rj.eyeoftheworld-第2部分

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henever　they　were　together。　Worse；　she　did　not　even　seem　to　be　aware　of　it。　No；　he　certainly　did　not　want　to　add　Egwene　to　his　thoughts。
　　　　　　　He　was　hoping　his　father　had　not　noticed　he　was　afraid　when　Tam　said；　〃Remember　the　flame；　lad；　and　the　void。〃
　　　　　　　It　was　an　odd　thing　Tam　had　taught　him。　Concentrate　on　a　single　flame　and　feed　all　your　passions　into　it　…　fear；　hate；　anger　…　until　your　mind　became　empty。　Bee　one　with　the　void；　Tam　said；　and　you　could　do　anything。　Nobody　else　in　Emond's　Field　talked　that　way。　But　Tam　won　the　archery　petition　at　Bel　Tine　every　year　with　his　flame　and　his　void。　Rand　thought　he　might　have　a　chance　at　placing　this　year　himself；　if　he　could　manage　to　hold　onto　the　void。　For　Tam　to　bring　it　up　now　meant　he　had　noticed；　but　he　said　nothing　more　about　it。
　　　　　　　Tam　clucked　Bela　into　motion　once　more；　and　they　resumed　their　journey；　the　older　man　striding　along　as　if　nothing　untoward　had　happened　and　nothing　untoward　could。　Rand　wished　he　could　imitate　him。　He　tried　forming　the　emptiness　in　his　mind；　but　it　kept　slipping　away　into　images　of　the　black…cloaked　horseman。
　　　　　　　He　wanted　to　believe　that　Tam　was　right；　that　the　rider　had　just　been　his　imagination；　but　he　could　remember　that　feeling　of　hatred　too　well。　There　had　been　someone。　And　that　someone　had　meant　him　harm。　He　did　not　stop　looking　back　until　the　high…peaked；　thatched　roofs　of　Emond's　Field　surrounded　him。
　　　　　　　The　village　lay　close　onto　the　Westwood；　the　forest　gradually　thinning　until　the　last　few　trees　stood　actually　among　the　stout　frame　houses。　The　land　sloped　gently　down　to　the　east。　Though　not　without　patches　of　woods；　farms　and　hedge…bordered　fields　and　pastures　quilted　the　land　beyond　the　village　all　the　way　to　the　Waterwood　and　its　tangle　of　streams　and　ponds。　The　land　to　the　west　was　just　as　fertile；　and　the　pastures　there　lush　in　most　years；　but　only　a　handful　of　farms　could　be　found　in　the　Westwood。　Even　those　few　dwindled　to　none　miles　short　of　the　Sand　Hills；　not　to　mention　the　Mountains　of　Mist；　which　rose　above　the　Westwood　treetops；　distant　but　in　plain　sight　from　Emond's　Field。　Some　said　the　land　was　too　rocky；　as　if　there　were　not　rocks　everywhere　in　the　Two　Rivers；　and　others　said　it　was　hard…luck　land。　A　few　muttered　that　there　was　no　point　getting　any　closer　to　the　mountains　than　needs　be。　Whatever　the　reasons；　only　the　hardiest　men　farmed　in　the　Westwood。
　　　　　　　Small　children　and　dogs　dodged　around　the　cart　in　whooping　swarms　once　it　passed　the　first　row　of　houses。　Bela　plodded　on　patiently；　ignoring　the　yelling　youngsters　who　tumbled　under　her　nose；　playing　tag　and　rolling　hoops。　In　the　last　months　there　had　been　little　of　play　or　laughter　from　the　children；　even　when　the　weather　had　slackened　enough　to　let　children　out；　fear　of　wolves　kept　them　in。　It　seemed　the　approach　of　Bel　Tine　had　taught　them　how　to　play　again。
　　　　　　　Festival　had　affected　the　adults　as　well。　Broad　shutters　were　thrown　back；　and　in　almost　every　house　the　goodwife　stood　in　a　window；　apron　tied　about　her　and　long…braided　hair　done　up　in　a　kerchief；　shaking　sheets　or　hanging　mattresses　over　the　windowsills。　Whether　or　not　leaves　had　appeared　on　the　trees；　no　woman　would　let　Bel　Tine　e　before　her　spring　cleaning　was　done。　In　every　yard　rugs　hung　from　stretched　lines；　and　children　who　had　not　been　quick　enough　to　run　free　in　the　streets　instead　vented　their　frustration　on　the　carpets　with　wicker　beaters。　On　roof　after　roof　the　goodman　of　the　house　clambered　about；　checking　the　thatch　to　see　if　the　winter's　damage　meant　calling　on　old　Cenn　Buie；　the　thatcher。
　　　　　　　Several　times　Tam　paused　to　engage　one　man　or　another　in　brief　conversation。　Since　he　and　Rand　had　not　been　off　the　farm　for　weeks；　everyone　wanted　to　catch　up　on　how　things　were　out　that　way。　Few　Westwood　men　had　been　in。　Tam　spoke　of　damage　from　winter　storms；　each　one　worse　than　the　one　before；　and　stillborn　lambs；　of　brown　fields　where　crops　should　be　sprouting　and　pastures　greening；　of　ravens　flocking　in　where　songbirds　had　e　in　years　before。　Grim　talk；　with　preparations　for　Bel　Tine　going　on　all　around　them；　and　much　shaking　of　heads。　It　was　the　same　on　all　sides。
　　　　　　　Most　of　the　men　rolled　their　shoulders　and　said；　〃Well；　we'll　survive；　the　Light　willing。〃　Some　grinned　and　added；　〃And　if　the　Light　doesn't　will；　we'll　still　survive。〃
　　　　　　　That　was　the　way　of　most　Two　Rivers　people。　People　who　had　to　watch　the　hail　beat　their　crops　or　the　wolves　take　their　lambs；　and　start　over；　no　matter　how　many　years　it　happened；　did　not　give　up　easily。　Most　of　those　who　did　were　long　since　gone。
　　　　　　　Tam　would　not　have　stopped　for　Wit　Congar　if　the　man　had　not　e　out　into　the　street　so　they　had　to　halt　or　let　Bela　run　over　him。　The　Congars…and　the　Coplins；　the　two　families　were　so　intermarried　no　one　really　knew　where　one　family　let　off　and　the　other　began　…　were　known　from　Watch　Hill　to　Deven　Ride；　and　maybe　as　far　as　Taren　Ferry；　as　plainers　and　troublemakers。
　　　　　　　〃I　have　to　get　this　to　Bran　al'Vere；　Wit；〃　Tam　said；　nodding　to　the　barrels　in　the　cart；　but　the　scrawny　man　held　his　ground　with　a　sour　expression　on　his　face。　He　had　been　sprawled　on　his　front　steps；　not　up　on　his　roof；　though　the　thatch　looked　as　if　it　badly　needed　Master　Buie's　attention。　He　never　seemed　ready　to　start　over；　or　to　finish　what　he　started　the　first　time。　Most　of　the　Coplins　and　Congars　were　like　that；　those　who　were　not　worse。
　　　　　　　〃What　are　we　going　to　do　about　Nynaeve；　al'Thor？〃　Congar　demanded。　〃We　can't　have　a　Wisdom　like　that　for　Emond's　Field。〃
　　　　　　　Tam　sighed　heavily。　〃It's　not　our　place；　Wit。　The　Wisdom　is　women's　business。　〃
　　　　　　　〃Well；　we'd　better　do　something；　al'Thor。　She　said　we'd　have　a　mild　winter。　And　a　good　harvest。　Now　you　ask　her　what　she　hears　on　the　wind；　and　she　just　scowls　at　you　and　stomps　off。〃
　　　　　　　〃If　you　asked　her　the　way　you　usually　do；　Wit；〃　Tam　said　patiently；　〃you're　lucky　she　didn't　thump　you　with　that　stick　she　carries。　Now　if　you　don't　mind；　this　brandy　…　〃
　　　　　　　〃Nynaeve　al'Meara　is　just　too　young　to　be　Wisdom；　al'Thor。　If　the　Women's　Circle　won't　do　something；　then　the　Village　Council　has　to。〃
　　　　　　　〃What　business　of　yours　is　the　Wisdom；　Wit　Congar？〃　roared　a　woman's　voice。　Wit　flinched　as　his　wife　marched　out　of　the　house。　Daise　Congar　was　twice　as　wide　as　Wit；　a　hard…faced　woman　without　an　ounce　of　fat　on　her。　She　glared　at　him　with　her　fists　on　her　hips。　〃You　try　meddling　in　Women's　Circle　business；　and　see　how　you　like　eating　your　own　cooking。　Which　you　won't　do　in　my　kitchen。　And　washing　your　own　clothes　and　making　your　own　bed。　Which　won't　be　under　my　roof。〃
　　　　　　　〃But；　Daise；〃　Wit　whined；　〃I　was　just　。。。〃
　　　　　　　〃If　you'll　pardon　me；　Daise；〃　Tam　said。　〃Wit。　The　Light　shine　on　you　both。〃　He　got　Bela　moving　again；　leading　her　around　the　scrawny　fellow。　Daise　was　concentrating　on　her　husband　now；　but　any　minute　she　could　realize　whom　it　was　Wit　had　been　talking　to。
　　　　　　　That　was　why　they　had　not　accepted　any　of　the　invitations　to　stop　for　a　bite　to　eat　or　something　hot　to　drink。　When　they　saw　Tam；　the　goodwives　of　Emond's　Field　went　on　point　like　hounds　spotting　a　rabbit。　There　was　not　a　one　of　them　who　did　not　know　just　the　perfect　wife　for　a　widower　with　a　good　farm；　even　if　it　was　in　the　Westwood。
　　　　　　　Rand　stepped　along　just　as　quickly　as　Tam；　perhaps　even　more　so。　He　was　sometimes　cornered　when　Tam　was　not　around；　with　no　way　to　escape　outside　of　rudeness。　Herded　onto　a　stool　by　the　kitchen　fire；　he　would　be　fed　pastries　or　honeycakes　or　meatpies。　And　always　the　goodwife's　eyes　weighed　and　measured　him　as　neatly　as　any　merchant's　scales　and　tapes　while　she　told　him　that　what　he　was　eating　was　not　nearly　so　good　as　her　widowed　sister's　cooking；　or　her　next…to…eldest　cousin's。　Tam　was　certainly　not　getting　any　younger；　she　would　say。　It　was　good　that　he　had　loved　his　wife　so　…　it　boded　well　for　the　next　woman　in　his　life　…　but　he　had　mourned　long　enough。　Tam　needed　a　good　woman。　It　was　a　simple　fact；　she　would　say；　or　something　very　close；　that　a　man　just　could　not　do　without　a　woman　to　take　care　of　him　and　keep　him　out　of　trouble。　Worst　of　all　were　those　who　paused　thoughtfully　at　about　that　point；　then　asked　with　elaborate　casualness　exactly　how　old　he　was　now。
　　　　　　　Like　most　Two　Rivers　folk；　Rand　had　a　strong　stubborn　streak。　Outsiders　sometimes　said　it　was　the　prime　trait　of　people　in　the　Two　Rivers；　that　they　could　give　mules　lessons　and　teach　stones。　The　goodwives　were　fine　and　kindly　women　for　the　most　part；　but　he　hated　being　pushed　into　anything；　and　they　made　him　feel　as　if　he　were　being　prodded　with　sticks。　So　he　walked　fast；　and　wished　Tam　would　hurry　Bela　along。
　　　　　　　Soon　the　street　opened　onto　the　Green；　a　broad　expanse　in　the　middle　of　the　village。　Usually　covered　with　thick　grass；　the　Green　this　spring　showed　only　a　few　fresh　patches　among　the　yellowish　brown　of　dead　grass　and　the　black　of　bare　earth。　A　double　handful　of　geese　waddled　about；　beadily　eyeing　the　ground　but　not　finding　anything　worth　pecking；　and　someone　had　tethered　a　milkcow　to　crop　the　sparse　growth。
　　　　　　　Toward　the　west　end　of　the　Green；　the　Winespring　itself　gushed　out　of　a　low　stone　outcrop　in　a　flow　that　never　failed；　a　flow　strong　enough　to　knock　a　man　down　and　sweet　enough　to　justify　its　name　a　dozen　times　over。　From　the　spring　the　rapidly　widening　Winespring　Water　ran　swiftly　off　to　the　east；　willows　dotting　its　banks　all　the　way　to　Master　Thane's　mill　and　beyond；　until　it　split　into　dozens　of　streams　in　the　swampy　depths　of　the　Waterwood。　Two　low；　railed　footbridges　crossed　the　clear　stream　at　the　Green；　and　one　bridge；　wider　than　the　others　and　stout　enough　to　bear　wagons。　The　Wagon　Bridge　marked　where　the　North　Road；　ing　down　from　Taren　Ferry　and　Watch　Hill；　became　the　Old　Road；　leading　to　Deven　Ride。　Outsiders　sometimes　found　it　funny　that　the　road　had　one　name　to　the　north　and　another　to　the　south；　but　that　was　the　way　it　had　always　been；　as　far　as　anyone　in　Emond's　Field　knew；　and　that　was　that。　It　was　a　good　enough　reason　for　Two　Rivers　people。
　　　　　　　On　the　far　side　of　the　bridges；　the　mounds　were　already　building　for　the　Bel　Tine　fires；　three　careful　stacks　of　logs　almost　as　big　as　houses。　They　had　to　be　on　cleared