uplift4.brightnessreef-第12章

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　　〃Nor　ever　met　a　glaver；　it　seems。〃　Dwer　asked…〃How　far　east　do　you　people　live？〃
　　The　scar　on　her　cheek　grew　livid　as　her　face　flushed。　〃I　don't　know　what　you…〃
　　She　stopped　as　the　extent　of　her　slip…up　sank　in。　Her　lips　pressed　in　a　pale　line。
　　〃Don't　fret　it。　I　already　know　all　about　you；〃　he　said；　gesturing　at　her　clothes。　〃No　woven　cloth。　Hides　sewn　with　gut。　Good　imla　and　sorrl　pelts。　Sorrl　don't　grow　that　big；　west　of　the　Rimmers。〃
　　Reading　her　dismay；　he　shrugged。　〃I've　been　over　the　mountains　myself；　several　times。　Did　your　folks　say　it's　forbidden？　That's　true；　mostly。　But　I　can　range　anywheres　I　want；　on　survey。〃
　　She　looked　down。　〃So　I　wouldn't've　been　safe　even　if　I…〃
　　〃Ran　faster　and　made　it　over　the　pass？　Cross　some　imaginary　line　and　I'd　have　to　let　you　go？〃　Dwer　laughed；　trying　not　to　sound　too　unfriendly。　〃Rety；　go　easy　on　yourself。　You　stole　the　wrong　fella's　bow；　is　all。　I'd've　chased　you　beyond　the　Sunrise　Desert　if　I　had　to。〃
　　That　was　bluster；　of　course。　Nothing　on　Jijo　was　worth　a　two…thousand…league　trek　across　volcanoes　and　burning　sands。　Still；　Rety's　eyes　widened。　He　went　on。
　　〃I　never　spotted　your　tribe　in　any　of　my　expeditions　east；　so　I'd　guess　you're　from　quite　a　ways　south　of　east；　beyond　the　Venom　Plain。　Is　it　the　Gray　Hills？　I　hear　that　country's　so　twisty；　it　could　hide　a　small　tribe；　if　they're　careful。〃
　　Her　brown　eyes　filled　with　a　weary　pang。　〃You're　wrong。　I　didn't　e　from。。。　that　place。〃
　　She　trailed　off　lamely；　and　Dwer　felt　sympathy。　He　knew　all　about　feeling　awkward　around　one's　own　kind。　The　loner's　life　made　it　hard　getting　enough　experience　to　overe　his　own　shyness。
　　Which　is　why　I　have　to　make　it　to　Gathering！　Sara　had　given　him　a　letter　to　deliver　to　Plovov　the　Analyst。　Coincidentally；　Plovov's　daughter　was　a　beauty；　and　unbetrothed。　With　luck；　Dwer　might　get　a　chance　to　ask　Glory　Plovov　out　for　a　walk；　and　maybe　tell　a　story　good　enough　to　impress　her。　Like　how　he　stopped　last　year's　migration　of　herd…moribul　from　stampeding　over　a　cliff　during　a　lightning　storm。　Perhaps　he　wouldn't　stammer　this　time；　making　her　giggle　in　a　way　he　didn't　like。
　　Suddenly　he　was　impatient　to　be　off。　〃Well；　no　sense　worrying　about　it　now。〃　He　motioned　for　Rety　to　lead　the　glaver　again。　〃You'll　be　assigned　a　junior　sage　to　speak　for　you；　so　you　won't　face　the　council　alone。　Anyway；　we　don't　hang　sooners　anymore。　Not　unless　we　have　to。〃
　　His　attempt　to　catch　her　eye　with　a　wink　failed；　so　the　joke　went　flat。　She　studied　the　ground　as　he　retied　the　tether；　and　they　resumed　moving　single　file。
　　A　rising　humidity　turned　into　mist　as　they　neared　the　noise　of　plunging　water。　Where　the　trail　rounded　a　switchback；　a　streamlet　fell　from　above；　dropping　staccato　spatters　across　an　aquamarine　pool。　From　there；　water　spilled　over　a　sheer　edge；　resuming　its　steep　journey　toward　the　river　far　below；　and　finally　the　sea。
　　The　way　down　to　the　pool　looked　too　treacherous　to　risk　with　Rety　and　the　glaver；　so　he　signaled　to　keep　going。　They　would　intersect　the　brook　again；　farther　along。
　　But　the　noor　leaped　from　rock　to　rock。　Soon　they　heard　him　splashing　joyfully　as　they　plodded　on。
　　Dwer　found　himself　thinking　of　another　waterfall；　way　up　where　the　Great　Northern　Glacier　reached　a　towering　cliff　at　the　continent's　edge。　Every　other　year；　he　hunted　brankur　pelts　there；　during　spring　thaw。　But　he　really　made　the　journey　in　order　to　be　on　hand　when　the　ice　dam　finally　broke；　at　the　outlet　of　Lake　Desolation。
　　Huge；　translucent　sheets　would　tumble　nearly　a　kilometer；　shattering　to　fill　the　sky　with　crystal　icebows；　bringing　the　mighty　falls　back　to　life　with　a　soul…filling　roar。
　　In　his　fumbling　way；　he　once　tried　describing　the　scene　to　Lark　and　Sara…the　shouting　colors　and　radiant　noise…hoping　practice　would　school　his　clumsy　tongue。　Reliably；　his　sister's　eyes　lit　up　over　his　tales　of　Jijo's　marvels　beyond　the　narrow　Slope。　But　good　old　cheerful　Lark　just　shook　his　head　and　said…〃These　fine　marvels　would　do　just　as　well　without　us。〃
　　But　would　they？　Dwer　wondered。
　　Is　there　beauty　in　a　forest；　if　no　creature　stops　and　calls　it　lovely；　now　and　then？　Isn't　that　what　〃sapience〃　is　for？
　　Someday；　he　hoped　to　take　his　wife…and…mate　to　Desolation　Falls。　If　he　found　someone　whose　soul　could　share　it　the　way　his　did。
　　The　noor　caught　up　a　while　later；　sauntering　by　with　a　smug　grin；　then　waiting　to　shake　its　sleek　back；　spraying　their　knees　as　they　passed。　Rety　laughed。　A　short　sound；　curt　and　hurried；　as　if　she　did　not　expect　any　pleasure　to　last　long。
　　Farther　down　the　trail；　Dwer　halted　where　an　outcrop　overlooked　the　cascade；　a　featherlike　trickle；　dancing　along　the　cliff　face。　The　sight　reminded　Dwer　of　how　desperately　dry　he　felt。　It　also　tugged　a　sigh；　akin　to　loneliness。
　　〃e　on；　sprig。　There's　another　pool　down　a　ways；　easy　to　get　to。〃
　　But　Rety　stood　for　a　time；　rooted　in　place；　with　a　line　of　moisture　on　her　cheek；　though　Dwer　guessed　it　might　have　e　from　floating　mist。
　　
　　Asx
　　THEY　DO　NOT　SHOW　THEIR　FACES。　PLANS　MIGHT　go　astray。　Some　of　us　might　survive　to　testify。　So　naturally；　they　hide　their　forms。
　　Our　scrolls　warn　of　this　possibility。　Our　destiny　seems　foredoomed。
　　Yet　when　the　starship's　voice　filled　the　valley；　the　plain　intent　was　to　reassure。
　　〃（Simple）　scientists；　we　are。
　　〃Surveys　of　（local；　interesting）　lifeforms；　we　prepare。
　　〃Harmful　to　anyone；　we　are　not。〃
　　That　decree；　in　the　clicks　and　squeaks　of　highly　formal　Galactic　Two；　was　repeated　in　three　other　standard　languages；　and　finally…because　they　saw　men　and　pans　among　our　throng…in　the　wolfling　tongue；　Anglic。
　　〃Surveying　（local；　unique）　lifeforms；　in　this　we　seek　your　（gracious）　help。
　　〃Knowledge　of　the　（local）　biosphere；　this　you　（assuredly）　have。
　　〃Tools　and　（useful）　arts；　these　we　offer　in　trade。
　　〃Confidentially；　shall　we　（mutually）　exchange？〃
　　Recall；　my　rings；　how　our　perplexed　peoples　looked　to　one　another。　Could　such　vows　be　trusted？　We　who　dwell　on　Jijo　are　already　felons　in　the　eyes　of　vast　empires。　So　are　those　aboard　this　ship。　Might　two　such　groups　have　reason　for　mon　cause？
　　Our　human　sage　summed　it　up　with　laconic　wit。　In　Anglic；　Lester　Cambel　muttered　wisely…〃Confidentially；　my　hairy　ancestors'　armpits！〃
　　And　he　scratched　himself　in　a　gesture　that　was　both　oracular　and　pointedly　apropos。
　　
　　Lark
　　THE　NIGHT　BEFORE　THE　FOREIGNERS　CAME；　a　chain　of　white…robed　pilgrims　trekked　through　a　predawn　mist。　There　were　sixty；　ten　from　each　race。
　　Other　groups　would　e　this　way　during　festival；　seeking　harmony　patterns。　But　this　pany　was　different…its　mission　more　grave。
　　Shapes　loomed　at　them。　Gnarled；　misgrown　trees　spread　twisted　arms；　like　clutching　specters。　Oily　vapors　merged　and　sublimed。　The　trail　turned　sharply　to　avoid　dark　cavities；　apparently　bottomless；　echoing　mysteriously。　Knobs　of　wind…scoured　rock　teased　form…hungry　agents　of　the　mind；　stoking　the　wanderers'　nervous　anticipation。　Would　the　next　twisty　switchback；　or　the　next；　bring　it　into　sight…Jijo's　revered　Mother　Egg？
　　Whatever　organic　quirks　they　inherited；　from　six　worlds　in　four　different　galaxies；　each　traveler　felt　the　same　throbbing　call　toward　oneness。　Lark　paced　his　footsteps　to　a　rhythm　conveyed　by　the　rewq　on　his　brow。
　　I've　been　up　this　path　a　dozen　times。　It　should　be　familiar　by　now。　So　why　can't　I　respond？
　　He　tried　letting　the　rewq　lay　its　motif　of　color　and　sound　over　the　real　world。　Feet　shuffled。　Hooves　clattered。　Ring　nubs　swiveled　and　wheels　creaked　along　a　dusty　trail　pounded　so　smooth　by　past　pilgrims　that　one　might　guess　this　ritual　stretched　back　to　the　earliest　days　of　exile；　not　a　mere　hundred　or　so　years。
　　Where　did　earlier　folk　turn；　when　they　needed　hope？
　　Lark's　brother；　the　renowned　hunter；　once　took　him　by　a　secret　way　up　a　nearby　mountain；　where　the　Egg　could　be　seen　from　above；　squatting　in　its　caldera　like　the　brood　of　a　storybook　dragon；　lain　in　a　sheer…sided　nest。　From　that　distant　perspective；　it　might　have　been　some　ancient　Buyur　monument；　or　a　remnant　of　some　older　denizens　of　Jijo；　aeons　earlier…a　cryptic　sentinel；　darkly　impervious　to　time。
　　With　the　blink　of　an　eye；　it　became　a　grounded　starship…an　oblate　lens　meant　to　glide　through　air　and　ether。　Or　a　fortress；　built　of　some　adamantine　essence；　light…drinking；　refractory；　denser　than　a　neutron　star。　Lark　even　briefly　pictured　the　shell　of　some　titanic　being；　too　patient　or　proud　to　rouse　itself　over　the　attentions　of　mayflies。
　　It　had　been　disturbing；　forcing　him　to　rethink　his　image　of　the　sacred。　That　epiphany　still　clung　to　Lark。　Or　else　it　was　a　case　of　jitters　over　the　speech　he　was　supposed　to　give　soon　to　a　band　of　fierce　believers。　A　sermon　calling　for　extreme　sacrifice。
　　The　trail　turned…and　abruptly　spilled　into　a　sheer…walled　canyon　surrounding　a　giant　oval　form；　a　curved　shape　that　reared　fantastically　before　the　pilgrims；　two　arrowflights　from　end　to　end。　The　pebbled　surface　curved　up　and　over　those　gathered　in　awe　at　its　base。　Staring　upward；　Lark　knew。
　　It　couldn't　be　any　of　those　other　things　I　imagined　from　afar。
　　Up　close；　underneath　its　massive　sheltering　bulk；　anyone　could　tell　the　Egg　was　made　of　native　stone。
　　Marks　of　Jijo's　fiery　womb　scored　its　flanks；　tracing　the　story　of　its　birth；　starting　with　a　violent　conception；　far　underground。　Layered　patterns　were　like　muscular　cords。　Crystal　veins　wove　subtle　dendrite　paths；　branching　like　nerves。
　　Travelers　filed　slowly　under　the　convex　overhang；　to　let　the　Egg　sense　their　presence；　and　perhaps　grant　a　blessing。　Where　the　immense　monolith　pressed　into　black　basalt；　the　sixty　began　a　circuit。　But　while　Lark's　sandals　scraped　gritty　powder；　chafing　his　toes；　the　peacefulness　and　awe　of　the　moment　were　partly　spoiled　by　memory。
　　Once；　as　an　arrogant　boy　of　ten；　an　idea　took　root　in　his　head…to　sneak　behind　the　Egg　and　take　a　sample。
　　It　all　began　one　jubilee　year；　when　Nelo　the　Papermaker　set　out　for　Gathering　to　attend　a　meeting　of　his　guild；　and　his　wife；　Melina　the　Southerner；　insisted　on　taking　Lark　and　little　Sara　along。
　　〃Before　they　spend　their　lives　working　away　at　your　paper　mill；　they　should　see　some　of　the　world。〃
　　How　Nelo　must　have　later　cursed　his　consent；　for　the　trip　changed　Lark　and　his　sister。
　　All　during　the　journey；　Melina　kept　opening　a　book　recently　published　by　the　master　printers　of　Tarek　Town；　forcing　her　husband　to　pause；　tapping　his　cane　while　she　read　aloud　in　her　lilting　southern　accent；　describing　varieties　of　plant；　animal；　or　mineral　they　encountered　along　the　path。　At　the　time；　Lark　didn't　know　how　many　generations　had　toiled　to　create　the　guidebook；　collating　oral　lore　from　every　exile　race。　Nelo　thought　it　a　fine　job　of　printing　and　binding；　a　good　use　of　paper；　or　else　he　would　have　forbidden　exposing　the　children　to　ill…made　goods。
　　Melina　made　it　a　game；　associating　real　things　with　their　depictions　among　the　ink　lithographs。　What　might　have　been　a　tedious　trip　for　two　youngsters　became　an　adventure　outshadowing　Gathering　itself；　so　that　by　the　time　they　arrived；　footsore　and　tired；　Lark　was　already　in　love　with　the　world。
　　The　same