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.Unbearably sharp.She could smell oatmeal steaming over a fire.She saw her mother’s face intent over the fire, sweat gleaming on her brow from the heat.From somewhere close by, she could hear her father whistling to himself.The tuneless whistle meant he was whittling or braiding a halter or polishing a weapon, any number of things he did with his callused hands.And then she saw Levoreth’s face smiling before it dissolved into earth.There is another way to mourn the dead.The voice was deep.Giverny had heard it before inside her mind.It had a strange but reassuring sound to it.A furry sound.That was it.The wolf.The shock of the thought caused her to truly see.Beside her, so close she could have stretched out her hand to touch his fur, paced a wolf.His fur was black and his eyes were silver.She shivered away from him.I would never hurt you.“How can you speak inside my mind?” she said.“What are you?”A wolf.“Can all wolves speak like this?”The wolf chuckled.To you? Aye, all wolves can speak so.The wolf opened his mouth and she glimpsed sharp white fangs.“But if mindspeech troubles you,” he said, “I can speak out loud.And this, other wolves cannot do.”Giverny was not sure what frightened her more—the sound of the wolf’s voice in her mind, or the sight of him speaking out loud.She could not answer the wolf for a while.She was shy of him.The wolf was content to pace in silence beside her.Far off on the horizon, the jagged line of mountains shone in the afternoon sun.The sun was dipping down in the west, and Giverny’s shadow wavered across the grass.“What did you mean?” she said.“What did you mean about—about—”“About mourning?” said the wolf, when Giverny could not finish her sentence.“When death comes to a wolf it is a gift, a good thing.The chance to chase the sun and join the great hunt which courses beyond the stars.Those who remain behind should not mourn such a thing.They should live joyously in honor of the departed.”“I can’t live in joy,” faltered Giverny.“Perhaps not now, but when time has passed? For now, the important thing is that you shall live.Only that.For if you die, then the Dark shall tighten its grasp upon this land.”She did not understand what he meant.She was not sure if she wanted to understand.“Who are you?” she said.“I am the companion of the Mistress of Mistresses, her paw and her fang.I am the memory of the Earth.I am he who stands at the side of Eorde against the Dark.”“And who am I?” said Giverny, her voice shaking.“You are the Mistress of Mistresses.The guardian of the Earth and bulwark against the Dark.”“No! That can’t be true.I’m just a girl.”The wolf did not say anything, but he regarded her with his silver eyes.Giverny fell to her knees on the grass.The grass was cool and reassuring against her hands.Tears sprang from her eyes.She lay on the ground and pressed her face against the grass.And the earth spoke.She could hear it murmuring to her.Wordless impressions of stone and silence and peace.It spoke of mountains and forests and the dry and thirsty desert of the south.It spoke of trees and hills and rocks.It spoke of the animals that found their home in and on the earth.And it spoke her name.Giverny did not know how long she lay there.When she sat up, the sun had set and there was only a purpling radiance on the horizon in the west.Stars pricked their way into life in the eastern sky, one by one, in faint points of promised brilliance.The wolf sat by her.“I’m sorry,” she said.“I think I fell asleep.But I don’t think I’m tired anymore.I don’t think I’ll ever be tired again.”“Once,” said the wolf, “I used to be an ordinary wolf.”“I know,” said Giverny.The wolf nodded in a satisfied fashion, as if he had remembered something he had almost forgotten.“My name,” he said, “is Ehtan.”They made their way quickly then, for Giverny found that she could run along with a loping pace that did not tire her.Every time her foot struck the earth, it seemed as if life flowed up into her from the ground.“We should journey east for now,” said Ehtan, running by her side.“We’re near the forest of Lome and that’s a friendly place for our kind.I do not want to be out on this plain at night, for I do not trust the sky.It’s for your safety.Consider that a seed needs careful nurture as it sprouts.It is only later, when it has become a tree, that it can withstand the storm.You are that seed and I fear that a storm draws near to Tormay, for the Dark is in this land.We must find safety for a while, and the forest shall give it.”It was darker now.A cold wind rose out of the evening and brought with it the scent of rain and the smell of wood and leaves and the damp rot of the forest floor.“We’re close,” said Ehtan.“Noses are better than eyes.”And he was right [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]