tg.wizardfirstrule-第1部分

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　CHAPTER　1
　IT　WAS　AN　ODD…LOOKING　vine。　Dusky　variegated　leaves　hunkered　against　a　stem　that　wound　in　a　stranglehold　around　the　smooth　trunk　of　a　balsam　fir。　Sap　drooled　down　the　wounded　bark；　and　dry　limbs　slumped；　making　it　look　as　if　the　tree　were　trying　to　voice　a　moan　into　the　cool；　damp　morning　air。　Pods　stuck　out　from　the　vine　here　and　there　along　its　length；　almost　seeming　to　look　warily　about　for　witnesses。
　
　It　was　the　smell　that　first　had　caught　his　attention；　a　smell　like　the　deposition　of　something　that　had　been　wholly　unsavory　even　in　life。　Richard　bed　his　fingers　through　his　thick　hair　as　his　mind　lifted　out　of　the　fog　of　despair；　ing　into　focus　upon　seeing　the　vine。　He　scanned　for　others；　but　saw　none。　Everything　else　looked　normal。　The　maples　of　the　upper　Ven　Forest　were　already　tinged　with　crimson；　proudly　showing　off　their　new　mantle　in　the　light　breeze。　With　nights　getting　colder；　it　wouldn't　be　long　before　their　cousins　down　in　the　Hartland　Woods　joined　them。　The　oaks；　being　the　last　to　surrender　to　the　season；　still　stoically　wore　their　dark　green　coats。
　
　Having　spent　most　of　his　life　in　the　woods；　Richard　knew　all　the　plants…if　not　by　name；　by　sight。　From　when　Richard　was　very　small；　his　friend　Zedd　had　taken　him　along；　hunting　for　special　herbs。　He　had　shown　Richard　which　ones　to　look　for；　where　they　grew　and　why；　and　put　names　to　everything　they　saw。　Many　times　they　just　talked；　the　old　man　always　treating　him　as　an　equal；　asking　as　much　as　he　answered　Zedd　had　sparked　Richard's　hunger　to　learn；　to　know。
　
　This　vine；　though；　he　had　seen　only　once　before；　and　not　in　the　woods。　He　had　found　a　sprig　of　it　at　his　father's　house；　in　the　blue　clay　jar　Richard　had　made　when　he　was　a　boy。　His　father　had　been　a　trader　and　had　traveled　often；　looking　for　the　chance　exotic　or　rare　item。　People　of　means　had　often　sought　him　out；　interested　in　what　he　might　have　turned　up。　It　seemed　to　be　the　looking；　more　than　the　finding；　that　he　had　liked；　as　he　had　always　been　happy　to　part　with　his　latest　discovery　so　he　could　be　off　after　the　next。
　
　From　a　young　age；　Richard　had　liked　to　spend　time　with　Zedd　while　his　father　was　away。　Richard's　brother；　Michael；　was　a　few　years　older；　and　having　no　interest　in　the　woods；　or　in　Zedd's　rambling　lectures；　preferred　to　spend　his　time　with　people　of　means。　About　five　years　before；　Richard　had　moved　away　to　live　on　his　own；　but　he　often　stopped　by　his　father's　home；　unlike　Michael；　who　was　always　busy　and　rarely　had　time　to　visit。　Whenever　his　father　went　away；　he　would　leave　Richard　a　message　in　the　blue　jar　telling　him　the　latest　news；　some　gossip；　or　of　some　sight　he　had　seen。
　
　On　the　day　three　weeks　before　when　Michael　had　e　to　tell　him　their　father　had　been　murdered；　Richard　had　gone　to　his　father's　house；　despite　his　brother's　insistence　that　there　was　no　reason　to　go；　nothing　he　could　do。　Richard　had　long　since　passed　the　age　when　he　did　as　his　brother　said。　Wanting　to　spare　him；　the　people　there　didn't　let　him　see　the　body。　But　still；　he　saw　the　big；　sickening　splashes　and　puddles　of　blood；　brown　and　dry　across　the　plank　floor。　When　Richard　came　close；　voices　fell　silent；　except　to　offer　sympathy；　which　only　deepened　the　riving　pain。　Yet　he　had　heard　them　talking；　in　hushed　tones；　of　the　stories　and　the　wild　rumors　of　things　e　out　of　the　boundary。
　
　Of　magic。
　
　Richard　was　shocked　at　the　way　his　father's　small　home　had　been　torn　apart；　as　if　a　storm　had　been　turned　loose　inside。　Only　a　few　things　were　left　untouched。　The　blue　message　jar　still　sat　on　the　shelf；　and　inside　he　found　the　sprig　of　vine。　It　was　still　in　his　pocket　now。　What　his　father　meant　him　to　know　from　it；　he　couldn't　guess。
　
　Grief　and　depression　overwhelmed　him；　and　even　though　he　still　had　his　brother；　he　felt　abandoned。　That　he　was　grown　into　manhood　offered　him　no　sanctuary　from　the　forlorn　feeling　of　being　orphaned　and　alone　in　the　world；　a　feeling　he　had　known　before；　when　his　mother　died　while　he　was　still　young。　Even　though　his　father　had　often　been　away；　sometimes　for　weeks；　Richard　had　always　known　he　was　somewhere；　and　would　be　back。　Now　he　would　never　be　back。
　
　Michael　wouldn't　let　him　have　anything　to　do　with　the　search　for　the　killer。　He　said　he　had　the　best　trackers　in　the　army　looking　and　he　wanted　Richard　to　stay　out　of　it；　for　his　own　good。　So　Richard　simply　didn't　show　the　vine　to　Michael；　and　went　off　alone　every　day；　searching　for　it。　For　three　weeks　he　walked　the　trails　of　the　Hartland　Woods；　every　trail；　even　the　ones　few　others　knew　of；　but　he　never　saw　it。
　
　Finally；　against　his　better　judgment；　he　gave　in　to　the　whispers　in　his　mind；　and　went　to　the　upper　Ven　Forest；　close　to　the　boundary。　The　whispers　haunted　him　with　the　feeling　that　he　somehow　knew　something　of　why　his　father　had　been　murdered。　They　teased　him；　tantalized　him　with　thoughts　just　out　of　reach；　and　laughed　at　him　for　not　seeing　it。　Richard　lectured　himself　that　it　was　his　grief　playing　tricks；　not　something　real。
　
　He　had　thought　that　when　he　found　the　vine　it　would　give　him　some　sort　of　answer。　Now　that　he　had；　he　didn't　know　what　to　think。　The　whispers　had　stopped　teasing　him；　but　now　they　brooded。　He　knew　it　was　just　his　own　mind　thinking；　and　he　told　himself　to　stop　trying　to　give　the　whispers　a　life　of　their　own。　Zedd　had　taught　him　better　than　that。
　
　Richard　looked　up　at　the　big　fir　tree　in　its　agony　of　death。　He　thought　again　of　his　father's　death。　The　vine　had　been　there。　Now　the　vine　was　killing　this　tree；　it　couldn't　be　anything　good。　Though　he　couldn't　do　anything　for　his　father；　he　didn't　have　to　let　the　vine　preside　over　another　death。　Gripping　it　firmly；　he　pulled；　and　with　powerful　muscles　ripped　the　sinewy　tendrils　away　from　the　tree。
　
　That's　when　the　vine　bit　him。
　
　One　of　the　pods　struck　out　and　hit　the　back　of　his　left　hand；　causing　him　to　jump　back　in　pain　and　surprise。　Inspecting　the　small　wound；　he　found　something　like　a　thorn　embedded　in　the　meat　of　the　gash。　The　matter　was　decided。　The　vine　was　trouble。　He　reached　for　his　knife　to　dig　out　the　thorn；　but　the　knife　wasn't　there。　At　first　surprised；　he　realized　why　and　reprimanded　himself　for　allowing　his　depression　to　cause　him　to　forget　something　as　basic　as　taking　his　knife　with　him　into　the　woods。　Using　his　fingernails；　he　tried　to　pull　out　the　thorn。　To　his　rising　concern；　the　thorn；　as　if　alive；　wriggled　itself　in　deeper。　He　dragged　his　thumbnail　across　the　wound；　trying　to　snag　the　thorn　out。　The　more　he　dug；　the　deeper　it　went。　A　hot　wave　of　nausea　swept　through　him　as　he　tore　at　the　wound；　making　it　bigger；　so　he　stopped。　The　thorn　had　disappeared　into　the　oozing　blood。
　
　Looking　about；　Richard　spotted　the　purplish　red　autumn　leaves　of　a　small　nannyberry　tree；　laden　with　its　crop　of　dark　blue　berries。　Beneath　the　tree；　nestled　in　the　crook　of　a　root；　he　found　what　he　sought：　an　aum　plant。　Relieved；　he　carefully　snapped　off　the　tender　stem　near　its　base；　and　gently　squeezed　the　sticky；　clear　liquid　onto　the　bite。　He　smiled　as　he　mentally　thanked　old　Zedd　for　teaching　him　how　the　aum　plant　made　wounds　heal　faster。　The　soft　fuzzy　leaves　always　made　Richard　think　of　Zedd。　The　juice　of　the　aum　numbed　the　sting；　but　not　his　worry　over　being　unable　to　remove　the　thorn。　He　could　feel　it　wriggling　still　deeper　into　his　flesh。
　
　Richard　squatted　down　and　poked　a　hole　in　the　ground　with　his　finger；　placed　the　aum　in　it；　and　fixed　moss　about　the　stem　so　it　might　regrow　itself。
　
　The　sounds　of　the　forest　fell　dead　still。　Richard　looked　up；　flinching　as　a　dark　shadow　swept　over　the　ground；　leaping　across　limbs　and　leaves。　There　was　a　rushing；　whistling　sound　in　the　air　overhead。　The　size　of　the　shadow　was　frightening。　Birds　burst　from　cover　in　the　trees；　giving　alarm　calls　as　they　scattered　in　all　directions。　Richard　peered　up；　searching　through　the　gaps　in　the　canopy　of　green　and　gold；　trying　to　see　the　shadow's　source。　For　an　instant；　he　saw　something　big。　Big；　and　red。　He　couldn't　imagine　what　it　could　be；　but　the　memory　of　the　rumors　and　stories　of　things　ing　out　of　the　boundary　flooded　back　into　his　mind；　making　him　go　cold　to　the　bone。
　
　The　vine　was　trouble；　he　thought　again；　this　thing　in　the　sky　could　be　no　less。　He　remembered　what　people　always　said；　〃Trouble　sires　three　children；〃　and　knew　immediately　that　he　didn't　want　to　meet　the　third　child。
　
　Discounting　his　fears；　he　started　running。　Just　idle　talk　of　superstitious　people；　he　told　himself。　He　tried　to　think　of　what　could　be　that　big；　that　big　and　red。　It　was　impossible；　there　was　nothing　that　flew　that　was　that　large。　Maybe　it　was　a　cloud；　or　a　trick　of　the　light。　But　he　couldn't　fool　himself：　it　was　no　cloud。
　
　Looking　up　as　he　ran；　trying　for　another　glimpse；　he　headed　for　the　path　that　skirted　the　hillside。　Richard　knew　that　the　ground　dropped　off　sharply　on　the　other　side　of　the　trail；　and　he　would　be　able　to　get　an　unobstructed　view　of　the　sky。　Tree　branches　wet　with　rain　from　the　night　before　slapped　at　his　face　as　he　ran　through　the　forest；　jumping　fallen　trees　and　small　rocky　streams。　Brush　snatched　at　his　pant　legs。　Dappled　swatches　of　sunlight　teased　him　…to　look　up　but　denied