Patrick Rothfuss - The Name of the Wind

Kvothe shrugged. “But there was more to my life than revenge. I had very real obstacles to overcome close at hand. My poverty. My low birth. The enemies I made at the University were more dangerous to me than any of the Chandrian.”

He gestured for Chronicler to pick up his pen. “But for all that, we still see that even the most fanciful of stories hold a shred of truth, because I did find something very near to the mad hermit in the woods.” Kvothe smiled. “And I was determined to learn the name of the wind.”

Elodin proved a difficult man to find. He had an office in Hollows, but never seemed to use it. When I visited Ledgers and Lists, I discovered he only taught one class: Unlikely Maths. However, this was less than helpful in tracking him down, as according to the ledger, the time of the class was “now” and the location was “everywhere.”

In the end, I spotted him through sheer luck across a crowded courtyard. He was wearing his black master’s robes, which was something of a rarity. I was on my way to the Medica for observation but decided I’d rather be late for my class than miss the opportunity to speak with him.

By the time I struggled through the midday crowd and caught up with him, we were on the northern edge of the University, following a wide dirt road that led into the forest. “Master Elodin,” I said, pelting up to him. “I was hoping I could talk with you.”

“A sad little hope,” he said without breaking stride or looking in my direction. “You should aim higher. A young man ought to be afire with high ambitions.”

“I hope to study naming then,” I said, falling into step beside him.

“Too high,” he said matter-of-factly. “Try again. Somewhere in-between.” The dirt road curved, and trees blocked the sight of the University’s buildings behind us.

“I hope you’ll accept me as a student?” I tried again. “And teach me whatever you think best?”

Elodin stopped walking abruptly and turned to face me. “Fine,” he said. “Go find me three pinecones.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger. “This big, without any of the little bits broken off.” He sat down right in the middle of the road and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on. Hurry.”

I darted off into the surrounding trees. It took me about five minutes to find three pinecones of the appropriate type. By the time I got back to the road I was disheveled and bramble-scratched. Elodin was nowhere to be seen.

I looked around stupidly, then cursed, dropped the pinecones, and took off running, following the road north. I caught up with him fairly quickly, as he was just idling along, looking at the trees.

“So what did you learn?” Elodin asked.

“That you want to be left alone?”

“You are quick.” He spread his arms dramatically and intoned. “Here endeth the lesson! Here endeth my profound tutelage of E’lir Kvothe!”

I sighed. If I left now, I could still catch my class in the Medica, but part of me suspected that this might be a test of some sort. Perhaps Elodin was simply making sure that I was genuinely interested before he accepted me as a student. That is the way it usually goes in stories: the young man has to prove his dedication to the old hermit in the woods before he’s taken under his wing.

“Will you answer a few questions?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said, holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger curled in. “Three questions. If you agree to leave me be afterward.”

I thought for a moment. “Why don’t you want to teach me?”

“Because the Edema Ruh make exceptionally poor students,” he said brusquely. “They are fine for rote learning, but the study of naming requires a level of dedication that ravel such as yourself rarely possess.”

My temper flared so hot and quick that I actually felt my skin flush. It started at my face and burned down my chest and arms. It made the hair on my arms prickle.

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that your experience with the Ruh has left something to be desired,” I said carefully. “Let me assure you that—”

“Ye Gods,” Elodin sighed, disgusted. “A bootlicker too. You lack the requisite spine and testicular fortitude to study under me.”

Hot words boiled up inside me. I fought them down. He was trying to bait me.

“You aren’t telling me the truth,” I said. “Why don’t you want to teach me?”

“For the same reason I don’t want a puppy!” Elodin shouted, waving his arms in the air like a farmer trying to startle crows out of a field. “Because you’re too short to be a namer. Your eyes are too green. You have the wrong number of fingers. Come back when you’re taller and you’ve found a decent pair of eyes.”

We stared at each other for a long while. Finally he shrugged and started walking again. “Fine. I’ll show you why.”

We followed the road north. Elodin strolled along, picking up stones and tossing them into the trees. He jumped to snatch leaves from low-hanging branches, his master’s robes billowing ridiculously. At one point he stopped and stood motionless and intent for nearly half an hour, staring at a fern swaying slowly in the wind.

But I kept the tip of my tongue firmly between my teeth. I didn’t ask, “Where are we going?” or “What are you looking at?” I knew a hundred stories about young boys who squandered questions or wishes by chatting them away. I had two questions left, and I was going to make them count.

Eventually we emerged from the forest, and the road became a path leading up a vast lawn to a huge manor house. Bigger than the Artificery, it had elegant lines, a red tile roof, high windows, arched doorways and pillars. There were fountains, flowers, hedges. . . .

But something wasn’t quite right. The closer we got to the gates, the more I doubted this was some nobleman’s estate. Maybe it was something about the design of the gardens, or the fact that the wrought-iron fence surrounding the lawns was nearly ten feet tall and unclimbable to my well-trained thief’s eye.

Two serious-eyed men opened the gate, and we continued up the path toward the front doors. Elodin looked at me. “Have you heard of Haven yet?”

I shook my head.

“It has other names: the Rookery, the Crockery. . . .”

The University asylum. “It’s huge. How . . .” I stopped before asking the question.

Elodin grinned, knowing he’d almost caught me. “Jeremy,” he called out to the large man who stood at the front door. “How many guests do we have today?”

“The desk could give you a count, sir,” he said uncomfortably.

“Take a wild guess,” Elodin said. “We’re all friends here.”

“Three-twenty?” the man said with a shrug. “Three-fifty?”

Elodin rapped on the thick timber door with a knuckle, and the man scrambled to unlock it. “How many more could we fit if we needed?” Elodin asked him.

“Another hundred-fifty easy,” Jeremy said, tugging the huge door open. “More in a pinch, I suppose.”

“See, Kvothe?” Elodin winked at me. “We’re ready.”

The entryway was huge, with stained glass windows and vaulted ceilings. The floor was marble polished to a mirror sheen.

The place was eerily silent. I couldn’t understand it. The Reftview Asylum in Tarbean was only a fraction the size of this place, and it sounded like a brothel full of angry cats. You could hear it from a mile away over the din of the city.

Elodin strolled up to a large desk where a young woman stood. “Why isn’t anyone outside, Emmie?”

She gave him an uneasy smile. “They’re too wild today, sir. We think there’s a storm coming in.” She pulled a ledger book off the shelf. “The moon’s getting full, too. You know how it gets.”