“It is not proper for me to comment on another’s name.” Absolute refusal. Her gesture was so sharp it almost hurt to look at. She came to her feet, then brushed her hands against her pants. “Come, it is time you gave your answer to Shehyn.”
Shehyn motioned for us to sit as we entered her room. Then she took a seat herself, startling me by showing the smallest of smiles. It was a terribly flattering gesture of familiarity. “Have you decided?” she asked.
I nodded. “I thank you, Shehyn, but I cannot stay. I must return to Severen to speak with the Maer. Tempi fulfilled his obligation when the road was made safe, but I am bound to return and explain everything that happened.” I thought of Denna as well, but didn’t mention her.
Shehyn gestured an elegant mingling of approval and regret. “Fulfilling one’s duty is of the Lethani.” She gave me a serious look. “Remember, you have a sword and a name, but you must not hire yourself out as if you had taken the red.”
“Vashet has explained everything to me,” I said. Reassurance. “I will make arrangements for my sword to be returned to Haert if I am killed. I will not teach the Ketan or wear the red.” Carefully attentive curiosity. “But I am permitted to tell others I have studied fighting with you?”
Reserved agreement. “You may say you have studied with us. But not that you are one of us.”
“Of course,” I said. “And not that I am equal to you.”
Shehyn gestured content satisfaction. Then her hands shifted and she made a small gesture of embarrassed admission. “This is not entirely a gift,” she said. “You will be a better fighter than many barbarians. If you fight and win, the barbarians will think: Kvothe studied only slightly the Adem’s arts, and still he is formidable. How much more skilled must they themselves be?” However. “If you fight and lose, they will think: He only learned a piece of what the Adem know.”
The old woman’s eyes twinkled ever so slightly. She gestured amusement. “No matter what, our reputation thrives. This serves Ademre.”
I nodded. Willing acceptance. “It will not hurt my reputation either,” I said. Understatement.
There was a pause in the conversation, then Shehyn gestured solemn importance. “When we spoke before, you asked me of the Rhinta. Do you remember?” Shehyn asked. From the corner of my eye I saw Vashet shift uncomfortably in her seat.
Suddenly excited, I nodded.
“I have remembered a story of such. Would you like to hear it?”
I gestured extreme eager interest.
“It is an old story, old as Ademre. It is always told the same. Are you ready to hear it?” Profound formality. There was a hint of ritual in her voice.
I nodded again. Pleading entreaty.
“As with all things, there are rules. I will tell this story once. After, you may not speak of it. After, you may not ask questions.” Shehyn looked back and forth between Vashet and myself. Grave seriousness. “Not until you have slept one thousand nights may you speak on this. Not until you have traveled one thousand miles may you ask questions. Knowing this, are you willing to hear it?”
I nodded a third time, my excitement rising in me.
Shehyn spoke with great formality. “Once there was a great realm peopled by great people. They were not Ademre. They were what Ademre was before we became ourselves.
“But at this time they were themselves, the women and men fair and strong. They sang songs of power and fought as well as Ademre do.
“These people had a great empire. The name of the empire is forgotten. It is not important as the empire has fallen, and since that time the land has broken and the sky changed.
“In the empire there were seven cities and one city. The names of the seven cities are forgotten, for they are fallen to treachery and destroyed by time. The one city was destroyed as well, but its name remains. It was called Tariniel.
“The empire had an enemy, as strength must have. But the enemy was not great enough to pull it down. Not by pulling or pushing was the enemy strong enough to drag it down. The enemy’s name is remembered, but it will wait.
“Since not by strength could the enemy win, he moved like a worm in fruit. The enemy was not of the Lethani. He poisoned seven others against the empire, and they forgot the Lethani. Six of them betrayed the cities that trusted them. Six cities fell and their names are forgotten.
“One remembered the Lethani, and did not betray a city. That city did not fall. One of them remembered the Lethani and the empire was left with hope. With one unfallen city. But even the name of that city is forgotten, buried in time.
“But seven names are remembered. The name of the one and of the six who follow him. Seven names have been carried through the crumbling of empire, through the broken land and changing sky. Seven names are remembered through the long wandering of Ademre. Seven names have been remembered, the names of the seven traitors. Remember them and know them by their seven signs:
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE
Interlude—Din of Whispering
“Reshi!” Bast cried out, his face stricken. “No! Stop!” He held out his hands as if he would press them against the innkeeper’s mouth. “You shouldn’t say such things!”
Kvothe smiled in a humorless way. “Bast, who taught you your name lore in the first place?”
“Not you, Reshi.” Bast shook his head. “There are things every Fae child knows. It’s never good to speak such things aloud. Not ever.”
“And why is that?” Kvothe prompted in his best teacher’s voice.
“Because some things can tell when their names are spoken,” Bast swallowed. “They can tell where they’re spoken.”
Kvothe gave a somewhat exasperated sigh. “There’s small harm in saying a name once, Bast.” He sat back in his chair. “Why do you think the Adem have their traditions surrounding that particular story? Only once and no questions after?”
Bast’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Kvothe gave him a small, tight smile. “Exactly. Trying to find someone who speaks your name once is like tracking a man through a forest from a single footprint.”
Chronicler spoke up hesitantly, as if afraid of interrupting. “Can such a thing really be done?” he asked. “Truthfully?”
Kvothe nodded grimly. “I expect that’s how they found my troupe when I was young.”
Chronicler looked around nervously, then frowned and made an obvious effort to stop. The result was that he sat very still, looking every bit as nervous as before. “Does that mean they might come here? You’ve certainly been talking about them enough. . . .”
Kvothe made a dismissive gesture. “No. Names are the key. Real names. Deep names. And I have been avoiding them for just that reason. My father was a great one for details. He had been asking questions and digging up old stories about the Chandrian for years. I expect he stumbled onto a few of their old names and worked them into his song. . . .”
Understanding washed over Chronicler’s face. “. . . and then rehearsed it again and again.”
The innkeeper gave a faint, fond smile. “Endlessly, if I knew him at all. I have no doubt he and my mother did their solid best to work every tiny burr out of their song before they made it public. They were perfectionists.” He gave a tired sigh. “To the Chandrian, it must have been like someone constantly lighting a signal fire. I expect the only thing that kept them safe for so long was that we were constantly traveling.”