mck.harpistinthewind-第50部分

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according　to　all　legend　they　wound　away　from　the　earth　forever。
　　　　　　　He　bowed　his　head　as　if　he　were　walking　into　a　hard　wind　and　began　to　climb。　The　walls　around　him　were　of　the　lustrous　burning　black　between　stars。　The　gold　stairs　ringed　around　the　core　of　the　tower；　slanting　gently　upward。　As　he　rounded　it　once　and　began　the　second　spiral；　the　black　gave　way　to　a　rich　crimson。　The　winds；　he　realized；　were　no　longer　the　thin；　angry　winds　of　the　day；　their　voices　were　forceful；　sinewy。　The　stairs　beneath　his　feet　seemed　carved　of　ivory。
　　　　　　　He　heard　the　voices　of　the　winds　change　again　at　the　third　spiral。　They　held　tones　he　had　harped　to　in　the　northern　wastes；　and　his　hands　yearned　to　match　their　singing。　But　harping　would　be　deadly；　so　he　kept　his　hands　still。　At　the　fourth　level　the　walls　seemed　of　solid　gold　and　the　stairs　carved　out　of　star　fire。　They　wound　endlessly　upward；　the　plain；　the　broken　city　grew　farther　and　farther　away　from　him。　The　winds　grew　colder　as　he　climbed。　At　the　ninth　level　he　wondered　if　he　were　climbing　a　mountain。　The　winds；　the　stairs；　and　the　walls　around　him　were　clear　as　melted　snow。　The　spirals　were　getting　smaller；　and　he　thought　he　must　be　near　the　top。　But　the　next　level　plunged　him　into　an　eerie　darkness；　as　if　the　stairs　were　carved　out　of　night　wind。　It　seemed　interminable；　but　when　he　came　out　of　it　again；　the　moon　was　exactly　where　he　had　seen　it　last。　He　continued　upward。　The　walls　turned　a　beautiful　dawn…grey；　the　stairs　were　pale　rose。　The　winds　had　a　cutting　edge；　merciless　and　deadly。　They　were　prodding　him　out　of　his　own　shape。　He　kept　walking；　half…man；　half…wind；　and　the　colors　around　him　changed　again　and　again；　until　he　realized；　as　others　had　realized　before　him；　that　he　could　spiral　through　them　changing　forever。
　　　　　　　He　stopped。　The　city　was　so　far　beneath　him　he　could　no　longer　see　it　in　the　dark。　Looking　up；　he　could　see　the　elusive　top　of　the　tower　very　near　him。　But　it　had　been　that　near　him；　it　seemed；　for　hours。　He　wondered　if　he　were　walking　through　a　piece　of　a　dream　that　had　stood　among　the　abandoned　stones　for　thousands　of　years。　Then　he　realized　it　was　not　a　dream；　but　an　illusion；　an　ancient　riddle　bound　to　someone's　mind；　and　he　had　carried　the　answer　to　it　with　him　all　the　way。
　　　　　　　He　said　softly；　〃Death。〃
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　XVIII
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　THE　WALLS　ROSE　AROUND　HIM；　CIRCLED　HIM。
　　　　　　　Twelve　windows　opened　through　midnight　blue　stone　to　the　restless；　murmuring　winds。　He　felt　a　touch　and　turned；　startled　back　into　his　body。
　　　　　　　The　High　One　stood　before　him。　He　had　the　wizard's　scarred　hands；　and　the　harpist's　fine；　worn　face。　But　his　eyes　were　neither　the　harpist's　nor　the　wizard's。　They　were　the　falcon's　eyes；　fierce；　vulnerable；　frighteningly　powerful。　They　held　Morgon　motionless；　half…regretting　that　he　had　spoken　the　name　that　had　turned　in　his　mind　after　all　that　time　to　show　its　dark　side。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　he　had　no　courage　for　questions；　his　mouth　was　too　dry　for　speaking。
　　　　　　　He　whispered　into　the　void　of　the　High　One's　silence；　〃I　had　to　find　you。。。　I　have　to　understand。〃
　　　　　　　〃You　still　don't。〃　His　voice　sounded　shadowy　with　winds。　Then　he　bound　the　awesomeness　of　his　power　somewhere　within　him　and　became　the　harpist；　quiet；　familiar；　whom　Morgon　could　question。　The　moment's　transition　bound　Morgon's　voice　again；　for　it　loosed　a　conflict　of　emotion。　He　tried　to　control　them。　But　as　the　High　One　touched　the　stars　at　his　side　and　his　back；　bringing　them　irrevocably　into　shape；　his　own　hands　rose；　caught　the　harpist's　arms　and　stilled　him。
　　　　　　　〃Why？〃
　　　　　　　The　falcon's　eyes　held　him　again；　he　could　not　look　away。　He　saw；　as　if　he　were　reading　memories　within　the　dark　eyes；　the　silent；　age…old　game　the　High　One　had　played；　now　with　Earth…Masters；　now　with　Ghisteslwchlohm；　now　with　Morgon　himself；　a　ceaseless　tapestry　of　riddles　with　some　threads　as　old　as　time　and　others　spun　at　a　step　across　the　threshold　into　a　wizard's　chamber；　at　a　change　of　expression　on　the　Star…Bearer's　face。　His　fingers　tightened；　feeling　bone。　An　Earth…Master　moved　alone　out　of　the　shadows　of　some　great；　unfinished　war。。。　hid　for　thousands　of　years；　now　a　leaf　on　a　rich；　matted　forest　floor　of　dead　leaves；　now　the　brush　of　sunlight　down　the　flank　of　a　pine。　Then；　for　a　thousand　years；　he　took　a　wizard's　face；　and　for　another　thousand；　a　harpist's　still；　secret　face；　gazing　back　at　the　twisted　shape　of　power　out　of　its　own　expressionless　eyes。　〃Why？〃　he　whispered　again；　and　saw　himself　in　Hed；　sitting　at　the　dock　end；　picking　at　a　harp　he　could　not　play；　with　the　shadow　of　the　High　One's　harpist　flung　across　him。　The　sea　wind　or　the　High　One's　hand　bared　the　stars　at　his　hairline。　The　harpist　saw　them；　a　promise　out　of　a　past　so　old　it　had　buried　his　name。　He　could　not　speak；　he　spun　his　silence　into　riddles。。。
　　　　　　　〃But　why？〃　Tears　or　sweat　were　burning　in　his　eyes。　He　brushed　at　them；　his　hands　locked　once　more　on　the　High　One's　arms；　as　if　to　keep　his　shape。　〃You　could　have　killed　Ghisteslwchlohm　with　a　thought　Instead　you　served　bun。　You。　You　gave　me　to　him。　Were　you　his　harpist　so　long　you　had　forgotten　your　own　name？〃
　　　　　　　The　High　One　moved；　Morgon's　own　arms　were　caught　in　an　inflexible　grip。　〃Think。　You're　the　riddler。〃
　　　　　　　〃I　played　the　game　you　challenged　me　to。　But　I　don't　know　why。。。〃
　　　　　　　〃Think。　I　found　you　in　Hed；　innocent；　ignorant；　oblivious　of　your　own　destiny。　You　couldn't　even　harp。　Who　in　this　realm　was　there　to　wake　you　to　power？〃
　　　　　　　〃The　wizards；〃　he　said　between　his　teeth。　〃You　could　have　stopped　the　destruction　of　Lungold。　You　were　there。　The　wizards　could　have　survived　in　freedom；　trained　me　for　whatever　protection　you　need。。。〃
　　　　　　　〃No。　If　I　had　used　power　to　stop　that　battle；　I　would　have　battled　Earth…Masters　long　before　I　was　ready。　They　would　have　destroyed　me。　Think　of　their　faces。　Remember　them。　The　faces　of　the　Earth…Masters　you　saw　in　Erlenstar　Mountain。　I　am　of　them。　The　children　they　once　loved　were　buried　beneath　Isig　Mountain。　How　could　you；　with　all　your　innocence；　have　understood　them？　Their　longing　and　their　lawlessness？　In　all　the　realm；　who　was　there　to　teach　you　that？　You　wanted　a　choice。　I　gave　it　to　you。　You　could　have　taken　the　shape　of　power　you　learned　from　Ghisteslwchlohm：　lawless；　destructive；　loveless。　Or　you　could　have　swallowed　darkness　until　you　shaped　it；　understood　it；　and　still　cried　out　for　something　more。　When　you　broke　free　of　Ghisteslwchlohm's　power；　why　was　it　me　you　hunted；　instead　of　him？　He　took　the　power　of　land…law　from　you。　I　took　your　trust；　your　love。　You　pursued　what　you　valued　most。。。〃
　　　　　　　Morgon's　hands　opened；　closed　again。　His　breath　was　beginning　to　rack　through　him。　He　caught　it；　stilled　it　long　enough　to　shape　one　final　question。　〃What　is　it　you　want　of　me？〃
　　　　　　　〃Morgon；　think。〃　The　even；　familiar　voice　was　suddenly　gentle；　almost　inaudible。　〃You　can　shape　the　wild　heart　of　Osterland；　you　can　shape　wind。　You　saw　my　son；　dead　and　buried　in　Isig　Mountain。　You　took　the　stars　of　your　own　destiny　from　him。　And　in　all　your　power　and　anger；　you　found　your　way　here；　to　name　me。　You　are　my　land…heir。〃
　　　　　　　Morgon　was　silent。　He　was　gripping　the　High　One　as　if　the　tower　floor　had　suddenly　vanished　under　him。　He　heard　his　own　voice；　oddly　toneless；　from　a　distance。　〃Your　heir。〃
　　　　　　　〃You　are　the　Star…Bearer；　the　heir　foreseen　by　the　dead　of　Isig；　for　whom　I　have　been　waiting　for　centuries　beyond　hope。　Where　did　you　think　the　power　you　have　over　land…law　sprang　from？〃
　　　　　　　〃I　didn't。。。　I　wasn't　thinking。〃　His　voice　had　dropped　to　a　whisper。　He　thought　of　Hed；　then。　〃You　are　giving　me。。。　you　are　giving　Hed　back　to　me。〃
　　　　　　　〃I　am　giving　you　the　entire　realm　when　I　die。　You　seem　to　love　it；　even　all　its　wraiths　and　thick…skulled　farmers　and　deadly　winds。。。〃　He　stopped；　as　a　sound　broke　out　of　Morgon。　His　face　was　scored　with　tears；　as　riddles　wove　their　pattern　strand　by　gleaming　strand　around　the　heart　of　the　tower。　His　hands　loosened；　he　slid　to　the　High　One's　feet　and　crouched　there；　his　head　bowed；　his　scarred　hands　closed；　held　against　his　heart。　He　could　not　speak；　he　did　not　know　what　language　of　light　and　darkness　the