The Tombs of Atuan

The snap and crack of the flames roused the sleeper. He sat up, rubbing his hands over his grimy face, and at last got up stiffly and came close to the fire.

“I wonder—” he said sleepily.

“I know, but we can’t last the night here without a fire. It gets too cold.” After a minute she added, “Unless you have some magic that would keep us warm, or that would hide the fire…”

He sat down by the fire, his feet almost in it, his arms round his knees. “Brr,” he said. “A fire is much better than magic. I’ve put a little illusion about us here; if someone comes by, we might look like sticks and stones to him. What do you think? Will they be following us?”

“I fear it, yet I don’t think they will. No one but Kossil knew of your being there. Kossil, and Manan. And they are dead. Surely she was in the Hall when it fell. She was waiting at the trapdoor. And the others, the rest, they must think that I was in the Hall or the Tombs, and was crushed in the earthquake.” She too put her arms round her knees, and shuddered. “I hope the other buildings didn’t fall. It was hard to see from the hill, there was so much dust. Surely all the temples and houses didn’t fall, the Big House where all the girls sleep.”

“I think not. It was the Tombs that devoured themselves. I saw a gold roof of some temple as we turned away; it still stood. And there were figures down the hill, people running.”

“What will they say, what will they think… Poor Penthe! She might have to become the High Priestess of the Godking now. And it was always she who wanted to run away. Not I. Maybe now she’ll run away.” Tenar smiled. There was a joy in her that no thought nor dread could darken, that same sure joy that had risen in her, waking in the golden light. She opened her bag and took out two small, flat loaves; she handed one across the fire to Ged, and bit into the other. The bread was tough, and sour, and very good to eat.

They munched together in silence awhile.

“How far are we from the sea?”

“It took me two nights and two days coming. It’ll take us longer going.”

“I’m strong,” she said.

“You are. And valiant. But your companion’s tired,” he said with a smile. “And we haven’t any too much bread.”

“Will we find water?”

“Tomorrow, in the mountains.”

“Can you find food for us?” she asked, rather vaguely and timidly.

“Hunting takes time, and weapons.”

“I meant, with, you know, spells.”

“I can call a rabbit,” he said, poking the fire with a twisted stick of juniper. “The rabbits are coming out of their holes all around us, now. Evening’s their time. I could call one by name, and he’d come. But would you catch and skin and broil a rabbit that you’d called to you thus? Perhaps if you were starving. But it would be a breaking of trust, I think.”

"Yes. I thought, perhaps you could just…

“Summon up a supper,” he said. “Oh, I could. On golden plates, if you like. But that’s illusion, and when you eat illusions you end up hungrier than before. It’s about as nourishing as eating your own words.” She saw his white teeth flash a moment in the firelight.

“Your magic is peculiar,” she said, with a little dignity of equals, Priestess addressing Mage. “It appears to be useful only for large matters.”

He laid more wood on the fire, and it flared up in a juniperscented fireworks of sparks and crackles.

“Can you really call a rabbit?” Tenar inquired suddenly.

“Do you want me to?”

She nodded.

He turned away from the fire and said softly into the immense and starlit dark, “Kebbo… O kebbo…”

Silence. No sound. No motion. Only presently, at the very edge of the flickering firelight, a round eye like a pebble of jet, very near the ground. A curve of furry back; an ear, long, alert, upraised.

Ged spoke again. The ear flicked, gained a sudden partner-ear out of the shadow; then as the little beast turned Tenar saw it entire for an instant, the small, soft, lithe hop of it returning unconcerned to its business in the night.

“Ah!” she said, letting out her breath. “That’s lovely.” Presently she asked, “Could I do that?”

“Well-”

“It is a secret,” she said at once, dignified again.

“The rabbit’s name is a secret. At least, one should not use it lightly, for no reason. But what is not a secret, but rather a gift, or a mystery, do you see, is the power of calling.”

“Oh,” she said, “that you have. I know!” There was a passion in her voice, not hidden by pretended mockery. He looked at her and did not answer.

He was indeed still worn out by his struggle against the Nameless Ones; he had spent his strength in the quaking tunnels. Though he had won, he had little spirit left for exultation. He soon curled up again, as near the fire as he could get, and slept.

Tenar sat feeding the fire and watching the blaze of the winter constellations from horizon to horizon until her head grew giddy with splendor and silence, and she dozed off.