chapter xxix
KerrigorseemedtohavefihtheFreeMagigthathadoncebeenMogget.Hisgreatcloudofdarknesswaspleteagain,withnosignofwhitefire,nodazzlingbrilliancefightingawaywithin.
Hewasremarkablystill,andSabrielhadamoment’sbriefhopethathewassomehowwouhentheawfulrealizationcame.
Kerrigorwasdigesting,likeagluttonafteranoverlyambitiousmeal.
Sabrielshudderedatthethought,biletaintinghermouth.Notthatherendwaslikelytobebetter.BothsheandTouchstonewouldbetakenalive,ahatway,tilltheypumpedouttheirlife’sblood,throatsyawning,downinthedarkofthereservoir...
Sheshookherhead,dispellingthatimage.
Therehadtobesomething...Kerrigorhadtobeweaker,sofarfromtheOldKingdom...
perhapsweakenedmorethanherCharterMagic.Shedoubtedthatasinglebellcouldswayhim,buttwo,incert?ItwasdarkintheHall,saveforthemoonlightfallingthroughtheshatteredwallbehindher.Andquiet.Eventhewoundedwereslippingawayinsileheircriesmuted,lastwisheswhispered.Theykepttheiragonyclose,asifascreammightattractthewrongattention.TherewerethingsworsethahintheHall...
Evenindarkheformorwasdarkerstill.Sabrielwatchedhimcarefully,undoirapsthatheldSarahandKibethwithherlefthand.SheseherDeadallaround,buteredtheHall.
Therewerestillmentofight,orfeastupon.
WhatwentonintheHallwastheirMaster’sbusiness.
Thestrapscameundone.Kerrigordidn’tmove,hisburningeyesclosed,hisfierymouthshut.
Inonequickmotion,Sabrielsheathedhersword,ahebells.
Kerrigordidmovethen.Swiftly,hisdarkbulkboundingforward,halvingthegapbetweenthem.Hegrewtallertoo,stretgupwardstillhealmostreachedthevaultedceiling.Hiseyesopeofull,raging,flamingfury,andhespoke.
“Toys,Abhorsen.Andtoolate.Muchtoolate.”
Itwasnotjustwordshespoke,butpower,FreeMagicpowerthatfrozeSabriel’snerves,caughtathermuscles.Desperately,shestruggledtthebells,butherwristswerelockedinplace...
Tantalizinglyslowly,Kerriglidedforward,tillhewasamerearm’slengthaway,toverherlikesomecolossalstatueh-hewnnight,hisbreathrollingdowhthestenchofathousandabattoirs.
Someone—agirlquietlycoughingoutherlastbreathonthefloor—touchedSabriel’sahalightcaress.AsmallsparkofgoldenCharterMagiccamefromthatdyingtouch,slowlyswellingintoSabriel’sveins,travelingupwards,warmingjoints,freeingmuscles.Atlastitreachedherwristsandhands—andthebellsrangout.
Itwasnottheclear,truesounditshouldbe,forsomehowthebulkortookthesoundinandedit—butithada.
KerrigorslidbadwasdimiillhewaslittlemorethantwiceSabriel’sheight.
ButhewasnotsubjecttoSabriel’swill.
Sarahhadnotboundhim,andKibethhadonlyforcedhimback.
Sabrielrangthebellsagain,tratingonthedifficultterpoiweenthem,fallherwillintotheirmagic.Kerrigorwouldfallunderherdomination,hewouldwalkwhereshewilled...
Andforased,hedid.Notih,forshelackedthepower,butintohisinalbody,ihebrokensarcophagus.Evenasthechimeofthebellsfaded,Kerrigorged.
Fieryeyesandmouthranintoeachotherlikemoltenwax,andhisshadow-stufffoldedintoanarrownofsmoke,rupintotheceiling.Ithoveredamoersforamoment,thendesdedwithahideousscream,straightintir-body’sopenmouth.
Withthatscream,SarahandKibethcracked,shardsofsilverfallinglikebrokenstars,crashingtotheearth.Mahoganyhaurodust,driftingthroughSabriel’sfingerslikesmoke.
Sabrielstaredatheremptyhandsforased,stillfeelingtheharshimprintofbell-handles...
then,withoutanysciousthought,therewasaswordhiltinherhandassheadvanceduponthesarcophagus.Butbeforeshecouldseeintirstoodupandlookedather—lookedwiththeburningfire-piteyesor.
“Aninvenience,”hesaid,withavoicethatwasonlymarginallymorehuman.“Ishouldhaverememberedyouwereatroublesomebrat.”
Sabrielluhim,swordblowingwhitesparksasitstruck,pungthroughhischesttoprojectouttheotherside.ButKerrigoronlylaughed,andreacheddowntillheheldthebladewithbothhands,knucklespallidagainstthesilver-sparkingsteel.Sabrieltuggedatthesword,butitwouldnotefree.
“Noswordharmme,”Kerrigorsaid,withagigglelikeadyingman’scough.“NotevenonemadebytheWallmakers.Especiallynotnow,whenIhavefinallyassumedthelastoftheirpowers.PowerthatruledbeforetheCharter,powerthatmadetheWall.Ihaveitnow.Ihavethatbrokenpuppet,myhalf-brother—andIhaveyou,myAbhorsen.Power,andblood—bloodforthebreaking!”
Hereachedout,andpulledtheswordfurtherintohischest,tillthehiltwaslodgedagainsthisskin.Sabrieltriedtoletgo,buthewastooquiechillhandclutgherforearm.Irresistibly,Kerrigordrewhertowardshim.
“Willyousleep,unknowing,tilltheGreatStonesarereadyforyourblood?”whisperedKerrigor,hisbreathstillreekingofcarrion.“Orwillyougowaking,everystepoftheway?”
Sabrielstaredback,meetinghisgazeforthefirsttime.Surely,thereinthehellfireofhiseyes,shecouldseethefaisparkofblazingwhite?Sheunchedherleftfist,ahesilverringslipdownherfinger.Wasitexpanding?“Whatwouldyouhave,Abhorsen?”tinuedKerrigor,hismouthpeelingback,skinalreadybreakingattheers,thespiritwithincorrodihismagicallypreservedflesh.
“Yourlovercrawlstowardsus—apatheticsight—butIshallhavethekiss...”
TheringwashanginginSabriel’shand,hiddenbehindherback.Ithadgrownlarger—butshecouldstillfeelthemetalexpanding...
Kerrigor’sblisteredlipsmovedtowardshers,andstilltheringmovedinherhand.Hisbreathwasoverp,reekingofblood,butshehadlonggonebeyondthrowingup.Sheturnedherheadasideatthelastsed,a,dry,corpse-likefleshslideacrosshercheek.
“Asisterlykiss,”chuckledKerrigor.“Akissforanunclewhohasknownyousih—htlybefore—butitisnotenough...”
Again,hiswordswerenotjustwords.Sabrielfeltafripherhead,andmoveitbacktofacehim,whilehermouthwaswedgedapart,asifinpassionateexpectation.
Butherleftarmwasfree.
Kerrigor’sheadbentforward,hisfainglargerandlarger—thensilverflashedbetweenthem,andtheringwasaroundhisneck.
Sabrielfeltthepulsionsnapoff,andsheleantback,tryingtohurlherselfaway.ButKerrigordidgoofherarm.Heseemedsurprised,butnotanxious.Hisrighthauptotouchtheband,fingernailsfallingashedidso,bonealreadypushingthroughatthefiips.
“Whatisthis?Somerelicof...”
Theringstricted,cuttingthroughthepulpyfleshofhisneck,revealingthesoliddarknesswithin.Thattoowaspressed,forwards,pulsatingasittriedtoescape.Twoflamingeyeslookeddownindisbelief.
“Impossible,”croakedKerrigor.Snarling,hepushedSabrielaway,throwihefloor.
Inthesamemotionhedrewtheswordfromhischest,thebladeslowlyihasoundlikearasponhardwood.
Swiftlyasasnake,armandswordwentout,strikingthroughSabriel,througharmorandfleshaothewoodenfloorbeyond.
Painexploded,andSabrielscreamed,bodyvulsingaroundthebladeinoneawfulreflexivecurve.
Kerrigorleftherthere,impaledlikeabuginacolle,andadvanceduponTouchstone.
Sabriel,througheyesfoggedwithpain,sawKerrigorlookdownandripalong,jaggedsplinterfromohepews.
“Rogir,”Touchstonesaid.“Rogir...”
Thesplintercamedownwithastrangledshrieke.Sabrielclosedhereyesandlookedaway,slippingintoaworldofherown,aworldofpain.
Sheknewsheshoulddosomethingaboutthebloodpoutofherstomach,butnow—withTouchstonedead—shejustlaywhereshewas,ableed.
ThenSabrielrealizedshehadouchstonedie.
Shelookedagain.Thesplinterhadbrokenonhisarmoredcoat.Kerrigorwasreagoutforanothersplinter—butthesilverringhadslippeddowntohisshouldersnow,shreddingthefleshawayasitfell,likeanapplecorerpungtheDeadspiritoutoftherottingcorpse.
Kerrigledandshrieked,buttheringboundhisarms.Caperingmadly,hethrewhimselffromsidetoside,seekingtocastoffthesilverbandthatheldhim—onlycausimorefleshtofallaway,tillnofleshremained,nothingbutaragingnofdarkness,strainedbyasilverring.
Thenthencollapseduponitselflikeademolishedbuilding,tobeoundofripplingshadow,thesilverringshininglikearibbon.Agleamingredeyeshoneamidstthesilver—butthatwasonlytheruby,growntomatchthemetal.
TherewereChartermarksontheringagain,butSabrielcouldhem.Hereyeswouldn’tfocus,anditwastoodark.Themoonlightseemedtohavegoill,sheknewwhatmustbedone.Sarah—herhaothebandolier,butthesixthbellwasn’tthere—ortheseventh,orthethird.Carelessofme,thoughtSabriel,careless—butImustpletethebinding.HerhandfellonBelgaerforamoment,andalmostdrewit—butno,thatwouldberelease...Finally,shedrewRanna,whimperingwiththepaihatsmallmovement.
Rannawasunusuallyheavy,forsoslightabell.Sabrielresteditagainstherchestforamoment,gatheringstrength.Then,lyingonherback,transfixedwithherownsword,sherangthebell.
Rannasoundedsweet,af,likealong-expectedbed.ThesoundechoedthroughtheHall,andout,towhereafewmenstillbattledwiththeDead.Allwhohearditceasedtheirstruggles,andlaythemselvesdown.
Thebadlywoundedslippedeasilyih,joiningtheDeadwhohadfollowedKerrigor;thoselesshurtfellintoahealingsleep.
ThemoundofdarkhathadbeenKerrigorsplitintotwodistincthemispheres,boundedbyaorialringofsilver.Onehemispherewasasblackascoal;theleamingwhite.
Gradually,theymeltedintotwodistins—twocats,joihethroatlikeSiamesetwins.
Thenthesilverringsplitintwaroundeaedthecatsseparated.Theringslosttheirbrilliance,slowlygingcolorauretilltheywereredleatherbands,eachsuppaminiaturebell,aminiatureRanna.
Twosmallcatssatsidebyside.Oneblaewhite.Bothleanedforward,throatsmoving,andeachspatupasilverring.ThecatsyawheringsrolledtowardsSabriel,thencurledupaosleep.
Touchstochedtheringsrollthroughthedust,silverflashinginthemoonlight.TheyhitSabriel’sside,butshedidn’tpickthemup.BothherhandsstillclutchedRanna,butitwassileingbelowherbreasts.Herswordloomedaboveher,bladeandhiltcastingthemoonshadowofacrossuponherface.
SomethingfromhischildhoodmemoryflashedthroughTouchstone’smind.Avoice,amessenger’svoice,speakingtohismother.
“Highness,webringsorrowfultidings.TheAbhorsenisdead.”
EpilogueDeathseemedcolderthaneverbefore,Sabrielthought,andwonderedwhy,tillsherealizedshewasstilllyingdown.
Ier,beingcarriedalongbythecurrent.
Foramoment,shestartedtle,thensherelaxed.
“Everyoneahinghasatimetodie...”
shewhispered.Thelivingworldanditscaresseemedfaraway.Touchstonelived,andthatmadeherglad,inasmuchasshecouldfeelanything.
Kerrigorwasdefeated,imprisonedifnotmadetrulydead.Herworkwasdone.SoonshewouldpassbeyohGate,aforever...
Somethinggrabbedherarmsandlegs,pickedherupoutofthewateraherdownonherfeet.
“Thisisnotyourtime,”saidavoice,avoiceechoedbyhalfahuhers.
Sabrielblinked,forthereweremanyshininghumanshapesaroundher,habovethewater.Morethanshecouldt.NotDeadspirits,butsomethingelse,likethemothersendingcalledbythepaperboat.Theirshapeswerevague,butinstantlyreizable,forallworethedeepbluewiththesilverkeys.EveryonewasanAbhorsen.
“Goback,”theychorused.“Goback.”
“I’t,”sobbedSabriel.“I’mdead!Ihaven’tthestrength...”
“YouarethelastAbhorsen,”thevoiceswhispered,theshiningshapesclosingin.“Youotpassthiswayuntilthereisanother.Youdohavethestrengthwithinyou.Live,Abhorsen,live...”
Suddenly,shedidhavethestrength.Enoughtocrawl,wadeandfallbackuptheriver,andgingerlyedgebatoLife,hershiningescortdroppingbackattheverylast.Ohem—perhapsherfather—lightlytouchedherhandiantbeforeshelefttherealmofDeathbehind.
Afaceswamintoview—Touchstone’s,staringdownather.Soundhitherears,distant,raucousbellsthatseemedoutofplace,tillsherealizedtheywereambulancebells,ambulancesraginfromthetown.Shecouldsenseall,norfeelamagic,FreeorCharter.Butthen,Kerrigone,andtheywerenearlyfortymilesfromtheWall...
“Live,Sabriel,live,”Touchstonewasmuttering,holdingherids,hisowneyessocloudedwithtearshehadn’tnoticedhersopening.
Sabrielsmiled,thengrimacedasthepaincameback.Shelookedfromsidetoside,whowlongitwouldtakeTouchstoorealize.
TheelectriclightshadebainpartsoftheHall,andsoldierswereplaglanternsoutagain.Thereweremoresurvivorsthanshe’dexpected,tendingtothewounded,proppingupdangerousbrickwork,evensweepingupthebrick-dustandgravemold.
Therewerealsomanydead,andSabrielsighedasshelethersensesroam.elHoryse,killedoutsideoeps;MagistrixGreenwood;herischoolfriendEllimere;sixirls;atleasthalfthesoldiers...
Hereyeswaoclions,tothetwosleepingcats,thetwosilverrioheronthefloor.
“Sabriel!”
Touchstonehadfinallynoticed.Sabrielturnedhergazeba,andliftedherheadcautiously.
He’dremovedhersword,shesaw,andseveralofherschoolfriendshadcastahealingspell,goodenoughforthemoment.Typically,Touchstonehaddohingforhisownleg.
“Sabriel,”hesaidagain.“You’realive!”
“Yes,”saidSabriel,withsomesurprise.“Iam.”
HowIWrite:TheProcessofCreatingaBookGarthNixofferssomenotesonhiscrafttothereadersofthePerfectBounde-bookeditionofSabrielThisisabriefoverviewofhowIgoaboutwritingabook,whichmaywellbequitedifferentfrommanyotherwritersanddifferenttothewayyouliketoworkyourself.However,inamongstthecriesof“Howcouldheworklikethat!,”theremaybesomeusefulpiecesofinformationtohelpyouwithyourownwriting.
Tome,therearereallyfestowritingabook,thoughtheydooverlapeachother,slacesattimes,oreventakeoverferthantheyshould.Thesestagesare:thinking,planning,writing,andrevising.Thereisalsoafifthstage,thatrunscurrentlywiththeabove:stayingmotivated.
ThinkingMostofmybooksseemtostemfromasingleimageorthoughtthatlodgesinmybrainandslowlygrowsintosomethingthatobeexpressed.
Thatthoughtmaybea“whatif?”orperhapsjustanimage.SabriellargelybeganfromaphotographIsawofHadrian’sWall,whichhadagreenlawninfrontofitandsnowonthehillsbehindit.Manyotherthoughts,sciousorotherwise,grewout,upon,ahatsingleimage,bothbeforeandduriingofthebook.
TypicallyIseemtothinkaboutabookforayearorsobeforeIactuallystartwriting.Inthisthinkingstage,Ioftenwriteafewkeypointsinmy“ideas”
notebook.Atthisstage,ImerelyputdownbulletpointsormnemonicsthatwillremindmeofwhatIwasthinking.Thisbeveryusefullateron,particularlyifthegestationperiodforabookisseveralyears.Titlesarealsohandytojotdown.Therighttitlebeveryusefulastheseedfromwhichthewholeideaofthebookgrow.
PlanningForallmylongerworks(i.e.,thenovels),IwritechapteroutlinessoIhavethepleasureofdepartingfromthemlateron.Actually,whileIdoalwaysdepartfromthem,writingachapteroutlineisagreatdisciplihinkingoutthestoryanditalsoprovidesaroadmaportralskeletonyouebacktoifyougetlost.Ioftenwritetheprologueorinitialchapterfirsttogettheimpetusforthestoingandthenwritetheoutline.
Usually,Ihavetowritearevisedchapteroutliwoorthreetimesinthecourseofwritingthewholebook,butonceagainitdoesfocusthemindohestoingandwhereyouwantittogo.
WritingShortstories,articles,anditemsoeItypestraightintotheputer(mostlyaMatosh,thoughIalsouseaPMicrosoftWord.However,Iwritethenovelslonghandfirst.
NowadaysIuseaWatermanfountainpen(forShade’sChildrenandLirael),thoughIusedfelt-tipsearlier.IwasiedtoseethatStephenKingwroteoneofhisreovelswithaWatermanfountainpen.Hereportedlyfoundthatthisdidiheactualstyleofthebook.
Theadvantagesofwritinglonghandareseveral,atleastforme.Firstofall,Iwriteiivelysmallhandboundnotebookswhicharemuchmoretransportablethananysortofputer,particularlysinceyoutakethemawayforseveralweekswithouthavingtosiderpowersupplies,batteries,orprintouts.PartsofSabriel,forexample,werewrittenonatripthroughtheMiddleEast.PartsofShade’sChildrenandLiraelwerewrittenatthebeach.
TheothermajoradvantageofwritinglonghandisthatwhenItypeupachapterfrommynotebook,IrewriteasItype,sothefirstprintoutisactuallyaseddraft.SometimesIgeitquitealot,sometimesnotsomuch,butitgivesmeadistinctiveandseparatestagewhereIrevise.
ThefirstpageofthefirstchapterofSabriel(asopposedtotheprologue,whichIwroteearlier,beforeIdidmychapteroutline)wasactuallywrit-teninaspiral-boundnotebook,whichItoreoutandpastedintomypreferredbladrednotebook(/”x/”ormmxmm“sewnmemobook”).
Atthetypingstage,Iedupthewritingabitandithadfurtherminorrevisionslater,butinthiscaseatleast,itstayedmuchthesame.Youseetheinalmanuscriptpageandpareittothefinishedversionoe.
Whichbriorevising.
RevisingAsIsaid,whenItypethehandwrittenwords,Iamalsoutmyfirstmajeofrevision.
However,Iusuallyhavetoghatleasttworevisionstagesafterthat.ThefirstoftheseiswhenIfirstprintoutthetypedchapter.Ighitandmakegesinpen,whichIwillincorporatelater.Thesedstage(andsometimesathirdtimeaswell)occurswheiremanuscriptisfinishedforthefirsttime.Ileavethatbig,beautifulpileofprintoutontheshelfforafewweeks,thensitdownahewholething,makingcorresasIgo.
Finally,Ibuhems.offtomyAustralianandU.S.publishersandwaitfortheirrea(s),whierallywillincludesomesuggestionsforrevisionandoccasionallyarequestforrewriting.Sometimesthesewillbegood,worthwhilegesandIworkthemin.Sometimestheyarenot,andIargueaboutthemand—unlessIbeviherwise—refusetoalterthetext.Basically,Itryandkeepanopenmind,sihereisnearlyalwaysroomforimprovement.
StayingMotivatedI’moftenaskedbyaspiringwritershowIvestayearormoreinwritingafull-lengthnovel.
MystosweristhatIdownandthink“Ihavetowriteaoday.”Isitdownandthink“Ihavetowriteachapter,”or“reviseachapter,”
or“finishthechapter.”Thatway,it’sonlyever,-,wordsthataretheimmediategoal.
Asafurthermotivationalgimmick,IalwaysusethewordtutilitywhenI’vefiypingachapter,andwritethatdown,witharunningtotalofwordsaeinthefrontofmyfirstnotebookforthecurrentwork(eaoveltakesbetweenfiveandsixofthoseredandblaumbers).
IalsowritedownthemusicI’vebeenlisteningtoasIwriteandanythihatmightbeiingtolookbackupon.LikethefactthatIuploadedmyfirsthomepageonApril!Thewordtisarelativelysmallthing,butithasanamazingpsychologicaleffect,particularlyasmoreandmorechaptersappearandthewordtotalgrows.Ifinditveryencing,particularlyinthefirstthirdofthebook,whichalwaysseemstotakethemajorityofthetime.
SummaryHereareseveralone-lihatsumupmywritingphilosophy.SomeI’vemadeupandsomeareprobablyparaphrasesofotherpeople’ssayings,onlyI’trememberwhosaidwhat.(ThoughIthinkthe“read,write,revise”oneisfromRobertHeinlein.)“You’twriteifyoudon’tread.”
“Justwriteonechapteratatimeandonedayyou’llbesurprisedbyyourownfinishednovel.”
“Writinganythingisbetterthannotwritingsomethingperfect.”
“Read,write,revise,submit,repeat.”
“Expectreje,butdostopyousubmittingagain.”
“Submittheverybestworkyouotthefirstdraft.Alwaysreaditagainbeforeyousendit.”
AbouttheAutharthNixwasborninandgrewupinberra,Australia.AftertakinghisdegreeinprofessionalwritingfromtheUyofberra,heslowlysankintothemorassofthepublishingindustry,steadilydevolvingfromsalesrepthroughpublicist,untilinhebecameaseorwithamajormultinationalpublisher.AfteraperiodtraveliernEurope,theMiddleEast,andAsiaipublishingtoworkasamarketingunicationssultant.In,hewasluredbacktothepublishingworldtobeeapart-timeliteraryagent.HenowlivesinSydney,afive-minutewalkfromCoogeeBeach,withhiswife,Anna,andlotsofbooks.
Garthistheauthorof,amongotherbooks,Sabriel,Lirael,andShade’sChldren.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
Hewasremarkablystill,andSabrielhadamoment’sbriefhopethathewassomehowwouhentheawfulrealizationcame.
Kerrigorwasdigesting,likeagluttonafteranoverlyambitiousmeal.
Sabrielshudderedatthethought,biletaintinghermouth.Notthatherendwaslikelytobebetter.BothsheandTouchstonewouldbetakenalive,ahatway,tilltheypumpedouttheirlife’sblood,throatsyawning,downinthedarkofthereservoir...
Sheshookherhead,dispellingthatimage.
Therehadtobesomething...Kerrigorhadtobeweaker,sofarfromtheOldKingdom...
perhapsweakenedmorethanherCharterMagic.Shedoubtedthatasinglebellcouldswayhim,buttwo,incert?ItwasdarkintheHall,saveforthemoonlightfallingthroughtheshatteredwallbehindher.Andquiet.Eventhewoundedwereslippingawayinsileheircriesmuted,lastwisheswhispered.Theykepttheiragonyclose,asifascreammightattractthewrongattention.TherewerethingsworsethahintheHall...
Evenindarkheformorwasdarkerstill.Sabrielwatchedhimcarefully,undoirapsthatheldSarahandKibethwithherlefthand.SheseherDeadallaround,buteredtheHall.
Therewerestillmentofight,orfeastupon.
WhatwentonintheHallwastheirMaster’sbusiness.
Thestrapscameundone.Kerrigordidn’tmove,hisburningeyesclosed,hisfierymouthshut.
Inonequickmotion,Sabrielsheathedhersword,ahebells.
Kerrigordidmovethen.Swiftly,hisdarkbulkboundingforward,halvingthegapbetweenthem.Hegrewtallertoo,stretgupwardstillhealmostreachedthevaultedceiling.Hiseyesopeofull,raging,flamingfury,andhespoke.
“Toys,Abhorsen.Andtoolate.Muchtoolate.”
Itwasnotjustwordshespoke,butpower,FreeMagicpowerthatfrozeSabriel’snerves,caughtathermuscles.Desperately,shestruggledtthebells,butherwristswerelockedinplace...
Tantalizinglyslowly,Kerriglidedforward,tillhewasamerearm’slengthaway,toverherlikesomecolossalstatueh-hewnnight,hisbreathrollingdowhthestenchofathousandabattoirs.
Someone—agirlquietlycoughingoutherlastbreathonthefloor—touchedSabriel’sahalightcaress.AsmallsparkofgoldenCharterMagiccamefromthatdyingtouch,slowlyswellingintoSabriel’sveins,travelingupwards,warmingjoints,freeingmuscles.Atlastitreachedherwristsandhands—andthebellsrangout.
Itwasnottheclear,truesounditshouldbe,forsomehowthebulkortookthesoundinandedit—butithada.
KerrigorslidbadwasdimiillhewaslittlemorethantwiceSabriel’sheight.
ButhewasnotsubjecttoSabriel’swill.
Sarahhadnotboundhim,andKibethhadonlyforcedhimback.
Sabrielrangthebellsagain,tratingonthedifficultterpoiweenthem,fallherwillintotheirmagic.Kerrigorwouldfallunderherdomination,hewouldwalkwhereshewilled...
Andforased,hedid.Notih,forshelackedthepower,butintohisinalbody,ihebrokensarcophagus.Evenasthechimeofthebellsfaded,Kerrigorged.
Fieryeyesandmouthranintoeachotherlikemoltenwax,andhisshadow-stufffoldedintoanarrownofsmoke,rupintotheceiling.Ithoveredamoersforamoment,thendesdedwithahideousscream,straightintir-body’sopenmouth.
Withthatscream,SarahandKibethcracked,shardsofsilverfallinglikebrokenstars,crashingtotheearth.Mahoganyhaurodust,driftingthroughSabriel’sfingerslikesmoke.
Sabrielstaredatheremptyhandsforased,stillfeelingtheharshimprintofbell-handles...
then,withoutanysciousthought,therewasaswordhiltinherhandassheadvanceduponthesarcophagus.Butbeforeshecouldseeintirstoodupandlookedather—lookedwiththeburningfire-piteyesor.
“Aninvenience,”hesaid,withavoicethatwasonlymarginallymorehuman.“Ishouldhaverememberedyouwereatroublesomebrat.”
Sabrielluhim,swordblowingwhitesparksasitstruck,pungthroughhischesttoprojectouttheotherside.ButKerrigoronlylaughed,andreacheddowntillheheldthebladewithbothhands,knucklespallidagainstthesilver-sparkingsteel.Sabrieltuggedatthesword,butitwouldnotefree.
“Noswordharmme,”Kerrigorsaid,withagigglelikeadyingman’scough.“NotevenonemadebytheWallmakers.Especiallynotnow,whenIhavefinallyassumedthelastoftheirpowers.PowerthatruledbeforetheCharter,powerthatmadetheWall.Ihaveitnow.Ihavethatbrokenpuppet,myhalf-brother—andIhaveyou,myAbhorsen.Power,andblood—bloodforthebreaking!”
Hereachedout,andpulledtheswordfurtherintohischest,tillthehiltwaslodgedagainsthisskin.Sabrieltriedtoletgo,buthewastooquiechillhandclutgherforearm.Irresistibly,Kerrigordrewhertowardshim.
“Willyousleep,unknowing,tilltheGreatStonesarereadyforyourblood?”whisperedKerrigor,hisbreathstillreekingofcarrion.“Orwillyougowaking,everystepoftheway?”
Sabrielstaredback,meetinghisgazeforthefirsttime.Surely,thereinthehellfireofhiseyes,shecouldseethefaisparkofblazingwhite?Sheunchedherleftfist,ahesilverringslipdownherfinger.Wasitexpanding?“Whatwouldyouhave,Abhorsen?”tinuedKerrigor,hismouthpeelingback,skinalreadybreakingattheers,thespiritwithincorrodihismagicallypreservedflesh.
“Yourlovercrawlstowardsus—apatheticsight—butIshallhavethekiss...”
TheringwashanginginSabriel’shand,hiddenbehindherback.Ithadgrownlarger—butshecouldstillfeelthemetalexpanding...
Kerrigor’sblisteredlipsmovedtowardshers,andstilltheringmovedinherhand.Hisbreathwasoverp,reekingofblood,butshehadlonggonebeyondthrowingup.Sheturnedherheadasideatthelastsed,a,dry,corpse-likefleshslideacrosshercheek.
“Asisterlykiss,”chuckledKerrigor.“Akissforanunclewhohasknownyousih—htlybefore—butitisnotenough...”
Again,hiswordswerenotjustwords.Sabrielfeltafripherhead,andmoveitbacktofacehim,whilehermouthwaswedgedapart,asifinpassionateexpectation.
Butherleftarmwasfree.
Kerrigor’sheadbentforward,hisfainglargerandlarger—thensilverflashedbetweenthem,andtheringwasaroundhisneck.
Sabrielfeltthepulsionsnapoff,andsheleantback,tryingtohurlherselfaway.ButKerrigordidgoofherarm.Heseemedsurprised,butnotanxious.Hisrighthauptotouchtheband,fingernailsfallingashedidso,bonealreadypushingthroughatthefiips.
“Whatisthis?Somerelicof...”
Theringstricted,cuttingthroughthepulpyfleshofhisneck,revealingthesoliddarknesswithin.Thattoowaspressed,forwards,pulsatingasittriedtoescape.Twoflamingeyeslookeddownindisbelief.
“Impossible,”croakedKerrigor.Snarling,hepushedSabrielaway,throwihefloor.
Inthesamemotionhedrewtheswordfromhischest,thebladeslowlyihasoundlikearasponhardwood.
Swiftlyasasnake,armandswordwentout,strikingthroughSabriel,througharmorandfleshaothewoodenfloorbeyond.
Painexploded,andSabrielscreamed,bodyvulsingaroundthebladeinoneawfulreflexivecurve.
Kerrigorleftherthere,impaledlikeabuginacolle,andadvanceduponTouchstone.
Sabriel,througheyesfoggedwithpain,sawKerrigorlookdownandripalong,jaggedsplinterfromohepews.
“Rogir,”Touchstonesaid.“Rogir...”
Thesplintercamedownwithastrangledshrieke.Sabrielclosedhereyesandlookedaway,slippingintoaworldofherown,aworldofpain.
Sheknewsheshoulddosomethingaboutthebloodpoutofherstomach,butnow—withTouchstonedead—shejustlaywhereshewas,ableed.
ThenSabrielrealizedshehadouchstonedie.
Shelookedagain.Thesplinterhadbrokenonhisarmoredcoat.Kerrigorwasreagoutforanothersplinter—butthesilverringhadslippeddowntohisshouldersnow,shreddingthefleshawayasitfell,likeanapplecorerpungtheDeadspiritoutoftherottingcorpse.
Kerrigledandshrieked,buttheringboundhisarms.Caperingmadly,hethrewhimselffromsidetoside,seekingtocastoffthesilverbandthatheldhim—onlycausimorefleshtofallaway,tillnofleshremained,nothingbutaragingnofdarkness,strainedbyasilverring.
Thenthencollapseduponitselflikeademolishedbuilding,tobeoundofripplingshadow,thesilverringshininglikearibbon.Agleamingredeyeshoneamidstthesilver—butthatwasonlytheruby,growntomatchthemetal.
TherewereChartermarksontheringagain,butSabrielcouldhem.Hereyeswouldn’tfocus,anditwastoodark.Themoonlightseemedtohavegoill,sheknewwhatmustbedone.Sarah—herhaothebandolier,butthesixthbellwasn’tthere—ortheseventh,orthethird.Carelessofme,thoughtSabriel,careless—butImustpletethebinding.HerhandfellonBelgaerforamoment,andalmostdrewit—butno,thatwouldberelease...Finally,shedrewRanna,whimperingwiththepaihatsmallmovement.
Rannawasunusuallyheavy,forsoslightabell.Sabrielresteditagainstherchestforamoment,gatheringstrength.Then,lyingonherback,transfixedwithherownsword,sherangthebell.
Rannasoundedsweet,af,likealong-expectedbed.ThesoundechoedthroughtheHall,andout,towhereafewmenstillbattledwiththeDead.Allwhohearditceasedtheirstruggles,andlaythemselvesdown.
Thebadlywoundedslippedeasilyih,joiningtheDeadwhohadfollowedKerrigor;thoselesshurtfellintoahealingsleep.
ThemoundofdarkhathadbeenKerrigorsplitintotwodistincthemispheres,boundedbyaorialringofsilver.Onehemispherewasasblackascoal;theleamingwhite.
Gradually,theymeltedintotwodistins—twocats,joihethroatlikeSiamesetwins.
Thenthesilverringsplitintwaroundeaedthecatsseparated.Theringslosttheirbrilliance,slowlygingcolorauretilltheywereredleatherbands,eachsuppaminiaturebell,aminiatureRanna.
Twosmallcatssatsidebyside.Oneblaewhite.Bothleanedforward,throatsmoving,andeachspatupasilverring.ThecatsyawheringsrolledtowardsSabriel,thencurledupaosleep.
Touchstochedtheringsrollthroughthedust,silverflashinginthemoonlight.TheyhitSabriel’sside,butshedidn’tpickthemup.BothherhandsstillclutchedRanna,butitwassileingbelowherbreasts.Herswordloomedaboveher,bladeandhiltcastingthemoonshadowofacrossuponherface.
SomethingfromhischildhoodmemoryflashedthroughTouchstone’smind.Avoice,amessenger’svoice,speakingtohismother.
“Highness,webringsorrowfultidings.TheAbhorsenisdead.”
EpilogueDeathseemedcolderthaneverbefore,Sabrielthought,andwonderedwhy,tillsherealizedshewasstilllyingdown.
Ier,beingcarriedalongbythecurrent.
Foramoment,shestartedtle,thensherelaxed.
“Everyoneahinghasatimetodie...”
shewhispered.Thelivingworldanditscaresseemedfaraway.Touchstonelived,andthatmadeherglad,inasmuchasshecouldfeelanything.
Kerrigorwasdefeated,imprisonedifnotmadetrulydead.Herworkwasdone.SoonshewouldpassbeyohGate,aforever...
Somethinggrabbedherarmsandlegs,pickedherupoutofthewateraherdownonherfeet.
“Thisisnotyourtime,”saidavoice,avoiceechoedbyhalfahuhers.
Sabrielblinked,forthereweremanyshininghumanshapesaroundher,habovethewater.Morethanshecouldt.NotDeadspirits,butsomethingelse,likethemothersendingcalledbythepaperboat.Theirshapeswerevague,butinstantlyreizable,forallworethedeepbluewiththesilverkeys.EveryonewasanAbhorsen.
“Goback,”theychorused.“Goback.”
“I’t,”sobbedSabriel.“I’mdead!Ihaven’tthestrength...”
“YouarethelastAbhorsen,”thevoiceswhispered,theshiningshapesclosingin.“Youotpassthiswayuntilthereisanother.Youdohavethestrengthwithinyou.Live,Abhorsen,live...”
Suddenly,shedidhavethestrength.Enoughtocrawl,wadeandfallbackuptheriver,andgingerlyedgebatoLife,hershiningescortdroppingbackattheverylast.Ohem—perhapsherfather—lightlytouchedherhandiantbeforeshelefttherealmofDeathbehind.
Afaceswamintoview—Touchstone’s,staringdownather.Soundhitherears,distant,raucousbellsthatseemedoutofplace,tillsherealizedtheywereambulancebells,ambulancesraginfromthetown.Shecouldsenseall,norfeelamagic,FreeorCharter.Butthen,Kerrigone,andtheywerenearlyfortymilesfromtheWall...
“Live,Sabriel,live,”Touchstonewasmuttering,holdingherids,hisowneyessocloudedwithtearshehadn’tnoticedhersopening.
Sabrielsmiled,thengrimacedasthepaincameback.Shelookedfromsidetoside,whowlongitwouldtakeTouchstoorealize.
TheelectriclightshadebainpartsoftheHall,andsoldierswereplaglanternsoutagain.Thereweremoresurvivorsthanshe’dexpected,tendingtothewounded,proppingupdangerousbrickwork,evensweepingupthebrick-dustandgravemold.
Therewerealsomanydead,andSabrielsighedasshelethersensesroam.elHoryse,killedoutsideoeps;MagistrixGreenwood;herischoolfriendEllimere;sixirls;atleasthalfthesoldiers...
Hereyeswaoclions,tothetwosleepingcats,thetwosilverrioheronthefloor.
“Sabriel!”
Touchstonehadfinallynoticed.Sabrielturnedhergazeba,andliftedherheadcautiously.
He’dremovedhersword,shesaw,andseveralofherschoolfriendshadcastahealingspell,goodenoughforthemoment.Typically,Touchstonehaddohingforhisownleg.
“Sabriel,”hesaidagain.“You’realive!”
“Yes,”saidSabriel,withsomesurprise.“Iam.”
HowIWrite:TheProcessofCreatingaBookGarthNixofferssomenotesonhiscrafttothereadersofthePerfectBounde-bookeditionofSabrielThisisabriefoverviewofhowIgoaboutwritingabook,whichmaywellbequitedifferentfrommanyotherwritersanddifferenttothewayyouliketoworkyourself.However,inamongstthecriesof“Howcouldheworklikethat!,”theremaybesomeusefulpiecesofinformationtohelpyouwithyourownwriting.
Tome,therearereallyfestowritingabook,thoughtheydooverlapeachother,slacesattimes,oreventakeoverferthantheyshould.Thesestagesare:thinking,planning,writing,andrevising.Thereisalsoafifthstage,thatrunscurrentlywiththeabove:stayingmotivated.
ThinkingMostofmybooksseemtostemfromasingleimageorthoughtthatlodgesinmybrainandslowlygrowsintosomethingthatobeexpressed.
Thatthoughtmaybea“whatif?”orperhapsjustanimage.SabriellargelybeganfromaphotographIsawofHadrian’sWall,whichhadagreenlawninfrontofitandsnowonthehillsbehindit.Manyotherthoughts,sciousorotherwise,grewout,upon,ahatsingleimage,bothbeforeandduriingofthebook.
TypicallyIseemtothinkaboutabookforayearorsobeforeIactuallystartwriting.Inthisthinkingstage,Ioftenwriteafewkeypointsinmy“ideas”
notebook.Atthisstage,ImerelyputdownbulletpointsormnemonicsthatwillremindmeofwhatIwasthinking.Thisbeveryusefullateron,particularlyifthegestationperiodforabookisseveralyears.Titlesarealsohandytojotdown.Therighttitlebeveryusefulastheseedfromwhichthewholeideaofthebookgrow.
PlanningForallmylongerworks(i.e.,thenovels),IwritechapteroutlinessoIhavethepleasureofdepartingfromthemlateron.Actually,whileIdoalwaysdepartfromthem,writingachapteroutlineisagreatdisciplihinkingoutthestoryanditalsoprovidesaroadmaportralskeletonyouebacktoifyougetlost.Ioftenwritetheprologueorinitialchapterfirsttogettheimpetusforthestoingandthenwritetheoutline.
Usually,Ihavetowritearevisedchapteroutliwoorthreetimesinthecourseofwritingthewholebook,butonceagainitdoesfocusthemindohestoingandwhereyouwantittogo.
WritingShortstories,articles,anditemsoeItypestraightintotheputer(mostlyaMatosh,thoughIalsouseaPMicrosoftWord.However,Iwritethenovelslonghandfirst.
NowadaysIuseaWatermanfountainpen(forShade’sChildrenandLirael),thoughIusedfelt-tipsearlier.IwasiedtoseethatStephenKingwroteoneofhisreovelswithaWatermanfountainpen.Hereportedlyfoundthatthisdidiheactualstyleofthebook.
Theadvantagesofwritinglonghandareseveral,atleastforme.Firstofall,Iwriteiivelysmallhandboundnotebookswhicharemuchmoretransportablethananysortofputer,particularlysinceyoutakethemawayforseveralweekswithouthavingtosiderpowersupplies,batteries,orprintouts.PartsofSabriel,forexample,werewrittenonatripthroughtheMiddleEast.PartsofShade’sChildrenandLiraelwerewrittenatthebeach.
TheothermajoradvantageofwritinglonghandisthatwhenItypeupachapterfrommynotebook,IrewriteasItype,sothefirstprintoutisactuallyaseddraft.SometimesIgeitquitealot,sometimesnotsomuch,butitgivesmeadistinctiveandseparatestagewhereIrevise.
ThefirstpageofthefirstchapterofSabriel(asopposedtotheprologue,whichIwroteearlier,beforeIdidmychapteroutline)wasactuallywrit-teninaspiral-boundnotebook,whichItoreoutandpastedintomypreferredbladrednotebook(/”x/”ormmxmm“sewnmemobook”).
Atthetypingstage,Iedupthewritingabitandithadfurtherminorrevisionslater,butinthiscaseatleast,itstayedmuchthesame.Youseetheinalmanuscriptpageandpareittothefinishedversionoe.
Whichbriorevising.
RevisingAsIsaid,whenItypethehandwrittenwords,Iamalsoutmyfirstmajeofrevision.
However,Iusuallyhavetoghatleasttworevisionstagesafterthat.ThefirstoftheseiswhenIfirstprintoutthetypedchapter.Ighitandmakegesinpen,whichIwillincorporatelater.Thesedstage(andsometimesathirdtimeaswell)occurswheiremanuscriptisfinishedforthefirsttime.Ileavethatbig,beautifulpileofprintoutontheshelfforafewweeks,thensitdownahewholething,makingcorresasIgo.
Finally,Ibuhems.offtomyAustralianandU.S.publishersandwaitfortheirrea(s),whierallywillincludesomesuggestionsforrevisionandoccasionallyarequestforrewriting.Sometimesthesewillbegood,worthwhilegesandIworkthemin.Sometimestheyarenot,andIargueaboutthemand—unlessIbeviherwise—refusetoalterthetext.Basically,Itryandkeepanopenmind,sihereisnearlyalwaysroomforimprovement.
StayingMotivatedI’moftenaskedbyaspiringwritershowIvestayearormoreinwritingafull-lengthnovel.
MystosweristhatIdownandthink“Ihavetowriteaoday.”Isitdownandthink“Ihavetowriteachapter,”or“reviseachapter,”
or“finishthechapter.”Thatway,it’sonlyever,-,wordsthataretheimmediategoal.
Asafurthermotivationalgimmick,IalwaysusethewordtutilitywhenI’vefiypingachapter,andwritethatdown,witharunningtotalofwordsaeinthefrontofmyfirstnotebookforthecurrentwork(eaoveltakesbetweenfiveandsixofthoseredandblaumbers).
IalsowritedownthemusicI’vebeenlisteningtoasIwriteandanythihatmightbeiingtolookbackupon.LikethefactthatIuploadedmyfirsthomepageonApril!Thewordtisarelativelysmallthing,butithasanamazingpsychologicaleffect,particularlyasmoreandmorechaptersappearandthewordtotalgrows.Ifinditveryencing,particularlyinthefirstthirdofthebook,whichalwaysseemstotakethemajorityofthetime.
SummaryHereareseveralone-lihatsumupmywritingphilosophy.SomeI’vemadeupandsomeareprobablyparaphrasesofotherpeople’ssayings,onlyI’trememberwhosaidwhat.(ThoughIthinkthe“read,write,revise”oneisfromRobertHeinlein.)“You’twriteifyoudon’tread.”
“Justwriteonechapteratatimeandonedayyou’llbesurprisedbyyourownfinishednovel.”
“Writinganythingisbetterthannotwritingsomethingperfect.”
“Read,write,revise,submit,repeat.”
“Expectreje,butdostopyousubmittingagain.”
“Submittheverybestworkyouotthefirstdraft.Alwaysreaditagainbeforeyousendit.”
AbouttheAutharthNixwasborninandgrewupinberra,Australia.AftertakinghisdegreeinprofessionalwritingfromtheUyofberra,heslowlysankintothemorassofthepublishingindustry,steadilydevolvingfromsalesrepthroughpublicist,untilinhebecameaseorwithamajormultinationalpublisher.AfteraperiodtraveliernEurope,theMiddleEast,andAsiaipublishingtoworkasamarketingunicationssultant.In,hewasluredbacktothepublishingworldtobeeapart-timeliteraryagent.HenowlivesinSydney,afive-minutewalkfromCoogeeBeach,withhiswife,Anna,andlotsofbooks.
Garthistheauthorof,amongotherbooks,Sabriel,Lirael,andShade’sChldren.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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