mck.harpistinthewind-第28部分

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f　his　waiting。　〃Morgon！〃
　　　　　　　The　sword　hummed　wildly　with　the　aftermath　of　the　shout。　Morgon　heard　it　bounce　against　the　stones。　He　shouted　Raederle's　name　involuntarily；　in　horror；　and　the　floor　lurched　under　him　again；　shrugging　him　toward　the　lake。　The　sword　slid　after　him。　It　was　still　vibrating；　a　strange　high　note　that　stilled　as　Morgon　caught　it　and　sheathed　it。　There　was　a　sound　as　if　a　crystal　in　one　of　the　walls　had　cracked。
　　　　　　　It　sang　as　it　broke：　a　low；　tuned　note　that　shattered　its　own　core。　Other　crystals　began　to　hum；　the　ground　floor　of　the　mountain　rumbled。　The　great　slabs　of　ceiling　stone　ground　themselves　together。　Dust　and　rubble　hissed　down；　half…formed　crystals　snapped　and　pounded　to　pieces　on　the　floor。　Languages　of　bats；　dolphins；　bees　brushed　through　the　chamber。　A　tension　snaked　through　the　air；　and　Morgon　heard　Raederle　scream。　Sobbing　a　curse；　he　pulted　himself　to　his　feet　The　floor　grumbled　beneath　him；　then　roared。　One　side　of　it　lifted；　fell　ponderously　onto　the　other。　It　flung　him　into　the　lake。　The　whole　lake　basin；　a　huge；　round　bowl　carved　into　solid　stone；　began　to　tilt。
　　　　　　　He　was　buried　for　a　few　moments　in　a　wave　of　black　water。　When　he　surfaced　again；　he　heard　a　sound　as　if　the　mountain　itself；　torn　apart　at　its　roots；　had　groaned。
　　　　　　　A　wind　blasted　into　the　stone　chamber。　It　blinded　Morgon；　drove　his　own　cry　back　into　his　throat。　It　whirled　the　lake　into　a　black　vortex　that　dragged　him　down　into　it。　He　heard；　before　he　was　engulfed；　something　that　was　either　the　ring　of　blood　in　his　ears　or　a　note　like　a　fine…tuned　string　at　the　core　of　the　deep　wind's　voice。
　　　　　　　The　water　spat　him　back　up。　The　basin　had　tilted　farther；　pouring　him　out　with　the　water　toward　the　sheer　wall　at　the　far　side。　He　snatched　a　breath；　dove　under　water；　trying　to　swim　against　the　wave。　But　it　hurled　him　back；　heaved　him　at　solid　stone。　As　he　sensed　the　wall　blur　up　before　him；　it　split　open。　The　wave　poured　through　the　crack；　dragging　him　with　it。Through　the　thunder　of　water；　he　heard　the　final　reverberations　of　the　mountain　burying　its　own　heart。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　The　lake　water　dragged　him　through　the　jagged　split；　poured　over　a　lip　of　stone　into　a　roiling　stream。　He　tried　to　pull　himself　out；　catching　at　ledges；　at　walls　rough　with　jewels；　but　the　wind　was　still　with　him；　pushing　him　back　into　the　water；　driving　the　water　before　it。　The　stream　flooded　into　another；　a　whirlpool　dragged　him　under　a　ledge　of　stone　into　another　river。　The　river　cast　him　finally　out　of　the　mountain；　dragged　him　down　foaming　rapids；　and　threw　him；　half…drowned；　his　veins　full　of　bitter　water；　into　the　Ose。
　　　　　　　He　pulled　himself　ashore　finally；　lay　hugging　the　sunlit　ground。　The　wild　winds　still　pounded　at　him；　the　great　pines　were　groaning　as　they　bent。　He　coughed　up　the　bitter　water　he　had　swallowed。　When　he　moved　finally　to　drink　the　sweet　waters　of　the　Ose；　the　wind　nearly　flung　him　back　in。　He　raised　his　head；　looked　at　the　mountain。　A　portion　of　its　side　had　been　sucked　in；　trees　lay　uprooted；　splintered　in　the　shift　of　stone　and　earth。　All　down　the　pass；　as　far　as　he　could　see；　the　wind　raged；　bending　trees　to　their　breaking　point。
　　　　　　　He　tried　to　stand；　but　he　had　no　strength　left。　The　wind　seemed　to　be　hounding　him　out　of　his　own　shape。　He　reached　out；　bis　hands　closed　on　huge　roots。　He　felt；　as　the　tree　shivered　in　his　hold；　the　core　of　its　great　strength。　Clinging　to　it；　he　pulled　himself　up　by　its　knots　and　holes。　Then　he　stepped　away　from　it　and　lifted　his　arms　as　if　to　enclose　the　wind。
　　　　　　　Branches　grew　from　his　hands；　his　hair。　His　thoughts　tangled　like　roots　in　the　ground。　He　strained　upward。　Pitch　ran　like　tears　down　his　bark。　His　name　formed　his　core；　ring　upon　ring　of　silence　built　around　it。　His　face　rose　high　above　the　forests。　Gripped　to　earth；　bending　to　the　wind's　fury；　he　disappeared　within　himself；　behind　the　hard；　wind…scrolled　shield　of　his　experiences。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　XII
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　HE　DWINDLED　BACK　INTO　HIS　OWN　SHAPE　ON　A　rainy；　blustery　autumn　day。　He　stood　in　the　cold　winds；　blinking　rain　out　of　his　eyes；　trying　to　remember　a　long；　wordless　passage　of　time。　The　Ose；　grey　as　a　knife　blade；　shivered　past　him；　the　stone　peaks　of　the　pass　were　half…buried　under　heavy　cloud。　The　trees　around　him　clung　deeply　to　the　earth；　engrossed　in　their　own　existences。　They　pulled　at　him　again。　His　mind　slid　past　their　tough　wet　bark；　back　into　a　slow　peace　around　which　tree　rings　formed　and　hardened。　But　a　wind　vibrated　through　his　memories；　shook　a　mountain　down　around　him；　throwing　him　back　into　water；　back　into　the　rain。　He　moved　reluctantly；　breaking　a　binding　with　the　earth；　and　turned　toward　Erlenstar　Mountain。　He　saw　the　scar　in　its　side　under　a　blur　of　mist　and　the　dark　water　still　swirling　out　of　it　to　join　the　Ose。
　　　　　　　He　gazed　at　it　a　long　time；　piecing　together　fragments　of　a　dark；　troubling　dream。　The　implications　of　it　woke　him　pletely；　he　began　to　shiver　in　the　driving　rain。　He　scented　through　the　afternoon　with　his　mind。　He　found　no　one　…　trapper；　wizard；　shape…changer　…　in　the　pass。　A　windblown　crow　sailed　past　him　on　an　updraft；　he　caught　eagerly　at　its　mind。　But　it　did　not　know　his　language。　He　loosed　it。　The　wild；　sonorous　winds　boomed　hollowly　through　the　peaks；　the　trees　roared　around　him；　smelling　of　winter。　He　turned　finally；　hunched　in　the　wind；　to　follow　the　flow　of　the　Ose　back　into　the　world。
　　　　　　　But　he　stood　still　after　a　step；　watching　the　water　rush　away　from　him　toward　Isig　and　Osterland　and　the　northern　trade…ports　of　the　realm。　His　own　power　held　him　motionless。　There　was　no　place　anywhere　in　the　realm　for　a　man　who　unbound　land…law　and　shaped　wind。　The　river　echoed　the　voices　he　had　heard；　speaking　languages　not　even　the　wizards　could　understand。　He　thought　of　the　dark；　blank　face　of　wind　that　was　the　High　One；　who　would　give　him　nothing　except　his　life。
　　　　　　　〃For　what？〃　he　whispered。　He　wanted　to　shout　the　words　suddenly　at　the　battered；　expressionless　face　of　Erlenstar　Mountain。　The　wind　would　simply　swallow　his　cry。　He　took　another　step　down　the　river　toward　Harte；　where　he　would　find　shelter；　warmth；　fort　from　Danan　Isig。　But　the　king　could　give　him　no　answers。　He　was　trapped　by　the　past；　the　pawn　of　an　ancient　war　he　was　finally　beginning　to　understand。　The　vague　longing　in　him　to　explore　his　own　strange；　unpredictable　power　frightened　him。　He　stood　at　the　river's　edge　for　a　long　time；　until　the　mists　along　the　peaks　began　to　darken　and　a　shadow　formed　across　the　face　of　Erlenstar　Mountain。　Finally；　he　turned　away　from　it；　wandered　through　the　rain　and　icy　mists　toward　the　mountains　bordering　the　northern　wastes。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　He　kept　his　own　shape　as　he　crossed　them；　though　the　rains　in　the　high　peaks　turned　to　sleet　sometimes　and　the　rocks　under　his　hands　as　he　climbed　were　like　ice。　His　life　hung　in　a　precarious　balance　the　first　few　days；　though　he　hardly　realized　it。　He　found　himself　eating　without　remembering　how　he　had　killed；　or　awake　at　dawn　in　a　dry　cave　without　remembering　how　he　had　found　it。　Gradually；　as　he　realized　his　disinclination　to　use　power；　he　gave　some　thought　to　survival。　He　killed　wild　mountain　sheep；　dragged　them　into　a　cave　and　skinned　them；　living　on　the　meat　while　the　pelts　dried　and　weathered。　He　sharpened　a　rib；　prodded　holes　in　the　pelts　and　laced　them　together　with　strips　of　cloth　from　his　tunic。　He　made　a　great　shaggy　hooded　cloak　and　lined　his　boots　with　fur。　When　they　were　finished；　he　put　them　on　and　moved　again；　down　the　north　face　of　the　pass　into　the　wastes。
　　　　　　　There　was　little　rain　in　the　wasteland；　only　the　driving；　biting　winds；　and　frost　that　turned　the　monotonous　land　into　fire　at　sunrise。　He　moved　like　a　wraith；　killing　when　he　was　hungry；　sleeping　in　the　open；　for　he　rarely　felt　the　cold；　as　if　his　body　frayed　without　his　knowledge　into　the　winds。　One　day　he　realized　he　was　no　longer　moving　across　the　arc　of　the　sun；　he　had　turned　east；　wandering　toward　the　morning。　In　the　distance；　he　could　see　a　cluster　of　foothills；　with　Grim　Mountain　jutting　out　of　them；　a　harsh；　blue…gray　peak。　But　it　was　so　far　away　that　he　scarcely　put　a　name　to　it。　He　walked　into　mid…autumn；　hearing　nothing　but　the　winds。　One　night　as　he　sat　before　his　fire；　vaguely　feeling　the　winds　urge　against　his　shape；　he　looked　down　and　saw　the　starred　harp　in　his　hands。
　　　　　　　He　could　not　remember　reaching　back　for　it。　He　gazed　at　it；　watching　the　silent　run　of　fire　down　the　strings。　He　shifted　after　a　while　and　positioned　it。　His　fingers　moved　patternlessly；　almost　inaudibly　over　the　strings；　following　the　rough；　wild　singing　of　the　winds。
　　　　　　　He　felt　no　more　pulsion　to　move。　He　stayed　at　that　isolated　point　in　the　wastes；　which　was　no　more　than　a　few　stones；　a　twisted　shrub；　a　crack　in　the　hard　earth　where　a　stream　surfaced　for　a　few　feet；　then　vanished　again　underground。　He　left　the　place　only　to　hunt；　he　always　found　his　way　back　to　it；　as　if　to　the　echo　of　his　own　harping。　He　harped　with　the　winds　that　blew　from　dawn　until　night；　sometimes　with　only　one　high　string；　as　he　heard　the　lean；　tense；　wailing　east　wind；　sometimes　with　all　strings；　the　low　note　thrumming　back　at　the　boom　of　the　north　wind。　Sometimes；