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Faith of the Fallen :: Goodkind Terry
Страница: 566 из 617Nicci didn't look directly at the statue, but kept her eyes to the floor as she hurried around the huge stoneso she could see it for the first time from the front.
Once in place, her pulse pounding, she turned.
Nicci's gaze rose up the legs, the robes, the arms, the bodies of the two people, up to their faces. She felt as if a giant fist squeezed her heart to a stop.
This was what was in Richard's eyes, brought into existence in glowing white marble. To see it fully realized was like being struck by lightning.
In that instant, her entire life, everything that had ever happened to her, everything she had ever seen, heard, or done, seemed to come together in one flash of emotional violence. Nicci cried out in pain at the beauty of it, and more so at the beauty of what it represented.
Her eyes fell on the name carved in the stone base.
LIFE
Nicci collapsed to the floor in tears, in abject shame, in horror, in revulsion, in sudden blinding comprehension.
. . In pure joy.
CHAPTER 65
After Richard had returned with the fine white linen he had bought to cover the statue until the ceremony the following day, he helped Ishaq and a number of the men he knew from down at the site begin the slow process of sledging the heavy stone down to the plaza. Fortunately, it hadn't rained in a while, and the ground was firm.
Ishaq, knowing such business well, had brought along greased wooden runners, which were placed before the hefty wooden rails supporting the wooden platform under the statue so that the teams of horses could more easily pull the heavy load across the ground. After the statue was dragged onto the second set of greased runners, the men brought the ones left behind to the front, leapfrogging the statue as it was moved along.
The hillside was white with the scree of waste stone, so the statue weighed considerably less than it once had. Victor had originally hired special stone-hauling wagons to move the block. They couldn't use them now because the finished piece couldn't be turned on its side or handled in such a rough manner.
Ishaq waved his red hat in his fist, yelling orders, warnings, and prayers as they had moved along. Richard knew that his statue could be in no better hands. The men who helped seemed to pick up Ishaq's nervous tension.
They sensed this was something important, and, though the work was difficult, they seemed more pleased to be a part of it than they were about their everyday labor at the site. It took until late afternoon to move the statue the distance from the shop to the foot of the steps leading up to the plaza.
Once in place, her pulse pounding, she turned.
Nicci's gaze rose up the legs, the robes, the arms, the bodies of the two people, up to their faces. She felt as if a giant fist squeezed her heart to a stop.
This was what was in Richard's eyes, brought into existence in glowing white marble. To see it fully realized was like being struck by lightning.
In that instant, her entire life, everything that had ever happened to her, everything she had ever seen, heard, or done, seemed to come together in one flash of emotional violence. Nicci cried out in pain at the beauty of it, and more so at the beauty of what it represented.
Her eyes fell on the name carved in the stone base.
LIFE
Nicci collapsed to the floor in tears, in abject shame, in horror, in revulsion, in sudden blinding comprehension.
. . In pure joy.
CHAPTER 65
After Richard had returned with the fine white linen he had bought to cover the statue until the ceremony the following day, he helped Ishaq and a number of the men he knew from down at the site begin the slow process of sledging the heavy stone down to the plaza. Fortunately, it hadn't rained in a while, and the ground was firm.
Ishaq, knowing such business well, had brought along greased wooden runners, which were placed before the hefty wooden rails supporting the wooden platform under the statue so that the teams of horses could more easily pull the heavy load across the ground. After the statue was dragged onto the second set of greased runners, the men brought the ones left behind to the front, leapfrogging the statue as it was moved along.
The hillside was white with the scree of waste stone, so the statue weighed considerably less than it once had. Victor had originally hired special stone-hauling wagons to move the block. They couldn't use them now because the finished piece couldn't be turned on its side or handled in such a rough manner.
Ishaq waved his red hat in his fist, yelling orders, warnings, and prayers as they had moved along. Richard knew that his statue could be in no better hands. The men who helped seemed to pick up Ishaq's nervous tension.
They sensed this was something important, and, though the work was difficult, they seemed more pleased to be a part of it than they were about their everyday labor at the site. It took until late afternoon to move the statue the distance from the shop to the foot of the steps leading up to the plaza.