"Kerr,.Katharine.-.Westlands.01.-.A.Time.Of.Exile" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

"How many trees should we cut, Banadar?"
"I don't know. A lot. Too many-ah, by the Dark Sun, far too many no matter how few it is! We need to go into the forest and see how much stacked wood's there already, I suppose." Halaberiel caught the puzzlement on Aderyn's face and smiled, a painful twist of his mouth. "Come with us. There's somewhat you need to see."
In the last of the afternoon sun, they left the camp and crossed the neatly tended boundary of the forest into the dark and spicy-scented corridors of trees. In a clearing, not ten yards in, stood a structure of dry-walled stone and rough-cut timber about thirty feet on a side. When Halaberiel pushed open the creaking wooden door, Aderyn could see that it was stacked about a third full with firewood. Since by then he'd grown used to the parsimonious elven fires of dried horse dung and twigs, he stared at the wood as if it were a dragon's hoard of gold and jewels.
"When one of the People dies," Halaberiel said, "we take some of this seasoned wood to burn the body. Then we cut a tree to replace it and plant a new one. So, every time one of the People dies, a tree dies, too, and another is born. Normally, it all works out. Now, though, there's going to be a war."
"And you'll need dry wood." Aderyn felt abruptly weary. "Lots of it."
"Just so. But it's going to be a problem. Even if we start cutting tomorrow, the wood's going to be green for a long time. Ah, by the gods of both our people! If this place weren't so sacred, I'd just withdraw and let the rotten-hearted Hound-ears have the lakes."
"Never!" Galonderiel's voice was a snarl. "Banadar, how could you even say it?"
With a shrug Halaberiel shut the doors again and turned away, waving to the others to follow him. They were almost back to the camp when they saw Dallandra's friend Enabrilia racing toward them, her long hair streaming behind her, her hands waving as she called out.
"Aderyn, Aderyn, hurry! Nananna's dying!"
Aderyn was running before he quite realized it. Following Enabrilia, he dodged through the camp and came panting at last to Nananna's tent. When he ducked through the flap, Enabrilia stayed outside. He could hear her ordering other people to stand back and keep quiet; then her voice faded away. Inside the tent, a pale dweomer light cast soft shadows. On a heap of leather cushions Nananna lay, her head cradled in Dallandra's arms, her white hair unbound and streaming over her shoulders like a drift of snow. The old woman's face was as pale and dry as parchment, the skin stretched tight over bone, her eyes huge and staring and dark as her cat-slit pupils strained to catch the fading light.
"Here's Aderyn," Dallandra whispered. "He'll get out his medicines and help you."
"There's no need of that." Nananna's voice was a rasp of whisper. "Come here, child."
Aderyn knelt in front of her and took one withered hand in both of his.
"Tell me, Aderyn, will you stay with us?"
"I will. My Wyrd lies here. I know that, even though I'm not sure what it is."
"I know." Her voice was faint, drawing him closer. "I've had one last dream. Teach my people, Aderyn. Teach them your dweomer to mend their shattered magicks. Teach them herb lore, too, to replace the physicians they lost so long ago."
"Gladly, Wise One. Everything I know will be theirs."
She smiled, a draw of bloodless lips, and rested for a long moment before she spoke again.
"Dalla, you shall teach him how to grow a pair of wings like yours. That will be his payment, to fly where he wills."
"Done, then." Dallandra's voice was steady, but when Aderyn looked up, he saw tears streaming down her face. "Everything I know will be his."
"Good." Nananna's breath came in a long sigh. "There must no secrets between you, none, do you hear? Only with the dweomer can our two races meet in peace, and naught must be held back."
"Well and good, Wise One," Aderyn said. "But what do you mean, grow wings?"
"Our dweomer has a strange trick or two to show you." Nananna managed a smile. "Dallandra and I are shape-changers. Someday you, too, will learn to take on the body and flight of a bird-an owl, I think, to judge from those big eyes of yours."
Aderyn caught his breath with a gasp.
"A thousand thanks, I swear I'll be worthy of it, and only use it to serve the Light."
"Good. Very well, then. I have set you both on your course. It's time for me to depart. Child, let me lie down now."
Dallandra settled her on the cushions and moved aside to kneel by Aderyn. For a moment Nananna lay still, gathering her energy; then slowly, softly under her breath, she began to chant, and her voice took on a last brief flower of strength.
"The river opens before me. I see the light upon the river. It is time to sail to the sea."
When Dallandra sobbed aloud, Aderyn realized that she was too distraught to fulfill the ritual, and that he would have to take her rightful place.
"May the sun shine on you as you, sail the river," he whispered. "May the current be fast."
"The sun gathers around me. I step into the boat at the river-bank."
"I see the silver river flowing west, the dark rushes and the boat, ready for you."
As he spoke, Aderyn did indeed see in his mind the vision that they were building together as they went on speaking, describing the scene back and forth to each other. Wrapped in the golden light of the sun, the soul stepped into it-a pale flame of silver light, flickering at first, then towering up strong, far different from a human soul.
"Sun and, moon, shine upon her!" Aderyn cried out "Bring her to the sea of light, love, and life."
The boat was drifting downriver, the silver flame glowing as she rode proudly on. He seemed to drift above it on a bird's wings and see, in the gleaming sunset ahead, Others coming to meet them on a vast wave of light. Nananna rose free of the boat and flew to join them in a sudden blaze that left him blind. Blinking his physical eyes and shaking his head, he brought himself back to find her body lying dead on the cushions.
"It is over," Aderyn called out. "She has gone to her true home."
Like thunder came a booming hollow drumbeat in answer, three great knocks rolling over the camp. From outside he heard a shout, then voices raised in keening, a high and musical wailing for the dead. Aderyn slapped his open palm once on the ground to earth the final force. It was finished. Her trained soul had no need to hang around near its corpse for three days; she had left cleanly and gone free. Aderyn crossed the frail arms over the slender chest and closed the eyes that the soul no longer needed for seeing.
"We should burn the body soon," Aderyn said. "Or do your people lay out the dead to weep over them?"
Dallandra looked at him, then threw back her head and howled. Tears ran down her face as she keened over and over, reaching up, pulling at her hair, unloosening the braids in a silvery spill of mourning, rocking herself from side to side so violently that Aderyn threw his arms around her and pulled her tight. She wept against him, sobbing like a child, her pale soft hair like a cloud over his arms, while outside the People sang in a long wail of grief.
"Hush, hush, it was time."
As violently as it had come, her weeping left her. He could see her wrench her will under control as she looked up, her eyes as calm and gray as fog over sea.
"So it was. And someday we'll meet again in some land or another."
"Just so. Have faith in the Light."
In simple exhaustion, Dallandra leaned her head against his shoulder. As Aderyn held her, his heart pounding, he realized that had fallen in love.
That night they burned Nananna and scattered her ashes under the trees of the sacred grove, in a spot where the moon fell through the branches and touched the ground with silver. On her grave Halaberiel swore an oath that never would the race of men defile this spot. All night, the People wept and sang songs of mourning, but when the sun rose, their grief was gone.
There was nothing left but to wait and see what move the Bear clan made next.

"Four hundred men!" Garedd said. "I never thought our lord could raise so many."
"I told you that the men of the north had guts, didn't I?" Cinvan said. "We'll shove those stinking Westfolk off Lord Dovyn's land, sure enough."
They were standing on the roof of Tieryn Melaudd's dun, ostensibly on guard duty, but they'd spent most of the afternoon leaning on the railing and watching the last preparations for the march west. In those days, four hundred men was a sizable army, and the ward below was a cram and clutter of horses, supply wagons, and men, the servants rushing back and forth loading provisions, the lords and riders standing around and talking over the campaign ahead.