Archiwum
- Index
- Le Guin Ursula K. Ziemiomorze 01 Czarnoksieznik z Archipelagu
- 0216_Ursula K. Le Guin Tehanu
- Jack London Tales of the Klondike
- MA02_ _Evolution
- Zwiadowcy 06 Obl晜źenie Macindaw Flanagan John
- MaśÂ‚śźeśÂ„ska umowa McMahon Barbara
- Krytyczne parametry wzmacniacza mocy
- Brittainy C. Cherry Kochajć…c pana Danielsa
- barbara radziwilowna felinski a.
- Dominique Adair [Jane Porter] Hot for Teacher (pdf)
- zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- epicusfuror.xlx.pl
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in his hands, fighting against the shame of tears.
She put her hand on his knee. It was the first time she had ever touched him. He endured it, the warmth
and weight of her touch that he had wasted so much time wanting.
He wanted to hurt her, to shock her out of her terrible, ignorant kindness, but what he said when he
finally spoke was, I only wanted to make love to you,
You did?
Did you think I was one of their eunuchs? That I d castrate myself with spells so I could be holy? Why
do you think I don t have a staff? Why do you think I m not at the School? Did you believe everything I
said?
Yes, she said. I m sorry. Her hand was still on his knee. She said, We can make love if you want.
He sat up, sat still.
What are you? he said to her at last.
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I don t know. It s why I wanted to come to Roke. To find out.
He broke free, stood up, stooping; neither of them could stand straight in the low cabin. Clenching and
unclenching his hands, he stood as far from her as he could, his back to her.
You won t find out. It s all lies, shams. Old men playing games with words. I wouldn t play their games,
so I left. Do you know what I did? He turned, showing his teeth in a rictus of triumph. I got a girl, a
town girl, to come to my room. My cell. My little stone celibate cell. It had a window looking out on a
back-street. No spells - you can t make spells with all their magic going on. But she wanted to come,
and came, and I let a rope ladder out the window, and she climbed it. And we were at it when the old
men came in! I showed em! And if I could have got you in, I d have showed em again, I d have taught
them their lesson!
Well, I ll try, she said.
He stared.
Not for the same reasons as you, she said, but I still want to. And we came all this way. And you
know my name.
It was true. He knew her name: Irian. It was like a coal of fire, a burning ember in his mind. His thought
could not hold it. His knowledge could not use it. His tongue could not say it.
She looked up at him, her sharp, strong face softened by the shadowy lantern-light. If it was only to
make love you brought me here, Ivory, she said, we can do that. If you still want to.
Wordless at first, he simply shook his head. After a while he was able to laugh. I think we ve gone on
past .. . that possibility . . .
She looked at him without regret, or reproach, or shame.
Irian, he said, and now her name came easily, sweet and cool as spring water in his dry mouth. Irian,
here s what you must do to enter the Great House...
III. Azver
He left her at the comer of the street, a narrow, dull, somehow sly-looking street that slanted up between
featureless walls to a wooden door in a higher wall. He had put his spell on her, and she looked like a
man, though she did not feel like one. She and Ivory took each other in their arms, because after all they
had been friends, companions, and he had done all this for her. Courage! he said, and let her go. She
walked up the street and stood before the door. She looked back then, but he was gone.
She knocked.
After a while she heard the latch rattle. The door opened. An ordinary-looking middle-aged man stood
there. What can I do for you? he said. He did not smile, but his voice was pleasant.
You can let me into the Great House, sir.
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Do you know the way in? His almond-shaped eyes were attentive, yet seemed to look at her from
miles or years away.
This is the way in, sir.
Do you know whose name you must tell me before I let you in?
My own, sir. It is Irian.
Is it? he said.
That gave her pause. She stood silent. It s the name the witch Rose of my village on Way gave me, in
the spring under Iria Hill, she said at last, standing up and speaking truth.
The Doorkeeper looked at her for what seemed a long time. Then it is your name, he said. But maybe
not all your name. I think you have another.
I don t know it, sir.
After another long time she said, Maybe I can learn it here, sir.
The Doorkeeper bowed his head a little. A very faint smile made crescent curves in his cheeks. He
stood aside. Come in, daughter, he said.
She stepped across the threshold of the Great House.
Ivory s spell of semblance dropped away like a cobweb. She was and looked herself.
She followed the Doorkeeper down a stone passageway. Only at the end of it did she think to turn back
to see the light shine through the thousand leaves of the tree carved in the high door in its bone-white
frame.
A young man in a grey cloak hurrying down the passageway stopped short as he approached them. He
stared at Irian; then with a brief nod he went on. She looked back at him. He was looking back at her.
A globe of misty, greenish fire drifted swiftly down the corridor at eye level, apparently pursuing the
young man. The Doorkeeper waved his hand at it, and it avoided him. Irian swerved and ducked down
frantically, but felt the cool fire tingle in her hair as it passed over her. The Doorkeeper looked round, and
now his smile was wider. Though he said nothing, she felt he was aware of her, concerned for her. She
stood up and followed him.
He stopped before an oak door. Instead of knocking he sketched a little sign or rune on it with the top
of his staff, a light staff of some greyish wood. The door opened as a resonant voice behind it said,
Come in!
Wait here a little, if you please, Irian, the Doorkeeper said, and went into the room, leaving the door
wide open behind him. She could see bookshelves and books, a table piled with more books and
inkpots and writings, two or three boys seated at the table, and the grey-haired, stocky man the
Doorkeeper spoke to. She saw the man s face change, saw his eyes shift to her in a brief, startled gaze,
saw him question the Doorkeeper, low-voiced, intense.
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They both came to her. The Master Changer of Roke: Irian of Way, said the Doorkeeper.
The Changer stared openly at her. He was not as tall as she was. He stared at the Doorkeeper, and then
at her again.
Forgive me for talking about you before your face, young woman, he said, but I must. Master
Doorkeeper, you know I d never question your judgment, but the Rule is clear. I have to ask what
moved you to break it and let her come in.
She asked to, said the Doorkeeper.
But. . . The Changer paused.
When did a woman last ask to enter the School?
They know the Rule doesn t allow them.
Did you know that, Irian? the Doorkeeper asked her.
Yes, sir.
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