Patricia McKillip - Riddlemaster 3 - Harpist In The Wind

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2024-12-02 0 0 635.88KB 328 页 5.9玖币

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Harpist In The

Wind

Patricia A. McKillip

For all who waited, and especially

for STEVE DONALDSON,

who always called at the right time

for GAIL,

who reminded me of the difference

between logic and grace

and for KATHY,

who waited the longest.

The Star-Bearer and Raederle of An sat on the crown

of the highest of the seven towers of Anuin. The white

stone fell endlessly away from them, down to the summer-

green slope the great house sat on. The city itself spilled

away from the slope to the sea. The sky revolved above

them, a bright, changeless blue, its expression broken

only by the occasional spiral of a hawk. Morgon had not

moved for hours. The morning sun had struck his profile

on the side of the embrasure he sat in and shifted his

shadow without his notice to the other side. He was aware

of Raederle only as some portion of the land around him,

of the light wind, and the crows sketching gleaming black

lines through the green orchards in the distance:

something peaceful and remote, whose beauty stirred

every once in a while through his thoughts.

His mind was spinning endless threads of conjecture

that snarled constantly around his ignorance. Stars,

children with faces of stone, the fiery, broken shards of a

bowl he had smashed in Astrin’s hut, dead cities, a dark-

haired shape-changer, a harpist, all resolved under his

probing into answerless riddles. He gazed back at his own

life, at the history of the realm, and picked at facts like

potshards, trying to piece them together. Nothing fit;

nothing held; he was cast constantly out of his memories

into the soft summer air.

He moved finally, stiffly as a stone deciding to move,

and slid his hands over his eyes. Flickering shapes like

ancient beasts without names winged into light behind his

eyelids. He cleared his mind again, let images drift and

flow into thought until they floundered once again on the

shoals of impossibility.

The vast blue sky broke into his vision, and the

swirling maze of streets and houses below. He could think

no longer; he leaned against his shadow. The silence

within the slab of ancient stone eased through him; his

thoughts, worn meaningless, became quiet again.

He saw a soft leather shoe then and a flicker of leaf-

green cloth. He turned his head and found Raederle sitting

cross-legged on the ledge beside him.

He leaned over precariously and drew her against

him. He laid his face against her long windblown hair and

saw the burning strands beneath his closed eyes. He was

silent for a time, holding her tightly, as if he sensed a

wind coming that might sweep them out of their high,

dangerous resting place.

She stirred a little; her face lifting to kiss him, and

his arms loosened reluctantly. “I didn’t realize you were

here,” he said, when she let him speak.

“I guessed that, somehow, after the first hour or so.

What were you thinking about?”

“Everything.” He nudged a chip of mortar out of a

crack and flicked it into the trees below. A handful of

crows startled up, complaining. “I keep battering my

brains against my past, and I always come to the same

conclusion. I don’t know what in Hel’s name I am doing.”

She shifted, drawing her knees up, and leaned back

against the stone beside her to face him. Her eyes filled

with light, like sea-polished amber, and his throat

constricted suddenly, too full of words. “Answering

riddles. You told me that that is the only thing you can

keep doing, blind and deaf and dumb, and not knowing

where you are going.”

“I know.” He searched more mortar out of the crack

and threw it so hard he nearly lost his balance. “I know.

But I have been here in Anuin with you for seven days,

and I can’t find one reason or one riddle to compel me out

of this house. Except that if we stay here much longer, we

will both die.”

“That’s one,” she said soberly.

“I don’t know why my life is in danger because of

three stars on my face. I don’t know where the High One

is. I don’t know what the shape-changers are, or how I can

help a cairn of children who have turned into stone at the

bottom of a mountain. I know of only one place to begin

finding answers. And the prospect is hardly appealing.”

“Where?”

“In Ghisteslwchlohm’s mind.”

She stared at him, swallowing, and then frowned

down at the sun-warmed stone, “Well.” Her voice shook

almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t think we could stay here

forever. But, Morgon—”

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摘要：

HarpistInTheWindPatriciaA.McKillipForallwhowaited,andespeciallyforSTEVEDONALDSON,whoalwayscalledattherighttimeforGAIL,whoremindedmeofthedifferencebetweenlogicandgraceandforKATHY,whowaitedthelongest.1TheStar-BearerandRaederleofAnsatonthecrownofthehighestoftheseventowersofAnuin.Thewhitestonefellendles...

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Patricia McKillip - Riddlemaster 3 - Harpist In The Wind

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