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凱特琳素來不喜歡這片神木林。
她出生于遙遠(yuǎn)的南國，三叉戟河支流紅岔河河畔，奔流城內(nèi)塔利家族。那里的神木林是個陽光明媚、惠風(fēng)和暢的花園。紅杉樹高高聳立，斑駁樹影之下，一條條小溪叮咚流淌；鳥兒在隱秘的巢穴中歌唱，空氣中彌漫著百花的芳香。
冬臨城的那些神靈，卻據(jù)守著別具一格的林木。這是個幽暗原始的地方，綿延三英畝的古老森林，上萬年來保持著其固有的面貌；森林邊緣，矗立著陰森黑暗的城堡。此地散發(fā)著潮濕的泥土氣息，和萬物悄然腐爛的味道。沒有一棵紅杉樹。在這片樹林里，有頑強(qiáng)倔強(qiáng)的哨兵樹——披著灰綠色針形葉子的哨兵樹，有高大的橡樹，還有和這個王國本身一樣歷史悠久的鐵樹。粗壯的樹干黑壓壓地?cái)D作一團(tuán)，枝杈相互纏繞，在樹頂織出一張嚴(yán)實(shí)的華蓋；泥層之下,樹根虬曲盤結(jié)、彼此角力。這里適合靜默、滌清煩思雜念，寄居其間的，均是些無名之神。
然而，凱特琳知道今晚可在這兒找到自己的丈夫。每當(dāng)他取人性命，而后總會來神木林尋求內(nèi)心的清靜。
凱特琳曾領(lǐng)受七神恩賜的七種圣油，并在奔流河圣堂的七彩燭光中完成了她的命名儀式。她信仰七神，就像她父親、她祖父，和她祖父的父親一樣。她皈依的神有所稱謂，而且有著雙親般熟悉的面孔。信仰于她，是手捧香爐的神父，是焚香的味道，是在光焰下熠熠生輝的七面水晶，更是驟然升起的唱誦之聲。塔利家和其他所有貴族之家一樣，也有神木林，但那只是散步、閱讀，或者沐浴日光的地方。參拜只限于圣堂。
為她起見，奈德修筑了一座小圣堂，讓她可以在那里向七面之神唱誦禱詞。然而，史塔克體內(nèi)就依然流淌著先民的血脈，他們的神，是更古老的綠林之神，與消失了的叢林之子共同侍奉的神，他無名無姓，也沒有具體的容顏。
樹叢中央有一棵老魚梁木，樹蔭下有個小湖，湖水烏黑冰涼。奈德稱此樹為“心樹”。該魚梁木樹皮灰白，如同枯骨；暗紅的葉子像是上千雙沾滿鮮血的手。巨樹軀干上雕刻著一張人臉，臉型瘦長，愁容滿面，眼神出奇地機(jī)警，深陷的眼窩，用深紅色的樹汁勾邊，汁液業(yè)已風(fēng)干。這雙眼睛成型已久，甚至早于冬臨城建成之日。如果傳聞屬實(shí)，它們曾親眼看著“筑城者”布蘭登砌下第一塊磚，也曾目睹周邊的一面面花崗巖城墻拔地而起。傳說叢林之子是在先民尚未跨越狹海來到這里的黎明紀(jì)元雕刻了這些臉。
在南部，除綠人據(jù)守以望的疊面島之外，殘存的一批魚梁木，也于千年前被砍伐、焚毀。這里可不一樣。在此地，每座城堡均有其各自的神木林，每片神木林都有其從屬的心樹，每棵心樹上都刻有臉孔。
凱特琳在那魚梁木下找到丈夫時，他正坐在一塊覆滿青苔的石頭邊。巨劍寒冰倚在膝上。他正沾著如夜一般黑的湖水清洗劍刃。沉積千年的腐殖土，覆蓋于神木林地面，吸走了她的足音。然而，魚梁木的紅眼睛，卻似乎從她踏入樹林伊始，就一直盯著她看?！澳蔚?，”她輕聲叫道。
他抬起臉看她。“凱特琳，”他語調(diào)淡漠、莊重?！昂⒆觽冊谀膬耗?？”
這是他的例行問候?！霸趶N房里，討論給小狼崽取什么名字?！彼诳拷叺牧值厣箱侀_披風(fēng)，背對魚梁木，席地而坐。她能感到那雙注視自己的眼睛，但她盡量不去想它?！鞍⒀乓呀?jīng)愛上它們了，珊莎對小狼崽很是著迷，待它很親切，但是瑞肯還不好說?！?/p>
“他害怕嗎？”奈德問道。
“有點(diǎn)兒，”她承認(rèn)，“他才三歲嘛?！?/p>
奈德皺起眉頭，“他得學(xué)會應(yīng)對自己的恐懼。他不可能永遠(yuǎn)都是三歲。要知道，寒冬正在逼近。”
“我知道。”凱特琳贊同。一如往昔，史塔克家這條族語，讓她感到一絲寒意。每個貴族之家均有其各自的族語，或是家訓(xùn)，或是為人處世的衡量標(biāo)準(zhǔn)，或是各種各樣的祈禱詞。它們要么以坦誠與榮譽(yù)自重，要么自詡于忠誠、以真理在握者自居，還有的以信念和勇氣立誓。唯有史塔克家是個例外。寒冬正在逼近，史塔克族語如是所說。她不止一次暗暗在內(nèi)心思忖：這些北方人是多么奇怪的一群人啊。
“那個男的死得倒干脆，這我得承認(rèn)。”他拿著塊沾油的皮革，一邊說，一邊輕輕擦拭劍身，直擦得那金屬烏黑發(fā)亮。“我為布蘭高興，你要在場，一定也會為他自豪的。”
“我一直為布蘭感到自豪，”凱特琳回答道，一邊注視著那把正被擦拭的劍。她看得見鋼刃深處的花紋，那是鋼材經(jīng)無數(shù)鍛打后留下的印記。凱特琳對劍素來沒有好感，但她不否認(rèn)寒冰劍自有其獨(dú)特的美。這把在瓦雷利亞鍛造的寶劍，誕生于末日浩劫降臨古自由城郭以前。當(dāng)時的鐵匠不單以鋼錘修治此劍，更以法術(shù)復(fù)合其身。寒冰雖有四百多年的劍齡，其鋒利卻一如初制。其名稱之由來，甚至還要久遠(yuǎn)，它乃是源自群雄時代的傳說，彼時史塔克尚是北境之王。
“這已經(jīng)是今年第四個逃兵了，”奈德神色嚴(yán)肅地說道?！翱蓱z的家伙，已經(jīng)快瘋了。也不知道是什么東西把他嚇成這樣，連我的話都聽不進(jìn)去?！彼麌@了口氣?！鞍鄬懶耪f守夜人的兵力已不足一千。不但有人叛逃，而且，他們派出去的游騎兵也不停失蹤?！?/p>
“是野人的原因嗎？”她問。
“還能有誰？”奈德拿起寒冰，低頭看著它那冷冰冰的鋼材?！扒闆r怕是會越來越糟，總有一天，到我忍無可忍的時候，定要召集家臣進(jìn)軍北方，一舉拿下這個境外之王。”
“冰墻那邊？”這念頭讓凱特琳想來戰(zhàn)栗。
奈德看出她臉上的恐懼?！拔覀儾挥门侣埂だ椎??！?/p>
“冰墻那邊有更邪祟的東西?！彼龗吡艘谎凵砗蟮男臉?，那灰白的樹皮，紅色的眼睛，永遠(yuǎn)在見證、傾聽，永遠(yuǎn)在那深謀遠(yuǎn)慮。
他溫和地一笑?！袄夏虌尩墓适履懵犔嗔恕．惞砗蛥擦种右粯?，八千年前就消失了。陸文學(xué)士會告訴你，他們根本是子虛烏有的東西。從來沒有活人看到過異鬼?！?br>
“今天早上以前，也沒有活人曾看到過冰原狼。”凱特琳提醒他。
“我就知道，不該和一個塔利家的人爭辯。”奈德帶著懊惱的笑容道。他把寒冰劍收入鞘中，“你來這兒不是和我聊這些哄小孩子的故事的，我知道，你多不喜歡這地方。怎么了，我的夫人？”
凱特琳握住丈夫的手，說道：“今天接到一條讓人悲傷的消息，我的大人。我本不想在你凈思結(jié)束前打擾你?！彼氩怀鍪裁捶ㄗ觼頊p輕這種打擊，只好如實(shí)相告：“親愛的，我很難過，瓊恩·艾林去世了?！?/p>
兩人目光相遇，正如凱特琳所預(yù)料到的，她看到丈夫受此打擊著實(shí)不小。在奈德早年，他曾寄養(yǎng)于鷹巢城，膝下無子的艾林城主，成了他和另一個養(yǎng)子羅伯特·巴拉西昂的再生之父。當(dāng)瘋癲國王伊瑞斯·塔蓋瑞恩二世指明要他們的腦袋時，鷹巢城主揭起他的新月獵鷹旗，寧可起兵造反，也不愿交出這兩個他誓死保護(hù)的人。
十五年前的那天，他這位養(yǎng)父和他結(jié)為連襟。兩人一同站在奔流河的圣堂里，娶了城主塔利·霍斯特的兩個女兒。
“瓊恩......”他問：“這消息可靠嗎？”
“信封有國王的蠟封印章，信是羅伯特親筆寫的。信和信封我都給你留著。他說艾林城主走得很突然，連派賽爾學(xué)士也束手無策，只得取來罌粟花奶，讓瓊恩盡早解脫?！?/p>
“這也算是小小的憐憫吧，我想，”他說道。寫在他臉上的哀傷，凱特琳看在眼里。但即便是那時，他首先想到的還是她?！澳忝妹茫铜偠鞯暮⒆?，有他們什么話沒有？”
“信上只說他們很好，已經(jīng)回鷹巢城去了。”凱特琳道?！耙撬麄兓乇剂鞒蔷秃昧恕ｚ棾采礁呗愤h(yuǎn)，不但偏僻，還是她丈夫的故居，她初次入住，想來城里每塊磚石都會讓她想起瓊恩大人。我了解我妹妹，她需要親朋好友在身邊寬慰她。”
“你叔叔就在艾林谷，他會寬慰她吧？我聽說瓊恩任命他做了鐵門騎士?！?/p>
凱特琳點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭?！安剂值鞘菚M他所能照顧他們母子，他們會得到一絲安慰，只是，那還......”
“去她那里吧，”奈德極力勸她?！皫Ш⒆尤?，用吵鬧聲和笑聲填滿她一屋子。再說，她那小孩也需要有別的孩子陪他。這樣，萊莎就不會一個人在那兒悲傷了?！?/p>
“我真希望自己能去，”凱特琳道?！安贿^，信上還有其他消息，說是國王將要來冬臨找你。”
奈德好一會兒才理解她這話是什么意思，等他明白過來，眼中的陰霾頃刻間煙消云散?！傲_伯特要來這兒？”見妻子點(diǎn)頭，他笑逐顏開。
凱特琳真心希望自己能分享他這份喜悅，可是，她已在庭院里聽過傳聞，說有一頭冰原狼死在雪地里，喉嚨上插著的是一根斷鹿角?？謶秩缟咭话憷p繞著她的內(nèi)心。但她迫使自己在這個她深愛著的男人，這個不迷信任何預(yù)兆的男人面前笑臉以對?！拔揖椭肋@消息會讓你高興?！彼?，“我們得帶個話給你在冰墻的弟弟。”
“對，那是當(dāng)然，”他同意?！鞍嘁欢ㄏ雭怼Ｎ易岅懳膶W(xué)士放最快的信鴿過去。”奈德站了起來，隨后拉她起身?！霸撍?！我有多久沒見他了？他只說了這些？一共來多少人，信上有說嗎？”
“我想至少總該有一百個騎士吧，加上所有這些人的隨從，再加上多一倍半的自由騎士。瑟茜和她的孩子也一同前來。”
“考慮到這些孩子，羅伯特不會匆匆趕路的?！彼f，“這樣正好，我們也有足夠的時間做好準(zhǔn)備。”
“王后的弟弟也在隊(duì)伍里?！彼嬖V丈夫。
奈德聽后變了臉色。凱特琳知道，他和王后的家人不甚契合。凱巖城的蘭尼斯特家當(dāng)年遲遲不來增援，直等到羅伯特勝券在握時，方才姍姍來遲，奈德為此一直不能原諒他們?！昂冒桑绻堑每吹竭@些蘭尼斯特佬，才能和羅伯特見面，那就忍忍吧。聽起來，好像羅伯特把他半個宮廷都帶來了?！?/p>
“國王走到哪里，那里就是他的王國?！彼f道。
“見見那些孩子也好。最小的那個，我上次見他的時候，還在那蘭尼斯特女人懷里喝奶呢。他現(xiàn)在該有，嗯，五歲了吧？”
“托門王子七歲了，”她糾正他，“和布蘭同齡。奈德，拜托你別亂說話。那個蘭尼斯特女人是我們的王后，我聽說她可是一年比一年傲慢了?！?/p>
奈德捏緊她的手，說：“我們得好好擺個宴席，當(dāng)然啦，樂師是少不了的。還有，羅伯特一定惦記著去打獵。我得派喬里帶儀仗隊(duì)南下國王大道接他們，把他們護(hù)送回來。天哪，我們要怎么填飽他們這么多人？他已經(jīng)在路上了，你剛才是說？該死，這家伙！該死的國王！”
Catelyn had never liked this godswood.
She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.
The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshappen roots wrestled beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.
But she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he took a man’s life, afterward he would seek the quiet of the godswood.
Catelyn had been anointed with the seven oils and named in the rainbow of light that filled the sept of Riverrun. She was of the Faith, like her father and grandfather and his father before him. Her gods had names, and their faces were as familiar as the faces of her parents. Worship was a septon with a censer, the smell of incense, a seven-sided crystal alive with light, voices raised in song. The Tullys kept a godswood, as all the great houses did, but it was only a place to walk or read or lie in the sun. Worship was for the sept.
For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks, and his own gods were the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the vanished children of the forest.
At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.
In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was different. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree, and every heart tree its face.
Catelyn found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone. The greatsword Ice was across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade in those waters black as night. A thousand years of humus lay thick upon the godswood floor, swallowing the sound of her feet, but the red eyes of the weirwood seemed to follow her as she came. “Ned,” she called softly.
He lifted his head to look at her. “Catelyn,” he said. His voice was distant and formal. “Where are the children?”
He would always ask her that. “In the kitchen, arguing about names for the wolf pups.” She spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside the pool, her back to the weirwood. She could feel the eyes watching her, but she did her best to ignore them. “Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Rickon is not quite sure.”
“Is he afraid?” Ned asked.
“A little,” she admitted. “He is only three.”
Ned frowned. “He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is coming.”
“Yes,” Catelyn agreed. The words gave her a chill, as they always did. The Stark words. Every noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. All but the Starks. Winter is coming, said the Stark words. Not for the first time, she reflected on what a strange people these northerners were.
“The man died well, I’ll give him that,” Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one hand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing the metal to a dark glow. “I was glad for Bran’s sake. You would have been proud of Bran.”
“I am always proud of Bran,” Catelyn replied, watching the sword as he stroked it. She could see the rippling deep within the steel, where the metal had been folded back on itself a hundred times in the forging. Catelyn had no love for swords, but she could not deny that Ice had its own beauty. It had been forged in Valyria, before the Doom had come to the old Freehold, when the ironsmiths had worked their metal with spells as well as hammers. Four hundred years old it was, and as sharp as the day it was forged. The name it bore was older still, a legacy from the age of heroes, when the Starks were Kings in the North.
“He was the fourth this year,” Ned said grimly. “The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him.” He sighed. “Ben writes that the strength of the Night’s Watch is down below a thousand. It’s not only desertions. They are losing men on rangings as well.”
“Is it the wildlings?” she asked.
“Who else?” Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. “And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all.”
“Beyond the Wall?” The thought made Catelyn shudder.
Ned saw the dread on her face. “Mance Rayder is nothing for us to fear.”
“There are darker things beyond the Wall.” She glanced behind her at the heart tree, the pale bark and red eyes, watching, listening, thinking its long slow thoughts.
His smile was gentle. “You listen to too many of Old Nan’s stories. The Others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Luwin will tell you they never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one.”
“Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either,” Catelyn reminded him.
“I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully,” he said with a rueful smile. He slid Ice back into its sheath. “You did not come here to tell me crib tales. I know how little you like this place. What is it, my lady?”
Catelyn took her husband’s hand. “There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself.” There was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. “I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead.”
His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him, as she had known it would. In his youth, Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a second father to him and his fellow ward, Robert Baratheon. When the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen had demanded their heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had raised his moon-and-falcon banners in revolt rather than give up those he had pledged to protect.
And one day fifteen years ago, this second father had become a brother as well, as he and Ned stood together in the sept at Riverrun to wed two sisters, the daughters of Lord Hoster Tully.
“Jon . . . ” he said. “Is this news certain?”
“It was the king’s seal, and the letter is in Robert’s own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain.”
“That is some small mercy, I suppose,” he said. She could see the grief on his face, but even then he thought first of her. “Your sister,” he said. “And Jon’s boy. What word of them?”
“The message said only that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie,” Catelyn said. “I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband’s place, not hers. Lord Jon’s memory will haunt each stone. I know my sister. She needs the comfort of family and friends around her.”
“Your uncle waits in the Vale, does he not? Jon named him Knight of the Gate, I’d heard.”
Catelyn nodded. “Brynden will do what he can for her, and for the boy. That is some comfort, but still . . . ”
“Go to her,” Ned urged. “Take the children. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and laughter. That boy of hers needs other children about him, and Lysa should not be alone in her grief.”
“Would that I could,” Catelyn said. “The letter had other tidings. The king is riding to Winterfell to seek you out.”
It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. “Robert is coming here?” When she nodded, a smile broke across his face.
Catelyn wished she could share his joy. But she had heard the talk in the yards; a direwolf dead in the snow, a broken antler in its throat. Dread coiled within her like a snake, but she forced herself to smile at this man she loved, this man who put no faith in signs. “I knew that would please you,” she said. “We should send word to your brother on the Wall.”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed. “Ben will want to be here. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird.” Ned rose and pulled her to her feet. “Damnation, how many years has it been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the message say?”
“I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them.”
“Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes,” he said. “It is just as well. That will give us more time to prepare.”
“The queen’s brothers are also in the party,” she told him.
Ned grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen’s family, Catelyn knew. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock had come late to Robert’s cause, when victory was all but certain, and he had never forgiven them. “Well, if the price for Robert’s company is an infestation of Lannisters, so be it. It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his court.”
“Where the king goes, the realm follows,” she said.
“It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman’s teat the last time I saw him. He must be, what, five by now?”
“Prince Tommen is seven,” she told him. “The same age as Bran. Please, Ned, guard your tongue. The Lannister woman is our queen, and her pride is said to grow with every passing year.”
Ned squeezed her hand. “There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? On his way already, you said? Damn the man. Damn his royal hide.”
