pp.thegoldencompass-第54部分

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ifted　in　and　out　of　hearing。
　　And　howling　。　。　。　Dogs？　Sledge　dogs？　That　too　was　distant　and　hard　to　be　sure　of；　blanketed　by　millions　of　snowflakes　and　blown　this　way　and　that　by　little　puffing　gusts　of　wind。　It　might　have　been　the　gyptians'　sledge　dogs；　or　it　might　have　been　wild　spirits　of　the　tundra；　or　even　those　freed　daemons　crying　for　their　lost　children。
　　She　was　seeing　things　。　。　。　。There　weren't　any　lights　in　the　snow；　were　there？　They　must　be　ghosts　as　well　。　。　。　。Unless　they'd　e　round　in　a　circle；　and　were　stumbling　back　into　Bolvangar。
　　But　these　were　little　yellow　lantern　beams；　not　the　white　glare　of　anbaric　lights。　And　they　were　moving；　and　the　howling　was　nearer；　and　before　she　knew　for　certain　whether　she'd　fallen　asleep；　Lyra　was　wandering　among　familiar　figures；　and　men　in　furs　were　holding　her　up：　John　Faa's　mighty　arm　lifted　her　clear　of　the　ground；　and　Farder　Coram　was　laughing　with　pleasure；　and　as　far　through　the　blizzard　as　she　could　see；　gyptians　were　lifting　children　into　sledges；　covering　them　with　furs；　giving　them　seal　meat　to　chew。　And　Tony　Costa　was　there；　hugging　Billy　and　then　punching　him　softly　only　to　hug　him　again　and　shake　him　for　joy。　And　Roger　。　。　。　
　　〃Roger's　ing　with　us；〃　she　said　to　Farder　Coram。　〃It　was　him　I　meant　to　get　in　the　first　place。　We'll　go　back　to　Jordan　in　the　end。　What's　that　noise…〃
　　It　was　that　snarl　again；　that　engine；　like　a　crazed　spy…fly　ten　thousand　times　the　size。
　　Suddenly　there　came　a　blow　that　sent　her　sprawling；　and　Pantalaimon　couldn't　defend　her；　because　the　golden　monkey…
　　Mrs。　Coulter…
　　The　golden　monkey　was　wrestling；　biting；　scratching　at　Pantalaimon；　who　was　nickering　through　so　many　changes　of　form　it　was　hard　to　see　him；　and　fighting　back：　stinging；　lashing；　tearing。　Mrs。　Coulter；　meanwhile；　her　face　in　its　furs　a　frozen　glare　of　intense　feeling；　was　dragging　Lyra　to　the　back　of　a　motorized　sledge；　and　Lyra　struggled　as　hard　as　her　daemon。　The　snow　was　so　thick　that　they　seemed　to　be　isolated　in　a　little　blizzard　of　their　own；　and　the　anbaric　headlights　of　the　sledge　only　showed　up　the　thick　swirling　flakes　a　few　inches　ahead。
　　〃Help！〃　Lyra　cried；　to　the　gyptians　who　were　just　there　in　the　blinding　snow　and　who　could　see　nothing。　〃Help　me！　Farder　Coram！　Lord　Faa！　Oh；　God；　help！〃
　　Mrs。　Coulter　shrieked　a　high　mand　in　the　language　of　the　northern　Tartars。　The　snow　swirled　open；　and　there　they　were；　a　squad　of　them；　armed　with　rifles；　and　the　wolf　daemons　snarled　beside　them。　The　chief　saw　Mrs。　Coulter　struggling；　and　picked　up　Lyra　with　one　hand　as　if　she　were　a　doll　and　threw　her　into　the　sledge；　where　she　lay　stunned　and　dazed。
　　A　rifle　banged；　and　then　another；　as　the　gyptians　realized　what　was　happening。　But　firing　at　targets　you　can't　see　is　dangerous　when　you　can't　see　your　own　side　either。　The　Tartars；　in　a　tight　group　now　around　the　sledge；　were　able　to　blaze　at　will　into　the　snow；　but　the　gyptians　dared　not　shoot　back　for　fear　of　hitting　Lyra。
　　Oh；　the　bitterness　she　felt！　The　tiredness！
　　Still　dazed；　with　her　head　ringing；　she　hauled　herself　up　to　find　Pantalaimon　desperately　fighting　the　monkey　still；　with　wolverine　jaws　fastened　tight　on　a　golden　arm；　changing　no　more　but　grimly　hanging　on。　And　who　was　that？
　　Not　Roger？
　　Yes；　Roger；　battering　at　Mrs。　Coulter　with　fists　and　feet；　hurtling　his　head　against　hers；　only　to　be　struck　down　by　a　Tartar　who　swiped　at　him　like　someone　brushing　away　a　fly。　It　was　all　a　phantasmagoria　now：　white；　black；　a　swift　green　flutter　across　her　vision；　ragged　shadows；　racing　light…
　　A　great　swirl　lifted　curtains　of　snow　aside；　and　into　the　cleared　area　leaped　Iorek　Byrnison；　with　a　clang　and　screech　of　iron　on　iron。　A　moment　later　and　those　great　jaws　snapped　left；　right；　a　paw　ripped　open　a　mailed　chest；　white　teeth；　black　iron；　red　wet　fur…
　　Then　something　was　pulling　her　up；　powerfully　up；　and　she　seized　Roger　too；　tearing　him　out　of　the　hands　of　Mrs。　Coulter　and　clinging　tight；　each　child's　daemon　a　shrill　bird　fluttering　in　amazement　as　a　greater　fluttering　swept　all　around　them；　and　then　Lyra　saw　in　the　air　beside　her　a　witch；　one　of　those　elegant　ragged　black　shadows　from　the　high　air；　but　close　enough　to　touch；　and　there　was　a　bow　in　the　witch's　bare　hands；　and　she　exerted　her　bare　pale　arms　（in　this　freezing　air！）　to　pull　the　string　and　then　loose　an　arrow　into　the　eye　slit　of　a　mailed　and　lowering　Tartar　hood　only　three　feet　away…
　　And　the　arrow　sped　in　and　halfway　out　at　the　back；　and　the　man's　wolf　daemon　vanished　in　midleap　even　before　he　hit　the　ground。
　　Up！　Into　midair　Lyra　and　Roger　were　caught　and　swept；　and　found　themselves　clinging　with　weakening　fingers　to　a　cloud…pine　branch；　where　a　young　witch　was　sitting　tense　with　balanced　grace；　and　then　she　leaned　down　and　to　the　left　and　something　huge　was　looming　and　there　was　the　ground。
　　They　tumbled　into　the　snow　beside　the　basket　of　Lee　Scoresby's　balloon。
　　〃Skip　inside；〃　called　the　Texan；　〃and　bring　your　friend；　by　all　means。　Have　ye　seen　that　bear？〃
　　Lyra　saw　that　three　witches　were　holding　a　rope　looped　around　a　rock；　anchoring　the　great　buoyancy　of　the　gas　bag　to　the　earth。
　　〃Get　in！〃　she　cried　to　Roger；　and　scrambled　over　the　leatherbound　rim　of　the　basket　to　fall　in　a　snowy　heap　inside。　A　moment　later　Roger　fell　on　top　of　her；　and　then　a　mighty　noise　halfway　between　a　roar　and　a　growl　made　the　very　ground　shake。
　　〃C'mon；　Iorek！　On　board；　old　feller！〃　yelled　Lee　Scoresby；　and　over　the　side　came　the　bear　in　a　hideous　creak　of　wicker　and　bending　wood。
　　At　once　the　aeronaut　lowered　his　arm　in　a　signal；　and　the　witches　let　go　of　the　rope。
　　The　balloon　lifted　immediately　and　surged　upward　into　the　snow…thick　air　at　a　rate　Lyra　could　scarcely　believe。　After　a　moment　the　ground　disappeared　in　the　mist；　and　up　they　went；　faster　and　faster；　so　that　she　thought　no　rocket　could　have　left　the　earth　more　swiftly。　She　lay　holding　on　to　Roger　on　the　floor　of　the　basket；　pressed　down　by　the　acceleration。
　　Lee　Scoresby　was　cheering　and　laughing　and　uttering　wild　Texan　yells　of　delight；　Iorek　Byrnison　was　calmly　unfastening　his　armor；　hooking　a　deft　claw　into　all　the　linkages　and　undoing　them　with　a　twist　before　packing　the　separate　pieces　in　a　pile。　Somewhere　outside；　the　flap　and　swish　of　air　through　cloud…pine　needles　and　witch　garments　told　that　the　witches　were　keeping　them　pany　into　the　upper　airs。
　　Little　by　little　Lyra　recovered　her　breath；　her　balance；　and　her　heartbeat。　She　sat　up　and　looked　around。
　　The　basket　was　much　bigger　than　she'd　thought。　Ranged　around　the　edges　were　racks　of　philosophical　instruments；　and　there　were　piles　of　furs；　and　bottled　air；　and　a　variety　of　other　things　too　small　or　confusing　to　make　out　in　the　thick　mist　they　were　ascending　through。　〃Is　this　a　cloud？〃　she　said。
　　〃Sure　is。　Wrap　your　friend　in　some　furs　before　he　turns　into　an　icicle。　It's　cold　here；　but　it's　gonna　get　colder。〃
　　〃How　did　you　find　us？〃
　　〃Witches。　There's　one　witch　lady　who　wants　to　talk　to　you。　When　we　get　clear　of　the　cloud；　we'll　get　our　bearings　and　then　we　can　sit　and　have　a　yarn。〃
　　〃Iorek；〃　said　Lyra；　〃thank　you　for　ing。〃　The　bear　grunted；　and　settled　down　to　lick　the　blood　off　his　fur。　His　weight　meant　that　the　basket　was　tilted　to　one　side；　but　that　didn't　matter。　Roger　was　wary；　but　Iorek　Byrnison　took　no　more　notice　of　him　than　of　a　flake　of　snow。　Lyra　contented　herself　with　clinging　to　the　rim　of　the　basket；　just　under　her　chin　when　she　was　standing；　and　peering　wide…eyed　into　the　swirling　cloud。
　　Only　a　few　seconds　later　the　balloon　passed　out　of　the　cloud　altogether　and；　still　rising　rapidly；　soared　on　into　the　heavens。
　　What　a　sight！
　　Directly　above　them　the　balloon　swelled　out　in　a　huge　curve。　Above　and　ahead　of　them　the　Aurora　was　blazing；　with　more　brilliance　and　grandeur　than　she　had　ever　seen。　It　was　all　around；　or　nearly；　and　they　were　nearly　part　of　it。　Great　swathes　of　incandescence　trembled　and　parted　like　angels'　wings　beating；　cascades　of　luminescent　glory　tumbled　down　invisible　crags　to　lie　in　swirling　pools　or　hang　like　vast　waterfalls。
　　So　Lyra　gasped　at　that；　and　then　she　looked　below；　and　saw　a　sight　almost　more　wondrous。
　　As　far　as　the　eye　could　see；　to　the　very　horizon　in　all　directions；　a　tumbled　sea　of　white　extended　without　a　break。　Soft　peaks　and　vaporous　chasms　rose　or　opened　here　and　there；　but　mostly　it　looked　like　a　solid　mass　of　ice。
　　And　rising　through　it　in　ones　and　twos　and　larger　groups　as　well　came　small　black　shadows；　those　ragged　figures　of　such　elegance；　witches　on　their　branches　of　cloud…pine。
　　They　flew　swiftly；　without　any　effort；　up　and　toward　the　balloon；　leaning　to　one　side　or　another　to　steer。　And　one　of　them；　the　archer　who'd　saved　Lyra　from　Mrs。　Coulter；　flew　directly　alongside　the　basket；　and　Lyra　saw　her　clearly　for　the　first　time。
　　She　was　young…younger　than　Mrs。　Coulter；　and　fair；　with　bright　green　eyes；　and　clad　like　all　the　witches　in　strips　of　black　silk；　but　wearing　no　furs；　no　hood　or　mittens。　She　seemed　to　feel　no　cold　at　all。　Around　her　brow　was　a　simple　chain　of　little　red　flowers。　She　sat　on　her　cloud…pine　branch　as　if　it　were　a　st