srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第60部分

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for　any　blank　damnable　repose；　still　the　keen　gleams　carried　him　along。　Advancing　and　receding；　urging；　sprinkling　his　way　like　glaucous　petals　of　ambergris；　they　made　him　rise　after　each　fall　and　continue　toward　the　outskirts　of　the　forest。
　　　　After　a　while；　he　began　to　think　that　the　trees　were　singing　to　him。　The　gleams　which　fraught　the　air　fell　about　him　in　alien　intervals；　like　moist；　blue…green　shines　of　woodsong。　But　he　could　neither　see　nor　hear　them；　they　were　apparent　only　to　the　restless　energy　in　his　veins。　When　in　his　wildness　he　tried　to　pluck　them　as　if　they　were　aliantha；　they　strewed　themselves　beyond　his　reach；　enticing　him　on　and　on　again　after　each　fall　until　he　found　himself　among　the　first　winter…black　trunks。
　　　　As　he　wended　through　the　marge　of　the　forest；　he　felt　an　unexpected　diminution　of　the　cold。　Daylight　was　dying　out　of　the　ashen　sky　behind　him；　and　ahead　lay　nothing　but　the　brooding　bloom　of　the　forest　depths。　Yet　the　winter　seemed　to　ease　rather　than　sharpen　with　the　ing　of　night。　Shambling　onward；　he　soon　discovered　that　the　snow　thinned　as　he　moved　deeper　among　the　trees。　In　a　few　places；　he　even　saw　living　leaves。　They　clung　grimly　to　the　branches；　and　the　trees　in　turn　clung　to　each　other；　interwove　their　branches　and　leaned　on　each　other's　shoulders　like　staunch；　broad；　black…wounded　rades　holding　themselves　erect　together。　Through　the　thinning　snow；　animal　tracks　made　light　whorls　that　dizzied　him　when　he　tried　to　follow　them。　And　the　air　grew　warmer。
　　　　Gradually；　a　dim　light　spread　around　him。　For　a　time；　he　did　not　notice　it　to　wonder　what　it　was；　he　walked　like　a　ruin　along　the　alien　spangles；　and　did　not　see　the　pale　ghost…light　expanding。　But　then　a　wet　strand　of　moss　struck　his　face；　and　he　jerked　into　awareness　of　his　surroundings。
　　　　The　tree　trunks　were　glowing　faintly；　like　moonlight　mystically　translated　out　of　the　blind　sky　into　the　forest。　They　huddled　around　him　in　stands　and　stretches　and　avenues　of　gossamer　illumination；　they　were　poised　on　all　sides　like　white　eyes；　watching　him。　And　through　their　branches　hung　draped；　dangled　curtains　and　hawsers　of　moist　black　moss。
　　　　Then　in　his　madness；　fear　came　upon　him　like　a　shout　of　ancient　forestial　rage；　springing　from　the　unavenged　slaughter　of　the　trees；　and　he　turned　to　flee。　Wailing　lornly；　he　slapped　the　moss　away　from　him　and　tried　to　run。　But　his　ankle　buckled　under　him　at　every　stride。　And　the　music　held　him。　Its　former　allure　became　a　mand；　swinging　him　against　his　will　so　that　his　panic　itself；　his　very　flight；　drove　him　deeper　among　the　trees　and　the　moss　and　the　light。　He　had　lost　all　possession　of　himself。　The　strength　of　the　grass　capered　in　him　like　poison；　the　gleams　danced　through　their　blue…green　intervals；　guiding　him。　He　fled　like　the　hunted；　battering　and　recoiling　against　trunks；　tangling　himself　in　moss；　tearing　his　hair　in　fear。　Animals　scampered　out　of　his　wailing　path；　and　his　ears　echoed　to　the　desolate　cries　of　owls。
　　　　He　was　soon　exhausted。　His　flesh　could　not　bear　any　more。　As　his　wailing　turned　to　frenzy　in　his　throat；　a　large　hairy　moth　the　size　of　a　cormorant　suddenly　fluttered　out　of　the　branches；　veered　erratically；　and　crashed　into　him。　The　impact　knocked　him　to　the　ground　in　a　pile　of　useless　limbs。　For　a　moment；　he　thrashed　weakly。　But　he　could　not　regain　his　breath；　steady　himself；　rise。　After　a　brief　struggle；　he　collapsed　on　the　warm　turf　and　abandoned　himself　to　the　forest。
　　　　For　a　time；　the　gleaming　hovered　over　him　as　if　it　were　curious　about　his　immobility。　Then　it　spangled　away　into　the　depths　of　the　trees；　leaving　him　clapped　in　dolorous　dreams。　While　he　slept；　the　light　mounted　until　the　trunks　seemed　to　be　reaching　toward　him　with　their　illumination；　seeking　a　way　to　absorb　him；　rid　the　ground　of　him；　efface　him　from　the　sight　of　their　hoary　rage。　But　though　they　glowered；　they　did　not　harm　him。　And　before　long　a　feathery　scampering　came　through　the　branches　and　the　moss。　The　sound　seemed　to　reduce　the　trees　to　baleful　insentience；　they　withdrew　their　threatening　as　a　host　of　spiders　began　to　drop　lightly　onto　Covenant's　still　form。
　　　　Guided　by　gleams；　the　spiders　swarmed　over　him　as　if　they　were　searching　for　a　vital　spot　to　place　their　stings。　But　instead　of　stinging　him；　they　gathered　around　his　wounds；　working　together；　they　started　to　weave　their　webs　over　him　wherever　he　was　hurt。
　　　　In　a　short　time；　both　his　feet　were　thickly　wrapped　in　pearl…gray　webs。　The　bleeding　of　his　ankle　was　stanched；　and　its　protruding　bone…splinters　were　covered　with　gentle　protection。　A　score　of　the　spiders　draped　his　frostbitten　cheeks　and　nose　with　their　threads；　while　others　bandaged　his　hands；　and　still　others　webbed　his　forehead；　though　no　injury　was　apparent　there。　Then　they　all　scurried　away　as　quickly　as　they　had　e。
　　　　He　slept　on。　His　dreams　wracked　him　at　odd　moments；　but　for　the　most　part　he　lay　still；　and　so　his　ragged　pulse　grew　steadier；　and　the　helpless　whimper　faded　from　his　breathing。　In　his　gray　webs；　he　looked　like　a　cocooned　wreck　in　which　something　new　was　aborning。
　　　　Much　later　that　night；　he　stirred　and　found　the　keen　gleams　peering　at　him　again　through　his　closed　eyelids。　He　was　still　far　from　consciousness；　but　the　notes　of　the　melody　roused　him　enough　to　hear　feet　shuffling　toward　him　across　the　grass。　〃Ah；　mercy；〃　an　old　woman's　voice　sighed　over　him；　〃mercy。　So　peace　and　silence　e　to　this。　I　left　all　thought　of　such　work…and　yet　my　rest　es　to　this。　Have　mercy。〃
　　　　Hands　cleared　the　gentle　bindings　from　his　head　and　face。
　　　　〃Yes　I　see…for　this　reason　the　Forest　called　me　from　my　old　repose。　Injured…cold…ill。　And　he　has　eaten　amanibhavam。　Ah；　mercy。　How　the　world　intrudes；　when　even　Morinmoss　bestirs　itself　for　such　things　as　this。　Well；　the　grass　has　kept　life　in　him；　whatever　its　penalty。　But　I　mislike　the　look　of　his　thoughts。　He　will　be　a　sore　trial　to　me。〃
　　　　Covenant　heard　the　words；　though　they　did　not　penetrate　the　cold　center　of　his　sleep。　He　tried　to　open　his　eyes；　but　they　kept　themselves　closed　as　if　out　of　fear　of　what　he　might　see。　The　old　woman's　hands　as　they　searched　him　for　other　injuries　filled　him　with　loathing；　yet　he　lay　still；　slumberous；　shackled　in　mad　dreams。　He　had　no　volition　with　which　to　oppose　her。　So　he　lurked　within　himself；　hid　from　her　until　he　could　spring　and　strike　her　down　and　free　himself。
　　　　〃Mercy；〃　she　mumbled　on　to　herself；　〃mercy；　indeed。　Cold…ill　and　broken…minded。　I　left　such　work。　Where　will　I　find　the　strength　for　it？〃　Then　her　deft　fingers　bared　his　left　hand；　and　she　gasped；　〃Melenkurion！　White　gold？　Ah；　by　the　Seven！　How　has　such　a　burden　e　to　me？〃
　　　　The　need　to　protect　his　ring　from　her　drew　him　closer　to　consciousness。　He　could　not　move　his　hand；　could　not　even　clench　his　fist　around　the　ring；　so　he　sought　to　distract　her。
　　　　〃Lena；〃　he　croaked　through　cracked　lips；　without　knowing　what　he　said。　〃Lena？　Are　you　still　alive？〃
　　　　With　an　effort　he　pried　open　his　eyes。
　
　THIRTEEN　
　The　Healer
　
　　　　Still　sleep　shrouded　his　sight；　at　first　he　saw　nothing　except　the　pact；　baleful　light　of　the　trees。　But　his　ring　was　in　danger　from　her。　He　was　jealous　of　his　white　gold。　Sleep　or　no　sleep；　he　did　not　mean　to　give　it　up。　He　strove　to　focus　his　eyes；　strove　to　e　far　enough　out　of　hiding　to　engage　her　attention。
　　　　Then　a　soft　stroke　of　her　hand　swept　the　cobwebs　from　his　eyebrows；　and　he　found　that　he　could　see　her。
　
　〃Lena？〃　he　croaked　again。
　　　　She　was　a　dusky；　loamy　woman；　with　hair　like　tangled　brown　grass；　and　an　old　face　uneven　and　crude　of　outline；　as　if　it　had　been　inexpertly　molded　in　clay。　The　hood　of　a　tattered　fallow…green　cloak　covered　the　crown　of　her　head。　And　her　eyes　were　the　brown　of　soft　mud；　an　unexpected　and　suggestive　brown；　as　if　the　silt　of　some　private　devotion　filled　her　orbs；　effaced　her　pupils…as　if　the　black；　round　nexus　between　her　mind　and　the　outside　world　were　something　that　she　had　surrendered　in　exchange　for　the　rare；　rich　loam　of　power。　Yet　there　was　no。　confidence；　no　surety；　in　her　gaze　as　she　regarded　him；　the　life　which　had　formed　her　eyes　was　far　behind　her。　Now　she　was　old；　timorous。　Her　voice　rustled　like　the　creaking　of　antique　parchment　as　she　asked；　〃Lena？〃

　　　　〃Are　you　still　alive？〃
　　　　〃Am　I…？　No；　I　am　not　your　Lena。　She　is　dead…if　the　look　of　you　tells　any　truth。　Mercy。〃
　　　　Mercy；　he　echoed　soundlessly。
　　　　〃This　is　the　doing　of　the　amanibhavam。　Perhaps　you　have　preserved　your　life　in　eating　it…but　surely　you　know　that　it　is　poison　to　you；　a　food　too　potent　for　human　flesh。〃
　　　　〃Are　you　still　alive？〃　he　repeated　with　cunning　in　his　throat。　Thus　he　disguised　himself；　protected　that　part　of　him　which　had　e　out　of　hiding　and　sleep　to　ward　his　ring。　Only　the　damaged　state　of　his　features　kept　him　from　grinning　at　his　own　slyness。
　　　　〃Perhaps　not；〃　she　sighed。　〃But　let　that　pass。　You　have　no　knowledge　of　what　you　say。　You　are　cold…ill　and　poison…mad…and…and　there　is　a　sickness　in　you　that　I　do　not　prehend。〃
　　　　〃Why　aren't　you　dead？〃
　　　　She　brought　her　face　close　to　his；　and　went　on：　〃Listen　to　me。　I　know　that　the　hand　of　confusion　is　upon　you…but　listen　to　me。　Hear　and　hold　my　words。　You　h