tg.wizardfirstrule-第84部分
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Rahl's blue eyes took it all in as he approached the boy。 He stopped in front of him； by the mouth of the feeding horn。 There was a glaze in his eyes as he looked down to Carl's upturned face。
〃Are you sure about this； Carl？〃 he asked hoarsely。 〃Can I trust you with my life？〃
〃I swear my loyalty to you； Father Rahl。 Forever。〃
Rahl's eyes closed as he drew a sharp breath。 Sweat beaded on his face； stuck his robes to his skin。 He could feel waves of heat rolling off the crucible。 He added the heat of his magic to the vessel； to keep its contents boiling。
Softly； he began chanting the sacred incantations in the ancient language。 Charms and spells whispered their haunting sounds in the air。 Rahl's back arched as he felt power surging through his body； taking him with hot promise。 He shook as he chanted； offering up his words to the spirit of the boy。
His eyes opened partway； the visage of wanton passion burning in them。 His breathing was ragged； his hands trembled slightly。 He gazed down at the boy。
〃Carl；〃 he said in a husky whisper； 〃I love you。〃
〃I love you； Father Rahl。〃
Rahl's eyes slid closed。 〃Put your mouth over the horn； my boy； and hold tight。〃
While Carl did as he was told； Rahl chanted the last charm； his heart pounding。 The torches hissed and spit while they burned； the sound intertwining with that of the spell。
And then he poured the contents of the crucible into the horn。
Carl's eyes snapped wide； and he both inhaled and swallowed involuntarily when the molten lead hit him； searing into his body。
Darken Rahl shuddered with excitement。 He let the empty crucible slip from his hands to the ground。
The Master went on to the next set of incantations； the sending of the boy's spirit to the underworld。 He said the words； every word in the proper order； opening the way to the underworld； opening the void； opening the dark emptiness。
As his hands extended upward； dark forms swirled around him。 Howls filled the night air with the terror of their calls。 Darken Rahl went to the cold stone altar； knelt in front of it； stretched his arm across it； put his face to it。 He spoke the words in the ancient language that would link the boy's spirit to him。 For a short while he cast the needed spells。 When finished； he stood； fists at his side； his face flushed。 Demmin Nass stepped forward； out of the shadows。
Rahl's vision focused on his friend。 〃Demmin；〃 he whispered； his voice coarse。
〃Master Rahl；〃 he answered in greeting； bowing his head。
Rahl stepped to Demmin； his face drawn and sweat…streaked。 〃Take his body from the ground； and put it on the altar。 Use the bucket of water to wash him clean。〃 He glanced down at the short sword Demmin wore。 〃Crack his skull for me； no more； and then you may stand back； and wait。〃
He passed his hands over Demmin's head； the air about shuddered。 〃This spell will protect you。 Wait for me then； until I return； just before dawn。 I will need you。〃 He looked away lost in his thoughts。
Demmin did as asked； going about the grim task while Rahl continued to chant the strange words； rocking back and forth； his eyes closed； as if in a trance。
Demmin wiped his sword clean on his muscular forearm and returned it to its scabbard。 He took one last look at Rahl； who was still lost in the trance。 〃I hate this part；〃 he muttered to himself。 He turned and went back into the shadows of the trees； leaving the Master to his work。
Darken Rahl went to stand behind the altar； breathing in deeply。 Suddenly； he cast his hand down at the fire pit； and flames leapt up with a roar。 He held out both hands； fingers contorted； and the iron bowl lifted and floated over； setting itself down on the fire。 Rahl pulled his curved knife from its sheath and laid it on the boy's wet belly。 He slipped his robes from his shoulders and let them drop to the ground； kicking them back out of the way。 Sweat covered his lean form； ran down his neck in rivulets。
His skin was smooth and taut over his well…proportioned muscles； except on his upper left thigh； across part of his hip and abdomen； and the left side of his erect sex。 That was where the scar was； where the flames sent by the old wizard had tasted him： the flames of the wizard's fire that had consumed his father as he stood at his right hand； flames that had licked him also； giving him the pain of the wizard's fire。
It had been a fire unlike any other； burning； sticking； searing； alive with purpose； as he had screamed until he had lost his voice。
Darken Rahl licked his fingers； and reaching down ran them wetly over the bumpy scars。 How he had so badly wanted to do that when he had been burned； how he had so badly wanted to do it to stop the terror of the unrelenting pain and burning。
But the healers wouldn't let him。 They said he mustn't touch the burn； and so they bound him by his wrists； to keep him from reaching down。 He had licked his fingers and instead rubbed them on his lips as he shook； to try to stop his crying； and on his eyes to try to wipe away the vision of having seen his father burned alive。 For months he had cried and panted and begged to touch and soothe the burns； but they would not let him。
How he hated the wizard； how he wanted to kill him。 How he wanted to push his hand into the wizard's living body while he looked into his eyes…and pull his heart out。
Darken Rahl took his fingers away from the scar and； picking up the knife； put the thoughts of that time out of his mind。 He was a man now。 He was the Master。 He put his mind back to the matter at hand。 He wove the proper spell； and then plunged the knife into the boy's chest。
With care； he removed the heart and put it into the iron bowl of boiling water。 Next he removed the brain and added it to the bowl。 Last； he took the testicles and added them； too； then； finally； he put the knife down。 Blood mixed with the sweat that covered him。 It dripped from his elbows。
He laid his arms across the body and offered prayers to the spirits。 His face lifted to the dark windows above as he closed his eyes and continued 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 b
