The Tombs of Atuan (Earthsea Cycle, #2)

by Ursula K. Le Guin

And I’ll bet you he has to cut his toenails, just like any other man.

Arha had learned not to command Kossil. She had the right to do so, but not the strength; it would take very great strength to stand up against Kossil’s jealousy of a higher status than her own, her hatred of anything she herself did not control.

“To be reborn one must die, Tenar. It is not so hard as it looks from the other side.”

Under the trees ran a stream, narrow but powerful, shouting, muscular over its rocks and falls, too hasty to freeze. Tenar was almost afraid of it. She was used to the desert where things are silent and move slowly: sluggish rivers, shadows of clouds, vultures circling.

And Tenar listened to the sea, a few yards below the cave mouth, crashing and sucking and booming on the rocks, and the thunder of it down the beach eastward for miles. Over and over and over it made the same sounds, yet never quite the same. It never rested. On all the shores of all the lands in all the world, it heaved itself in these unresting waves, and never ceased, and never was still. The desert, the mountains: they stood still. They did not cry out forever in a great, dull voice. The sea spoke forever, but its language was foreign to her. She did not understand.

What she had begun to learn was the weight of liberty. Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake. It is not easy. It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one. The road goes upward toward the light; but the laden traveler may never reach the end of it.