The second day after Jon's "bastard" was abducted. Night. Cat pushed open the weirwood doors of the House of Black and White and stepped
The second day after Jon's "bastard" was abducted.
Night.
Cat pushed open the weirwood doors of the House of Black and White and stepped into the hall. Directly ahead lay a circular pool ten feet across; thirty distinct idols lined the walls, red-flamed candles flickering at their feet.
Within the walls opened countless alcoves, each cradling a corpse.
The Kindly Man stood beside the ink-black water, facing the entrance as though he had been waiting for someone.
"You have returned," he said with a gentle smile.
"The moon is black," Cat replied respectfully.
"The moon is black" was cant among the Faceless Men, meaning simply that night had fallen and the hour was late.Cat, who wandered the markets, knew the jargon of many trades; a single phrase could reveal an identity.
The Kindly Man nodded. "Tell me the three things you learned today."
"The Night's Watch lost 'a whole ship' of men—actually only four. They also lost a baby, the one Red Rogo killed and I brought back."
A shadow crossed the Kindly Man's eyes. "I know."
Cat continued."The Blue Lantern Playhouse planned a new piece, The Roar of Deathwing, but the Purple Cloaks raided them, arrested the playwright, and so tonight they performed The Dark Bat Laila again."
"I know," the Kindly Man said, expressionless.
His look made Cat—whose skill at reading faces was second to none—grow nervous. Inside her sleeves her fists clenched and she began to bite her lip.
Smack! The Kindly Man slapped her.
Cat covered her cheek, more frightened than hurt. "W-what did I do?"
"Biting your lip while thinking is something Arya Stark would do. Are you Cat, or Arya Stark of House Stark?"
"I am no one," Arya answered warily, reminding herself yet again: You are Arya Stark, but no one must know; stop biting your lip.
"Tell me the last thing," the Kindly Man said.
She had meant to gossip about Gobiwon the fruit-seller bedding Bilen the flat-cake woman and both spouses finding out, but instead she spoke without hesitation:
"Red Rogo is dead. He slew a 'ship' of black brothers and murdered Lord Commander Jon Snow's bastard son. They stabbed his manhood with one sword, slit his throat with another, wrapped stones around him, and threw him off the Abathad Great Bridge."
The Kindly Man's face stayed wooden, clearly displeased with the killers' methods.
Arya pressed on. "They also took the peacock-feather cloak he'd just bought. Tomorrow, or the next day, it will turn up in the second-hand market."
"A fine cloak is always prized by assassins," the Kindly Man noted.
"Exactly." Arya grinned, pleased with herself—then wiped the smile away at once. The smile that pleased the Kindly Man most was no smile at all.
The Kindly Man forgave her brief pride and did not slap her again.Once Red Rogo's cloak appeared on someone else, everyone who knew him would see the truth: greed had led to his murder and his body had been dumped in a canal. In Braavos many a killer would murder for a silver coin or a new pair of boots; such things drew little lasting notice.
"I wonder who did it?" the Kindly Man mused.
Arya became Cat again, met his eyes, and said, syllable by syllable, "Arya Stark of House Stark."
"So it was she. I thought she had long since vanished from Braavos." He nodded with a smile. "And now—who are you?"
"No one," said No One.
"Waif," the Kindly Man called.
A small, pale girl slipped from the darkness.
"Bring two cups of red wine—one for me. Our little friend Arya isn't grown yet; she needs a cup of hot milk."
Arya hesitated only a heartbeat, then drained the milk in long gulps. It tasted faintly bitter.
"Go to sleep, Cat," the Kindly Man said. "Early to bed, early to rise. Bess, remember: all men must serve."
Oh, I'm no longer Cat. Tomorrow I'll be Bess.
Full of anticipation for the new role, Arya slipped into dreams.She did not dream of wolves; she was still in Braavos.
"Meow—"
On the roof of Red Rogo's lodgings by Rag-seller's Quay, a black cat flicked its tail and rose, blue eyes gleaming with uncanny light. Like a queen patrolling her realm, she leapt from rooftop to rooftop, weaving through crowds, listening to the city's secrets.
Arya was no longer a wolf; she was a cat—Black Cat Inspector, perhaps Black Cat Killer. One vial of the Tears of Lys on her claws and she could kill anyone, even the Sealord. Yet she dared not: the risk of exposure was too great, and she doubted she could hide her intent from the Kindly Man.
Red Rogo was not worth such a card. Only Cersei, Walder Frey—or perhaps the Dragon Queen—were worth it.
No, strike the Dragon Queen. She was too fearsome; even wolves could not face her, and a cat could not approach.
After a sound night's sleep, Arya awoke blind.
At the same moment she learned who Bess was: a blind beggar girl of the streets.
You must see with your heart, feel with your soul, the Kindly Man had said.
As Beth tapped along the cobbled street by the river with her white cane, begging, the Kindly Man pulled a stone box from a wall recess.
Braavos was made up of many islands, and many of those islands were themselves mountain ridges.
The House of Black and White was built into one such rocky hill, with countless tunnels carved within.
The main hall served as a place to receive followers. Along its stone walls, numerous alcoves were chiseled out to hold corpses—some awaiting preparation, others already processed (skinned).
The body of "Jon Snow's bastard" was placed inside one of these alcoves, sealed in a stone box.
The priests' and novices' quarters were located one level beneath the main hall, while the servants slept on the second level.
Arya, who had not yet earned the right to wear another's face, lived on the second level as both an apprentice and a servant.
The lowest level housed the sanctum, where the faces collected by the House of Black and White were stored for disguise. They were hung on the walls of the third level's chamber.
Only the priests were permitted to enter the third underground level.
At this moment, the Kindly Man carried the stone box to the third level, placed it carefully on a stone platform, and gently opened the lid, revealing a cold corpse with ashen skin.
A dagger was lodged in the corpse's chest, but strangely, no blood had flowed out—though pale blue blood had indeed seeped out earlier, it had long since evaporated.
"So this is a White Walker."
The Kindly Man examined it from head to toe, from every angle.
"It doesn't seem much different from a human."
With a touch of disappointment, the old priest flicked the tiny White Walker with his finger. It had a firm, springy feel—soft and bouncy.
Then, his gaze fell upon the dagger in the creature's chest. As if compelled by some unseen force, he reached out with his right hand and gripped the hilt.
Schlick!
The blade slid free, and the icy blue blood clinging to it splattered across the stone platform. A single drop landed on the Kindly Man's face.
Ssssss! The blood rapidly etched a pale blue ice mark across the old man's face.
"Ah!" he cried out. His facial features changed in an instant. With a blink, he wore a different face. His original skin now rested in his left hand.
"This really is a White Walker!"
Suddenly, the little White Walker's eyes flew open, glowing faintly blue. The temperature in the chamber dropped sharply.
"It's alive?"
The Kindly Man exhaled a puff of mist, startled, and took two steps back in alarm.
The White Walker gazed at him with utterly emotionless eyes—like an infant with no understanding, staring blankly at a stranger.
After a while, as the room's temperature settled, so too did the Kindly Man's racing heart.
He stepped forward again and lightly poked the little White Walker's cheek. It was cold—and soft and bouncy.
The creature gave no response.
Growing bolder, the Kindly Man gently poked its tiny genitals. Cold—soft and bouncy.
Still no reaction.
Now confident, the Kindly Man picked up the little White Walker, examined it from all sides, pinched its bottom, and tugged at its cheeks.
Aside from its low body temperature, it was almost indistinguishable from an ordinary infant.
Two days passed. The Kindly Man found that the White Walker neither ate nor cried from hunger—yet it also showed no signs of growth.
Faced with such a fantastical being, his curiosity only deepened.
Aside from eating, sleeping, and teaching Beth, he spent all his remaining time studying the White Walker.
He also began collecting a vast number of books related to White Walkers.
Among the many legends and stories, one fragment caught his attention: wights devoured the flesh of the living, while White Walkers hunted pregnant women and consumed their infants.
Gradually, the Kindly Man began to entertain a new idea: to try raising a White Walker.
Of course, he wasn't reckless. He enlisted four Faceless Men—along with himself—all equipped with Valyrian steel blades. The House of Black and White could afford such precautions.
At the deepest end of one tunnel, they built a stone chamber secured by four layers of steel bars.
The bars were as thick as a child's arm. Each of the four doors was guarded by a Faceless Man. Above the final door, a hole had been carved and packed with wildfire and gunpowder (ps).
As for the White Walker's food—
Each day, followers of the Many-Faced God came to the House of Black and White seeking release: dying elders, patients tormented by illness, ruined merchants, starving beggars.
The Kindly Man, acting on behalf of the Many-Faced God, would randomly offer them a path to liberation.
But this time, he brought them to the "White Walker feeding chamber."
"All men must die. All men must serve. Offer your blood as a sacrifice to the holy child of the Many-Faced God," the Kindly Man declared.
The old priest wasn't lying, nor was he senile.
The God of Cold was a death god, and weren't White Walkers the children of the God of Cold?
Theoretically, the Many-Faced God embodied the totality of all death gods, making the White Walker one of the House's holy children.
"I am willing to serve. Please, help me."
A decrepit old man knelt before the stone platform that held the little White Walker, bowing devoutly.
At the Kindly Man's signal, a Faceless Man stepped forward. With a flick of his sleeve, a glint of cold steel flashed. Another sweep, and the old man's head flew from his shoulders. A thin, salty mist of blood sprayed from his neck, splattering across the White Walker's face, lips, and chest.
Slurp! The little White Walker licked the blood from its lips. A strange, eerie blue light flashed in its eyes.
(ps: In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, gunpowder exists but is not very powerful—it's more of a pyromancer's trick, with limited practical use. Just like gunpowder in The Lord of the Rings, it's merely a tool for Gandalf's fireworks. Until Daenerys elevates the world to a higher dimension, gunpowder won't become a conventional weapon.)
(End of Chapter)
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