飞灰 From The Ashes
作者：Aaron Dembski-Bowden
“我做不到。”
“I can’t do it.”
说这话时基根觉得舌头僵硬，几乎是撞在了牙齿上。但他仍然把这几个字挤出了口。
The words thickened Kegan’s tongue, and almost crashed against the cage of his teeth, but he forced them past his lips.
“师父，我做不到。”
“Master. I can’t do it.”
失败让他有机会喘了口气。谁能预料到挫折竟会如此磨人呢？他望向老人眼中，看看是否有一丝同情——让他嫌恶的是他确实看见了，清晰得如同无云的晴空。
Defeat gave him a chance to catch his breath. Who knew failure could be so exhausting? In that moment, he looked for sympathy in the older man’s eyes—to his disgust, he saw it right there, as bare as the cloudless sky.
师父说话时掺有一种来自远方的轻快调子。这种口音在北风呼啸的地方很少听到。“这和你做不做得到没有半点关系，”他说，“是你不得不做。”
When Kegan’s master spoke, it was with the lilting flow of faraway lands. His was an accent rarely carried by these northern winds. “It is not a matter of whether you can,” he said. “Only that you must.”
老人打了个响指。紫光一闪，枯柴堆活了过来——意念力刹那间便生起了一堆营火。
The older man clicked his fingers. With a purple flash, the bundle of deadwood flared to life; a campfire born in a single moment of willpower.
基根把头转向一边，往雪里啐了一口。这些话他早就听过，一如既往全是废话。
Kegan turned from the fire and spat into the snow. They were words he’d heard before, and they were as useless now as they always were.
“你弄得好像很容易似的。”
“You make it seem so easy.”
师父耸耸肩，仿佛需要想一阵子才能回应基根漫不经心的控诉。“应该说是简单，不是容易。这是两个概念。”
His master shrugged, as if even that half-hearted accusation needed a moment’s thought before replying. “It is simple, perhaps. Not easy. The two aren’t always the same thing.”
“但肯定有别的方法……”基根喃喃说着，下意识地摸了摸自己脸颊上烧伤的疤痕。他一边说，一边愈发地坚信。肯定有。不会总是这样，不可能总是这样的。
“But there has to be another way…” Kegan muttered, unconsciously touching his fingertips to the burn-scars blighting his cheek. Even as he said it, he found himself believing it. It had to be true. It wouldn’t always be like this. It couldn’t always be like this.
“为什么？”师父看着他，眼光中满是藏不住的好奇。“为什么肯定会有别的方法？就因为你不断地败在这个方法上吗？”
“Why?” His master looked at him with unconcealed curiosity in the light of his eyes. “Why must there be another way? Because you continue to fail at this one?”
基根低声说：“只有懦夫才会用问题来回答问题。”
Kegan grunted. “Answering questions with questions is a coward’s way of speaking.”
师父挑起一边眉毛：“嗯，一个野蛮人，大字不识，十以上的数就不会数了，倒也会说些聪明话。”
His master raised one dark eyebrow. “And there it is. The wisdom of a barbarian who cannot yet read, or count past the number of fingers on his hands.”
两人不约而同地露出一抹坏笑，气氛缓和下来。他们热了汤，装在象牙杯里小口地啜饮，营火给他们披上闪动的琥珀色。在他们头顶——苔原上空大约上百英里的高空泛起了涟漪般的光芒。
The tension faded as the two of them shared a grim smile. They warmed broth, sipping it from ivory cups as their campfire cast them in a flickering amber glow. Above them—above the tundra for hundreds of miles around—the sky rippled with light.
基根望着天空中熟悉的奇景。薄纱似的辉光轻柔地爱抚着月亮还有周围摇篮般的星辰。虽然他对这片土地满怀鄙夷，但是只要知道眼睛该往哪儿瞧，照样能发现无穷的美景。
Kegan watched the heavens’ familiar performance, the gauzy radiance caressing the moon and the stars that cradled it. For all that he loathed this land, there was beauty here in abundance, if a man knew where to look.
有时候只要简单地抬头看就行了。
Sometimes that was as simple as looking up.
“今晚的精灵跳得很欢。”他说。
“The spirits dance wildly tonight,” he said.
师父将古怪的凝视抛向天际。“你说极光？这不是精灵干的——只不过是太阳风作用于高空的……”
His master tilted his unnatural gaze skyward. “The aurora? That is not the work of spirits—only the action of solar winds on the upper reaches of…”
基根盯着他。
Kegan stared at him.
师父话音渐弱，生硬地清了清嗓子：“没什么。”
His master trailed off, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Never mind.”
二人重新陷入了沉默。基根从腰带上取下一柄小刀，在一块没有烧着的木片上刻划。他的刻工很轻巧。曾经引燃火焰夺人性命的双手，此刻的目的就平和了许多。
Silence returned to haunt them. Kegan drew the knife from his belt, setting to work on a sliver of unburnt wood. He carved with easy strokes. Hands that had set fires and ended lives now turned to a far more peaceful purpose.
从眼角的余光中，他看到老法师正望着他。
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the sorcerer was watching him.
“我要你吸口气。”老人说。
“I want you to breathe in,” the older man said.
小刀仍在划着木片。“我现在不在呼吸么，我一直在呼吸。”
The blade still scraped over the bark. “I’m breathing now. I’m always breathing.”
“请你，”师父的耐心快要到头了，“不要这么愚钝。”
“Please,” his master said, with an edge of impatience, “do not be so obtuse.”
“这么——什么？”
“So what?”
“愚钝。意思是……唉算了，当我没说。我想你吸口气，然后尽可能憋住，越久越好。”
“Obtuse. It means… Well, never mind what it means. I want you to breathe in, and hold it as long as you can.”
“为什么？”
“Why?”
师父似乎叹了口气。
His master exhaled something like a sigh.
“行吧。”基根把木片扔进火堆，又把骨柄小刀塞回鞘内。“行，行，行。”
“Fine,” Kegan agreed, tossing the branch into the fire and sheathing his bone-handled knife once more. “Fine, fine, fine.”
他深深地吸了一口，胸膛和肩膀的肌肉都鼓了起来。他憋着气安静地看着师父，弄不明白接下来要干什么。
He took a deep breath, swelling the muscles of his chest and shoulders. Silenced as he held his breath, he looked to his master for whatever would come next.
“你吸进去的空气并不是你在身体里创造出来的，”法师说，“你将空气迎进去，让它维持你的生命。你的身体需要时它就能派上用场，呼气时就又会将它释放出来。空气从来都不属于你。你只是它的容器。你吸气，呼气，你就是空气流动的通道。”
“You do not create the air you breathe,” the sorcerer said. “You draw it inside you, letting it sustain you. You use it as your body requires, and then release it as you exhale. It is never yours. You are just a vessel for it. You breathe in, you breathe out. You are a channel through which air flows.”
基根想要松气，但师父对他摇了摇头。
Kegan made to release his breath, though his master shook his head.
“不行。还不够。基根，感受空气在你的肺里。感受它要冲破你身体的樊笼。感受它挣扎着要脱逃的欲望。”
“No. Not yet. Feel the air in your lungs, Kegan. Feel it pushing at the cage of your body. Feel it straining to escape.”
年轻的野蛮人脸憋得通红。他说不了话，眼睛里满是疑问。
The young barbarian’s features were flushing red. His eyes asked the question his mouth could not.
“不行。”法师回答。他举起一只褪色的手指着基根。“继续憋。”
“No,” the sorcerer answered. He gestured to Kegan with a discoloured hand. “Keep holding.”
基根的耐力耗光之后，好胜心涌了上来，让他又挺了一阵子。等到他好胜心随着胸口的疼痛开始动摇，剩下的就完全是纯粹的固执。他全身发抖，眼光像刀子似的盯着师父。他知道这肯定是在考验他，也知道自己必须证明一些东西，哪怕不知道到底是什么。
When Kegan’s endurance finally gave out, defiance took over, buying him more time. When even his defiance began to ebb with the pain of his quivering chest, naked stubbornness took control. He glared daggers at his master, trembling with the effort, knowing this was surely a test—knowing he had to prove something, without knowing just what it might be.
他的视野边缘变成了雾蒙蒙的灰色。脉搏有节奏地擂着他的耳朵。师父一直观察着他，什么话也没有说。
Greyness misted the edge of his vision. His pulse was rhythmic thunder in his ears. All the while his master looked on, saying nothing.
终于，吸进去的空气爆发出来，回归了清冷的夜风。基根瘫倒在地，喘着粗气。这一刻他就像一头狼，朝周围龇出了獠牙，提防着任何趁他虚弱时来犯的危机。
Finally, his breath burst back into the chill evening air, and Kegan sagged, gasping, as he recovered. He was a wolf in that moment, a wild animal baring his teeth at the world around him, offering a threat to any that might attack in his moment of weakness.
师父依旧看着。
His master watched this, too.
“我刚才还在好奇你会不会把自己憋昏过去。”师父嘟囔着说。
“I was beginning to wonder if you would actually let yourself pass out,” he murmured.
基根咧嘴一笑，握拳撞了一下自己胸口，显然很骄傲自己能憋这么久。
Kegan grinned, and pounded a fist against his chest, wordlessly proud of how long he’d held out.
“问题就在这里，”师父打量着他的姿势，“我说过空气不属于你，可是你却觉得能把空气憋在身体里越久越值得骄傲。魔法也是同样的道理。你渴望得到魔法，认为它是可以据为己有的一件东西。你固执不放，却忘记了你只是魔法流经的通道而已。你将它堵在自己心里，扼在手中，魔法也就窒息了。因为你把魔法当成可以听候你调遣的某样物品。而你错了，大错特错。魔法就像空气。你要把身边的魔法迎进来，借用一下，再归还出去。”
“Therein lies the problem,” his master observed, reading his posture. “I told you the air was not yours, yet you are thrilled with yourself for how long you kept it inside you. It is the same with magic. You want it, believing it can be owned. You cling to it, forgetting that you are merely a channel through which it passes. You choke it in your heart, and in your hands. And so the magic is strangled in your grip, because you see it as something to bind to your will. It is not, and never will be. It is like air. You must draw in what exists around you, use it for a moment, then let it free.”
两个人——一个徒弟一个师父，一个蛮族一个法师——又沉默了。风呼啸着穿过南边的峡谷，仿佛是哀恸的哭声。
The two of them—student and master, barbarian and sorcerer—fell silent again. The wind howled through the canyons to the south, bringing a keening cry on the breeze.
基根狐疑地看向老人。“那……这些话你直接说不就好了吗？为什么还要我憋气？”
Kegan eyed the older man suspiciously. “So… why didn’t you just say all that? Why make me hold my breath?”
“我说过……用了几十种方式，说过几十次。我希望加上一点实践能有助于你理解。”
“I have said all of that before. Several dozen times, in several dozen ways. I hoped a practical element to the lesson might aid your comprehension.”
基根哼了一下，转头盯着营火。
Kegan snorted, then glared into the fire.
“师父。最近老是有件事让我放不下。”
“Master. Something’s been preying on my mind of late.”
法师暗自窃笑，拍了拍捆在自己背上的卷轴。“不行，基根。我不能让你看。”
The sorcerer chuckled to himself and patted the rolled, bound parchment leashed to his back. “No, Kegan. I am not letting you read this.”
年轻人笑了笑，虽然眼光中全无笑意。“我要问的不是那个。”他说，“有没有可能，我其实不是个糟糕的徒弟，而你却是个糟糕的老师呢？”
The young tribesman grinned, though his stare was devoid of mirth. “That’s not what I wanted to ask,” he said. “What if I’m not a bad student? What if you’re just a bad teacher?”
师父盯着火焰，疲惫的瞳仁映出跃动的火光。
His master stared into the flames, his weary eyes reflecting the dancing firelight.
“我有时也会这么怀疑。”他说。
“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” he replied.
第二天，他们启程向北，再往西去。没过多久，他们脚下稀疏的苔原变成了毫无生气的冻土。两人的靴子踩在石化的废土上嘎吱作响，大地上只有零星的地衣。法师的心情和周围的环境一样黯淡荒凉，可是基根还是老样子——坚忍，毫无怨言，但也毫无喜悦。
The next day, they journeyed north, and west. It would not be long before even the sparse tundra froze over, leaving them travelling through fields of lifeless ice. For now, their boots crunched on useless, rocky soil, broken only by scrub flora. The sorcerer’s thoughts were as bleak as their surroundings, but Kegan was his usual self—persevering without complaint, but equally without joy.
“你那天说了件什么事，”野蛮人跟在法师身边拖着步子，“听起来好像是在骗人的。”
“You said something the other day,” the barbarian said as he drew alongside his master. “Something that sounded like a lie.”
法师微微偏过脑袋，脸庞罩在兜帽的阴影下。“我做过很多事，也不见得样样光彩。但我没骗过人。”
The sorcerer turned slightly, his features shadowed by his hood. “I am many things,” said the older man, “and not all of them are virtuous. But I am not a liar.”
基根哼了一声，不知道算不算是道歉。“那，可能也不是骗人的话。更像是……传说？”
Kegan grunted what may or may not have been an apology. “Perhaps not a lie, then. More like… a fable.”
法师一边看着他，一边继续往前走。“说下去。”
The sorcerer was watching him as they walked. “Go on.”
“就是那个地方。有一个帝国。你说那个王国许多个世纪前被毁掉了。”
“That place. That empire. The kingdom you said was destroyed lifetimes ago.”
“恕瑞玛？怎么了？”
“Shurima? What of it?”
“你说那个地方从来没有霜雪，也不会结冰。”基根笑起来，像是在讲一个笑话。“师父，我可没你想象得那么好骗。”
“You said it lay in a land never touched by frost, or rimed by ice.” Kegan grinned as if sharing a joke. “I’m not as gullible as you believe I am, master.”
法师意识到，这个野蛮人的好奇心驱散了他心头的阴翳。他把背上的重担换了一边肩膀，脸上忍不住露出笑意。
The sorcerer found himself dragged out of his bleakness by the barbarian’s curiosity. He switched the burden of his backpack to his other shoulder, unable to hide a small smile.
“我没有骗你。”他站定脚步，指向南方。“在南边很远很远，要走好几百天，穿过另一片大洋，那里的土地……”
“That was no lie.” He stopped walking, turning to point southward. “Far, far to the south, many hundreds of days’ walk, and across another ocean, there lies a land where…”
该怎样和一个只经历过冬天的人解释沙漠呢？他自问。又该怎样给一个只见过雪的人解释沙子？
How does one explain the desert to a man that knows only winter? he thought. How does one explain sand to a man that knows nothing but ice?
“……那里的泥土是滚烫的尘埃，没有人知道雪是什么。太阳不留情面地拍下来。就连雨都少见。所以大地日复一日地，渴望着雨水。”
“…a land where the earth is hot dust, and where snow is utterly unknown. The sun beats down without mercy. Even rain is rare. The ground thirsts for it, day after day.”
基根又盯着他，发白的眼珠流露出一种神情——似乎是在怀疑他所说的事情是不是又是为了耍弄自己的鬼话。这种神情法师一辈子在许多人眼中见过，既有孤独的孩童，也有脆弱的大人。
Kegan was staring at him again. He had that look in his pale eyes, the one that said he didn’t dare trust what was being told, in case it was some trick to make him look foolish. The sorcerer had seen that look in the eyes of many, in his time—lonely children and fragile adults alike.
“从来没被艾尼维亚触碰过的土地吗……”基根喃喃地说。“但世界真的有那么大吗？大到一个人可以走那么久却还是看不到尽头？”
“A place that has never felt Anivia’s touch,” Kegan murmured. “But is the world really that large, that a man can walk for so long and still not see its end?”
“事实如此。世界上还存在一些没有冰封的大陆。你慢慢就会知道，没有几个地方会像弗雷尔卓德一样寒冷。”
“It is the truth. There are whole lands elsewhere in the world that are not frozen. In time, you will learn that there are few places as cold as the Freljord.”
之后的旅途中，谈话显得越发多余。等到他们停下来扎营时，也更没什么好说的了。即便这样，年轻的野蛮人还是没忍住。他看向火堆对面，师父正盘腿坐着，闷闷不乐地想着什么。
The conversation was stilted for the rest of the day’s journey, and when they made camp, there seemed little more to say. Even so, the young barbarian persevered. He looked across the campfire, to where his master sat cross-legged in sullen introspection.
“你不该教我点什么吗？”
“Shouldn’t you be teaching me something?”
法师挑起一侧眉毛。“是吗？”
The sorcerer raised an eyebrow. “Should I?”
他总是挂着一副表情，似乎在说自己的徒弟哪怕仅仅是活着就是在叨扰他。他们已经共处了几个星期，基根倒也渐渐习惯了。年轻人用手抓抓脏兮兮的头发，从脸前拨开母亲给他编进发辫的象牙饰品。他嘴里念念叨叨，希望能讲出一些让师父也会感兴趣的话。
He always had a look about him that suggested his apprentice was interrupting him just by being alive. They’d been together for a few weeks now. Kegan was growing used to it. The youth dragged his hands through dirty hair, brushing his mother’s ivory trinkets from his face. He muttered something that would, with imagination, pass for an agreement.
可法师根本没打算搭理，他只好硬着头皮继续问。
When the sorcerer still refused to answer, he pressed harder.
“那，我们今天能到……我们要去的地方吗？”
“So, will we get to... wherever it is we’re going, today?”
师父谨慎地回答：“不能。再走几个星期也未必。”
His master regarded him carefully. “No. We will not reach our destination for several weeks.”
法师看起来没有在说笑。
The sorcerer did not seem to be jesting.
“而且，你在控制自己的天赋时所经历的困苦比我想象得更大。”他淡淡地补充了一句。
“And I have given more thought to the difficulties you suffer in controlling your gifts,” he added, flatly.
基根不知道该说什么。有时候，为了不让自己看起来显得愚蠢或者不耐烦，保持沉默是唯一的办法。他也确实是这么做的。看起来效果不错，因为法师继续说了下去。
Kegan wasn’t sure what to say. Sometimes silence was the only way to avoid looking ignorant or impatient, so he tried that. It seemed to work, for the sorcerer continued.
“你有天分，这不假。这种能力你与生俱来。但你把魔法看做是一种外在的抗力，你必须放弃这种想法。它不需要驯服，只需要……轻轻推一下。我一直在观察你。当你打算运用魔法的时候，你所希望的是将其按照自己的意志来改造它。你想要的是掌控。”
“You have some talent, true enough. The ability is in your blood. Now you must stop perceiving magic as an adversarial, external force. It need not be harnessed, merely… nudged. I have watched you. When you reach out to wield it, you seek to fashion it to your will. You want control.”
基根糊涂了。“可是魔法就是这样的啊。我母亲一直都是这么干的。她想要用魔法来做什么事的时候，魔法就会出现。”
Kegan was getting frustrated now. “But that’s how magic works. That’s what my mother always did. She wanted it to do something, so she made it happen.”
法师气得脸颊险些抽搐，好在他压下了怒意。“你不需要让魔法出现。它本就存在。造物的原始力量充盈于我们身边。你根本不必捕捉魔法，再将它顺应自己的意志加以驱使。你只需要……鼓励它。引导魔法按照你所希望的路径流动。”他一边说，双手一边比划着，像是在揉搓一团陶土。空气中响起一个微弱的鸣声，音调持续且和谐。能量化作雾气在他指间盘绕，一丝一缕地缓缓汇到一起。几道雾气从中间的球体蜿蜒而出，像是蠕动的生命一般，沸腾着卷住他褪色的双手。
The sorcerer suppressed a wince of irritation. “You don’t need to make magic happen. Magic exists in the world. The raw stuff of creation is all around us. You do not need to clutch it, and bend it to your needs. You can just… encourage it. Direct it along the path you would prefer it to take.”
“世上总有些人凭着一股蛮劲研习魔法，试图找到途径将自己的意念强行注入这种始源的力量。尽管笨拙，但也有效果。只是慢，而且效果有限。基根，你不必这么粗鲁。这个球并不是我用魔法塑成的，我只是在鼓励它们汇聚成球体而已。你理解吗？”
As he spoke, he moved his hands as if shaping a ball of clay. A faint chime sounded in the empty air, holding to its eternal, perfect note. Misty energies snaked between his fingers, binding to one another in slow lashes. Several of them tendriled out from the sphere to curl around his discolored hands, seething and darkly organic.
“我懂，”基根承认道，“但和’理解’还是不一样。”
“There will always be those that study magic with rigid intent, mapping the ways one can exert their will on the primal forces. And, clumsy as it is, it will work. Slowly, and with limited results. But you don’t need to behave so crudely, Kegan. I am not shaping these energies into a sphere. I’m merely encouraging them to form one. Do you understand?”
法师点点头，微微一笑。他的徒弟总算是挤出一句勉强有意义的话了。
“I see,” Kegan admitted, “but that’s not the same as understanding.”
“有些人心坚如铁，又或者是想象力有限，他们能够编排界面之间流动着的魔法能量，根据自己的能力来改造和驾驭魔法。他们就像是从墙上的裂缝中看到了外面的阳光，惊奇于光芒渗进黑暗斗室中的景象。但是他们大可以走到外面，在炫目的日光中尽情惊奇。”他重重地叹了口气。“基根，你的母亲就是这样的一个法师。通过反复的仪式和固有的习俗，她摸到了魔法的边角。但她所做的一切——也包括所有仰赖仪式、法宝和法术书的人们——只是竖起了一道屏障，把自己与更纯粹的力量隔绝开来。”
The sorcerer nodded, sharing a small smile. Evidently his apprentice had finally uttered something worthwhile.
基根看着那个球体泛着涟漪旋转，并非困在法师的双手之间，而是不断地漫过他的手掌，像是随时要逃逸出去。
“Some men and women, souls of iron discipline or limited imagination, will codify the magical energy that flows between realms. They will manipulate it, and bind it, however they are able. They are looking at sunlight through a crack in the wall, marveling at how it bleeds into their dark chambers. Instead, they could just go outside, and marvel in the blinding light of day.” He sighed pointedly. “Your mother was one such mage, Kegan. Through repetitive ritual and traditional concoctions, she dabbled in minor magics. But all she was doing—all any of them can do with their rituals and talismans and spell books—is create a barrier between themselves and the purer forces at play.”
“年轻人，听好这个秘密。”
Kegan watched the sphere ripple and revolve, not bound within the sorcerer’s touch at all; constantly overlapping it, or threatening to roll free.
他们的眼神在此刻相交。苍白的人类眼睛，反射出火光还有……不知真身的师父。
“Here is the secret, young barbarian.”
“我在听。”基根的语气出乎意料地软弱。他不想显露出无知又震惊的样子，尤其是自从他知道自己两者兼备之后。
Their eyes met in that moment; pale and human, reflected against shimmering and… whatever his master really was.
“魔法渴望被使用，”法师说，“它就在我们身边，从最初造物时留下的碎片中向外放射。它渴望被驱使。这便是我们共同跋涉的道路上真正的挑战。等你意识到魔法渴望着什么，以及多么迫切……唔，到时候，困难就不在于怎样开始驾驭魔法，而是懂得适可而止了。”
“I’m listening,” Kegan said, softer than he intended. He’d not wanted to appear ignorant and awed, especially since he knew he was both.
法师张开双手，轻轻地把能量涌动的球体推向他的徒弟。基根小心翼翼地伸手接过来，可手指刚一触到球体表面，魔法能量便溃散了。雾气逐渐稀薄，化为无形。鸣音渐弱，归于阒寂。
“Magic wants to be used,” said the sorcerer. “It is all around us, emanating from the first fragments of creation. It wants to be wielded. And that is the true challenge on the path we both walk. When you realize what the magic wants, how eager it is… Well, then the difficulty isn’t how to begin wielding it. It’s knowing when to stop.”
“你会掌握的，”法师向他保证。“耐心与谦逊是最艰难的课程，但也是你必须要领悟的。”
The sorcerer opened his hands, gently nudging the sphere of cascading forces towards his apprentice. The barbarian cautiously reached out to welcome it, only for it to burst the moment his fingers grazed its surface. The trails of mist thinned and faded away. The ringing chime grew fainter, then altogether silent.
基根点点头，虽然并不干脆，而且也并非全无疑虑。
“You will learn,” the sorcerer promised. “Patience and humility are the hardest lessons, but they are all you will ever need.”
Kegan nodded, though not at once, and not without a sliver of doubt.
那天晚上，法师彻夜无眠。他躺在一条粗糙的毛毯里，仰望着夜空中浪涌般的极光。火堆的另一侧，基根正发出鼾声。
肯定是没心没肺的人才会梦见的梦境。法师心想。
The sorcerer didn’t sleep that night. He lay awake, wrapped in a crude blanket of furs, staring up at the aurora undulating across the night sky. On the other side of the banked fire, the barbarian snored.
不。这不公平。基根是个蛮子没错，但却是个在受尽苦难的土地上成长起来的青年。弗雷尔卓德所孕育的灵魂必然会把生存看作至高无上的需求。荒野中游荡着的野兽坚皮似铁尖牙如矛，敌对村落的人沿着冰封的海岸烧杀掳掠，还有持续了数百年的冬天。在这片土地上，文字和绘画都是奢侈的消遣——书本更是不可想象。一代代人只能依靠昏聩老者和部落萨满的呓语反复不断的讲述，才能将故事传承下去。
Doubtlessly dreaming the dreams of the unburdened, thought the sorcerer.
而基根，即使愚钝固执，也远远不可能没心没肺。
No. That was unfair. Kegan was a brute, yes, but he was a youth roughly hewn from a land of endless hardship. The Freljord bred souls whose instinct was forever focused on survival above all else. Beasts with iron hides and spear-length fangs stalked the wilds. Raiders from rival villages shed blood all along the icy coasts. Their winter had lasted a hundred lifetimes. These people grew in a land where writing and artistry were luxuries; where the reading of books was an unimaginable myth, and lore was told and retold down the generations in whispered stories by weary elders and tribal shamans.
我带上他，是不是做错了？那一刻我是出于同情，还是软弱？
And Kegan, for all his blunt stubbornness, was far from unburdened.
似乎永远也不会有定论。
Is it a mistake, bringing him with me? Was this a moment of mercy, or a moment of weakness?
我其实可以扔下他——这个念头一起，就抑制不住地膨胀起来——反正也不是第一次了……
There seemed no answer to that.
法师的目光穿过余烬上空颤动的热流，落在睡着的野蛮人身上。年轻人嘴唇在微微抽动，手指也在相应地轻晃。
I could have left him. As soon as the thought occurred, the rest of it rose unbidden, treacherously swift. And he would not be the first I had abandoned...
“我好奇你会梦见什么，基根·诺和，”法师低声说，“淡去的回忆中，是什么样的鬼魂想要占有你呢？”
The sorcerer looked through the haze of heat that shimmered above the faded fire, and watched the barbarian sleep. The young man’s lip twitched, with an answering flicker of his fingers.
“I should wonder what you dream of, Kegan Rodhe,” the sorcerer whispered. “What ghosts of fading memory reach out to reclaim you?”
夜复一夜的梦境里，基根就在自己的过往中行走。遇见法师之前，他是个荒芜冰原上的流放者，强烈的求生意志是唯一能够温暖他的东西。
Night after night, in his dreams, Kegan walked the paths of his past. Before meeting the sorcerer, he had been an exile, wandering the frozen wastes alone, warmed only by his brash refusal to die.
再往前呢？打手。不成器的萨满。与母亲不和的儿子。
And before that? A brawler. A failed shaman. A son to a distant mother.
他的身子骨勉强算是经历过十九个冬天的锤炼，以其他任何一个地方的标准来看都还是个后生——除了弗雷尔卓德。他凭着刀子和伎俩努力地活着，既赢得了一点名声，也背上了远多于他应得的骂名。
He was still young by any standard beyond that of the Freljord, with scarcely the chill of nineteen winters in his bones. He had lived hard, by his wits and the edge of his blade, winning a cut of renown and more than his fair share of indignity.
夜复一夜的梦境里，他流离失所，在咆哮的雪暴中迷失了方向，慢慢地冻死。他是个医师，顶着倾盘大雨在乱石间摸索，寻觅着杂草中稍不留意就会错过的珍贵草药。他是个男孩，蜷缩在母亲的石洞中，安然地避过世上的纷乱，却避不过母亲的凝视——满是忧虑的凝视。
Night after night, in his dreams, he was a ragged wanderer lost in the howling white storm once more, slowly freezing to death in the snow. He was a healer, scrabbling over loose rocks in the rain, seeking the flashes of color that betrayed rare herbs amid the undergrowth. He was a boy crouched in his mother’s cave, in that place that was a sanctuary from the world but never from her gaze, laden with misgivings.
夜复一夜的梦境里，瑞格恩村又一次燃起了大火。
And night after night, in his dreams, Rygann’s Reach burned again.
他在七岁时明白了自己的血统。母亲蹲在他面前，双手捧着他的脸，检视他脸上的淤青和伤痕。他感到一丝莫名难堪的惊诧，因为母亲很少摸他。
He was seven years old when he learned the truth of his blood. His mother crouched before him, turning his face in her hands and looking over the scrapes and bruises marking his skin. He felt an uneasy flicker of surprise, for she rarely touched him.
“谁干的？”她问。他吸了口气刚要回答，却听到母亲说了一些很少说过的话：“你到底干了什么？你犯了什么错，才吃这番苦头的？”
“Who did this to you?” she asked, and as he was drawing breath to answer her, she spoke over him with words he was far more used to hearing. “What did you do? What did you do wrong, to earn this punishment?”
还没等他回话，母亲便起身走开了。
She moved away before he could reply.
他仍能感觉皮肤上还留着母亲的触感，如此陌生，令他忍不住颤栗。这反常的亲近稍纵即逝，让他惆怅又不舍。“妈妈，我和人摔跤。村子的男孩都会摔跤。女孩也是。”
He trembled in the wake of her touch on his skin, unused to the contact, fearing and cherishing that moment of awkward closeness. “Just wrestling, mother. In the village all the boys wrestle. And the girls too.”
母亲怀疑地瞥了他一眼。“基根，那些伤口不是摔跤摔出来的，”她低声说，“我不傻。”
She regarded him with a skeptical eye. “You didn’t get those marks from wrestling, Kegan,” she muttered. “I’m not a fool.”
“摔完跤，还打了一架。”他抬起一边破烂的袖子擦擦鼻子，抹掉一道半干的血痂。“有些人看我赢了不高兴，生气了。”
“There was a fight after the wrestling.” He wiped his nose on his ragged sleeve, smearing away a half-dried scab. “Some of the other boys didn’t like me winning. They got angry.”
母亲很瘦——这片吃人的土地可容不下弱者。她看起来非常显老，既是因为无法言说的悲伤，也是因为她的天赋而受到众人的排挤。基根虽然只有七岁，却也能明白。
His mother was a thin woman—frail in a land that devoured the weak. She was old before her time, a victim of unspoken sorrows and the isolation brought about by her talents. Even at seven, Kegan knew all of this.
得益于母亲身为法师，他是个早慧的孩子。
He was a perceptive child. This was the advantage of having a mage for a mother.
他抬起头，看到母亲的身影嵌在母子二人安家的洞口。他看到她的眼中含着一种柔情，与方才的触摸一样陌生。他以为母亲会蹲下来，将自己拥进怀中。他感到既恐惧又渴望。
As he looked up at her, framed as she was by the mouth of the cave they called home, he saw a softness in her eyes that was as unfamiliar as the touch on his face had been a moment before. He thought she might sink back to her knees before him and draw him into an embrace, and the thought terrified him as much as he yearned for it.
然而，母亲的眼神变得冰冷。
Instead, her dark eyes frosted over.
“我是不是说过不要去招惹别的孩子？基根，如果村子里的人讨厌你，我们的日子就更不好过了。”
“What have I told you about upsetting the other children? You’ll just make our lives even harder if the village hates you, Kegan.”
“可他们先动手的。”
“But they started it.”
她动作一顿，半转过身，俯视着他，脸上表情和眼神一样阴沉冰冷。她的目光与男孩相遇，浅绿色的瞳仁，正如她常说的他父亲的眼睛。
She stopped, half-turned, and looked back down at him. Her expression was as dark and cold as her eyes. The younger gaze lifted to meet hers was pale green, like she so often told him his father’s had been.
“但之前都是你先动手的。基根，你这脾气……”
“And you started it all the other times. Your temper, Kegan…”
“我才没有。”男孩撒了谎。“最起码，不是每次。”
“No, I didn’t,” the boy lied. “Not every time, at least.”
母亲走进洞穴深处，在火坑边盘腿坐下。厄纽克油脂煮成的汤稀如清水，接下来三天的晚餐都是这个。她一边搅拌，一边说：“魔法在我们的血液、骨头、气息里。所以我们要小心，要比别人更加小心。”
His mother moved further back into the cave, crouching by the firepit, stirring the watery broth of boiled elnük fat that would serve as their dinner for the next three nights. “There’s magic in our blood. In our bones. In our breath. We have to be careful, in ways other people don’t.”
“可是——”
“But—”
“你不该在村子里惹麻烦。我们已经很讨人嫌了。老瑞格恩人不错，起码能收留我们。”
“You shouldn’t cause trouble in the village. We already live here on their sufferance. Old Rygann has been good to us, letting us stay here.”
基根没有来得及多想便脱口而出：“我们住在一个石头洞里，离村子那么远。他们既然对我们这么坏，你就不要给他们治病了。我们搬走好了。”
Instinct moved Kegan’s mouth before he had time to think. “We live in a cave in the rocks, far from the village,” he said. “You should stop healing them if they’re so bad to us. We should leave.”
“基根，你在胡说八道些什么。我给人治病是因为我有这个本事。我们住在这里是因为逼不得已。”她朝远处的山峰点点头，山上的树丛披着幽暗的夜色和银亮的月光。“森林会被冰雪覆盖，一直到世界的尽头。我们会死在外面。他们要说什么就让他们说吧。别惹麻烦。也不要惹你身体里的魔法。”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kegan. I heal because I have the power to do it, and we stay because we have to stay.” She nodded to the hillside where the trees were blackened by the night, and silvered by the moon. “We’d die out there, where the woods become ice and snow, all the way to the world’s end. Let them say whatever they want to say. Don’t stir up trouble. Don’t stir up the magic in your blood.”
可男孩仍然一动不动地杵在洞口。“如果他们说我坏话，或是打我……我就还手。我不像你，胆小鬼。”
But the boy stood still at the rim of the cave. “If they say bad things about me, or they fight me… I’ll fight back. I’m not a coward like you.”
接下来发生的事情，将这个晚上永远地烙在了他的记忆中。他有生以来第一次没有低下头跟母亲保证听话，而是握紧了小拳头，狠狠地瞪眼。
This night would become a memory branded forever into his mind because of what came next. For the first time, he didn’t bow his head and promise to obey her. Instead, he clenched his little fists, and narrowed his eyes.
沉默在母子之间拉锯。他本以为会挨一耳光——无力的耳光，会微微疼上个把钟头，又或者是长久的啜泣。母亲经常哭。总在夜里她以为他睡着之后，独自静静流泪，很久很久。
In the silence that stretched between mother and son, he expected a slap—one of her forceless cracks against his cheek that would somehow sting for about an hour afterwards—or maybe yet more weeping. His mother cried a lot, quiet and alone, long into the night when she thought he was asleep.
但这一回，她的眼睛里有些新的东西。像是恐惧。
But this time, there was something new in her eyes. Something fearful.
“你真是你爹亲生的。”母亲的声音平静又克制——似乎更糟。“他的眼睛，一直看着我。他犯的罪，一直在提醒我。而现在，他的话，他的恨，就甩在我脸上。”
“You are your father’s son.” The words were calm and measured, and somehow all the worse for it. “His eyes, always looking at me. His crime, always there to remind me. And now his words, his spite, thrown in my face.”
男孩盯着她，又畏又怒地问：“所以你就讨厌我？”
The boy gazed up at her in awed, childish fury. “Is that why you hate me?”
她犹豫了——这已然胜过任何回答。哪怕过了很多年——母亲嶙峋的骨架在渐冷的柴堆上只剩下尘烬之后，又过了很多年，他也没有忘记这一刻她的犹豫。
She hesitated before answering, and that meant more than any answer ever could. It was that hesitation he never forgot, even years later, long after her skinny bones were naught but ash and dust on a cooling funeral pyre.
他在十三岁时遇到了茨瓦娜。她与二三十人一起来到了瑞格恩村。这些人来自一个游牧部落，在荒野中的生活让他们的人口逐年递减，他们是最后的幸存者。不像其他前来掠夺的不速之客，他们给这座兴旺的渔村带来了新的血液、技能和武器，便安顿了下来。
He was thirteen when he first saw Zvanna. She came to Rygann’s Reach with two dozen others, the survivors of a nomadic clan that had dwindled in the wilds over the course of a generation. Rather than take to raiding like so many others, they settled in the Reach, bringing fresh blood, skills, and spears to the people of the prosperous fishing village.
那天，基根在落日的余晖中遇到了她。他当时正在南边的山里采石楠和药草——剥去带刺的茎秆，再装进鹿皮口袋里。这项工作得慢慢来才能做好，而基根性子毛躁，手上被扎了不下百回。
Kegan met her one day in the half-light of the setting sun. He was picking heather and herbs in the southern hills, stripping the stems of thorns before stuffing them into his stag-hide satchel. It was a slow task when done right, and Kegan’s fingers were pin-pricked in a hundred places from his haste.
他一抬头，就看见了她。
At one point he looked up, and there she was.
他停下手里的活，站起来，拍掉酸痛的手上的尘土。他没有意识到自己脸上的好奇和惊讶看起来十足像是猜忌，不然他的长相其实挺周正的。他母亲就曾说过：“你本来就挺俊，只要你别再用那种眼神看待一切，就好像你有多大的仇要报似的。”
He stopped working. He rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his sore hands, with no idea how curiosity and surprise looked like suspicion on his otherwise fine features. You would be handsome, his mother had once said, if you could stop glaring at the world as if you want to avenge yourself upon it.
“你是谁？”他问。
“Who are you?” he asked.
听他一问，她就畏缩了——就连他自己都觉得自己听起来很粗鲁。
She flinched at the question, and even to his own ears he sounded abrupt.
“我意思是，你是新来的，这我知道。你叫什么？你在这儿干什么呢？迷路了吗？”
“I mean, you’re one of the newcomers. I know that. What’s your name? What are you doing out here? Are you lost?”
一连串的问题像飞石一般，劈头盖脸地砸向女孩。她比他大一些，但最多不过一岁出头。身段苗条，眼睛很大，整个人埋在厚重的皮草里。她说话时一直瞪着他，声音像老鼠一样。
The questions rained on the girl like flung stones. She was older than him, though by no more than a year or two. Willowy, wide-eyed, practically drowning in her heavy furs, she stared back at him as she spoke. She had the voice of a mouse.
“你是医师的儿子？”
“Are you the healer’s boy?”
他咧嘴大笑，却没有高兴的意思。他知道村子里的人在背后都是怎么说他的，于是他数年以来头一回感觉心痛。眼前这女孩初来乍到，也肯定听说过上百件跟他有关的坏事。
He smiled, showing all teeth and no humour. For the first time in years, he felt the ache of knowing that they talked ill of him in the village. Here was someone new to his world, and it was someone who had already heard a hundred dark things about him.
“我叫基根，”他说着吞了口唾沫，想缓和一下语气。“对，我是医师的儿子，”他加了一下点头，“你是谁？”
“Kegan,” he replied. He swallowed, and sought to soften his words. “Yes, I’m the healer’s boy,” he added with a nod. “Who are you?”
“我叫茨瓦娜。你可以和我走吗？我爸爸病了。”
“Zvanna. Can you come? My father is sick.”
基根的心沉了下去。他发觉自己的音调又放低了一些，仿佛正在安抚一头受伤的野兽。
Kegan’s heart sank. He found himself pitching his voice lower, as if she were a grazing beast he didn’t want to frighten away.
“我不是医师。我妈才是。”承认这话简直像是拔了他的一颗牙。“我只是给她帮忙而已。”
“I’m not a healer. Not like my mother.” The confession was like having a tooth pulled. “I just help her.”
“她在去村子的路上，”女孩说，“她叫我来找你。你这儿有她要的草药。”
“She’s on her way to the village,” the girl said. “She told me to find you. You have the herbs she needs.”
基根背好口袋，骂了一句。他踩过黑色的泥土和碎石，轻手轻脚地走向她。“我这就跟你走。你爸爸是谁？他怎么了？”
Kegan cursed as he buckled his bag into place. He started towards her, moving lightly over the dark earth and scree. “I’ll come now. Who’s your father? What’s wrong with him?”
“他是制帆匠。”茨瓦娜一边带路一边回答，“他吃不下东西，也喝不了水。他肚子疼。”
“He’s a sailmaker,” Zvanna replied, leading the way back to the Reach. “He can’t eat or drink. His stomach hurts.”
“我妈妈会有办法的。”基根信心满满地说着，跟她穿过山径朝山下的村子走去。每当女孩回头看他一眼，他就觉得心里好像被捅了一下。他很好奇村子里的其他小孩会和她说些什么。
“My mother will know what to do.” Kegan spoke in the tones of absolute confidence as he followed her across the hillside, descending towards the village. Inwardly, he felt a stab every time she glanced back at him, and he wondered just what she’d heard from the other children of the village.
他没有好奇太久。她不带偏见地柔声说起来。
He didn’t have to wonder for long. She spoke gently, without judgement.
“老瑞格恩说你是个强盗的孩子。强盗的杂种。”
“Old Rygann said you’re a raider’s son. A reaver-bastard.”
太阳西垂，幽影渐渐攫住了两人。基根毫无感情地回答：“老瑞格恩说得对。”
Gloom was taking hold around them with the setting of the sun. Kegan showed no emotion at all. “Old Rygann said the truth.”
“所以你真的很倒霉吗？像传说里说的那样？”
“Does that really make you bad luck? Like the legends say?”
“那要看你信的是哪个传说了……”基根觉得这个回答足够巧妙，可她很快就把这个问题抛了回来。
“Depends which legends you believe…” Kegan considered that a cunning enough answer, but she twisted it back at him a moment later.
“那你呢，你信哪个？”她偏过头望着他问。在暮色中，他与她四目相交，而她温柔的凝视却有如一把利斧劈进他的腹腔。
“Which legends do you believe?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. He met her eyes in the twilight, and felt the force of her gentle gaze like an axe to the gut.
我一个也不信，他想。那些都是害怕真正魔法的蠢人们心底的恐惧。
None of them, he thought. They’re all fears held by foolish men and women, afraid of true magic.
“我也不知道。”他说。
“I don’t know,” he said.
她没接茬儿。不过倒是又蹦出来一个问题。
She had no response for that. She did, however, have another question.
“既然你妈妈是个医师，你为什么不是？”
“If your mother is a healer, why aren’t you?”
因为我不会用魔法——他差点儿就叫起来，但是他想到了更好的说法。“因为我想当个战士。”
Because the magic doesn’t work for me, he almost said aloud, but thought better of it. “Because I want to be a warrior.”
茨瓦娜轻巧地踏过起霜的石块。“可这里又没有战士。只有猎人。”
Zvanna kept ahead of him, her tread light across the icy rocks. “But there are no warriors here. Only hunters.”
“那，我就想当战士。”
“Well. I want to be a warrior.”
“人们更需要的是医师，不是战士呀。”她指出。
“People need healers more than warriors,” she pointed out.
“哦？”基根往矮树丛里啐了一口。“那为什么萨满交不到朋友？”
“Oh?” Kegan spat into the undergrowth. “Then why do shamans have no friends?”
他知道为什么，早听过无数次了。“人们害怕我。”母亲常说。
He knew the answer to that. He’d heard it enough. People are frightened of me, his mother always said.
但是茨瓦娜的回答不一样。
But Zvanna had a different answer.
“如果你救了我爸爸，我就和你交朋友。”
“If you help my father, I’ll be your friend.”
他在十六岁时打折了伊拉奇的下巴。十六岁，他已经有了成年人的骨架和肌肉。十六岁，他已经早已熟知该怎样用拳头来说服别人。他母亲早就一再地警告过他，而现在茨瓦娜也是。
He was sixteen when he broke Erach’s jaw. Sixteen, and already possessing a man’s size and muscle. Sixteen, and all too familiar when it came to proving a point with his fists. His mother warned him about it, time and again, and now Zvanna did the same.
“基根，你这脾气……”她会用上和他母亲一模一样的腔调。
“Your temper, Kegan…” she would say, in the same tone as his mother.
在他十六岁那年，冬至节的庆典空前盛大，加上遥远的西南边的瓦拉尔山谷过来了一支商队还带着三位乐师，庆典的热烈程度更是非同凡响。人们在海岸边起誓，永恒相爱的诺言更是不管不顾地满天乱飞。年轻的战士们在火中起舞，想要吸引在旁围观的未婚少女。有人心碎，有人心安；有人结怨，有人解仇。各种理由都可能打起架来，要么是婚事，要么是钱财，要么是荣誉。毫无节制的痛饮让狂欢的气氛高涨难平。
In his sixteenth year, the solstice celebration was a riotous affair, a louder and brighter celebration than usual with the arrival of a merchant caravan and three string musicians from Valar’s Hollow, far to the south-west. Oathings were made by the shore, and promises of eternal love spoken ardently, foolishly, and frequently. Young warriors fire-danced to impress the unwed locals watching from the sides. Hearts were broken and mended, grudges forged and settled. Fights broke out over betrothals, over property, over matters of honour. The abundance of drink only added to the atmosphere of revelry.
等到苍白的冬日晨光披洒下来时，宿醉渐醒的人们看到永不融化的皑皑白雪，许多人才会开始后悔。
Many were the regrets that came with the pale, winter’s dawn, when the clarity of the unmelting snows returned through fading hangovers.
可是基根和伊拉奇打的那一架却不一般。
But the fight between Kegan and Erach was like no other.
基根从火堆里跳完舞出来，满身大汗地在海边寻觅茨瓦娜的身影。她看到他的表演了吗？她看到村子里其他的年轻人一个个气喘吁吁，全都跟不上他狂野的脚步吗？
Bathed in sweat from the fire-dance, Kegan looked for Zvanna by the shoreline. Had she seen him perform? Had she watched him leave the other young men of the village panting, unable to keep up with his wild leaps?
他母亲披着海豹皮的斗篷，像一个瘦长的鬼影。她头发蓬乱，没洗的发辫里编着饰品和骨制的护身符，耷拉在脸颊旁。她一把抓住他的手腕。冬至节是一年中为数不多的夜晚，母子二人可以在村子里出现，所以母亲便和他一起来了。
His mother was a stick-thin wraith in her sealskin cloak. Her hair was ragged, with the trinkets and talismans of bone tied into the unwashed strands resting against her cheeks. She gripped his wrist. The solstice was one of the few nights their presence was tolerated in the village, and his mother had made the journey with him.
“茨瓦娜在哪里？”他问。
“Where’s Zvanna?” he asked her.
“基根，”她抓紧了他的手腕，“你冷静一下。”
“Kegan,” she warned him as she held his wrist. “I want you to be calm.”
火焰的热度与皮肤上的汗水全都不见了。他感到血液冻结，骨头有如冰凌。
The heat of the flames and the sweat on his skin no longer existed. His blood was frost. His bones were ice.
“茨瓦娜在哪里？”他又问了一遍，已经是低吼了。
“Where’s Zvanna?” he asked again, this time in a growl.
母亲开始跟他解释，可他根本不需要。他似乎早就明白。也许就是在他即将发怒那一瞬间的直觉。又或许是——正像那位法师后来所说的——他沉睡的魔法天赋所焕发的一丝灵光。
His mother started to explain, but he didn’t need her to. Somehow, he knew. Perhaps it was nothing more than a flash of intuition through his dawning temper. Or perhaps it was—as the sorcerer would later say—a flicker of insight from his latent magical gifts.
无论是什么，他一把推开了母亲。他走进海里，许多年轻男女和家人们正站在水中，戴着冬季花朵编织的花环，对彼此发誓将会永远忠诚，永远相爱，至死不渝。
Whatever the truth, he shoved his mother aside. He went down to the waves where young couples stood with their families, garlanded by winter flowers, swearing oaths to stay loyal and loving for the rest of their lives.
他走近时，周围的人开始窃窃私语。他没搭理。他挤过人群时，他们开始阻拦他。他同样没有理睬。
Murmurs started up as he drew near. He ignored them. They became objections as he forced his way through the crowd, and he ignored those, too.
他还不算太迟。这才是关键。还有时间。
He wasn’t too late. That was what mattered. There was still time.
“茨瓦娜！”
“Zvanna!”
所有目光都集中到了他身上，然而他眼中只有她的眼神。等她看清了他脸上的表情时，眼里的欣喜便熄灭了。白色的冬季花冠与她的黑发格格不入。他想一把扯下来。
All eyes turned to him, though hers was the only gaze that mattered. He saw the joy die in her eyes as she recognised the look upon his face. The crown of white winter blossoms was at odds with her black hair. He wanted to rip it from her head.
她身边的年轻男子戒备地站到她身前，但她支开了他，自己面对基根。
The young man at her side moved protectively in front of her, but she eased him aside to confront Kegan herself.
“基根，别这样。是我父亲安排的。如果我不愿意，我可以拒绝。请不要这样。不合适。”
“Don’t do this, Kegan. My father arranged it. I could have refused, if I wanted to. Please don’t do this. Not now.”
“但你是我的。”
“But you’re mine.”
他抓住了她的手。她反应不及，没有抽开——也可能是她知道这么做就会激怒他。
He reached for her hand. She wasn’t fast enough to draw away—that, or she knew it would spark him further if she tried.
“我不是你的，”她柔声说。两人站在人群中心，仿佛他们两个才是要在神灵见证下结合的人。“我不是任何人的。但我接受了茂威尔的婚誓。”
“I’m not yours,” she said softly. They stood in the center of the crowd, as if they were the ones about to be bound together in the sight of the gods. “I’m not anyone’s. But I’m accepting Malvir’s pledge.”
如果只是这样的情景，基根完全能应付得了。尴尬对他来说不值一提——一个大半辈子都在羞辱中度过的人，少年人那易逝的羞耻心又算得了什么呢？他可以一走了之，甚至——强行违背自己的愿望和祈求——留在人群中，在众人的欢笑、庆贺和祝福中强装洒脱。
Kegan could have dealt with it, if that was all it had been. The embarrassment meant nothing to him, for what was a fleeting, adolescent humiliation to one that had endured nothing but shame for most of his life? He could’ve walked away right then, or even—against every desire and prayer—stayed in the crowd and lied his way through the laughter and the cheers and the blessings.
为了她，他做得到。虽然并不容易，但他愿意。只因为是茨瓦娜。
He would’ve done that for her. Not easily, no, but willingly. Anything for Zvanna.
他正要放开她的手，准备挤出一个笑容，再深吸一口气向她道歉。可这时一只手重重地拍在他肩上。
He was already releasing her, readying a false smile and drawing breath to apologise, when the hand slammed down on his shoulder.
“放开她，小子。”
“Leave her alone, boy.”
瑞格恩老头嘶哑的年迈声音划破了沉默。这个人建立了这片村落，而他似乎在世界还年轻时便已经苍老。他至少有七十岁，可能快八十了。可拍他的人并不是瑞格恩自己，他只是示意了一下围着基根的人们。
Old Rygann’s voice, cracked with age, cut through the silence. This was a man, the founder of the settlement, who looked like he’d been old when the world was still young. He was at least seventy, likely closer to eighty, and though it wasn’t his hand holding Kegan back, he directed the men that surrounded the healer’s son now.
“滚出去，强盗的杂种。趁你还没有给我们带来更大的厄运。”
“You get out of here, reaver-bastard, before you bring yet more misfortune down on all of us.”
那只手用力拉他，可基根纹丝不动。他不是孩子了。现在的他有着成年人的力气。
The hand tried to haul him back, but Kegan stood firm. He was not a boy. He had a man’s strength now.
“别碰我。”他咬牙说道。他脸上的表情吓得茨瓦娜退到一旁。更多人上来拉他。他踉踉跄跄地被拖开了。
“Don’t touch me,” he said through clenched teeth. Whatever was on his face caused Zvanna to back away. Other hands joined the first, dragging him away from her, making him stumble.
然后，就像从前那样，他的本能被唤醒了。他转过身，大声咆哮，挥拳砸向离他最近的男人。
And, as always, instinct was there to catch him. He turned, he roared, and he swung at the closest of the men hauling him away.
茨瓦娜的父亲像没了骨头的似地倒下去。他的下巴被打碎了。
Zvanna’s father went down in a boneless heap, his jaw shattered.
基根离去了。有人哭叫，有人咒骂，但没人想要拦住他，或者追上他。他们不免有一丝快意——他果然会带来厄运。
Kegan walked away. Others in the crowd cried out or hurled insults, but none sought to bar his passage, or come after him. There was satisfaction in that. Vindication, even.
他在回家的路上一直绷紧眼角，不让泪水流下来。指关节一直在抽搐，传来的疼痛让他感到了些许安慰——尽管他并不想要什么安慰。
He cuffed at the corners of his eyes on the way home, refusing to cry, and unpleasantly soothed by the sweet pain in his throbbing knuckles.
他在十九岁时垒起柴堆火化了母亲。次日早晨，他走上俯瞰着瑞格恩村的山坡，沿路洒下她的骨灰。他知道，即使母亲为这个村子做了那么多，他还是要独自承受很多东西。虽然他们都很怕她，但他们却又对她予取予求。
He was nineteen when he burned his mother on her funeral pyre, and spread her ashes along the hillside overlooking Rygann’s Reach the following morning. He knew he would have to have to bear the burden alone, despite all his mother had done for the village. For all that they had feared her, they’d needed her and valued her
他将母亲的遗灰扬进苦涩的风中，同时向海豹修女祈祷。唯一与他作伴的只有满心的思绪。
And yet here he was, casting her remains to the bitter winds with a prayer to the Seal Sister, alone but for his thoughts.
他猜他们应该都在村子里，他们会怎样看待母亲去世呢。他们应该只会关心自己，会担心村子里没有了医师。他们反正也不指望她儿子能接手。他的强盗父亲当年往一个法师的血统中注进了厄运，他便再没法继承母亲的能力。
He imagined them in the village, and if they acknowledged his mother’s death at all it was with a selfish eye to their own suffering. They’d be worried now, with the healer gone. They couldn’t rely on her son to step up, after all. The hereditary chain had been broken when his raiding father had sired him, pouring misfortune into a mage’s blood.
此刻，那些人应该在假装惋惜，扮出一副慈悲样。说上几句迟来的好话，不过是他们为了自我安慰，安慰自己不必内疚于她一生中受到的非难。更有可能的是，他们说不定在暗地里庆幸自己生活中的阴影终于消散了。
Right now, those people would all be bleating their useless sentiments about his mother, maybe even convincing themselves that a few kind words uttered far too late severed them from the guilt and responsibility of how they had treated her in life. Far more likely, they were quietly celebrating the passing of a shadow from their lives.
迷信的牲畜，全都是。
Superstitious animals, all of them.
村子里只来了三个人，但都没有赶上和他母亲告别。等到他独自进行的葬礼结束，茨瓦娜才走近前来——但她的儿子，生着与茨瓦娜一样的黑发，却不愿靠近基根。小男孩将近三岁，缩在不远处的父亲身旁。
Only three of them came out from the village at all, and they hadn’t made the journey to say their farewells. Zvanna approached him after the lonely ceremony was over—but her son, with the same black hair as his mother, refused to come near Kegan. The boy, now almost three, stayed at his father’s side a short distance away.
“这小孩儿怕我。”基根淡然地说。
“The little one is scared of me,” Kegan observed without rancor.
茨瓦娜犹豫了一下，和母亲当年如出一辙。于是基根也就明白了。“他听过一些故事。”她承认道。
Zvanna hesitated, just as Kegan’s mother had once hesitated, setting the truth in his mind. “He’s heard stories,” she admitted.
“我猜就是。”他努力保持语调平和。“你有什么事吗？”
“I’m sure he has.” He tried to keep his tone neutral. “What do you want?”
她吻了一下他的面颊。“我很遗憾，基根。你母亲有一颗善良的心。”
She kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry for your loss, Kegan. She was a kind soul.”
善良？他很难把这个词和自己母亲联系起来，不过现在不适合争论这个。“是，”他说，“她是善良。可你来就是为了说这个？我们俩以前那么熟，我看得出来你有话没说。”
Kind wasn’t a word he connected with his mother, but now was hardly to the time to argue. “Yes,” he said. “She was. But what did you really come to say? We were friends once. I can tell when you’re holding something back.”
她脸上没有一丝笑意。“老瑞格恩……打算叫你离开。”
She didn’t smile as she replied. “Old Rygann… He’s going to ask you to leave.”
基根挠了挠脸。他今天无比疲倦，什么都感觉不到，更别提惊讶了。他也不用问瑞格恩为什么要这样。这个小村的边缘仍然徘徊着一个阴影。最后一个终会散去的阴影。
Kegan scratched his chin. He was too weary that day to feel anything, least of all surprise. He didn’t need to ask why Rygann had come to that decision. There was still one shadow darkening the edge of the settlement. One last shadow that would finally fade away.
“所以只要他妈一死，这个让人倒霉的孩子就不能待下去了。”他朝洒灰的地上吐了口痰，“因为起码他妈是有用的，对吧？她才是会魔法的人。”
“So the bad-omened boy can’t lurk nearby, now his mother’s dead,” he spat onto the ashy earth. “At least she was useful, right? She was the one with the magic.”
“对不起，基根。”
“I’m sorry, Kegan.”
有那么一刻，站在山坡上的两人仿佛回到了数年前。他心里的烈火如同被慢慢抽去了薪柴，只因为她在身边。他呼吸着冰冷的空气，努力压抑着向她伸手的冲动。
For a brief time, together on the hillside, things were just as they had been a few short years ago. She leeched the angry heat from his heart just by being near, and he breathed in the cold air, defying every urge to reach out for her.
“你该走了。”他低声咕哝着，向茂威尔和小男孩点头。“你的家人在等你。”
“You should go,” he muttered, and nodded towards Malvir and the young boy. “Your family is waiting.”
“你要去哪儿呢？”她把身上的皮草裹得更紧了一些。“你打算做什么？”
“Where will you go?” she asked. She drew her furs tighter around herself. “What will you do?”
母亲说过的话隔着岁月回荡而来。“森林会被冰雪覆盖，一直到世界的尽头。我们会死在外面……”
His mother’s words echoed down the years. We’d die out there, where the woods become ice and snow, all the way to the world’s end...
“我会找到我的父亲。”
“I’ll find my father,” he replied.
她神色不安地看着他。从她眼里，基根能看到疑虑，更糟糕的还有害怕——她怕他是认真的。
She looked at him, troubled. He could see the doubt in her eyes, and worse, the fear. The fear that he might be serious.
“基根，你说真的吗。你根本不知道你父亲是什么人，你也不知道他们来自什么地方，更不知道……反正什么也不知道。你怎么可能找到他？”
“You don’t mean that, Kegan. You don’t even know who your father’s people are, or where they hailed from, or… or anything. How would you ever hope to find him?”
“起码我得试试。”
“I’ll try, at least.”
基根按捺住吐唾沫的冲动。哪怕是不切实际的目标，听起来也好过“茨瓦娜，我也不知道我该干什么。也许一个人死在冰原上好了。”
Kegan resisted the urge to spit again. Even an impossible ambition sounded better than I don’t know what I’ll do, Zvanna. I’ll probably die alone on the ice.
虽然这几年来两人基本没说过话，但她现在开始深吸气，想要和他争上几句。可基根摇摇头，止住了她的话头。“我走之前会来探望你。到时候再说吧。明天我会下山去村子里弄点补给，出远门需要的。”
She was drawing breath to fight him on it, even after all these years of little more than silence, but he hushed her with a shake of his head. “I’ll come see you before I leave. We’ll talk then. I’ll be down in the village tomorrow, for supplies. I’ll need things for my journey.”
茨瓦娜又一次犹豫起来，他明白了。仿佛有先祖之灵在风中向他低语相告。
Zvanna hesitated again, and he knew. Kegan knew it as if the ancestor-spirits had whispered it to him on the wind.
“老瑞格恩不允许吧。”他叹气道。语气既不是在问，更不是在猜。“我不能去村里。走之前想买些东西都不行。”
“Old Rygann has forbidden it,” he sighed. The words weren’t a question, or even a guess. “I’m not allowed down into the Reach. Not even to trade before I go.”
她往他怀里塞了个小口袋，所以他说对了。他能想到里面有什么：干粮，还有一些微薄的供给品——这对年轻的夫妻实在也匀不出太多东西。他心里猛然涌起一阵他很不习惯的感恩，让他全身颤栗并且差点儿——就差一点儿——接受了这份馈赠。
She pressed a small satchel against his chest, and that confirmed it. He could guess what would be in there: dried foodstuffs, and whatever meager provisions her young family could spare. The ferocity of unfamiliar gratitude left him shaking and almost—almost—accepting the gift.
可他把口袋还给了她。
But he handed it back to her.
“我能应付。”他安慰她。“不用担心。我能应付。”
“I’ll be fine,” he promised her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
当天晚上，他一个人走进了瑞格恩村。
That night, he went into Rygann’s Reach alone.
他的背包里装了足够一周的补给，手里提着一根象牙矛，发辫上扎着母亲留下的骨饰。他看起来和母亲一样是个云游的萨满，虽然他有着战士的块头，脚步又像猎人般轻捷。
He carried a week’s worth of supplies in his pack, an ivory spear in his hand, and his hair was woven with his mother’s bone charms. He looked as much a mendicant shaman as she ever had, though he carried himself with a warrior’s bulk, and moved with a hunter’s grace.
离日出还有三个小时，此时正是最深沉的静夜。基根格外小心地蹑足经过一间间小屋。在他不长的苦难人生里，这些小屋曾经把他和他母亲拒之门外。他没有什么恨意，至少现在没有——从前的愤恨已经化作余烬，只微微烧着。要说他还有什么感觉，那就是一种深刻又累人的遗憾。这些头脑简单的人，甘愿被自己的偏见奴役。
Dawn was still three hours distant. Here, in the stillest part of the night, Kegan stalked with exaggerated care, moving between the earthwork huts of the families that had rejected him and his mother for all of his short, harsh life. He felt no malice toward them, not anymore—the old anger was reduced to embers, alive but banked, burning low. If he felt anything more, it was a deep-grained and exhausted sense of pity. They were simple. They were slaves to their misjudgements.
但是，他只想把仇恨发泄在一个人身上。
No, his true hatred was reserved for one soul above all others.
老瑞格恩的长屋显赫地坐落于小村正中心。基根藏在低垂的月光投下的阴影里慢慢靠近长屋，避开了守夜人的目光。守夜很枯燥，所以他们能多偷懒就多偷懒。毕竟，贫瘠的苔原、荒芜的大海又有什么好守的呢？瑞格恩村已经很久没来过强盗了。
Old Rygann’s longhouse sat proudly in the settlement’s heart. Kegan drew near, avoiding the indifferent gazes of the watchmen by staying in the shadows cast by the descending moon. Theirs was a dreary duty, and they treated it with all the informality one would expect. Why should they expect any trouble from the naked tundra, or the bare ocean? No raiders had landed at Rygann’s Reach for a long time, after all.
基根潜进了长屋。
Kegan ghosted inside.
老瑞格恩醒来时发现，床脚蹲着一个黑影。黑影有一双苍白的眼睛，里面反射着月亮的银光。黑影手中握着一把象牙匕首，是几天前刚刚死掉的女巫克蕾西亚·诺和曾经的仪式用具。据说，这把匕首是用来进行血祭用的。
Old Rygann awoke to find a shadow crouched at the foot of his bed. In the shadow’s pale eyes were slivers of reflected moonlight, and in the shadow’s hands was an ivory knife—a ritual dagger last carried by Krezia Rodhe, the witch that had died only days before. It was a blade that had been used, so it was said, for blood sacrifices.
黑影笑了一下，语气低沉阴郁地细语起来。
The shadow smiled, and spoke in a low, feral whisper.
“老头子，你只要乱叫一声，就死定了。”
“If you make a single sound without my permission, old man, you die.”
屋子里一片迷蒙，光线极弱。瑞格恩看起来足有一百岁。他嗅到一股灯油的刺鼻气味，还有来人汗水里的动物气息。他无助地点了点头。
In the light-starved gloom, Rygann could have passed for a hundred years old. His sinuses stung from the reek of lantern oil, and the animal spice of the intruder’s sweat. He nodded in helpless obedience.
黑影倾身上前，从黑暗中现出了强盗杂种基根的脸，挂着冷酷的笑意。
The shadow leaned forward, and the reaver-bastard Kegan’s face leered, coldly amused, from the darkness.
“老头子，我要跟你说一些事。你给我好好听着，这样能活得长一些。”
“I’m going to tell you something, old man. And you will listen to me, if for no other reason that it lets you live a little longer.”
匕首是用居瓦斯克野猪牙做的，在昏暗中一闪。基根把刀尖抵在老头皮肤松垂的喉头。
The dagger, carved from a drüvask tooth, glinted in the half-dark. Kegan rested the tip, carved to a puncturing point, on the man’s saggy throat.
“明白了就点头。”
“Nod if you understand.”
瑞格恩识相地没吭声，点了点头。
Rygann nodded, wisely mute.
“很好。”基根的刀子没动。他眼里满溢着恨意，愤怒几乎让他牙关打颤。他已经和一头野兽相去不远，只靠残存的点滴人性约束着。
“Good.” Kegan kept the knife in place. His eyes were liquid with hatred, his teeth almost trembling with the force of his anger. He was a creature on the edge of savagery, held back only by tattered shreds of humanity.
瑞格恩艰难地吞咽了一下，没有说话。他也在打颤，不过完全是别的原因。
Rygann swallowed hard, saying nothing. He was shaking himself, for far different reasons.
“你害死了我母亲。”基根低吼起来。“不是因为病痛。是你。是你，没日没夜的猜忌怀疑忘恩负义。你把她逼到到冰冷的洞穴里。你凭着自己愚蠢的迷信将她流放。是你害死了她。”
“You killed my mother,” Kegan growled. “It wasn’t the disease that ate her away from within. It was you. You killed her, day by day, with your mistrust and your ingratitude. You killed her by exiling her to the cold comfort of that cave. You killed her by banishing her on the whims of your stupid superstition.”
刀子移到了老人的脸颊上，随时准备切下一块肉来。
The blade rested on the old man’s cheek, ready to saw through the flesh.
“现在你打算害死我了。”基根轻声说。“你拿我的身世来羞辱我，诅咒我会带来厄运。这还不够。你把一个孩子踢出了你的宝贝村子，一而再再而三，除了教会我仇恨之外什么也没有。这还不够。现在，我母亲的骨灰还没凉透，你就想把我赶进荒原，死在外头。”
“And now you’re killing me,” Kegan added softly. “It wasn’t enough to shame me for the sin of my father’s blood, and curse me for being bad luck. It wasn’t enough to kick a child out of your precious village, over and over, and teach me nothing except how to hate others. Now, while the embers of my mother’s funeral pyre are still warm, you want to damn me to wander the wasteland, to die.”
随后匕首就移开了。
And then the dagger was gone.
基根从床边溜开，退到屋子边缘。他从卧室台子上拾起了一盏带罩子的灯笼，微微照亮了他的身形。他的微笑变得更加残忍。
The intruder slipped from the bed, edging back across the room. Kegan’s smile became a grin, scarcely illuminated by the shuttered lantern he held up from the bedchamber’s table.
“我就是为了说这些。我走之后，你好好想想我的话。你给我好好想想，你是怎样把一个男孩和他妈妈扔到冰天雪地里，让他长大成人的。”
“That’s all I came to say. I want you to think about those words when I’m gone. I want you to think of the boy you helped to raise by throwing him and his mother out into the cold.”
瑞格恩不知道怎么回答，又或许这孩子也不想听。他半是恐惧半是顺从，一语不发，呼吸着充满房间的油腥味。
Rygann didn’t know how to respond, or if the healer’s son even desired a reply. He stayed silent out of a healthy blend of wisdom and fear, breathing in the earthy, oily scent that filled the room.
基根除去了灯笼的罩子，橘黄的光线突然铺满了屋子。地板上、墙壁上、书架上，甚至床单上，湿润的油脂到处都是。他手脚很利落——毫无动静地完成了这一切，然后才叫醒了他的猎物。
Kegan unshuttered the lantern, and a sudden amber glow spread across the room. Patches of resinous wetness marked the floorboards, the walls, the shelves, even the bedsheets. The intruder had done his work well—in silence—before waking his prey.
“慢……慢着。”老人惊慌得结巴起来。“慢着——”
“W-wait,” the old man stammered, breathless with dawning panic. “Wait—”
“不了，我要上路了。”基根用近乎闲谈的语气说。“所以走之前我该好好暖暖手。再见，瑞格恩。”
“No, I have a journey to make,” Kegan said, almost conversationally, “and I should warm my hands before I go. Goodbye, Rygann.”
“请你等等！”
“Wait! Please!”
但基根已经迫不及待。他朝门口退去，扔下了灯笼，就像是留下了一份临别的礼物。灯笼落在了卧室的粗木地板上。
But Kegan didn’t wait. He was backing away towards the door, and tossed the lantern like a parting gift. It smashed on the rough floorboards of the bedchamber.
眼前化作了火的世界，基根大笑起来，哪怕火舌舔上了他自己的身体。
The world ignited, and Kegan laughed even as the flames licked at his own flesh.
火就像生命，贪婪又饥渴。它会饥饿，有自己的想法，而且，就像命运一样，有着残忍的幽默感。它怜爱地卷到面前，弗雷尔卓德无情的风吹开火花，一路跳动着滚过附近的屋顶。它每触碰一个地方，就会一口咬下去开始吞食。
Fire is like a living thing, rapacious and ravenous. It has its own hunger, its own whims, and—like fate—its own vile sense of humor. It leapt in caressing licks, as sparks that were carried by the Freljord’s hateful wind, dancing across nearby rooftops. Everywhere that it touched, it bit down and devoured.
基根穿过草木丛生的低地往北边窜去，全然不理会身后的灾难。比起留下来观赏老瑞格恩的豪宅烧成白地，他还有更要紧的事要做。他要处理脸上被烧烂的地方——左半边火烧火燎，痛成一片，只能塞进地上的积雪来稍微缓解。
Kegan cut north, heading through the forested lowlands, blind to the devastation in his wake. He had more pressing matters than waiting to see if Old Rygann’s hall would burn all the way to the ground. He had the seared ruin of his face to deal with; a screaming, searing wash of pain bathing the left side of his features, soothed only by pressing his flesh into the snowy earth.
他不禁再次怀疑，说他会带来厄运的流言也不见得全是假话。
Not for the first time, he wondered if there might not be something to all the talk of the ill-fortune in his blood.
等到爬到足够高的地方时，他才回头检验自己的杰作。海面上太阳正冉冉升起，大火早已被扑灭，只留下浓密的一道烟柱，在晨风的轻抚下卷曲渐细。他握着一捧雪贴在烧伤的脸颊上，希望能看见瑞格恩的大屋变成村落中间一颗烧焦的黑心。
By the time he reached high enough ground to turn back and witness the results of his handiwork, the sun was rising above the ocean, and the fire had long since been reduced down to a pall of thick smoke, curling and thinning in the mercy of the morning winds. He held a palmful of ice against his burned cheek, hoping to see Rygann’s hall as a charred, black heart in the center of the village.
他看到的景象却惊住了他的呼吸。他害怕得说不出话，身上伤痕累累，跑起来踉踉跄跄，却还是竭力回到了他的罪行现场。
What he saw instead stopped his breath. Mute with horror, scarred by carelessness, and staggering in an awkward run, the betrayer made his way back to the scene of his betrayal.
一开始没人注意到他回来了。幸存者们在烧焦的房屋残骸间游荡，他们的一切都已不复存在。他也只是烟尘中的又一个剪影，又一个满身伤痕的幸存者。
At first, no one marked his return. The survivors wandered among the charred skeletons of their homes, where all they owned was now gone. He was just one more silhouette in the smoky haze, one more scarred face among those that still lived.
他在茨瓦娜家的焦黑废墟外找到了她。她和自己的丈夫儿子一起静静地躺在地上。三个人盖在同一张乌黑的毛毯下，静默无息。基根在他们身边蹲了不知多久。他头脑空空，全身无力。兴许还哭了出来。他当时不敢肯定——后来也是——虽然他能感到脸上的伤口被盐水灼痛。
He found Zvanna outside the blackened remains of her hut. She’d been laid carefully on the earth with her son and husband, the three of them silent and still beneath the same sooty blanket. Kegan crouched beside them for an unknown time, his skull empty of thought, his body empty of strength. Perhaps he wept. He wasn’t sure—not then, and not after—though he felt the sting of salt upon his wounded cheek.
在她身边时，他只清楚地记得两件事。第一件是他拉下毯子时看到的一家人的脸孔。确认是她一家后，他又把毯子盖了回去。
He could only remember two things for certain, in his time at her side. The first was the sight of the family’s faces when he pulled the sheet back, to be certain it was them. When he had his answer, he covered them again.
第二件事，他把手放在泥泞的裹尸布上，祈求可以唤起母亲古老的魔法。可一如既往，他理应拥有的天赋并没有如他所愿。
The second was resting his ungloved hands on the filthy shroud, pleading for his mother’s old magic to work through him. He achieved no more in that moment than he ever had, when seeking to draw upon his supposed gifts.
他们一动不动。他不再完整。
They stayed dead. He stayed broken.
过了一会儿，自然地，别人走了过来。基根跪在茨瓦娜的身边，无视他们的侮辱和责骂。人们念叨着“巫术”和“厄运”，诅咒他诞生的日子。基根任由这些言语将他淹没。与他胸中的空洞和脸颊的剧痛相比，全都不值一提。
Some time later, of course, the others came for him. Kegan stayed on his knees by Zvanna’s side as they threw insults and blame, as they bleated about hexes and sacred misfortune, and cursed the day he’d been born. Kegan let it wash over him. It was nothing against the emptiness in his chest and the acid ache of his face.
这些人什么也不知道。他们在悲痛中之所以责怪基根是因为不知道该怪罪谁，更不知道这一切都是他干的。他们咒骂他只是因为他的血统，而不是他的罪行。
The survivors had no idea. They blamed him out of mournful superstition because there was no one else to blame, little knowing the true harm he’d done to them all. They blamed his blood when they should have blamed his deeds.
基根头也不回地离开了烧毁的小村。他像原本计划的那样走进了荒野，可原本预想中复仇的快意，现在却在他嘴里化成了苦涩的灰烬。
Kegan left the razed village without looking back. He walked out into the wilderness, just as he had planned, though the anticipated sense of exultation was now nothing but ashes in his mouth.
之后几个星期，基根一直在流浪。他跟随着野兽的足迹和商旅小道朝内陆走去，没有具体的方向，也不知道哪里有人烟。他唯一熟悉的地方就是母亲采药的荒凉林地与山脊。哪怕是最近的村落瓦拉尔山谷也要走上好几周，而且那里很可能会收留瑞格恩村的幸存者们。就算基根找到了地方，他也不觉得人们会热情地欢迎他。更有可能会要他的命。
What followed were the weeks of wandering. Kegan made his way inland, following game spoor and trade-trails, with no destination in mind and no knowledge of what settlements lay where. The only places he knew well were isolated glades and mountainsides with harvestable herbs his mother had used in her medicinal concoctions. Even the closest settlement, Valar’s Hollow, was weeks away, and likely to be the new home of any survivors from Rygann’s Reach. If Kegan found his way there, he doubted the welcome would be warm. Far likelier, it would be fatal.
他尽力地打猎，可他并不是一个真正的猎人。有一回他狼吞虎咽地吃掉了一只烤得半熟的兔子，几小时后就吐到了地上。
He hunted when he could, though he lacked a true hunter’s skills. Once he gorged on the half-cooked carcass of a rabbit, only to throw the mess back up hours later when his belly rebelled.
日复一日，周复一周，月复一月。天空沉入了永夜，气候也变得更加恶劣。他没有遇见过其他部落的人。他没有看到任何村落的标记。他得过雪盲，也在无际的冰原中发过失心疯。他眼中只有连绵数日不见变化的茫茫冰雪。弗雷尔卓德根本不关心他的死活，只报以呼啸的狂风。世界上再没有任何一个地方，能够如此残酷地教导人们认识自己的渺小。
The days bled into weeks, and the weeks into a month, and more, as the skies stayed dark and the weather turned foul. He saw no other tribespeople. He saw no sign of nearby settlements. He spent hours in a snowblind daze, and others in a frost-mad trance. Day after day he encountered nothing but the icy indifference of his homeland—the Freljord cared nothing for whether he lived or died by its howling breath. Nowhere else in the world could teach such a brutal lesson in a man’s insignificance.
幸运的是——又或是命运的残忍捉弄，他找到了一个洞穴，苍白的石块和他之前的家一模一样。他憔悴又虚弱，身上留着自己点起的火留下的伤疤，于是便躺在了冰冷的岩石上，感觉自己的皮肤慢慢和石块冻在一起。他打算躺在这里直到暴风雪过去，或者干脆一直躺着等死。就看哪个先来。
Fortune, or perhaps a cruel twist of fate, led him to a cave formed from the same pale rock as his mother’s sanctuary. Emaciated, weakened from exposure, scarred by his own fire, Kegan Rodhe lay down on the cold rock, feeling his skin freeze to the stone. He would lie here and wait for the latest blizzard to die down, or he would lie here and wait to die. Whichever came first.
可就在那天晚上，他遇见了一个男人。后来成了他的师父。
But on that night, he met the man who would become his teacher. His master.
风雪中化出一个蹒跚的人影。他耸起双肩，脑袋低垂。一副蓬乱的胡须透出灰色——不是因为年龄而是风霜的啃噬。他戴着兜帽，形容枯槁，眼睛里闪烁着不自然的虹彩。然而最古怪的还要属他的皮肤——斑驳杂间、布满刺青不说，在闪电照亮风暴的瞬间，他的肤色似乎反衬出暗蓝。
The figure melted out of the storm in a weary trudge, with his shoulders hunched and head down. His beard was shaggy, and grey not with age but from the bite of the frosty winds. His features were gaunt beneath his hood, and his eyes shimmered with an unnatural iridescence. Strangest of all was the man’s skin, mottled and tattooed—in the storm’s light, with each crash of lightning, the flesh looked as though it were darkening to blue.
之后在火光下就清楚多了，其实是介乎蓝紫之间的一种颜色。
Later, by firelight, it was far more clearly paling to violet.
两人在命运安排之下的相遇场面，远远不能和任何一个吟游诗人的故事或是古老的传奇相提并论。没有晦涩高深的布道，也没有立誓遵守的契约。来人只是站在洞口，疑虑重重地盯着地上一个破烂的人形。
As meetings fated by destiny went, it was too anticlimactic for any bard’s tale, or saga of old. No arcane declarations were made, and no binding pacts were sworn. The newcomer had merely stood at the mouth of the cave, turning a suspicious eye on the human wreckage lying before him.
“这是，”法师喃喃地说，“什么玩意儿？”
“What,” the sorcerer muttered, “do we have here?”
基根的意识时有时无，知觉也是一样。等他终于能组织起语言时，他认定老人不是精灵就是幻觉。
Kegan drifted in and out of consciousness, as well as his senses. When he finally managed to summon words, he accused the older man of being a spirit, or an illusion.
法师没有理会，而是在他身边蹲下，伸出一只手作为回答。
In answer, the sorcerer crouched beside him, offering a hand.
法师的触碰让基根感到一股暖意传来，带着灼人的……生命力。虽然不是火焰的刺痛，但这种宽慰竟汹涌得几乎将他挤碎。
Warmth spread through Kegan from his touch, in a rush of tingling… life. It was not the sting of flame, yet the relief it brought was so fierce that it almost broke him.
“我既不是幽灵也不是幻象，”来人说道，“我是瑞兹。而你，悲惨的家伙……你是谁？”
“I am neither a phantom nor a fiction,” the newcomer had said. “My name is Ryze. And you, dear miserable creature… Who are you?”
日出后不久基根便醒了。他搓着眼屎，毫不意外地看见师父闭目趺坐。年轻人知道老人正在冥想，虽然他不能理解为什么要每天一动不动地坐上一个钟头。这是为了干什么？像是在半睡半醒之间来回犹豫，到底要睡还是要起……
Kegan woke well after dawn, thumbing the grit from his eyes. It didn’t surprise him to see that his master was already up, sitting cross-legged and with his eyes closed. He was meditating, the barbarian knew, though he couldn’t understand the point of sitting still for an hour a day. What was it supposed to accomplish? It seemed a strange suspension between sleeping and being awake, to no obvious purpose...
“早安，”法师没睁眼，“你睡得不好。”和往常一样，这是句陈述而不是问题。
“Good morning,” the sorcerer said, without opening his eyes. “You did not sleep well,” he added. As so often, it was a statement and not a question.
基根朝着营火的残灰中擤了把鼻涕，咕噜着说：“为什么你就算闭着眼睛，我都觉得你在看我？”
Kegan emptied one nostril into the ashes of the campfire, and grunted. “Why do I feel like you’re watching me, even when your eyes are closed?”
“因为你不习惯身边有人。你总会怀疑他们有所企图。”
“Because you’re uneasy around others. It makes you doubt their intentions.”
基根又咕噜了一声：“有点戒心没什么不好的。”
Kegan grunted again. “There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy suspicion.”
瑞兹笑了一下，仍然保持着冥想的静姿。
Ryze chuckled, remaining motionless in his meditative pose.
基根有些恼：“有什么好笑的？”
Kegan bristled at that. “What’s so funny?”
“有时候吧，我听你说话像是听见了我自己。明明对人不信任，偏要说成是一种品德，这点尤其像我。但我也不能怪你，毕竟你受过那么些苦。”
“I hear myself in your words, sometimes. The way you turn mistrust into a virtue is especially familiar to me. I can’t say I blame you, given all you have endured.”
基根盯着他。他会读心？他看见了我的梦？法师毫无反应。动也不动一下。
Kegan stared at him. Can he read my mind? Does he see my dreams...?
年轻人爬起身，美美地伸了个懒腰，直到腰背欢快地发出嘎巴声。“唔。我把剩下的油汤给热了，早起一餐怎么样？”
The sorcerer made no response. Not even a twitch.
“善莫大焉，基根。你打算去拾柴火，还是用自己的火？”
The young barbarian rose, stretching out the night’s soreness with a delicious crackle of sinew. “Nnh. Do you want me to heat the last of the broth, to break our fast?”
这个问题问得挑衅无比，基根花了好大的力气才没有上钩。“柴火吧。我下次再试着用魔法。”
“Decent of you, Kegan. Will you gather firewood, or use your gifts?”
又是一声笑。令人发狂的笑。“如你所愿。”瑞兹说。
The question was loaded, bordering on condescending, and it took no small effort for Kegan to avoid the bait. “Firewood. I’ll try the magic again later.”
基根不紧不慢地拾着枯木，脑壳里回旋着过去几周里两人之间的对话。有些话似乎一直梗在他心底，让他脸上已经愈合的烧伤发痒。直到他回到扎营的地方，扔下了满怀的断枝，才弄明白到底是什么话。
Another chuckle. Another maddening chuckle. “As you wish,” Ryze replied.
“师父。”
Kegan took his time finding enough fallen deadwood. His skull was awhirl with echoes of their conversations these last few weeks. Something was nagging at the back of his brain, something that made the healing burn scars itch across his face. It was only when he returned to their makeshift camp, and dumped the armful of broken branches, that he realized what it was.
法师没动弹，但他们周围的空气似乎有些异样——略略有些刺鼻。似乎是冷了点，带着某种看不见的力量。“嗯？”
“Master.”
基根清清嗓子，努力想找个得体的说法。“昨天你讲魔法的时候，你说到……什么造物。”
The sorcerer didn’t move, but the air seemed to change around them both. It became sharper, somehow—maybe a touch cooler, charged with some unseen force.
瑞兹依然纹丝不动，除了他被法术侵蚀变暗的嘴唇。“我是说过。你继续。”
“Yes?”
基根吸了口气，一肚子的话不知从何说起。“唔。水来自雨、冰还有大海。火来自火星和火绒，或者是闪电打中了森林。森林是树组成的，树又来自种子。”
Kegan cleared his throat, fighting for the right way to say it. “When you spoke of magic yesterday, you mentioned… You mentioned the stuff of creation.”
“没错，大体上是。一大早竟有如此诗意，我很意外。那么，你的论述的结论是什么？”
Ryze remained motionless, but for his sorcery-darkened lips. “I did, yes. Go on.”
“我的什么？”
Kegan took a breath, struggling with the immensity of what he wanted to say. “Well. Water comes from rain, ice, and the sea. Fire comes from sparks and tinder, or from lightning striking the forest. And those trees that make up the forest, they come from seeds.”
老人笑了，但不带恶意。“你想要说什么，基根？”
“All true, to some degree. And surprisingly poetic for this hour of the morning. What is the conclusion of this thesis?”
“就是，所有东西都是有来历的。所有东西都有……出身。有个源头。魔法也是这样吗？它在世界上有源头吗？”
“This what?”
瑞兹没有立刻回答。在基根看来，他的平静不再是一种安然，而是在克制什么东西。
The older man smiled, not unkindly. “What are you trying to say, Kegan?”
“朋友，这个问题很聪明。在你野蛮人式的思考中有着一种纯粹，我为你的想法表示赞赏。但现在我们还没有准备好讨论这个话题。”
“Just that everything comes from somewhere. Everything has… a birth. A source. Is it the same for magic? Does it have a source in the world?”
野蛮人咬紧牙关，努力吞咽着怒火。最终他还是问出了一个值得回答的问题，而师父仍然没有让他如愿。“可我在想……如果你掌握了雨，你就能造出新的河流。如果你有一千颗种子，就能种出一片新的森林。如果你有铁，你可以造一把斧头。那要是你掌握了魔法的源头呢？你就不用引导或者推动魔法了。你命令它就行了嘛。”
Ryze didn’t answer at once. His stillness, to Kegan’s eyes, seemed suddenly a thing of restraint, rather than serenity.
瑞兹睁开了眼睛。
“That is an intelligent question, my friend. There is a purity to your barbaric way of thinking, and I commend you for that line of thought. But it is not a discussion you and I are ready to have.”
他的眼神比弗雷尔卓德的所有劲风都更冰冷。其中含着慈悲和欣赏，但还有一丝彻人骨髓的、病态般的恐惧。
The barbarian clenched his teeth, swallowing his temper. Finally he’d asked something worthy of an answer, and his master denied it to him. “But I was thinking… If you controlled the rain, you could make new rivers. If you had a thousand seeds, you could plant a new forest. If you have iron, you can forge an axe. What if you could control the source of magic? You wouldn’t need to guide it or nudge it. You could command it, after all.”
你害怕了——这个想法一冒头，基根就起了一身鸡皮疙瘩。
Ryze opened his eyes.
他不知道为什么。他也想不到自己的话里有什么东西会刺激到师父，搅起他灵魂中冰冷又坚硬的恐惧。但是基根知道恐惧是什么样的。他在别人眼中见过。一生之中见过无数次。
His gaze was colder than any Freljordian wind. There was mercy in those eyes, and admiration, but beneath both of those was a knifing, sickly hint of fear.
“不行，”瑞兹呐呐地说。“等你准备好了我们再说。现在还不行。”
You’re afraid, Kegan thought, and his skin crawled at the very idea.
基根·诺和点点头，懵懂地同意了。他很好奇师父不安的眼神。恐惧是一种弱点。是弱点，就要面对。
He didn’t know why. He couldn’t guess what it was about his words would inspire that stern, cold dread in his master’s soul. But Kegan knew what fear looked like, in the eyes of others. He’d seen it all his life.
就要战胜。
“Not yet,” Ryze murmured. “When you are ready, we will speak of this. But not yet.”
Kegan Rodhe nodded, agreeing without understanding, intrigued by the unease in his master’s stare. Fear was a weakness, after all, and weaknesses had to be faced.
And conquered.
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