uleg.thefarthestshore-第22章

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　　He　sat　up　on　his　elbow；　looking　forward。　The　moon　that　had　risen　before　them　as　they　left　Sosara　Bay　was　again　before　them；　sinking。　Behind；　in　the　east；　day　came　wan　and　dull。　There　were　no　clouds；　but　a　faint；　sickly　overcast。　Later　in　the　day　the　sun　grew　hot；　but　it　shone　veiled；　without　splendor。
　　All　day　long　they　coasted　Lorbanery；　low　and　green　to　their　right　hand。　A　light　wind　blew　off　the　land　and　filled　their　sail。　Toward　evening　they　passed　a　long　last　cape；　the　breeze　died　down。　Sparrowhawk　spoke　the　magewind　into　the　sail；　and　like　a　falcon　loosed　from　the　wrist；　Lookfar　started　and　fled　forward　eagerly；　putting　the　Isle　of　Silk　behind。
　　Sopli　the　Dyer　had　cowered　in　the　same　place　all　day；　evidently　afraid　of　the　boat　and　afraid　of　the　sea；　seasick　and　wretched。　He　spoke　now；　hoarsely。　〃Are　we　going　west？〃
　　The　sunset　was　right　in　his　face；　but　Sparrowhawk；　patient　with　his　stupidest　questions；　nodded。
　　〃To　Obehol？〃
　　〃Obehol　lies　west　of　Lorbanery。〃
　　〃A　long　way　west。　Maybe　the　place　is　there。〃
　　〃What　is　it　like；　the　place？〃
　　〃How　do　I　know？　How　could　I　see　it？　It's　not　on　Lorbanery！　I　hunted　for　it　for　years；　four　years；　five　years；　in　the　dark；　at　night；　shutting　my　eyes；　always　with　him　calling　e；　e；　but　I　couldn't　e。　I'm　no　lord　of　wizards　who　can　tell　the　ways　in　the　dark。　But　there's　a　place　to　e　to　in　the　light；　under　the　sun　too。　That's　what　Mildi　and　my　mother　wouldn't　understand。　They　kept　looking　in　the　dark。　Then　old　Mildi　died；　and　my　mother　lost　her　mind。　She　forgot　the　spells　we　use　in　the　dyeing；　and　it　affected　her　mind。　She　wanted　to　die；　but　I　told　her　to　wait。　Wait　till　I　find　the　place。　There　must　be　a　place。　If　the　dead　can　e　back　to　life　in　the　world；　there　must　be　a　place　in　the　world　where　it　happens。〃
　　〃Are　the　dead　ing　back　to　life？〃
　　〃I　thought　you　knew　such　things；〃　Sopli　said　after　a　pause；　looking　askance　at　Sparrowhawk。
　　〃I　seek　to　know　them。〃
　　Sopli　said　nothing。　The　mage　suddenly　looked　at　him；　a　direct；　pelling　gaze；　though　his　tone　was　gentle：　〃Are　you　looking　for　a　way　to　live　forever；　Sopli？〃
　　Sopli　returned　his　gaze　for　a　moment；　then　he　hid　his　shaggy；　brownish…red　head　in　his　arms；　locking　his　hands　across　his　ankles；　and　rocked　himself　a　little　back　and　forth。　It　seemed　that　when　he　was　frightened　he　took　this　position；　and　when　he　was　in　it；　he　would　not　speak　or　take　any　notice　of　what　was　said。　Arren　turned　away　from　him　in　despair　and　disgust。　How　could　they　go　on；　with　Sopli；　for　days　or　weeks；　in　an　eighteen…foot　boat？　It　was　like　sharing　a　body　with　a　diseased　soul。。。
　　Sparrowhawk　came　up　beside　Arren　in　the　prow　and　knelt　with　one　knee　on　the　thwart；　looking　into　the　sallow　evening。　He　said；　〃The　man　has　a　gentle　spirit。〃
　　Arren　did　not　answer　this。　He　asked　coldly；　〃What　is　Obehol？　I　never　heard　the　name。〃
　　〃I　know　its　name　and　place　on　the　charts；　no　more。。。　Look　there：　the　panions　of　Gobardon！〃
　　The　great　topaz…colored　star　was　higher　in　the　south　now；　and　beneath　it；　just　clearing　the　dim　sea；　shone　a　white　star　to　the　left　and　a　bluish…white　one　to　the　right；　forming　a　triangle。
　　〃Have　they　names？〃
　　〃The　Master　Namer　did　not　know。　Maybe　the　men　of　Obehol　and　Wellogy　have　names　for　them。　I　do　not　know。　We　go　now　into　strange　seas；　Arren；　under　the　Sign　of　Ending。〃
　　The　boy　did　not　answer；　looking　with　a　kind　of　loathing　at　the　bright；　nameless　stars　above　the　endless　water。
　
　　As　they　sailed　westward　day　after　day；　the　warmth　of　the　southern　spring　lay　on　the　waters；　and　the　sky　was　clear。　Yet　it　seemed　to　Arren　that　there　was　a　dullness　in　the　light；　as　if　it　fell　aslant　through　glass。　The　sea　was　lukewarm　when　he　swam；　bringing　little　refreshment。　Their　salt　food　had　no　savor。　There　was　no　freshness　or　brightness　in　anything；　unless　it　were　at　night；　when　the　stars　burned　with　a　greater　radiance　than　he　had　ever　seen　in　them。　He　would　lie　and　watch　them　till　he　slept。　Sleeping；　he　would　dream：　always　the　dream　of　the　moors　or　the　pit　or　a　valley　hemmed　round　by　cliffs　or　a　long　road　going　downward　under　a　low　sky；　always　the　dim　light；　and　the　horror　in　him；　and　the　hopeless　effort　to　escape。
　　He　never　spoke　of　this　to　Sparrowhawk。　He　did　not　speak　of　anything　important　to　him；　nothing　but　the　small　daily　incidents　of　their　sailing；　and　Sparrowhawk；　who　had　always　had　to　be　drawn　out；　was　now　habitually　silent。
　　Arren　saw　now　what　a　fool　he　had　been　to　entrust　himself　body　and　soul　to　this　restless　and　secretive　man；　who　let　impulse　move　him　and　made　no　effort　to　control　his　life；　nor　even　to　save　it。　For　now　the　fey　mood　was　on　him；　and　that；　Arren　thought；　was　because　he　dared　not　face　his　own　failure…　the　failure　of　wizardry　as　a　great　power　among　men。
　　It　was　clear　now　that　to　those　who　knew　the　secrets；　there　were　not　many　secrets　to　that　art　magic　from　which　Sparrowhawk　and　all　the　generations　of　sorcerers　and　wizards；　had　made　much　fame　and　power。　There　was　not　much　more　to　it　than　the　use　of　wind　and　weather；　the　knowledge　of　healing　herbs；　and　a　skillful　show　of　such　illusions　as　mists　and　lights　and　shape…changes；　which　could　awe　the　ignorant；　but　which　were　mere　tricks。　Reality　was　not　changed。　There　was　nothing　in　magery　that　gave　a　man　true　power　over　men；　nor　was　it　any　use　against　death。　The　mages　lived　no　longer　than　ordinary　men。　All　their　secret　words　could　not　put　off　for　one　hour　the　ing　of　their　death。
　　Even　in　small　matters　magery　was　not　worth　counting　on。　Sparrowhawk　was　always　miserly　about　employing　his　arts；　they　went　by　the　world's　wind　whenever　they　might；　they　fished　for　food；　and　they　spared　their　water；　like　any　sailors。　After　four　days　of　interminable　tacking　into　a　fitful　headwind；　Arren　asked　him　if　he　would　not　speak　a　little　following　wind　into　the　sail；　and　when　he　shook　his　head；　said；　〃Why　not？〃
　　〃I　would　not　ask　a　sick　man　to　run　a　race；〃　said　Sparrowhawk；　〃nor　lay　a　stone　on　an　overburdened　back。〃　It　was　not　clear　whether　he　spoke　of　himself　or　of　the　world　at　large。　Always　his　answers　were　grudging；　hard　to　understand。　There；　thought　Arren；　lay　the　very　heart　of　wizardry：　to　hint　at　mighty　meanings　while　saying　nothing　at　all；　and　to　make　doing　nothing　at　all　seem　the　very　crown　of　wisdom。
　　Arren　had　tried　to　ignore　Sopli；　but　it　was　impossible；　and　in　any　case　he　soon　found　himself　in　a　kind　of　alliance　with　the　madman。　Sopli　was　not　so　mad；　or　not　so　simply　mad；　as　his　wild　hair　and　fragmented　talk　made　him　appear。　Indeed　the　maddest　thing　about　him　was　perhaps　his　terror　of　the　water。　To　e　into　a　boat　had　taken　desperate　courage；　and　he　never　really　got　the　edge　worn　off　his　fear；　he　kept　his　head　down　so　much　so　that　he　would　not　have　to　see　the　water　heaving　and　lapping　about　him。　To　stand　up　in　the　boat　made　him　giddy；　he　clung　to　the　mast。　The　first　time　Arren　decided　on　a　swim　and　dived　off　the　prow；　Sopli　shouted　out　in　horror；　when　Arren　came　climbing　back　into　the　boat；　the　poor　man　was　green　with　shock。　〃I　thought　you　were　drowning　yourself；〃　he　said；　and　Arren　had　to　laugh。
　　That　afternoon；　when　Sparrowhawk　sat　meditating；　unheeding　and　unhearing；　Sopli　came　hitching　cautiously　over　the　thwarts　to　Arren。　He　said　in　a　low　voice；　〃You　don't　want　to　die；　do　you？〃
　　〃Of　course　not。〃
　　〃He　does；〃　Sopli　said；　with　a　little　shift　of　his　lower　jaw　toward　Sparrowhawk。
　　〃Why　do　you　say　that？〃
　　Arren　took　a　lordly　tone；　which　indeed　came　naturally　to　him；　and　Sopli　accepted　it　as　natural；　though　he　was　ten　or　fifteen　years　older　than　Arren。　He　replied　with　ready　civility；　though　in　his　usual　fragmentary　way；　〃He　wants　to　get　to　the　secret　place。　But　I　don't　know　why。　He　doesn't　want。。。　He　doesn't　believe　in。。。　the　promise。〃
　　〃What　promise？〃
　　Sopli　glanced　up　at　him　sharply；　something　of　his　ruined　manhood　in　his　eyes；　but　Arren's　will　was　stronger。　He　answered　very　low；　〃You　know。　Life。　Eternal　life。〃
　　A　great　chill　went　through　Arren's　body。　He　remembered　his　dreams：　the　moor；　the　pit；　the　cliffs；　the　dim　light。　That　was　death；　that　was　the　horror　of　death。　It　was　from　death　he　must　escape；　must　find　the　way。　And　on　the　doorsill　stood　the　figure　crowned　with　shadow；　holding　out　a　little　light　no　larger　than　a　pear