自译《地海传奇》短篇 The Word of Unbinding 厄休拉·勒古恩
写在前面：如前言所述，The Word of Unbinding和The Rules of Names在构建整个地海世界时发挥了决定性的作用。The Word of Unbinding在地海正篇中唯一一次出现是在《地海彼岸》结尾，格得用the word of unbinding让妄图永生的喀布得以从畸形的生命中脱离而出，从而面临真正的死亡，回归自然与真正的生命。这则故事再次向我们强调了勒古恩本人的生死观，正如她借格得之口所说的那样：“（召唤亡魂）毋宁说是一种误解，对生命的误解。死和生其实是同一件事——像手的两面，手心和手背。手心手背究竟不同……但两者既不能分开也不能混为一谈。”
The Word of Unbinding收录于最新出版的地海总集篇，书末包括该文在内的五则故事目前尚未有译文，我作为地海的一名普通读者，希望通过翻译的方式将其分享给国内的读者，这对我们更加深入地了解地海有莫大的帮助。岁月如梭，厄休拉·勒古恩已逝世四年，想必在西之彼方，与龙为伴的她不曾感到孤独。译文粗浅，与诸位共飨。
The two stories that follow were my first approach to and exploration of the “secondary world” of Earthsea, about which I later wrote three novels. I didn't know much about the place at first, and readers familiar with the trilogy① will notice that trolls became extinct in Earthsea at some point, and that the history of the dragon Yevaud is somewhat obscure. (He must have been on Sattins Island some decades or centuries before Ged found him, and bound him, on the Isle of Pendor.) But this is only to be expected of dragons, who do not submit to the unidirectional, causal requirements of history, being myths, and neither timebinding nor timebound.
接下来的两则故事是我对地海的“第二世界”第一次进行接近与探索，它们和我之后写的三本小说密切相关。我起初对这个地方所知甚少，熟悉那三部曲①的读者们会注意到，地海的巨魔早已在某时绝迹，而且关于耶瓦德龙的历史鲜为人知（在格得在蟠多岛找到并束缚他之前，他已经在撒丁岛生活了几十乃至上百年）。但这些只是对龙而言，因他们从不屈服于单一的历史因果，他们始终是一个神话，从不被时间约束。
注① 三部曲即《地海巫师》(A Wizard of Earthsea)《地海古墓》(The Tombs of Atuan)和《地海彼岸》(The Farthest Shore)。
“The Rule of Names” first explores an essential element of how magic works in Earthsea. “The Word of Unbinding” foreshadows the end of the last book of the trilogy, The Farthest Shore, in its imagery of the world of the dead. It also reveals a certain obsession with trees, which, once you notice them, keep cropping up throughout my work. I think I am definitely the most arboreal science fiction writer. It's all right for the rest of you who climbed down, and developed opposable thumbs, and erect posture, and all that. There’s a few of us still up here swinging.
《解脱之辞》最先探索了关于魔法如何在地海运行的一个关键因素。《解脱之辞》预示了三部曲最后一本书《地海彼岸》中，在属于死者的世界发生的结局。它也解开了关于树木的某一个谜团，一旦你注意到这些树，你会发现它们在我的整部作品中被反复提起。我觉得我绝对算得上是对树木最感兴趣的科幻小说作家。你们其余这些人若要从那些树上爬下来，长出对生拇指，直立站着，或是做些其他什么，那完全没有问题。但我们当中仍会有些人选择留在那些树上，自由地摇摆着。
The Words of Unbinding by Ursula K. Le Guin
《解脱之辞》厄休拉·勒古恩
Where was he? The floor was hard and slimy, the air black and stinking, and that was all there was. Except a headache. Lying flat on the clammy floor Festin moaned, and then said, “Staff!” When his alderwood wizard’s staff did not come to his hand, he knew he was in peril. He sat up, and not having his staff with which to make a proper light, he struck a spark between finger and thumb, muttering a certain Word. A blue will o’ the wisp sprang from the spark and rolled feebly through the air, sputtering. “Up,” said Festin, and the fireball wobbled upward till it lit a vaulted trapdoor very high above, so high that Festin projecting into the fireball momentarily saw his own face forty feet below as a pale dot in the darkness. The light struck no reflections in the damp walls; they had been woven out of night, by magic. He rejoined himself and said, “Out.” The ball expired. Festin sat in the dark, cracking his knuckles.
他身处何处？地面又硬又湿，空气又浑又臭，除头痛欲裂之外，别无他物。平躺在湿冷的地面上，菲斯汀呻吟着，然后呼唤道：“手杖！”当他的赤杨木法杖没有回到他的手中时，他意识到，他正处于危险之中。他坐起身来，没有手杖，他没法造出适当的光，他轻念某一个咒语，在手指间打出一个火花。一缕蓝色的烟雾从火花中迸溅而出，无力地在空气中翻滚着，发出噼噼啪啪的声响。菲斯汀说：“起。”这个火星就摇摆着向上升起，直到它照见了一个非常高的拱形活板门，高到菲斯汀那时只能在和他相距四十英尺的火星中看到自己的脸成了一个苍白的小点。在这些潮湿的墙上看不到任何光影，它们被魔法用黑夜编织而成。他提振精神，说道：“消失。”那枚火星消散了。菲斯汀在黑暗中端坐着，掰着自己的手指。
He must have been overspelled from behind, by surprise; for the last memory he had was of walking through his own woods at evening talking with the trees. Lately, in these lone years in the middle of his life, he had been burdened with a sense of waste, of unspent strength; so, needing to learn patience, he had left the villages and gone to converse with trees, especially oaks, chestnuts, and the grey alders whose roots are in profound communication with running water. It had been six months since he had spoken to a human being. He had been busy with essentials, casting no spells and bothering no one. So who had spellbound him and shut him in this reeking well? “Who?” he demanded of the walls, and slowly a name gathered on them and ran down to him like a thick black drop sweated out from pores of stone and spores of fungus: “Voll.”
他一定是在不经意间被人从背后下了咒，他最后的记忆是晚上他边在自己的林子中散步，边和那些树木说着话。近来，在他中年独处的这几年里，他一直被一种无力感裹挟着。于是，为了培养耐心，他离开了那些村庄，去和树木交谈，尤其是橡树、栗树，和那些用树根和流水交谈的灰赤杨。他已有整整六个月未和人类交谈了。他忙于生活起居，不曾念咒语，也不去打扰别人。所以又有谁会对他施咒，把他关在这么一个臭气熏天的枯井里？“是谁？”他质问着眼前的墙，然后一个名字渐渐地在那些墙上成形，如同一个从石头和霉菌的毛孔中渗出的粘稠的黑汁般滴落在他的脑海中——“沃尔”。
For a moment Festin was in a cold sweat himself.
一时，菲斯汀的全身都被冷汗浸湿了。
He had heard first long ago of Voll the Fell, who was said to be more than wizard yet less than man; who passed from island to island of the Outer Reach, undoing the works of the Ancients, enslaving men, cutting forests and spoiling fields, and sealing in underground tombs any wizard or Mage who tried to combat him. Refugees from ruined islands told always the same tale, that he came at evening on a dark wind over the sea. His slaves followed in ships; these they had seen. But none of them had ever seen Voll. . . . There were many men and creatures of evil will among the Islands, and Festin, a young warlock intent on his training, had not paid much heed to these tales of Voll the Fell. “I can protect this island,” he had thought, knowing his untried power, and had returned to his oaks and alders, the sound of wind in their leaves, the rhythm of growth in their round trunks and limbs and twigs, the taste of sunlight on leaves or dark groundwater around roots.—Where were they now, the trees, his old companions? Had Voll destroyed the forest?
他第一次听说这个名字，已是很久之前，“沼泽地的沃尔”，据说他法力高超，而人性泯灭；他曾穿越开阔海的无数岛屿，沿路毁灭古迹，奴役岛民，砍伐森林，破坏农田，并且把任何妄图阻止他的巫师封印于地底的坟茔之中。那些来自被沃尔毁掉岛屿的难民一直都异口同声地说着同样的传说——沃尔总是在夜晚凭着一股黑风，越过海洋袭来。那些难民看到过那些乘船跟随他的奴仆们，然而他们之中未曾有一人目睹沃尔本人的真容……在地海群屿，有无数邪恶化身的人或物，作为一名专注于他自身修为的术士，菲斯汀不曾留心于关于“沼泽地的沃尔”的那些传言。“我足以守护这座岛屿，”凭借对自己未经检验的力量的感知，他曾如此想到。于是他回到属于他的那片树林之中，回到那穿梭于叶隙间的风声之中，回到树木枝干生长的韵律之中，回到叶片上阳光的味道之中，回到萦绕于树根的暗流之中——如今那些树，他的老朋友们，又在哪里？沃尔是否已将那些树林统统摧毁？
Awake at last and up on his feet, Festin made two broad motions with rigid hands, shouting aloud a Name that would burst all locks and break open any man-made door. But these walls impregnated with night and the name of their builder did not heed, did not hear. The name re-echoed back, clapping in Festin’s ears so that he fell on his knees, hiding his head in his arms till the echoes died away in the vaults above him. Then, still shaken by the backfire, he sat brooding.
最后，菲斯汀清醒过来，他站起身，僵硬的双手大幅摆动着，口中喊出足以破坏所有门锁、足以打开所有人造门的那个真名。然而，这些被黑夜浸染的墙，以及他们建造者的名字并未被撼动。菲斯汀喊出的那个名字发出阵阵回响，回声震荡着菲斯汀的耳膜，以致他双膝跪地，他只好用双臂捂住脑袋，直至回声在他之上的拱门中渐渐消散。然后，心有余悸的他瘫坐在地，陷入沉思。
They were right; Voll was strong. Here on his own ground, within this spell-built dungeon, his magic would withstand any direct attack; and Festin’s strength was halved by the loss of his staff. But not even his captor could take from him his powers, relative only to himself, of Projecting and Transforming. So, after rubbing his now doubly aching head, he transformed. Quietly his body melted away into a cloud of fine mist.
那些传说是真的，沃尔的确无比强大。在他的领地之中，在他用咒语编织的地牢中，他的魔法可以抵御任何直接的攻击，况且菲斯汀由于失去了法杖，更是无法发挥出全部力量。但即便是捕获菲斯汀的一方，沃尔也无法剥夺菲斯汀独有的天赋——易形。于是，揉了揉他两度疼痛的脑袋，菲斯汀变形了。他的身形在寂静中化为一缕细微的薄雾。
Lazy, trailing, the mist rose off the floor, drifting up along the slimy walls until it found, where vault met wall, a hairline crack. Through this, droplet by droplet, it seeped. It was almost all through the crack when a hot wind, hot as a furnace-blast, struck at it, scattering the mist-drops, drying them. Hurriedly the mist sucked itself back into the vault, spiralled to the floor, took on Festin’s own form and lay there panting. Transformation is an emotional strain to introverted warlocks of Festin’s sort; when to that strain is added the shock of facing unhuman death in one’s assumed shape, the experience becomes horrible. Festin lay for a while merely breathing. He was also angry with himself. It had been a pretty simpler minded notion to escape as a mist, after all. Every fool knew that trick. Voll had probably just left a hot wind waiting. Festin gathered himself into a small black bat, flew up to the ceiling, retransformed into a thin stream of plain air, and seeped through the crack.
慵懒地拖曳着水汽，菲斯汀化身的薄雾离开地面，沿着泥泞的墙面升腾而起，直到他发现了在拱门和墙面之间的一条细缝。他一点一点地渗入其间。当他就要脱身而去时，一阵如同火炉般炙热的狂风袭来，将他打成分散的雾滴，水分在不断流失。菲斯汀急忙抽身于拱门，狂飙到地面，现出原形，瘫倒在地气喘不已。对于菲斯汀这种内向的术士来说，易形是一种精神上的负担，包括需要面临属于变形目标的死亡，包括变得令人恐惧的不快经历。菲斯汀躺了许久，仅仅是调整着自己的呼吸。与此同时，他也对自己感到气愤。毕竟，想到变成雾气逃脱的计策并不难。就连傻瓜也能想到这种小把戏。恐怕沃尔早就备好狂风以防万一。这次菲斯汀化身为一只漆黑的蝙蝠，一飞到牢顶上，他就将自己变成一缕细水，渗入那条细缝之中。
This time he got clear out and was blowing softly down the hall in which he found himself towards a window, when a sharp sense of peril made him pull together, snapping himself into the first small, coherent shape that came to mind—a gold ring. It was just as well. The hurricane of arctic air that would have dispersed his air-form in unrecallable chaos merely chilled his ring-form slightly. As the storm passed he lay on the marble pavement, wondering which form might get out the window quickest.
这一次，当他发觉自己正被吹向牢内的窗户外时，一阵强烈的危机感让他聚拢起自己的身体，猛然间他想到一个他从未变过的精小身形——一枚金戒指。万幸的是，这阵寒风本会将他原来化为的气态在不可挽回的混乱中一下子吹散，然而现在他化身成的金戒指只会被其轻微地拂动。在这阵风暴过去后，他留在大理石表面上，思索着能让他最快逃到窗外的身形。
Too late, he began to roll away. An enormous blank-faced troll strode cataclysmically across the floor, stopped, caught the quick-rolling ring and picked it up in a huge limestone-like hand. The troll strode to the trapdoor, lifted it by an iron handle and a muttered charm, and dropped Festin down into the darkness. He fell straight for forty feet and landed on the stone floor—clink.
他开始滚动，然而一切都太晚了。一个巨大的黑面巨魔大步跨过地面，停下来抓起了这枚快速滚动的戒指，攥在石灰岩一般的手中。巨魔跨向活板门，靠在铁扶手上，举起戒指，口中念念有词，接着就把菲斯汀扔进地牢的黑暗深处。他直直地坠入四十英尺深的石头地面，发出戒指碰撞地面的叮当声。
Resuming his true form he sat up, ruefully rubbing a bruised elbow. Enough of this transformation on an empty stomach. He longed bitterly for his staff, with which he could have summoned up any amount of dinner. Without it, though he could change his own form and exert certain spells and powers, he could not transform or summon to him any material thing—neither lightning nor a lamb chop.
恢复人形，贾斯汀坐起身，可怜地揉着淤青的手肘。他腹中空空，早已无力易形。他求杖心切，有了手杖，他就可以召唤出无数佳肴。没了法杖，尽管他还能变换身形、使出某些咒语或力量，但他无力变出任何实体的物品，不论是法术光还是羊排，都只是痴心妄想。
“Patience,” Festin told himself, and when he had got his breath he dissolved his body into the infinite delicacy of volatile oils, becoming the aroma of a frying lamb chop. He drifted once more through the crack. The waiting troll sniffed suspiciously, but already Festin had regrouped himself into a falcon, winging straight for the window. The troll lunged after him, missed by yards, and bellowed in a vast stony voice, “The hawk, get the hawk!” Swooping over the enchanted castle towards his forest that lay dark to westward, sunlight and sea-glare dazzling his eyes, Festin rode the wind like an arrow. But a quicker arrow found him. Crying out, he fell. Sun and sea and towers spun around him and went out.
“我需要耐心。”菲斯汀自言自语道。当他调整好呼吸后，他将他的身体溶解为无比精美的精油，散发出炸羊排的香味。他再次尝试流入那道细缝。在那儿等着的巨魔警惕地嗅了嗅鼻子，但菲斯汀已将他自己重组为一只猎鹰，直接向窗外飞去。巨魔朝他背后踢去，差一点就踢中了他，巨魔用石头般的声音大声吼道：“就是那只鹰！快抓住他！”菲斯汀猛冲出那栋施了魔法的城堡，朝着属于他那片坐落在西边暗处的林子飞去，他如箭般乘风飞翔，闪耀日光和潋滟波光使他目眩。即便飞驰如箭，一支更快的箭还是发现了他。他沉沉坠下，发出声声惨叫。太阳、海洋和尖塔在他眼前不断旋转，然后消失不见。
He woke again on the dank floor of the dungeon, hands and hair and lips wet with his own blood. The arrow had struck his pinion as a falcon, his shoulder as a man. Lying still, he mumbled a spell to close the wound. Presently he was able to sit up, and recollect a longer, deeper spell of healing. But he had lost a good deal of blood, and with it, power. A chill had settled in the marrow of his bones which even the healing-spell could not warm. There was darkness in his eyes, even when he struck a will o’ the wisp and lit the reeking air: the same dark mist he had seen, as he flew, overhanging his forest and the little towns of his land.
他再次在地牢潮湿的地上醒来，双手、头发和嘴唇都被他自己的鲜血浸湿。那支箭射中了鹰的翅膀，也就是他的肩膀。他一动不动地躺着，含糊地念咒来愈合伤口。很快，他能够坐起来，并且想起一句更长且更深奥的治愈咒。但是他已经失去了大量的血液，以及蕴含其中的力量。一阵寒风冷彻骨髓，即便治愈咒也不能消除那寒冷。菲斯汀的眼中有一片阴翳，哪怕他打出的火球照亮了周围发臭的空气，那阴翳也始终消散不去：当他变成鹰飞翔时，他看到在他的树林和他守护的小镇上，笼罩着同样黑暗的迷雾。
It was up to him to protect that land.
而本该去保护那片土地的人，是他。
He could not attempt direct escape again. He was too weak and tired. Trusting his power too much, he had lost his strength. Now whatever shape he took would share his weakness, and be trapped.
他不能再奢望直接逃脱了。他太虚弱、太疲劳。由于过于信任他的能力，让他已经丧失了力量。现在不管幻化成何种形态，都会让他变得更加虚弱，然后被无数次地逮住。
Shivering with cold, he crouched there, letting the fireball sputter out with a last whiff of methane—marsh gas. The smell brought to his mind’s eye the marshes stretching from the forest wall down to the sea, his beloved marshes where no men came, where in fall the swans flew long and level, where between still pools and reed-islands the quick, silent, seaward streamlets ran. Oh, to be a fish in one of those streams; or better yet to be farther upstream, near the springs, in the forest in the shadow of the trees, in the clear brown backwater under an alder’s roots, resting hidden . . .
他蹲在那儿，冷得发抖，他让那火球在爆响中熄灭，留下最后一缕沼气的气息。那气味把他带到从他的林子一直延伸到海洋的那片沼泽，那是他深爱的沼泽地，在那里，除他之外别无旁人，只有天鹅水平地飞向远处，只有汇入海洋的溪流在宁静的湖泊和芦苇岛间无声地流淌。哦，他多么想化身为那些溪流之中的一条小鱼；最好是再溯流而上，栖息在源泉旁，在那些树木的绿荫之下，在一棵赤杨树根下的清流中，悄悄躲藏，不为人知……
This was a great magic. Festin had no more performed it than has any man who in exile or danger longs for the earth and waters of his home, seeing and yearning over the doorsill of his house, the table where he has eaten, the branches outside the window of the room where he has slept. Only in dreams do any but the great Mages realize this magic of going home. But Festin, with the cold creeping out from his marrow into nerves and veins, stood up between the black walls, gathered his will together till it shone like a candle in the darkness of his flesh, and began to work the great and silent magic.
这是一个伟大的法术。菲斯汀要施展这个法术，并不比任何一个处于流亡或危险之中思念他故乡的土地和水，思念他故居的门扉，思念他日夜吃饭的饭桌，思念他每早初醒时第一眼看见的窗外的枝桠的人更有经验。只有在睡梦之中，伟大的法师才会忆起这个回归故里的魔法。但菲斯汀，这个此时此刻被寒冷折磨身心的平凡巫师，在这些黑墙中间站起身来，聚精会神，直至他的意志有如在他血肉之中照亮黑暗的烛火闪耀时，他开始施展这个伟大、而无声的法术。
The walls were gone. He was in the earth, rocks and veins of granite for bones, groundwater for blood, the roots of things for nerves. Like a blind worm he moved through the earth westward, slowly, darkness before and behind. Then all at once coolness flowed along his back and belly, a buoyant, unresisting, inexhaustible caress. With his sides he tasted the water, felt current-flow; and with lidless eyes he saw before him the deep brown pool between the great buttress-roots of an alder. He darted forward, silvery, into shadow. He had got free. He was home.
这些黑墙消失了。他站在真正的土地上，岩石和石纹为骨、地下暗流为血、万物之根为脉的土地。如同一只盲虫般，他向土地的西边缓慢地蠕动，前后是无尽的黑暗。然后就在一瞬间，一丝凉意流过他的背腹，那是一阵愉悦、不知反抗、不知疲倦的爱抚。他吮吸着身旁的清水，感受着身侧的水流；他目不转睛地看着他眼前在赤杨树根间的那片深池。他冲向前去，似一道银光流入暗影。他自由了。他回家了。
The water ran timelessly from its clear spring. He lay on the sand of the pool’s bottom letting running water, stronger than any spell of healing, soothe his wound and with its coolness wash away the bleaker cold that had entered him. But as he rested he felt and heard a shaking and trampling in the earth. Who walked now in his forest? Too weary to try to change form, he hid his gleaming trout-body under the arch of the alder root, and waited.
这些流水从其清澈的源泉出发，永无止尽地流淌着。他躺在池塘底部的细沙上，让流水安抚他的伤口，让流水的清冽消除他体内的极寒，这比任何治疗咒语都更有效。但正当他休息时，他感到土地的震颤，听到一阵踩踏声。谁正在他的林子中行走？过于疲惫的他无力再变换身形，他只好将自己化身为时隐时现的鳟鱼，躲在赤杨拱形的根部底下，等待着。
Huge grey fingers groped in the water, roiling the sand. In the dimness above water vague faces, blank eyes loomed and vanished, reappeared. Nets and hands groped, missed, missed again, then caught and lifted him writhing up into the air. He struggled to take back his own shape and could not; his own spell of homecoming bound him. He writhed in the net, gasping in the dry, bright, terrible air, drowning. The agony went on, and he knew nothing beyond it.
只见巨大的灰色手指在水中摸索着，搅浑着泥沙。在水面之上可以看到模糊的面庞，茫然的双眼时隐时现。渔网连同巨手摸索着菲斯汀，先是摸空了两次，然后抓住他，将那条翻滚打挺的鳟鱼举到空中。他努力着去变回原形，但无济于事；他自己所施的归乡咒束缚着他自己。他在网中翻滚，在干燥、明亮而可怖的空气中喘气，窒息。痛苦持续着，他失去了知觉。
After a long time and little by little he became aware that he was in his human form again; some sharp, sour liquid was being forced down his throat. Time lapsed again, and he found himself sprawled face down on the dank floor of the vault. He was back in the power of his enemy. And, though he could breathe again, he was not very far from death.
过了很长一段时间，他一点一点地意识到他回到了人形；而一些刺激的、发酸的液体被强灌进他的嗓子里。时间又过去许久，他发觉自己四肢张开地卧在地牢潮湿的地面上。他再次被他的敌人逮住了。而且，尽管他还能维持呼吸，但他已离死亡不远。
The chill was all through him now; and the trolls, Voll’s servants, must have crushed the fragile trout-body, for when he moved, his ribcage and one forearm stabbed with pain. Broken and without strength, he lay at the bottom of the well of night. There was no power in him to change shape; there was no way out, but one.
寒风横灌过他的身体。沃尔的奴仆，也就是那些巨魔，当时一定是压碎了他脆弱的鳟鱼身体，因为此时当他移动时，他的胸腔和一只前臂都痛彻心扉。遍体鳞伤、力量尽失的他躺在这夜之井的井底。他再没有力量去易形了；已经没有任何逃脱的办法，除了最后一种。
Lying there motionless, almost but not quite beyond the reach of pain, Festin thought: Why has he not killed me? Why does he keep me here alive?
一动不动地躺在那儿，身上的疼痛尚能忍受，菲斯汀思考到：为什么沃尔没有杀了我？为什么他只是一次又一次地活捉我？
Why has he never been seen? With what eyes can he be seen, on what ground does he walk?
为什么他本人从不现身？究竟怎样才能找出他？他此刻又身处何处？
He fears me, though I have no strength left.
尽管我丧失了力量，但是，他害怕我。
They say that all the wizards and men of power whom he has defeated live on sealed in tombs like this, live on year after year trying to get free. . . .
他们曾说，所有被他击败的巫师和力之子都像这样被封印于坟墓之中，年复一年地苟活着，年复一年地尝试逃脱……
But if one chose not to live?
但如果放弃生命呢？
So Festin made his choice. His last thought was, If I am wrong, men will think I was a coward. But he did not linger on this thought. Turning his head a little to the side he closed his eyes, took a last deep breath, and whispered the word of unbinding, which is only spoken once.
于是菲斯汀做出了他的选择。他最后的想法是，如果他是错的，那么人们就会把他视作懦夫。但是他不再拘泥于这个想法了。微微侧过他的脑袋，他闭上双眼，最后一次深呼吸，轻吟出那一生仅能念出一次的，解脱的咒语。
This was not transformation. He was not changed. His body, the long legs and arms, the clever hands, the eyes that had liked to look on trees and streams, lay unchanged, only still, perfectly still and full of cold. But the walls were gone. The vaults built by magic were gone, and the rooms and towers; and the forest, and the sea, and the sky of evening. They were all gone, and Festin went slowly down the far slope of the hill of being, under the stars.
这咒语并非易形。他并未变换身形。他的身体，他颀长的四肢，他灵巧的双手，他那双曾耽于欣赏树木清泉的眼睛，都保持原样，一动不动，且冰冷僵直。但是那些墙都消失了。那用魔法铸造的拱顶消失了，那牢房和尖塔也消失了；还有那树林、海洋、夜空，它们全都消失了。在星辰之下，菲斯汀缓缓地走下“存在之丘”长长的斜坡。
In life he had had great power; so here he did not forget. Like a candle flame he moved in the darkness of the wider land. And remembering he called out his enemy’s name: “Voll!”
生时，他曾拥有强大的力量；因此当他身在此处时，他也并未忘却。他如一束烛火般在广阔陆地的黑暗中移动。凭借记忆，他高声呼喊着他敌人的名字：“沃尔！”
Called, unable to withstand, Voll came towards him, a thick pale shape in the starlight. Festin approached, and the other cowered and screamed as if burnt. Festin followed when he fled, followed him close. A long way they went, over dry lava-flows from the great extinct volcanoes rearing their cones against the unnamed stars, across the spurs of silent hills, through valleys of short black grass, past towns or down their unlit streets between houses through whose windows no face looked. The stars hung in the sky; none set, none rose. There was no change here. No day would come. But they went on, Festin always driving the other before him, till they reached a place where once a river had run, very long ago: a river from the living lands. In the dry streambed, among boulders, a dead body lay: that of an old man, naked, flat eyes staring at the stars that are innocent of death.
只见星光照耀下一个苍白厚重的绰影，被召唤而无法抵抗的沃尔走向他。菲斯汀向他靠近，而他的敌人却如被灼烧般退缩尖叫。当沃尔逃离时，菲斯汀紧紧地跟着他。他们走了很长一段路，走过背靠那不曾命名的星辰的巨大死火山枯竭的熔岩流，走过静默之山的尖坡，走过长着短小黑草的山谷，走过城镇和无人屋宇间的黑暗街道。那些星辰高悬在天空中，不升不落。在这里，一切都亘古不变，白昼永不到来。然而，他们继续前进着，菲斯汀一直驱使着他眼前的敌人，直到他们到达一片曾有溪流穿过的地方，在很久之前，那条溪流来自生者之域。在岩石间的干涸处，躺着一具尸体，一具赤裸的老翁的尸体，他无神的双目直直盯着那脱摆脱死亡的星辰。
“Enter it,” Festin said. The Voll-shadow whimpered, but Festin came closer. Voll cowered away, stooped, and entered in the open mouth of his own dead body.
“进去。”菲斯汀说道。沃尔的暗影抽泣着，但菲斯汀靠得更近了。沃尔畏缩着，俯下身子，然后进入了他自己的死尸张开的巨口。
At once the corpse vanished. Unmarked, stainless, the dry boulders gleamed in starlight. Festin stood still a while, then slowly sat down among the great rocks to rest. To rest, not sleep; for he must keep guard here until Voll’s body, sent back to its grave, had turned to dust, all evil power gone, scattered by the wind and washed seaward by the rain. He must keep watch over this place where once death had found a way back into the other land. Patient now, infinitely patient, Festin waited among the rocks where no river would ever run again, in the heart of the country which has no seacoast. The stars stood still above him; and as he watched them, slowly, very slowly he began to forget the voice of streams and the sound of rain on the leaves of the forests of life.
尸体立刻消失了。没有留下任何痕迹，只有干旱的岩石依旧在星光下泛着点点微光。菲斯汀伫立了一会儿，然后慢慢地坐在那巨大的岩石间休憩。只是休憩，没有睡去；因为他必须守在这儿，直到沃尔的尸体回到它自己的墓穴，归于尘土，邪恶的力量消失殆尽，被风吹散，随雨水漂入海中。他必须监视这个曾有死者想方设法进入生者之域的地方。他现在充满耐心，无限的耐心，菲斯汀等着，在不曾有溪水流过的岩石间，在没有海岸的原野中心。星辰在他之上不曾移动，当他眺望那些星辰时，慢慢地，慢慢地，他开始忘记生时那溪流的声音，开始忘记生时那拍打在树叶上的淅淅雨声。
