srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第58部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ave　forgotten　it。　Yet　his　recovery　gave　him　little　satisfaction。　He　accepted　it　with　plete　and　empty　confidence；　for　reasons　that　were　hidden　from　him。
　　　　When　he　was　ready；　he　swung　his　feet　off　the　bed　and　sat　up。　At　once；　he　saw　the　old　brown　woman　lying　crumpled　on　the　floor。　She　was　dead　with　an　outcry　still　rigid　on　her　lips　and　a　blasted　look　in　the　staring　loam　of　her　eyes。　In　the　dim　light；　she　seemed　like　a　wracked　mound　of　earth。　He　did　not　know　who　she　was…he　gazed　at　her　with　an　effort　of　recollection　and　could　not　remember　ever　having　seen　her　before…but　she　gave　him　the　vague　impression　that　she；　too；　had　died　for　him。
　　　　That's　enough；　he　said　dimly　to　himself。　Other　memories　began　to　float　to　the　surface　like　the　dead　seaweed　and　wreckage　of　his　life。　This　must　not　happen　again。
　　　　He　looked　down　at　the　unfamiliar　white　robe　for　a　moment；　then　pushed　the　cloth　aside　so　that　he　could　see　his　ankle。
　　　　It　was　broken；　he　thought　in　hollow　surprise。　He　could　remember　breaking　it；　he　could　remember　wrestling　with　Pietten；　falling…he　could　remember　using　Pietten's　spear　to　help　him　walk　until　the　fracture　froze。　Yet　now　it　showed　no　sign　of　any　break。　He　tested　it　against　the　floor；　half　expecting　its　wholeness　to　vanish　like　an　illusion。　He　stood　up；　hopped　from　foot　to　foot；　sat　down　again。　Muttering　dully　to　himself；　By　hell；　by　hell；　he　gave　himself　his　first　VSE　in　many　days。
　　　　He　found　that　he　was　more　healed　than　he　would　have　believed　possible。　The　damage　which　he　had　done　to　his　feet　was　almost　pletely　gone。　His　gaunt　hands　flexed　easily…though　they　had　lost　flesh；　and　his　ring　hung　loosely　on　his　wedding　finger。　Except　for　a　faint　numbness　at　their　tips；　his　ears　and　nose　had　recovered　from　frostbite。　His　very　bones　were　full　of　deep；　sustaining　warmth。
　　　　But　other　things　had　not　changed。　His　cheeks　felt　as　stiff　as　ever。　Along　his　forehead　was　the　lump　of　a　badly　healed　scar；　it　was　tender　to　the　touch；　as　if　beneath　the　surface　it　festered　against　his　skull。　And　his　disease　still　gnawed　its　way　remorselessly　up　the　nerves　of　his　hands　and　feet。　His　fingers　were　numb　to　the　palms；　and　only　the　tops　of　his　feet　and　the　backs　of　his　heels　remained　sensitive。　So　the　fundamental　condition　of　his　existence　remained　intact。　The　law　of　his　leprosy　was　graven　within　him；　carved　with　the　cold　chisel　of　death　as　if　he　were　made　of　dolomite　or　marble　rather　than　bone　and　blood　and　humanity。
　　　　For　that　reason　he　remained　unmoved　in　the　hollow　center　of　his　healing。　He　was　a　leper　and　had　no　business　exposing　himself　to　the　risks　of　passion。
　　　　Now　when　he　looked　back　at　the　dead　woman；　he　remembered　what　he　had　been　doing　before　the　winter　had　reft　him　of　himself；　he　had　been　carrying　a　purpose　of　destruction　and　hate　eastward；　toward　Foul's　Creche。　That　purpose　now　wore　the　aspect　of　madness。　He　had　been　mad　to　throw　himself　against　the　winter　alone；　just　as　he　had　been　mad　to　believe　that　he　could　ever　challenge　the　Despiser。　The　path　of　his　past　appeared　strewn　with　corpses；　the　victims　of　the　process　which　had　brought　him　to　that　purpose…the　process　of　manipulation　by　which　Lord　Foul　sought　to　produce　the　last　fatal　mistake　of　a　direct　challenge。　And　the　result　of　that　mistake　would　be　a　total　victory　for　the　Despiser。
　　　　He　knew　better　now。　The　fallen　woman　taught　him　a　kind　of　wisdom。　He　could　not　challenge　the　Despiser　for　the　same　reason　that　he　could　not　make　his　way　through　the　Despiser's　winter　alone：　the　task　was　impossible；　and　mortal　human　beings　acplished　nothing　but　their　own　destruction　when　they　attempted　the　impossible。　A　leper's　end…　prescribed　and　circumscribed　for　him　by　the　law　of　his　illness…awaited　him　not　far　down　the　road　of　his　life。　He　would　only　hasten　his　journey　toward　that　end　if　he　lashed　himself　with　impossible　demands。　And　the　Land　would　be　utterly　lost。
　　　　Then　he　realized　that　his　inability　to　remember　what　had　brought　him　to　this　place；　what　had　happened　to　him　in　this　place；　was　a　great　blessing；　a　giving　of　mercy　so　clear　that　it　amazed　him。　Suddenly　he　understood　at　least　in　part　why　Triock　had　spoken　to　him　of　the　mercy　of　new　opportunities…and　why　Triock　had　refused　to　share　his　purpose。　He　put　that　purpose　aside　and　looked　around　the　cave　for　his　clothes。
　　　　He　located　them　in　a　heap　against　one　wall；　but　a　moment　later　he　had　decided　against　them。　They　seemed　to　represent　participation　in　something　that　he　now　wished　to　eschew。　And　this　white　robe　was　a　gift　which　the　dead　woman　had　given　him　as　part　and　symbol　of　her　larger　sacrifice。　He　accepted　it　with　calm；　sad；　hollow　gratitude。
　　　　But　he　had　already　started　to　don　his　sandals　before　he　realized　how　badly　they　reeked　of　illness。　In　days　of　walking；　his　infection　had　soaked　into　the　leather；　and　he　was　loath　to　wear　the　unclean　stench。　He　tossed　the　sandals　back　among　his　discarded　apparel。　He　had　e　barefoot　into　this　dream；　and　knew　that　he　would　go　barefoot　and　sole…battered　out　of　it　again；　no　matter　how　he　tried　to　protect　himself。　In　spite　of　his　reawakening　caution；　he　chose　not　to　worry　about　his　feet。
　　　　The　faint　attar　of　death　in　the　air　reminded　him　that　he　could　not　remain　in　the　cave。　He　drew　the　robe　tight　around　him　and　stooped　through　the　entrance　to　see　if　he　could　discover　where　he　was。
　　　　Outside；　under　the　gray　clouds　of　day；　the　sight　of　the　Forest　gave　him　another　surge　of　empty　surprise。　He　recognized　Morinmoss；　he　had　crossed　this　wood　once　before。　His　vague　knowledge　of　the　Land's　geography　told　him　in　general　terms　where　he　was；　but　he　had　no　conception　of　how　he　had　e　here。　The　last　thing　in　his　memory　was　the　slow　death　of　Lord　Foul's　winter。
　　　　There　was　little　winter　to　be　seen　here。　The　black　trees　leaned　against　each　other　as　if　they　were　rooted　interminably　in　the　first　gray　verges　of　spring；　but　the　air　was　brisk　rather　than　bitter；　and　tough　grass　grew　sufficiently　over　the　clear　ground　between　the　trunks。　He　breathed　the　Forest　smells　while　he　examined　his　unreasoning　confidence；　and　after　a　moment　he　felt　sure　that　Morinmoss　also　was　something　he　should　not　fear。
　　　　When　he　turned　to　reenter　the　cave；　he　had　chosen　at　least　the　first　outlines　of　his　new　road。
　　　　He　did　not　attempt　to　bury　the　woman；　he　had　no　digging　tool　and　no　desire　to　offer　any　injury　to　the　soil　of　the　Forest。　He　wore　her　robe　in　part　to　show　his　respect　for　her；　but　he　could　not　think　of　any　other　gesture　to　make　toward　her。　He　wanted　to　apologize　for　what　he　was　doing…for　what　he　had　done…but　had　no　way　to　make　her　hear　him。　At　last　he　placed　her　on　her　bed；　arranged　her　stiff　limbs　as　best　he　could　to　give　her　an　appearance　of　dignity。　Then　he　found　a　sack　among　her　possessions　and　packed　into　it　all　the　food　he　could　find。
　　　　After　that；　he　drank　the　last　of　her　water　and　left　behind　the　jug　to　save　weight。　With　a　pang　of　regret；　he　also　left　behind　the　pot　of　graveling；　he　knew　he　would　want　its　warmth；　but　did　not　know　how　to　tend　it。　The　knife　which　lay　oddly　in　the　center　of　the　floor　he　did　not　take　because　he　had　had　enough　of　knives。　Remembering　Lena；　he　lightly　kissed　the　woman's　cold；　withered　cheek。　Then　he　shrugged　his　way　out　of　the　cave；　muttering；　as　if　the　word　were　a　talisman　he　had　learned　from　her　sacrifice；　〃Mercy。〃
　　　　He　strode　away　into　the　day　of　his　new　prehension。
　　　　He　did　not　hesitate　over　the　choice　of　directions。　He　knew　from　past　experience　that　the　terrain　of　Morinmoss　sloped　generally　downward　from　northwest　to　southeast；　toward　the　Plains　of　Ra。　He　followed　the　slopes　with　his　sack　over　his　shoulder　and　his　heart　hollow…steady　because　it　was　full　of　lacks；　like　the　heart　of　a　man　who　had　surrendered　himself　to　the　prospect　of　a　colorless　future。
　　　　Before　he　had　covered　two　leagues；　daylight　began　to　fail　in　the　air；　and　night　fell　from　the　clouds　like　rain。　But　Morinmoss　roused　itself　to　light　his　way。　And　after　his　long　rest；　he　did　not　need　sleep。　He　slowed　his　pace　so　that　he　could　move　without　disturbing　the　dark　moss；　and　went　on　while　the　Forest　grew　lambent　and　restless　around　him。　Its　ancient　uneasiness；　its　half…conscious　memory　of　outrage　and　immense　bereavement；　was　not　directed　at　him…the　perennial　mood　of　the　trees　almost　seemed　to　stand　back　as　he　passed；　allowing　him　along　his　way…but　he　felt　it　nonetheless；　heard　it　muttering　through　the　breeze　as　if　Morinmoss　were　breathing　between　clenched　teeth。　His　senses　remained　truncated；　winter…blurred；　as　they　had　been　before　his　crisis　with　Pietten　and　Lena；　but　still　he　could　perceive　the　Forest's　sufferance　of　him。　Morinmoss　was　aware　of　him　and　made　a　special　exertion　of　tolerance　on　his　behalf。
　　　　Then　he　remembered　that　Garroting　Deep　also　had　not　raised　its　hand　against　him。　He　remembered　Caerroil　Wildwood　and　the　Forestal's　unwilling　disciple。　Though　he　knew　himself　suffered；　permitted；　he　murmured　〃Mercy〃　to　the　pale；　shining　trunks　and　strove　to　move　carefully；　avoiding　anything　which　might　give　offense　to　the　trees。
　　　　His　caution　limited　his　progress；　and　when　dawn　came　he　was　still　wending　generally　southeast　within　the　woods。　But　now　he　was　reentering　the　demesne　of　winter。　Cold　snapped　in　the　air；　and　the　trees　were　bleak。　Grass　had　given　way　to　bare　ground。　He　could　see　the　first　thin　skiffs　of　snow　through　the　gloom　ahead　of　him。　And　as　dawn　limped　into　ill　day；　he　began　to　learn　what　a　gift　the　white　robe　was。　Its　lightness　made　it　easy　to　wear；　yet　its　special　fabric　was　warm　and　fortable；　so　that　it　held　out　the　harshness　of　the　wind。　He　considered　it　a　better　gift　than　any　knife　or　staff　or　orcrest…stone；　and　he　kept　it　sashed　gratefully　around　him。
　　　　Once　the　tree　shine　had　subsided　into　daylight；　he　stopped　to　rest　and　eat。　But　he　did　not　need　much　rest；　and　after　a　frugal　meal　he　was　up　and　moving　again。　The　wind　began　to　gust　and　flutter　around　him。　In　less　than　a　league；　he　left　the　last　black　shelter　of　the　Forest；　and　went　out　into　Foul's　uninterrupted　spite。
　　　　The　wilderness　of　snow　and　cold　that　met　his　blunt　senses　seemed　unchanged。　From　the　edges　of　the　Forest；　the　terrain　continued　to　slope　gradually　downward；　through　the　shallow　rumpling　of　old　hills；　until　it　reached　the　dull　river　flowing　miserably　into　the　northeast。