The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin

He bowed his head. His long hands, copper-brown, were quiet on his knees. She saw the fourfold scar on his cheek. He had gone farther than she into the dark; he knew death better than she did, even death… A rush of hatred for him rose up in her, choking her throat for an instant. Why did he sit there so defenseless and so strong? Why could she not defeat him?

“This is why I have let you live,” she said suddenly, without the least forethought. “I want you to show me how the tricks of sorcerers are performed. So long as you have some art to show me, you’ll stay alive. If you have none, if it’s all foolery and lies, why then I’ll have done with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Go on.”

He put his head in his hands a minute, and shifted his position. The iron belt kept him from ever getting quite comfortable, unless he lay down flat.

He raised his face at last and spoke very seriously. “Listen, Arha. I am a Mage, what you call a sorcerer. I have certain arts and powers. That’s true. It’s also true that here in the Place of the Old Powers, my strength is very little and my crafts don’t avail me. Now I could work illusion for you, and show you all kinds of wonders. That’s the least part of wizardry. I could work illusions when I was a child; I can do them even here. But if you believe them, they’ll frighten you, and you may wish to kill me if fear makes you angry. And if you disbelieve them, you’ll see them as only lies and foolery, as you say; and so I forfeit my life again. And my purpose and desire, at the moment, is to stay alive.”

That made her laugh, and she said, “Oh, you’ll stay alive awhile, can’t you see that? You are stupid! All right, show me these illusions. I know them to be false and won’t be afraid of them. I wouldn’t be afraid if they were real, as a matter of fact. But go ahead. Your precious skin is safe, for tonight, anyhow.”

At that he laughed, as she had a moment ago. They tossed his life back and forth between them like a ball, playing.

“What do you wish me to show you?”

“What can you show me?”

“Anything.”

“How you brag and brag!”

“No,” he said, evidently a little stung. “I do not. I didn’t mean to, anyway.”

“Show me something you think worth seeing. Anything!”

He bent his head and looked at his hands awhile. Nothing happened. The tallow candle in her lantern burned dim and steady. The black pictures on the walls, the bird-winged, flightless figures with eyes painted dull red and white, loomed over him and over her. There was no sound. She sighed, disappointed and somehow grieved. He was weak; he talked great things, but did nothing. He was nothing but a good liar, and not even a good thief. “Well,” she said at last, and gathered her skirts together to rise. The wool rustled strangely as she moved. She looked down at herself, and stood up in startlement.

The heavy black she had worn for years was gone; her dress was of turquoise-colored silk, bright and soft as the evening sky. It belled out full from her hips, and all the skirt was embroidered with thin silver threads and seed pearls and tiny crumbs of crystal, so that it glittered softly, like rain in April.

She looked at the magician, speechless.

“Do you like it?”

“Where-“

“It’s like a gown I saw a princess wear once, at the Feast of Sunreturn in the New Palace in Havnor,” he said, looking at it with satisfaction. “You told me to show you something worth seeing. I show you yourself.”

“Make it- make it go away.”

“You gave me your cloak,” he said as if in reproach. “Can I give you nothing? Well, don’t worry. It’s only illusion; see.”

He seemed not to raise a finger, certainly he said no word; but the blue splendor of silk was gone, and she stood in her own harsh black.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *