tw.thestoneoffarewell-第33部分

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couldn't　take　them　all　with　him。　He　would　have　to　turn　them　loose　to　feed　for　themselves；　hoping　that　they　would　stay　close　to　his　little　house　in　the　banyan　tree　so　he　could　recapture　them　when　he　returned。　And　if　they　flew　away　and　did　not　e　back；　what　would　he　do？　He　would　have　to　train　more；　that　was　all。　Tiamak's　sigh　was　subsumed　in　the　hiss　of　steam　escaping　from　beneath　the　pot　lid。　As　he　dropped　in　the　yellowroot　to　steep；　the　little　scholar　tried　to　remember　the　prayer　for　a　safe　journey　that　one　should　make　to　He　Who　Always　Steps　on　Sand；　but　could　only　think　of　the　Showing…the…Hiding…Places…of…Fish　prayer；　which　was　not　really　appropriate。　He　sighed　again。　Even　though　he　didn't　quite　believe　in　his　people's　gods　anymore；　it　never　hurt　to　pray…but　one　really　ought　to　say　the　right　prayer。
　　As　long　as　he　was　pondermg　such　things；　what　would　he　do　with　that　damnable　parchment　Morgenes　talked　about　in　his　letter…or　seemed　to　talk　about；　for　how　could　the　old　doctor　know　that　Tiamak　had　it？　Should　he　take　it　with　him　and　risk　losing　it？　But　he　had　to；　if　he　was　going　to　show　it　to　his　friend　in　Nabban　and　ask　his　advice。
　　So　many　problems。　They　seemed　to　be　crowding　his　head　like　black…flies；　buzzing　and　buzzing。　He　had　to　think　it　all　through　clearly…especially　if　he　was　to　leave　in　the　morning　for　Nabban。　He　had　to　look　at　each　piece　of　this　puzzle。
　　First　Morgenes'　message；　which　he　had　read　and　reread　dozens　of　times　in　the　four　moons　or　so　since　he　had　received　it。　He　took　it　from　the　top　of　the　wooden　chest　and　smoothed　it；　leaving　smudges　with　his　yellowroot…　stained　hands。　He　knew　the　contents　by　heart。
　　Doctor　Morgenes　wrote　of　his　fears　that　〃。。。the　time　of　the　Conqueror　Star　was　surely　upon　them…whatever　that　might　mean…and　that　Tiamak's　help　would　be　needed　〃。。。if　certain　dreadful　things　which…it　is　said…are　hinted　at　in　the　infamous　lost　book　of　the　priest　Nisses。。。〃　were　to　be　avoided。　But　what　things？　〃The　infamous　lost　book　。　。　。〃…that　was　Nisses'　Du　Svardenvyrd；　as　any　scholar　knew。
　　Tiamak　reached　down　into　the　chest　and　removed　a　leaf…wrapped　bundle；　unrolling　it　to　remove　his　prized　parchment；　which　he　spread　on　the　floor　beside　Morgenes'　letter。　This　parchment　page；　which　Tiamak　had　stumbled　on　by　luck　at　the　market　in　Kwanitupul；　was　of　much　higher　quality　than　anything　he　himself　could　afford。　The　rusty　brown　ink　formed　the　northern　runes　of　Rimmersgard；　but　the　language　itself　was　the　archaic　Nabbanai　of　five　centuries　gone。
　　
　　〃。　。　。　Bringe　jrom　Nuanni's　Rocke　Garden
　　The　Man　who　tho'　Blinded　canne　See
　　Discover　the　Blayde　that　delivers　The　Rose
　　At　the　foote　of　the　Rimmer's　greate　Tree
　　Find　the　Call　whose　lowde　Claime
　　Speakes　the　Call…bearer's　name
　　
　　In　a　Shippe　on　the　Shallowest　Sea…
　　…Wizen　Blayde；　Call；　and　Man
　　e　to　Prince's　right　Hande
　　Then　the　Prisoned　shall　once　more　go　Free　。。。〃
　　
　　Below　this　inprehensible　poem　was　printed　the　name　〃NISSES。〃
　　So　what　was　Tiamak　to　think？　Morgenes　could　not　know　that　Tiamak　had　discovered　a　page　of　the　near…mythical　book…the　Wrannaman　hadn't　told　a　soul…yet　still　the　doctor　had　said　that　Tiamak　would　have　important　work　to　do；　something　to　do　with　Du　Svardenvyrd！
　　His　inquiries　to　Morgenes　and　the　others　had　gone　unanswered。　Now　he　must　go　to　Nabban　to　plead　his　people's　cause　to　the　drylanders；　yet　he　still　did　not　know　what　it　could　all　mean。
　　Tiamak　poured　the　tea　out　of　the　pan　into　his　third…favorite　bowl…he　had　dropped　and　broken　his　second…favorite　bowl　that　morning；　when　Older　Mogahib　and　the　others　had　started　braying　beneath　his　window。　He　cupped　the　warm　bowl　in　his　slender　fingers　and　blew　across　the　top。　〃Hot　day；　hot　tea；〃　his　mother　had　always　said。　Today　was　certainly　hot。　The　air　was　so　still　and　oppressive　that　he　almost　felt　he　could　leap　off　his　porch　and　swim　through　it。　Hot　weather　alone　did　not　make　him　unhappy；　since　he　was　always　less　hungry　when　the　heat　was　fierce；　but　nevertheless　there　was　something　disconcerting　about　the　air　today；　as　though　the　Wran　were　a　smoldering　bar　of　tin　on　the　world…anvil；　with　a　great　hammer　trembling　above　it；　ready　to　smash　down　and　change　everything。
　　That　morning　Roahog　the　Potter；　taking　a　moment　to　gossip　while　Older　Mogahib　was　helped　up　the　ladder；　had　said　that　a　colony　of　ghants　was　building　a　new　nest　just　a　couple　of　furlongs　down　the　watercourse　from　Village　Grove。　Ghants　had　never　e　so　close　to　a　human　settlement　before；　and　although　Roahog　had　chuckled　about　how　the　Wrannamen　would　soon　put　the　nest　to　fire；　the　story　nevertheless　left　Tiamak　unsettled；　as　if　some　undefined　but　recognized　law　had　been　violated。
　　As　the　slow；　sweltering　afternoon　wore　on　toward　evening；　Tiamak　kept　trying　to　think　about　the　demands　of　the　Duke　of　Nabban；　and　about　Morgenes'　letter；　but　visions　of　the　nest…building　ghants　pushed　in…their　brownish…gray　jaws　clicking　industriously；　their　mad　little　black　eyes　glittering…and　try　as　he　might；　he　could　not　rid　himself　of　the　ridiculous　notion　that　somehow　all　these　things　were　related。　It　is　the　heat；　he　told　himself。　If　only　I　had　a　cool　jug　of　fern　beer；　these　wild
　　ideas　would　disappear。
　　But　he　did　not　even　have　enough　yellowroot　to　make　another　cup　of　tea；　let　alone　any　fern　beer。　His　heart　was　troubled　and　there　was　nothing　in　the　wide；　hot　Wran　that　would　give　him　peace。
　　Tiamak　rose　with　the　first　light　of　dawn。　By　the　time　he　had　cooked　and　eaten　a　rice…flour　biscuit　and　drunk　a　little　water；　the　swamp　was　already　being　unpleasantly　warm。　He　grimaced　as　he　began　his　packing。　This　was　a　day　to　go　splashing　and　swimming　in　one　of　the　safe　ponds；　not　set　out　on　a　journey。
　　There　was　actually　little　to　pack。　He　selected　a　spare　breechclout　and　a　robe　and　pair　of　sandals　to　wear　in　Nabban…there　was　no　reason　to　reinforce　the　unfortunate　opinion　of　his　people's　backwardness　held　by　most　Nabbanai。　He　had　no　use　on　this　trip；　however；　for　his　stretched…　bark　writing　board；　his　wooden　chest；　or　most　of　his　other　meager　lot　of　possessions。　His　precious　books　and　scrolls　he　dared　not　take；　since　there　was　a　better　than　average　chance　he　would　wind　up　in　the　water　a　few　times　before　he　reached　the　cities　of　the　drylanders。
　　He　had　decided　he　must　take　the　Nisses　parchment；　so　he　wrapped　it　in　a　second　layer　of　leaves　and　bundled　the　whole　into　an　oiled　skin　bag　given　to　him　by　Doctor　Morgenes　when　Tiamak　had　lived　in　Perdruin。　He　put　the　bag；　the　Summoning　Stick；　and　his　clothes　into　his　flat…bottomed　boat；　along　with　his　third…best　bowl；　a　handful　of　cooking　implements；　and　a　throwing…sling　with　a　folded　leaf　full　of　round　stones。　He　hung　his　knife　and　his　coin…pouch　on　his　belt。　Then；　having　stalled　as　long　as　he　couid；　he　climbed　up　the　banyan　tree　to　the　top　of　the　house　to　set　his　birds　free。
　　As　he　climbed　across　the　thatched　roof　he　could　hear　the　drowsy；　muffled　speech　of　the　birds　within　their　small　cottage。　He　had　put　the　remaining　seed　in　his　fourth…best…and　last…bowl；　setting　it　out　on　the　windowsill　below。　They　would　at　least　stay　near　the　house　for　a　while　after　his　departure。
　　He　poked　his　hand　into　the　little　bark…roofed　box　and　delicately　removed　one　of　his　pigeons；　a　pretty　white…and…gray　named　So…fast；　then　tossed　her　up　into　the　air。　She　fanned　her　wings　briskly；　settling　at　last　on　a　limb　above　his　head。　Unsettled　by　this　unusual　behavior；　she　hooted　quietly；　questioningly。　Tiamak　knew　the　grief　of　a　father　whose　daughter　must　be　sent　to　strangers。　But　he　had　to　remove　the　birds；　and　the　door　to　their　house；　which　only　opened　inward；　had　to　be　fastened　shut。　Other…　wise；　these　birds　or　their　absent　kindred　would　enter　and　be　trapped。　With　no　Tiamak　to　rescue　them；　they　would　soon　starve。
　　Feeling　very　unhappy；　he　carefully　removed　Red…eye；　Crab…foot；　and　Honey…lover。　Soon　there　was　a　disapproving　chorus　perched　above　him。　Alerted　that　something　unusual　was　happening；　the　birds　still　inside　had　fled　skittishly　to　the　back　of　the　little　house；　so　that　Tiamak　had　to　strain　to　reach　them。　As　he　tried　to　grasp　one　of　these　last　recalcitrants；　his　hands　brushed　against　a　small；　cold　bundle　of　feathers　that　lay　just　out　of　sight　in　the　shadows　at　the　far　end
　　Suddenly　full　of　worry；　he　closed　his　hand　around　the　object　and　lifted　it　out。　It　was　one　of　his　birds；　he　saw　immediately；　and　it　was　dead。　Eyes　wide；　he　examined　it　closely。　It　was　Ink…daub；　one　of　the　pigeons　he　had　dispatched　to　Nabban　several　days　ago。　Ink…daub　had　apparently　been　injured　by　some　animal；　many　of　his　feathers　were　missing　and　he　was　spotted　with　dried　blood。　Tiamak　was　sure　the　bird　hadn't　been　there　yesterday；　so　he　must　have　arrived　during　the　night；　flying　with　his　last　strength　despite　his　wounds；　reaching　his　home　only　to　die。
　　Tiamak　found　the　world　swimming　before　his　eyes　as　the　tears　came。　Poor　Ink…daub。　He　was　a　fine　bird；　one　of　the　fastest　fliers。　He　had　been　very　brave；　too。　Everywhere　on　the　bird's　body　that　Tiamak　looked；　blood　showed　beneath　the　tattered　feathers。　Poor；　brave　Ink…daub。　A　slender　strip　of　parchment　was　curled　around　the　pigeon's　twighke　ankle。　Tiamak　placed　the　silent　bundle　aside　for　a　moment　and　coaxed　out　the　last　two　birds；　then　wedged　the　small　door　closed　with　a　notched　stick。　With　Ink…daub's　body　curled　in　a　gentle　hand；　Tiamak　climbed　down　to　the　window　and　into　the　house。　He　set　down　the　pigeon's　body　and　carefully　removed　the　parchment　spreading　it　out　on　the　floor　between　his　fingertips；　squinting　at　the　tiny　characters。　The　message　was　from　his　wise　friend　in　Nabban；　whose　hand　Tiamak　recognized　even　in　bird…writing；　but　was　inexplicably　unsigned。
　　The　time　has　e；　it　read；　and　you　are　sorely　needed。　Morgenes　cannot　ask　you；　but　I　ask　for　him。　Go　to　Kwanitupul；　stay　at　the　inn　we　have　spoken　of；　and　wait　there　until　I　can　tell　you　more　Go　there　immediately　and　do　not　stray。　More　than　lives　may　depend　on　you。
　　At　the　bottom　was　scribbled　a　drawing　of　a　feather　in　a　circle…the　symbol　of　the　League　of　the　Scroll。
　　Tiamak　sat　dumbstruck；　staring　at　the　message。　He　read　it　two　more　times；　hoping　it　would　miraculously　say　something　different；　but　the　words　remained　unchanged。　Go　to　Kwanitupul！　But　t