uleg.thefarthestshore-第19章

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s　afraid；　and　the　bats　flew　in　and　out　on　noiseless　leather　wings。　Sometimes　he　heard　their　thin　voices　at　the　very　limit　of　his　hearing。
　　The　morning　came　bright；　and　they　were　early　up。　Sparrowhawk　inquired　earnestly　for　emmelstone。　Though　none　of　the　townsfolk　knew　what　emmelstone　was；　they　all　had　theories　about　it　and　quarreled　over　them；　and　he　listened；　though　he　listened　for　news　of　something　other　than　emmelstone。　At　last　he　and　Arren　took　a　way　that　the　mayor　suggested　to　them；　toward　the　quarries　where　the　blue　dye…earth　was　dug。　But　on　the　way　Sparrowhawk　turned　aside。
　　〃This　will　be　the　house；〃　he　said。　〃They　said　that　that　family　of　dyers　and　discredited　magicians　lives　on　this　road。〃
　　〃Is　it　any　use　to　talk　to　them？〃　said　Arren；　remembering　Hare　all　too　well。
　　〃There　is　a　center　to　this　bad　luck；〃　said　the　mage；　harshly。　〃There　is　a　place　where　the　luck　runs　out。　I　need　a　guide　to　that　place！〃　And　he　went　on；　and　Arren　must　follow。
　　The　house　stood　apart　among　its　own　orchards；　a　fine　building　of　stone；　but　it　and　all　its　acreage　had　gone　long　uncared　for。　Cocoons　of　ungathered　silkworms　hung　discolored　among　the　ragged　branches；　and　the　ground　beneath　was　thick　with　a　papery　litter　of　dead　grubs　and　moths。　All　about　the　house　under　the　close…set　trees　there　hung　an　odor　of　decay；　and　as　they　came　to　it　Arren　suddenly　remembered　the　horror　that　had　been　on　him　in　the　night。
　　Before　they　reached　the　door　it　was　flung　open。　Out　charged　a　grey…haired　woman；　glaring　with　reddened　eyes　and　shouting；　〃Out；　curse　you；　thieves；　slanderers；　lackwits；　liars；　and　misbegotten　fools！　Get　out；　out；　go！　The　ill　chance　be　on　you　forever！〃
　　Sparrowhawk　stopped；　looking　somewhat　amazed；　and　quickly　raised　his　hand　in　a　curious　gesture。　He　said　one　word；　〃Avert！〃
　　At　that　the　woman　stopped　yelling。　She　stared　at　him。
　　〃Why　did　you　do　that？〃
　　〃To　turn　your　curse　aside。〃
　　She　stared　a　while　longer　and　said　at　last；　hoarsely；　〃Foreigners？〃
　　〃From　the　North。〃
　　She　came　forward。　At　first　Arren　had　been　inclined　to　laugh　at　her；　an　old　woman　screeching　on　her　doorstep；　but　close　to　her　he　felt　only　shame。　She　was　foul　and　ill…clothed；　and　her　breath　stank；　and　her　eyes　had　a　terrible　stare　of　pain。
　　〃I　have　no　power　to　curse；〃　she　said。　〃No　power。〃　She　imitated　Sparrowhawk's　gesture。　〃They　still　do　that；　where　you　e　from？〃
　　He　nodded。　He　watched　her　steadily；　and　she　returned　his　gaze。　Presently　her　face　began　to　work　and　change；　and　she　said；　〃Where's　the　stick？〃
　　〃I　do　not　show　it　here；　sister。〃
　　〃No；　you　should　not。　It　will　keep　you　from　life。　Like　my　power：　it　kept　me　from　life。　So　I　lost　it。　I　lost　all　the　things　I　knew；　all　the　words　and　names。　They　came　by　little　strings　like　spiderwebs　out　of　my　eyes　and　mouth。　There　is　a　hole　in　the　world；　and　the　light　is　running　out　of　it。　And　the　words　go　with　the　light。　Did　you　know　that？　My　son　sits　staring　all　day　at　the　dark；　looking　for　the　hole　in　the　world。　He　says　he　would　see　better　if　he　were　blind。　He　has　lost　his　hand　as　a　dyer。　We　were　the　Dyers　of　Lorbanery。　Look！〃　She　shook　before　them　her　muscular；　thin　arms；　stained　to　the　shoulder　with　a　faint；　streaky　mixture　of　ineradicable　dyes。　〃It　never　es　off　the　skin；〃　she　said；　〃but　the　mind　washes　clean。　It　won't　hold　the　colors。　Who　are　you？〃
　　Sparrowhawk　said　nothing。　Again　his　eyes　held　the　woman's；　and　Arren；　standing　aside；　watched　uneasily。
　　All　at　once　she　trembled　and　said　in　a　whisper；　〃I　know　thee…〃
　　〃Aye。　Like　knows　like；　sister。〃
　　It　was　strange　to　see　how　she　pulled　away　from　the　mage　in　terror；　wanting　to　flee　him；　and　yearned　toward　him　as　if　to　kneel　at　his　feet。
　　He　took　her　hand　and　held　her。　〃Would　you　have　your　power　back；　the　skills；　the　names？　I　can　give　you　that。〃
　　〃You　are　the　Great　Man；〃　she　whispered。　〃You　are　the　King　of　the　Shadows；　the　Lord　of　the　Dark　Place…〃
　　〃I　am　not。　I　am　no　king。　I　am　a　man；　a　mortal；　your　brother　and　your　like。〃
　　〃But　you　will　not　die？〃
　　〃I　will。〃
　　〃But　you　will　e　back　and　live　forever。〃
　　〃Not　I。　Nor　any　man。〃
　　〃Then　you　are　not　…　not　the　Great　One　in　the　darkness；〃　she　said；　frowning；　and　looking　at　him　a　little　askance；　with　less　fear。　〃But　you　are　a　Great　One。　Are　there　two？　What　is　your　name？〃
　　Sparrowhawk's　stern　face　softened　a　moment。　〃I　cannot　tell　you　that；〃　he　said　gently。
　　〃I'll　tell　you　a　secret；〃　she　said。　She　stood　straighter　now；　facing　him；　and　there　was　the　echo　of　an　old　dignity　in　her　voice　and　bearing。　〃I　do　not　want　to　live　and　live　and　live　forever。　I　would　rather　have　back　the　names　of　things。　But　they　are　all　gone。　Names　don't　matter　now。　There　are　no　more　secrets。　Do　you　want　to　know　my　name？〃　Her　eyes　filled　with　light；　her　fists　clenched；　she　leaned　forward　and　whispered：　〃My　name　is　Akaren。〃　Then　she　screamed　aloud；　〃Akaren！　Akaren！　My　name　is　Akaren！　Now　they　all　know　my　secret　name；　my　true　name；　and　there　are　no　secrets；　and　there　is　no　truth；　and　there　is　no　death…　death…　death！〃　She　screamed　the　word　sobbing；　and　spittle　flew　from　her　lips。
　　〃Be　still；　Akaren！〃
　　She　was　still。　Tears　ran　down　her　face；　which　was　dirty；　and　streaked　with　locks　of　her　unbed；　grey　hair。
　　Sparrowhawk　took　that　wrinkled；　tear…blubbered　face　between　his　hands　and　very　lightly；　very　tenderly；　kissed　her　on　the　eyes。　She　stood　motionless；　her　eyes　closed。　Then　with　his　lips　close　to　her　ear　he　spoke　a　little　in　the　Old　Speech；　once　more　kissed　her；　and　let　her　go。
　　She　opened　clear　eyes　and　looked　at　him　a　while　with　a　brooding；　wondering　gaze。　So　a　newborn　child　looks　at　its　mother；　so　a　mother　looks　at　her　child。　She　turned　slowly　and　went　to　her　door；　entered　it；　and　closed　it　behind　her：　all　in　silence；　with　the　still　look　of　wonder　on　her　face。
　　In　silence　the　mage　turned　and　started　back　toward　the　road。　Arren　followed　him。　He　dared　ask　no　question。　Presently　the　mage　stopped；　there　in　the　ruined　orchard；　and　said；　〃I　took　her　name　from　her　and　gave　her　a　new　one。　And　thus　in　some　sense　a　rebirth。　There　was　no　other　help　or　hope　for　her。〃
　　His　voice　was　strained　and　stifled。
　　〃She　was　a　woman　of　power；〃　he　went　on。　〃No　mere　witch　or　potion…maker；　but　a　woman　of　art　and　skill；　using　her　craft　for　the　making　of　the　beautiful；　a　proud　woman　and　honorable。　That　was　her　life。　And　it　is　all　wasted。〃　He　turned　abruptly　away；　walked　off　into　the　orchard　aisles；　and　there　stood　beside　a　tree…trunk；　his　back　turned。
　　Arren　waited　for　him　in　the　hot；　leaf…speckled　sunlight。　He　knew　that　Sparrowhawk　was　ashamed　to　burden　Arren　with　his　emotion；　and　indeed　there　was　nothing　the　boy　could　do　or　say。　But　his　heart　went　out　utterly　to　his　panion；　not　now　with　that　first　romantic　ardor　and　adoration；　but　painfully；　as　if　a　link　were　drawn　forth　from　the　very　inmost　of　it　and　forged　into　an　unbreaking　bond。　For　in　this　love　he　now　felt　there　was　passion：　without　which　love　is　untempered；　and　is　not　whole；　and　does　not　last。
　　Presently　Sparrowhawk　returned　to　him　through　the　green　shade　of　the　orchard。　Neither　said　anything；　and　they　went　on　side　by　side。　It　was　hot　already；　last　night's　rain　had　dried；　and　dust　rose　under　their　feet　on　the　road。　Earlier　the　day　had　seemed　dreary　and　insipid　to　Arren；　as　if　infected　by　his　dreams；　now　he　took　pleasure　in　the　bite　of　the　sunlight　and　the　relief　of　shade；　and　enjoyed　walking　without　brooding　about　their　destination。
　　This　was　just　as　well；　for　they　acplished　nothing。　The　afternoon　was　spent　in　talking　with　the　men　who　mined　the　dye…ores；　and　bargaining　for　some　bits　of　what　was　said　to　be　emmelstone。　As　they　trudged　back　to　Sosara　with　the　late　sun　pounding　on　their　heads　and　necks；　Sparrowhawk　remarked；　〃It's　blue　malachite；　but　I　doubt　they'll　know　the　difference　in　Sosara　either。〃
　　〃They're　strange　here；〃　Arren　said。　〃It's　that　way　with　everything；　they　don't　know　the　difference。　Like　what　one　of　them　said　to　the　headman　last　night；　'You　wouldn't　know　the　true　azure　from　blue　mud。。。'　They　plain　about　bad　times；　but　they　don't　know　when　the　bad　times　began；　they　say　the　work's　shoddy；　but　they　don't　improve　it；　they　don't　even　know　the　difference　between　an　artisan　and　a　spell…worker；　between　handicraft　and　the　art　magi