uleg.thefarthestshore-第16章

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de　from　sailcloth。　He　was　singing　softly；　striking　his　palms　on　the　thwart　as　if　it　were　a　drum；　in　a　light；　monotonous　rhythm。　The　song　he　sang　was　no　spell　of　wizardry；　no　chant　or　Deed　of　heroes　or　kings；　but　a　lilting　drone　of　non…sense　words；　such　as　a　boy　might　sing　as　he　herded　goats　through　the　long；　long　afternoons　of　summer；　in　the　high　hills　of　Gont；　alone。
　　From　the　sea's　surface　a　fish　leapt　up　and　glided　through　the　air　for　many　yards　on　stiff；　shimmering　vanes　like　the　wings　of　dragonflies。
　　〃We're　in　the　South　Reach；〃　Sparrowhawk　said　when　his　song　was　done。　〃A　strange　part　of　the　world；　where　the　fish　fly　and　the　dolphins　sing；　they　say。　But　the　water's　mild　for　swimming；　and　I　have　an　understanding　with　the　sharks。　Wash　the　touch　of　the　slave…taker　from　you。〃
　　Arren　was　sore　in　every　muscle　and　loath　to　move　at　first。　Also　he　was　an　unpracticed　swimmer；　for　the　seas　of　Enlad　are　bitter；　so　that　one　must　fight　with　them　rather　than　swim　in　them　and　is　soon　exhausted。　This　bluer　sea　was　cold　at　first　plunge；　then　delightful。　Aches　dropped　away　from　him。　He　thrashed　by　Lookfar's　side　like　a　young　sea…serpent。　Spray　flew　up　in　fountains。　Sparrowhawk　joined　him；　swimming　with　a　firmer　stroke。　Docile　and　protective；　Lookfar　waited　for　them；　white…winged　on　the　shining　water。　A　fish　leapt　from　sea　to　air；　Arren　pursued　it；　it　dived；　leapt　up　again；　swimming　in　air；　flying　in　the　sea；　pursuing　him。
　　Golden　and　supple；　the　boy　played　and　basked　in　the　water　and　the　light　until　the　sun　touched　the　sea。　And　dark　and　spare；　with。　the　economy　of　gesture　and　the　terse　strength　of　age；　the　man　swam；　and　kept　the　boat　on　course；　and　rigged　up　an　awning　of　sailcloth；　and　watched　the　swimming　boy　and　the　flying　fish　with　an　impartial　tenderness。
　　〃Where　are　we　heading？〃　Arren　asked　in　the　late　dusk；　after　eating　largely　of　salt　meat　and　hard　bread；　and　already　sleepy　again。
　　〃Lorbanery；〃　Sparrowhawk　replied；　and　the　soft　syllables　formed　the　last　word　Arren　heard　that　night；　so　that　his　dreams　of　the　early　night　wove　themselves　about　it。　He　dreamt　he　was　walking　in　drifts　of　soft；　pale…colored　stuff；　shreds　and　threads　of　pink　and　gold　and　azure；　and　felt　a　foolish　pleasure；　someone　told　him；　〃These　are　the　silk…fields　of　Lorbanery；　where　it　never　gets　dark。〃　But　later；　in　the　fag…end　of　night；　when　the　stars　of　autumn　shone　in　the　sky　of　spring；　he　dreamt　that　he　was　in　a　ruined　house。　It　was　dry　there。　Everything　was　dusty；　and　festooned　with　ragged；　dusty　webs。　Arren's　legs　were　tangled　in　the　webs；　and　they　drifted　across　his　mouth　and　nostrils；　stopping　his　breath。　And　the　worst　horror　of　it　was　that　he　knew　the　high；　ruined　room　was　that　hall　where　he　had　breakfasted　with　the　Masters；　in　the　Great　House　on　Roke。
　　He　woke　all　in　dismay；　his　heart　pounding；　his　legs　cramped　against　a　thwart。　He　sat　up；　trying　to　get　away　from　the　evil　dream。　In　the　east　there　was　not　yet　light；　but　a　dilution　of　darkness。　The　mast　creaked；　the　sail；　still　taut　to　the　northeast　breeze；　glimmered　high　and　faint　above　him。　In　the　stern　his　panion　slept　sound　and　silent。　Arren　lay　down　again　and　dozed　till　clear　day　woke　him。
　　This　day　the　sea　was　bluer　and　quieter　than　he　had　ever　imagined　it　could　be；　the　water　so　mild　and　clear　that　swimming　in　it　was　half　like　gliding　or　floating　upon　air；　strange　it　was　and　dreamlike。
　　In　the　noontime　he　asked；　〃Do　wizards　make　much　account　of　dreams？〃
　　Sparrowhawk　was　fishing。　He　watched　his　line　attentively。　After　a　long　time　he　said；　〃Why？〃
　　〃I　wondered　if　there's　ever　truth　in　them。〃
　　〃Surely。〃
　　〃Do　they　foretell　truly？〃
　　But　the　mage　had　a　bite；　and　ten　minutes　later；　when　he　had　landed　their　lunch；　a　splendid　silverblue　sea　bass；　the　question　was　clean　forgotten。
　　In　the　afternoon　as　they　lazed　under　the　awning　rigged　to　give　shelter　from　the　imperious　sun；　Arren　asked；　〃What　do　we　seek　in　Lorbanery？〃
　　〃That　which　we　seek；〃　said　Sparrowhawk。
　　〃In　Enlad；〃　said　Arren　after　a　while；　〃we　have　a　story　about　the　boy　whose　schoolmaster　was　a　stone：'
　　〃Aye？。。。　What　did　he　learn？〃
　　〃Not　to　ask　questions。〃
　　Sparrowhawk　snorted；　as　if　suppressing　a　laugh；　and　sat　up。　〃Very　well！〃　he　said。　〃Though　I　prefer　to　save　talking　till　I　know　what　I'm　talking　about。　Why　is　there　no　more　magic　done　in　Hort　Town　and　in　Narveduen　and　maybe　throughout　all　the　Reaches？　That's　what　we　seek　to　learn；　is　it　not？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃Do　you　know　the　old　saying；　Rules　change　in　the　Reaches？　Seamen　use　it；　but　it　is　a　wizards'　saying；　and　it　means　that　wizardry　itself　depends　on　place。　A　true　spell　on　Roke　may　be　mere　words　on　Iffish。　The　language　of　the　Making　is　not　everywhere　remembered；　here　one　word；　there　another。　And　the　weaving　of　spells　is　itself　interwoven　with　the　earth　and　the　water；　the　winds　and　the　fall　of　light　of　the　place　where　it　is　cast。　I　once　sailed　far　into　the　East；　so　far　that　neither　wind　nor　water　heeded　my　mand；　being　ignorant　of　their　true　names；　or　more　likely　it　was　I　who　was　ignorant。
　　〃The　world　is　very　large；　the　Open　Sea　going　on　past　all　knowledge；　and　there　are　worlds　beyond　the　world。　Over　these　abysses　of　space　and　in　the　long　extent　of　time；　I　doubt　whether　any　word　that　can　be　spoken　would　bear；　everywhere　and　forever；　its　weight　of　meaning　and　its　power；　unless　it　were　that　First　Word　which　Segoy　spoke；　making　all；　or　the　Final　Word；　which　has　not　been　nor　will　be　spoken　until　all　things　are　unmade。。。　So；　even　within　this　world　of　our　Earthsea；　the　little　islands　that　we　know；　there　are　differences　and　mysteries　and　changes。　And　the　place　least　known　and　fullest　of　mysteries　is　the　South　Reach。　Few　wizards　of　the　Inner　Lands　have　e　among　these　people。　They　do　not　wele　wizards；　having　…so　it　is　believed…　their　own　kinds　of　magic。　But　the　rumors　of　these　are　vague；　and　it　may　be　that　the　art　magic　was　never　well　known　there；　nor　fully　understood。　If　so；　it　would　be　easily　undone　by　one　who　set　himself　to　the　undoing　of　it；　and　sooner　weakened　than　our　wizardry　of　the　Inner　Lands。　And　then　we　might　hear　tales　of　the　failure　of　magic　in　the　South。
　　〃For　discipline　is　the　channel　in　which　our　acts　run　strong　and　deep；　where　there　is　no　direction；　the　deeds　of　men　run　shallow　and　wander　and　are　wasted。　So　that　fat　woman　of　the　mirrors　has　lost　her　art　and　thinks　she　never　had　it。　And　so　Hare　takes　his　hazia　and　thinks　he　has　gone　farther　than　the　greatest　mages　go；　when　he　has　barely　entered　the　fields　of　dream　and　is　already　lost。。。　But　where　is　it　that　he　thinks　he　goes？　What　is　it　he　looks　for？　What　is　it　that　has　swallowed　up　his　wizardry？　We　have　had　enough　of　Hort　Town；　I　think；　so　we　go　farther　south；　to　Lorbanery；　to　see　what　the　wizards　do　there；　to　find　out　what　it　is　that　we　must　find　out。。。　Does　that　answer　you？〃
　　〃Yes；　but…〃
　　〃Then　let　the　stone　be　still　a　while！〃　said　the　mage。　And　he　sat　by　the　mast　in　the　yellowish；　glowing　shade　of　the　awning　and　looked　out　to　sea；　to　the　west；　as　the　boat　sailed　softly　southward　through　the　afternoon。　He　sat　erect　and　still。　The　hours　passed。　Arren　swam　a　couple　of　times；　slipping　quietly　into　the　water　from　the　stern　of　the　boat；　for　he　did　not　like　to　cross　the　line　of　that　dark　gaze　which；　looking　west　over　the　sea；　seemed　to　see　far　beyond　the　bright　horizon…line；　beyond　the　blue　of　air；　beyond　the　boundaries　of　light。
　　Sparrowhawk　came　back　from　his　silence　at　last　and　spoke；　though　not　more　than　a　word　at　a　time。　Arren's　upbringing　had　made　him　quick　to　sense　mood　disguised　by　courtesy　or　by　reserve；　he　knew　his　panion's　heart　was　heavy。　He　asked　no　more　questions　and　in　the　evening　he　said；　〃If　I　sing；　will　it　disturb　your　thoughts？〃　Sparrowhawk　replied　with　an　effort　at　joking；　〃That　depends　upon　the　singing。〃
　　Arren　sat　with　his　back　against　the　mast　and　sang。　His　voice　was　no　longer　high　and　sweet　as　when　the　music　master　of　the　Hall　of　Berila　had　trained　it　years　ago；　striking　the　harmonies　on　his　tall　harp；　nowadays　the　higher　tones　of　it　were　husky；　and　the　deep　tones　had　the　resonance　of　a　viol；　dark　and　clear。　He　sang　the　Lament　for　the　White　Enchanter；　that　song　which　Elfarran　made　when　she　knew　of　Morred's　death　and　waited　for　her　own。　Not　often　is　that　song　sung