Lanen turned to me. "What in the—?"
"Forgive me, dearling, but it seems my old friend Shikrar has recovered, and his jests, as always, are terrible. He says I should be named Deshkantriakor, the Strange King of the Kantri."
She glanced at Idai and Shikrar as they recovered their bearing. "Very funny," she said dryly. "I wouldn't recommend it, myself."
"Perhaps you are right," I said, with no little reluctance. "It was worth it for heart's ease, in any case." I had been turning over elements of the Old Speech in my mind, though, even as we laughed, and I knew what my name must be.
"My name is chosen, Hadreshikrar, Iderrisai, Lanen Maransdatter, I pray you attend."
In the silence that followed, in the clear morning, I stood before those I loved best and spoke the words of the Naming.
''I reveal my name unto you, dear love and oldest friends, that you alone may know the truth of me, may with my consent call me by name and speak as friends of my soul. My usename shall be Varien, the Changed One, and so I shall commonly be called. But my true name is Varien Kantriakor rash-Gedri, Kadreshi naLanen: He who is Changed from the Lord of the Kantri to a Man, Beloved of Lanen. It is the truth of who and what I have become. If it seems overlong, I beg your indulgence, for my heart tells me I shall require the safety of such a name. I charge you, my dear ones, guard it well among you."
They all three repeated my name aloud. I had chosen well, for the words rang in my heart with the truth of the naming, tied now to my soul. For years afterwards, though, when anyone asked my name I could hear the laughter of Dragons.
In the silence after the Naming (which was not so different from the human ceremony), I was ashamed to notice so minor a thing as the weather, but it could not be ignored much longer.
So far we had been fortunate. Winter had backed down for the moment, leaving behind a clear, cloudless morning; but the air was still cold, and I saw goosefiesh on Akor—on Varien's skin where my cloak did not cover it.
Varien. The Changed One.
''We must go back inside, or find another place where there is warmth," I told Shikrar and Idai. "I think we should return to Akor's cave near the Council chamber. From there Rella might be able to help us, or I could go to the ship myself and get clothing for him." I wondered as I spoke whether the ship would have left already. Suddenly it was important. "We will also need food, both of us," I added, for I was hungry again. "Will you two do us the honour of bearing us thence?"
Without hesitation they agreed. I cut off a great slab of the meat Shikrar had brought for me the night before, knowing I— we—would want it when we arrived at Akor's chambers. As there was nothing else to be done where we were, Shikrar and Idai picked us up gently in their great hands and we left the ground.
I thought it would be the last time I ever flew. I watched the ground pass beneath me in the sunlight, a wondrous and varied green carpet of forests and fields, and tried to enjoy the mere sensation of flying in daylight when I could enjoy it, but my body's demands were too strong.
Held close to Idai's warmth, her strong hands safe about me, knowing at least for the moment that all was safe, I closed my exhausted eyes and slept.
Idai woke me as we came near Akor's chambers to tell me that the Council was meeting again as we returned. I could not spare a thought for such matters. My body was importunate in its demands. Warmth, food and sleep were all I could think of. Indeed, my memory of that journey is in great part lost, for on the heels of grief, joy and wonder I had no strength left.
I know Shikrar brought wood and started a roaring fire in Akor's chambers for Varien and me.
I cut the meat I had brought with me into smaller pieces and roasted it on a stick over the fire.
It seemed to take forever but it tasted like very heaven when it was finally done. It was Varien's first meal; I wondered what he made of it all, but I was too weary to ask and he was no better. As soon as we were finished we lay down as near the flames as we dared and slept, facing each other across the fire.
I remember nothing after that until Shikrar woke us hours later.
XIX
THE WORD OF THE WINDS
When Shikrar woke us it was late afternoon. Idai had kept watch over us and kept the fire warm and bright, while he and Kédra had taken Rishkaan's soulgem and the soulgems of the Lost to the Chamber of Souls and reverently restored them to their rightful place. He apologised now for disturbing us, but we had been summoned by the Council, and there was news from Rella that he had forgotten to tell us. (I only learned later from Akor how extraordinary it was for one of the Kantri to forget anything, no matter how slight.)
I dragged myself upright and found that I could not turn away from Akor—no, no, he was Varien now—still unable to believe it, still not knowing why we had been granted such a grace. It was long and long before I could look at him without a measure of awe.
I put the rest of the meat on a spit and began to cook it as Idai left to attend the Council and tell them our tale in her words. We ate as quickly as we might. Our drink was spring water, but I had to smile—we drank it from rough, heavy vessels of gold that Idai had fashioned for us, remembering how I had needed to kneel to drink from the pool. Kings would envy such vessels.
Shikrar told us that Rella had spoken with Kédra that very morning. It seems the Master wanted to start as swiftly as possible on the journey back. Kédra had asked her to request a delay of but one more day, and she had promised to try. I found myself wishing that she had truespeech, and began to discover some of the frustration the Kantri must always have felt around my people.
Finally Varien stood. "Very well. It is time. Let us go before the Council that they might see what I have become," he said. "I am yet unsure on these two legs, Lanen. You must be my strength."
"I thought we had already agreed on that," I said, smiling. "But first give me a moment to make you more presentable." Two quick knife slashes for armholes and my belt around all and Varien stood clad in a makeshift tunic rather than wrapped in a cloak. "Now, my dear one," I said as I put his arm about my shoulder and mine around his waist, "let us beard the Council once more." I turned to him, to that wondrous face mere inches from mine, and grinned. "I can't think of a thing to say to them, dear heart, but perhaps they won't need many words."
"Before you go, I too have a gift for you ... Varien," said Shikrar shyly. He handed Varien a rough circlet of khaadish, with a gap at one end. "I made it while you slept. I thought— your soulgem—perhaps if you are seen thus, it might lessen the shock."
Varien's eyes went wide.
I drew the green gem from my scrip and handed it to Shikrar. He scraped from the floor a quantity of gold and breathed fire onto it until it glowed, then made of it a flattened strip, melding the edges to make a circle the size of the soulgem. Taking the gem in his great claws, he placed it gently within the circle and bent the edge above and below, finally joining the set stone to the circlet with Fire. I longed to help him, lend nimble fingers to those huge unwieldy talons—but even if there had been some way for me to work near-molten gold, I would not have dared. Such a gift can only be the work of one pair of hands, however ill-suited to their task. He quenched it in the stream that ran in one corner of the chamber.
The setting was rough, but it held. Shikrar bowed and gave it to Varien, who pushed himself gently away from me to stand on his own. He received it reverently in both hands. He lifted it to put it on, but with some inborn hieratical sense, stopped short.
He faced Shikrar. "From you, my soul's friend, Hadreshikrar, I accept this gift and bless you for the honour." He bowed stiffly (so as not to fall over, I suspected), then turned to me. "To you, Lanen my heart, I give it freely."