cb.imajica2-第20节

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　〃Will　you　accept　the　blessing　of　Our　Lady　before　you　die？〃　he　said。
　Somebody　had　already　begun　a　prayer　behind　him；　Gentle　heard；　and　he　glanced　around　to　see　that　there　were　another　three　assassins　there；　two　of　them　armed　in　the　same　lunatic　fashion；　the　third…a　girl　no　more　than　Huzzah's　age；　bare…breasted；　doe…faced…darting　between　the　rows　uncovering　statues　as　she　went。　No　two　were　alike。　There　were　Virgins　of　stone；　Virgins　of　wood；　Virgins　of　plaster。　There　were　Virgins　so　crudely　carved　they　were　barely　recognizable；　and　others　so　finely　hewn　and　finished　they　looked　ready　to　draw　breath。　Though　minutes　before；　Gentle　had　laid　his　hand　on　one　of　this　number　without　harm；　the　spectacle　faintly　sickened　him。　Did　Athanasius　know　something　about　the　condition　of　Maestros　that　he；　Gentle；　didn't？　Might　he　somehow　be　subjugated　by　this　image；　the　way　in　an　earlier　life　he'd　been　enthralled　by　the　sight　of　a　woman　naked；　or　promising　nakedness？
　Whatever　mystery　was　here；　he　wasn't　about　to　let　Athanasius　murder　him　while　he　puzzled　it　out。　He　drew　breath　and　put　his　hand　to　his　mouth　as　Athanasius　drew　a　weapon　of　his　own　and　started　towards　him　at　speed。　The　breath　proved　faster　than　the　blade。　Gentle　unleashed　the　pneuma；　not　at　Athanasius　directly；　but　at　the　ground　in　front　of　him。　The　stones　it　struck　flew　into　pieces；　and　Athanasius　fell　back　as　the　fusillade　hit　him。　He　dropped　his　knife　and　clamped　his　hands　to　his　face；　yelling　as　much　in　rage　as　in　pain。　If　there　was　a　mand　in　his　clamor　the　assassins　missed　or　ignored　it。　They　kept　a　respectful　distance　from　Gentle　as　he　walked　towards　their　wounded　leader；　through　an　air　still　gray　with　motes　of　pulverized　stone。　Athanasius　was　lying　on　his　side；　propped　on　his　elbow。　Gentle　went　down　on　his　haunches　beside　the　man　and　carefully　drew　Athanasius'　hands　from　his　face。　There　was　a　deep　cut　beneath　his　left　eye；　and　another　above　his　right。　Both　were　bleeding　copiously；　as　were　a　score　of　littler　cuts。　None　of　them；　however；　would　be　calamitous　for　a　man　who　wore　wounds　the　way　others　wore　jewelry。　They　would　heal　and　add　to　his　sum　of　scars。
　〃Call　your　assassins　off；　Athanasius；〃　Gentle　told　him。　〃I　didn't　e　here　to　hurt　anybody；　but　if　you　press　me　to　k　I'll　kill　every　last　one　of　them。　Do　you　understand　me？〃　He　put　his　arm　beneath　the　man　and　hauled　him　to　his　feet。　〃Now　call　them　off。〃
　Athanasius　shrugged　himself　free　of　Gentle's　hold　and　scanned　his　cohorts　through　a　drizzle　of　blood。
　〃Let　him　pass；〃　he　said。　〃There'll　be　another　time。〃
　The　assassins　between　Gentle　and　the　door　parted；　though　none　of　them　lowered　or　sheathed　their　weapons。　Gentle　stood　up　and　left　Athanasius'　side；　passing　only　to　offer　one　final　observation。
　〃I　wouldn't　want　to　kill　the　man　who　married　me　to　Pie　'oh'　pah；〃　he　said；　〃so　before　you　e　after　me　again；　examine　the　evidence　against　me；　whatever　it　is。　And　search　your　heart。　I'm　not　your　enemy。　All　I　want　to　do　is　to　heal　Imajica。　Isn't　that　what　your　Goddess　wants　too？〃
　If　Athanasius　had　wanted　to　respond；　he　was　too　slow。　Before　he　could　open　his　mouth　a　cry　rose　from　somewhere　outside；　and　a　moment　later　another；　then　another；　then　a　dozen：　all　howls　of　pain　and　panic；　twisted　into　eardrum…bruising　screeches　by　the　gusts　that　carried　them。　Gentle　turned　back　to　the　door；　but　the　wind　had　hold　of　the　entire　chamber；　and　even　as　he　made　to　depart；　one　of　the　walls　rose　as　if　a　titanic　hand　had　seized　hold　of　it　and　lifted　it　up　into　the　air。　The　wind；　bearing　its　freight　of　screams；　rushed　in；　flinging　the　lamps　over；　their　fuel　spilled　as　they　rolled　before　it。　Caught　by　the　very　flames　it　had　fed；　the　oil　burst　into　bright　yellow　balls；　by　which　light　Gentle　saw　scenes　of　chaos　on　all　sides。　The　assassins　were　being　thrown　over　like　the　lamps；　unable　to　withstand　the　power　of　the　wind。　One　he　saw　impaled　on　her　own　blade。　Another　was　carried　into　the　oil　and　was　instantly　consumed　by　flame。
　〃What　have　you　summoned？〃　Athanasius　yelled。
　〃This　isn't　my　doing；〃　Gentle　replied。
　Athanasius　screeched　some　further　accusation；　but　it　was　snatched　from　his　lips　as　the　rampage　escalated。　Another　of　the　chamber's　walls　was　summarily　snatched　away；　its　tatters　rising　into　the　air　like　a　curtain　to　unveil　a　scene　of　catastrophe。　The　storm　was　at　work　throughout　the　length　of　the　tents；　disemboweling　the　glorious　and　scarlet　beast　Gentle　had　entered　with　such　awe。　Wall　after　wall　was　shredded　or　wrenched　from　the　ground；　the　ropes　and　pegs　that　had　held　them　lethal　as　they　flew。　And　visible　beyond　the　turmoil；　its　cause：　the　once　featureless　wall　of　the　Erasure；　featureless　no　longer。　It　roiled　the　way　the　sky　Gentle　had　seen　beneath　the　Pivot　had　roiled；　a　maelstrom　whose　place　of　origin　seemed　to　be　a　hole　torn　in　the　Erasure's　fabric。　The　sight　gave　substance　to　Athanasius'　charges。　Threatened　by　assassins　and　Madonnas；　had　Gentle　unwittingly　summoned　some　entity　out　of　the　First　Dominion　to　protect　him？　If　so；　he　had　to　find　it　and　subdue　it　before　he　had　more　innocent　lives　to　add　to　the　roster　of　those　who'd　perished　because　of　him。
　With　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　tear；　he　vacated　the　chamber　and　headed　towards　the　Erasure。　The　route　between　was　the　storm's　highway。　It　carried　the　detritus　of　its　deeds　back　and　forth；　returning　to　places　it　had　already　destroyed　in　its　first　assault　to　pick　up　the　survivors　and　pitch　them　into　the　air　like　sacks　of　bloody　down；　tearing　them　open　up　above。　There　was　a　red　rain　in　the　gusts；　which　spattered　Gentle　as　he　went；　yet　the　same　authority　that　was　condemning　men　and　women　all　around　left　him　untouched。　It　could　not　so　much　as　knock　him　off　his　feet。　The　reason？　His　breath；　which　Pie　had　once　called　the　source　of　all　magic。　Its　cloak　clung　to　him　as　it　had　before；　apparently　protecting　him　from　the　tumult；　and；　though　it　didn't　impede　his　steps；　it　lent　him　a　mass　beyond　that　of　flesh　and　bone。
　With　half　the　distance　covered；　he　glanced　back　to　see　if　there　was　any　sign　of　life　among　the　Madonnas。　The　place　was　easy　to　find；　even　amid　this　carnage；　the　fire　burned　with　a　wind…fed　fervor；　and　through　air　thickened　by　blood　and　shards　Gentle　saw　that　several　of　the　statues　had　been　raised　from　their　stony　beds　and　now　formed　a　circle　in　which　Athanasius　and　several　of　his　followers　were　taking　shelter。　They'd　offer　little　defense　against　this　havoc；　he　thought；　but　several　other　survivors　could　be　seen　crawling　towards　the　place；　eyes　fixed　on　the　Holy　Mothers。
　Gentle　turned　his　back　on　the　sight　and　strode　on　towards　the　Erasure；　catching　sight　…　of　another　soul　here　weighty　enough　to　resist　the　assault：　a　man　in　robes　the　color　of　the　shredded　tents；　sitting　cross…legged　on　the　ground　no　more　than　twenty　yards　from　the　fury's　source。　His　head　was　hooded；　his　face　turned　towards　the　maelstrom。　Was　this　monkish　creature　the　force　he'd　summoned？　Gentle　wondered。　If　not；　how　was　this　fellow　surviving　so　close　to　the　engine　of　destruction？
　He　started　to　yell　to　the　man　as　he　approached；　by　no　means　certain　that　his　voice　would　carry　in　the　din　of　wind　and　screams。　But　the　monk　heard。　He　looked　round　at　Gentle；　the　hood　half　eclipsing　his　face。　There　was　nothing　untoward　about　his　placid　features。　His　face　was　in　need　of　a　shave；　his　nose；　which　had　been　broken　at　some　time；　in　need　of　resetting；　his　eyes　in　need　of　nothing。　They　had　all　they　wanted；　it　seemed；　seeing　the　Maestro　approach。　A　broad　grin　broke　over　the　monk's　face；　and　he　instantly　rose　to　his　feet；　bowing　his　head。
　〃Maestro；〃　he　said。　〃You　do　me　honor。〃　His　voice　wasn't　raised；　but　it　carried　through　the　motion。　〃Have　you　seen　the　mystif　yet？〃
　〃The　mystif　s　gone；〃　Gentle　said。　He　didn't　need　to　yell；　he　realized。　His　voice；　like　his　limbs；　carried　an　unnatural　weight　here。
　〃Yes；　I　saw　it　go；〃　the　monk　replied；　〃But　it's　e　back；　Maestro。　It　broke　through　the　Erasure；　and　the　storm　came　after　it。〃
　〃Where？　Where？〃　Gentle　said；　turning　full　circle。　〃I　don't　see　it！〃　He　looked　accusingly　at　the　man。　〃It　would　have　found　me　if　it　was　here；〃　he　said。
　〃Trust　me；　it's　trying；〃　the　man　replied。　He　pulled　back　his　hood。　His　gingery　curls　were　thinning；　but　there　was　the　vestige　of　a　chorister's　charm　there。　〃It's　very　close；　Maestro。〃
　Now　it　was　he　who　stared　into　the　storm：　not　to　left　and　right；　however；　but　up　into　the　labyrinthine　air。　Gentle　followed　his　gaze。　There　were　swaths　of　tattered　canvas　on　the　wind　high　above　them；　rising　and　falling　like　vast　wounded　birds。　There　were　pieces　of　furniture；　shredded　clothes；　and　fragments　of　flesh。　And　in　among　these　clouds　of　dross；　a　darting　form　darker　than　either　sky　or　storm；　descending　even　as　he　set　his　eyes　upon　it。　The　monk　drew　closer　to　Gentle。
　〃That's　the　mystif；〃　he　said。　〃May　I　protect　you；　Maestro？〃
　〃It's　my　friend；〃　Gentle　said。　〃I　don't　need　protecting。〃　〃I　think　you　do；〃　the　other　replied；　and　raised　his　arms　above　his　head；　palms　out　as　if　to　deflect　the　approaching　spirit。
　It　slowed　at　the　sight　of　this　gesture；　and　Gentle　had　time　to　see　the　form　above　him　plainly。　It　was　indeed　the　mystif；　or　its　remains。　Either　by　stealth　or　sheer　force　of　will　it　had　breached　the　Erasure。　But　its　escape　had　brought　it　no　fort　whatsoever。　The