Elodin looked at me. “Do you see? The names we call each other are not Names. But they have some power nonetheless.”
“That’s not magic,” I protested. “He had to listen to you. You’re a master.”
“And you’re a Re’lar,” he said implacably. “You called the wind and the wind listened.”
I struggled with the concept. “You’re saying the wind is alive?”
He made a vague gesture. “In a way. Most things are alive in one way or another.”
I decided to take a different tack. “How did I call the wind if I didn’t know how?”
Elodin clapped his hands together, sharply. “That is an excellent question! The answer is that each of us has two minds: a waking mind and a sleeping mind. Our waking mind is what thinks and talks and reasons. But the sleeping mind is more powerful. It sees deeply to the heart of things. It is the part of us that dreams. It remembers everything. It gives us intuition. Your waking mind does not understand the nature of names. Your sleeping mind does. It already knows many things that your waking mind does not.”
Elodin looked at me. “Remember how you felt after you called the name of the wind?”
I nodded, not enjoying the memory.
“When Ambrose broke your lute, it roused your sleeping mind. Like a great hibernating bear jabbed with a burning stick, it reared up and roared the name of the wind.” He swung his arms around wildly, attracting odd looks from passing students. “Afterward your waking mind did not know what to do. It was left with an angry bear.”
“What did you do? I can’t remember what you whispered to me.”
“It was a name. It was a name that settled the angry bear, eased it back to sleep. But it is not sleeping so soundly now. We need to rouse it slowly and bring it under your control.”
“Is that why you moved to suspend my expulsion?”
He made a dismissive gesture. “You were in no real danger of being expelled. You are not the first student to call the name of the wind in anger, though you are the first in several years. Some strong emotion usually wakes the sleeping mind for the first time.” He smiled. “The name of the wind came to me when I was arguing with Elxa Dal. When I shouted it his braziers exploded in a cloud of burning ash and cinder,” he chuckled.
“What did he do to make you so angry?”
“He refused to teach me the advanced bindings. I was only fourteen and an E’lir. He told me I would have to wait until I was a Re’lar.”
“There are advanced bindings?”
He grinned at me. “Secrets, Re’lar Kvothe. That is what being an arcanist is all about. Now that you are a Re’lar you are entitled to certain things that were withheld before. The advanced sympathetic bindings, the nature of names. Some smattering of dubious runes, if Kilvin thinks you’re ready.”
Hope rose in my chest. “Does this mean I’m allowed access to the Archives now?”
“Ah,” Elodin said. “No. Not in the least. You see, the Archives are Lorren’s domain, his kingdom. Those secrets are not mine to give away.”
At his mention of secrets my mind settled on one that had been bothering me for months. The secret at the heart of the Archives. “What about the stone door in the Archives?” I asked. “The four-plate door. Now that I’m a Re’lar can you tell me what’s behind it?”
Elodin laughed. “Oh no. No no. You don’t aim for small secrets do you?” He clapped me on the back as if I’d just made an especially good joke. “Valaritas. God. I can still remember what it was like, standing down there looking at the door, wondering.”
He laughed again. “Merciful Tehlu, it almost killed me.” He shook his head. “No. You don’t get to go behind the four-plate door. But,” he gave me a conspiratorial look. “Since you are a Re’lar…” He looked from side to side as if afraid that someone might overhear us. I leaned closer. “Since you are a Re’lar, I will admit that it exists.” He gave me a solemn wink.
Disappointed as I was, I couldn’t help but smile. We walked for a while in silence past Mains, past Anker’s. “Master Elodin?”
“Yes?” His eyes followed a squirrel across the road and up a tree.
“I still don’t understand about names.”
“I will teach you to understand,” he said easily. “The nature of names cannot be described, only experienced and understood.”
“Why can’t it be described?” I asked. “If you understand a thing, you can describe it.”
“Can you describe all the things you understand?” he looked sideways at me.
“Of course.”
Elodin pointed down the street. “What color is that boy’s shirt?”
“Blue.”
“What do you mean by blue? Describe it.”
I struggled for a moment, failed. “So blue is a name?”
“It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man’s will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself.”
My head was swimming by this point. “I still don’t understand.”
He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating.” He lifted his hands high above his head as if stretching for the sky. “But there are other ways to understanding!” he shouted, laughing like a child. He threw both arms to the cloudless arch of sky above us, still laughing. “Look!” he shouted tilting his head back. “Blue! Blue! Blue!”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
Winter
“HE’S QUITE, quite mad,” I said to Simmon and Wilem later that afternoon at Anker’s.
“He’s a master,” Sim responded tactfully. “And your sponsor. And from what you’ve told us he’s the reason you weren’t expelled.”
“I’m not saying that he isn’t intelligent, and I’ve seen him do things that I can’t begin to explain. But the fact remains that he is completely off his nut. He talks in circles about names and words and power. It sounds good while he’s saying it. But it doesn’t really mean anything.”
“Quit complaining,” Simmon said. “You beat both of us to Re’lar, even if your sponsor is cracked. And you got paid two span of silver for breaking Ambrose’s arm. You got away free as a bird. I wish I had half your luck.”
“Not quite free as a bird,” I said. “I’m still going to be whipped.”
“What?” Sim said. “I thought you said that they suspended it?”
“They suspended my expulsion,” I said. “Not the whipping.”
Simmon gaped. “My God, why not?”
“Malfeasance,” Wilem said in a low voice. “They can’t let a student get off bird-free after they’ve voted him guilty of malfeasance.”
“That’s what Elodin said.” I took a drink. Took another.