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tower of light

April 2017

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eyes, magna carta, onesama, fss - alecto



居然(?)很好看。让我想起做毕业论文报告的时候AM教授的忠告:“一篇论文报告应该体现出文章最精彩最吸引人的地方,就像一部电影的预告片。”(所以预告片做得太好会有虚假广告之嫌……比如《Year One》的,OMG……)

这MV到了后来成了瑜亮同人MV……最后那个镜头,太那啥了。-_- 但是风景好美好美,让我想起纳格兰。



在《Thud!》之后,我一直想要重读那些没有读完的Terry Pratchett作品,于是这几天都在读《Pyramids》(网上录入在这里)。书中前四分之一对于刺客学院的描述让我大爱不说了,后来的东西如今也读出了滋味。看到一半照例跳到最后几页先看结局,毫无预兆地被感动得泪流满面。


King Teppicymon felt the power around him weaken as Dios turned all his attention to ecclesiastical matters. He saw the tiny shape halfway up the wall of the pyramid, saw it falter.

The rest of the ancestors saw it, too, and as one corpse they knew what to do. Dios could wait.

This was family.

Teppic heard the snap of the handle under his foot, slid a little, and hung by one hand. He'd got another knife in above him but......no, no good. He hadn't got the reach. For practical purposes his arms felt like short lengths of wet rope. Now, if he spreadeagled himself as he slid, he might be able to slow enough.

He looked down and saw the climbers coming towards him, in a tide that was tumbling upwards.

The ancestors rose up the face of the pyramid silently, like creepers, each new row settling into position on the shoulders of the generation beneath, while the younger ones climbed on over them. Bony hands grabbed Teppic as the wave of edificeers broke around him, and he was half-pushed, half-pulled up the sloping wall. Voices like the creak of sarcophagi filled his ears, moaning encouragement.

'Well done, boy,' groaned a crumbling mummy, hauling him bodily on to its shoulder. 'You remind me of me when I was alive. To you, son.'

'Got him,' said the corpse above, lifting Teppic easily on one outstretched arm. 'That's a fine family spirit, lad. Best wishes from your great-great-great-great uncle, although I don't suppose you remember me. Coming up.

Other ancestors were climbing on past Teppic as he rose from hand to hand. Ancient fingers with a grip like steel clutched at him, hoisting him onwards.

The pyramid grew narrower.


Teppic scrambled to the top of the pyramid, supported by the last two ancestors. One of them was his father.

'I don't think you've met your great-grandma,' he said, indicating the shorter bandaged figure, who nodded gently at Teppic. He opened his mouth.

'There's no time,' she said. 'You're doing fine.'

He glanced at the sun which, old professional that it was, chose that moment to drop below the horizon. The gods had crossed the river, their progress slowed only by their tendency to push and shove among themselves, and were lurching through the buildings of the necropolis. Several were clustered around the spot where Dios had been.

The ancestors dropped away, sliding back down the pyramid as fast as they had climbed it, leaving Teppic alone on a few square feet of rock.

A couple of stars came out.

He saw white shapes below as the ancestors hurried away on some private errand of their own, lurching at a surprising speed towards the broad band of the river.

The gods abandoned their interest in Dios, this strange little human with the stick and the cracked voice. The nearest god, a crocodile-headed thing, jerked on to the plaza before the pyramid, squinted up at Teppic, and reached out towards him. Teppic fumbled for a knife, wondering what sort was appropriate for gods.

And, along the Djel, the pyramids began to flare their meagre store of hoarded time.