She Who Is Tall says that the secret is in the song, and opens only to one who dares to sing. It is said that when she sings, the secret is plain to all who listen, but that it is hidden again when the song is past, and few are those who are blessed to hear the echoes of Truth in the Silence that follows.
Well, he liked music well enough, and he liked singing, but there was probably some sort of mystical and powerful meaning in the passage, which he didn’t understand. He shrugged.
The next paragraph read:
She Whose Hair Is Red wraps the secret ever tighter in skeins of words, so that it vanishes as if it never were, and in these layers of words the secret emerges, shining, so that it is hidden to those who look, yet revealed to those who take joy in the unfolding patterns and sounds of words.
There was certainly some mystical and powerful significance to this, and he certainly didn’t understand it. He tried to visualize something being wrapped up in words, but all he got was an image of the black lettering from the book, removed from the page, attaching itself to some undefined thing and smothering it.
He read:
He Whose Eyes Are Green knows where the secret lies, for his eyes pierce every shadowy place; yet he no sooner finds the secret than he buries it anew. But it is said that in the burying the secret has changed, while that which was hidden walks the land ever after, waiting but for one to recognize it, and offer it refuge.
That didn’t make any sense at all. If he knew where the secrets were, why did he want to hide them? And who were these wizards, anyway?
The book went on:
He Whose Hair Is Dark laughs at secrets, for his pleasure is in the search, not the discovery—and the paths he follows in this search stem from whim, not from plan. Some say that in this way he reveals as many as another.
That almost made sense. Savn could imagine how it might be more fun to look for something than to actually find it. He wondered if there was something he was looking for, or something he should look for. The secret to Reins’s death? But he could hardly expect to find that if Master Wag couldn’t.
He continued reading:
Of the Gentle One it is said that she sets down the order and method of all things, and that, in this way, all hidden things may be found. To her, each detail is a signpost, and when each is placed in its own position, the outline of the secret will be laid bare for any who will look.
Well, that was certainly possible, thought Savn. But what do you do when you don’t know anything? There was one more passage on the page:
The Master of Rhyme still searches for the Way of the Wizards, for to him, this is the greatest Secret of all. Yet, as he searches, he lets fall Truths for all of those who come after, and in this he sees no miracle, for what is plain to one is a Secret to the next. He is often praised for this, but it is meaningless to him, for who among Men will rejoice in finding Truth that he has never thought hidden?
Savn frowned. That, too, almost made sense. It was as if you could see something, and maybe someone else couldn’t, but to you it wasn’t anything to get excited about, because it was right there all the time.
It occurred to him to wonder if there were things right in front of him that he couldn’t see. He was pondering this when Master Wag returned and said, “What are you reading?”
Savn showed him the book. The Master snorted. “There’s nothing in there you need, at least not yet. Why don’t you go home?”
Savn didn’t need to be given this suggestion twice. He put the book on the shelf, said farewell, and dashed out the door before the Master could change his mind.
He raced to Tern’s house, expecting to see Vlad either lounging outside or in the common room, but the Easterner was not in evidence. As he stood there, wondering whether he dared to ask Tem which room Vlad was in, his sister walked through the door, accompanied by two of her friends, which caused him, for reasons he couldn’t quite specify, to abandon this plan.
She came up to him at once and pulled him into a corner. “What happened to you last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were gone forever. Mae and Pae were going crazy. I finally went to bed, and when I got up this morning and asked if you’d shown up, they looked at me like they didn’t know what I was talking about and said that you were already up and out.”
“Well, I was.”
“That’s not the point, chag-brain.”
“Don’t call me chag-brain.”
“Where were you?”
“Exploring the caves.”
“At night?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“But why were you so late?”
“I lost track of time.”
She frowned at him, clearly unsatisfied with the answer, but uncertain how to find out more. “Well, then,” she said, “don’t you think Mae and Pae were acting a little strange, the way they were so worried at first, and then—”
“Oh, you know how they get. Look, I’ll talk to you later, all right? I have to go.”
“Go where? Savn, stop it. Don’t you dare go running off like that! Savn ...”
Her voice followed him out the door, but he paid no attention. The only place he could think of to find Vlad was back at the caves, so he set off for them at once. He followed the Manor road for the first mile, then cut across to the slip. As he was about to start down it, however, he saw, some distance away, a grey-clad figure standing on the cliff itself. He broke into a run, and at about the same moment he became convinced that it was indeed Vlad, the Easterner turned and waved to him, as if he’d known he was there.
When he reached him, he said nothing, only stopped to recover his breath. Vlad stood, staring out at the river flats so far below them, dotted with people bathing, washing clothes, or just talking. Savn tried to view the scene as if it were new; the river rushing in from the right, turning sharply around the Black Rocks, foaming white, then suddenly widening into the flats, brown against tan, then narrowing gradually once more as it cut down into the plains and began turning south, toward the sea, many impossible hundreds of miles away.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Savn.
“Is it?” said Vlad, without turning his head.
“Don’t you think so?”
“Maybe. Nature usually doesn’t excite me very much. I’m impressed by what man makes of his world, not what we started with.”
“Oh.” Savn considered. “I guess I’m just the opposite.”
“Yes.”
“Does it matter?”
Vlad looked at him, and something like amusement glittered for a moment in his eyes. Then he turned back to watching the river. “Yes and no,” he said. “A couple of years ago “i met a philosopher who told me mat Chose Yike me build, while those like you take more pleasure in life.”
“Aren’t there those who like both?”
“Yes. According to this lady, they become artists.”
“Oh. Do you enjoy life?”
“Me? Yes, but I’m naturally lucky.”
“Oh.” Savn thought back to what the Easterner told him the night before. “You must be, to still be alive with people trying to kill you.”
“Oh, no. That isn’t luck. I’m alive because I’m good enough to survive.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I’m lucky that, living the way I do, with people trying to kill me, I can still take pleasure in life. Not everyone can, and I think if you can’t, there isn’t much you can do about it.”
“Oh. I’ve never met a philosopher.”
“I hope you do some day; they’re always worth talking to.”
“Pae says such things are a waste of time.”
“Your Pae, I’m sorry to say, is wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because everything is worth examining, and if you don’t examine your view of the world, you are still subject to it, and you find yourself doing things that—never mind.”