【战锤40k同人作品翻译】Ennui 第七章：寂静 Silence
本章概述：
伊莎莱发现她的XP是尼姑。
In which Isarae finds she has a taste for nuns.
正文：
我不确定为什么要告诉她这个。
我没有任何理由揭示自己在这颗行星上的真实意图，不过我随后认为没有理由不这么做。说到底，我为什么要隐藏自己的理由呢？她是人类，不是艾达灵族，如果我把自己从她那腐朽的帝皇承诺给她主权的银河中移除的话，她可能对此不会有任何意见。
他们会欢迎这一点的。
至于为什么会有人想独占银河系的残骸则超出了我的理解范围。
不管怎么说，她现在都在跟着我。我已经将那座尖塔选作战斗间隙栖息的行动基地，出于它的体积和对装饰物的相对缺乏。兽人是简单的生物，总是对最大最闪亮的东西趋之若鹜，而把那些朴素的小玩意——如果有的话——留到最后。这么做的目的是为了保持隐蔽，而尽管我能轻松做到这一点，我却不觉得她能有这么安静。虽然考虑到兽人有很强的嗅觉，但她浑身沾满兽人血液这一点可能也会有帮助，她已经将其中大部分从脸上抹去，但一个人在缺乏必要的辅助的情况下也就能做到这些。
我们以折磨般的慢步行进。即便已经被那颗破损魂石中的气息复苏，这个女人依旧脱力，脆弱，且萎靡不振。这并非出于她的种族通常笨拙的天性——我还没有就这点责怪她，她也改变不了这点。
“快点，”我轻柔地重复道，并将一只手伸到她的胳膊下，撑着她爬过一处遍布碎石的破损楼梯。
她闷闷不乐地接受了我的帮助，我能从她的气息间和内心里品味到不信任，可是也有困惑和不确定，这就是我的动力。
我不知道为什么自己告诉她真相，但知晓为什么同意她与我同行。她的味道，她的灵魂的味道，是无可比拟的。
在一个灵族的上百次生命中，我都没品尝过与之相似的东西。她在我舞动于兽人间时第一次凝视我那一瞬还尚不知晓我作为灵族的真实身份，当她看我时，她看到了某种难以形容的美丽，那时我在她身上尝到了新的味道。
我不自主地舔了舔嘴唇，想要重温那种味道却失败了。这令我发狂，那短暂的令人陶醉的洪流……我甚至叫不出它的名字。我曾想象自己已经尝过了银河给予的每一种灵能放射的每一种变体，却在这颗我即将葬身的悲惨的，兽人出没的石头上找到了自己认不出来的东西。
好吧，我觉得还是不该说诡道之主（Changer of Ways）缺乏幽默感了。人们说司掌命运和疯狂的混沌之神是无法理解的，它同等地珍视通向某个伟大计划的失败和胜利，不过我好奇它是不是只是装作如此，而它行事的真正目的只是为了好玩。
如果我是个无尽，永恒的混沌女神，能完全感知并随心所欲地扭曲命运，我应该会认为这是唯一能让我忍受这种日子的事物了。
我们登上了十七层楼，来到了尖塔的中上层之一，到现在，这个女人正呼吸困难，她的手捂在胸廓上，嘴唇沾满了血迹。
“你还是有伤，”我平淡地说，停在了其中一段没有灯光的走廊里，她发出一声恼火的咕哝。
“我是帝皇的勇士，”她回敬道，“疼痛是净化，没什么大不了的，灵族。“
“疼痛是净化，”我重复了一遍，随后轻笑起来。“我们之间的共同点比我之前想的要多呢，Cre’yth。”
“你最好把你的蛇信子收在嘴里，女巫，”她瞪了我一眼，视我的对比为冒犯，可这只让我笑得更开心了。
我笑的时候她的脸颊变得微红，随着我逐渐丧失兴致，我张开下巴，让血伶人受我要求给延长到手掌长度的舌头整个伸出来。当我闭上嘴并点头让她跟上时，她脸上的震惊和脸颊上的深红，并上它激起的复杂情绪，让我再次笑出声来。我再一次舔了嘴唇，品味着从她身上得到的感觉。
担忧和不确定，乃至恐慌，她还年轻，刚接触到战争。对失去的姐妹感到绝望，对孤身存活感到愤怒，以及……
羞耻。
深切，持久的羞耻。
我回头瞥向她，发觉她的呼吸很沉重，她正故意看向我之外的地方。
“这里，”我推开门走进去。屋子里很干净，被悬着的水晶灯柔和地照亮，蛰伏在角落里的喷气摩托上覆盖着一层帆布。
房间宽敞，设施齐全，可以从阳台轻松进入，我之前也是这样把摩托带进来的。大部分家具都完好无损，一旦我把它们推回原来的位置并扶起倒下的物件，这里就是一处舒适的生活区。
我把手搭上她的肩膀，带她去一张大椅子上，她则反抗起来。
“拿开——”
两根手指，各自抵在她脖子根部的脊柱两侧，用一声闷哼打断了她的话，并惊得她直不起腰。我对神经施加了最小的压力，足矣用来催促但又不造成伤害，并迫使她一路走到椅子前，随后我把她转过来，轻柔地让她坐上去。
“我只是在试图帮你，”我解释道，并跪在她身边把手指探进她盔甲受损的一侧。
“为什么？！”
我在取出卡在左臂肩关节驱动件里的兽人斧头碎片时叹了口气。
“我是‘灵族’，”我微笑着回复道，“我的行事对你来说不该是难以捉摸的吗？那不会让解释变得毫无意义么？”
我取出来最后一片金属碎片，猛推了一下这只胳膊，它沉闷地发出嘶声和咔嗒声。这样仍不起作用，但我觉得它至少可以被取下来了。Mon-Keigh的科技以我族的标准来讲极其简陋，不过我想他们还是个相当年轻的种族。
“你取笑了我，”她试图起身时猛地把手从我的抓握中抽回来。
尽管她一直没有提及，她的伤口还是出卖了她，她摇摇晃晃时疼痛的灵能回响涌出她的身体又涌进我的。令我惊讶的是这尝起来……不对劲，我滑到她身下接住她时产生了这个奇怪的想法。
“你也侮辱了我，”我漫不经心地回答着把她送回椅子。“但我救了你的命。”
“为什么？！”这个词从她嘴里迸发出来，那种鬼魅般的疼痛又一次从她身体里回荡出来，在我的喉咙后留下一股焦油似的味道。“为什么是我？！”
我拉开距离，看着泪水充盈着她的眼眶。
“为什么只有我？”她的话里充满了悲伤，我能感受到她灵魂深处的那种伤人的羞耻感。“为什么我的其她姐妹被杀时帝皇会指引一个异形来救我？”
“没有神明指引我，Cre’yth，”我轻声回答，举起双手解开了臂甲的卡扣，让它们轻响着落在地上。“看见了吗？我的双手是我自己的，我的理由也是自己的。”
我缓慢，谨慎地伸出手来，把掌心贴在她的脸颊上。她的眼睛大睁着，但她没有躲开，这次没有。我温柔地用拇指抹去了她的泪水，在包裹着她的污垢上留下一道沟壑。
“你想知道为什么我救了你吗，Cre’yth？”我主动提到，她的眼睛睁大了一点。“很简单……我是个艺术家，而你欣赏了我的作品。”
她盯着我看了几秒，她终于抬起眼睛与我对视。她从我的脸上和眼中寻求真相，那双绿宝石一样的眼睛在我心底激起了什么我叫不出名字的事物。
我毫无顾忌地对上她的目光，毕竟我没什么可隐瞒的。
“我是……光耀紫藤修会（the Order of Radiant Wisteria）的修女，”她强撑着站起来，这些词语像祷文里死记硬背的句子一样从她口中滚出。“我不可侵犯，且只对地上的祂立誓，”皮革在她抽出战斗刀时嘎吱作响，一个念头出现在我的视线中。“你是个异形，是不洁之物，你的存在是对人类对银河和其中万物的合法统治的破坏。”
她把刀刃压上我的喉咙，我任她这么做。我没有后退，没有阻止。我只是在冰凉的金属亲吻我的脖子时压下身去，微笑着。
“你……在对我说谎，”她愤恨地吼道。“你。在。撒谎。”
“你要杀了我吗，Cre’yth？”我柔声问道，伸出一只空手搭在她的手上。她的手指热的像发烧。“我曾想在惨死其中前把这座城市变成我的最后一座画廊，可……”我拉近刀刃，直至它割开了第一层皮肤，释放出一股淡淡的鲜血，“这样或许更好。”
“你为什么救我？！”她身体前倾，声音高到刺耳，却同时抵抗着我的手的压力。“告诉我真相！”
“我说过了，”我伸手拨开她脸上的几缕苍白。“我救你是因为你少见地喜爱我的艺术，并非因其堕落，而是因其美丽，而通过它的美你也看到了我的，而且……”我一时语塞，但考虑到自己将死，我觉得没必要在回避这个话题，到头来这也不重要，“……而我反过来也看到了你的美，所以我救了你。”
即便在凝固的兽人血浆和数日的污垢覆盖下，我也能看到她的表情扭曲了。我能品尝到她心中升起的痛苦的否认，这痛苦……啊，这痛苦……烧灼着她的灵魂。这令人沉沦，像被饱受折磨的爱人所杀，我忍不住笑了。
“你为什么要笑，女巫！？”她扯起我的头发，令我颤抖起来，但她依旧没有划开我的喉咙。“我要把你从这里清除出去，再把你烧到灰都不剩！”
“而你会以如此的激情这么做，”我赞同道，满意地闭上眼睛。“对……多么美妙的死亡，多么完美的死亡。”
我等待着那一刻，等着我的脖子在她的刀切开肌肉直达气管，刮着脊椎割开两侧的动脉和静脉时灼热地裂开。我等待着温暖的血流洒在身前，等着我的生命从疲惫的身躯中退潮。
我等着。
等着。
“为什么？”她的声音小了很多，我皱着眉睁开眼睛。泪水划开了她脸上的污秽。“为什么……我杀不了你？”
我恼火地叹了口气。
“也许是因为你多愁伤感吧，”我抱怨道，从脖子上敲开了刀子。“如果你不想杀我的话那至少下楼清洗一下，你闻起来像屠宰场似的。”
“我……那——那里没水”她咕哝着，依旧跪在地上。
“我几天前就绕开了你的城市的粗暴限制，恢复力这层楼的应急设施。”我轻蔑地挥挥手，“浴室工作正常，Cre’yth。”
“哦，”她尴尬地起身，像以前一样盯着刀子，随后尴尬地捡起来，收刀入鞘。
我不是个擅长判断人类容貌的女性，我把这留给了随便某个可能会费心去理解它的闲的无聊的血伶人，但这个瞬间我还是被她有多么年轻给惊到了。
“你多大了？”我脱口而出，差点咬到自己的舌头。我为什么……？
她在一瘸一拐地走向浴室时停了下来，好奇地回头看向我。
“我……二十二太阳标准，”她轻声回应，“为什么？”
二十二……她只经历了这么多年就即将死在在这座枯萎的世界上。
我死的去的瞬间就会是她的终结的开端，我知道的。她勇敢而足智多谋……我已经在她撞进我的陷阱时与几乎必死的结局的战斗中看出来这些，但绿皮太多，友军太少，她也没有真正的补给可言。
“我明白了，”我平静地回答，然后抬头看向她疑惑的脸庞。“我的名字是伊莎莱，你现在安全了，Cre’yth，所以去清理下吧，你也太脏了。”
“亚——亚历桑德拉。”
我抬起眼眸。
“什么？”
“我的名字，”她轻声说明道。“是亚历桑德拉。”
原文：
I’m not sure why I told her that.
There hadn’t been any real reason for me to reveal my true purpose on this planet, but then again I suppose there isn’t any reason not to. Why should I hide my reasons, after all? She is human, not Aeldarii, and she would likely have no issue with my removing myself from the galaxy her rotting Emperor promised her sovereignty over.
They were welcome to it.
Why anyone would want to own this galactic carcass was beyond my ken.
Either way, she was following me now. I had chosen the spire as my base of operations to rest in between combats because of its size and relative lack of adornment. Orks were simple creatures, always drawn to whatever was largest and shiniest, leaving the plainer baubles for last, if at all.
The purpose was to remain hidden, and while I could do so with ease, I did not think she was so quiet. Although, granting that Orks navigate heavily on smell, perhaps the fact that she was still caked in Ork blood was helping matters. She had wiped much of it from her face but there was only so much one could do without the necessary facilities.
We moved at an achingly slow pace. Even revitalized by the breath inside the fractured Spirit Stone, the woman was still exhausted, weak, and flagging. That was aside from the usual clumsy nature of her species which I did not blame her for, it was not something she could help.
“Quickly,” I repeated softly, slipping a hand beneath her arm as we reached a shattered stairwell and heaved her up the broken rubble.
She accepted my help sullenly, I could taste the distrust in her breath and mind, but also the confusion and uncertainty, and that was what drove me.
I did not know why I told her the truth, but I do know why I have permitted her to come with me.
Her taste, the flavor of her soul, was without equal.
Not in a hundred Aeldari lifetimes have I tasted something quite like that. In the instant when she first gazed upon me as I danced among the Ork brutes, she did not yet ken to my true nature as Aeldari. When she saw me, she saw something indescribably beautiful, and in that moment I tasted something new from her.
I licked my lips instinctively, trying to recapture the taste but failing. It was maddening, that brief intoxicating flood of… of something I cannot even name.
To think I had once imagined that I had tasted every variation of every psychic emanation the galaxy had to offer only to find something I could not recognise on this miserable, Ork-infested rock, where I'd come to die.
Well, let it not be said that the Changer of Ways is without a sense of humor, I suppose.
They say the Chaos God of Fate and Madness is impossible to understand, that it values defeat and victory in equal stead all towards some greater plan, and yet I wonder if perhaps it only pretends to that, and the true reason it does anything is that it finds it amusing.
Was I an endless and eternal Goddess of Chaos with the ability to both fully perceive and twist fate and destiny to my whim, I should think that would be the only thing that would make such an existence bearable.
We ascended seventeen floors to one of the upper-middle levels of the spire, and by the end, the woman was breathing hard, her hand braced against her ribcage as blood speckled her lips.
“You are still hurt,” I said plainly, pausing in one of the unlit hallways, and she let out a grunt of irritation.
“I am a warrior of the Emperor,” she spat back, “and pain is cleansing, it matters not, Eldar.”
“Pain is cleansing,” I repeated the words, then chuckled. “We have more in common than I thought, Cre’yth.”
“Your serpent tongue is best kept twixt your lips, witch,” she glared at me, and at the perceived slight of my comparison, but it only made me laugh all the harder.
She cheeks flushed faintly red as I laughed, and as my humor dwindled, I dropped my jaw open to let my tongue hang the full hand-length I’d had my Haemonculus extend it to. The look of shock on her face and deep scarlet reddening of her cheeks, combined with the cocktail of emotions it stirred, made me laugh again as I closed my mouth and nodded for her to follow.
I licked my lips again, savoring the sensations I’d taken in from her.
Fear and uncertainty, panic even, she was young and new to war. Despair for her lost sisters, anger at her lone survival, and…
Shame.
Deep, abiding shame.
I glanced over my shoulder at her, noting that her breathing was heavy, and she was pointedly looking anywhere but at me,
“Here,” I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Within was clean and softly lit by hanging crystals, and a tarp had been thrown over my jetbike which slumbered in the corner.
The room was spacious and well-appointed, and possessed the easy access of a balcony which was how I’d gotten the bike inside in the first place. The majority of the furniture was intact as well, and once I’d pushed them back into the correct places and righted what had fallen over, it served as a comfortable set of living quarters.
I put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and guided her to a large chair, and she resisted.
“Get off-”
Two fingers, one on either side of her spine at the base of her neck, cut off her words with a strangled yelp as she doubled over in shock. I applied the smallest amount of pressure, enough to urge but not to inflict harm, to the nerves and forced her forward until she was in front of the chair, then I turned her, and gently lowered her to the seat.
“I am only trying to help you,” I explained as I knelt by her side and began working my fingers into the damaged side of her armor.
“Why?!”
I sighed as I worked out fragments of Orkish axe that had been lodged in the actuators of the left arm’s shoulder joint,
“I am ‘Eldar’,” I replied, smiling, “are my ways not supposed to inscrutable to your mind? Would that not render an explanation meaningless?”
I worked the last piece of fragmented metal out, gave the arm a hard shove, and it hissed and clicked sullenly. It still didn’t work, but it could at least be removed now, I thought. Mon-Keigh technology was incredibly simplistic by the standards of my people, but I supposed they were still a very young race.
“You mock me,” she jerked her arm from my grip roughly as she made to stand.
Her wounds betrayed her and even muted as she was, the psychic echo of her pain rippled out of her and into me as she staggered. To my surprise it tasted… wrong, a strange notion as I slipped beneath her and caught her.
“And you insult me,” I replied casually as I levered her back into the chair. “But I preserved your life nonetheless.”
“WHY?!” the word tore from her lips, and that phantom pain echoed out of her again leaving a tarry taste in the back of my throat. “Why me?!”
I pulled away, meeting her eyes as tears filled them.
“Why only me?” her words were wet with sorrow, and I could feel that deep, wounding shame in her soul. “Why would the Emperor guide a xeno’s hand to save me while the rest of my sisters were cut down?”
“No god guides my hand, Cre’yth,” I said quietly, raising both hands and releasing the catches on the vambraces, shedding them to clatter lightly to the floor. “You see? My hands are my own, and my reasons my own as well.”
I reached out, slowly, carefully, and pressed my palm to her cheek. Her eyes were wide but she didn’t pull away, not this time. Gently, I wiped her tears with my thumb and made a furrow in the grime that remained coating her.
“You wish to know why I saved you, Cre’yth?” I offered, and her eyes widened a little. “It is simple… I am an artist, and you appreciated my art.”
She stared at me for several seconds, her eyes finally turning up to meet mine. Those emerald eyes stirred something in me, something I could not quite name, as she searched my expression and my eyes for the truth.
I met her gaze without concern, after all I had nothing to hide.
“I am… a Sister of the Order of Radiant Wisteria,” the words tumbled from her lips like the rote words of prayer as she forced herself to her feet. “I am inviolate, and sworn only to Him On Earth,” cracked leather rasped as she drew her combat knife, and a notion occurred to me at the sight. “You are Xeno, you are unclean, and your presence is a blight upon the lawful dominion of mankind over this galaxy and all within it.”
She pressed the blade to my throat, and I let her. I did not retreat, I did not stop her. I simply leaned in as the cool metal edge kissed my neck, and smiled.
“You… are lying to me,” She snarled the word bitterly. “You. Are. Lying.”
“Are you going to kill me, Cre’yth?” I asked softly, raising a bare hand to rest on hers. Her fingers were feverishly warm. “I had thought to turn this city into a last gallery of my work before dying miserably at its center but this…” I pushed the blade closer until it bit through the first layer of skin, releasing a faint trickle of bright blood, “this might be better.”
“WHY DID YOU SAVE ME?!” Her voice was high and thready as she leaned forward, but she fought against the press of my hand all the same. “TELL ME THE TRUTH!”
“I did,” I reached up and brushed a few strands of errant pale white from her face. “I saved you because you loved my art in a way so few have, not for its depravity, but for its beauty, and through its beauty you saw beauty in me, and…” for once I felt pensive, but given my impending death I felt no need to avoid the subject, it wouldn’t matter in the end, “…and I, in turn, saw beauty in you, and so I saved you.”
Even under the crusted Ork blood and days of grime, I could see her expression crack. I could taste the blistering painful denial welling up through her heart, the pain… oh the pain… as it burned through her soul. It was intoxicating, like being slain by a tormented lover, and I could not keep a smile from my face.
“Why are you smiling, witch!?” She seized me by the hair and rattled me, but still she didn’t cut my throat. “I’m going to purge you from this place, and burn your body so not even ashes remain!”
“And you will do it with such passion,” I agreed, closing my eyes in satisfaction. “Yes… what an excellent death that would be, what an utterly perfect death.”
I waited for the moment, for the searing split of my neck as her knife cut through the muscle down to the windpipe, scraping the spine and severing the vein and artery on either side. I waited for the warm rush of blood to spill down my front and to feel the life finally ebb from my tired body.
I waited.
And waited.
“Why?” Her voice was so much smaller now, and I frowned as I opened my eyes. Tears were cutting tracks through the filth on her face. “Why… can’t I kill you?”
I sighed in annoyance.
“Perhaps because you are sentimental,” I grumbled, knocking the knife away from my neck. “If you’re not going to kill me then at least get up off the floor and clean yourself up, you smell like an abattoir.”
“I… th-there's no water,” she mumbled, still on her knees.
“I bypassed your city’s crude restrictions and restored emergency utility to this floor days ago,” I waved dismissively, “the bath works just fine, Cre’yth.”
“Oh,” she stood awkwardly, staring down at the knife as she did before awkwardly picking up and sheathing it.
I was no great mistress of judging human physiognomy, I leave that to whatever particularly bored Haemonculi might bother to understand it, but it struck me in that moment how young she must be.
“How old are you?” the question came out unbidden, and I almost bit my tongue. Why had I…?
She looked back at me curiously, pausing in her hobble towards the washroom.
“I’m… twenty-two solar standard,” she replied quietly, “why?”
Twenty-two… a passage of so very few years and she was here already at her death on this blighted world.
The moment I was dead would be the beginning of her end, I knew. She was brave and resourceful… I’d seen that much in her battle against impossible odds when she’d stumbled on my trap, but there were too many Greenskins and too few allies, and she had no real supplies to speak of.
“I see,” I said quietly before looking up to meet her confused expression. “My name is Isarae, and you are safe for now, Cre’yth, so go clean up, you’re filthy.”
“A-Alessandra.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“My name,” she clarified softly. “It’s Alessandra.”
