tg.stone of tears-第92部分

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k。　But　why　would　it　be　in　his　mind　now？　Just　a　random　memory　forcing　its　way　to　the　surface；　he　decided。
　
　It　was　as　good　a　background　as　any　to　put　the　sword　on。　After　all；　he　was　trying　to　use　magic。　If　his　mind　wanted　to　use　it；　it　made　no　difference　to　him；　he　would　let　it　be。　At　that　thought；　the　image　of　the　sword　and　a　square　black　background　with　white　around　it　solidified　and　became　still。
　
　Richard　concentrated　on　the　mental　image　of　the　sword　against　the　black　square　with　the　white　border。　He　concentrated　as　hard　as　he　could。　Something　began　to　happen。
　
　The　sword；　the　black　square；　and　the　white　border　all　began　to　shimmer　as　if　seen　through　heat　waves。　The　solid　form　of　the　sword　softened。　It　became　transparent；　and　then　it　was　gone。　The　background　dissolved。　He　was　looking　into　a　place　he　knew。
　
　The　Garden　of　Life；　at　the　People’s　Palace。
　
　Richard　thought　it　odd；　and　somewhat　annoying；　that　he　wasn’t　able　to　hold　his　concentration　enough　to　keep　the　image　of　the　sword　in　his　mind。　The　memory　of　the　place　where　he　killed　Darken　Rahl　must　have　been　so　strong　that　it　forced　its　way　into　his　mind　while　he　was　relaxed。
　
　He　was　about　to　try　to　force　the　image　of　the　sword　to　e　back　when　he　smelled　something。　Burned　flesh。　The　stench　made　his　nostrils　flare。　He　almost　gagged。　His　stomach　turned　sickeningly。
　
　He　searched　the　image　of　the　Garden　of　Life。　It　was　like　looking　through　a　dirty　windowpane。　There　were　bodies　lying　over　the　short　walls；　fallen；　partly　hidden；　in　bushes；　and　sprawled　on　the　grass。　All　were　hideously　burned。　Some　held　weapons；　swords　or　battle…axes；　in　charred　fists。　Others　lay　with　open　hands；　their　weapons　resting　where　they　had　tumbled　as　their　owners　fell　dead。　Choking　apprehension　swelled　in　Richard’s　chest。
　
　Richard　saw　the　back　of　a　white；　glowing　figure　standing　before　the　stone　altar；　before　the　three　boxes　of　Orden。　One　of　the　boxes　stood　open；　as　Richard　remembered。　The　white　figure　with　long　blond　hair　lifted　his　face　away　from　the　boxes。
　
　Darken　Rahl　turned　and　looked　right　into　Richard’s　eyes。　His　blue　eyes　glowed。　A　smile　spread　slowly　on　his　lips。　It　seemed　as　if　Richard　was　helplessly　pulled　closer。　Closer　to　the　grinning　face。
　
　Darken　Rahl　lifted　a　hand　to　his　mouth　and　licked　the　tips　of　his　fingers。　‘Richard；’　he　hissed。　‘I’m　waiting　for　you。　e　watch　while　I　tear　the　veil。’
　
　Unable　to　draw　a　breath；　Richard　slammed　the　image　of　the　sword　back　into　his　mind；　like　slamming　a　door。　He　held　it　there；　rigidly；　without　the　background；　as　he　tried　to　make　himself　breathe。
　
　It　was　just　a　stray　memory；　and　his　fear；　making　him　see　the　image；　he　told　himself。　He　concentrated　on　the　sword　as　he　finally　decided　that　what　he　had　seen　wasn’t　real；　but　maybe　a　manifestation　of　his　heartache　over　Kahlan；　and　his　lack　of　sleep。
　
　That’s　what　it　had　to　be。　It　couldn’t　have　been　real。　That　would　be　impossible。　He　would　have　to　be　insane　to　believe　it　had　been　real。
　
　He　opened　his　eyes。　Sister　Verna　was　sitting　calmly　watching　him。　She　gave　a　heavy　sigh　…　he　thought　maybe　out　of　displeasure。
　
　Richard　swallowed。　‘I’m　sorry。　Nothing　happened。’
　
　‘Don’t　be　discouraged；　Richard。　I　did　not　expect　anything　to　happen。　It　takes　a　long　time　to　learn　to　touch　the　Han。　It　will　happen　when　it　happens。　There　is　no　way　to　rush　it。　It　does　no　good　to　push　too　hard；　it　es　from　finding　the　inner　peace　and　not　by　force。　That　is　long　enough　for　today。’
　
　‘A　few　minutes？　That’s　all　you　want　me　to　try？’
　
　She　lifted　an　eyebrow。　‘You　have　had　your　eyes　closed　for　over　an　hour。’
　
　He　stared　at　her；　and　then　glanced　to　the　sun。　It　seemed　to　have　jumped　up　into　the　sky。　Over　an　hour。　How　was　that　possible？　A　tingle　of　apprehension　spread　through　him。
　
　She　cocked　her　head。　‘It　seemed　only　a　few　minutes　to　you？’
　
　Richard　stood。　He　didn’t　like　the　frown　on　her　face。　‘I　don’t　know。　I　wasn’t　paying　any　attention。　I　guess　it　did　feel　like　an　hour。’
　
　
　He　started　packing　the　few　things　he　had　taken　out。　The　more　he　thought　about　what　he　had　seen；　the　more　unreal　it　seemed。　It　began　to　feel　like　a　dream　after　waking；　the　fear；　the　hard　edges；　the　reality；　fading。　He　began　to　feel　foolish　for　being　so　frightened　by　a　dream。
　
　A　dream？　He　hadn’t　been　sleeping。　How　could　he　have　been　dreaming　when　he　was　awake？
　
　Maybe　he　hadn’t　been　awake。　He　had　been　dead　tired。　Maybe　while　he　was　sitting　there　concentrating　on　the　sword；　he　had　fallen　asleep。　That’s　how　he　went　to　sleep；　sometimes：　by　concentrating　on　something　until　he　drifted　off。　That　was　the　only　explanation　for　the　time　going　so　fast。　He　was　asleep；　and　the　rest　of　it　had　been　a　dream。
　
　He　let　out　a　heavy　breath。　He　felt　silly　for　having　been　so　frightened；　but　he　felt　relieved；　too。　When　he　turned；　Sister　Verna　was　still　watching　him。
　
　‘Do　you　wish　to　shave　now？　Now　that　I　have　shown　you　I　only　wish　to　help　you。’
　
　Richard　straightened。　‘I　told　you：　prisoners　don’t　shave。’
　
　‘You　are　not　a　prisoner；　Richard。’
　
　He　stuffed　his　blanket　into　his　pack；　tucking　in　the　corners　to　make　it　fit。　‘Will　you　remove　the　collar？’
　
　Her　answer　was　slow　in　ing；　but　firm。　‘No。　Only　when　it　is　time。’
　
　‘May　I　leave；　and　go　where　I　wish？’
　
　She　sighed　impatiently。　‘No。　You　must　go　with　me。’
　
　‘And　if　I　don’t；　if　I　try　to　leave　you？’
　
　Her　eyes　narrowed　a　little。　Then　I　would　be　forced　to　prevent　it。　You　would　find　you　did　not　like　that。’
　
　Richard　nodded　solemnly。　‘That　fits　my　definition　of　a　prisoner。　As　long　as　I’m　a　prisoner；　I　will　not　shave。’
　
　The　horses　nickered　at　his　approach；　their　ears　pricking　toward　him。　Sister　Verna　eyed　them　suspiciously。　He　returned　the　greeting　with　gentle　words　and　a　stiff　scratch　to　the　side　of　each　horse’s　neck。　Taking　out　the　brushes；　he　gave　each　a　quick　grooming；　paying　particular　attention　to　their　backs。
　
　Sister　Verna　folded　her　arms。　‘Why　are　you　doing　that？　You　groomed　them　last　night。’
　
　‘Because　horses　like　to　roll　in　the　dirt。　They　could　have　something　under　where　the　saddle　goes。　Feels　kind　of　like　walking　around　with　a　rock　in　your　boot；　only　worse；　it　could　give　them　a　sore；　and　then　we　won’t　be　able　to　ride　them。　So；　I　like　to　check　them　over　before　I　put　their　saddles　on。’
　
　When　he　finished；　he　cleaned　the　brushes　against　each　other。　‘What　are　their　names？’
　
　Sister　Verna　gave　a　sour　frown。　‘They　don’t　have　names。　They　are　just　horses。　We　don’t　give　names　to　dumb　animals。’
　
　He　pointed　with　the　curry　brush　at　the　chestnut　gelding。　‘You　don’t　even　give　your　own　a　name？’
　
　‘He　is　not　my　own。　They　all　belong　to　the　Sisters　of　the　Light。　I　ride　whichever　one　is　available。　The　bay　you　rode　yesterday　is　the　one　I　rode　before　you　came　with　me；　but　it　makes　no　difference。　I　simply　ride　whichever　one　is　available。’
　
　‘Well；　from　now　on；　they’re　going　to　have　names。　Avoids　confusion。　Yours　is　the　chestnut；　and　he　will　be　Jessup；　my　bay　will　be　Bonnie；　and　the　other　bay　will　be　Geraldme。’
　
　‘Jessup；　Bonnie；　and　Geraldine；’　she　huffed。　‘No　doub