fs.thefirstbookofswords-第10章
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to make himself stand up； move his arms and walk； and then build up the fire again。 He knew it； but he couldn't seem to get himself in motion。 Deep in the middle of his body he could feel a new kind of shivering； and now he was almost pletely sure that he was going to die tonight。 Still the fact had very little importance。 Get up and tend the fire； and it will save you。
Startled； Mark raised his head； croaked out a halfformed question。 The words had e to him as if in someone else's voice； and with the force of a mand。 He could not recognize the voice； but it made a powerful impression。 Now； once he'd moved his head； the rest was possible。 He sat up； rubbing his arms together； preparing himself for further effort。 Now his arms were able to move freely。 And now he forced himself to rise； swaying on stiffened knees； but driving his legs； torso； everything into activity。 Halfparalyzed with cold and stiffness still； he gathered more wood and fed the flames when he had blown them back to life。
Then； Mark lay down near the new flames； wrapping hiself in the blanket again。 He rubbed his face。 When he took his hands down from his eyes； a circle of tall； silent figures was standing around him and the fire。 They were too tall to be human。 Mark； too numb to feel any great shock； looked at what he could see of the faces of the gods。 He wondered why he could not recognize Ardneh； to whom his mother prayed so much； among them。
One of the goddesses … Mark couldn't be sure which one she was … demanded of him： 〃Why have you brought that sword back up here； mortal？ We don't want it here。〃
〃I brought it for my father's sake。〃 Mark answered without fear； without worrying over what he ought to say。 〃This sword maimed him； years ago。 It's killed him now。 It's killed my brother； too。 It's driven me away from home。 It's done enough； I'm getting rid of it。〃
This caused a stir and a muttering around the circle。 The faces of the gods； shadowed and hard for Mark to see； turned to one another in consultation。 And now the voice of a different deity chided Mark： 〃It was time enough； in any case； for you to be leaving home。 Do you want to be a mill…hand and a rabbit…hunter all your life？〃
〃Yes；〃 said Mark immediately。 But even as he gave the answer； he wondered if it were really true。
Another god…voice argued at him： 〃The sword you have there has done hardly anything as yet； as measured by its capabilities。 And anyway； who are you to judge such things？〃
Another voice chimed in： 〃Precisely。 That sword was given to Jord the smith； later Jord the miller； until you； mortal； or your brother had it from him。 It's yours now。 But you can't just bring it back here and be rid of it that way。 Oh； no。 Even leaving aside the question of good manners； we。。。〃
And another： 〃。。。cant just take it back； now that it's been used。 You can't bring a used gift back。〃
〃Gift？〃 That word brought Mark almost to midday wakefulness。 It came near making him jump to his feet。 〃'You say a gift？ When you took my father's arm in payment for it？〃
An arm； long as a tree…limb； pointed。 〃This one here is responsible for taking the arm。 We didn't tell him to do that。〃 And the towering figure standing beside Vulcan （Mark hadn't recognized Vulcan till the instant he was pointed out） clapped the Smith on the back。 It was a great rude slap that made Vulcan stagger on his game leg and snarl。 Then the speaker； his own identity still obscure； went on： 〃Do you suppose； young mortal； that we went to all the trouble of having Clubfoot here make the swords； make all twelve of them for our game； never to see them properly used？ They were a lot of trouble to have made。〃
For a game。。。 a game？ In outrage Mark cried out： 〃I think I'm dreaming all of you！〃
None of the gods or goddesses in the circle thought that was worth an answer。
Mark cried again： 〃What are you going to do about the sword？ If I refuse to keep it？〃
〃None of your business；〃 said one curt voice。
〃I suppose we'd give it to someone else。〃
〃And anyway； don't speak in that tone of voice to gods。。。〃
〃Why shouldn't I speak any way I want to； I'm dreaming you anyway！ And it is my business what。。。〃
〃Do you never dream of real persons； real things？〃
Smoke from the fire blew into Mark's face。 He choked； and had to close his eyes。 When he opened them again the circle of tall beings was still there； surrounding him。
〃And； anyway； if we gods wish to play a game； who are you； mortal； to object？〃 That got a general murmur of approval。
Mark was still outraged； but his energy was failing。 His muscles seemed to be relaxing of themselves。 He lay weakly back on rock half…warmed by fire。 Despite all he could do； his eyelids were sagging shut in utter weariness。 He whispered： 〃A game。。。 ？〃
A female voice； that of a goddess who had not spoken until now； argued softly： 〃I say that this Mark； this stubborn son of a stubborn miller； deserves to die tonight for what he's done； for the disrespect he's shown； the irresponsible interference。〃
〃A miller's son？ A miller's son； you say？〃 That； for some reason； provoked laughter。 〃Ah； hahaaa！。。。 anyway； he's protected here by the fire that he's kindled； using magical materials and tools。 Not that he had the least idea of what he was doing when he did it。〃
〃What is so amusing？ I still say that he must die tonight。 He must。 Otherwise I foresee trouble； in the game and out of it； trouble for us all。〃 〃Trouble for yourself； you mean。〃
And another new voice： 〃Hah； if you say he must die； then I say he must live。 Whatever your position is in this； I must maintain the opposite。〃
They're just like people； Mark thought。 His next thought was： I'm almost gone； I'm dying。 Now the idea was not only acceptable； but brought with it a certain feeling of relief。
During the rest of the night … his gentle dying went on for a long； long time … Mark kept revising … his opinion of the wrangling gang of gods who surrounded him on his deathbed。 Sometimes it seemed to him that they were conducting their debate on a high level； using words of great wisdom。 At these times he wanted to make every effort to remember what they said； but somehow he never could。 At other times what they were； saying struck him as the most foolish babble that he had ever heard。 But he could not manage to retain an example of their foolishness either。
Anyway； he pletely missed the end of the argument； because instead of dying he finally awoke to behold the whole vast reach of the sky turning light above the great bowl of rock that made the world。 The near rim of the bowl was very near in the east； almost overhead； while the northwest portion of the rim was far； far away； no more than a little pinkish sawtooth line on the horizon。 And to the southwest the rim was so distant that it could not be seen at all。
Mark was shivering again； or shivering still； when he woke up。 Now he was cold on both sides。 The fire was nearly out； and he immediately started to rebuild it。 Somewhat to his surprise； his body moved easily。 For whatever reason； he had awakened with a feeling of achievement； a sense that something important had been acplished while he lay before the fire。 Well； for one thing； his life had been preserved； whether by accident or through the benevolence of certain gods。 He was not at all sure of the reality of the presences he'd seen。 There was no sign of gods around him now； nothing but the mountain and the sky； and the high； keening wind。
Except for the obscure symbols on the wall of stone； and the remnants of that large and ancient fire。
The need for food had now settled deep in Mark's bones； and he thought； with the beginning of fear； that soon he might be too weak to make his way back down the mountain。 He had to implement his final decision about the sword before that happened； so as soon as he had warmed himself enough to stop his shivering； he turned his back on his renewed fire and the old forge…place of the gods。 Keeping the blanket wrapped around himself； he slung bow and quiver on his back again； and took up Townsaver。 He carried the blade as if he meant to fight with it。
Testing the wind； he tried to follow the smell of sulphur to where it was the strongest。 It took him only a few moments to stumble right against what he was looking for； in the form of a chest…high broken column of black rock。 The middle of the broad black stump was holed out； as if it were a real treestump rotting； and up out of the central cavity there drifted acrid fumes； along with some faintly visible smoke。 At certain moments the smoke was lighted from beneath with a reddish glow； visible here at close range even in broad daylight。 A breath of warmth came from the fumarole； along with something that smelled even worse than sulphur； as foul as the breath of some imagined monster。
Somewhere far below； the mountain sighed； and the wave of rising heat momentarily grew great。
Mark lifted the sword。 He used both hands on the hilt； just as his brother Kenn had held it with two hands during the fight。 But no power flowed from the weapon now； and Mark could do with it as he liked。 Without delaying； without giving the gods another moment in which to act； he thrust the sword down into the rising smoke and let it fall。 Father； Kenn； I've done it。
The sword fell at once into invisibility。 Mark heard the sharp impact that it made on nearby rock； followed by another clash a little farther down。 Holding his breath； he listened a long time for some final impact； perhaps a splash into the molten rock that an Elder had once told Mark lay at tire bottom of these holes of fire。 But though he listened until he could hold his breath no more； he heard no more of the falling sword。
Mark looked up into the morning sky； clear but for a few small clouds。 They were just clouds； with nothing remarkable about them。 He realized that he was waiting for a reaction； for lightning； for something to embody what must be the anger of the gods at what he had just done。 He was waiting to be struck dead。 But no blow came。
What did e instead was； in a sense； even worse。 It was just the beginning of a sickening suspicion that his throwing the sword down into the volcano had been a horrible mistake。 Now he had made his gesture； of striking back at the gods for what they had done to him。 And what harm had his gesture done them？ And what good had it done himself？
In thirteen years； Jord had never made this awful trek； had never thrown the gods' payment for his right arm back into their teeth。 For whatever reason； Mark's father had kept his arm…price hanging on the wall at home instead。 Never trying to use it； never trying to sell it； not bragging about it … but still keeping it。 Mark had never really； until this moment； tried to fathom why。
One thing was sure； Mark's father had never tried to rid himself of the sword。
The spell of shock that had been put on Mark in the village street by the evil magic of violence began at last to lift。 He realized that he was alone upon a barren mountainside； almost too weak to move； many kilometers from the home to which he dared not return。 An
