Chapter 9 chapter eight

"Sinkin!" Saryon swallowed and asked loudly, "Is that you?" "Flesh and blood. Well, to be honest, there's only skin left," the bag replied. "Impossible," Saryon's voice trembled. "You...you are dead. I saw your body." "But not buried," Bag countered him. "It was a grave mistake. And no stakes through my heart, no silver bullets, no holy nails driven into my ankles. In the last few days, everyone was busy destroying the world, or something, It’s just that no one cares about me.” "Stop talking nonsense," Saryon said sternly. "If it were you, turn back into yourself, into a human form. Talking like this makes me uncomfortable. Talk to... and the leather bag all the time!"

"Ah, that's a little problem." The bag writhed.The leather cord that tied the bag mouth was rolled up, making an awkward gesture. "I can't seem to be human again, I lost that trick. You know, death takes a lot of things. Like I said to my dear friend Merlin. Do you remember Merlin? Merilon's build Nice wizard, but not as good as some of you might believe. His fame is all about his propaganda. He also changed the 'I' in his name to a 'Y'! Pretentious Remarkable! However, anyone wearing a blue and white star bathrobe—" "I insist that you return to human form," Saryon said firmly, ignoring Simkin's efforts to change the subject.He stretched out a hand towards the leather bag. "Change immediately, or I'll throw you out of the car."

"You won't get rid of me so easily!" Bag said coldly: "No matter what happens, I will follow you. You can't imagine how boring it is here! There is no entertainment, nothing at all. If you put I throw it out," the bag warned as Saryon's hand approached, "and I become the engine of this charming little car." As if remembering something, he said, "But I don't know much about engines. " Only then did I recover from the shock of seeing the leather bag speak.Simkin interested me a great deal, and of all the stories I wrote, it was Simkin that interested me most.Saryon and I once had an amicable debate about what exactly Sim'jin was.

I insisted that he was a Simharon wizard with special powers - a miracle, a magical genius like Mozart was a musical genius.It's just that he's chaotic by nature, obsessed with adventure, self-centered, without any city, and betraying a friend is as easy as throwing away his orange silk scarf. Saryon admits that this is true, that I may be right.But he still has reservations. "There's something about Sim'kin that your theory can't explain." Saryon said to me once, "I think he's very old, very, very old, perhaps as old as Sim'harron himself. No, I can't prove it. Just listening to him makes me feel that way. And I know for a fact, Reuven, what he does can't be magic. Simply and precisely, 'impossible'. Even if A hundred Catalyst Saints would not provide enough life force to turn him into a teacup or a bucket. And like you said, Simkin can perform this kind of magic like throwing away his orange silk scarf. Easy! He died when technology invaded."

"So what do you think he is?" I asked. Saryon smiled and shrugged, "I have no idea." My master is about to grab the leather bag. "I warn you!" Simkin said to us. "Vaporizer! I don't know what that is or what it does, but the name appeals to me. I'll be a vaporizer if you touch me—" "Don't worry, I won't throw you out." Saryon said gently, "Instead, I will carry you safely, like my bag, around my waist, in my Under the robe, against my skin." The leather pouch disappeared so quickly that I began to question my sanity and whether I had actually seen (and heard) it.And now in the backseat of the speeding car was a pale, unreal figure of a young man.

He doesn't look like a ghost though.The ghost - from the descriptions I've heard, is much more solid than him.The image is hard to describe, but roughly imagine it as someone painting a portrait of Simkin in watercolor and washing it out with water.Thin and transparent, he is almost completely drowned out by the background.You wouldn't even notice him if you weren't staring at him.The only color on his body is the bunch of provocative orange silk scarves. "Look what I've become!" said Simkin sadly. "A poor shadow. Who is your silent friend, Father? Has his tongue been taken by the cat? I remember Earl Markbank, when the cat took his tongue from him. The earl's lunch was Tuna, and he was sleeping with his mouth open. The cat came into the room and smelled the tuna. It was a horrible sight."

"Reuven is dumb—" Saryon began. "Let him speak for himself, Father," interrupted Simkin. "Mute," said Saryon, ignoring him. "He's dumb. He can't talk." "Did he save himself trying to cool his porridge? Then he must have plenty of cold porridge to drink. There must be some meaning to those wriggling fingers, I suppose?" "That's sign language. That's one of his methods of communication... one of the methods." Saryon finally corrected his words. "That's interesting." Simkin yawned. "I said, can't we go yet? It's nice to see you and all of this again, Father, though you've always been a little dull. I'd love to talk to Joram again." Chat. It's been a long time. It's been a long time."

"You never met Joram? Never?" Saryon asked suspiciously. "Well, 'see' has many meanings." Simkin hesitated, "Seeing 'see' from a far away, 'seeing' a person, 'seeing' a thing, or when you sail away 'Farewell' to you in time. I suppose you might say that I 'saw' Joram. But it could also be thought that I hadn't 'seen' him, if you understand me." "But on the other hand," he went on, seeing that we were all a little dazed, "Joram didn't know I was alive—that's not a bit of a lie."

"You will come with us, and we will take you to Joram," said Saryon. "Happy reunion!" enthused Simkin. "With you, the old priest, at my company, our dark, curmudgeon friend may at last forget the harmless little joke I played him." "Will he forget that you betrayed him and attempted to murder him?" Saryon asked coldly. "Eventually you'll see that's not such a bad thing!" Simkin objected, "and you know, we wouldn't be where we are if it wasn't for me." Saryon and I looked at each other, and it seemed we really had no choice.Simkin was well aware of this too.Either we take him in or we throw him out.His magic may have faded, but he's still very smart, and he can shapeshift.

"Very well then!" said Saryon angrily. "You can come with us. But we will not be responsible to you. What Joram intends to do to you is his business." "Joram intends to..." Simkin repeated in a low voice, "I heard—Merlin is such a loquacious and busy old man—that Joram had no choice. I said, if I changed back into the bag, You don't mind, do you? Do you? I'm really tired the way I am now. I need to breathe, among other things. But you have to promise, Father, you can't put me on your skin! Simkin shuddered. "I mean no harm, Father, but you are all wrinkled and old."

"You said that Joram had no choice. What do you mean?" Saryon asked in a panic, "Simkin! In the end...May Emin take him away!" The washed watercolor was gone, and the leather bag reappeared in the back seat of the car.And he apparently became dumb, like me. No matter what Saryon said or did again, the bag fell silent. I began to wonder if the bag had ever spoken.If it didn't, what was it that I just heard?Hallucination? —Perhaps it would be better to think so.I glanced at my host, wondering if he felt the same way. At least the way he looked at the leather bag was very cold. "Drive, Reuven," Saryon frowned at the bag again. "We've wasted a lot of precious time." Our car crossed the border.For countless ages, this has been the dividing line between Simharon and the rest of the universe, and between the realm of magic and the rest of the universe.A place of magical energy, from the builders of Simharon.The border allows people to leave, but it is impossible for anyone to enter from the outside.It is Joram—the son of death of a dying world who has not only crossed the frontier, but returned—that brings the two worlds of magic and technology together in a series of destructive violence. I let the flying car drive slowly so that I can gradually master its control.But my poor driving skills still made the car bumpy.Saryon had little experience with flying cars (he didn't have much experience with vehicles of any kind), so blamed the jolt on the strong wind outside.I was too ashamed to explain the actual situation to him. As for Simkin, we had little time for him when the leather bag slid to the floor.Then the knapsack hit the leather bag again.We heard a muffled scream, but Saryon had lost the strength to pull the bag. "Should I stop the car?" I asked lip-synch.Because it's windy outside, I really don't want to do it. "No, just leave him like that!" Saryon said. I didn't expect my master to have such a strong revenge mentality. We passed a red lighthouse.Now it doesn't work anymore.Saryon stared at it.When it was thrown behind by the flying car, Saryon turned around and continued to look at it. "That must be the warning beacon," he said, turning back.His hand had been gripping the armrest above the door beside him. "It will sound the alarm when anyone crosses the border. We'll see the Watchstones, or what remains of them, in a moment." There were countless stone statues along the frontier—the watchmen, the frontier guards, they were once living people, but now their flesh and blood have turned to stone, frozen forever, but they still retain consciousness. Saryon had met this terrible fate before. I recognize where the keepers are, but I don't see them.During Simharon's final days, earthquakes and storms swept the land so violently that the Keepers collapsed, but their spirits were eventually set free.Now, only a few broken stones are scattered in the area, some completely buried by wind-blown sand.Those dunes look a lot like graves. Painful memories distorted Saryon's face.I put more energy into the rear-firing engine, hoping to get out of this miserable place as soon as possible.Saryon understood what I meant, but he stopped me.I hope Saryon won't ask me to stop.The wind is less windy now, but still very strong, and if I stop the car, the wind may blow the car out of control.Needle-like grit hit our windshield, and there was a constant "rustling" sound from outside the car door. "Slow down a bit, Reuven," Saryon said.He stared long and hard at the sand dunes that slowly passed us. "They used to keep yelling at us, but no one was heeding. People were only paying attention to their own ambitions, plots, and plans, and didn't think to listen to these voices. I wonder, what are they going to shout at us now?" Saryon Lost in thought. "Are we listening?" He pondered without saying a word.The only voices I heard came from the floor in the back of the speeder.Listening to a leather bag still amazes me, luckily Saryon can't hear Simkin's words over the noise of engine jets and wind-slapping sand, so he can still mull over his mournful thoughts undisturbed. We left the border, crossed a large sand dune, and entered a grassland.Saryon looked around blankly.I realized that this place was completely unfamiliar to him, without any trace of what he was familiar with.Not only did the land change dramatically in the destruction of the Well of Life, but, as far as I can judge, my master has become accustomed to walking through magical teleportation corridors.The portals built by long-gone sages allowed Simharun to travel directly from one point to another through time and space. I continued to fly towards the mountains on the horizon, that landmark kept me from getting lost.But the worries in my mind kept increasing.Heavy blue-gray clouds were gathering, and lightning danced around their edges, piercing into the desolate land.The wind was picking up, and Simharlen's famous storm was approaching.Those mountains are my only guides, but I won't be able to see them in a storm.The flying car is equipped with various navigation aids, but I don't know how to use them. I really regret now that I spur-of-the-moment rejected that aide of General Polis.When the storm hits, we can only stop the flying car.Not only because then we could easily get lost, but also have a high chance of crashing into a tree or a cliff.There is a large forest in front of it, and hills appear in front of it. A gust of wind hit the speeder, sending it sideways three feet.It started to rain, and big drops hit the glass.I thought of the light tent we had brought and shook my head again.I couldn't make Saryon aware of my doubts and fears, because I had to grip the lever with both hands. There was only one thing to do now—return before the storm became more violent.I cut off the power output and let the flying car land on the ground.Saryon looked at me questioningly.After the flying car stopped, I was about to explain our situation to him, but his eyes suddenly widened when he looked at me, and he looked behind me.I turned around hastily, and immediately shrank back in panic. I don't know why I am surprised, I should know they are with us. The black-robed, hooded marshal gestured.I press a button and the window on my side drops.The rain was beating my face, the wind was blowing my hair into my eyes, and it was roaring so loudly that I could barely hear anything else.But the black-robed Duke Xisi couldn't see any moisture on his body, nor was he messy in the slightest.He seemed to be standing in the eye of the storm, while we, who were only a few inches away from him, were being bitten by the sharp teeth of the storm. He raised his hood.I recognized him as Mosiah. "What do you want!" Saryon yelled.He didn't look happy at all. "You are wasting your time," said Mosiah. "Throw away this technological monster. If you use magic, you will reach Joram in no time." Saryon looked at me questioningly. "We don't know the way, sir." I signed to him. "The storm will continue to intensify, we cannot proceed blindly like this. And we only have seventy-two hours." "Looks like we have no choice," Saryon admitted. "How are you going to take us there?" "The teleporter," said Mosiah. "You must leave this vehicle. Take your things." I opened the car door, and the strong wind almost blew the door from my hand, and I was immediately wet from the rain.Then I reached into the back of the car for my backpack, and looked under it for the leather bag.At least it's a chance to get rid of Sim Jin. However, the leather bag was gone. With deep suspicion and fear, I picked up my backpack.I don't know what will be in the backpack now-maybe a teapot. Saryon had already stood beside Mosiah, his robe hanging from his thin body, fluttering non-stop.In the strong wind, I had some difficulty carrying my backpack. "Have you got my leather bag?" Saryon asked aloud. "No, sir!" I told him in sign language, "I can't find it." "Oh, my God!" Saryon's face immediately showed worry. "It's better to know where Simkin is than not to know," he whispered to me. "Did you drop something?" Mosiah asked. "Probably not," Saryon replied vaguely.He looked at Mosiah through the rain. "How are we going to use the portals? I thought they were all destroyed!" "That's what we thought," Mosiah said. "We looked for the portals after Simharon fell, but couldn't find them. We thought they were gone, because the magic that supported them was gone. But It looks like they're just moving, out of place as the terrain changes." Saryon frowned. "How is this possible! From a mathematical point of view, it is absolutely impossible! I admit that we never know exactly the structure of the portal, but the calculations necessary to open them rule out-" "Father!" Mosiah interrupted Saryon.He smiled, as if remembering something old. "I'll be interested in hearing these calculations later, but now, should we go?" "Yes, of course, I'm sorry. Poor Reuven is soaking wet. I told you to wear something thicker than a jacket." He asked with concern, "Did you bring a thicker coat?" Come?" I indicated that I was not cold, just wet.In addition to the jacket, I was wearing a white sweater and blue jeans.I know my master, and even though I am covered in fur from head to toe, Saryon still worries about my cold. "We're going to hurry up, sir," I sign. Not only was I anxious to get out of the rain, but I was also eager to experience magic. "Am I going to open the portal?" Saryon asked. "I'm not sure I remember—" "No, Father," Mosiah replied, "the days of the Catalyst Saints controlling the portals are over. Anyone who understands magic can use them now." He uttered a word, and an oval space appeared in the wind and rain.It gradually stretched until it was big enough for us to walk in.Saryon looked back at Mosiah uncertainly. "Will you come with us? Joram will be glad to see you." Mosiah shook his head. "I don't think so. Go into the teleporter, don't wait here to be blown to death." Then he turned to me. "It's going to be pretty scary at first, but it goes away quickly. Keep calm." Saryon started walking towards that space, but he stopped again. "Where will it take us?" "To the holy mountain. Where Joram lives." "Are you sure? I don't want to fall in a broken castle of Merilon—" "I'm sure, Father. As I said, the portals moved, but now they're like the spokes of a wheel, all pointing towards the Holy Mountain, or away from it." "It's very strange," said Saryon, "it's very strange." He walks into that space.At Mosiah's urging, I followed my master so quickly that I almost stepped on his heels.Soon I will lose sight of Mosiah.The portal closed around us, as if to compress us into nothingness.I feel oppressed, suffocated. keep cool…… Mosiah said it easily!Anyway, he wasn't confined in such a small space!I struggled to take in more air, to break free from my surroundings.I felt like I was drowning, I was going to die, I was going to lose consciousness... Suddenly, the portal opened, like a window in a dark room, letting in bright sunlight.I can breathe.I am standing on top of a mountain.The air was cool and clear, there was no rain, and storm clouds settled in the valley below us. I looked into the blue sky and saw the turbulent white clouds.They are so close to me that I feel like I can just reach out and pick one off. Saryon stood beside me, looking around with eagerness, anticipation, and longing in his eyes.After all, this place he has left for a long time is still engraved with too many memories, pains and joys.Where we stand is a section of the walls of a vast city, which itself has been reduced to ruins. Saryon shook his head, looking dazed. "It's all changed," he murmured.Close to me, took one of my arms, pointed into the distance and said, "There, on the top of that mountain, is the cathedral built out of the mountain itself. Only now it's gone, completely gone. We It must have caved in after I left. I may never know how it happened." He stared at the ruins that covered the entire foothill, and then turned his eyes to other places, and the shadow of sadness was getting heavier and heavier on his face. "The university is still there. Look, Reuven, that building on the mountainside. The mages from all Simharon come here to study and study and to improve their skills. I studied mathematics there, what a happy time it was !" There are tunnels and corridors extending in all directions in the mountains, where the work of the church is done.Catalyst saints live and work in the mountains, and worship gods on the top of the mountains.The Well of Life is located deep in the mountains, and it is the source of Simharon's magic.Now it has been destroyed and dried up. It occurred to me that if it hadn't been for Joram and the Darkblade, I might be a Catalyst Saint now, walking those corridors, busy with the business of the Church.I can picture myself here, as if occasionally the sunlight through the clouds gives me a glimpse of another life of mine—I look out the window and see myself looking down from a height. Saryon saw his past, and I saw my present.It's exhilarating, peaceful, and uncommonly satisfying.This is where I was born, and I belong to the mountains, the soil, the trees, and the sky.I took a deep breath of the cool air and felt refreshed.I don't know how to do it, but at this moment, I feel like I can draw life force from the world around me, gather it within me, and pump it out. A voice disturbed my reverie.The concern for the owner brought me back to reality. Saryon bowed his head and quickly wiped his eyes with his hands. "It's okay," he said to me seeing my concerned eyes. "It's okay. I know it has to be. I'm just crying for the beauty that's gone, that's all. In fact, it can't go on anymore. The ugliness will eventually swallow it, like Camillo. But at least our The people are alive, they have memories, they even have magic - for those who are trying to find it." I did not seek magic, but magic found me.I am no stranger to this land.She remembers me, although I have lost my memory of her. Like Saryon, I'm home.