Harpist in the Wind - Patricia A. McKillip, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 1
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Harpist In The
Wind
Patricia A. McKillip
For all who waited, and especially
for
S
TEVE
D
ONALDSON
,
who always called at the right time
for
G
AIL
,
who reminded me of the difference
between logic and grace
and for
K
ATHY
,
who waited the longest.
1
The Star-Bearer and Raederle of An sat on the crown
of the highest of the seven towers of Anuin. The white
stone fell endlessly away from them, down to the summer-
green slope the great house sat on. The city itself spilled
away from the slope to the sea. The sky revolved above
them, a bright, changeless blue, its expression broken
only by the occasional spiral of a hawk. Morgon had not
moved for hours. The morning sun had struck his profile
on the side of the embrasure he sat in and shifted his
shadow without his notice to the other side. He was aware
of Raederle only as some portion of the land around him,
of the light wind, and the crows sketching gleaming black
lines through the green orchards in the distance:
something peaceful and remote, whose beauty stirred
every once in a while through his thoughts.
His mind was spinning endless threads of conjecture
that snarled constantly around his ignorance. Stars,
children with faces of stone, the fiery, broken shards of a
bowl he had smashed in Astrin’s hut, dead cities, a dark-
haired shape-changer, a harpist, all resolved under his
probing into answerless riddles. He gazed back at his own
life, at the history of the realm, and picked at facts like
potshards, trying to piece them together. Nothing fit;
nothing held; he was cast constantly out of his memories
into the soft summer air.
He moved finally, stiffly as a stone deciding to move,
and slid his hands over his eyes. Flickering shapes like
ancient beasts without names winged into light behind his
eyelids. He cleared his mind again, let images drift and
flow into thought until they floundered once again on the
shoals of impossibility.
The vast blue sky broke into his vision, and the
swirling maze of streets and houses below. He could think
no longer; he leaned against his shadow. The silence
within the slab of ancient stone eased through him; his
thoughts, worn meaningless, became quiet again.
He saw a soft leather shoe then and a flicker of leaf-
green cloth. He turned his head and found Raederle sitting
cross-legged on the ledge beside him.
He leaned over precariously and drew her against
him. He laid his face against her long windblown hair and
saw the burning strands beneath his closed eyes. He was
silent for a time, holding her tightly, as if he sensed a
wind coming that might sweep them out of their high,
dangerous resting place.
She stirred a little; her face lifting to kiss him, and
his arms loosened reluctantly. “I didn’t realize you were
here,” he said, when she let him speak.
“I guessed that, somehow, after the first hour or so.
What were you thinking about?”
“Everything.” He nudged a chip of mortar out of a
crack and flicked it into the trees below. A handful of
crows startled up, complaining. “I keep battering my
brains against my past, and I always come to the same
conclusion. I don’t know what in Hel’s name I am doing.”
She shifted, drawing her knees up, and leaned back
against the stone beside her to face him. Her eyes filled
with light, like sea-polished amber, and his throat
constricted suddenly, too full of words. “Answering
riddles. You told me that that is the only thing you can
keep doing, blind and deaf and dumb, and not knowing
where you are going.”
“I know.” He searched more mortar out of the crack
and threw it so hard he nearly lost his balance. “I know.
But I have been here in Anuin with you for seven days,
and I can’t find one reason or one riddle to compel me out
of this house. Except that if we stay here much longer, we
will both die.”
“That’s one,” she said soberly.
“I don’t know why my life is in danger because of
three stars on my face. I don’t know where the High One
is. I don’t know what the shape-changers are, or how I can
help a cairn of children who have turned into stone at the
bottom of a mountain. I know of only one place to begin
finding answers. And the prospect is hardly appealing.”
“Where?”
“In Ghisteslwchlohm’s mind.”
She stared at him, swallowing, and then frowned
down at the sun-warmed stone, “Well.” Her voice shook
almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t think we could stay here
forever. But, Morgon—”
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]