cb.imajica2-第17章

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　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　uredo　burned　more　venomously　than　ever；　almost　entirely　consuming　the　shadow　body　it　had　fixed　upon　and　poisoned；　and　from　the　sufferer's　mouth；　a　howl　that　could　not　have　been　more　pained　had　its　guts　been　drawn　out　of　its　belly　in　front　of　its　eyes。
　It　had　e　to　a　plete　halt　now　and　hovered　above　the　two　men　like　a　diver　arrested　in　mid…descent；　arms　outstretched；　head；　or　its　traces；　thrown　back。　〃Pie？〃　Gentle　said。　〃Have　you　done　this？〃　The　howl　went　on。　If　there　were　words　in　its　anguish；　Gentle　couldn't　make　them　out。
　〃I　have　to　speak　to　it；〃　Gentle　said　to　his　protector。　〃If　you're　causing　it　pain；　for　God's　sake　stop。〃
　〃It　came　out　of　the　margin　howling　like　this；〃　the　man　said。
　〃At　least　drop　your　defenses。〃　〃It'll　attack　us。〃　〃I'll　take　that　risk；〃　he　replied。
　The　man　let　his　shunning　hands　fall　to　his　side。　The　form　above　them　twisted　and　turned　but　did　not　descend。　Another　force　had　a　claim　upon　it；　Gentle　realized。　It　was　thrashing　to　resist　a　summons　from　the　Erasure；　which　was　calling　it　back　into　the　place　from　which　it　had　escaped。
　〃Can　you　hear　me；　Pie？〃　Gentle　asked　it。
　The　howl　went　on；　unabated。
　〃If　you　can　speak；　do　it！〃
　〃It's　already　speaking；〃　the　monk　said。
　〃I　only　hear　howls；〃　Gentle　said。
　〃Past　the　howls；〃　came　the　reply；　〃there　are　words。〃
　Drops　of　fluid　fell　from　the　mystif　s　wounds　as　its　struggles　to　resist　the　Erasure's　power　intensified。　They　stank　of　putrescence　and　burned　Gentle's　upturned　face；　but　their　sting　brought　prehension　of　the　words　encoded　in　Pie's　screeches。
　〃Undone；〃　the　mystif　was　saying。　〃We're。。。　undone。。。。〃
　〃Why　did　you　do　this？〃　Gentle　asked。
　〃It　wasn't。。。　me。　The　storm　was　sent　to　claim　me　back。〃
　〃Out　of　the　First？〃
　〃It's。。。　His　will；〃　Pie　said。　〃His。。。　will。。。。〃
　Though　the　tortured　form　above　him　resembled　the　creature　he'd　loved　and　wed　scarcely　at　all；　Gentle　could　still　hear　fragments　of　Pie　'oh'　pah　in　these　replies　and；　hearing　them；　wanted　to　raise　his　own　voice　in　anguish　at　the　thought　of　Pie's　pain。　The　mystif　had　gone　into　the　First　to　end　its　suffering；　but　here　it　was；　suffering　still；　and　he　was　powerless　to　help　it　or　heal　it。　All　he　could　do　by　way　of　fort　was　tell　it　that　he　understood；　which　he　did。　Its　message　was　perfectly　clear。　In　the　trauma　of　their　parting　Pie　had　sensed　some　equivocation　in　him。　But　there　was　none；　and　he　said　so。
　〃I　know　what　I　have　to　do；〃　he　told　the　sufferer。　〃Trust　me；　Pie。　I　understand。　I'm　the　Reconciler。　I'm　not　going　to　run　from　that。〃
　At　this；　the　mystif　writhed　like　a　fish　on　a　hook；　no　longer　able　to　keep　itself　from　being　hauled　in　by　the　fisherman　in　the　First。　It　started　to　scrabble　at　the　air；　as　if　it　might　gain　another　moment　in　this　Dominion　by　catching　hold　of　a　mote。　But　the　power　that　had　sent　such　furies　in　pursuit　of　it　had　too　strong　a　hold；　and　the　spirit　was　drawn　back　towards　the　Erasure。　Instinctively　Gentle　reached　up　towards　it；　hearing　and　ignoring　a　cry　of　alarm　from　the　man　at　his　side。　The　mystif　reached　for　his　hand；　extending　its　shadowy　substance　to　do　so；　and　curling　grotesquely　long　fingers　around　Gentle's。　The　contact　sent　such　a　convulsion　through　his　system　he　would　have　been　thrown　to　the　ground　but　that　his　protector　took　hold　of　him。　As　it　was　his　marrow　seemed　to　burn　in　his　bones；　and　he　smelled　the　stench　of　rot　off　his　skin；　as　though　death　were　ing　upon　him　inside　and　out。　It　was　hard；　in　that　agony；　to　hold　on　to　the　mystif；　much　less　to　the　words　it　was　trying　to　say。　But　he　fought　the　urge　to　let　go；　struggling　for　the　sense　of　the　few　syllables　he　was　able　to　grasp。　Three　of　them　were　his　name。
　〃Sartori。。。〃
　〃I'm　here；　Pie；〃　Gentle　said；　thinking　perhaps　the　thing　was　blinded　now。　〃I'm　still　here。〃
　But　the　mystif　wasn't　naming　its　Maestro。　〃The　other；〃　it　said。　〃The　other。。。〃　〃What　about　him？〃
　〃He　knows；〃　Pie　murmured。　〃Find　him；　Gentle。　He　knows。〃
　With　this　mand；　their　fingers　separated。　The　mystif　reached　to　take　hold　of　Gentle　again；　but　with　its　frail　hold　lost　it　was　prey　to　the　Erasure　and　was　instantly　snatched　towards　the　tear　through　which　it　had　appeared。　Gentle　started　after　it；　but　his　limbs　had　been　more　severely　traumatized　by　the　convulsion　than　he'd　thought；　and　his　legs　simply　folded　up　beneath　him。　He　fell　heavily；　but　raised　his　head　in　time　to　catch　sight　of　the　mystif　disappearing　into　the　void。　Sprawled　on　the　hard　ground；　he　remembered　his　first　pursuit　of　Pie；　through　the　empty；　icy　streets　of　Manhattan。　He'd　fallen　then；　too；　and　looked　up　as　he　did　now　to　see　the　riddle　escaping　him；　unsolved。　But　it　had　turned　that　first　time；　turned　and　spoken　to　him　across　the　river　of　Fifth　Avenue；　offering　him　the　hope；　however　frail；　of　another　meeting。　Not　so　now。　It　went　into　the　Erasure　like　smoke　through　a　drafty　door；　its　cry　stopping　dead。
　〃Not　again；〃　Gentle　murmured。
　The　monk　was　crouching　at　his　side。　〃Can　you　stand；〃　he　asked；　〃or　shall　I　get　help？〃
　Gentle　put　his　hands　beneath　him　and　pushed　himself　up　into　a　kneeling　position；　making　no　reply　to　the　question。　With　the　mystif　s　disappearance；　the　malignant　wind　that　had　e　after　it；　and　brought　such　devastation；　was　dropping　away；　and　as　it　did　so　the　debris　it　had　been　keeping　aloft　descended　in　a　grim　hail。　For　a　second　time　the　monk　raised　his　hands　to　ward　off　the　descending　force。　Gentle　was　barely　aware　of　what　was　happening。　His　eyes　were　on　the　Erasure；　which　was　rapidly　losing　its　roiling　motion。　By　the　time　the　rain　of　canvas；　stones；　and　bodies　had　stopped；　every　last　trace　of　detail　had　gone　from　the　divide；　and　it　was　once　again　an　absence　over　which　the　eye　slid；　finding　no　purchase。
　Gentle　got　to　his　feet　and；　turning　his　eyes　from　the　nullity；　scanned　the　desolation　that　lay　in　every　other　direction　but　one。　The　circle　of　Madonnas　he'd　glimpsed　through　the　storm　was　still　intact；　and　sheltering　in　its　midst　were　half　a　hundred　survivors；　some　of　them　on　their　knees　sobbing　or　praying；　many　kissing　the　feet　of　the　statues　that　had　shielded　them；　still　others　gazing　towards　the　Erasure　from　which　the　destruction　that　claimed　all　but　these　fifty；　plus　the　Maestro　and　the　monk；　had　e。
　〃Do　you　see　Athanasius？〃　Gentle　asked　the　man　at　his　side。
　〃No；　but　he's　alive　somewhere；〃　came　the　reply。　〃He's　like　you；　Maestro；　he's　got　too　much　purpose　in　him　to　die。〃
　〃I　don't　think　any　purpose　would　have　saved　me　if　you　hadn't　been　here；〃　Gentle　remarked。　〃You've　got　real　power　in　your　bones。〃
　〃A　little；　maybe；〃　the　monk　replied；　with　a　modest　smile。　〃I　had　a　fine　teacher。〃
　〃So　did　I；〃　Gentle　said　softly。　〃But　I　lost　it。〃　Seeing　the　Maestro's　eyes　filling；　the　monk　made　to　withdraw；　but　Gentle　said；　〃Don't　worry　about　the　tears。　I've　been　running　from　them　too　long。　Let　me　ask　you　something。　I'll　quite　understand　if　you　say　no。〃
　〃What；　Maestro？〃
　〃When　I　leave　here；　I'm　going　back　to　the　Fifth　to　prepare　for　a　Reconciliation。　Would　you　trust　me　enough　to　join　the　Synod；　to　represent　the　First？〃
　The　monk's　face　broke　into　bliss；　shedding　years　as　he　smiled；　〃It　would　be　my　honor；　Maestro；〃　he　said。
　〃There's　risk　in　it；〃　Gentle　warn