tg.stone of tears- 第128部分

　
　‘Her　people　have　been　killing　any　‘magic　man’　they　could　get　their　hands　on　for　the　last　three　thousand　years。　There　is　no　time　to　give　you　history　lessons。’　She　looked　up　to　his　eyes。　‘Old　habits　spring　to　hand　as　easily　as　a　knife。　Don’t　turn　your　back　on　her。　Sooner　or　later；　she　is　going　to　try　to　kill　you。’
　
　Her　quiet　tone　unexpectedly　raised　bumps　on　his　flesh。　‘I’ll　try　to　keep　myself　alive；　Sister；　so　you　can　deliver　me　to　the　palace　and　at　last　be　free　of　your　onerous　charge。’
　
　Richard　hurried　toward　the　pond　and　caught　up　with　Du　Chaillu　as　she　was　walking　through　the　reeds。　‘Why　did　you　call　that　your　prayer　dress？’
　
　Du　Chaillu　held　her　arms　out；　letting　the　breeze　ruffle　the　strips　of　cloth　on　her　dress。　‘These　are　prayers。’
　
　‘What　are　prayers？　You　mean　the　strips　of　cloth？’
　
　She　nodded。　‘Each　is　a　prayer。　When　the　wind　blows；　and　they　fly；　each　sends　a　prayer　to　the　spirits。’
　
　‘And　what　do　you　pray　for？’
　
　‘Every　one　of　these　prayers　is　the　same；　from　the　heart　of　the　person　who　gave　me　their　prayer。　They　are　all　prayers　to　have　our　land　returned　to　us。’
　
　‘Your　land？　But　you　are　in　your　land。’
　
　‘No。　This　is　where　we　live；　but　it　is　not　our　land。　Many　ages　ago；　our　land　was　taken　by　the　magic　men。　They　banished　us　here。’
　
　They　reached　the　edge　of　the　pond。　Puffs　of　breeze　drew　up　ripples　in　dark　patches。　The　bank　was　grassy　with　thick　patches　of　rushes　to　each　side；　extending　out　into　the　water。
　
　The　magic　men　took　your　land？　What　land？’
　
　They　took　our　land　from　our　ancestors。’　She　pointed　in　the　direction　of　the　Valley　of　the　Lost。　The　land　on　the　other　side　of　the　Majendie。　I　was　going　to　our　land；　with　our　prayers；　to　ask　the　spirits　if　they　would　help　our　land　be　returned　to　us。　But　the　Majendie　caught　me；　and　I　was　not　able　to　take　our　prayers　to　the　spirits。’
　
　‘How　will　the　spirits　return　your　land　to　you？’
　
　She　shrugged。　The　old　words　say　only　that　we　must　send　one　every　year　to　our　land；　to　pray　to　the　spirits；　and　if　we　do；　our　land　will　be　returned。’　She　untied　her　belt　and　slipped　it　to　the　ground。　With　unsettling　grace；　she　tossed　the　green…handled　knife　aside；　sticking　it　in　the　round　end　of　a　branch　on　a　log。
　
　‘How？’
　
　She　gave　him　a　curious　frown。　‘By　sending　us　our　master。’
　
　‘I　thought　you　were　the　Baka　Ban　Mana；　those　without　masters。’
　
　She　shrugged。　‘Because　the　spirits　have　not　sent　us　one　yet。’
　
　While　Richard　was　puzzling　over　this；　she　reached　down；　took　hold　of　her　dress；　and　pulled　it　off　over　her　head。
　
　‘What　do　you　think　you’re　doing！’
　
　She　frowned。　‘It　is　me　that　I　must　wash；　not　my　dress。’
　
　‘Well；　not　in　front　of　me！’
　
　She　looked　down　at　herself。　‘You　have　already　seen　me。　I　have　not　grown　any　different　since　this　morning。’　She　looked　up　at　him。　‘Your　face　is　red　again。’
　
　‘Over　there。’　He　pointed。　‘Go　on　the　other　side　of　the　rushes。　You　on　one　side　and　me　on　the　other。’
　
　He　turned　his　back　to　her。
　
　‘But　we　have　only　one　soap。’
　
　‘Well；　you　can　throw　it　to　me　when　you’re　through。’
　
　She　came　around　to　the　front　of　him。　He　tried　to　turn　again　but　she　followed　him　around；　grabbing　at　his　buttons。
　
　‘I　cannot　scrub　my　own　back。　And　it　is　not　fair。　You　have　seen　me；　so　I　should　see　you。　That　is　why　you　are　turning　red；　because　you　have　not　been　fair。　This　will　make　you　feel　better。’
　
　He　slapped　her　hands　away。　‘Stop　it。　Du　Chaillu；　where　I　e　from　this　is　not　proper。　Men　and　women　do　not　bathe　together。　It’s　just　not　done。’　He　turned　his　back　to　her　again。
　
　‘Not　even　my　third　husband　is　as　shy　as　you。’
　
　‘Third！　You　have　had　three　husbands？’
　
　‘No。　I　have　five。’
　
　Richard　stiffened。　‘Have？’　He　turned　to　her。　‘What　do　you　mean　‘have’？’
　
　She　looked　at　him　as　if　he　had　asked　if　trees　grew　in　the　forest。　‘I　have　five　husbands。　Five　husbands　and　my　children。’
　
　‘And　how　many　of　those　do　you　have？’
　
　‘Three。　Two　girls；　and　a　boy。’　A　wistful　smile　came　to　her。　‘It　is　a　long　time　since　I　have　held　them。’　Her　smile　turned　sad。　‘My　poor　babies　will　have　cried　every　night；　thinking　I　am　dead。　No　one　ever　returned　from　the　Majendie　before。’　She　grinned。　‘My　husbands　will　be　anxious　to　draw　lots　to　see　who　will　be　the　first　to　try　to　give　me　another　child。’　Her　smile　faded　and　her　voice　trailed　off。　‘But　I　guess　a　Majendie　dog　has　already　done　that。’
　
　Richard　handed　her　the　soap。　‘It　will　all　turn　out　fine。　You’ll　see。　Go　bathe。　I’ll　go　on　the　other　side　of　the　rushes。’
　
　He　relaxed　in　the　cool　water；　listening　to　her　splash；　waiting　for　her　to　finish　with　the　soap。　A　mist　thickened　over　the　pond；　stealing　slowly；　silently；　into　the　surrounding　trees。
　
　‘I’ve　never　heard　of　a　woman　having　more　than　one　husband。　Do　all　the　Baka　Ban　Mana　women　have　more　than　one　husband？’
　
　She　giggled。　‘No。　Only　me。’
　
　‘Why　you？’
　
　The　water　stopped　splashing。　‘Because　I　wear　the　prayer　dress；’　she　said；　as　if　it　should　be　self…evident。
　
　Richard　rolled　his　eyes。　‘Well；　what　does　。。。’
　
　She　came　swimming　through　the　rushes　toward　him。　‘Before　you　can　have　the　soap；　you　must　wash　my　back。’
　
　Richard　let　out　an　aggravated　sigh。　‘All　right；　if　I　wash　your　back；　will　you　then　go　back　on　your　side？’
　
　She　presented　her　back　to　him。　‘If　you　do　a　proper　job。’
　
　When　she　was　satisfied；　she　finally　went　back　to　get　dressed　while　he　washed。　She　told　him　over　the　chirp　of　bugs　and　the　trill　of　frogs　that　she　was　hungry。　He　was　pulling　his　pants　on　while　she　called　for　him　to　hurry　so　they　could　eat。
　
　He　threw　his　shirt　over　his　shoulder　and　ran　to　catch　up　with　her　as　she　headed　toward　the　smell　of　cooking。　She　looked　much　better　clean。　Her　hair　looked　like　a　normal　person’s；　instead　of　a　wild　animal’s。　She　looked　no　more　like　a　savage；　but　somehow　noble。
　
　It　wasn’t　dark　yet；　but　getting　close　to　it。　The　mist　that　had　formed　over　the　pond　was　drifting　in　around　them　from　behind。　The　trees　were　disappearing　in　the　gathering　fog。
　
　As　the　two　of　them　stepped　into　the　ring　of　light　around　the　fire；　Sister　Verna　stood。　Richard　was　putting　his　right　arm　through　his　sleeve　when　he　froze　at　the　wide…eyed　look　on　Sister　Verna’s　face。　She　was　staring　at　his　chest；　at　the　thing　he　had　never　let　her　see　before。
　
　At　the　scar。　At　the　handprint　burned　there。　At　the　handprint　that　was　a　constant　reminder　of　who　fathered　him。
　
　Sister　Verna　was　as　white　as　a　spirit。　Her　voice　was　so　soft　he　had　to　strain　to　hear　her。　‘Where　did　you　get　that？’
　
　Du　Chaillu　was　staring　at　the　scar；　too。
　
　Richard　pulled　his　shirt　closed。　‘I　told　you　before；　Darken　Rahl　burned　me　with　his　hand。　You　said　I　was　only　having　visions。’
　
　Her　gaze　slowly　rose　to　meet　his。　Her　eyes　were　filled　with　something　he　had　never　seen　in　them　before。　Unbridled　fear。
　
　‘Richard；’　she　whispered；　‘you　must　not　show　anyone　at　the　palace　what　you　have　upon　you。　Except　the　Prelate。　She　may　know　what　to　do。　You　must　show　her。　But　no　one　else。’　She　stepped　closer。　‘Do　you　understand？　No　one！’
　
　Richard　slowly　buttoned　his　shirt。　‘Why？’
　
　‘Because；　if　you　do；　they　will　kill　you。　That　is　the　mark　of　the　Nameless　One。’　Her　tongue　wet　her　lips。　‘Sins　of　the　father。’
　
　From　the　distance　came　the　plaintive　howl　of　wolves。　Du　Chaillu　shuddered　and　hugged　herself　as　she　stared　off　into　the　deepening　fog。
　
　‘People　will　die　tonight；’　Du　Chaillu　whispered。
　
　Richard　frowned　at　her。　‘What　are　you　talking　about？’
　
　‘Wolves。　When　wolves　howl　like　that　in　the　mist；　they　are　foretelling　that　people　are　to　die　violently　in　the　night；　in　the　mist。’
　
　
　CHAPTER　44
　
　They　materialized　out　of　fog　and　mist；　the　white　fangs　of　death。　The　startled　prey；　at　first　immobilized　by　bone…chilling　fright；　jumped　to　flee　before　the　white　death。　Fangs　of　white　steel　ripped　into　them　without　mercy　as　they　bolted　for　their　lives。　Death　squeals　tore　the　night　air　with　their　terror。　Hysteria　sent　them　running　heedlessly　onto　the　waiting　cold；　white　steel。
　
　Fearless　men　tasted　fear　before　they　died。
　
　Pandemonium　spread　on　a　wild　uproar　of　noise。　The　ringing　chime　of　steel；　the　splintering　of　wood；　the　ripping　of　canvas；　the　groan　of　leather；　the　pop　of　bones；　the　whoosh　of　fire；　the　crash　of　wagons；　the　thuds　of　flesh　and　bone　hitting　ground；　and　the　screams　of　man　and　beast　all　joined　into　one　long　cacophony　of　terror。　The　wave　of　white　death　drove　the　tumult　before　it。
　
　The　sharp　smell　of　blood　washed　through　the　air；　over　the　sweet　aroma　of　blazing　wood；　the　acrid　tang　of　igniting　lamp　oil；　the　smoky　smack　of　flaming　pitch；　and　the　gagging　stench　of　burning　fur　and　flesh。
　
　What　wasn’t　wet　with　the　cold　mist　was　greasy…slick　with　hot　blood。
　
　The　white　steel　fangs　now　were　coated　with　blood　and　gore；　white　snow　became　a　soggy　mat　of　red　splashes。　The　cold　air　was　seared　by　gouts　of　flame　that　leapt　up　to　turn　the　white　fog　an　incandescent　orange。　Sinister；　dark　clouds　of　smoke　hugged　the　ground　while　the　sky　burned　overhead。
　
　Arrows　zipped　past；　spears　arced　through　the　air；　splintered　lances　spun　away　into　the　mist；　and　severed　pike　heads　whirled　off　into　the　darkness。　Remnants　of　torn　tents　flapped　and　fluttered　as　if　battered　by　a　furious　storm。　Swords　rose　and　fell　in　waves；　driven　by　the　grunts　that　acpanied　frantic　effort。
　
　Men　ran　in　every　direction；　like　frenzied　ants。　Some　tumbled　to　the　ground；　spilling　their　viscera　across　the　snow。　One　of　the　wounded；　blinded　by　blood；　stumbled　aimlessly　until　a　white　shadow　swept　by；　a　spirit　of　death；　cutting　him　down。　A　wagon　wheel　bounced　past；　its　progress　quickly　obscured　from　view　by　dark　curtains　of　acrid　smoke　that　drifted　past。
　
　No　alarm　had　been　raised；　the　sentries　were　long　dead。　Few　in　camp　had　realized　what　was　happening　until　it　was　upon　them。
　
　The　camp　of　the　Imperial　Order　had　lately　been　a　place　of　noise　and　wild　celebration；　and　for　many；　in　their　drunken　state；　it　was　hard　to　tell　that　anything　of　consequence　was　happening。　Many　of　the　men；　poisoned　by　the　bandu　in　the　ale；　lay　sick　around　fires。　Many　were　so　weak　they　burned　to　death　without　trying　to　escape　flaming　tents。　Others　were　in　such　a　drunken　stupor　that　they　actually　smiled　at　the　men　who　drove　swords　through　their　guts。
　
　Even　the　ones　who　were　not　drunk；　or　who　were　not　drunk　to　the　point　of　dullness；　didn’t　truly　appreciate　what　was　happening。　Their　camp　was　often　a　place　of　raucous　noise　and　confusion。　Huge　bonfires　roared　throughout　the　night；　for　warmth　and　as　gathering　places。　They　were　generally　the　only　reference　points　in　the　disorderly　layout；　so　the　fires　of　destruction　caused　little　concern；　except　in　the　immediate　area。
　
　Among　D’Harans；　fighting　in　the　camps　was　simply　part　of　the　revelry；　and　men　screaming　when　they　were　stabbed　in　altercations　was　not　noteworthy。　What　one　had　was　only　his　if　he　was　fierce　enough　to　keep　it　from　others　who　were　always　ready　to　take　it。　Alliances　among　D’Harans　were　shifting　sands　that　could　last　a　lifetime　or；　mo