tg.wizardfirstrule-第68部分

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the　incantations；　rolling　them　out　without　having　to　think。　For　an　hour　he　went　on　with　the　words　of　the　ceremony；　smearing　the　blood　on　his　chest　at　the　proper　time。
　
　When　he　had　finished　with　the　runes　from　his　father's　tomb；　he　went　to　the　sorcerer's　sand　where　the　boy　had　been　buried　for　the　time　of　his　testing。　With　his　arms　he　smoothed　the　sand；　it　stuck　to　the　blood　in　a　white　crust。　Squatting；　he　carefully　began　drawing　the　symbols；　radiating　from　the　center　axis；　branching　in　intricate　patterns　learned　in　years　of　study。　He　concentrated　as　he　worked　into　the　night；　his　straight　blond　hair　hanging　down；　his　brow　wrinkled　with　intensity　as　he　added　each　element；　leaving　out　no　line　or　stroke　or　curve；　for　that　would　be　fatal。
　
　At　last　finished；　he　went　to　the　sacred　bowl　and　found　the　water　almost　boiled　away；　as　it　should　be。　With　magic；　he　floated　the　bowl　back　to　the　polished　stone　block　and　let　it　cool　a　little　before　he　took　a　stone　pestle　and　began　grinding。　He　mashed；　sweat　running　from　his　face；　until　he　had　worked　the　heart；　brain；　and　testicles　into　a　paste；　to　which　he　added　magic　powders　from　pockets　in　his　discarded　robes。
　
　Standing　in　front　of　the　altar；　he　held　up　the　bowl　with　the　mixture　while　he　cast　the　calling　spells。　He　lowered　the　bowl　when　finished；　and　looked　around　at　the　Garden　of　Life。　He　always　like　to　look　upon　beautiful　things　before　he　went　to　the　underworld。
　
　With　his　fingers；　he　ate　from　the　bowl。　He　hated　the　taste　of　meat；　and　never　ate　anything　but　plants。　Now；　though；　there　was　no　choice；　the　way　was　the　way。　If　he　wanted　to　go　to　the　underworld；　he　had　to　eat　the　flesh。　He　ignored　the　taste；　and　ate　it　all；　trying　to　think　of　it　as　vegetable　paste。
　
　Licking　his　fingers　clean；　he　set　the　bowl　down　and　went　to　sit　cross…legged　on　the　grass　in　front　of　the　white　sand。　His　blond　hair　was　matted　in　places　with　dried　blood。　He　placed　his　hands　palm　up　on　his　knees；　closed　his　eyes；　and　took　deep　breaths；　preparing　himself　for　meeting　the　spirit　of　the　boy。
　
　At　last　ready；　all　preparations　done；　all　charms　spoken；　all　spells　cast；　the　Master　raised　his　head　and　opened　his　eyes。
　
　〃e　to　me；　Carl；〃　he　whispered　in　the　secret　ancient　language。
　
　There　was　a　moment　of　dead　silence；　and　then　a　wailing　roar。　The　ground　shook。
　
　From　the　center　of　the　sand；　the　center　of　the　enchantment；　the　boy's　spirit　rose；　in　the　form　of　the　Shinga；　the　underworld　beast。
　
　The　Shinga　came；　transparent　at　first；　like　smoke　rising　from　the　ground；　turning；　as　if　unscrewing　itself　from　the　white　sand；　lured　by　the　drawing。　Its　head　reared　as　it　struggled　to　pull　itself　through　the　drawing；　snorting　steam　from　its　flared　nostrils。　Rahl　calmly　watched　as　the　fearsome　beast　rose；　being　solid　as　it　came；　ripping　the　ground　and　pulling　the　sand　up　with　it；　its　powerful　hind　legs　pulling　through　at　last　as　it　reared　with　a　wail。　A　hole　opened；　black　as　pitch。　Sand　around　the　edges　fell　away　into　the　bottomless　blackness。　The　Shinga　floated　above　it。　Piercing　brown　eyes　looked　down　at　Rahl。
　
　〃Thank　you　for　ing；　Carl。〃
　
　The　beast　bent　forward；　nuzzling　its　muzzle　against　the　Master's　bare　chest。　Rahl　came　to　his　feet　and　stroked　the　Shinga's　head　as　it　bucked；　calming　its　impatience　to　be　off。　When　at　last　it　quieted；　Rahl　climbed　onto　its　back　and　held　its　neck　tight。
　
　With　a　flash　of　light；　the　Shinga；　Darken　Rahl　astride　its　back；　dissolved　back　into　the　black　void；　corkscrewing　itself　down　as　it　went。　The　ground　shuddered　and　the　hole　closed　with　a　grating　sound。　The　Garden　of　Life　was　left　in　the　sudden　silence　of　the　night。
　
　From　the　shadows　of　the　trees；　Demmin　Nass　stepped　forward；　forehead　beaded　with　sweat。　〃Safe　journey；　my　friend；〃　he　whispered；　〃safe　journey。〃　
　
　CHAPTER　25
　THE　RAIN　HELD　OFF　for　the　time　being；　but　the　sky　remained　thickly　overcast；　as　it　had　been　for　almost　as　long　as　she　could　remember。　Sitting　alone　on　a　small　bench　against　the　wall　of　another　building；　Kahlan　smiled　to　herself　as　she　watched　Richard　construct　the　roof　of　the　spirit　house。　Sweat　ran　off　his　bare　back；　over　the　swell　of　skis　muscles；　over　the　scars　where　the　gar's　claws　had　raked　his　back。
　
　Richard　was　working　with　Savidlin　and　some　other　men；　teaching　them。　He　had　told　her　he　didn't　need　her　to　translate；　that　working　with　one's　hands　was　universal；　and　if　they　had　to　partly　figure　it　out　themselves；　they　would　understand　it　better　and　have　more　pride　in　what　they　had　done。
　
　Savidlin　kept　jabbering　questions　Richard　didn't　understand。　Richard　just　smiled　and　explained　things　in　words　the　others　couldn't　understand；　using　his　hands　in　a　sign　language　he　invented　as　needed。　Sometimes　the　others　thought　it　hilarious；　and　all　would　end　up　laughing。　They　had　acplished　a　lot　for　men　who　didn't　understand　each　other。
　
　At　first；　Richard　hadn't　told　her　what　he　was　doing；　he　just　smiled　and　said　she　would　have　to　wait　and　see。　First；　he　took　blocks　of　clay；　about　one　by　two　feet；　and　made　wavelike　forms。　Half　the　block's　face　was　a　concave　trough；　like　a　gutter；　the　other　half　along　rounded　hump。　He　hollowed　them　out　and　asked　the　women　who　worked　the　pottery　to　fire　them。
　
　Next；　he　attached　two　uniform　strips　of　wood　to　a　flat　board；　one　to　each　side；　and　put　a　lump　of　soft　clay　into　the　center。　Using　a　rolling　pin；　he　flattened　the　clay；　the　two　strips　of　wood　acting　as　a　thickness　gauge。　Slicing　off　the　excess　at　the　top　and　bottom　of　the　board；　he　ended　up　with　slabs　of　clay　of　a　uniform　thickness　and　size；　which　he　draped　and　smoothed　over　the　forms　the　women　had　fired　for　him。　He　used　a　stick　to　poke　a　hole　in　the　two　upper　corners。
　
　The　women　followed　him　around；　inspecting　his　work　closely；　so　he　enlisted　their　help。　Soon　he　had　a　whole　crew　of　smiling；　chatting　women　making　the　slabs　and　forming　them；　showing　him　how　to　do　it　better。　When　the　slabs　were　dry；　they　could　be　pulled　from　the　forms。　While　these　were　being　fired；　the　women；　by　then　buzzing　with　curiosity；　made　more。　When　they　asked　how　many　they　should　make；　he　said　to　just　keep　making　them。
　
　Richard　left　them　to　their　new　work　and　went　to　the　spirit　house　and　began　making　a　fireplace　out　of　the　mud　bricks　that　were　used　for　the　buildings。　Savidlin　followed　him　around；　trying　to　learn　everything。
　
　〃You're　making　clay　roofing　tiles；　aren't　you？〃　Kahlan　had　asked　him。
　
　〃Yes；〃　he　had　said　with　a　smile。
　
　〃Richard；　I　have　seen　thatched　roofs　that　do　not　leak。〃
　
　〃So　have　L〃
　
　〃Then　why　not　simply　make　their　grass　roofs　over　properly；　so　they　don't　leak？〃
　
　〃Do　you　know　how　to　thatch　roofs？〃
　
　〃No。〃
　
　〃Neither　do　1。　But　I　know　how　to　make　tile　roofs；　so　that's　what　I　have　to　do。〃
　
　While　he　was　building　the　fireplace；　and　showing　Savidlin　how　to　do　it；　he　had　other　men　strip　the　grass　off　the　roof；　leaving　a　skeleton　of　poles　that　ran　the　length　of　the　building；　poles　that　had　been　used　to　tie　down　each　course　of　grass。　Now　they　would　be　used　to　secure　the　clay　tiles。
　
　The　tiles　spanned　from　one　row　of　poles　to　the　next；　the　bottom　edge　laid　on　the　first　pole；　the　top　edge　laid　on　the　second；　with　the　holes　in　the　tiles　used　to　lash　them　tight　to　the　poles。　The　second　course　of　tiles　was　laid　so　its　bottom　edge　overlapped　the　top　of　the　first；　covering　the　holes　that　tied　the　tiles　down；　and　owing　to　their　wavelike　form；　each　interlocked　with　the　one　before。　Because　the　clay　tiles　were　heavier　than　the　grass；　Richard　had　first　reinforced　the　poles　from　underneath　with　supports　running　up　the　pitch　of　the　roof；　with　cross　members　bracing　them。
　
　It　seemed　as　if　half　the　village　was　engaged　in　the　construction。　The　Bird　Man　came　by　from　time　to　time　to　watch　the　work；　pleased　with　what　he　saw。　Sometimes　he　sat　with　Kahlan；　saying　nothing；　sometimes　he　talked　with　her；　but　mostly　he　just　watched。　Occasionally　he　slipped　in　a　question　about　Richard's　character。
　
　Most　of　the　time　while　Richard　was　working；　Kahlan　was　alone。　The　women　weren't　interested　in　her　offers　of　help；　the　men　kept　their　distance；　watching　her　out　of　the　corners　of　their　eyes；　and　the　young　girls　were　too　shy　to　actually　bring　themselves　to　talk　to　her。　Sometimes　she　found　them　standing；　staring　at　her。　When　she　would　ask　their　names；　they　would　only　give　their　shy　smiles；　and　run　away。　The　little　children　wanted　to　approach；　but　their　mothers　kept　them　well　clear。　She　wasn't　allowed　to　help　with　the　cooking；　or　the　making　of　the　tiles。　Her　approaches　were　politely　turned　down　with　the　excuse　that　she　was　an　honored　guest。
　
　She　knew　better。　She　was　a　Confessor。　They　were　afraid　of　her。
　
　Kahlan　was　used　to　the　attitude；　the　looks；　the　whispers。　It　no　longer　bothered　her；　as　it　had　when　she　was　younger。　She　remembered　her　mother　smiling　at　her；　telling　her　it　was　just　the　way　people　were；　and　it　could　not　be　changed；　that　she　must　not　let　it　bring　her　to　bitterness；　and　that　she　would　e　to　be　above　it　someday。　She　had　thought　she　was　beyond　caring；　that　it　didn't　matter　to　her；　that　she　had　accepted　who　she　was；　the　way　life　was；　that　she　could　have　none　of　what　other　people　had；　and　that　it　was　all　right。　That　was　before　she　met　Richard：　before　he　became　her　friend；　accepted　her；　talked　to　her；　treated　her　like　a　normal　person。　Cared　about　her。
　
　But　then；　Richard　didn't　know　what　she　was。
　
　Savidlin；　at　least；　had　been　friendly　to　her。　He　had　taken　her　and　Richard　into　his　small　home　with　him；　his　wife；　Weselan；　and　their　young　boy；　Siddin；　and　had　given　them　a　place　to　sleep　on　the　floor。　Even　if　it　was　because　Savidlin　had　insisted；　Weselan　had　accepted　Kahlan　into　her　home　with　gracious　hospitality；　and　did　not　show　coldness　when　she　had　the　chance；　unseen　by　her　husband；　to　do　so。　At　night；　after　it　was　too　dark　to　work；　Siddin　would　sit　wide…eyed　on　the　floor　with　Kahlan　as　she　told　him　stories　of　kings　and　castles；　of　far…off　lands；　and　of　fierce　beasts。　He　would　crawl　into　her　lap　and　beg　for　more　stories；　and　give　her　hugs。　It　brought　tears　to　her　eyes　now　to　think　of　how　Weselan　let　him　do　that；　without　pulling　him　away；　how　she　had　the　kindness　not　to　show　her　fear。　When　Siddin　went　to　sleep；　she