tg.stone of tears-第95部分

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　…　‘You　see？　Those　she　helps　pay　her　with　tava　bread；　but　it’s　the　same　thing　almost　as　they　do　here　with　money。　Because　she　specializes　in　a　service　to　the　village；　everyone　helps　a　little　so　she　will　be　there　for　the　village　when　there　is　need　of　her。　Here；　that’s　called　a　tax；　when　everyone　pays　a　little　toward　the　good　of　the　group；　to　help　support　those　who　work　for　all　the　people。’
　
　‘Is　this　how　you　get　your　food？　The　people　all　give　for　you；　like　we　do　when　you　e　to　make　trouble　for　us？’
　
　She　was　relieved　that　for　the　first　time　he　didn’t　say　it　with　enmity。　‘Yes。’
　
　Chandalen　eyed　empty　second…floor　windows　as　they　walked　on　among　buildings　that　were　being　larger　and　more　ornate。　The　double；　iron…strap…hinged　doors　to　an　inn　on　their　left　were　broken　in；　and　tables；　chairs；　pots；　dishes；　and　linen　embroidered　with　red　roses　…　apparently　to　echo　the　inn’s　name；　the　Red　Rose　…　had　been　thrown　into　the　street；　where　they　were　half　covered　over　with　the　snow。　Through　the　empty　doorway　she　could　see　the　body　of　an　apron…clad　kitchen　boy　sprawled　on　the　floor；　his　eyes　staring　up　at　the　ceiling；　frozen　with　the　terror　of　his　last　vision。　He　couldn’t　have　been　over　twelve。
　
　‘But　that　is　just　the　hunters；　and　Nissel；’　Chandalen　added；　after　some　thought。　‘Others　of　us　do　not　do　this　specializing。’
　
　‘Everyone　does；　to　some　degree。　The　women　bake　the　tava　bread；　the　men　make　the　weapons。　Nature　is　that　way；　too。　Some　plants　grow　where　it　is　wet；　some　where　it　is　dry。　Some　animals　eat　grass；　some　leaves；　some　bugs；　and　some　other　animals。　Every　thing　plays　its　part。　Women　have　the　babies；　and　men　。。。’
　
　She　halted；　fists　at　her　sides；　staring　at　the　countless　bodies　fallen　all　around　her。　She　swept　her　arm　out。
　
　‘And　men；　it　would　seem；　are　here　to　kill　everything。　You　see；　Chandalen？　Women’s　specialty　is　to　bring　forth　life；　and　men’s　specialty　is　to　take　it　away。’
　
　Kahlan　clenched　her　fist　against　her　stomach。　She　was　dangerously　close　to　losing　her　posure。　Nausea　swept　through　her。　Her　head　spun。
　
　Chandalen　stole　a　glimpse　at　her　from　the　corner　of　his　eye。　‘The　Bird　Man　would　say　not　to　judge　all　by　what　some　do。　And　women　do　not　make　life　alone。　Men　are　part　of　that；　too。’
　
　Kahlan　gulped　cold　air。　With　a　struggle；　she　started　off　again；　shuffling　her　snowshoes　ahead。　Chandalen　let　her　set　a　quicker　pace　as　he　walked　beside　her。　She　turned　them　up　a　street　lined　with　fine　shops。　As　she　moved　up　and　then　down　a　snowdrift；　he　pointed　with　his　bow；　seeming　to　look　for　an　excuse　to　change　the　subject。
　
　‘Why　do　they　have　wooden　people　here？’
　
　A　headless　mannequin　rested　at　an　angle　against　a　window…sill；　tipped　halfway　out　of　a　shop。　The　elaborate　blue　dress　the　mannequin　wore　was　trimmed　with　white　beads　draped　in　layers　about　the　waist。　Glad　to　have　a　diversion　from　the　thoughts　swirling　in　her　head；　Kahlan　changed　direction　a　little；　toward　the　mannequin　in　the　blue　dress。
　
　This　is　a　tailor’s　shop。　The　people　who　owned　this　shop　specialized　in　making　clothes。　This　wooden　person　is　simply　a　form　to　display　what　they　make；　so　others　may　know　the　fine　work　they　do。　It’s　a　demonstration　of　pride　in　their　work。’
　
　She　stopped　before　the　large　window。　All　the　panes　of　glass　were　broken　out。　A　few　of　the　yellow…painted　mullions　hung　crookedly　from　the　top　of　the　frame。　The　shade　of　blue　of　the　gorgeous　gown　reminded　Kahlan　of　her　wedding　dress。　She　could　feel　the　blood　pounding　in　the　veins　of　her　neck　as　she　swallowed　back　a　cry。　Chandalen　watched　both　directions　up　and　down　the　street　as　her　hand　slowly　reached　out　to　touch　the　frozen；　blue　fabric。
　
　Her　vision　focused　past　the　mannequin；　into　the　shop；　where　a　square　of　sunlight　fell　across　the　snow…dusted　floor　and　up　and　over　a　low　work　counter。　Her　hand　faltered。　A　dead　man　with　a　balding　head　was　pinned　to　the　wall　by　a　spear　through　his　chest。　A　woman　lay　sprawled　facedown　over　the　counter；　her　dress　and　underskirts　bunched　up　around　her　waist；　exposing　blue　flesh。　A　pair　of　tailor’s　scissors　jutted　from　her　back。
　
　In　the　gloom　at　the　far　end　of　the　room　stood　another　mannequin；　in　a　fine　man’s　coat。　The　front　of　the　dark　coat　was　shredded　with　hundreds　of　small　cuts。　The　soldiers　had　evidently　used　the　mannequin　as　a　target　for　knife　throwing　while　they　waited　their　turn　on　the　woman。　Apparently；　when　they　were　finished　with　her；　they　stabbed　her　to　death　with　her　scissors。
　
　Kahlan　twisted　away　from　the　shop　to　find　herself　face…to…face　with　Chandalen。　His　was　red。　There　was　menace　in　his　eyes。
　
　‘Not　all　men　are　the　same。　I　would　cut　the　throat　of　any　man　of　mine　if　he　did　such　a　thing。’
　
　Kahlan　had　no　answer　for　him；　and　suddenly　wasn’t　in　the　mood　to　talk。　As　she　started　off　again；　she　loosened　the　mantle　at　her　neck；　needing　the　feel　of　cold　air。
　
　In　silence；　but　for　the　low；　baleful　moan　of　the　breeze　between　the　buildings；　they　slogged　past　stables　of　horses；　their　throats　all　cut；　and　past　inns　and　grand　houses；　their　cornices　high　overhead　shading　them　from　the　bright；　slanting　sunlight。　Fluted；　wooden　columns　to　each　side　of　one　door　had　been　hacked　at　with　a　sword；　seemingly　for　no　purpose　but　to　deface　the　elegance　of　the　home。
　
　It　was　colder　in　the　shade；　but　she　didn’t　care。　They　stepped　over　corpses　that　lay　facedown　in　the　snow　with　wounds　in　their　backs；　and　around　overturned　wagons　and　coaches　and　dead　horses　and　dead　dogs。　It　all　melted　into　a　meaningless　madness　of　destruction。
　
　Eyes　cast　to　the　ground　before　her；　she　trudged　on　through　the　snow。　The　cold　air　bit　into　her　flesh；　and　she　pulled　her　mantle　closed　once　more。　The　cold　was　sapping　her　of　not　only　warmth；　but　strength。　With　grim　determination　she　put　one　foot　in　front　of　the　other；　continuing　on　toward　her　destination；　hoping；　somehow；　that　she　would　never　reach　it。
　
　With　the　frozen　dead　of　Ebinissia　all　about；　she　filled　her　crushing　loneliness　with　a　silent　prayer。
　
　Please；　dear　spirits；　keep　Richard　warm。
　
　
　CHAPTER　28
　
　Naked　under　the　sun’s　fury；　the　parched；　dead　flat　ground　stretched　endlessly　before　them；　in　the　distance　offering　up　shimmering　images　to　waver　and　dance　in　the　sun’s　furnace　glare；　like　phantom　hostages　surrendered　to　an　omnipotent　foe。　Behind；　the　fractured　hills　ended　in　a　bank　of　rocky　rubble。　The　silence　was　as　oppressive　as　the　heat。
　
　Richard　wiped　sweat　from　his　brow　on　the　back　of　his　sleeve。　The　leather　of　his　saddle　creaked　as　he　shifted　his　weight　while　he　waited。　Bonnie　and　the　other　two　horses　waited；　too；　their　ears　pricked　ahead；　as　they　occasionally　pawed　the　cracked；　dry　earth　and　voiced　apprehensive　snorts。
　
　Sister　Verna　sat　motionless　atop　Jessup；　scrutinizing　the　nothingness　of　the　distance　as　if　viewing　an　event　of　great　import。　Except　for　the　way　her　brown　curls　hung　limp；　she　didn’t　appear　to　be　affected　by　the　heat。
　
　‘I　don’t　understand　this　weather。　It’s　winter；　I’ve　never　heard　of　it　being　hot　like　this　in　winter。’
　
　‘The　weather　is　different　in　different　places；’　she　murmured。
　
　‘No　it’s　not。　When　it’s　winter；　it’s　cold。　It’s　only　hot　like　this　in　high　summer。’
　
　‘Have　you　ever　seen　snow　on　mountaintops　in　the　summer？’
　
　Richard　reversed　the　positions　of　his　hands　resting　on　the　pommel。　‘Yes。　But　that’s　just　on　mountaintops。　The　air　is　colder　up　there。　We’re　not　on　a　mountaintop。’
　
　Still　she　did　not　move。　‘Not　just　mountaintops　have　different　weather。　In　the　south　the　weather　is　not　so　cold　as　it　is　in　the　north。　But　this　place　is　different　still。　It’s　like　an　inexhaustible　well　of　heat。’
　
　‘And　just　what　is　this　place？’
　
　‘The　Valley　of　the　Lost；’　she　whispered。
　
　‘Who　was　lost　in　it？’
　
　‘Those　who　created　it；　and　whoever　enters。’　At　last　she　turned　a　bit　to　peer　at　him。　‘It’s　the　end　of　the　world。　Your　world；　anyway。’
　
　He　shifted　his　weight　to　the　other　side　when　Bonnie　did　the　same。　‘If　it’s　the　end　of　the　world；　why　are　we　here？’
　
　Sister　Verna　held　her　hand　up　to　the　land　behind。　‘Just　as　there　is　Westland；　where　you　were　born；　separated　from　the　Midlands；　and　the　Midlands　from　D’Hara；　so；　too；　are　those　lands　separated　from　what　lies　on　the　far　side　of　this　place。’
　
　Richard　frowned。　‘And　what　lies　on　the　other　side　of　here？’
　
　She　turned　back　to　the　expanse　before　them。　‘You　lived　in　the　New　World。　Across　this　valley　lies　the　Old　World。’
　
　The　Old　World？　I　never　heard　of　the　Old　World。’
　
　‘Few　in　the　New　World　have。　It　has　been　sealed　away　and　forgotten。　This　valley；　the　Valley　of　the　Lost；　separates　them；　much　the　same　way　the　boundary　used　to　separate　the　three　lands　of　the　New　World。　The　last　of　the　country　we　have　been　crossing　has　been　inhospitable；　a　desert　wasteland。　Anyone　venturing　through　it　and　into　this　valley　never　returns。　People　think　there　is　nothing　beyond；　that　this　is　the　southern　end　of　the　Midlands　and　D’Hara；　with　nothing　beyond　but　what　you　see　here：　an　endless　waste；　where　one　could　die　of　thirst　and　hunger　and　you　could　have　your　bones　baked　by　the　heat　of　the　sun。’
　
　Richard　eased　Bonnie　up　next　to　the　Sister。　‘So；　what　is　beyond？　And　why　can’t　anyone　cross？　And　if　no　one　can　cross；　how　can　we？’
　
　She　looked　over　out　of　the　corner　of　her　eye。　‘Simple　questions；　but　not　simply　answered。’　She　relaxed　back　in　her　saddle　a　little。　‘The　land　between　the　New　and　the　Old　Worlds　narrows　somewhat；　with　the　sea　to　each　side。’
　
　‘The　sea？’
　
　‘You　have　never　seen　the　ocean？’
　
　Richard　shook　his　head。　‘In　Westland；　it　lies　far　to　the　south；　and　people　don’t　live　there。　Or；　so　I’ve　been　told。　I’ve　heard　others　speak　of　the　ocean；　but　I’ve　never　seen　it。　They　say　it’s　more　vast　than　any　lake　ever　imagined。’
　
　Sister　Verna　gave　him　a　little　smile。　They　speak　true。’　She　turned　ahead；　pointing　off　to　the　right。　‘Some　distance　that　way　lies　the　sea。’　She　pointed　left；　to　the　southeast。　‘Off　even　farther　in　that　direction　is　also　the　sea。　Though　the　land　is　vast　between　them；　it　is　still　the　narrowest　place　between　the　New　and　the　Old　Worlds。　Because　of　that；　a　war　was　f