uleg.thetombsofatuan-第11节

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ing　black　of　cobweb；　she　would　kneel　for　an　hour　to　study　the　carvings　on　a　beautiful；　time…ruined　coffer　of　cedar　wood；　the　gift　of　some　king　ages　since　to　the　Nameless　Powers　of　the　Tombs。　There　was　the　king；　a　tiny　stiff　figure　with　a　big　nose；　and　there　was　the　Hall　of　the　Throne　with　its　flat　dome　and　porch　columns；　carved　in　delicate　relief　on　the　wood　by　some　artist　who　had　been　dust　for　how　many　hundred　years。　There　was　the　One　Priestess；　breathing　in　the　drug…fumes　from　the　trays　of　bronze　and　prophesying　or　advising　the　king；　whose　nose　was　broken　off　in　this　frame；　the　face　of　the　Priestess　was　too　small　to　have　clear　features；　yet　Arha　would　imagine　that　the　face　was　her　own　face。　She　wondered　what　she　had　told　the　king　with　the　big　nose；　and　whether　he　had　been　grateful。
　　She　had　favorite　places　in　the　Hall　of　the　Throne；　as　one　might　have　favorite　spots　to　sit　in　a　sunny　house。　She　often　went　to　a　little　half…loft　over　one　of　the　robing　rooms　in　the　hinder　part　of　the　Hall。　There　ancient　gowns　and　costumes　were　kept；　left　from　the　days　when　great　kings　and　lords　came　to　worship　at　the　Place　of　the　Tombs　of　Atuan；　acknowledging　a　domain　greater　than　their　own　or　any　man's。　Sometimes　their　daughters；　the　princesses；　had　put　on　these　soft　white　silks；　embroidered　with　topaz　and　dark　amethyst；　and　had　danced　with　the　Priestess　of　the　Tombs。　There　were　little　painted　ivory　tables　in　one　of　the　treasuries；　showing　such　a　dance；　and　the　lords　and　kings　waiting　outside　the　Hall；　for　then　as　now　no　man　ever　set　foot　on　the　ground　of　the　Tombs。　But　the　maidens　might　e　in；　and　dance　with　the　Priestess；　in　white　silk。　The　Priestess　herself　wore　rough　cloth；　homespun　black；　always；　then　and　now；　but　she　liked　to　e　and　finger　the　sweet；　soft　stuff；　rotten　with　age；　the　unperishing　jewels　tearing　from　the　cloth　by　their　own　slight　weight。　There　was　a　scent　in　these　chests　different　from　all　the　musks　and　incenses　of　the　temples　of　the　Place：　a　fresher　scent；　fainter；　younger。
　　In　the　treasure　rooms　she　would　spend　a　night　learning　the　contents　of　a　single　chest；　jewel　by　jewel；　the　rusted　armor；　the　broken　plumes　of　helms；　the　buckles　and　pins　and　brooches；　bronze；　silver…gilt；　and　solid　gold。
　　Owls；　undisturbed　by　her　presence；　sat　on　the　rafters　and　opened　and　shut　their　yellow　eyes。　A　bit　of　starlight　shone　in　between　tiles　of　the　roof；　or　the　snow　came　sifting　down；　fine　and　cold　as　those　ancient　silks　that　fell　to　nothing　at　hand's　touch。
　　One　night　late　in　the　winter；　it　was　too　cold　in　the　Hall。　She　went　to　the　trapdoor；　raised　it；　swung　down　onto　the　steps；　and　closed　it　above　her。　She　set　off　silently　on　the　way　she　now　knew　so　well；　the　passage　to　the　Undertomb。　There；　of　course；　she　never　bore　a　light；　if　she　carried　a　lantern；　from　going　in　the　Labyrinth　or　in　the　dark　of　night　above　ground；　she　extinguished　it　before　she　came　near　the　Undertomb。　She　had　never　seen　that　place；　never　in　all　the　generations　of　her　priestesshood。　In　the　passage　now；　she　blew　out　the　candle　in　the　lamp　she　carried；　and　without　slowing　her　pace　at　all　went　forward　in　the　pitch　dark；　easy　as　a　little　fish　in　dark　water。　Here；　winter　or　summer；　there　was　no　cold；　no　heat：　always　the　same　even　chill；　a　little　damp；　changeless。　Up　above；　the　great　frozen　winds　of　winter　whipped　thin　snow　over　the　desert。　Here　there　was　no　wind；　no　season；　it　was　close；　it　was　still；　it　was　safe。
　　She　was　going　to　the　Painted　Room。　She　liked　sometimes　to　go　there　and　study　the　strange　wall　drawings　that　leapt　out　of　the　dark　at　the　gleam　of　her　candle：　men　with　long　wings　and　great　eyes；　serene　and　morose。　No　one　could　tell　her　what　they　were；　there　were　no　such　paintings　elsewhere　in　the　Place；　but　she　thought　she　knew；　they　were　the　spirits　of　the　damned；　who　are　not　reborn。　The　Painted　Room　was　in　the　Labyrinth；　so　she　must　pass　through　the　cavern　beneath　the　Tombstones　first。　As　she　approached　it　down　the　slanting　passage；　a　faint　gray　bloomed；　a　bare　hint　and　glimmer；　the　echo　of　an　echo　of　a　distant　light。
　　She　thought　her　eyes　were　tricking　her；　as　they　often　did　in　that　utter　blackness。　She　closed　them；　and　the　glimmering　vanished。　She　opened　them；　and　it　reappeared。
　　She　had　stopped　and　was　standing　still。　Gray；　not　black。　A　dull　edge　of　pallor；　just　visible；　where　nothing　could　be　visible；　where　all　must　be　black。
　　She　took　a　few　steps　forward　and　put　out　her　hand　to　that　angle　of　the　tunnel　wall；　and；　infinitely　faint；　saw　the　movement　of　her　hand。
　　She　went　on。　This　was　strange　beyond　thought；　beyond　fear；　this　faint　blooming　of　light　where　no　light　had　ever　been；　in　the　inmost　grave　of　darkness。　She　went　noiseless　on　bare　feet；　blackclothed。　At　the　last　turn　of　the　corridor　she　halted；　then　very　slowly　took　the　last　step；　and　looked；　and　saw。
　　…Saw　what　she　had　never　seen；　not　though　she　had　lived　a　hundred　lives：　the　great　vaulted　cavern　beneath　the　Tombstones；　not　hollowed　by　man's　hand　but　by　the　powers　of　the　Earth。　It　was　jeweled　with　crystals　and　ornamented　with　pinnacles　and　filigrees　of　white　limestone　where　the　waters　under　earth　had　worked；　eons　since：　immense；　with　glittering　roof　and　walls；　sparkling；　delicate；　intricate；　a　palace　of　diamonds；　a　house　of　amethyst　and　crystal；　from　which　the　ancient　darkness　had　been　driven　out　by　glory。
　　Not　bright；　but　dazzling　to　the　dark…accustomed　eye；　was　the　light　that　worked　this　wonder。　It　was　a　soft　gleam；　like　marshlight；　that　moved　slowly　across　the　cavern；　striking　a　thousand　scintillations　from　the　jeweled　roof　and　shifting　a　thousand　fantastic　shadows　along　the　carven　walls。
　　The　light　burned　at　the　end　of　a　staff　of　wood；　smokeless；　unconsuming。　The　staff　was　held　by　a　human　hand。　Arha　saw　the　face　beside　the　light；　the　dark　face：　the　face　of　a　man。
　　She　did　not　move。
　　For　a　long　time　he　crossed　and　recrossed　the　vast　cave。　He　moved　as　if　he　sought　something；　looking　behind　the　lacy　cataracts　of　stone；　studying　the　several　corridors　that　led　out　of　the　Undertomb；　yet　not　entering　them。　And　still　the　Priestess　of　the　Tombs　stood　motionless；　in　the　black　angle　of　the　passage；　waiting。
　　What　was　hardest　for　her　to　think；　perhaps；　was　that　she　was　looking　at　a　stranger。　She　had　very　seldom　seen　a　stranger。　It　seemed　to　her　that　this　must　be　one　of　the　wardens　…　no；　one　of　the　men　from　over　the　wall；　a　goatherd　or　guard；　a　slave　of　the　Place；　and　he　had　e　to　see　the　secrets　of　the　Nameless　Ones；　maybe　to　steal　something　from　the　Tombs。。。
　　To　steal　something。　To　rob　the　Dark　Powers。　Sacrilege：　the　word　came　slowly　into　Arha's　mind。　This　was　a　man；　and　no　man's　foot　must　ever　touch　the　soil　of　the　Tombs；　the　Holy　Place。　Yet　he　had　e　here　into　the　hollow　place　that　was　the　heart　of　the　Tombs。　He　had　entered　in。　He　had　made　light　where　light　was　forbidden；　where　it　had　never　been　since　world's　beginning。　Why　did　the　Nameless　Ones　not　strike　him　down？
　　He　was　standing　now　looking　down　at　the　rocky　floor；　which　was　cut　and　troubled。　One　could　see　that　it　had　been　opened　and　reclosed。　The　sour　sterile　clods　dug　up　for　the　graves　had　not　all　been　stamped　down　again。
　　Her　Masters　had　eaten　those　three。　Why　did　they　not　eat　this　one？　What　were　they　waiting　for？
　　For　their　hands　to　act；　for　their　tongue　to　speak。。。
　　〃Go！　Go！　Begone！〃　she　screamed　all　at　once　at　the　top　of　her　voice。　Great　echoes　shrilled　and　boomed　across　the　cavern；　seeming　to　blur　the　dark；　startled　face　that　turned　towards　her；　and；　for　one　moment；　across　the　shaken　splendor　of　the　cavern；　saw　her。　Then　the　light　was　gone。　All　splendor　gone。　Blind　dark；　and　silence。
　　Now　she　could　think　again。　She　was　released　from　the　spell　of　light。
　　He　must　have　e　in　by　the　red　rock　door；　the　Prisoners'　Door；　so　he　would　try　to　escape　by　it。　Light　and　silent　as　the　soft…winged　owls　she　ran　the　half…circuit　of　the　cavern　to　the　low　tunnel　that　led　to　the　door　which　opened　only　inwards。　She　stooped　there　at　the　entrance　of　the　tunnel。　There　was　no　draft　of　wind　from　outside；　he　had　not　left　the　door　fixed　open　behind　him。　It　was　shut；　and　if　he　was　in　the　tunnel；　he　was　trapped　there。
　　But　he　was　not　in　the　tunnel。　She　was　sure　of　it。　So　close；　in　that　cramped　place；　she　would　have　heard　his　breath；　felt　the　warmth　and　pulse　of　his　life　itself。　There　was　no　one　in　the　tunnel。　She　stood　erect；　and　listened。　Where　had　he　gone？
　　The　darkness　pressed　like　a　bandage　on　her　eyes。　To　have　seen　the　Undertomb　confused　her；　she　was　bewildered。　She　had　known　it　only　as　a　region　defined　by　hearing；　by　hand's　touch；　by　drifts　of　cool　air　in　the　dark；　a　vastness；　a　mystery；　never　to　be　seen。　She　had　seen　it；　and　the　mystery　had　given　place；　not　to　horror；　but　to　beauty；　a　mystery　deeper　even　than　that　of　the　dark。
　　She　went　slowly　forward　now；　unsure。　She　felt　her　way　to　the　left；　to　the　second　passageway；　the　one　that　led　into　the　Labyrinth。　There　she　paused　and　listened。
　　Her　ears　told　her　no　more　than　her　eyes。　But；　as　she　stood　with　one　hand　on　either　side　of　the　rock　archway；　she　felt　a　faint；　obscure　vibration　in　the　rock；　and　on　the　chill；　stale　air　was　the　trace　of　a　scent　that　did　not　belong　there：　the　smell　of　the　wild　sage　that　grew　on　the　desert　hills；　overhead；　under　the　open　sky。