and made her curious half step to the side again. Almost like a curtsey, almost like a tiny dance. “I was wondering if you would join me for dinner tonight, Kvothe,” she said, her face serious. “I have brought apples and eggs. I can also offer a lovely honey wine.”

  “I’d love to share dinner with you, Auri,” I said formally. “I have brought bread and cheese.”

  Auri scampered down into the courtyard and in a few minutes returned with a delicate porcelain teacup for me. She poured the honey wine for both of us, drinking hers in a series of dainty sips from a silver beggar’s cup hardly bigger than a thimble.

  I sat down on the roof and we shared our meal. I had a large loaf of brown barley bread and a wedge of hard white Dalonir cheese. Auri had ripe apples and a half dozen brown-spotted eggs that she had somehow managed to hard-boil. We ate them with salt I brought out from a pocket in my cloak.

  We shared most of the meal in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Auri sat cross-legged with her back straight and her hair fanning out to all sides. As always, her careful delicacy somehow made this makeshift meal on a rooftop seem like a formal dinner in some nobleman’s hall.

  “The wind has been bringing leaves into the Underthing lately,” Auri said conversationally toward the end of the meal. “Through the grates and tunnels. They settle in the Downings, so things are all a-rustle there.”

  “Is that so?”

  She nodded. “And a mother owl has moved in. Made her nest right in the middle of the Grey Twelve, bold as brass.”

  “She’s something of a rarity then?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Owls are wise. They are careful and patient. Wisdom precludes boldness.” She sipped from her cup, holding the handle daintily between her thumb and forefinger. “That is why owls make poor heroes.”

  Wisdom precludes boldness. After my recent adventures in Trebon I couldn’t help but agree. “But this one is adventurous? An explorer?”

  “Oh yes,” Auri said, her eyes wide. “She is fearless. She has a face like a wicked moon.”

  She refilled her tiny silver cup with honey wine and emptied the last of it into my teacup. After tipping the bottle all the way upside-down, she pursed her lips and blew across the top of it in two sharp bursts so that it made a hooting noise. “Where’s my question?” she demanded.

  I hesitated, unsure as to how she would respond to my request. “I was wondering, Auri. Would you mind showing me the Underthing?”

  Auri looked away, suddenly shy. “Kvothe, I thought you were a gentleman,” she said, tugging selfconsciously at her ragged shirt. “Imagine, asking to see a girl’s underthing.” She looked down, her hair hiding her face.

  I held my breath for a moment, choosing my next words carefully lest I startle her back underground. While I was thinking, Auri peeked at me through the curtain of her hair.

  “Auri,” I asked slowly, “are you joking with me?”

  She looked up and grinned. “Yes, I am,” she said proudly. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Auri took me through the heavy metal grate in the abandoned courtyard, down into the Underthing. I brought out my hand lamp to light the way. Auri had a light of her own, something she held in her cupped hands that gave off a soft, blue-green glow. I was curious about what she held but didn�
��t want to press her for too many secrets at once.

  At first the Underthing was exactly what I had expected. Tunnels and pipes. Pipes for sewage, water, steam, and coal gas. Great black pig-iron pipes a man could crawl through, small, bright brass pipes no bigger around than your thumb. There was a vast network of stone tunnels, branching and connecting at odd angles. If there were any rhyme or reason to the place, it was lost on me.

  Auri gave me a whirlwind tour, proud as a new mother, excited as a little girl. Her enthusiasm was infectious and I soon lost myself in the excitement of the moment, ignoring my original reasons for wanting to explore the tunnels. There is nothing quite so delightfully mysterious as a secret in your own backyard.

  We made our way down three spiral staircases made of black wrought iron to reach the Grey Twelve. It was like standing in the bottom of a canyon. Looking up I could see faint moonlight filtering in through drain grates far overhead. The mother owl was gone, but Auri showed me the nest.

  The deeper we went, the stranger things became. The round tunnels for drainage and pipes disappeared and were replaced with squared-off hallways and stairways strewn with rubble. Rotting wooden doors hung off rusted hinges, and there were half-collapsed rooms filled with moldering tables and chairs. One room had a pair of bricked-up windows despite the fact that we were, at my best guess, at least fifty feet below ground.

  Deeper still, we came to Throughbottom, a room like a cathedral, so big that neither Auri’s blue light nor my red one reached the highest peaks of the ceiling. All around us were huge, ancient machines. Some lay in pieces: broken gears taller than a man, leather straps gone brittle with age, great wooden beams that were now explosions of white fungus, huge as hedgerows.

  Other machines were intact but worn by centuries of neglect. I approached an iron block as big as a farmer’s cottage and broke off a single flake of rust large as a dinner plate. Underneath was nothing but more rust. Nearby there were three great pillars covered in green verdigris so thick it looked like moss. Many of the huge machines were beyond identifying, looking more melted than rusted. But I saw something that might have been a waterwheel, three stories tall, lying in a dry canal that ran like a chasm through the middle of the room.