tw.thestoneoffarewell-第25部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　Sludig　amazed　them　by　dropping　quickly　to　a　knee。　〃I　will　remember；〃　was　all　he　said。
　　〃Binbinaqegabenik；〃　Nunuuika　began；　〃you　have　already　received　the　greatest　gift　it　is　in　our　capacity　to　bestow。　If　she　will　still　have　you；　we　renew　our　permission　for　you　to　marry　our　youngest　daughter。　When　the　Rite　of　Quickening　can　be　performed　next　year；　you　will；　be　joined。〃
　　Binabik　and　Sisqi　clasped　hands　and　bowed　on　the　step　before　the　Herder　and　Huntress　as　words　of　blessing　were　said。　The　ram…faced　Spirit　Caller　came　forward。　He　chanted　and　sang　as　he　daubed　their　foreheads　with　oil；　but　with　what　Simon　thought　was　a　very　dissatisfied　air。　When　Qangolik　finished　and　stalked　grumpily　back　down　the　steps　of　the　Ice　House；　the　betrothal　had　been　reinstated。
　　The　Huntress　and　Herder　said　a　brief　personal　farewell　to　the　pany；　Binabik　interpreting。　Though　she　smiled　and　touched　his　hand　with　her　small；　strong　fingers；　Nunuiika　still　seemed　cold　and　hard　as　stone　to　Simon；　sharp　and　dangerous　as　her　own　spearhead。　He　had　to　force　himself　to　smile　back　and　retreat　slowly　when　she　had　finished。
　　Qantaqa　was　waiting　for　them；　curled　in　a　nest　of　snow　outside　of　Chidsik　ub　Lingit。　The　noon　sun　had　disappeared　behind　a　spreading　fog；　the　wind　set　Simon's　teeth　to　chattering。
　　〃Down　the　mountain　we　must　now　go；　friend；〃　Binabik　said　to　him。　〃I　am　wishing　you　and　Haestan　and　Sludig　were　not　so　large；　but　there　are　no　rams　strong　enough　for　your　riding。　It　will　make　our　going　slower　than　I　would　wish。〃
　　〃But　where　are　we　going？〃　Simon　asked。　〃Where　is　this　Stone　of　Farewell？〃
　　〃All　things　in　their　season；〃　the　troll　replied。　〃I　will　look　at　my　scrolls　when　we　stop　tonight；　but　we　should　leave　now　as　soon　as　we　can。　The　mountain　passes　will　be　treacherous。　I　smell　more　snow　upon　the　wind。〃
　　〃More　snow；〃　Simon　repeated；　shouldering　his　pack。　More　snow。
　　
　　6
　　The　Nameless　Dead
　　
　　〃　　　。。。　So　Drukhi　found　her；〃　Maegwin　sang；
　　
　　〃Beloved　Nenais'u；　wind…footed　dancer；
　　Stretched　on　the　green　grass；　as　silent　as　stone
　　Her　dark　eys　sky…watching；
　　Only　her　shining　blood　gave　him　answer；
　　Her　head　lay　uncradled；　her　black　hair　undone。〃
　　
　　Maegwin　drew　her　hand　over　her　eyes；　shielding　them　from　the　stinging　wind；　then　leaned　forward　to　rearrange　the　flowers　on　her　father's　cairn。　Already　the　wind　had　scattered　the　violets　across　the　stones；　only　a　few　dried　petals　remained　on　Gwythinn's　grave　nearby。　Where　had　the　treacherous　summer　gone？　And　when　would　the　flowers　bloom　again；　so　she　could　tend　her　loved　ones'　resting　places　as　they　deserved？
　　As　the　wind　rattled　the　skeletal　birch　trees；　she　sang　again。
　　
　　〃Lone　time　he　held　her；
　　Through　gray…shadowed　evening；　beneath　shamefaced　night；
　　Matching　the　hours　she　had　lain　there　alone。
　　His　bright　eyes　unblinking；
　　Drukhi　sang　songs　of　the　East's　timeless　light。
　　He　whispered　to　her　they　would　wait　for　the　sun。
　　
　　〃Dawn；　golden…handed；
　　Caressed　but　could　not　warm　the　nightingale's　child
　　Nenais'u's　swift　spirit　had　fled　unhomed
　　Close　Drukhi　clutched　her；
　　His　voice　echoed　out　through　woods　and　through　wild
　　Where　two　hearts　had　sounded　now　beat　only　one。
　　
　　She　broke　off；　wondering　absently　if　she　had　once　known　the　rest　of　the　words。　She　remembered　her　nurse　singing　it　to　her　when　she　was　young；　a　sad　song　about　the　Sithi…folk…〃The　Peaceful　Ones；〃　as　her　ancestors　had　named　them。　Maegwin　did　not　know　the　legend　behind　it。　She　doubted　her　old　nurse　had　known；　either。　It　was　only　that；　a　sad　song　from　happier　times；　from　her　childhood　in　the　Taig　。　。　。　before　her　father　and　brother　died。
　　She　stood；　brushing　the　dirt　from　the　knees　of　her　black　skirt；　and　scattered　a　few　last　withered　flowers　among　the　slender　spears　of　grass　pushing　up　from　Gwythinn's　cairn。　As　she　turned　back　up　the　path；　clasping　her　cloak　tight　against　the　gnawing　wind；　she　wondered　once　more　why　she　should　not　join　her　brother　and　father　Lluth　here　in　peace　on　the　mountainside。　What　did　life　hold　for　her？
　　She　knew　what　Eolair　would　say。　The　Count　of　Nad　Mullach　would　tell　her　that　her　people　had　no　one　else　but　Maegwin　to　inspire　and　guide　them。　〃Hope；〃　Eolair　often　said；　in　that　quiet　but　fox…clever　way　of　his；　〃is　like　the　belly…strap　on　a　king's　saddle…a　slender　thing；　but　if　it　snaps　the　world　turns　topside…down。〃
　　Thinking　of　the　count；　she　felt　a　rare　flash　of　anger。　What　could　he　know…what　could　anyone　know　about　death　who　was　as　alive　as　Eolair；　to　whom　life　seemed　a　gift　from　the　gods？　How　could　he　understand　the　dreadful　weight　of　waking　up　each　day；　knowing　that　the　ones　she　loved　most　were　gone；　that　her　people　were　uprooted　and　friendless；　doomed　to　a　slow；　humiliating　extinction？　What　gift　of　the　gods　was　worth　the　gray　burden　of　pain；　the　unceasing　rut　of　bleak　thoughts？
　　Eolair　of　Nad　Mullach　came　to　her　often　these　days；　speaking　to　her　as　he　would　to　a　child。　Once；　long　ago；　Maegwin　had　fallen　in　love　with　him；　but　she　had　never　been　so　foolish　as　to　believe　he　might　feel　for　her　in　turn。　Tall　as　a　man；　clumsy　and　blunt　in　her　words；　far　more　like　a　farmer's　daughter　than　a　princess…who　could　ever　love　Maegwin？　But　now　that　she　and　her　bewildered　young　stepmother　Inahwen　were　all　that　remained　of　Lluth　ubh…Llythinn's　house；　now　Eolair　was　concerned。
　　Not　out　of　any　base　motives；　though。　She　laughed　out　loud　and　did　not　like　the　sound　of　it。　Oh；　gods；　base　motives？　Not　honorable　Count　Eolair。　That　was　the　thing　she　hated　in　him　more　than　anything　else。　his　unrelenting　kindness　and　honor。　She　was　sick　to　death　of　pity。
　　Besides；　even　if…impossibly…he　could　have　thought　of　profiting　at　such　a　time；　how　would　joining　his　fate　to　hers　benefit　him　in　any　case？　Maegwin　was　the　last　daughter　of　a　broken　house；　the　ruler　of　a　shattered　nation。　The　Hernystiri　had　bee　wild　creatures　living　in　the　woodlands　of　the　Grianspog　Mountains；　driven　back　to　their　primeval　caves　by　the　whirlwind　of　destruction　brought　down　on　them　by　High　King　Elias　and　his　Rimmersman　tool；　Skali　of　Kaldskryke。
　　So　perhaps　Eolair　was　right。　Perhaps　she　did　owe　her　life　to　her　people。　She　was　the　last　of　Lluth's　blood…a　thin　tie　to　a　happier　past；　but　the　only　such　link　that　the　survivors　of　Hernysadharc　retained。　She　would　live；　then…but　whoever　would　have　thought　that　merely　living　could　bee　a　burdensome　duty！
　　As　Maegwin　made　her　way　along　the　steep　trail；　something　wet　touched　her　face。　She　looked　up。　A　hose　of　tiny　spots　swarmed　against　the　leaden　sky。　Another　bit　of　wetness　flecked　her。
　　Snow。　The　realization　made　her　cold　heart　even　colder。　Snow　in　mid…summer；　in　Tiyagar…month。　Brynioch　of　the　Skies　and　all　the　other　gods　have　truly　turned　their　backs　on　the　Hernystiri。
　　
　　A　single　sentry；　a　boy　of　perhaps　ten　summers　with　a　red　and　dripping　nose；　greeted　her　as　she　entered　the　camp。　A　few　fur…wrapped　children　played　on　the　mossy　rocks　before　the　cavern；　trying　to　catch　the　now　fast…falling　snowflakes　on　their　tongues。　They　scrambled　back；　wide…eyed；　as　she　walked　past　with　her　black　skirts　swirling　in　the　wind。
　　They　know　the　princess　is　mad；　she　thought　sourly。　Anyone　would。　The　princess　talks　to　herself；　but　to　no　one　else　for　days　at　a　time。　The　princess　speaks　of　nothing　but　death。　Of　course　the　princess　is　mad。
　　She　thought　it　might　be　good　to　smile　for　the　fearful…looking　children；　but　as　she　looked　down　at　their　dirty　faces　and　their　tattered　rags　of　clothing；　she　decided　that　such　an　effort　might　frighten　them　further。　Instead；　Maegwin　hurried　past　into　the　cave。
　　Am　I　mad？　she　wondered　suddenly。　Is　this　crushing　weight　what　madness　feels　like？　These　heavy　thoughts　that　make　my　head　feel　like　the　arms　of　a　drowning　swimmer；　struggling；　failing。。。　？
　　The　wide　cavern　was　largely　empty。　Old　Craobhan；　recovering　slowly　from　wounds　received　in　the　futile　defense　of　Hernysadharc；　lay　by　the　banked　fire　talking　quietly　to　Arnoran；　who　had　been　one　of　her　father　Lluth's　favorite　harpers。　They　looked　up　as　she　approached。　She　could　see　them　both　studying　her；　trying　to　divine　her　mood。　As　Arnoran　began　to　rise；　she　waved　him　back　down。
　　〃It's　snowing；〃　she　said。
　　Craobhan　shrugged。　The　ancient　knight　was　nearly　bald　but　for　a　few　wisps　of　white　hair；　his　scalp　a　puzzle　of　delicate　blue　veins。　〃Not　good；　Lady。　That's　not　good。　We've　little　livestock；　but　we're　close…quartered　in　these　few　caves　as　it　is；　and　that's　with　most　of　us　outside　during　the　day。〃
　　〃More　crowding。〃　Arnoran　shook　his　head。　He　was　not　nearly　as　old　as　Craobhan；　but　was　even　more　frail。　〃More　angry　folk。〃
　　〃Do　you　know　'The　Leavetaking　Stone'？〃　Maegwin　asked　the　harper　suddenly。　〃It's　an　old　song　about　the　Sithi；　about　someone　named　Nenais'u　dying。〃
　　〃I　think　I　knew　it　once；　long　ago；〃　Arnoran　said；　squinting　his　eyes　as　he　stared　into　the　fire　and　tried　to　think。　〃It　is　a　very　old　song…very；　very　old。〃
　　〃You　don't　have　to　sing　the　words；〃　Maegwin　said。　　She　settled　cross…legged　beside　him；　her　skirt　tight　as　a　drumhead　between　her　knees。　〃Just　play　the　melody　for　me。〃
　　Arnoran　scrabbled　for　his　harp；　then　played　a　few　tentative　notes。　〃I'm　not　sure　I　remember　how　to　。　。　。〃
　　〃It　doesn't　matter。　Try。〃　She　wished　she　could　think　of　something　to　say　that　would　bring　a　smile　to　their　faces；　even　for　a　moment。　Did　her
　　people　deserve　to　see　her　always　in　mourning？　〃It　will　be　good；〃　she　said　at　last；　〃to　think　of　other　times。〃
　　Amoran　nodded　and　plucked　briefly　at　his　strings；　eyes　closed；　his　quarry　easiest　sought　in　darkness。　He　finally　began　a　delicate　air；　full　of　strange　notes　that　quavered　just　on　the　edge　of　dissonance　without　ever　crossing　over。　As　he　played；　Maegwin；　too；　shut　her　eyes。　She　could　once　again　hear　the　voice　of　her　nurse　from　long　ago；　telling　her　the　story　of　Drukhi　and　Nenais'u…what　strange　names　they　had　in　old　ballads'…telling　of　their　love　and　tragic　deaths；　their　warring　families。
　　The　music　went　on　for　a　long　while。　Maegwin's　thought　swirled　with　images　of　the　distant　and　not…so…distant　past。　She　could　see　pallid　Drukhi　bent　in　grief；　swearing　vengeance…but　he　wore　her　brother　Gwythinn's　anguished　face。　And　N